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The Adonis Dating Service: Curtis
67
When it ended, Curtis and Corey were goggle-eyed. It was almost
dinnertime by now, and their fullness from lunch had evanesced while
they watched the show. “If we eat early, we can try to get tickets to a
Broadway show tonight,” Corey suggested. “There are lots of good
restaurants on the Upper West Side.”
They walked over to Eighth Avenue and caught a Broadway bus
that, beyond Columbus Circle, veered onto Broadway and ran north
on the Upper West Side. “Let’s look for a Cuban restaurant,” Corey
suggested. There were no Latino restaurants in Surfspray.
Finding a Cuban restaurant, they didn’t even order separately.
Consulting the menu together, they ordered lechón asado, camarones
en salsa verde, chicharrones, mofongo, and plátanos maduros fritos.
“Just put it all in the middle of the table and give us two plates,”
Corey requested, though it turned out to be more food than would fit
in the middle of the small table for two, not to mention that he didn’t
realize that the two main dishes, shrimp in green sauce and roast pork,
came with arroz y habichuelas, rice and beans, in addition. They ate
as much as they could of their plantain dishes, pork skins, main
courses, and all, but a good half of the food was left over.
“Thank God for the little fridge in our hotel room,” Curtis said.
They kept eating even after they were well stuffed. It was that
good—and that different from anything they’d ever eaten. “Surfspray
could use a good Cuban restaurant,” Corey said.
“I’m not sure it would fly,” Curtis said. “It might be too exotic.
We don’t even have a sushi restaurant.”
“You may be right.”
They caught the subway back to Times Square, found a theatre
with a show they both thought they’d like to see, and lucked into a
pair of tickets. The show had been running long enough that it was no
longer a hot ticket, and they were able to snag not just a pair of tickets
but tickets for good seats in the orchestra. Curtis blanched when he
heard the price. The tickets would set Corey back nearly $200.
68
Diana Sheridan
“It’s worth it—and I can afford it,” Corey reassured him. “I’m
being paid well for tomorrow night’s speech.”
The show didn’t let out until after eleven, and they got back to the
hotel late. Then they made love and didn’t get to sleep until nearly
one in the morning.
In the morning, they decided to visit the ship Intrepid, docked on
the West Side, and the 9/11 memorial, then grab lunch and take a
helicopter tour—another expensive item, as were the taxis they took
several of in getting from one place to another. Curtis was upset at
how much money Corey was spending, but Corey shushed him. “Who
knows when we’ll get to New York again?” he asked.
Or if we’ll even still be together. Curtis tried to put such thoughts
out of his mind. Enjoy the weekend now. Face your doubts later.
It was while they were up in the helicopter, looking down at
Manhattan island, that Corey started sneezing. The first ah-choo was
hardly alarming, but by the fifth one he had also begun to realize he
was developing a sore throat. “Oh, no! The speech is tonight!” he
said—or, rather, croaked, for his voice was not its usual strong timbre.
“I think you’ve got laryngitis!” said Curtis, putting the back of
one hand to Corey’s forehead. “And a fever, too,” he added.
“I do feel warm—and sick.”
“I’ll find a supermarket and get honey and lemon and aspirin.
We’ve got to lick this before tonight,” Curtis said.
The helipad was on the east side of midtown, near a residential
area, and they hailed a cab and asked the driver to take them to the
nearest supermarket. While Corey sat on a bench up front, Curtis
scurried around the aisles, looking for the requisite items. Then, in
order to get Corey back to the hotel as quickly as possible, they hailed
another taxi. “Get undressed and get in bed,” Curtis directed Corey.
He mixed honey with lemon in a hotel glass, put water in another
glass, and gave Corey the honey-and-lemon mixture, two aspirins,
and water to swallow it down with. “Now go to sleep,” he
commanded him, but Corey was too upset to sleep.
The Adonis Dating Service: Curtis
69
He was due at the Beacon Theatre at seven thirty, in advance of
going onstage at eight. At quarter to seven, still in bed and no better,
he croaked, “What can we do?”
“I have a plan,” said Curtis, sounding very nervous. He tapped the
back of his left wrist three times with his right fingers, then again.
“What’s your plan?” croaked Corey.
Curtis tapped his wrist again three times, very agitatedly before
slowly, hesitantly telling Corey what he had in mind.
At promptly seven thirty, a taxi disgorged Curtis and Corey in
front of the Beacon. Curtis’s stomach was growling, since neither of
them had had dinner, though he was too nervous to eat even though
he was hungry. As for Corey, he admitted he was too sick to even be
hungry. They entered the theatre and sought out the man they were to
look for.
At eight o’clock, the theatre manager took to the stage in front of
the quieting audience as the house lights dimmed. “Our scheduled
speaker, Corey Atwood, is ill and suffering from laryngitis,” he
began. A murmur of disappointment raced through the crowd. “We
are fortunate, however, to have his associate, Curtis Carmody, with
us. Mr. Carmody is going to deliver Mr. Atwood’s exact talk to you,
so you will hear Mr. Atwood’s talk tonight, just as scheduled, but
from the mouth of his associate.”
Curtis nervously tapped the back of his wrist three times, and then
he did it again.
“You’re sure you know the speech?” Corey whispered, having
lost his voice completely by this point.
“Perfectly. I’ve listened to you rehearse it often enough. I know it
cold. That’s not the issue. It’s getting up and facing all these people.”
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