David Calogero Centorbi

If It’s Not Saint Laurent Leather

When I saw him in his Lululemon Athletics, drinking a bud light, and standing in a Juul cloud at the end of the bar, I decided it meant that living and lazy could live happily ever after: we ended up with a Peloton, two Peterbald cats, and a greenhouse full of Hart’s-tongue ferns.

When I left, I took the Peloton. 

After that, I decided it would be much easier to live my life in dreams: as long as my mind stayed firm I could say things like, “We’ll always have Paris” and “My tastes are very singular.” My lovers would always know what that meant and every morning we could fly to the Grancaffè Quadri in Venice for brunch.

That plan burned out quickly: I knew I could only dream for so long until my Hulu and Amazon Prime were canceled and Siri taken away because my love-dreams couldn’t pay the bills.

I fought that truth for a bit, but I got it together.

I even met my new neighbor in the Whole Foods parking lot. He was in Gucci and his cart was full of Bud Light seltzer. I decided that meant flash and sweet could be the mix that lived happily ever after.

The next day he introduced me to his new, no-one-knows-what-breed-it-is, rescue dog. I went on walks with them. He and I would indulge in the centuries-old custom of ice cream in the park on a bench near a fountain. 

And, once again, that thing started to slink its way back into my life. Don’t call it by its name I kept telling myself, not yet. 

So, I gave it some time, but finally said its name, and he cried, “I was waiting for this, but I wanted you to say it first.”

Our decision was Eastside or Westside. He decided Eastside because it was closer to the park. 

To celebrate our first year his friends and family gathered around his enviable RH dining room table ready to enjoy his version of Chef Alexis Gauthier’s Vegan Foie Gras and Beetroot Terrine, even though none of us were vegan. 

Before we ate he decided there should be candlelight, and there was Owen Drew. 

During the meal he decided there should be music: there was a cello, a violin, and Beethoven’s Duet in C Major.

And then, the next morning, over Presco Mamassos, I decided to say goodbye and thought: from now on it will be sunlit brunches at Grancaffè and moonlit strolls through the Bois de Vincennes in Paris, and all my lovers will be in Saint Laurent Leather and drinking Mitchter’s Bourbon.

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