Come Di(n)e With Me, page 2
“Well, they are…. colourful, I’ll give you that. And what’s this?” Sam asked, putting the pants down and picking up a book.
“That’s ‘Where’s the twink?’ You know… like ‘Where’s Wally’, but with hot twinks instead. Much more your thing, I thought.”
“Hmm,” he said, looking across at Peters, “I guess you could say I have a thing for younger, handsome men.”
“Compared to us, he’s practically a child!” Sandy said, quietly rolling his eyes. He didn’t like anyone drawing attention to his age, but in the presence of Sam’s new boyfriend, it was hard to ignore. The man was less than half Sandy’s age, he figured. With that smooth complexion, he could even have been half Sam’s age.
“Exactly. I thought you could read it to Peters as a bedtime story, Sam,” Anton added.
Well, that was it. They were all laughing now.
It was so typical of Anton to buy the gayest gifts ever.
Sam thanked him, and Sandy – who clearly knew nothing of what he’d bought Sam, and promised to make good use out of both the kinky underwear and the bedtime reading.
One by one, everyone else around the table gave Sam their gifts, all of which were very generous, if not quite as ‘unique’ as his first. Sam managed to get through them all, just as their starters arrived.
The conversation had broken off into small groups by this point.
Sam was keen to try and talk to everyone, but also include Peters as much as possible, too. He knew his friends could be a lot to handle sometimes, some more than others, so he explained as many back-stories and shared anecdotes as possible, whilst still keeping up with the current conversation. Fortunately, Peters was rather confident and outgoing. Especially for his age. He often had a slight issue with saying the wrong thing or putting his foot in it, however. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be the case tonight.
“So, Sandy. Have you met anyone famous? Sam told me you’re in television.”
Loving a little bit of the limelight himself, Sandy chuckled. “Well, I don’t like to talk about my friends, but I was having coffee with Jude the other day and you never guess who walked past right then; Sienna. It was so embarrassing because we were actually talking about how having a nanny gives you so much freedom.”
Peters had no idea who he was talking about, but was nodding along anyway. The others just rolled their eyes, used to all of the namedropping.
Faye had begun to fiddle with Chris’ collar again. It stuck up a little in the corner and had annoyed her all evening.
“I told you not to wear this tonight,” she whispered.
“But it’s my favourite.”
“Then you should learn how to iron it properly.”
“Get off me, will you? It’s fine.”
“We’re in a nice restaurant. You look so bloody scruffy.”
“Nice restaurant?” Sandy asked, surprised at the comment. “I think you’re getting confused with the ‘nice restaurant’ across the road.
Ignoring Sandy, Faye said, “I’m throwing it out when we get in.”
“For God’s sake, woman. It’d be easier to live with a man. A man wouldn’t harass me half as much as you do.”
Anton couldn’t help but chip in, “The sex is better too.”
“Well, if you want to come out, Chris,” Sandy reasoned.
“Sandy, for the last time, I’m not gay. Why does it always come to you accusing me of being gay?”
The friends hadn’t all been together like this for a long time. Not all eight of them at least, so it should have been nice to celebrate, but there was a little too much nit-picking around the table.
Trying to ignore as much as possible, Sam was determined to have a good time. Finally, now he had a live-in boyfriend, he felt like a proper grown up. And boy, did thirty-eight feel like being a real grownup.
As he’d recently explained to Peters, the ‘core group’ of them, as it were, had all met at university. Sam had been on a Performing Arts course with Chris, and the pair had clicked straight away. By the end of Fresher’s week, they had quickly become friends with Patrick and his unfortunately named boyfriend Stewart Patrick – who had been labelled as the strange two freshers who didn’t live in halls like everyone else in their year did.
Faye had met Sam working together on a play in their second year and had quickly been absorbed into the gang not long after gravitating towards Sam and his dramatics. As a consequence, Faye and Chris dated off and on for years and had now been married for nearly five more. She may have been an aspiring actress when she’d met them, but had long since given up any dream of performing since then.
Anton had come along later much later, but what a bang he’d caused when he did. With Sam being a mostly out-of-work actor, it was inevitable he’d meet Anton, the Opera House’s Theatre Operations Manager, once he’d settled in town. As soon as they had met, the pair had grown close, regardless of their eleven-year age gap.
There was a lot to take in with meeting so many of them at once, for Peters. The one time he’d bumped into Chris in town with Sam hadn’t really counted, but hearing all of the stories from his boyfriend, it wasn’t hard remembering names or who was likely to do or say what.
In all fairness, it could have been made a little easier for Peters this evening.
Sam, like everyone else sat around the table, could really have done without Stuck-Up-Sandy and his intolerable complaining this evening. He knew that several of the others would have tried to get out of his birthday meal had they known that Sandy was invited. Sam had certainly avoided events because of it in the past, but he adored his friend Anton and, for some bizarre reason, Anton loved Sandy, so it seemed they were all stuck with him this evening as they were for all the others.
Sam gave Peters’ hand a little squeeze. The returned smile suggested the newbie was having fun.
Although everyone was enjoying themselves, there was the palpable feeling of a dark cloud hanging over them. That oh so familiar atmosphere of what might happen next.
Sandy had already scoffed at the starter being too hot. There wasn’t a lot Donna could do about that though, other than tell him to wait for it to cool down, but obviously that meant she was ‘being rude’.
He’d also had to put up with the terrible wine Frankie’s was serving. The others loved it, but Sandy knew it had too many tannins, yet somehow had miraculously managed to continue drinking until the bottle was empty. It was when the main courses were brought out that enough was enough. He simply wasn’t going to have his meal ruined like this a moment longer.
“Excuse me, waitress. Darling, why do I have a square plate? Everyone else has a round plate. Why is mine square? Could you please change this for me to the correct plate?”
“But sir, you have a different meal than everyone else. That is the correct plate for your meal.” Donna sighed. She was rushed off her feet tonight, she had an essay to finish when she got home and she knew that if this rather flamboyant man had anything to do with it, she wouldn’t even be making a penny in way of tips from the birthday party tonight. Not that it mattered though, she genuinely cared about providing good service and upholding the restaurant's otherwise stellar reputation for good food and great service. Tips were a nice bonus, but she was paid well enough by the owners to not live off them.
“I really would like it served on the round plate. That’s not too much to ask, is it? Thank you ever so much,” he said, thrusting the meal back into her hand.
Across the table, Chris muttered to Patrick, “Well, we’ve not started the main course yet, and he’s taken the hat trick: Two table changes and one send back.”
Patrick laughed. “Does it count if we didn’t sit down at the second one? We should have had a sweepstake going.”
“What, at what time will we be kicked out?” Stewart suggested.
“We better not be. This is my favourite restaurant,” Sam scorned. “It’s so embarrassing… I could kill him.”
“Get in line,” Chris said. “I might even take him out before the end of this meal.”
By the time Donna had returned with the ‘correct’ plate, things had settled down a touch and people were finally able to tuck in to their main courses.
Conversation had turned to what Peters had bought his boyfriend. The Shania Twain tickets he’d ordered for Sam to see her upcoming tour were a ‘surprise’ that Sam had asked for incessantly for the last three months. With Sam being the stereotypical gay actor, it was rather surprising to find out he preferred country music to the likes of Britney or Christina.
“Mucky weekend away, too?” Patrick winked, nudging Sam.
“No, we’re not going to a mucky hotel. But I reckon there’ll be loads of shagging going on whilst we’re away,” Peters replied.
Sandy tutted at their lewd comment before complaining, “Dear me. I don’t know what your meals are like, but this ‘Salmone Fiorentina’ is terrible. Cold and soggy, I don’t think I’ve ever tasted it so bad before.”
Chris, overhearing, had had enough. This had been going on ever since Sam had brought Sandy into the mix. He didn’t want Sandy there at all, and knew no one else did either. Desperate to shout shut the fuck up Sandy, or will you just give it a rest for once in your life, he was also determined not to let the stuck-up twat ruin Sam’s birthday. So, thinking of his favourite Channel 4 show instead, he chose something a little more palatable. “If your meal is so terrible Sandy, I suggest you do a Come Dine With Me instead… that is, if you really think you can do better than such a fine restaurant?”
Sandy sat aghast. No one other than his husband had really pulled Sandy up like this. He was taken aback by Chris’ outburst, and didn’t quite know what to say. “Ahem…” was all he could muster.
“Trust you to go straight to TV programmes.” Faye groaned. “You know I bloody hate that show. The men are always such lazy pigs, getting the women to do all the hard work while they sit back and get drunk. No wonder you like it so much.”
“First of all, that’s rather mean and completely sexist. Second, most of the shows aren’t even couples and third of all, it’s just not true.” Chris said defensively. And he should know. He’d seen every single episode at least twice.
“Oh, dear me. I can’t stand reality television, darling. There’s nothing worse than watching council estate scumbags trying to serve up frozen pizza with a side of Iceland’s finest party mix… there’s no chance I’m going to be on it. I’ll leave that to the idiots who think they’ll be the next big thing.” Sandy said.
“What’s the matter, Sand… can’t you even cook?” Patrick asked, goading him.
“To be fair, I’m up for it.” Anton said, shrugging, knowing between him and Sandy, they’d have it in the bag.
Now, after such an interesting suggestion, there was an energetic buzz building around the table.
Chris was obsessed with daytime TV. He’d kill to be on a show like Come Dine With Me, so the thought of doing one with his friends sounded great. He just needed to get Sandy on board first. Through the murmurings of the others talking about what they’d make or what entertainment they put on, his mind began to wander.
“Hang on a sec. I’ve got an even better idea…” he proclaimed excitedly, drumming his fingertips on the edge of the table. “Why not double or nothing?”
They were all looking at him now, and were rather confused. Even Donna had stood still, just as she was making her way around the table, topping up glasses of wine.
Chris looked at his wife. His perpetually grumpy, feminist wife. Chris suggested the one thing that he knew would wind her up, too. “… Why not make it really interesting and combine a weeks’ worth of Come Dine With Me with Wife Swap?”
“Oh my God!” Sam gasped, clapping. “That’s brilliant. I’m totally up for it.”
“Absolutely!” Anton grinned at exactly the same time Sandy had said, “absolutely not.”
“What like a whole week of bed hopping?” Patrick asked, a little confused.
“No, not exactly,” Chris said, getting really excited now. He loved all things TV and he loved party games, anything competitive, really. This would be perfect if they could pull it off. “What I suggest is, half of us switch, as in move in with someone else for four nights only. On each of the nights, a different ‘couple’ will cook and host the rest of us and we can score it all. If Sandy is as great a cook and host as his high standards suggest he is, it should be no problem for him to win, even without Anton by his side. We’ll all have a bit of fun doing it. It’ll be great.”
Forgetting for a moment that she was eavesdropping on a private conversation, Donna grinned. She’d give an arm and a leg to see how such a difficult customer would cope in her position. Remembering where she was, she quickly wiped the smile off her face and returned to pouring the wine.
“Bagsy moving in with Patrick or Stewart.” Anton volunteered playfully. “Or Peters.”
He’d always had a thing for the two of them and wasn’t particularly discreet about it and Peters was a total doll.
Sandy was completely speechless. For a change, he couldn’t seem to get his words out.
“You’re about the only man I can stomach,” Faye said, referring to her husband. “I’d never last four days with someone else farting, belching and not clearing up after themselves.”
“Then move in with Peters,” suggested Sam. “He’s practically a woman.”
Peters blushed crimson for a moment, and Sam wondered if he’d gone too far. After all, this was his first outing. But then, Peters joked, “Judging by most of the women I know, I don’t have enough facial hair.”
“And why do you have to be so sexist, Peters? It’s not funny,” Faye spat, wondering how much she might already dislike the man.
It was certainly make or break for him this evening. It would have been easy to run off, to decide not to make an effort with Sam’s friends, but he was actually having a great time. “Women scare me. I need a husband swap instead,” Peters said, turning to Anton with a grin. “And someone with a nice big house wouldn’t go amiss, either.”
“This is ridiculous,” Sandy said. “As bad as this meal.”
Donna had composed herself. Continuing around the table with the wine bottle, tempted to actually spill the wine on his lap, she thought better of it. She chose to ignore him instead.
“No. If we’re going to do it properly, we’ll put names in a hat, okay?” Chris explained. “It’s the only fair way.”
“I’m game if everyone else is?” Sam agreed.
They all nodded, even Peters. Then the whole table turned to Sandy. It seemed he was the only one not on board with the plan.
“You know, we could do it just us three couples, if you’re not up for it, Sandy,” Chris suggested, “but it seems a shame for you two to miss out considering you know so much about fine dining and how to look after your guests.”
“I hate missing out,” Anton squealed. “We’re in.”
Sandy began to complain, but Anton shot him a look that said, ‘you owe me this, we’re doing it.’ With a reluctant nod of the head, the final two had signed up.
Moments later, Chris had grabbed Faye’s handbag and tipped its contents out onto the table.
“Hey, you idiot!” She complained. “What the hell are you doing with my bag?”
Ignoring her and the loose tampon that fell on the floor, he found one of her pens and began scribbling names onto a paper napkin.
A minute later and he was shuffling the torn-up scraps around in her bag.
“Take your pick,” he said, opening the bag to his wife first as if that would calm her down.
It seemed the polite thing to do, as she was the only lady sat around the table. However, ‘lady’ was an unusual term to describe Faye. It might have been correct, anatomically, at least, but not necessarily when referring to her decorum.
Of course the first name she pulled out was her own. So, she kept that out for a moment and reached in again.
“Chris?” she said, unfolding the scrap.
“Rigged!” Sam shouted, laughing. He was having a blast now, and at least the fun of arranging dinner parties had well and truly quietened Sandy and his complaints.
“I demand a recount!” Anton added.
She kept that name to one side too and tried again. “Sandy!”
Sandy considered it for a moment. He knew he’d never live it down if he didn’t get onboard fully. Out of all of them, Faye was probably the least annoying as far as he was concerned, so long as he didn’t have to listen to her potty-mouth for four days straight. It wasn’t like they had to share a bed or anything. In his house, he’d barely see or hear her rattling around. In fact, that might be preferable to having to share a bed with Anton, in all honesty.
All eyes were on him. Waiting to see if he was really up for the challenge or not.
“Fine,” he sighed. “I just hope you won’t let me down, Faye. If we’re in it Darling–”
“I’m not your darling, okay?” she interrupted, starting to regret her choice already. “Let’s just get this clear right now.”
He didn’t seem to notice. “I’m in it to win it. And I refuse to leave my house. You’ll have to come and stay at mine, okay?”
“Massive house with lots of bedrooms… I think I’ll manage,” she said, eventually breaking into a reluctant smile.
At least it was big enough to have her own space.
Great. A good start, thought Chris.
Faye threw Chris’ name back in and passed the bag and remaining names around the table.
Apprehensively, Peters went next, and he pulled out Stewart’s name. No complaints there, from what he’d learnt this evening.
Then it was Patrick’s turn. He’s chosen Anton’s name, who was thrilled at the prospect of sharing some quality time with the younger, more attractive man.
“Well, that’s it. We’re all set then. Faye’s moving in with Sandy so Sam, you can come to me,” said Chris. “Stewart, if you move in with Peters that means Anton can move in with Patrick. All good?” Chris asked, looking around for approval.
“Hang on a sec. I’ve got a busy week at the Opera house coming up. It’ll be better for me if I hang back a while,” Anton said.
