Chapter 2

Logan approached a cluster of squat two-story apartment buildings. He scanned the buildings looking for number 114. Seeing it, he parked in a visitor’s stall in the parking lot and approached the door. Finding a buzzer button tagged “A Winter” he pressed it.

“Logan?” He heard Alex’s voice through the intercom.

“Yep, I’m here,” he replied. The main door buzzed open and he headed upstairs to apartment 2B. As he approached the door it opened. Alex stepped into the corridor in a denim skort and a sleeveless cotton blouse. On her feet were a pair of sandals. She turned and locked the door behind her.

Logan scanned the backs of her shapely legs. Alex turned toward him and he fixed his gaze above her collar bone. She scanned him up and down. “What’s that smirk for?” he asked.

“You have cute knees, too.”

He looked down. “Yeah, I thought this felt like a shorts and Docksiders sort of day. Shall we?” They headed toward the lobby. Alex paused to open her bag and exchange her black-rimmed eyewear for a pair of sunglasses. “Are those prescription?” he asked.

“Indeed they are.”

Logan led her toward his car and unlocked it by pressing a button on a key fob. Alex opened the passenger door and sat in the seat. Logan slid behind the wheel and fastened his belt.

“Nice car,” Alex remarked.

“It’s a 2012,” he replied, “but she still runs well.” Logan started the engine, backed from the stall and navigated toward the freeway ramp. “So, are you deeply involved in LBGT affairs?”

“I’m involved but I wouldn’t say deeply,” Alex replied.

Logan drove on working up the courage for his next question. “Alex forgive me for asking, but ... Are you a lesbian?”

Her face swiveled toward his. “No ... No, Logan ... I’m ... I’m not gay.” Logan let out a silent sigh of relief. “Why would you ask?”

“I ... I sense this rally is important to you. Not that your orientation matters ... I’m sorry — it was inappropriate of me to ask.”

“You’re forgiven.” He scanned the exit signs as he drove. “Logan — are YOU gay?”

He chuckled. “Turnabout’s fair play ... No, I’m not. I have a cousin who’s gay, though. His name is Brian and he’s maybe five years older than I am. He came out in high school, and his father ... my mom’s brother ... kicked him out of the house and disowned him.”

“That’s terrible,” Alex replied.

“My uncle always was a jerk-brain.”

“What happened to Brian?”

“My folks took him in. I must’ve been ten or eleven. My mom attempted to explain to me why he was moving in. She told me he didn’t like girls. At the time, I didn’t care much for girls, either, so I didn’t see anything wrong with that. As I matured, I began to understand Brian. He was always a good friend to me ... a very kind, gentle and intelligent guy.”

“Your exposure to him no doubt is part of what formed you,” Alex remarked.

“No doubt. I learned it’s wrong to judge people. What two adults do behind closed doors is no one’s business except theirs ... providing it’s consensual and no one’s getting hurt.”

“Amen to that.”

“Brian also taught me how much courage it takes to remain true to yourself, especially in a society that values conformity over individuality.”

“Amen to that, too. What’s Brian doing now?”

“He’s in a long-term relationship. He teaches high-school math and he’s a certified counselor. I understand he’s helped some gay students deal with their orientation.”

“Hmm ... Sounds like somebody I’d like to meet,” Alex remarked.

“Actually, I haven’t spoken to Brian in nearly ten years.” Logan kept his eye on the freeway. “I think we take this ramp ... yes, this is the spur that goes downtown.” He activated his turn signal and switched lanes.

“Smooth sailing from here?” Alex asked.

“Mostly, ‘til we hit the exits onto city streets. So, have you heard from my friend Bruce at the gallery?” Logan asked.

“Yes, I have. I’ve spoken to him a few times. He said if I delivered some full-definition images to him, he’d have them printed, mounted and framed. He wants to feature them in an exhibition next month.”

“Wow ... Have you done that?”

“Yes. I sent him a flash drive with about a hundred images.”

“Very good. This might open some doors for you. You might even be able to give up your day job.”

“That I doubt. It’s tough making a living through art.”

Logan navigated from the freeway to the downtown area near the state capitol building. “Man ... Parking’s impossible ... We’re going to have quite a hike.”

“That looks like a spot,” Alex said, pointing.

“Yeah, let me take it...” Logan maneuvered the car into the stall and set the shift lever in Park. He and Alex stepped onto the sidewalk. “This way,” he said and she walked with him.

“I’m not too familiar with this city,” she remarked. “You seem to be.”

“I earned an MBA from the state university here,” he replied. “I don’t get back here too often, though. This is sort of a home-coming.”

They walked several blocks to the grounds surrounding the capitol. “Quite a crowd,” Logan remarked.

“Yes ... On the dais I recognize several big names from the LGBT community.”

“I see our assembly-woman.” Logan looked upward. “There’s the news chopper. Let’s see how close we can get.”

Alex walked beside Logan as they headed to the pedestrian mall on State Street. His fingers brushed against hers. She glanced at him, smiled, and they held hands. “What did you think of the rally?” she asked.

“It was interesting. I liked the very manly-looking trans man explaining that if this law was passed, HE would be obligated to use the ladies’ room. That sounds like unanticipated consequences if I ever heard them.”

“For sure,” Alex replied.

“And, think about someone who looked like La Verne Cox being required to use the men’s’ room.”

“That thought has crossed my mind. None of this has anything to do with safety. It’s all about oppression.”

“Oh, for sure,” Logan agreed. “It’s a smokescreen. They’re playing to the base ... the fundie crowd. It would be different if these politicians had a trans person in their families.”

“That would make it personal,” she added.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a trans person.” Logan remarked.

“I’m sure you have,” she replied.

“I suppose ... they don’t wear it on their sleeves.”

They walked further. “Look,” she said, “Hand-blown glass.”

“They close off the street on Saturdays and set up this marketplace. There’s a farmers’ market at the end of the block, if you want to look for some fresh produce.”

“This vase is beautiful ... but out of my price range.”

They strolled among the vendor stalls. Logan nudged Alex and pointed. “Look — Ad Astra.”

“Gourmet Italian restaurant,” Alex remarked, reading a placard near the entrance.

“This place opened to great fanfare when I was here for my MBA. I’m happy to see it’s still in operation. I could never afford to come here as an impoverished student. Care to have dinner here?”

“Sure,” she replied.

“I’ll pop in and see if they can reserve a table for two for six P.M. Then we can resume our shopping.”

“Are we dressed okay?” she asked.

“I think so ... I’ll ask, though.”

Logan sat across from Alex. She scanned the menu. “See?” he said. “This isn’t some spaghetti joint. It’s all gourmet Italian. These items require the same prep care as in any high-end French place.”

“I see...” She turned a page in the menu. “Look at this — a selection of authentic Roman dishes. This page is in Latin.”

“How up are you on reading your Caesar?”

“I never studied Latin ... It’s in English on the facing page.”

“It says these are all based on recipes from Apicius,” Logan remarked, “the world’s oldest extant cook book ... from around 100AD.”

“Peacock Patties, seasoned with juniper berries and Roman spices,” she read. “Note — A substitution has been made for peacock.”

“That’s a relief,” Logan replied. “I couldn’t live with myself thinking a beautiful peacock joined the choir invisible simply to supply patties for my dinner.”

Their server approached. “Good evening. Can I get you drinks?”

“I think we’ll have wine with the entree,” Logan replied.

“Very good. Any questions on the menu?”

“The peacock patties,” Alex said, pointing to the menu. “It says a substitution has been made...”

“We use ground turkey,” the server replied.

“There are similarities between turkeys and peacocks,” Logan remarked.

“Yes,” Alex agreed. “They’re both birds.”

“The males both display to the females.”

Alex looked up at the server. “I’ll try the peacock patties.”

“I’ll have the pork loin. Could you recommend a wine pairing?”

“For an authentic Roman experience,” the server replied, “we recommend a Greek rose Retsina.”

“Pine needles?” Logan asked.

“It’s as close as you can get to a real Roman flavor.”

“All right, we’ll go with that.”

The server picked up the menus and left. Logan regarded Alex. “You’re not going to insist on splitting the check tonight ... are you?”

“No, I’m not,” she replied. “I’m intending to pick up the whole check. It’s my way of thanking you for driving us here and for spending the day with me.”

“I’ve enjoyed every minute,” Logan replied. “I’ve had a great time.”

“So have I. But I still insist on picking up the check.”

Their server returned with an ice bucket and a bottle of wine. “Retsina rose.”

Logan regarded the label. “It is, indeed. Let’s open it with the entree.”

“Very good.”

Alex looked around the dining room. “This is a really nice place, Logan. I’m glad you suggested it.”