Frenchie sat at one of the metal tables outside his favorite cafe, waiting on his blind date to show up. He was nervous; he hadn't dated outside the queer platonic thing he had going with his mate Wee John who was a beast of a man, nothing wee about him. Frenchie tapped out a cigarette from his pack and toyed with the idea of lighting it when a short man with a salt and pepper goatee and a limp stopped in front of him.
"Frenchie?" He asked, voice nice and low, sending a shiver down the lanky man's spine. The songs running through Frenchie's head swirled.
"Yeah, mate, I'm Frenchie. You Izzy?"
The man nodded and looked at the cigarette in his hand longingly before he seemed to shake out of it and sat down heavily on one side.
"What kind of bullshit name is Frenchie anyways?"
"Well, technically it's Maurice Dubois, but my high school mates made fun of how French it sounded so they started calling me Frenchie and it stuck," He said, rubbing his free hand over his short afro.
Izzy a husky tone, he blurted out, " My mates in the navy called me Basilica, because I was raised Catholic and used to pray before storms hit."
"Do you still believe?"
"Nah, seen too much shit and shit people to believe in God or saints any more."
Frenchie nodded, he believed some off the wall things so who was he to judge religions.
"You gonna smoke that or just like looking at it?" Izzy said, nodding at the cigarette in his hand.
"I guess I'll smoke it since I got it out. You smoke?" He asked, fishing out a Scooby Doo lighter and flicking it with his thumb.
Izzy waggled a hand back and forth. "I smoke on occasion. Are you offering?"
Frenchie blew out a plume of smoke and smacked the pack against the table to loosen a cigarette out and offered it to the man.
Izzy took the stick and lit it with his own lighter, inhaling deeply. He raised an eyebrow and said, "You smoke menthols?"
Frenchie blushed and was grateful for his tan skin making it all the harder to tell.
Izzy took another pull off the cigarette and looked over Frenchie in an appraising way.
"So blind dates, huh? How do you know Roach?" The older man asked. Frenchie knew Roach, the friend who had set the date up through work. They had been coworkers at the same fancy restaurant for over a year. Roach worked his magic in the kitchen and Frenchie waited tables. The casual racism and classism from the clientele was aggravating but Frenchie knew he was earning more waiting tables for rich folks than he'd be making anywhere else and the hours were flexible.
"We work together, how do you know Roach?"
"He's my upstairs neighbor, always playing Ethiopian Jazz records at 2 am but he makes some damn good tea and cakes."
They sat in silence for a moment, focusing on their smokes.
"So what are you looking for, Frenchie?" Izzy asked plainly.
"So, something you should know. I'm aroace. Meaning I don't do sex, mostly, and I don't do all the romance business of dating, but, y'know, I still wanna date. For companionship you know." He nervously ran a hand through his afro again.
Izzy flicked the ashes off his cigarette. "I know about aroace. I might be….asexual, demi-sexual? Myself. But I get it. Sometimes dating is preferable than sitting at home doing fuck all."
"Yeah man! What do you do for fun? I'm actually a singer-songwriter trying to get more songs on the page, you know. So I MC drag shows for my friend John."
"Oh really? I used to do drag shows once upon a time, til my leg got fucked up."
Frenchie looked at him curiously. "Can I ask?"
Izzy barked out a short laugh, "I got shot in the kneecap and it wouldn't heal. Had to amputate from the midthigh. Hurts like a bitch in storms now."
The taller man blinked. "You could still do drag with a prosthetic. I know a drag king whose entirely wheelchair bound and his performance will knock you outta your seat. If that's something you're interested in I mean."
Izzy blinked at him, slowly like a cat, which sent a shiver down Frenchie's spine. Cats were bad luck in his book.
"Yeah. Could give it a try."
The darker skinned man smiled widely. "I'll introduce you to Wee John sometime then, you know, if the date works out." He laughed.
Izzy smirked at him. "Why? Do you think you're doing a bad job?"
He blushed. "N-no, just you know, checking the vibes."
Izzy let out a husky laugh. "Doing just fine. How about a second date? Catch a show with your drag club friends?"
Frenchie brightened. "Yeah, sounds great. I'll uh text you I guess."
"You do that then." He replied with a wink, swinging up out of his chair and stubbing out the butt of his bummed cigarette.
He walked away smoothly and Frenchie had to light another cigarette just to absorb the date in his mind. Something that was clear, Izzy Hands was a mystery man and Frenchie wanted to figure out his secrets.