orangetoughguy | phone post

Freddy loops the Mustang keying over his finger.

"Relax. I'm a professional."

Again he smiles, wanting to have nothing more than a pleasant evening together. One of many. One after the other for the last couple years. He leads the way to their garage. It's a warmer sunset, that means they'll take off with the top down.

The sky ignites Freddy's hair. Oh fuck is it all so beautiful. The light, the cars and Freddy standing there. He cant loop his arm around him immediately but Larry does reach to touch his hair.

"Okay, Mr. Professional." Fucking Professional like way back when... "I'm entrusting you."

He licks his lips and doesn't say much more. Now isn't the moment but in this moment he realizes what he wants to do. What he should do. It's simple and somehow an obvious decision to most. That would tie up an important end. His own thoughts paint a stupid grin onto his face.

"Thanks," Freddy replies, giving a boyish smile that betrays his age of--oh fuck he turned thirty with Lawrence Dimick. What a milestone. His hair flopping this way and that with his fingers is still as butterscotch as ever.

The drive to San Domingo's is easy. Everything's easy when you live nearest the good side of the city, the affluent edge. It's not the same affluence of the Hollywood hills but for a place like this, they are somebodies. Enough to be left alone. Their arrival is without ceremony, just the way Freddy likes it. Valet? You bet. Larry's the big tipper after all.

Cruising in the passenger's seat lets his mind drift. It's going to happen. Yes. Such grand gestures for the future are best when you've got the right symbolic jewelry except words alone count. Never in his whole damn life did he think he would be the type.

Larry's own hair goes this way and that. He colors it now and then. Freddy's thirtieth only throws into sharper contrast his own age. Let's not even speak of it. He's already old.

"Do you have money to get a table?" he asks while getting out some cash for the valet. They could have called to reserve a table but they have enough pull to get a table almost any night of the week. Life has not been filled with numerous trials. It's just the drug dealers, gangsters and secrets.

For that question Freddy just cocks a brow and pulls the side of his mouth upward in a characteristically shit eating smirk.

"I don't have to be a high roller to get what we want."

What we want, not what I want.

The kid waves a hand at the hostess because he's on better terms with her than he is with the host. Let big men like Lawrence Dimick throw their weight around with guys like that. Let Freddy Newendyke be Freddy Newendyke...and have the lady looking at him first, then the older one, then him again before requesting two minutes to make it happen. Once she's gone away Freddy leans in closer to Larry.

"I helped her find flowers for her mama," Freddy whispers.

A real mover and shaker, this kid.

"Flowers, huh? What kind?"

That's his man. Something about the air and how confidently Freddy takes charge in his way reassures Larry that the tension at home was nothing. They're okay. He lightly puts his arm around his sharp dressed man.

"I didn't know you knew so much about em." Except maybe that's something one picks up after seeing them in the casa so much. What started as a holiday treat and then became more of a collection from time to time for the old man he does like his flowers. But truly it's when they're appreciated by both important members of the home is it wonderful. Yeah, that casa is a home.

How could Lawrence Dimick do without this man in Mexico or anywhere else in the world? He couldn't. Now is a time to show it. Those two minutes waiting for their speedy service Larry spends close to his man.

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