Once inside Fuel the waiter placed us near a jade green MG and provided menus as suavely, sophisticatedly and smoothly as Matt.
�My name is Chris and I�m your waiter for the evening.� I almost broke into a fit of giggles at this rehearsed announcement but couldn�t help but feel charmed by this tall, blond waiter with the cute, gold wire-framed glasses and the waiting smile.
Taking a pad out of his pocket he seemed to struggle with the pencil as his right hand placed it in his bandaged left.
�What happened to your hand?� I asked.
He looked down at the concrete floor, embarrassed.� Oh, I had a fight with my boyfriend last week, and I, ah, hit the wall instead of him.�
�Hmm, just as well. But at least you�ve got a boyfriend.�
Twiddling his pencil he locked eyes with me. �We fight like cats and dogs. Sometimes I wish I could trade him in for a new model.�
Matt cleared his throat, obviously annoyed at the attention the waiter was showing me. Chris recognised Matt�s annoyance and returned to the menu.
�Enough about my domestic issues. Would you like to order entrees?�
�No. We�ll read the menu first.� Matt�s tone was curt.
�Sure,� he smiled pleasantly back at me. �Take your time.�
The waiter had barely moved out of hearing range when Matt said, �Anyone would think he was trying to pick you up.�
�Oh, he probably does that to all his customers so he can get a good tip at the end. Though I have to admit he is cute.�
Matt grabbed his satchel and stood up. At first I thought he might be about to storm off, but, to my disappointment, he said, �Excuse me for a moment. I just need to freshen up."
He walked off in the direction of the Men�s. Perhaps walked was the wrong word. Unlike his voice, his stride was strong, masculine and assured. He strode through the restaurant, as if he were on a catwalk, commanding the space around him. I just couldn't understand it. If he stood still and didn't open his mouth he seemed like your average straight-acting guy. But the moment he opened his mouth he went straight into girly mode.
Glancing around the restaurant I noticed that there was only one other table occupied. It was a pack of very gay, gay men, laughing, chatting and having a good time. If I snuck out of the restaurant now I could get away before Matt came back. But that would be too cowardly for words. And I could just imagine what my three lesbian, separatist friends would say if I made my get-away. Susan would scold me with: �I�m ashamed of you, Andrew. That�s totally, politically incorrect. You shouldn�t choose a man based on looks, age, race, weight, or height!� And I was sure she would add, �voice�, to her list of NO-NOS as well.
When Matt returned to our table he looked somehow different. His short, black hair, which had been slightly messed by the wind, was now neatly combed. But there was something else about him that had changed. Then I realised what it was - he'd put on make-up! It looked like he'd put on some bronzer and maybe even a little lipstick. Next he'd be putting on a dress and high heels! I tried not to show my feelings of anxiety as he sat a little closer to me.
Suddenly I realised that I was displaying straight-acting panic. It's where a man feels threatened by the apparent non-straight acting behaviour of another man. I had to try and curb my feelings, especially considering that my politically correct friends would crucify me if they found out I was showing these very incorrect symptoms.
