Personal Banking - 4. Chapter 4

"OK, you can take over Jose's table for me. I've got a date with him and I'm clocking out."

Stewart raised an eyebrow. "My, we do work fast, don't we? And it's so convenient that our friend Stewart is here to jump in when we've got what we wanted."

"You wanted that table anyway."

"So I did. I can't say I blame you, much. He is very easy on the eyes."

"Yeah, he's nice to look at. But the important thing is that Mr. Phillips hates his guts. This will really get my plan rolling."

"So you're just going to use him to make the ice man jealous."

"Yep."

"That hardly seems fair to Jose. Something about this doesn't seem very nice to me."

"Is that your official relationship advice, Miss Landers?"

Stewart smacked his hand on the counter. "Listen. Despite the way you treat me, I am not your asexual sassy gay sitcom sidekick. Oo, that had too many s's. I have a boyfriend, thank you. A real, flesh and blood boyfriend. We have sex. Real, flesh and blood sex. We keep the blood inside, but that's beside the point. What do you have? A fantasy. A man who may or may not be into you, may or may not already be in a relationship -- hell, he may or may not be gay. You're having a wild affair entirely inside your head. I don't think a person such as you is in a position to dismiss the relationship advice of a person such as me."

Stewart doesn't deliver a verbal slap very often. When he does, it's well-deserved. "OK, so you think this jealousy thing is a terrible idea."

"It's very high school, I'll say that."

"So you think I shouldn't do it. I should cancel my date with that gorgeous man out there."

"I don't know." Stewart sighed. "I think you should at least tell him just how hung up you are on Mr. Wonderful."

"All right. I'll concede that much. I'll let him know that this is strictly rebound from a relationship I never had."

"Good."

"Stewart -- I take you for granted a lot, and I shouldn't. So, thank you. Thank you for, I don't know, trying to talk sense into me."

He blinked in surprise. "You said something nice. How love has changed Andy Hardy."

************

Jose insisted on paying, so he got to choose the restaurant: Hestia. Fortunately I wore a tie, suspecting he would pick someplace upscale. Jose ordered the dipping sauce sampler for us while I reminded myself to order neither the cheapest entree not the most expensive.

"I've never been here. It's out of my price range."

"I'm glad I get to treat you to a new experience." He raised his water glass toward me.

"Thanks." When at a loss for small talk, build on what you know. "So your grandparents fought in the Spanish Civil War?"

"No. They were just kids. It was my great-grandparents who fought Franco. Fought and died." He sipped his water. "There were cousins already in the States who managed to bring the kids over. My grandfather and grandmother were third cousins. They grew up together through the Depression and World War 2, and they ended up getting married. They're my father's parents. My mother's Italian.

"I grew up hearing stories about the fight against Franco. It made me a little anti-authoritarian. I still lean libertarian. I think people should make their own decisions if they're not hurting anybody. I don't like to see anybody controlled."

OK, my opening line paid off. I got the entire history of Jose's family over dinner. He proved quite capable of keeping up both ends of a conversation. I ate and said "Mm-hm" and "Oh?" and "Wow" and "Amazing." He ordered a bottle of wine. I drank one glass. He drank the rest.

Gentleman that he was, he drove me home. We talked a bit in his car. He lit up a joint and offered it to me. I shook my head. He took a drag and pulled me to him, kissed me, and breathed the smoke into my mouth. I pulled away, coughing.

"Don't you smoke? It is legal, you know, Rich. One of the great things about the Mile High City."

"You just caught me by surprise. And -- I agreed not to. For the duration of the loan."

"Oh. The scoutmaster. What else did he make you agree to?"

"Just financial stuff, a budget and not using credit cards. And I agreed no drugs and no more than one beer or glass of wine a day."

"Mr. Phillips does like to be in control. We're very different in that way. As I said before, I don't like to see people being controlled."

"It's not that. I just don't want to disappoint him. I should probably tell you that I'm very attracted to him and, well, really hung up on him."

"I see." He took another hit off the joint. "So you're just using me to get to him? To make him jealous?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid so."

"You're not attracted to me?"

"Oh, I am. You're very handsome. When you stepped into that elevator--"

"Well, then. If I'm here to make Nathan jealous, let's give him something to be jealous about." He leaned in and kissed me, reaching to hold my waist with one hand.

"Are we just going to make out in your car?"

"Well, you haven't invited me in." He bit my neck and moved his hand between my legs to press just behind my nuts.

"Invite you in on the first date? What kind of boy do you think I am?"

"Handsome." Kiss. "Sexy." Another kiss. "Attractive." Deeper kiss. "Desirable." In-for-the-kill kiss, and that hand undoing my belt, slipping inside my pants, grabbing my cock.

"Where are you going with this?"

"Down." He had me unzipped and my pants around my knees in two seconds. In two more his mouth had taken in my cock, which tends to respond to such things.

He spit on his middle finger and probed for my asshole while pumping my dick with the other hand and sucking like a pro. I rested my left hand on his head and moaned. My damn right hand was buzzing again, actually staring to hurt, but I told it to shut up.

He was good. I couldn't hold out for very long. As I shot he swallowed, holding the base of my shaft, then moved up and kissed me as that finger withdrew from my ass, but lingered at the opening.

"Rich, Rich, I want to come back here. And next time, it won't just be a finger." He wrapped his finger in his handkerchief, held my head with both hands to kiss me, and guided my head down to his crotch. I gave him the best left-handed blow job I've ever given.

************

I called Mr. Phillips as soon as I got inside my apartment. I didn't know what I was going to say, but I really wanted to talk to him.

"Richard?" His voice was just as sexy on the phone as in person.

"Hello, Mr. Phillips."

"Anything wrong?"

"Well, I wanted to ask you what happens if I break our agreement."

"Did you?"

"I don't know. I had a date with Jose tonight, and, um, he smoked a joint and blew a whole bunch of smoke into my lungs when he kissed me, and I don't know if that counts as me smoking dope."

Several seconds of silence, followed by a barely-audible "Not to mention the smoke he blew up your ass."

"I didn't quite hear that."

"Richard, no, if that's not something you did voluntarily, it doesn't constitute a violation of our agreement. Anything else?"

"No, sir. Except -- my right hand is still acting funny."

"Funny how?"

"Well, it started hurting."

"Hurting when?"

Come on, out with it. "When I was having sex with Jose in his car."

Quite a long silence now. "That sounds very inconvenient."

"I was starting to wonder if dating Jose was such a good idea."

I heard him breathe. "Richard, I'm your loan officer. Your love life is none of my business. And I am in no position to be giving dating advice. I would only say what I've been told myself: don't ignore red flags. Don't gloss over warning signs. You're young, you're horny, he's good-looking, but if something doesn't seem right or feel right, don't suppress your awareness of it."

"Right. Yessir."

"Are we done?"

"Mr. Phillips -- are you disappointed in me about this?"

"I'm just tired, Richard. It's late. I'll see you Friday. Good night." He hung up.

That went well.

************

Thursday I worked from four to closing. That means an hour or two of light traffic and dinner prep, dinner rush, late dinner rush, and then a sprinkled assortment of disoriented tourists, insomniacs, people who work odd shifts, and high-maintenance douchebags. I managed to get a trio of the last category out the door (fuckers didn't even tip well) about a half-hour before closing, leaving the place cleansed of all but a few people just in for coffee or dessert.

My phone beeped. There was a text from Mr. Phillips. "Pls meet me alley behind resto need to talk to u." Really?

I walked out the back door. The rain was pouring steadily. Mr. Phillips was soaking wet, his hair plastered to his head. His chest was heaving. "Please, Richard. I can't stand it any more. I can't stand the thought of you with Jose. It's made me realize that I need you. I love you. I don't care about my job. I don't care about anything else. We belong together, Richard. Please say you'll belong to me."

I ran to him. He lifted me in his strong arms. "Yes, yes!" I shouted. Our lips met. We were both drenched. A cat meowed off to the side. I threw my shoe at it. The orchestra swelled. The camera lifted in a dizzying crane shot.

"Hey! Rich! People want their bill. Snap out of it." Alan, the evening cook, was pissed off.

"Oh. Yeah. I should get in out of the rain anyway."

"What rain? What are you talking about? What the fuck, man?"

************

Stewart wanted to pick up an extra hour, so I obliged him by leaving early on Friday. I made good time for some reason and arrived over a half-hour early. Despite Ms. Porter's charms, I decided against spending the time flipping through magazines in her lair. Instead I thought I'd see if I could find Jose for a quick hello.

Jose doesn't rate an assistant. His door was closed and the hall was deserted. I heard voices inside. Not wanting to intrude, I eavesdropped. One voice was Jose; the other was Mr. Phillips. The discussion did not sound friendly.

"Hands off him, Jose."

"You don't seem to want him. He's a healthy young guy. He has needs, and you're not doing anything with him."

"You know perfectly well what I'm doing with him."

"I know perfectly well what you did with the last one. So does the ethics committee."

"Don't threaten me. Just keep your damn hands off him."

"He seems to like my damn hands on him."

"He's an impressionable kid. You're the last thing he needs."

"The law says he's an adult. I let him make his own adult decisions. About who fucks him, for instance."

"You goddamn son of a bitch!"

There were some strangled grunts and the sound of something being slammed against a wall. Mr. Phillips is shorter than Jose but more powerfully built.

I see I've come at a bad time. My question can wait. No problem. You two just go right ahead. I'll come back later.

I retreated to the men's room. I needed some time to process this. 'You know perfectly well what I'm doing with him'? 'What you did with the last one'? 'Threaten'?

Obviously, I was lacking critical information. As I calmed down, it occurred to me who could provide some answers to the burning question of, in Alan's words, "What the fuck?" -- Ms. Porter.