Mood Indigo by Ken Bachtold

Author:Ken Bachtold [Bachtold, Ken]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-63477-091-0
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2016-03-02T00:00:00+00:00

JOHNNY

“WELL?” GIL said,

“Well, what?”

“Well, what are you going to do?”

We’d come in early to take inventory, and for a general tidying up. I was counting our reserves, and Gil was noting what we needed to order. I’d just told him we needed a new supply of bar napkins with our logo. He’d asked if I wanted to change the blue color of the musical notes to indigo. I’d ignored him.

“Do about what?” I answered, after letting him stew for a time, while I mumbled meaningless numbers.

“About starting karaoke on Saturday nights! What do you think I’m asking about?”

“I have no idea. I’m not clairvoyant.”

I was up on a ladder looking into the cabinets near the ceiling. He took hold of my right leg. I grabbed one of the shelves to keep my balance.

“I swear, I’m going to pull you off that ladder and bounce your head on the floor if you don’t stop playing dumb.”

“But according to you, it’s ingrained. Dumbness, I mean.”

I felt a tug on my leg. He had a firm grip on my ankle and was starting to pull harder. I knew that even a firm hold on the shelf wouldn’t save me if he really pulled, and he sounded mad enough to do it.

“Okay. Okay.”

I scrambled down the ladder, trying to keep some semblance of dignity and not look like a demented orangutan. I slammed the napkins down on the bar with perhaps a bit more force than was required. When I looked him in the face, I saw that he wasn’t angry as much as concerned. I felt like a big jerk.

“Aw, Gil, I don’t know quite what to do. I haven’t heard from him, and it’s been almost a week. I guess he doesn’t want to pursue this relationship after all.”

“I think he’s just scared.”

“No more than I am,” I told him. I left a pile of napkins on the bar and went around it carrying enough for the tables. Gil snatched up a bunch of wine and cocktail lists, and we proceeded to set up the tables.

“Yeah,” Gil said. “But he has a lot more to be scared about than you do.”

“You think so?”

“Remember, the man has lost his memory. I think he’s in pretty good shape to consider you at all.”

“Thanks.”

“No, I don’t mean you as in you. I mean you as in anybody.”

“Oh.”

I kept putting the napkins down faster and faster, hoping to keep Gil from literally breathing down my neck. He kept right up with me.

“I think,” Gil said, “you should simply go and see him.”

“You mean like….”

“Yeah, I mean like go over there and talk it out with him. If you both keep your distance long enough, this budding romance will certainly fizzle.”

“You’re such a poet.”

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” he quoted, obviously delighted with himself.

And so here I was, walking through the dusk toward Bill’s place. It was a balmy evening, with a pleasant breeze, but I felt like a big ice cube. I barely noticed the trees and shrubbery, the stores, or the buildings, as I passed them.

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