"Very," Julius Hampton said, with just enough drink in him to gossip. "His catering business failed some time ago and he's eking out a living now. He's basically very honest but he got in some tax trouble with Uncle Sam back then. Had to spend some time locked up in federal prison. I have a PI do a background on everyone I hire. I've never questioned Raleigh about his past even though I know a lot about it. I can tell you that he cooks like Julia Child."
"The poor fellow," Nigel Wickland said. "That is certainly a spot of bother to live down, isn't it? Still, many people around here have had similar problems with the IRS. That doesn't make him a criminal."
When Raleigh returned from the restroom, Nigel Wickland started paying more attention to him than to Julius Hampton. Raleigh didn't sense that it was a gay thing. It just seemed that Nigel Wickland wanted to learn about his work history. Nigel asked if this was his first job as a butler/chef. And he seemed very interested in Raleigh's former catering business, saying he thought he remembered Raleigh's employees catering some soirees at the Wickland Gallery. Raleigh thought that was just bullshit until he remembered that Nellie had catered a fancy gig at a Beverly Hills art gallery. They'd lost money on it when she'd failed to anticipate the amount of champagne needed, and she'd had to quickly run to the nearest liquor store and buy cases at retail. Was that the Wickland Gallery? He couldn't remember.
Then Nigel Wickland started to wheeze. He took a few short deep breaths that didn't seem to help him. He muttered, "Please forgive me," and took an inhaler from his trousers pocket, turning away from Raleigh and Julius Hampton. He put the inhaler in his mouth and pressed the canister, simultaneously inhaling deeply, holding the steroid in his lungs as long as possible.
When he exhaled, he turned back to them and said, "I'm sorry. Adult-onset asthma. It started three years ago. Part of the indignities of advancing age."
Julius Hampton said, "You think you're old? Like Willie Nelson said, I've outlived my dick. I wouldn't want to outlive my liver. Without a decent martini, what's the point in any of it?"
Nigel Wickland then said to Raleigh, "Did you ever think about starting up your catering business again? I don't mean in the middle of this recession but later."
"It takes starter money to get a business like that going," Raleigh said. "I'd have to win the lottery or something."
"Still, there's nothing like the feeling of independence that being one's own boss can give. Especially with men of a certain age, like you and me."
Julius Hampton said, "What it all boils down to is relevancy. All the elderly understand that. You will, too, sooner than you think. Marty Brueger always talks about it. He says when he started feeling irrelevant, he knew he was through with living. That's what he's doing in Leona's guesthouse--waiting to die."
"Well, you're not irrelevant, Mr. Hampton," Raleigh said quickly. Nigel Wickland said, "Hear me, god. Save us all from irrelevance."
As Nigel returned to pumping the chubby butler about his work history, Julius Hampton began getting restless at being left out of the conversation. After the second martini, the old man said, "Well, Raleigh, is it time to go home and see what's on TV tonight?"
Then Nigel Wickland said quickly, "Raleigh, here's my card. Give me a ring and I'll show you around the gallery. Any time at all. I think you'd enjoy it."
When they were driving home, Julius Hampton said, "Well, well, Nigel Wickland seemed smitten with you, Raleigh. What's the secret of your attraction?"
"Unless he likes Pillsbury Doughboys, it couldn't be physical," Raleigh said, patting his belly. "I've got so much flab spilling over my belt that my hips look like a muffin top. I think he was just being friendly, Mr. Hampton."
"Nigel doesn't strike me as the overly friendly type," Julius Hampton said, looking at Raleigh as though he certainly couldn't figure out Nigel's interest.
The next afternoon before taking his nap, Raleigh's employer told him he could take the afternoon off. Raleigh couldn't decide whether or not to visit Sharon, his older sister in San Pedro. His other sister had died of lung cancer when he was in prison, and both parents were gone, so Sharon was the only close relative he had left. But she was an Evangelical Christian who always spent at least half of every visit trying to bring him to Jesus. He decided he didn't feel up to it today.
He thought about going to a movie in Westwood, or maybe visiting an old friend who used to work for him and Nellie in the catering business. She was a busty Brazilian in her midforties. Alma was hopelessly clumsy and had broken more glasses than the Sylmar earthquake, but she'd sleep with him if she was in the mood, and he loved to kid her that she had tits from here to paternity. Raleigh couldn't remember the last time he got laid and was almost horny enough to buy a knobber from one of those Asian masseuses on Hollywood Boulevard. He phoned Alma but the number was no longer in service, so on a whim he drove his Toyota to the Wickland Gallery and popped in unannounced.