Appearances, copyright 2006, by Etienne. All rights reserved.
-16-
Mama Leone’s
Charles' expression was a little odd as the four of us climbed the steps leading to the entrance of the restaurant. We were barely inside when I began to understand why. The Maitre'd, a good looking young man who could have passed for the quintessential Italian, saw Charles, and literally sprang from behind his little podium and trotted quickly forward to greet us, instead of waiting for us to come to him.
"Charles," he said, ignoring the rest of us while giving Charles a hug and a kiss on both cheeks, "it's been too long since we have seen you. Wait right here while I run and get Mama and Papa." Before Charles could reply, the young man literally ran to the back of the reception area and disappeared from view for a minute or two. Presently he returned, followed by a late middle-aged Italian couple, who in a matter of minutes were all over Charles with hugs and kisses. The woman, who was short and heavy with an enormous bosom, rushed forward with outstretched arms saying what sounded like "Sharleeee" followed by a stream of Italian. The man, an older and heavier version of his son, followed somewhat less noisily but no less demonstrably in his greeting.
Their conversation was carried on in rapid Italian, and to my surprise, Charles responded in kind. After a few minutes of this, they seemed to run down for a couple of seconds (perhaps they needed to catch their breath). It was then that they noticed the rest of us for the first time. There was more Italian, and I managed to catch a reference to Roberto, obviously a question as to his whereabouts, because I heard the word 'morte' quite clearly when Charles said it. This brought on another stream of Italian, followed by more hugs and kisses. Both the man and the woman were obviously upset at the news, and there were tears running down her cheeks while he merely looked uncertain as to how to act. I looked closely at Charles and saw that he, too, had tears in his eyes.
William and Henry looked at me with puzzled expressions, so I took a stab at explaining. "I'm not sure what is happening here, but I can guess. Charles met his first lover, Robert, when he was a Sophomore at Harvard and Robert a Freshman at MIT. They lived together in Cambridge until Charles finished Law School, and then in Atlanta until Robert died three years ago. This was obviously one of the places they frequented. He told me last week that there might be a few ghosts waiting for him in Boston. He hasn't been back since the last time he and Robert were here."
Henry summed the situation up for both of them, saying "Oops."
The Italian conversation had ground to a halt by this time, and Charles introduced me to Luigi and Maria a/k/a 'Mamma' Leone, the owners, and their son Tony, the Maitre'd. Luigi repeated my name, exaggerating the pronunciation, and asked "This is a French name, yes?"
Charles laughed. "Perhaps originally, but his family has lived in Louisiana for about three hundred years."
This prompted a short round of Italian. When it finally subsided, I said "What was that all about?"
"Well," replied Charles, "Luigi has no love lost for the French, and that places a cloud of suspicion over you, even three hundred years in this country doesn't quite seem to cut it. However, he is going to overlook your tainted ancestry due to the exalted company you are currently keeping." At this, he grinned.
"Thanks a lot, I think."
The owners were obviously fairly well acquainted with William and Henry, and Tony finally led us to a table in a very nicely appointed dining room, where Charles and I were placed on a banquette along the wall, and William and Henry were seated opposite. Tony left us after handing us Menus.
As soon as the four of us were alone, Charles explained. "Robert and I discovered this place the first month we were together. We used to save our money and come here almost every Friday or Saturday. After he came out to his parents and they cut him off, we both worked here every weekend for two years. The Leone's became very much our 'family' in Boston."
Henry asked "When was the last time the two of you were here?"
"The year before Robert died - about four years ago."
William added "Maybe we made a mistake, bringing you here."
"No," said Charles, "it's all right. I have only happy memories of this place. Before I met Philip, it would have been decidedly not all right, because I was carrying around a ton of grief which I did not know how to release. Thanks to him, I have finally begun to deal with the past." As he said this, he slipped his hand under the table, found one of mine, and squeezed it.
William continued "Why didn't you tell me you knew Boston? I wouldn't have gone through that dog and pony show, had I known."
Charles gave him a devastating smile (well, it was devastating to me anyway) and said "You were so good at it, and seemed to be enjoying it so much, I didn't have the heart to stop you."
This both pleased and mollified William, and before he could answer, our host came up to the table. Seeing the Menus in our hands, he said "Give me thosea menus, they are fora the tourists. Tonight you dine con la tua famiglia." He then snatched the Menus from our hands without waiting for our assent.
As soon as he was out of sight, I said to Charles “what did he just say?”
“Tonight you dine con la tua famiglia, literally you dine with your family,” Charles answered.
"I didn't know you spoke Italian."
"I have always had an affinity for languages, and I became interested in Italian because I love Opera. I took a couple of years of it in College. Luigi and Mamma helped me get rid of my American accent."
"Do you speak any other languages?"
"Oh, one or two" he said, in idiomatic French.
This time I was able to reply in the same language.
He laughed. "Very good, except for the atrocious Creole accent."
"I do not have an accent," I replied indignantly.
"Have you ever used your French in Paris?" he asked.
"No."
"If ever you do, you will find out what I mean about the accent."
Over the next hour and a half, we were served an incredibly delicious meal. First there were sauteed mushroom caps, stuffed with cheese, then a wonderful bowl of Minestrone, followed by an excellent salad. The entree was osso buco - veal shank with rice and a sauce, which was new to me but evidently well known to Charles and to both of the Lanes. With the soup and salad we were served a bottle of Pinot Grigio, also new to me, which was a wonderful Italian White Dry Wine. With the veal came a very fine bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. I made a mental note of both of the labels. By the time our dessert arrived - a classic Tiramisu - with the espresso, we were already stuffed.
Over dinner, under William's gentle questioning with an occasional prompt from Henry, Charles talked about his years in Cambridge with Robert. Both William and Henry had gone to Harvard, entering the Law School the year after Charles had graduated. Henry, ever less tactful than his cousin, wanted to know how Robert had died. I guessed that AIDS was on his mind.
Charles must have had the same thought, for he replied "Not from what one might expect, considering all that has happened in our circles over the last several years. Neither of us had been very promiscuous before we met, and that was really before the disease began to spread. Several years ago, just to be sure, we had ourselves tested and we both came up negative."
"To answer your question, Robert began to have severe headaches. He did little for them except take more and more Tylenol. Finally I talked him into seeking treatment - he hated going to the Doctor. They eventually found a brain tumor which was by then judged to be inoperable. It was of a type that was not known to respond well to either chemotherapy or radiation, and Robert opted to forego both rather than endure the side effects for naught."
"He chose instead, to take increasingly stronger pain medication until he reached a point at which even they were not terribly effective. We had discussed that eventuality, and he was determined not to go to a hospital to die, as he put it, 'with tubes sticking out of every opening in his body.' To make a long story short, he had been hoarding pain pills, and when he decided that he could take the pain no longer, he took a massive dose of the pills. He did it with my reluctant blessing, and I held his hand until it was over."
William asked him, somewhat tactlessly, I thought, if he had been worried about being charged as an accessory to suicide.
Charles took no offense, and continued "The issue never came up. Robert had also discussed his intentions with his Doctor, who had both the grace and the good sense not to make an issue of it. His death certificate does not mention suicide."
We were spared from having to comment further on this by the arrival of our host and hostess. All four of us were effusive in complimenting them on both the food and the service. They finally took their leave, but not before they elicited a promise from Charles that he would never again stay away so long, and 'Mamma' promised to 'light a candle and say a Novena for Roberto.' When they were out of earshot, Charles was smiling.
"Don't even think," he said, "about asking for a check. They will be mortally offended. Luigi meant what he said about this being a family occasion."
"Shouldn't we at least leave something for the waiters?" I asked, as only the entree had been served by our host. The rest of the service had been provided by the staff.
"Yes, I think that would be very appropriate."
The cousins and I discussed and settled upon a suitable gratuity, leaving it on the table. Soon, we were in the reception area, saying goodnight to Tony, when 'Mamma' came up and said something in Italian to Charles. He replied in kind, and she embraced him and kissed him. After we were outside, I asked him what she had said, but he just smiled and pretended not to have heard me. I let the matter drop, making a mental note to ask him again, when we were alone.
We retraced our steps as far as the expressway, but when we had walked under it, our hosts led us toward the Quincy Market, and Faneuil Hall complex where we walked around the area and watched the people for a while before going to a different subway station. Emerging from the Arlington Street Station, we walked back to the hotel, where Charles invited our hosts to the bar for a nightcap.
The four of us were soon seated at a table in the lounge, and after drinks were served, we sat in silence for a minute before Henry spoke up.
"After your meeting with Gerald tomorrow morning, we have discovered a building we think you ought to see."
"A building?"
"Yes," he said, "a former factory building, vacant for years, and one that is in the right place to be converted into either lofts or flats, for sale or as rental units. The price is right, and we think it is just the sort of project you enjoy taking on."
"Where is it located?"
This time William answered "Near the North End, where we were tonight, in an area ripe for gentrification."
"Okay, set up an appointment with the listing broker and we will look it over."
The two of them then engaged Charles in conversation about Harvard and professors they had all known. They finally departed around eleven, and we went up to our room.
As we were getting ready for bed, I looked at Charles "Well, what did you think of them?"
"I liked them both, very much. How did you meet them?"
"Through Gerald, my publisher. We were trying to work out some way to meet occasionally without my having to appear in his office. He has family in Boston, so visits here frequently. I think some member of his family made the referral."
"You go to great lengths to maintain your anonymity."
"It is vital. Occasionally, I do some serious work, but what brings in the money are the steamy historical romances. We decided, in the beginning, that a gay male would never be accepted as an author writing in that genre, so I write under a female name and we are careful about keeping the secret."
"Evidently, it works."
"Oh, yes. There is even a female employee of the publishing house whose picture appears on the dust jackets of every book, and who occasionally appears at receptions using my pseudonym."
We got into bed, and were almost immediately engaged in some very pleasant activities. Before we drifted off, I remembered the mental note I had made earlier.
"What did 'Mamma' Leone say to you as we left the restaurant this evening?"
"Oh, something to the effect that I had good taste in men, and she was happy for me."
Saturday morning, we got up at seven, and went for a run through the paths in the Common. Returning to the Hotel, we bathed and dressed and went down for a light breakfast. Afterward, we returned to the room, where I retrieved my briefcase.
William and Henry had their offices in a converted brownstone on Beacon Street, and the walk from the hotel required only a matter of a few minutes. The office was, of course, closed for the weekend, so we had to knock. William met us at the door, and ushered us into the conference room, where Gerald Whitehouse was waiting. William left us, and I introduced Gerald to Charles.
We got down to business and discussed schedules and deadlines as well as some ideas he had for the cover. It took us about an hour, during which time Charles sat listening, with a thoughtful expression on his face. After Gerald left, I asked Charles what he had been thinking about. He replied that he had not seen the business side of me before, and was impressed.
I thanked him for the compliment, about which time William returned with the broker in tow, whom he proceeded to introduce as George Copeland. The broker had a car parked down the street, and William ushered us out, locking up as we left.
"Where is Henry?" I asked.
"He had to go hold the hand of one of our Dowager clients," he said.
We rode in relative silence to the North End, and were soon parking in front of what had clearly been a factory at one time. It appeared to have about ten stories. George launched into a spiel about the building and the area, as he unlocked the entrance door. I paid little attention to what he was saying, being more interested in the structure itself. It was quite run down, but appeared to be structurally solid, and by the time we had finished the fifty-cent tour, I had made a tentative decision.
The asking price was $2,000,000, which I considered to be much too high, so I asked George if he thought the owners would accept an offer that was about twenty-five per cent lower, and clearly more nearly in line with reality. He said that he would try, but did not sound too sure of their probable response.
We returned to William's office, and went back to the conference room. George produced a standard Real Estate Contract, and began to fill it out. I directed him to list the purchaser as Philip d'Autremont, or nominee. He handed the document to me, and I looked it over, adding a few provisions concerning building codes, zoning and other matters that I knew from experience would be essential to a viable project.
I handed the contract to Charles "Run your legal beagle eyes over this, and tell me what you think."
“You know that my specialty is Criminal Law, not Real Estate Law,” he said, but he took the proffered document and studied it at length, suggesting two or three things that I had not thought to stipulate. I asked him to add the appropriate clauses, which he did. I signed the document, and handed it to George along with a check for $100,000 as a binder, giving him my new number in Atlanta in the process.
After George left, I turned to William "You did well. If the owners accept anywhere near the amount I offered, this will be a real money-maker. Do you want a finder's fee?"
William looked peeved at the thought. "Of course not. Henry and I are happy to have been of assistance."
"At the very least, you can earn a legal fee by preparing some documents related to this transaction."
"Certainly, what would you like done?"
"Set up a Nevada Corporation, let's call it 'B & D Properties, Inc.,' with myself as President and Charles as Vice-President. It should be an 'S' Corporation, and you can be Resident Agent. You can send the papers to Charles' law firm, when they are ready for execution." I looked at Charles as I said this, and saw his raised eyebrows, but he remained silent.
"It will be taken care of next week."
"By way of additional thanks, let me take us out to dinner this evening."
"Agreed. When and where?"
Charles spoke up. "Be at the hotel by seven. I believe we can think of something that will please you."
As we walked back to the hotel, I said "Sorry about springing 'B & D Properties' on you like that, but it suddenly occurred to me that it is time I got you into the real estate world."
"I'm not sure that I have enough ready capital for a project of that size," he responded.
"Of course you do. All that is needed at the moment is a portion of the purchase price, the rest will be financed with the property as equity. And, if you don't have enough ready cash, I will lend you the difference."
He looked slightly offended. "I don't want any handouts."
"I will charge you two points above prime, which is about what any bank would charge you right now, which hardly constitutes a handout."
He knew when to give up. "Sure, then why not? With your track record in real estate, how can I lose?"
I tried a lighter tack "Stick with me, kid, and you will be filthy rich in no time."
He smiled "Actually, when Gran dies, I really will be filthy rich, right now I'm merely comfortable."
When we were back in our room, he found a telephone directory, and made some reservations for eight o'clock. When I asked him where, he just smiled, "Wait and see. Now, let’s get some more comfortable clothes on, it is time for me to play tour guide."
Which he did. We took the Green Line out to the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, and spent a couple of hours there before we walked over to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, which was located in a building built in the style of a Venetian renaissance palace. Fenway Court, as it was called, was built by Mrs. Gardner to house her collection, which included sculpture, textiles, furniture, ceramics, metalwork, and of course, paintings. She was a turn of the century Boston socialite and rather eccentric. When her mansion on Beacon Street was demolished, she demanded that the City of Boston never issue that particular street number (152 Beacon) to any other structure - and they complied. Under the terms of her Will, the Museum Trustees were forbidden to ever change any aspect of the Museum or its contents, so it remained in a sort of time warp and was all the more impressive for it.
Leaving the museum, we took the Green Line subway back to a station at the opposite end of the Common from where we had boarded it, and Charles led me to the downtown shopping district, where we visited what he said was arguably the most famous bargain basement in the country, Filene's Basement.
Filene's, I learned, is a chain of New England department stores, and the downtown Boston store possessed a gigantic bargain basement. There were stacks and racks overflowing with merchandise, mostly clothing. There were also no facilities, and we saw people unabashedly trying on pants and dresses in the aisles. All in all, quite an amazing place.
We returned to the hotel with about an hour to spare, a portion of which we spent (naturally) in bed. We were freshly groomed and downstairs in the bar well before William and Henry arrived. As before, their arrival coincided with our having just finished our drinks, and, as before, they declined an offer for another round.
Henry was curious "Where are we going tonight?"
Charles replied "How do you feel about the Café Budapest?"
"Terrific, we haven't been there in ages," said Henry.
William added “and, even though it is on every tourist’s ‘list’ of things to do, it has managed to retain its flavor.”
-To be continued-
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Writers live on feedback, good or otherwise, and this one is no exception. The Characters and the Story will continue until I get tired of them or the readers get tired of them, whichever happens first.
Official story site for Etienne: http://etienne.gayauthors.org/
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