Page 1 of A Quiet Man

"He's cute, but I wouldn't fuck him."

"Oh? Why not? You aracist?" The girl spoke in a teasing voice to her friend. Maybe she thought racism was a funny subject for a joke.

Tomas slid lower in his seat at the diner. He'd recognized the voices of two women who worked at the precinct, although he couldn't remember their names. White girls, not bad-looking, but nobody he'd thought about twice "that way." He was beginning to think he didn't think twice about anybody "that way."

He knew it wasn't good to hunch in on himself, but whenever people started talking about fucking and racism, he watched his back. Tomas was Latino, generally acknowledged as "pretty," and got antsy whenever people talked about him behind his back. Which he hoped wasn't happening now. But it usually was.

The girl in the booth said, "Well, clearly he's gay." She slurped on her milkshake as if for emphasis. Tomas's ears burned. "He's always hanging around that gay partner of his. They're so handsy!"

"Ew, but the wolf's married! You don't think...?"

"Who knows what they get up to? Anyway, he's too cute to be straight," she added in a tone that implied everyone knew that. "And he hasn't checked out my boobs once."

"That doesn't mean anything. Maybe he's just nice. You know, polite? Manners? Ever heard of them?"

"Some things, a man can't hide," said the other girl.

"Maybe you could turn him," said the first one, back to teasing now. They both giggled at the thought. Really, they couldn't be that much younger than he, if at all. Why did listening to them remind him of the teenage girls in high school?

It occurred to him that he was eavesdropping. Also, that there was no way to get out of it unless he got up and walked past them. Which would definitely get him spotted and be even more embarrassing than sitting here with his ears burning.

There was a loud crash. Both girls shrieked. "Oh, whoops! Sorry! I'm so sorry!" the waiter said in a loud voice. "Oh, geez, I'm so clumsy. I'm all thumbs! Here, let me — no, I'll — can I get you a towel?"

"You've ruined my shirt! Yeah, you can get me a towel — and I'll be sending you the bill for my dry cleaning as well!"

"Oh, geez," the waiter said humbly. "I'm awfully sorry."

They had the same waiter Tomas did, a nice guy, somewhat fluttery, slim and appealing in a big-eyed way, a youngish guy with a quick smile and warm eyes.Unlike him to be clumsy.

"In fact," the angry girl said, her voice gaining strength, "I think I'd like to speak with your manager!"

Tomas could bear many things, but not watching service workers get dressed down for mistakes. He raised his shoulders and turned around on the squeaky seat, peering over the booth separator at the two girls. "What's going on? What seems to be the problem?" he croaked. His throat had gone dry, and his heart had clenched. Tomas hated confrontations, although he'd trained himself not to let it show as much as it used to.

"The problem? This guy knocked my coffee all over me! Why—" She stopped suddenly, blushed bright red as she recognized him, and fell silent.

Speaking deliberately and maintaining eye contact, Tomas said, "I'll pay your dry-cleaning bill. It's no problem. Just send it to me."

"Oh, no, that's okay. It wasn't your fault."

"Well, I'm sure it wasn't this guy's, either." He gestured vaguely to the waiter, who was doing less fluttering and more alert watching at the moment. "Accidents happen, after all."

"Sure, sure."

"Everybody makes mistakes. Can I cover your meal for you? Would that help? Maybe your friend has a shirt you can borrow back at the precinct. Just to change into for now." It wasn't an unlikely suggestion; many people kept at least one change of clothes at the precinct, just in case.

The girl blushed again but nodded. She grabbed her purse and got up without another word, heading towards the door, her face bright red. The other girl followed, looking a mixture of amazed, amused, and awkward.

"I'll see you back there, then," called Tomas. "I hope your day improves."

The second girl glanced back at him as if she was trying to figure something out, but the one with the stained shirt didn't.

Tomas sank back into his seat and let out a breath. Clearly, they were letting him pay. It was a relief they were gone; he didn't know how much longer he could've pulled off the calm, collected, and reasonable thing.

"My hero," the waiter said softly, cleaning up the mess quickly.

"Add their bill to mine," said Tomas. "I know it wasn't your fault."

The waiter looked at him quizzically, head tilted to the side, then hurried back to his work, ducking his head. "Thanks."