One from Column A, One from Column B (Kiss Me at Midnight) Read online

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  Title Page

  Book Details

  One from Column A, One from Column B

  About the Author

  One from Column A, One from Column B

  Diana Sheridan

  Kiss Me at Midnight

  When his New Year's jinx holds true, leaving Trent dateless yet again, he decides to treat it like a normal evening. Going out for dinner at a Chinese restaurant, he runs into another man alone on New Year's, and decides that his jinx might keep him from a date, but it doesn't mean he has to spend it alone.

  Book Details

  One from Column A, One from Column B

  Kiss Me at Midnight Collection

  By Diana Sheridan

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Michael Day

  Cover Illustration by V. Rios

  This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition January 2013

  Copyright © 2013 by Diana Sheridan

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN 9781620041635

  One from Column A, One from Column B

  When it came to Christmas, Trent was never a "member of the 'Bah, humbug!' club." He celebrated enthusiastically. No Grinch, Trent. He took great delight in the holiday in all its many aspects. He even enjoyed the Secret Santa proceedings at work, which many of his co-workers dreaded. It was not his mission in life to make mock of the Secret Santa by gifting his recipient with fake dog poop or some other equally odious gag gift. Neither did he buy the first thing he spotted at the dollar store in eagerness to get an unwanted obligation taken care of and cross one more item off his to-do list.

  No, he put real thought into the gift, and he put his heart into it as well. His giftees often suspected Trent was their Santa based on the thoughtfulness and appropriateness of the gifts. He took great care in choosing.

  Likewise, Trent put his heart into every other aspect of the holiday. Christmas dinner at his parents' house was something he genuinely looked forward to, no matter how obnoxious Uncle Louie got, how drunk Cousin Marty got, or even how overbearing Aunt Lisa got. She never could accept that he was gay and always insisted that if he found the right girl he'd change his mind … and did she ever have the right girl for him. Every year it was S.O.S.—the Same Old Shit—with Aunt Lisa trying to fob off another member of the Losers' Club on him. Sheesh! He'd met a few of the candidates, and he was sure that even if he'd been straight, he would have preferred a life of solitude over a lifetime hitched in tandem with Lisa's choices. His mom and dad fully accepted his gayness. Why couldn't his dad's sister come to terms with the fact that Trent wasn't going to be adding any progeny to their side of the family?

  He laboriously wrote out Christmas cards by hand the first week of December every year, shopped with meticulous care for his friends (and spent far too much money but enjoyed every minute and every dollar of it), attended the many parties that went along with the holiday season, and drove up and down Maplevale Boulevard, his town's version of Main Street, taking great delight in the decorations. He also drove all around the residential neighborhoods that were best known for extravagant lights and lawn displays.

  No, Trent was no Scrooge, no Grinch, no wet blanket when it came to Christmas.

  It was New Year's Eve that was his nemesis.

  Trent had had the damnedest luck when it came to New Year's Eve. Last year, Will had broken up with him just before the holiday—three days before New Year's Eve, to be precise—leaving him alone on the night when everyone else was one half of a kissing couple. The year before that, he had met Rob three weeks in advance of New Year's, and Rob and he had really hit it off … but Rob had promised the fellow he'd been seeing that they'd go away for the holiday. They had already paid for hotel reservations, airfare, the whole works. Rob promised Trent that as soon as the holiday was over, he'd break up with this other fellow. True to his word, he'd done so, but meanwhile Trent was once again alone on New Year's Eve.

  The year before that was "the year of Marshall." Marshall was martial—he was in the military, required to keep his gayness a secret under "Don't ask, don't tell," yet proud and glad to be a soldier. He and Trent had made big New Year's Eve plans, as Marshall was scheduled to be on leave over the two-week holiday interval. Then, unexpectedly, he was deployed overseas … and Trent was alone on New Year's Eve.

  The year before that, he simply didn't have anyone. The year before that, he was dating Paul, an aspiring actor who, like so many other actors, took odd jobs, often waiting tables, to get by while waiting for his Big Break. He got a call from a caterer to work a New Year's Eve party … and Trent was alone on New Year's Eve. The year before that … well, it was more of the same. He hadn't had a New Year's Eve date since college … and that was with a girl. Trent wasn't out yet at that point.

  In short, when it came to New Year's Eve, Trent was jinxed. And this year was going to be a cookie-cutter repeat of his past pattern. After the break-up with Will, he'd gone out with several different guys but hadn't met his Mr. Right or even a Mr. Right Now. Once again, he was dateless on New Year's Eve. Once again, when the ball dropped, he'd have no one to kiss and no prospect of starting the New Year in a happy relationship. At twenty-seven, Trent was ready for a serious, permanent relationship, but instead he had none at all. And no plans for the Big Night.

  'If New Year's Eve was not going to be the Big Night it was supposed to be, Trent would treat it as if it were any ordinary evening. No going out and trying to be a festive onesome. No going to a party and trying to pretend he was happy. No going to a fancy, upscale, special-occasion restaurant and being the solo odd man out among a large group of joyfully paired revelers. Calling up another unpaired friend and saying, "Let's go to the movies" struck him as pathetic and desperate. No, he would just stay home and treat New Year's Eve like any ordinary evening.

  As he wheeled his cart around the supermarket on December 28, Trent was tempted by the party specials on offer—not because of the impending holiday, but just because they looked scrumptious. Although his trim figure belied the fact, Trent was a man who enjoyed eating. Hors d'oeuvres specialties, inexpensive caviar, shrimp platters, and more called to him. He thought of treating himself. He wouldn't have to eat them on New Year's Eve. He could have them tonight, tomorrow … it didn't have to have anything to do with the holiday.

  But he steeled his resolve to do nothing that in any way acknowledged the holiday and pushed his cart resolutely forward. He stopped only at the predetermined items on his list, such pedestrian items as a package of hamburger meat, a box of frozen french fries (it always seemed silly to make homemade french fries for just himself), a bag of packaged salad mix, a large bottle of Pepsi, a container of orange juice, a package of toilet paper ….

  At five o'clock on December 31, Trent locked the front door and closed the blinds, ready to settle in for an ordinary evening. He poured his usual vodka and tonic—he drank one or two a night, rarely more—and settled onto the sofa to watch the five o'clock local news. But entirely too many of the stories were about New Year's Eve happenings around town, and Trent flicked the remote to another channel. And another. And another. Unable to find anything that caught his attention, he shut the TV off and wandered into the kitchen to see what he had on hand for dinner.

/>   He found half a small meatloaf, made from his ground beef purchase the other day, and some frozen corn on the cob, but those didn't appeal to him. Disconsolately standing in front of the open fridge and freezer, he stared in as if he expected something more appealing to magically appear. Finally he closed the two doors again without pulling anything out. Then he shuffled back into the living room and wearily picked up his drink once again. He took a healthy slug, but even the drink tasted flat.

  Trent stood up as if to go somewhere or do something, hesitated, without any clear idea of where to go or what to do, then sat back down again with a sound that was more of a disconsolate grunt than a sigh. He reached for his vodka, then put it down again without drinking any. At length he was seized with a thought—the Chinese restaurant. There was absolutely nothing festive or holiday-ish about the Chinese restaurant. He would go to Dragon Pagoda for dinner.

  Only five of the tables were filled. An elderly couple sat at one, families at two of the others, a group of high-spirited women at a fourth, and an older middle-aged man with a goatee at the fifth. The waiter who went by "Charlie"—Trent had often wondered how Charlie had selected his American name and what his real, Chinese name was—greeted Trent at the door. Flashing a toothy smile, Charlie said, "Very crowded tonight. You should have called for reservation."

  Trying to be cordial, although he wasn't in the mood for humor, Trent gave a short laugh.

  "Which table you want?"

  Trent pointed to one all the way in the back, off in a corner. "That one, please."

  "Very good. You sit. I bring water and tea."

  Trent seated himself while Charlie bustled off. In a minute he returned with the promised items and a menu. Trent studied the menu while Charlie waited discreetly a short distance away. Then Trent turned to Charlie and said, "I want something different tonight. What do you recommend?"

  "Very good. Something different. You celebrating New Year?"

  "No!" Trent exploded, then quickly followed up with, "I'm sorry. No."

  "How you like to try the house special Dragon Dinner Deluxe?"

  "What's in it? No, never mind. Don't tell me. No scallops or squid?"

  "We can make without scallops. No squid, never. You want?"

  "Okay. I'll try that. No scallops, though."

  "Turn in order in a minute." Charlie bustled toward the door. Trent followed him with his eyes and saw that another patron had walked in. But not just any patron—this was a wet dream in the flesh. Tall, square-jawed, with a cinnamon-brown moustache, twinkling green eyes, a perfectly shaped and sized nose, sensuous lips, and an athletic but not over-muscled build, he was way too perfect a specimen to be alone on New Year's Eve.

  He must be picking up a take-out order for himself and his lover to spend a cozy evening at home. Gay or straight? Really doesn't matter. He's surely not on his own.

  But incredibly he sat down at the table next to Trent's. He turned abruptly and caught Trent looking.

  Trent quickly averted his gaze, pretending to be studying the cheap Chinese prints that adorned the far wall … or maybe a speck on the ornate red and gold wallpaper.

  "You're on your own tonight too?" Was he talking to Trent?

  Trent returned his gaze to the man. "Yup," he replied with a sheepish smile. "And you?"

  "Obviously." The tone was not sarcastic, just drily amused. "My name's Taylor. And you are …?"

  "Trent."

  "Would you care to share a table, Trent?"

  "Uh—yeah—sure!" he answered with more alacrity than he'd meant to display. As he got up from the table, his chair squeaked on the floor. Good going! Way, way gauche! If he'd been the sort who blushed, his face would have been red as Rudolph's nose. As it was, he felt a goofy grin spread across his face.

  Taylor apparently surmised what his feelings were. He waved his hand dismissively. "Never sweat the small stuff"". Life's too short for that crap to bother us." Then, as Trent seated himself across from him at the table, he went on. "Unless my gaydar's way off, you're one of us. Don't worry if I'm wrong, though. I'm not predatory."

  "Prey all you want!" Trent squeaked in a feeble attempt at humor. "I mean, you're right."

  Taylor laughed a deep, rumbling laugh. "So what are you doing alone on New Year's Eve? You tell me your sad story and I'll tell you mine."

  Trent recited his litany of New Year's tribulations and how he was always alone at midnight when the ball dropped. "And it looks like this year isn't going to break the mold either."

  "You may be wrong about that," Taylor said with a wink. "I don't promise to kiss you—we'll have to see about that later—but we can at least share a bottle of champagne. First, though, tell me what's good to eat here. It's my first time in this restaurant."

  "The five-spice chicken is good. So's the Pagoda shrimp."

  "Is that what you're having?"

  "No. I'm trying something new that Charlie recommended."

  "Charlie?"

  "Our waiter."

  As if on cue, Charlie showed up to take their order. "You no need to share table. We not that crowded." He laughed again, pleased with his own joke. They ordered, Charlie responded with his customary, "Very good," and he bustled toward the kitchen.

  "You've never eaten here before?" Trent asked, surprised.

  "I only moved here three weeks ago."

  "Does that explain why you're alone on New Year's Eve?"

  "No. It's more a case of the-reason-I'm-alone-on-New-Year's-Eve being why I moved here." To Trent's puzzled frown, Taylor continued, "You told me your sad story—the whole litany, in fact. I guess it's my turn now. My lover died seven months ago."

  "I'm sorry!" Trent broke in. "What did he have?"

  "It wasn't an illness. It was a freak accident. He apparently fell in the bathroom—he was alone at the time—he hit his head in just the wrong way on the tub, and …." Taylor shivered and then shook his body as if to shake off the memory. "I came home from an evening with my sister and found him. Maybe if I'd been home when it happened and called 911 right away, he wouldn't have died."

  "You're entitled to a life. You're entitled to a family."

  "Well, Cincinnati held too many memories for me. I finally decided to make a clean break. Not just out of Cincinnati but out of Ohio altogether. I always wanted to live in a small suburban town anyhow. So here I am in Maplevale."

  "Migawd. That's awful."

  "The upside is the move really has helped my frame of mind. And now that I've met you …." Taylor lifted his teacup. "Cheers. Here's to a better new year for both of us. I have the feeling it will be." He winked at Trent, who lifted his own teacup, returning the toast and mentally echoing the hope.

  "So what do you do? For a living, I mean. You say you just moved here three weeks ago. Did you get a job first, or are you still looking, or what?"

  Before Taylor could answer, Charlie showed up tableside with spring rolls.

  "I—I don't think we ordered …"

  "Our New Year's gift to you. Good customer and new customer. Eat and enjoy. No charge. Hot and sour soup coming too." Charlie returned to the kitchen.

  "I wouldn't have ordered the spareribs if I'd known," murmured Taylor.

  "You shouldn't have ordered them anyhow. It's the one thing this place doesn't do well. I wanted to warn you, but Charlie was standing right here. I ordered the beef satay. It's a much better choice here. Then again, most anything is."

  "What's wrong with them?"

  "Too dry." Trent wrinkled up his nose.

  "I'll know better next time. But I thought beef satay was more of a Thai dish?"

  "I think it's across-the-board Oriental. Anyhow it's good. Who cares? They do it well. They do everything well except the ribs."

  "What do you do well?"

  "Apparently not ask questions. I asked you about your work life and you didn't answer. Or was that a sensitive question?"

  "Not at all. Do I strike you as the international smuggler type?" Taylor laughed. "I'm a f
reelance graphics designer. I'd say that before I moved half my clients were local and half not. Of the half who were local, I'd estimate I'll keep half long-distance. E-mail, Skype, phone. So I'll lose about a quarter of my clients. I'll replace them locally when word gets around. I know I'm good, and you know what they say—'It's not bragging if it's true.' What about you? What do you do?"

  "Believe it or not, I'm a puppeteer. I have a local TV show five afternoons a week, and I also do children's birthday parties and, believe it or not, adult parties too. Different set of puppets of course. Wisecracking ones. Nothing off-color. I have the kiddie image to protect. But smart-ass. Not foul-mouthed but smart-mouthed. I also appear in commercials … or rather, my puppets do. Not me. I'm almost always off camera myself."

  "That's fabulous!" Taylor exclaimed, laying his hand on Trent's arm as it rested on the table. "So creative and imaginative!"

  Electricity flowed through Trent's arm where Taylor's hand lay, lingering even after it had made contact. The connection Trent felt was unquestionably physical, but it was more than that, as well. Taylor had touched something inside him, something deeper than a mere sexual connection, something emotional as well as intellectual. Taylor seemed to feel it too, judging by the way he smiled at Trent. Then he squeezed Trent's arm before he let go of it.

  When they had finished with their complimentary soup and spring rolls, as well as the appetizers they had ordered, Trent was already reasonably full. "I don't know how I'm ever going to eat my main course," he groaned.

  "I'm for a doggie bag," Taylor agreed. "I'm stuffed already." Nonetheless, when Charlie arrived with their main dishes, both men tried manfully to do justice to their meals. It was, however, all in vain. They ate. They enjoyed. But they could in no way finish their meals or even come close. "What do you say we go back to my place after this?" Taylor suggested.

  "I'm good with that. Or you're welcome to come over to mine."