Sid #2
Leo nods like a preschool teacher might at a child who just yelled, I made water!
The waiter appears with menus. He stops cold and assesses my current situation.
“Looks like someone is excited to be with us this evening.”
I can feel my face flush. I am thankful for the darkness.
“I’m Michael, and I’ll be your server this evening. Would you like to hear about the specials?”
“Please!” I say, thankful for someone else to talk.
Michael tells us about the specials—not one of which, sadly, contains arsenic to end my agony—and when he is finished, the
sommelier appears with a bottle of red wine, extending my humiliation without a chance to apologize to Leo.
“I took the liberty of ordering one of my favorite Napa Cabs,” Leo says.
The sommelier uncorks the bottle and pours a small amount for Leo to taste. He swishes and smells, sips, smiles and nods.
“Perfect. Thank you.”
The sommelier fills our glasses.
“I’ll give you a few moments to enjoy the wine and study the menus,” Michael says.
“Cheers!” Leo says.
He clinks my glass, and I sip the deep red. When I put my glass down, Leo gestures to my mouth. I feel red wine dribbling
down my chin.
I lift my napkin to dab my face, and realize too late it remains in a turgid state.
I cannot even face Leo anymore. I am an old man who has been reduced to the boy on the playground who picks on the girl he
likes because he has no idea what to say to her.
I lift the menu in front of my face to hide my humiliation, but it is so dimly lit that I cannot see a letter, much less a
word, that is printed. If I were undertaking an eye test, the optometrist would simply start weeping.
“Sid.”
Leo takes my menu. He places it on the table and then reaches over and takes my hand in his.
“I can’t even see the menu,” I admit. “Not a letter. I don’t just need a large-print menu, I need it in Braille.”
Leo smiles a sweet smile.
“Why I am here?” I ask him. I don’t mean for my voice to shake, but it does. “I mean, look at you. Look at me. Do you have
a fetish for old men? Do you cruise nursing homes?”
“Sid—” Leo says again.
“No, let me finish. Please.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t do this,” I say. “I mean, I’ve hooked up—or whatever the kids say these days—a few times when I was younger, but
I’ve never even been out on a date—I mean, a real, actual date—with a man before.
Ever. You could have your pick of any guy in Palm Springs, or San Francisco .
. . I mean, just name a city, and you could have the Matt Bomer in any of them.
I like you, Leo, but I am not like you. I don’t think this old body is what you want, and I don’t think this old heart can take hearing you say that. ”
I start to stand. Leo grabs my hand.
“I don’t want Matt Bomer. I like Sid Silverstein.”
“Why?”
“The fact you have to ask actually breaks my heart in two,” he says. “Please, sit.”
I do.
“It’s endearing that you have no game.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I’m serious,” Leo says. “Do you know what it’s like to date these days?”
“No,” I say with a sarcastic laugh. “I just told you that.”
“It’s awful. No one wants to go out. No one wants to talk. No one wants to get to know anything about someone else. They simply
want to hook up and move on to their next victim.”
I think of Barry. Leo continues.
“Gay men are too often stereotyped, but some of the stereotypes are accurate: Too many of us use sex as a way to seek emotional
connection. We seek sex to fill the gnawing void in our lives that has been carved out by the lethal claw of a society that
has gutted us of self-love and self-acceptance and left a black hole that we believe an anonymous touch can fill. But twenty
minutes at a time can never replace an endless calendar of abuse and loathing.” Leo stops and takes a sip of his wine. “Yes,
I’m attractive. Yes, I’m in good shape.”
“So we’re in agreement?”
“But,” he interrupts, “it’s part of my job. I have to stay in shape in order to remain on TV. But, Sid, we all get old, and that facade fades. And none of that matters if someone doesn’t actually see beyond that surface.
I thought you might see beyond my surface, Sid.”
“I do,” I say. “But it’s a pretty damn good surface, Leo.”
“Thank you,” he says with a laugh. “I see it in my industry too often. Our society is infatuated with anti-aging. We alter our appearance with cosmetic surgery until we don’t even resemble ourselves or our family any longer.
We diet and exercise and take shots and pills, when we should really be pro-aging because our lines, wrinkles, faults and foibles all tell a story.
We try to erase those until we all look the same. I just try to stay in the moment, Sid.”
Leo touches my arm.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” he says. “It’s okay to be vulnerable. That’s actually very sexy.”
“It is?”
“It is.”
Leo scoots his chair over and moves his hand to my thigh. My heart stops. He continues.
“I’m nervous, too.”
“You?”
“I am.” He looks at me. “Do you know why I chose Copley’s for our first date?”
I shake my head.
“Because you told me how romantic it was when we first met on the track,” he continues. “I see you, Sid. I hear you, Sid.”
He leans closer. “I want you, Sid.”
Leo takes my chin in his big hand. He turns my head toward his and kisses me. He tastes like the wine, black cherry, spice,
tobacco, wood.
The sommelier would be proud of my intricate taste buds.
My heart is throbbing in my ears. I feel as if I might faint.
“How was that, Sid Silverstein?” Leo asks.
The world is no longer dim. The lights in the hedge sparkle around us.
Before I can answer, Michael reappears. He glances down at the napkin still in my lap.
“I’d say he thought that kiss was pretty damn good,” he says.