Confounded: Part III - 3. Chapter 2

--==Mitchell’s POV==--

Our host took us to a somewhat secluded spot in a corner, hidden away behind some big plants and once we were seated, handed us menus. “I’ll be right back to take your order. Would you like another drink?”

“Do you have a wine list?” Tom asked her. From the small stack in her arm she handed him one. “And a pitcher of water, please. Thanks.”

When she left, he took another sip of his drink, and then looked at me over the rim of his glass.

“So how are we gonna do this: you kill him, I watch? You watch as I kill him? We take turns?”

“I am so sorry,” I apologized, “I really didn’t know it was you he was setting me up with.”
He waved dismissively.

“It’s fine, relax. I didn’t know either, Kit refused to tell me who you were. You know; this is my first ‘date’ since I moved back,” he answered, using his fingers to make quotation marks.

“When did you? You mentioned New York?”

“Permanently? About three months ago? Yeah, the past nine years I lived in New York.”

“Are you going to select something from that wine list?”
He’d placed it on the table beside him, unlooked at until now. He picked it up and handed it to me.

“Only if you join me; I’m not drinking alone.”

“I’m driving…” I answered but I took the list and glanced over it. I had planned on one glass at dinner but there were some very good wines on it. Ooh, I liked the year on that one. Such a pity I couldn’t…

“Or you could Uber. I am. Charge it to Kit, he deserves to pay for all of this.”
Hmm… that was not a bad idea, I hadn’t thought about that. I could use the company credit card. Have him explain this one to the financial department. Yep. Worked for me. Or a cab.

“Why not. May I?”

“Please.”

“What are we eating?”

“You choose.”
Inclining my head, I appreciated his trust.

“Salmon?”

“Sure, sounds good.”

I signaled one of the staff hovering nearby to place our order and, winking at Tom, ordered a whole bottle of a more pricey Chardonnay.

“We should each take another one home, just to drive up the bill,” Tom grinned.

“I think that is a very good idea.”

*********

“So what is it that you do?” I asked, after the wine had been brought and we were waiting for the food. Appetizers had also been brought. He allowed me to serve the wine and as I put down the bottle, I looked over, finding him staring at me.

“You don’t know?”
I frowned.

“Should I?”
He huffed, surprised.
“What…”
Tom shook his head slightly.

“Sorry, it’s just that…I thought you’d know?”

“Why would I know what you do?”
Another surprised huff, then he smirked.

“Yeah, why would you…”
He muttered, then cleared his throat.
“I’m a singer/songwriter/producer.”

“Anything I might’ve heard?”
He rattled off a string of song titles that made me stare at him. Some of those I definitely knew. Some were mainstream music, sung by well-known performers, but he wrote those? Others I knew because Taylan…
Oh. Good. Lord. I closed my eyes, embarrassed.
“I’m an idiot.”
He raised his hand and waved slightly, beginning to laugh.

“Hi.”
I groaned. Now this was embarrassing.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry…I didn’t even think about that…”
He threw his head back, laughing loud.

“Ha! I kinda like that you didn’t.”

“I feel like a complete fool now.”
He smiled.

“Don’t. It’s kinda nice, actually; certainly put both my feet on the ground again.”

“I’m sorry,” I uttered again, to which he made a dismissive gesture.

“Relax. I’m still me.”

“And a celebrity…”

“TQ is,” he remarked, “Tom Slattery isn’t. Keep the two separate, I do.”

“How?”
He shrugged.

“It’s just a job. I rarely get recognized and if it happens, they just want a pic or an autograph. Over in a second. Do you see a photographer? Fans?”
No. I shook my head.

“Do you get hounded by fans a lot?”

“Nah. No one really knows what I look like without the glasses and I’m not mainstream enough to interest the tabloids. I can walk down the street, not harassed by anyone. I once stood in line for my own concert; no one recognized me.”

“Okay,” I smiled back, relaxing. “How come you had no hits here? Moonshock is an amazing song?”
He inclined his head.

“Thanks. It didn’t catch on here as much, I guess? I dunno. The genre is more known in Europe, some parts of Asia, Australia. I do well in Canada but I’m kinda glad that I’m an unknown here; I’ve seen and met plenty of others who are big; their life is not their own.”

“You don’t perform here? In the US?”

“Occasionally I do a few shows, smaller venues mostly. They usually don’t sell out, unlike Europe. And the festivals are insane over there.”

“Where’s the name come from?”

“TQ? Tomás Quentin are my actual names. Tay never told you? Or Kit?”
I shook my head. I didn’t even know his actual name was Tomás; I’d always thought it was just Tom but I never really had been busy with all that, back in the day. I’d probably seen it on some papers but it hadn’t registered or, at least, not that I could recall.

“Tomás,” I muttered. I liked it. It sounded foreign, Spanish? I asked as much.

“Portuguese, I think? You already know our family has strange names; Xena, Tomás, India, Roman, Alia, Gemini, Taylan. I dunno why they did that. The grandparents started it, as I recall someone mentioning.”

“How is your family?”
I hadn’t spoken to them in years. And that was completely on me. I could’ve at least called. I’d have to correct that.

“Good!” he responded, his face brightening. “Alia got married a couple months back, still riding on cloud nine. Her husband’s name is Paul, so you can imagine the jokes on that one.”
When I frowned, he explained.
“Characters from Dune? Brother and sis…oh, nevermind. It’s not funny if you don’t know it. Anyway, umm, oh yeah, Xena moved back, she lives not too far from here, actually; she’s recently divorced. Even that no good brother of mine eventually turned out to be somewhat less of a prick, got himself a fiancé now, a real biker-babe; she wears the pants. And mom and dad, still going strong.” I shook my head, amazed. “What?”

“I can’t believe how much you’ve grown. Or rather; matured. It’s like I’m looking at a whole different person.”
He smirked.

“Aww, thank you! I appreciate that. You knew me at my lowest. I don’t think I ever thanked you for all you’ve done for me, back then. Letting me live with you guys, the psychiatrist...”

“We were happy to do it. I’m just glad you landed on your feet. You experienced things no one should see, especially at that age. It’s a small miracle you didn’t slide into a self-destructing spiral.”

“I know. I caused a lot of grief back then, especially to my dad. Hell, even my brother. There was so much darkness, I didn’t know how to deal with all of it. If it hadn’t been for Kit finding out...you may be right, I probably would have spiraled.”

“But here we are.”
He smiled.

“Here we are. I learned. I grew wise. Er.”
I didn’t understand.
“Wiser,” he clarified.

“Ah. And might I add; more mellow?”
I returned his smile.

“Oh yeah, definitely. Man, I was a jackass! Once I got to New York, I got sorted out real fast, though.”

“How?”

“There’s always a bigger fish. Or, in my case, a bigger jackass. He showed me the business and I learned, real fast, that being me would pretty much mean: burn fast, burn out.”
I hesitated to ask and he noticed it.
“Feel free to ask me anything you like. We're gonna be here a while.”

“Lover?”

“John? Oh god, no. He’s as straight as they come. But he was the cause I guess, as to why Kit and I broke up.”

“Care to explain that?” I asked curious, planting my elbows on the table.

“You really want to know?”

“Kit never said anything to me about it, that was more Taylan’s department, other than that you boys just…grew apart? And that it was your decision, not his.”
He mulled that over for a while. He didn’t seem to agree there.

“To an extent I guess that’s true but not entirely. What happened, in short, was that when we were together, we were fine. Back then, we didn’t know any better, we thought life consisted of, well…us.”
He took a sip of water.
“Being together, making decisions like what to get for dinner, what to watch on TV, bla bla; very small, very compartmentalized and quite skewed from reality. Well, for me, absolutely.”

“Skewed? How?”

“Well, I grew up, not in poverty but also not with the kind of money you have. My dad has his own business and even when he worked for grandpa before he took over, we never wanted for anything but we were no millionaires. When I lived with you guys, that changed a lot; I got designer clothes and remember that vacation to the Seychelles? First class everything; flights, hotels. Or when we moved into that apartment near the university; everything paid for by you, right down to the food. My parents chipped in a bit, about 5% of what you paid and in return we worked at BSL but man, that was way overpaid for what we did.”
He laughed.
“That apartment was ridiculous. It had a doorman, for god sakes.”

“So I spoiled Kit, and by extension, you?”
He weighed that for a minute.

“Yes and no. Kit was used to a different standard than I was so in that sense yes, he was, but he knew the value of the dollar, so to speak? He knew how to balance a budget and all that, the budget was just…bigger. He always shared, with me but also with others we met then, students that had to turn over every dime, every day, to get a meal. I liked that about him; he’d order 10 pizzas and give away the other 9. At the same time, he’d also go to a store and buy Armani or Gucci or whatnot, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Don’t get me wrong; I am very grateful for all of it. We got that time and it was a wonderful thing you guys did for us.”
He frowned, then emptied his glass.
“Anyway, I began to venture out whereas Kit wanted to stay right where we were, in our own little bubble. So when I realized that the courses I was taking at uni were…I dunno…restricting me I guess? I wanted to experiment with what I learned, go elsewhere but he wanted to stay. In a way, he was preventing me from…I dunno…becoming, if you need a word to explain?”

I nodded, refilling the wine. “That’s a good word. I can see that. Becoming. Learn who you are…your purpose in life, your goals.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, “but to say it was just my decision, that’s not fair, I think. Kit wasn’t stupid. Even back then, he knew we were headed towards the end. I think he just wanted to make it last as long as possible. Which, you know…when you’re young and something feels good, you want to forever remain there, in that place, in that feeling. That’s how it was. Or, well….how I remember it. If you were to ask him again now, I think he’d agree.”
He most probably would, yes. A first love always has a big impact. Tom continued.
“So I forced the issue by accepting an offer from John, who lived in New York. He traveled all over the world whenever word reached him about someone who had at least some talent. He’d heard about me. How, I dunno. Maybe a teacher or a fellow student or…you know, I never actually asked! Ha! I should!”
He shook his head, seemingly surprised that he’d never done so.
“Somehow he’d heard some of what I’d done to some song, probably some happy song I made depressing or whatever. He liked it, and made an offer to write with him when I showed him more of what I’d done but for that, I had to cut uni and move to New York. I didn’t really have to think about it. Pretty much jumped at the chance, right then and there.”

“Weren’t you scared? That’s a big step, for anyone, but especially when you’re barely twenty.”
I remembered his parents weren’t too happy about it at the time, walking away from his education.

“Seven colors of shit, not in the least because I had to talk to Kit and end it. To say he was mad was an understatement. We didn’t speak for over a year after that.”
I smirked. His choice of language was still very much without a filter, as Kit had mentioned.
“But, once ‘free’; suddenly I met people I’d only read about, heard on the radio. Sang along with them while driving, y’know. One day, you’re in a cozy apartment with your boyfriend, in a very small world, the next you’re in a private jet and some celebrity suddenly all over you like a rash. It was surreal.”
When I raised an eyebrow, he whispered a well known name. Holy moly!

“I bet! What did you do?”

“Wrote her a song which she rejected in two seconds flat; that brought me right back down to earth,” he grinned, “I called her a bitch.”

“You did not.”

“Sure did, mon amour,” he answered with a French accent, way overdone, mimicking her. “In my mind, of course. Not to her face!”
I laughed out loud and he smirked, his eyes glinting with humor.

“She’s cool. Anyway…I began working with John right away. He would write lyrics to music I was playing, pretty much like we sit here now, me on the piano and him just making it up as we went, singing, humming. That man can write a lyric to anything you can come up with, it’s insane. And we shaped, molded until it was done, all day, every day. Ten, fifteen songs a day.” When my eyes widened at that, he smiled. “95% is rejected, total crap; mostly by us when we listen to it later, more objectively, but in the moment you just work, compose, shape. It sounds fine then, while a week later, you’re cringing because it’s so bad. We just discard or work more on it, combine, flip it around, see if there’s a seed of something there. Then you go into a studio, record a rough version and that, you send off into the music world. Colleagues accept or pass, until you get something they like and then you sell it.”

“Sounds very intense.”

“It is! I still love doing it. It’s emotional, it’s personal and very satisfying once a song is finished. And, not entirely unimportant, you meet so many unique people.”

“And become a socially acceptable person in the process.”
He nodded almost eagerly.

“Oh yeah. Once I started writing, really writing, lyrics as well as my own music and singing, the floodgates were opened, as it were. John pretty much locked me up in the studio; I was an emotional wreck for weeks but there was a lot of good stuff coming out. Lots of crap too but once I knew it was okay to let go, hide nothing and not be scared about what others would think, I felt like a newborn. It didn’t always rhyme but he could mold it into something that worked.”

“Like therapy,” I offered.

“Exactly like therapy. These days, something bothers me? I just sit down and write. And poof: gone. No longer in my head.”

“Wow, that’s amazing.”

“You should’ve read some of my early days; total, utter garbled nonsense. Dark, angsty, moody. John actually came into the studio with a knife one day and told me to just cut my wrists; it’d be quicker, he said.”
He sniggered when he saw my facial expression. What a horrible thing to say to someone.
“Relax. He likes to shock people into action, it’s his thing. He shows an extreme and then sits back, to see what you do with it.”

“Charming.”

“Ha, I’ll tell him you said that.”

“You still work together?”

“Oh yeah. He’s pretty much the best friend I have on the planet. He knows me, gets me.”
I frowned.
“I know; it sounds like a lover but that’s just how we work, we click on an emotional level. We can cry over a lyric or a piece of music. Artists are very emotional beings. He is. I am. He taught me that it’s okay to say what you feel, write it down and share it. It always exists then, but you’ve gotten rid of it, through it. No shame and no regrets.”

I shook my head. “Amazing, how far removed you were from your emotions as a young adult and how comfortable you are with them now. Like two different people.”

He took a sip of his wine and nodded. “I became. Yeah, great word for it. I got a total personality bypass, really. Once it all came out during the writing, there was no way back. Nor would I want to go back to that, I felt horrible and I was horrible. With Kit, a little came to the surface. With John; I could talk to him and he understood me, whereas I couldn’t talk to people of my own age. Still can’t.”

I hesitated before I asked. “Is that why you date older men? You don’t have to answer, it’s a very personal question. But Kit mentioned that, and well…we’re here and I’m…old.”

“Mature men,” he corrected, collecting his thoughts for a moment. “I guess I’m drawn to emotional stability, mostly. I don’t really care how old a person is though my past partners have all been 45+. WIth age comes wisdom, I guess. The little stuff, how popular you are, how many likes you get, flooding social media with selfies; they don’t really care about that.”
Toying with the stem of his glass, he stared at it.
“I don’t connect easily with people my own age. Never have. Most have no life-experience yet and I found that I was seeking that. I search for that connection. Answers maybe, to questions I have? I met a few my own age, like Kit. He’s the exception to the rule but I’ve found that if I’m in a room with a lot of people, I veer to the mature crowd.” He then perked up. “Ah, food! Good, I’m starving.”

The staff placed our meals in front of us and, much to my surprise, asked if we wished to renew the bottle; I hadn’t even noticed we’d almost emptied it, so engrossed in conversation as we’d been. I indicated we would like another and when I saw Tom’s frown, I smiled.

“Didn’t notice we almost finished a bottle already,” I leaned in, whispering.

“Neither did I!” He whispered back and stilled. “I’m enjoying myself.”

Amazingly, I was too. He was quite the engaging dinner partner. “So am I...” I poured out the last evenly between us and picked up my glass, holding it toward him. He took up his and touched mine. “You’re surprised?”

“I guess I am. I hoped to enjoy myself tonight but for a minute there, I thought…well, to be honest, I thought ‘fuck; wasted evening’ when I realized who you were. And now we’re here, and I am enjoying it.”

“Who are you?” I asked, more to myself than him, but he heard it. He grinned.

“Hi. I’m Tomás Quentin Slattery.”
He held out his hand over the table and I took it, shaking it.

“Nice to meet you, Tomás.”
I sought his gaze.
“I’m Mitch Gilmore.”

“Nice to meet you, Mitch. Mitchell or Mitch, which do you prefer?”
I didn’t mind either and said so.
“I’ll stick with Mitch, then. Sounds more butch. I like em butch.”
He winked.

Horrible man.

I realized then that I no longer saw him as a kid. In the span of what; thirty, forty five minutes, I’d begun seeing him as a man. A young man certainly, but a man nonetheless. Someone equal.