"Midnight Clear" 34
Dinner at Farallon.
By Gaedhal
San Francisco, December 2005
Stefan Radev had arranged everything perfectly.
He liked perfection. A perfect meal. A perfect setting. Perfect service.
And a perfect man with whom to enjoy it all.
Farallon featured local seafood and a decor that combined the original Gothic architecture of the old building with outrageous variations on shells, jellyfish, sea-urchins, and other denizens of the sea in hand-blown glass. Some people considered it over-the-top, but Radev thought it was delightfully outré and very American. And Radev loved anything American.
Anything and anyone perfectly American.
He glanced at his watch. Five minutes late. Brian would need a new watch so he would no longer keep Radev waiting. He made a mental note to have an assortment brought over to The Maxim for Brian to choose from. Radev wore a diamond-studded Cartier himself, but he suspected Brian would like a Patek Phillipe better. They were a tad more masculine. Clean and classic, like Brian. A little Christmas gift, like the gold-plated lighter and the clothes. Radev enjoyed buying things and it would be a pleasure to buy things for man who truly appreciated them.
He looked up and smiled as Brian entered the dining room.
But...
"Brian." He rose to shake his hand.
"Stefan." Brian shook the proffered hand and then took his seat opposite Radev.
Brian looked beautiful, as ever, thought Radev. Perfectly groomed. Perfectly composed. However...
"That suit," said Radev. "I am surprised to see you wearing it."
"This old thing?" Brian shrugged. "It's Armani. It's not new. In fact, it's vintage. I have a place out in the wilds of Pennsylvania where I get some amazing pieces. The woman who owns the shop -- which is in an old barn, if you can believe it -- used to be a model in Milan and Paris. She's Hungarian. She travels to Europe and England and buys things from house sales. She's got a fabulous eye and she knows my exact size. She also knows what I can afford and what I can't afford. Lately it's been more about what I can't afford, but I still manage to dress well -- when I have to."
Radev cleared his throat. "You look marvelous, Brian. That suit looks like it was made for you."
"Thanks."
Radev motioned for the sommelier to bring the wine he had selected earlier. "I've taken the liberty of ordering a seafood tasting menu for both of us. I hope that will be satisfactory?" He nodded for the wine to be poured.
"Certainly," said Brian, picking up his glass and taking a sip. It was good, but to Brian wine was something to drink and not something to make a fuss over. He thought of David Cameron and his pretentious wine collection and he smiled slightly. "You're the client."
Radev frowned. This was not at all going the way he had planned. "May I ask why you did not wear the suit I had sent to your suite?"
Brain gazed back at Radev coolly. "I'd already decided to wear this."
Radev pursed his lips. "I wanted you to wear the Versace. I selected it specifically with you in mind."
Brian took a deep breath. "I know. It's a fabulous suit. A perfect suit. A suit I would kill to own. But I can't wear it." He paused, making sure his words were sinking in. "I can't accept it. Which reminds me." He took the gold-plated Dunhill lighter out of his pocket and pushed it across the table. "This is yours."
"And why, may I ask, are you returning this?" Radev took a gulp of wine, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
"I don't do gifts," Brian said flatly. "I don't do Christmas. I don't do birthdays. I don't take anything from anyone. And I don't give gifts, either. Period."
"So you have told me," Radev snorted. "But that is, as you like to say, bullshit. You give gifts all of the time. You gifted your childhood friend with a very expensive book for his thirtieth birthday."
"Not a book," Brian corrected. "A comic book."
"A comic book, then," said Radev. "Although what a grown man would want with such a thing is a mystery to me. Later you helped this same friend buy a store. You also gifted a female friend with another generous offering -- a child."
"My son," said Brian. "Gus."
"Just so. Your son," Radev called the waiter over to refill their glasses. "And you give him gifts. Toys and childish things, yes, but also a trust fund. A fund that you did not tap into even when you were facing financial difficulties."
It was obvious Radev didn't have any kids. The man was fucking clueless! "The whole point of a trust fund is that it's for the kid, not for me. It's Gus's money. I don't steal from my own son."
"I never suggested that you would steal from your child. I am merely pointing out that you do give gifts." Radev sat back in his chair. "For instance, on your last trip here you also bought a hand-crafted gold and silver bracelet from Reinhold's. For someone in Pittsburgh. A young man."
"Yes. For Justin," Brian said evenly. So, Radev really had been digging into his personal life. That was fucked up, but not all that surprising. "Are you afraid to say his name? Justin Taylor. The man I live with. My... partner." He paused. "My lover."
"Is that why you won't wear my suit?" Radev grumbled. "Why you have returned my lighter? Because of this young man? I have already told you that I am not the jealous type. I don't mind that you have a boy at home. That has nothing to do with any arrangement we might make. Are you planning to bring this fellow with you to San Francisco?"
"Yes," Brian felt his face getting hot. "Of course I'm bringing him with me! We live together. I told you -- we're partners."
"I see," Radev drawled. "It is strange that you have never mentioned this fact to Tony Conway or the others. They are under the impression that you are a single man."
"Justin is none of their fucking business," Brian retorted. "It's my personal life. And unless I'm fucking you, it's none of your business, either!"
"Ah," said Radev. "That is clear enough, Brian. My offer -- my gifts and myself -- all have been rejected. Rejected quite bluntly."
"If you want me to leave this restaurant right now, I will." Brian stared directly at Radev. "But I'm still planning on doing my job. You don't need to buy me, you don't need to fuck me, in order for me to do good work for you, Mr. Radev. I do good work because I'm talented and I take pride in what I do. If that isn't enough, then maybe I'm not the right person for this position. Not the right person for Larch, Keller, and Conway. If that's the case, so be it. But I plan on finishing what I started here. Then I'll either go home, get my lover, and come back to go to work, or else I'll return to Pittsburgh for good and start all over again. But either way, I'll do it on my own terms. Not yours. Not Tony Conway's. Not anyone else's. That's the only way I can live. That's the only way I can be true to myself. And true to Justin."
Brian swallowed. He'd royally fucked himself over before, but never quite so directly. And never with the kind of emotion he was feeling at that moment.
"So, Brian," said Radev, his face unreadable. "Here comes our first course. I think you will enjoy the oysters and caviar."
***
By Gaedhal
San Francisco, December 2005
Stefan Radev had arranged everything perfectly.
He liked perfection. A perfect meal. A perfect setting. Perfect service.
And a perfect man with whom to enjoy it all.
Farallon featured local seafood and a decor that combined the original Gothic architecture of the old building with outrageous variations on shells, jellyfish, sea-urchins, and other denizens of the sea in hand-blown glass. Some people considered it over-the-top, but Radev thought it was delightfully outré and very American. And Radev loved anything American.
Anything and anyone perfectly American.
He glanced at his watch. Five minutes late. Brian would need a new watch so he would no longer keep Radev waiting. He made a mental note to have an assortment brought over to The Maxim for Brian to choose from. Radev wore a diamond-studded Cartier himself, but he suspected Brian would like a Patek Phillipe better. They were a tad more masculine. Clean and classic, like Brian. A little Christmas gift, like the gold-plated lighter and the clothes. Radev enjoyed buying things and it would be a pleasure to buy things for man who truly appreciated them.
He looked up and smiled as Brian entered the dining room.
But...
"Brian." He rose to shake his hand.
"Stefan." Brian shook the proffered hand and then took his seat opposite Radev.
Brian looked beautiful, as ever, thought Radev. Perfectly groomed. Perfectly composed. However...
"That suit," said Radev. "I am surprised to see you wearing it."
"This old thing?" Brian shrugged. "It's Armani. It's not new. In fact, it's vintage. I have a place out in the wilds of Pennsylvania where I get some amazing pieces. The woman who owns the shop -- which is in an old barn, if you can believe it -- used to be a model in Milan and Paris. She's Hungarian. She travels to Europe and England and buys things from house sales. She's got a fabulous eye and she knows my exact size. She also knows what I can afford and what I can't afford. Lately it's been more about what I can't afford, but I still manage to dress well -- when I have to."
Radev cleared his throat. "You look marvelous, Brian. That suit looks like it was made for you."
"Thanks."
Radev motioned for the sommelier to bring the wine he had selected earlier. "I've taken the liberty of ordering a seafood tasting menu for both of us. I hope that will be satisfactory?" He nodded for the wine to be poured.
"Certainly," said Brian, picking up his glass and taking a sip. It was good, but to Brian wine was something to drink and not something to make a fuss over. He thought of David Cameron and his pretentious wine collection and he smiled slightly. "You're the client."
Radev frowned. This was not at all going the way he had planned. "May I ask why you did not wear the suit I had sent to your suite?"
Brain gazed back at Radev coolly. "I'd already decided to wear this."
Radev pursed his lips. "I wanted you to wear the Versace. I selected it specifically with you in mind."
Brian took a deep breath. "I know. It's a fabulous suit. A perfect suit. A suit I would kill to own. But I can't wear it." He paused, making sure his words were sinking in. "I can't accept it. Which reminds me." He took the gold-plated Dunhill lighter out of his pocket and pushed it across the table. "This is yours."
"And why, may I ask, are you returning this?" Radev took a gulp of wine, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
"I don't do gifts," Brian said flatly. "I don't do Christmas. I don't do birthdays. I don't take anything from anyone. And I don't give gifts, either. Period."
"So you have told me," Radev snorted. "But that is, as you like to say, bullshit. You give gifts all of the time. You gifted your childhood friend with a very expensive book for his thirtieth birthday."
"Not a book," Brian corrected. "A comic book."
"A comic book, then," said Radev. "Although what a grown man would want with such a thing is a mystery to me. Later you helped this same friend buy a store. You also gifted a female friend with another generous offering -- a child."
"My son," said Brian. "Gus."
"Just so. Your son," Radev called the waiter over to refill their glasses. "And you give him gifts. Toys and childish things, yes, but also a trust fund. A fund that you did not tap into even when you were facing financial difficulties."
It was obvious Radev didn't have any kids. The man was fucking clueless! "The whole point of a trust fund is that it's for the kid, not for me. It's Gus's money. I don't steal from my own son."
"I never suggested that you would steal from your child. I am merely pointing out that you do give gifts." Radev sat back in his chair. "For instance, on your last trip here you also bought a hand-crafted gold and silver bracelet from Reinhold's. For someone in Pittsburgh. A young man."
"Yes. For Justin," Brian said evenly. So, Radev really had been digging into his personal life. That was fucked up, but not all that surprising. "Are you afraid to say his name? Justin Taylor. The man I live with. My... partner." He paused. "My lover."
"Is that why you won't wear my suit?" Radev grumbled. "Why you have returned my lighter? Because of this young man? I have already told you that I am not the jealous type. I don't mind that you have a boy at home. That has nothing to do with any arrangement we might make. Are you planning to bring this fellow with you to San Francisco?"
"Yes," Brian felt his face getting hot. "Of course I'm bringing him with me! We live together. I told you -- we're partners."
"I see," Radev drawled. "It is strange that you have never mentioned this fact to Tony Conway or the others. They are under the impression that you are a single man."
"Justin is none of their fucking business," Brian retorted. "It's my personal life. And unless I'm fucking you, it's none of your business, either!"
"Ah," said Radev. "That is clear enough, Brian. My offer -- my gifts and myself -- all have been rejected. Rejected quite bluntly."
"If you want me to leave this restaurant right now, I will." Brian stared directly at Radev. "But I'm still planning on doing my job. You don't need to buy me, you don't need to fuck me, in order for me to do good work for you, Mr. Radev. I do good work because I'm talented and I take pride in what I do. If that isn't enough, then maybe I'm not the right person for this position. Not the right person for Larch, Keller, and Conway. If that's the case, so be it. But I plan on finishing what I started here. Then I'll either go home, get my lover, and come back to go to work, or else I'll return to Pittsburgh for good and start all over again. But either way, I'll do it on my own terms. Not yours. Not Tony Conway's. Not anyone else's. That's the only way I can live. That's the only way I can be true to myself. And true to Justin."
Brian swallowed. He'd royally fucked himself over before, but never quite so directly. And never with the kind of emotion he was feeling at that moment.
"So, Brian," said Radev, his face unreadable. "Here comes our first course. I think you will enjoy the oysters and caviar."
***