Confounded: Part III - 1. Chapter 1

--==Mitchell’s POV==--

Nicky, Kit’s assistant, waved to the double doors at the far end of her office as soon as I walked in, having been halted by several employees on the way up, inquiring how I was doing. These days I don’t mind the question anymore, especially from people I don’t see too often; it’s genuine interest, not an automated greeting or response.

There were many new faces but I recognized a few older ones like Kelly, still head of HR. I spent fifteen minutes talking to her and scrolling through photos on her phone of her two-year old.

“Go on in, he’s waiting for you,” Nicky said, smiling.

Kit was on the phone, his eyes lighting up when I entered then held up a finger, indicating he was finishing up his call. Rising from his chair, he kept talking as he came over and gave me a hug, then wrapped up his conversation and put his phone on the desk.

Greeting me, he extended a hand to a few comfortable looking couches, inviting me to sit, asking if I wanted coffee or something else to drink. Declining, I sat down. Kit asked his assistant not to be disturbed, then sat down across from me.

“So how do you like the new place?”

“Roomy,” I chuckled, looking around.
His office was easily twice the size of the old one.

He grinned. “Yeah, there’s lots of space. Customer support is moving in today, on the ground floor. Mishap with the phone lines, we had to postpone that a week.”
I’d seen a moving truck pull in as I’d walked to the entrance.

“I love the location. How’d you find it?”

“Previous owner is a friend of mine; he knew I was looking to scale up, took a while to iron out details, you know how that goes.”
All too well, yes. Then he appeared to, I don’t know…steel himself? He adjusted his tie and cleared his throat.

“So Dad…how are you?”
I chuckled.

“About the same as two days ago, when you guys had me over for dinner.”

“Right. Actually, that’s why I asked you over here, today. Do you remember the conversation we had?”
I frowned.

“I do remember several topics but I’ll need a few more details. We spoke about a lot of things.”

“Specifically, I’m referring to our politician friend, from church?”

“The Republican? Yes, I remember. Steven…”

“Steven Baxter, yes. Did you know he’s a wine connoisseur? I think we mentioned it…”
I didn’t, no and I shook my head.
“It doesn’t matter. Anyway, Mischa and I got to thinking, because he’s very nice and we had him over the other day and he said he recently broke off his relationship; ‘hey, wouldn’t it be great if we arranged a date between him and you’ because you have a lot in common, so I called him and…”

“You what?” I interrupted him, my temper flaring up but Kit continued.

“Dad, we’re worried about you, okay? I kept my tongue for far too long. This is not what Tay had meant for you and you know it. He didn’t want you to remain alone, he told you this. I was there.”

“Kit…” I said, warningly.

Raising both hands in a calming gesture, he said, ”Hold on, dad…I did call Steven, but he had to decline. He was busy tonight.”
I deflated.

“Good. I don’t know what you were thinki…”

“Which is why,” Kit continued, undeterred, “I called a friend of mine. Actually, it was Mischa’s idea to ask him instead, and I can’t believe I never thought of him but he was definitely interested, and he’s free tonight, so I went ahead and made reservations at Luco’s.”

I’ve never liked being maneuvered. Quickest way to make me angry, which is rare, is by doing that. Kit knew this. He knew it very well, as well as the consequences, yet he just sat there, looking me straight in the eye, calmly blinking.

“Un-arrange it,” I warned, putting some steel in my voice and glare. He was crossing a line but he just smiled, his eyebrows rising in amusement.

Now when did my son become somehow impervious to my warning him?

“I could but I won’t because you’re going on that date,” he replied, continuing to smile, “it’ll be good for you. And he’s very nice.”

“I don’t care if he’s Mr. Universe; I am not going on any date. If he’s so nice, go date him yourself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous; Mischa would have my balls for breakfast.”
Yes, he would. My son-in-law was not one to be messed with, Greek temper and all. Actually, he was Greek/French/Russian. The combination might be even worse: I once heard them fight, way on the other side of the house with Mischa firing all verbal barrels in Greek, Russian, French and English. Kit had been as docile as a sloth afterwards, it’d been rather amazing to watch.

“It would serve you good, for trying to mess in my affairs.”

“It was his idea, remember?” He chuckled when I growled, aggravated. Then he grew serious. “Dad, I know you don’t like it when people interfere but don’t you think three years is enough? Taylan didn’t want you to stay alone, you know he didn’t. And he asked you to promise him that you wouldn’t, and you did. So keep your promise.” I didn’t respond to that. I didn’t like to be reminded of that promise, made in a moment where I saw no other choice but to agree to it. To be honest, I resented it; no one denies a dying person. “And you’ll remember he asked me to make sure you kept that promise; I had to do the same. So please don’t make a liar out of me, as well as yourself.”
My son knew how to make his case when he wanted to, casually mentioning himself there; guilt trip, huh? Worked too.

“I’m too old to get back in the dating game.”
Kit rolled his eyes at that one.

“You’re 51, not 81 and even then I wouldn’t rule it out. You’re stuck. Just living, existing. That’s not life. Life is everything; companionship, friends, lovers, sex. Dad, you’re a healthy man. You can’t tell me you don’t have needs, still.”

“I’m not discussing my…needs…with you.”

“Nor would I ask for it; I’m asking you to go on this date, not give me a trauma.”
My son, ladies and gentlemen; the funny guy.
“Come on; it’s one date, Dad. One. I would really like for you to meet him and if, after five minutes, you think it’s a bust, leave. Easy, just like that; show up and you’re done. I’ll pay for the dinner. He really is a great guy.”

“Alright, fine; who is he then?” I asked, sighing. He wouldn’t let this go. He was my son; he inherited certain traits and one of them was that he was going to be stubborn as a mule about this.

“I want your promise that you’ll go, first, before I tell you any more.”
And persistent.

“I’ll promise the ‘show up for five minutes’ part.” Kit opened his mouth to obviously object, so I cut him off. “Your own words. Take it or leave it.”

“Fine,” he growled, grudgingly, “I’ll take it. You’ll stay longer, I just know you will.”
Doubtful.

“Ahuh. So who’s this man then, what’s his name?”
He hesitated there.

“He’s a bit younger, but…”

“How much younger?” I cut in.

“He’s thirty, but he…”

“WHAT!?”
Was he completely insane?

“…is into older men,” he finished, holding up his hand, “trust me, dad. I wouldn’t have set it up if I thought it wouldn’t work.”

“Christ,” I muttered, “you want me dating a kid?”
He ignored that.
“What does he do?”

“He’s an artist. Recently moved back here. He’s relatively successful, a great dresser and travels a lot. Wicked sense of humor; bit of a mouth on him, he has no real filter to speak of but he’s very smart and very cute. Don’t tell Mischa I said that; I like my balls exactly where they are.”

“What kind of artist? And if he’s so successful and cute, how come he is still single?”

“That would be a nice topic for tonight, no? I do know he had a few boyfriends but like I said, he travels quite a lot.”

“Long distance relationships are hard,” I mumbled.

“You’re telling me? The first year Mischa and I were together, that drove me insane, him in Paris, me here. But you also travel a lot, so you understand the dynamics. And I thought ‘that’s perfect’.”
I rubbed my chin and inhaled deeply. I didn’t like this. Thirty! I could be his dad; he was the same age as my own son.

“Does he know who I am?”

“No. He knows you’re someone I respect and admire.”

“Oh, thank you; at the moment, I’m not really feeling that.”

“Stop it. You know I do.”

“What kind of field does he work in? Can I at least know that? Like painting or acting?”
Kit grinned and shook his head.

“Nope, not telling you anything else. All you need to know is that he will be at Luco’s at 7:30pm tonight. The rest you can ask him yourself.”

Luco’s was a trendy place; we frequently held after-business dinners there, in a somewhat informal yet exclusive setting. They had a smart casual dress code; a bit up-scale and they had an excellent wine cellar.

“I approve of your choice of establishment, at least.”

“Thought you might like familiar surroundings,” Kit smiled, then his features sobered. “Trust me Dad, I wouldn’t set you up with a total loser. And if it doesn’t pan out, at least you got a nice meal out of it.”

“Awesome,” I responded, feigning enthusiasm.

“Stop that. Try to have an open mind. You’ll like him. I’m sure of it.”

********

Luco’s was located near the Balboa Golf Course, where my father and I enjoyed playing. It’s pretty close to where I live; it had a country-club feel to it.
When I arrived, the valet took my keys and I headed inside, looking around.

Curiosity had gotten the better of me as I’d prepared this evening, and a certain amount of nerves had begun to develop as I dressed. I hadn’t felt like that in, well…since I married Taylan, actually. I think that’s the last time I was ever nervous for anything. It was a little bit of a novelty to feel that again. Wouldn’t this make me look too old or that too stuffy? How the hell do you dress for a date with a kid, anyway? Christ, what was I doing!?
More than once did I damn Kit to hell for this stunt.
I settled on a light-gray suit and a white shirt.

Looking around, I saw no one immediately on his own, only couples. The Maitre’d smiled pleasantly and greeted me by name, recognizing me and going down her list.

“Mr. Gilmore! So good to see you again. I have you down for two? You’re requested to wait at the bar,” she said, looking up and nodding towards the area, “we will come for you when your table is ready.”

Thanking her, I headed there and tried to not be too obvious, glancing around to see my potential date. Several men were sitting at the bar as I approached but all of them were accompanied. Some were so young, they could be their grandfather, which is when I began to feel ill at ease. What had Kit gotten me into, going on a date with a much younger man? Taylan had been four years younger and he was the only one I ever been with that was younger; others, prior to him, had been of my own age or a little above. And now this guy was 21 years younger. Twenty. One. God this was such a mistake. I shouldn’t even be here…

One drink, and I was out. I couldn’t do this. Not with a kid half my age. Well, almost. What were we going to discuss? Miley’s last album while he was drinking his rootbeer?
I rather liked that album, though. Ugh! No. This was not going to work.

I ordered a club soda and sat down on a barstool, about to take my first sip, when a voice spoke up next to me.

“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he walks into mine.”
A famous quote and I smiled appreciatively, turning my head to the owner of the somewhat raspy voice.

A slender young man was leaning on the edge of the bar, an easy smile around his sharp mouth. Now, there are handsome men in the world and there are beautiful men but I’d never seen one that had both applied to him. This one was. Where to begin; the wonderful shade of light brown eyes? Or that chiseled jawline? Perhaps the jet-black wavy hair that curled playfully at the ends, a bit too long; a clever, deliberate cut I’d seen on posters recently. It hung just over the collar of his white dress shirt, opened at the throat. No tie but he did wear a silver-gray vest and dark pants.

There was something familiar about him. He might actually be a model, I’d seen him before somewhere. I definitely would have remembered meeting this particular young man but I didn’t, yet he apparently knew who I was because he smiled wide at me, showing perfect pearly whites, and apparently happily surprised to see me. Frowning, I turned fully towards him and only then did I finally recognize him. Nooo, that couldn’t be…

“Tom?” He raised his eyebrows at my greeting and his eyes twinkled amused as he stepped up and raised one arm, sliding it over my shoulder and around my neck with familiarity as I automatically bent low for a hug in greeting, pressing his lips to my cheek. I returned the hug and kiss. “Gosh, I had to look twice; you’ve changed!”

“Hi Uncle M,” he smiled with obvious pleasure, “it’s good to see you too; been a long time!”
Indeed; a very long time. He’d changed so much, I would pass him in the street and not recognize him.

Due to the crowdedness at the bar, he remained standing close as I took him in, giving him a good once over. The last time I’d seen him was at Taylan’s funeral, over three years ago, and I hadn’t really registered anyone there at the time. I knew he’d been there with his entire family, along with many others but I hadn’t noticed most, having not entirely been on this plane of existence.

Taking a good look now, I saw he’d become quite the classy young man. I recognized designer label from head to toe, expensive, masculine and elegant. Nice scent, very subtle yet lingering. And that face; more angular now, showing crows feet at the corners of his eyes. So much different from the young adolescent, whose face was once mostly contorted in a moody, dark smirk and whose comebacks were drenched with anger and sharp wit. He’d carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

None of that now. He was utterly relaxed and generous with smiles, his eyes and face so animated that it took my breath away. He’d filled out in those same shoulders, the skin of his throat a healthy bronze, possibly from sunbathing recently. He might even have grown a bit taller than I remembered. 6’? Maybe? His head was level with mine, currently facing away.

“Christ, I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” I confessed, and he swiveled his head back, his nose almost touching mine. He smiled again, distracted.

“Sorry?” He replied, his eyes darting to the door again as a male my age came in. He perked up a little but then deflated when a woman smoothly sidled up to the man, then slipped her arm around him. “Pity,” he muttered.
Then he turned his eyes back to mine and smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I’m being a douche. It’s just that I’m waiting for someone but so far, he’s a no show. I think I’m being stood up.” A sour smirk crossed his features. “And you; what are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining, at this moment; I don’t look like some desperado now, drinking alone at the bar.”

“It’s alright,” I winked. Desperado? Yeah right. “Well, that son of mine has set me up with a blind…”
I saw his eyes widen in realization, right before it hit me as well.
“....date. Oh lord.”

“Oh no...aww, he didn’t...oh man, and I was so looking forward to this evening. He basically sold me on this superman.”
I winced involuntarily. Wow. If that didn’t put me in my place, nothing would.

“I’m sorry to disappoint,” I remarked dryly and his eyes widened again, this time with clear horror as he realized what he’d said.

“Fuck, no! What I meant to say is…I didn’t mean to dismiss you as a disappointment, you’re very attractive. Shit, I…oh man, never an earthquake when you need one.”
He groaned, and I chuckled when he looked up to the ceiling and closed his eyes, sighing dejectedly.
“Nine-point-oh on the Richter Scale if you please? Now would do.”

“Oh, keep going, you’re doing great,” I snickered softly, taking a sip from my club soda.

“Mitchell. Uncle…”

“Oh, please; Mitchell,” I cut in, “under the circumstances, you calling me uncle makes me feel very, very old and a dirty man. We are on a date, after all,” I teased.
I couldn’t help it; that came out all on its own. His cheeks flushed a little.

“Stop it, you’re neither. Okay, can I start over?”
I smiled and inclined my head.

“Sure.”

“Mitchell…” he began.

“Tom,” was my deadpan response.

“Don’t be a dick! I’m trying here,” he chuckled.
It had been a long time since someone had called me a dick. I think it was my father at the time, somewhere in the last century, with ‘little’ in front of it.

“Sorry,” I laughed, “please; continue…”

“I didn’t mean to insult you. I just meant to say I was looking forward to meeting someone new, but you’re far from a disappointment. I could’ve gotten a total doozy, instead.”
A corner of his mouth curled up as his eyes took me in.
“You’re quite the opposite.”

“I am? How so?”

“Oh come on, when’s the last time you looked in a mirror? Fishing for a compliment?”
I chuckled, nodding, at the same time marveling at the speed at which he regained his composure, seemingly effortless and with the right amount of self depreciation and humor.

“Yes please. You owe me one, I think, for making me feel inadequate to your standards.”
He rolled his eyes at that.

“Pffft! Alright, fine; a compliment. Lemme see, ah! You’re a handsome, sexy man. I’m the luckiest guy in the world, to get to go on this date with you and…”

“Oh knock it off,” I laughed. Little shit.
He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Hey, you asked, I delivered.”
So I did.
“But seriously; you’ve got a presence. You step into a room and you are noticed. Like just now, when you came in? Thirty heads turned to the entrance.”

I tilted my head, curious. “Am I that scary?”

“Nah,” he smiled, “more like; ‘here I am, deal with me’, that sort of thing. Which can be intimidating to some.”

“But not to you?”
He seemed to mull that over, and then shook his head.

“No. Not anymore.”

“Ah, but I used to?”
That caused a nod.

“Oh yeah. I used to steer clear of you whenever I could, but that’s a long time ago. I’m not that kid anymore.”

“No, indeed. You’ve grown up. It shows.”
He smiled, inclining his head.
“You were a bit of a jerk as I remember.”

“A bit? I was a complete putz and a total asshole you mean; that’s how I recognize one now, when I see one. I know the material by heart.”
He winked.

“Touché,” I smirked, beginning to enjoy myself. “Putz?”

“New York rubbed off on me, I think,” he laughed, “too many Italian friends; I’ll launch into a diatribe on politics in a minute.”

“Can’t wait,” I chuckled.

Just then, a member from the staff came over, telling us that our table was ready. “If you’ll follow me?”
I looked at Tom questioningly and he hesitated, then shrugged and took his glass from the bar.

“C’mon, why the hell not,” he whispered conspiratorially in passing, “we’re here, Kit’s paying so we might as well get a nice meal out of it. I wonder what the most expensive thing is here, on the menu. I’m getting ten.”
I grinned and followed.