The Bridegroom Comes: Chapter Seven: Whom He Shall Find Watching

As Tracy lowered the cup from his lips, two hands reached from behind his head and covered his eyes. Coffee sloshed onto the table as he tried to twist his head, but found it firmly gripped in place. “Anton?”
Releasing his grip, Herman stepped aside and raised his eyebrows in exaggerated shock. “Anton?!” he echoed. Tracy’s grin vanished. Herman lowered himself into the neighboring chair, his eyes searching out Tracy’s face with amusement, then concern, then pity. Tracy’s embarrassment flared into anger.
“What do you think you’re doing? Christ, you’re a pain in the ass.”
Herman was unfazed. “Honey, I never thought I’d see the day. You poor thing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Mmm hmm. Sombody hand the Devil a blanket, ‘cause hell has definitely frozen over.”
“Get a grip.”
“You’re in love.”
“Please.”
“And with that closet case. Girl, what are you thinking?”
Tracy could think of no response. Of course, the idea was preposterous; especially, coming out of Herman’s mouth. What made it all the more infuriating, was that, for the first time, Tracy realized there might be some truth to it. How could he have reached such a state? It was undeniable that his mood had grown increasingly agitated during the two weeks of Anton’s absence from the Bistro. Each day for over a week, Tracy realized with astonishment, he had shown up at Hunters’ hoping that Anton would be there; each day, had spent his lunch waiting for Anton to walk through the door. It was ridiculous.
Herman drove the point home: “Honey, don’t take this wrong, but for over a week now, you’ve been such a bitch, I was beginning to resent the competition. Like an addict in withdrawal. And who would have guessed your pusher was sweet little Cupid! I guess it’s true: A man can get addicted to just about anything. That mousy little man!”
“Shut the fuck up. You don’t know him.”
Herman leaned back. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Tracy was shocked at the strength of his emotion; even more so, at its quality: He felt protective--not so much of himself, he was astonished to discover, as of Anton. He had never felt protective of another human being in his life.
“Sweetheart, I am sorry. Far be it from me to criticize the ways of the heart.”
Tracy fished out his wallet. “Look, you’re right; I’m not much company right now.”
“Okay. . . . Tracy.” In his embarrassment, Tracy found it difficult to meet Herman’s eyes, which had grown serious. “I am sorry. If you want to talk . . . .”
“Forget it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I said forget it! . . . Look, it’s not you. Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to you later.” He gathered up his jacket and headed out the door.
On his walk back to the studio, Tracy tried to make sense of things. But, almost nothing about his attraction to Anton—there; he’d said it!—Christ!—nothing about this attraction made sense. Of course, there was the usual factor: Anton was good looking, in a ridiculously conventional, straight boy sort of way. But, there was more to it than that. Whatever it was, it wasn’t the witty repartée; the man was certainly no conversationalist. Tracy felt simultaneously flattered and awkward at the degree to which their meetings revolved around himself. He supposed the attraction stemmed at least partly from the lure of forbidden fruit: Accustomed to easy conquests, Tracy found his new acquaintance’s shyness titillating. Over time, though, he had begun to sense that there was more to it than even that. The life Anton held so closely in reserve represented everything Tracy held in disdain: the conventionalities of religious tradition, the monotony of suburban family life—all aspects of a world Tracy felt had rejected him and which he despised in return. But, instead of feeling grateful that Anton had rarely and only reluctantly talked about these things, Tracy hungered after it, like some waif with his nose pressed against the window of a restaurant he wasn’t allowed to enter. Perhaps Anton had begun to notice this. During the most recent of their lunch dates, the occasions for his deflecting Tracy’s queries about his family, his parish, his Orthodox upbringing seemed to increase. Now, he’d disappeared. Tracy was shocked at the emptiness left in his wake.