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Rosemary smiled as she saw Charlie come in the door of the café. This was their third date, and she thought things were going well. It had taken a little while to get past the “I am so handsome and popular” persona he presented to the world, but she was sure now that underneath that façade was a person worth getting to know.
Charlie placed his order at the counter, then joined her at the table she had claimed near the windows.
“Hi, Charlie,” Rosemary said, smiling at him and giving his hand a quick squeeze. “I’m glad to see you.”
“Hi, Rosemary,” Charlie replied. He didn’t smile back, and he slipped his hand out from under hers as soon as he could.
Rosemary felt a sudden nervous clench in her stomach. Had she said something wrong?
Charlie’s latte arrived then, and the momentary distraction gave Rosemary a chance to work up her courage. “Charlie, is something the matter?” she asked when the waiter had left.
Charlie gave her a long, silent stare across the table, then pulled out his phone and set it down facing her. “When were you planning to tell me about this?” he asked.
Rosemary looked at the phone screen. It was her own Tumblr account – right, they had exchanged social media handles last time – showing a post she had reblogged the other day. The post was a short comic about asexuality, and she had tagged it #ace solidarity. She had a sinking feeling that she knew where the conversation was heading.
“That I’m asexual, you mean?” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “I didn’t have any particular plan. It hadn’t come up yet, that’s all.”
“Well, you ought to warn guys about it,” Charlie said, scowling. “If I’d known you were one of those weird frigid types –”
Rosemary clenched her fists under the table. “Oh, so you only went out with me for the chance of getting into my pants? Thanks so much for the compliment.”
“What else do you think I’d want to do?” Charlie demanded. “That’s what normal people do when they’re dating.” He snorted. “But you wouldn’t know about that, would you, because you’re a freak.”
Rosemary felt tears stinging her eyes and furiously forced them back. She refused to give Charlie the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
“There really is no call for that sort of remark,” a new voice said. “My dear girl, would you care for assistance in removing this… person?”
Rosemary looked up, startled. The speaker was a stout, blond man in an old-fashioned suit; after a moment she recognized him as one half of the older gay couple she had vaguely noticed at the next table. He stood with his hands clasped behind him, regarding Charlie with the expression of a butler in a period TV show preparing to escort an undesirable guest to the door.
Rosemary wasn’t sure how much help he would be in “removing” the tall, muscular Charlie, but she was too glad for the support to turn it down. “Yes, please,” she said. “At least, if he doesn’t have the sense to know when he’s not wanted anymore.” She directed a pointed glare at Charlie.
“I’ll go when I feel like it,” Charlie said with a sneer that made Rosemary wonder how she had ever found him good-looking. “I paid for this coffee, and I’m going to sit here and drink it.” He picked up his latte and ostentatiously took a long drink.
At that moment the lid of the coffee cup came off, spilling hot liquid all over Charlie’s shirt. He leapt up, swearing.
“I believe this young lady said you’re not wanted here,” the blond man said, a hint of steel in his voice. “Kindly leave, before I’m forced to ask less politely.”
His expression and posture didn’t change, but Charlie, looking at him, went suddenly pale. He turned and fled without another word.
Rosemary stared after him, her mouth slightly open. What had just happened?
“Are you all right, dear girl?” the blond man said, bending anxiously over her. “I do hope you won’t take the things he said to heart. He was unconscionably ignorant and rude.”
Rosemary blinked, trying to think past the shock of the incident (and the fact that she had just heard the word “unconscionably” used by someone outside a book). “Um – yes, I’m all right. I mean, I will be in a minute. Thank you.”
“All in a day’s work, I assure you,” the man said, smiling. “Now, perhaps you had better come and sit with my husband and me till you’ve recovered a bit.”
He glanced over his shoulder at said husband, a lanky redhead who was still slouched bonelessly in a chair at their own table. Rosemary couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses he was wearing, but the corners of his lips were quirked up in a slight smile that made him look less intimidating.
“C’mon over, kid,” he told her, pushing out an extra chair with one long leg. “We don’t bite. Not unless somebody deserves it, anyway.”
He looked at the blond man and added softly, “Nice work, angel,” receiving a glowing smile in return.
Rosemary hesitantly picked up her purse and her own coffee and seated herself in the offered chair.
“I think some introductions are in order, don’t you?” the blond man said, resuming his own seat beside his husband. “I’m – well, the sign on my bookshop says A. Z. Fell, but my first name is a bit of a mouthful, to be honest. You’ll be best off sticking with ‘Mr. Fell’.”
“And I’m Crowley,” the red-haired man said. “No ‘mister’ required.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Rosemary responded automatically. “I’m Rosemary.” She took a sip of her coffee and frowned. She could have sworn she had ordered regular coffee with cream, but now it was the mocha latte she only got on special occasions.
However, not even mysteriously changing beverages could take her mind off recent events for long. “Ugh,” she groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “I can’t believe I thought Charlie was nice. How did I not realize what he was like?”
“Humans are remarkably good at blinding your – ourselves to what we don’t want to see,” Mr. Fell said sympathetically. “And it seems likely that – Charlie, is it? – could be quite charming when he chooses.” His nose wrinkled in distaste. “I must say, he reminded me a bit of a former colleague of mine.”
“Who was a complete arsehole,” Crowley interjected.
“Crowley!” Mr. Fell exclaimed in a shocked tone that Rosemary suspected was put on for effect.
“You know he was, angel, and there’s no reason not to say so anymore. But listen, kid –” Crowley leaned forward, the sunglasses fixed on Rosemary. “Don’t go blaming yourself for any of this. If he wants to be an arsehole, that’s all on him. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Even though Rosemary knew this perfectly well, it was comforting to hear someone say it so bluntly. She briefly considered being annoyed by the “kid” part, but Crowley and Mr. Fell both looked old enough that twenty-eight probably did seem like a kid to them. “Thanks,” she said quietly.
She fidgeted with her coffee cup for a few moments. “The thing is – I’m fine with being ace. I like being ace. But I think I’d like to be in a relationship with someone, too, and how am I going to find that if most men feel the way Charlie does?”
“There’s no simple solution to that, I’m afraid,” Mr. Fell said. “But there are certainly people out there who don’t think that way, if only you can find them. You may even be lucky enough to come upon someone who doesn’t require such things in a relationship either.” He smiled fondly at Crowley, interlacing his plump fingers with his husband’s thin ones.
Rosemary blinked as she absorbed the implication: not only an older gay couple, but an older asexual gay couple. She swallowed hard, imagining what it would be like to have someone look at her that way without wanting things that she wasn’t willing to give.
“How – how did you manage it?” she asked.
Crowley gave a muffled snort of laughter. “I wouldn’t recommend going our route, kid. It’s not the most useful road map.”
“We were friends for a very long time before we became a couple,” Mr. Fell said, giving Crowley a mildly reproving look. “There were… complications along the way, I’ll admit, but in the end we both realized that everything we wanted was right beside us.” He stroked his thumb over Crowley’s knuckles, and Crowley went red and made a strangled noise.
“Perhaps that’s your answer, my dear. Instead of looking for dates on these ‘apps’ that everyone seems to use nowadays–” Rosemary could hear the quotation marks around “apps”, “–you might simply focus on surrounding yourself with congenial, open-minded people who share your interests. There’s no guarantee that friendship will develop into romance, of course, but even if it doesn’t, you’ll be all the richer for having those friends.”
Rosemary thought about this. She could see Mr. Fell’s point; the sort of person she would want as a close friend was unlikely to also be the sort of person who thought having sex was the whole point of dating.
She took another drink of her latte (did this café even make mocha lattes this good?) and smiled at him. “That makes a lot of sense. Thank you for – well, for all of this.”
Mr. Fell reached across the table to rest a soft hand briefly over hers. “You’re very welcome, my dear. Crowley and I do our best to help and support other queer people, especially the young ones, whenever we can.”
“That’s half the reason he settled in Soho in the first place,” Crowley added, draping a long arm around his husband’s plump shoulders. “Guardian angel of the whole damn neighborhood, he is.”
Mr. Fell blushed pink and swatted ineffectually at him. “Really, dearest. You’re nearly as deserving of that title as I am.”
“Oi! I’m the guardian demon round here, and don’t you forget it.” Crowley glanced at Rosemary, who was blinking in confusion, and coughed. “Er – old joke. Too complicated to explain.”
“In any case, now that you’re settled, we ought to be on our way,” Mr. Fell said. He rose, smoothing his waistcoat over his broad belly, and gave Rosemary a warm smile. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Rosemary. I wish you the best of luck in your romantic endeavors.”
“And if you run into any more acephobic arseholes, come round to the bookshop, and we’ll see they’re dealt with,” Crowley said, unfolding to his feet. He paused by Rosemary’s chair and added in a lower voice, “By the way, thought you’d like to know – that bloke Charlie left here in such a rush that he didn’t look where he was going and caught his jeans on an iron railing. Ripped ‘em right up the back.”
Rosemary broke into a grin, too delighted with the image to question how he could possibly know that. Crowley grinned back and turned away to join his husband.
Rosemary watched them leave hand in hand, Crowley moving with a sort of lounging saunter, Mr. Fell brisk and upright beside him. They were an odd pair, but it was clear they loved each other deeply. Could there be a relationship like that out there for her?
Well, if Mr. Fell was the guardian angel of Soho, maybe his good wishes for her love life would make a difference. And if he was a guardian angel, protecting and guiding, why shouldn’t Crowley be a guardian demon, visiting punishments like embarrassingly torn trousers on those who deserved it?
Rosemary smiled to herself at the absurdity of the idea. Whatever they were, she was glad they had been in the café today.
She made a mental note to look up A. Z. Fell’s bookshop and pay it a visit sometime. Maybe she would ask some of her friends along; William loved books, and Claire was always looking for people to talk to about queer history. It would be fun to go with them.
It occurred to her that she couldn’t imagine Charlie visiting a bookshop for pleasure. That should probably have told her something, even before his outburst today. Apparently, she thought, aesthetic attraction could cloud your judgement as easily as sexual desire was supposed to.
Rosemary took out her phone, selected the dating app where she had met him, and decisively deleted it. No more dates with strangers for her; she would take Mr. Fell’s advice and concentrate on her friends instead. Maybe she would find a romantic relationship that way, and maybe she wouldn’t, but either way she should be safe from another disaster like this one.
Thinking of everything that had happened after her date went pear-shaped, she paused and reconsidered her word choice. Disaster? Or a strange sort of blessing in disguise?