Too Much Too Little Too Late - Part One of The Great Dane Saga by Alp Mortal
Categories: Contemporary Romance | Gay
Word Count: 24,838 Heat Rating: 3 Price: $ .99 Available here:
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Meet Dane Danois - the most fabulous gay man in the Universe ... in his own, never humble opinion. A man driven to live life to the full, and if there's a chance that he can help a friend along the way, he will. A sharp-suited, sharp-witted, sometimes reckless, sometimes dangerous, always intoxicating agent of change ... and loyal to a T. However, this exacting approach to life - and love - leaves him currently single, and maybe a little bored.
Too Much Too Little Too Late is the first of the six parts of the series called The Great Dane Saga. In this first part, Dane is back in London, touching base with friends and wreaking havoc in his latest job - exceeding the expectations of the client is his personal mantra. In meeting Angelo, the barista who works in the cafe next door to the office, Dane finds something he was not expecting - the possibility of a relationship ... So why then are the alarm bells ringing? The Great Dane Saga charts the life of Dane Danois, and his many and varied friendships and relationships over the course of a 40 year period. The six parts of the story do not run in strict chronological order. That is because the story was never going to be a saga, but after I finished part one, it was clear that Dane was not going to shut up until I had written down everything he wanted to say - he was a poor narrator. Dane is neither wholly good nor wholly bad - he is just Dane - perfect in his imperfections. The six parts of The Great Dane Saga originally appeared in 2013, in single volumes, and then in the compendium titled All The World. All volumes were removed from the shelf in 2014 for re-editing. The six individual volumes, and the compendium, will re-appear during the course of 2016. I am always very happy to receive your feedback. If you wish to contact me directly, please email me at: [email protected]. Visit the website, www.alpmortal.weebly.com, for updates on the next gay romantic story or crime thriller which I am working on. Thank you, Alp Mortal |
Chapter One - I like the taste of coffee
“A four-shot tall latté to go, please,” I ordered politely, hoping that the Guatemalan blend, which was the roast of the day, lived up to the hype.
“Four shots in a tall cup?”
“That’s right ...”
I wasn’t really paying attention so I didn’t immediately understand why the bright young thing was questioning me.
“That’s pretty strong.”
“Yeah; I like the taste of coffee, not hot milk.”
The barista making up the orders looked in my direction and I caught his eye; he smiled as if to say, ‘a coffee man; at last!’
I waited at the end of the counter for the coffee to be handed to me so that I could get going, seeing as this was Day One of the new job. Despite being an hour ahead of schedule, I wanted to drink the coffee in peace, smoke a cigarette and calm my nerves.
Preparation - it’s all in the preparation. How often do you get the chance to make a first impression? Once; and in my game, screw that up and kiss the contract renewals goodbye - not on your nelly! I’d picked out a slim-fitting, charcoal grey, vintage YSL suit and teamed it with a pale, pastel yellow shirt and a skinny, black tie this morning, announcing to the world that I was serious about this job of being a grown-up. Pity you can’t sell fabulousness by the ounce - I’d make a fucking fortune.
“Four-shot tall latté,” announced the barista as he handed me the cup. He stole a glance, and the eyes were brown and fathomless - puppyish, and maybe there was a hint of, ‘I like your style’. I definitely liked his: young, trim, perhaps a little short, definitely Mediterranean. The teeth were not day-glow white and the fingers were tell-tale stained - a smoker and a coffee drinker!
I left without giving anything away in my goodbye glance, and headed to the office to begin the induction, and the first question was, “Where can I smoke?” The girl from Personnel looked a little horrified but replied, “Out the front, turn left, and turn left again into the courtyard and please go to the rear.” Like I needed a reminder.
Naturally, the firm didn’t want the public to see its employees snatching a crafty fag.
After two hours of the drone, I excused myself for a coffee and a cigarette and wandered to the designated place only to find the barista there. Evidently, we shared the courtyard.
“Hi!” I said, lighting up.
“Hi!” with half a smile.
“Why have you got that timer with you?” I asked. He had a count-down timer in his hand.
“We’re allowed a ten-minute break and not a second longer. I have to be back at my station by the time the buzzer goes off.”
“Can’t you alter it to give yourself five more minutes?”
He laughed and then choked out, “You don’t much follow the rules, do you?”
“What? Drink the strongest coffee you can make and suggest tampering with the timer? We should go out, then you’d see rule breaking.”
“Maybe we should ...”
“Catch me at lunchtime because you’re about to buzz.”
“Shit! Thanks.”
He scuttled off and I was left alone to contemplate the only thing which had put a smile on my face so far this day. I popped back into the coffee house to grab a coffee to take back up with me. His boss was just about to launch into a tirade because he was not at his station and the buzzer had definitely gone off.
“Excuse me! Sorry ... I’m the one you should blame. Your colleague here rendered me some assistance just now and I think that is why he’s late ...”
“Oh, well; that’s fine.”
“Four - no - five shot tall latté to go, please ... I need the buzz.”
There was no questioning this time, and the barista was finding it very hard not to laugh out loud. When he handed me the drink, he said very quietly, “Lunch from twelve-thirty to one.”
“Okay,” I said equally quietly and then, more loudly, so that the boss could hear, “I need this to keep me going; being inducted this morning. I’m just about at the point of calling a priest ...”
She looked dim and confused.
“To read me my last rites,” I added as I headed out, and I could hear the young barista chuckling to himself. I love someone who is absolutely on my page when it comes to humour.
I headed back up and my buzzer had definitely gone off, judging by the look from the girl from Personnel.
“Sorry,” I said, “an older person fell down outside and I felt obliged to offer my assistance.”
I have a gift of being able to tell a bare-faced lie with such conviction that even God himself would struggle to see it.
“Oh no; that’s fine ... Shall we continue?”
“Let’s! Tell me about the free prostate examination ...”
In life, I make it a rule to unhinge the staid and boring mind and introduce an element of fear - good things happen when your pulse rate rises above eighty beats a minute.
“You have to be forty-five to qualify for the free examination.”
“Oh; I suppose I’ll just have to stick my own fingers up there for another three years ...”
At twelve-thirty, I pleaded to be let out into the sunshine.
“Shall we reconvene at two o’clock?”
“Perfect!” and I headed to the courtyard.
He was there but had only just arrived, judging by the length of the cigarette he still had left to smoke.
“Hi!”
“Hey!” he replied, “Thanks for saving my skin.”
“You’re welcome. So, I’m Dane.”
“Angelo.”
“Italian?”
“Maltese.”
“Uhm; I used to work in Valetta.”
“What is it you do exactly?”
“Well, I configure a piece of software that companies like this use, and it’s fiendishly complicated, laborious and mind-numbingly boring ... but obscenely well paid. Usually, I work freelance but for some reason, this outfit wants me onboard. Still, I’m on probation and I only have to give a week’s notice during the next three months. I’ll probably walk at the last minute before they impose the sanction of working three months’ notice on me ...”
“Are you always so incredibly direct and well, gabby?”
“Oh, yes; have to be, else they’d walk all over me.”
“Do you lie to your boss like you lied to mine?”
“Of course! They deserve it and should expect it. I make a point of lying to mindless bureaucrats, my accountant and the boss ...”
“I like you Dane; is that Danish?”
“No; well probably but it’s French. It’s short for Danois, which is actually the old family name but that sounds rather pretentious, so I just call myself Dane. At school, of course, they called me The Great Dane; which I have to say, I didn’t really mind ... Apparently, William the Conqueror gave certain lands and titles to the family for rendering him some assistance; it was probably all lies ...”
“Are you French then?”
“Uhm, no. I was born on Jersey. What do you do? Please don’t tell me working for these people is your career choice.”
“I’m studying fashion.”
“Excellent! Young, beautiful and talented.”
“I guess that remains to be seen ... This year seems to be mostly about the history of fashion.”
“Where do you live?”
“The Quays; you?”
“Bayswater.”
“Not exactly neighbours.”
“No, still ... fancy a drink after work?”
“Thursday; I finish later here. We could go out straight afterwards.”
“Perfect ... So pleased I met you.”
“Me too.”
We smoked and said nothing for a minute or two.
“Are you single?” I asked casually.
“Yeah; you?”
“Yes. Occupational hazard, I’m afraid - today, London; tomorrow, Valetta.”
“I shouldn’t get too emotionally involved then,” he said with a glint in the brown eyes, making him appear a little feral, especially as his tongue was just poking out between his teeth - a little feral cat.
“You could always make me an offer I can’t refuse ... then I’d stay. It’s what I told them ... and they did!”
“For three months.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“I have to go; no doubt see you here later. Thursday then; I finish at six-thirty.”
“It’s a date; my treat, seeing as you make the best coffee I’ve tasted so far. I’ll be in for another one shortly.”
“We’re all allowed to nominate one customer who gets a discount; you could be mine.”
“Thanks! That’s really sweet of you.”
“It’ll save you a fortune too.”
“I’ll keep my discount and it’ll take us to New York for the weekend in three months’ time.”
He just smiled and left to head back in, and as I had an hour to kill, I ventured to the Arcade and toyed with the idea of buying a new cigarette lighter, but realised that I was absently thinking about him - at least on one level. Quite remarkable. Men - the world over - fall into the following two categories - those who I think about absently after barely thirty-seven minutes in their company ... and the rest.
I went back and picked up another four-shot, but he was nowhere to be seen. The manager type gave me my discount card and a look.
“Thank you. Angelo is a credit to you; always so polite and helpful ... You’re very young to be a manager, but I can see why,” I said in my most disarmingly cordial tone - the one perfected while working in bars in my youth to avoid a fist in the face when, as was so often the case, a drunk took exception to my sarcasm.
She took it as a compliment, the stupid, vapid bitch, but hey, someone has to set the timers and switch the lights off.
I finished the day fatigued. By the time I left, there was no sign of Angelo but there was always tomorrow. I knew he worked the early shift, and I started early so as to avoid the crush on the Tube and earn considerable credit points with my own boss, who had been absent today but who would be back in tomorrow.
I headed home to prepare the project plan from a template I’d used a dozen times; it always impresses.
“Lies, damn lies and impressive plans!” I chortled to myself as I ordered a Thai Vegan Special Noodle Dinner from the place around the corner, and picked it up as I walked from the Tube to the flat. Instant dinner, instant project plan and a not so instant date on the cards. A young fashion student; Maltese, trim - perhaps a little short - brown eyes, brown hair, with hands that looked as if they should be tinkling the ivories ... and a not so small package, judging by the mound in the slightly too tight black work trousers. I could have imagined that; after twenty shots of coffee, one is apt to see things which are not there. Why I felt so ... well, to put it bluntly - aroused, I couldn’t be sure. He was neither the most attractive man I had ever seen - reserved for Luke; nor the most charming - reserved for Etienne; nor the most dashing (a combination of attractiveness and charm) - reserved for me; nor the most potent - reserved for Sam.
I had a feeling this could get messy.
“A four-shot tall latté to go, please,” I ordered politely, hoping that the Guatemalan blend, which was the roast of the day, lived up to the hype.
“Four shots in a tall cup?”
“That’s right ...”
I wasn’t really paying attention so I didn’t immediately understand why the bright young thing was questioning me.
“That’s pretty strong.”
“Yeah; I like the taste of coffee, not hot milk.”
The barista making up the orders looked in my direction and I caught his eye; he smiled as if to say, ‘a coffee man; at last!’
I waited at the end of the counter for the coffee to be handed to me so that I could get going, seeing as this was Day One of the new job. Despite being an hour ahead of schedule, I wanted to drink the coffee in peace, smoke a cigarette and calm my nerves.
Preparation - it’s all in the preparation. How often do you get the chance to make a first impression? Once; and in my game, screw that up and kiss the contract renewals goodbye - not on your nelly! I’d picked out a slim-fitting, charcoal grey, vintage YSL suit and teamed it with a pale, pastel yellow shirt and a skinny, black tie this morning, announcing to the world that I was serious about this job of being a grown-up. Pity you can’t sell fabulousness by the ounce - I’d make a fucking fortune.
“Four-shot tall latté,” announced the barista as he handed me the cup. He stole a glance, and the eyes were brown and fathomless - puppyish, and maybe there was a hint of, ‘I like your style’. I definitely liked his: young, trim, perhaps a little short, definitely Mediterranean. The teeth were not day-glow white and the fingers were tell-tale stained - a smoker and a coffee drinker!
I left without giving anything away in my goodbye glance, and headed to the office to begin the induction, and the first question was, “Where can I smoke?” The girl from Personnel looked a little horrified but replied, “Out the front, turn left, and turn left again into the courtyard and please go to the rear.” Like I needed a reminder.
Naturally, the firm didn’t want the public to see its employees snatching a crafty fag.
After two hours of the drone, I excused myself for a coffee and a cigarette and wandered to the designated place only to find the barista there. Evidently, we shared the courtyard.
“Hi!” I said, lighting up.
“Hi!” with half a smile.
“Why have you got that timer with you?” I asked. He had a count-down timer in his hand.
“We’re allowed a ten-minute break and not a second longer. I have to be back at my station by the time the buzzer goes off.”
“Can’t you alter it to give yourself five more minutes?”
He laughed and then choked out, “You don’t much follow the rules, do you?”
“What? Drink the strongest coffee you can make and suggest tampering with the timer? We should go out, then you’d see rule breaking.”
“Maybe we should ...”
“Catch me at lunchtime because you’re about to buzz.”
“Shit! Thanks.”
He scuttled off and I was left alone to contemplate the only thing which had put a smile on my face so far this day. I popped back into the coffee house to grab a coffee to take back up with me. His boss was just about to launch into a tirade because he was not at his station and the buzzer had definitely gone off.
“Excuse me! Sorry ... I’m the one you should blame. Your colleague here rendered me some assistance just now and I think that is why he’s late ...”
“Oh, well; that’s fine.”
“Four - no - five shot tall latté to go, please ... I need the buzz.”
There was no questioning this time, and the barista was finding it very hard not to laugh out loud. When he handed me the drink, he said very quietly, “Lunch from twelve-thirty to one.”
“Okay,” I said equally quietly and then, more loudly, so that the boss could hear, “I need this to keep me going; being inducted this morning. I’m just about at the point of calling a priest ...”
She looked dim and confused.
“To read me my last rites,” I added as I headed out, and I could hear the young barista chuckling to himself. I love someone who is absolutely on my page when it comes to humour.
I headed back up and my buzzer had definitely gone off, judging by the look from the girl from Personnel.
“Sorry,” I said, “an older person fell down outside and I felt obliged to offer my assistance.”
I have a gift of being able to tell a bare-faced lie with such conviction that even God himself would struggle to see it.
“Oh no; that’s fine ... Shall we continue?”
“Let’s! Tell me about the free prostate examination ...”
In life, I make it a rule to unhinge the staid and boring mind and introduce an element of fear - good things happen when your pulse rate rises above eighty beats a minute.
“You have to be forty-five to qualify for the free examination.”
“Oh; I suppose I’ll just have to stick my own fingers up there for another three years ...”
At twelve-thirty, I pleaded to be let out into the sunshine.
“Shall we reconvene at two o’clock?”
“Perfect!” and I headed to the courtyard.
He was there but had only just arrived, judging by the length of the cigarette he still had left to smoke.
“Hi!”
“Hey!” he replied, “Thanks for saving my skin.”
“You’re welcome. So, I’m Dane.”
“Angelo.”
“Italian?”
“Maltese.”
“Uhm; I used to work in Valetta.”
“What is it you do exactly?”
“Well, I configure a piece of software that companies like this use, and it’s fiendishly complicated, laborious and mind-numbingly boring ... but obscenely well paid. Usually, I work freelance but for some reason, this outfit wants me onboard. Still, I’m on probation and I only have to give a week’s notice during the next three months. I’ll probably walk at the last minute before they impose the sanction of working three months’ notice on me ...”
“Are you always so incredibly direct and well, gabby?”
“Oh, yes; have to be, else they’d walk all over me.”
“Do you lie to your boss like you lied to mine?”
“Of course! They deserve it and should expect it. I make a point of lying to mindless bureaucrats, my accountant and the boss ...”
“I like you Dane; is that Danish?”
“No; well probably but it’s French. It’s short for Danois, which is actually the old family name but that sounds rather pretentious, so I just call myself Dane. At school, of course, they called me The Great Dane; which I have to say, I didn’t really mind ... Apparently, William the Conqueror gave certain lands and titles to the family for rendering him some assistance; it was probably all lies ...”
“Are you French then?”
“Uhm, no. I was born on Jersey. What do you do? Please don’t tell me working for these people is your career choice.”
“I’m studying fashion.”
“Excellent! Young, beautiful and talented.”
“I guess that remains to be seen ... This year seems to be mostly about the history of fashion.”
“Where do you live?”
“The Quays; you?”
“Bayswater.”
“Not exactly neighbours.”
“No, still ... fancy a drink after work?”
“Thursday; I finish later here. We could go out straight afterwards.”
“Perfect ... So pleased I met you.”
“Me too.”
We smoked and said nothing for a minute or two.
“Are you single?” I asked casually.
“Yeah; you?”
“Yes. Occupational hazard, I’m afraid - today, London; tomorrow, Valetta.”
“I shouldn’t get too emotionally involved then,” he said with a glint in the brown eyes, making him appear a little feral, especially as his tongue was just poking out between his teeth - a little feral cat.
“You could always make me an offer I can’t refuse ... then I’d stay. It’s what I told them ... and they did!”
“For three months.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“I have to go; no doubt see you here later. Thursday then; I finish at six-thirty.”
“It’s a date; my treat, seeing as you make the best coffee I’ve tasted so far. I’ll be in for another one shortly.”
“We’re all allowed to nominate one customer who gets a discount; you could be mine.”
“Thanks! That’s really sweet of you.”
“It’ll save you a fortune too.”
“I’ll keep my discount and it’ll take us to New York for the weekend in three months’ time.”
He just smiled and left to head back in, and as I had an hour to kill, I ventured to the Arcade and toyed with the idea of buying a new cigarette lighter, but realised that I was absently thinking about him - at least on one level. Quite remarkable. Men - the world over - fall into the following two categories - those who I think about absently after barely thirty-seven minutes in their company ... and the rest.
I went back and picked up another four-shot, but he was nowhere to be seen. The manager type gave me my discount card and a look.
“Thank you. Angelo is a credit to you; always so polite and helpful ... You’re very young to be a manager, but I can see why,” I said in my most disarmingly cordial tone - the one perfected while working in bars in my youth to avoid a fist in the face when, as was so often the case, a drunk took exception to my sarcasm.
She took it as a compliment, the stupid, vapid bitch, but hey, someone has to set the timers and switch the lights off.
I finished the day fatigued. By the time I left, there was no sign of Angelo but there was always tomorrow. I knew he worked the early shift, and I started early so as to avoid the crush on the Tube and earn considerable credit points with my own boss, who had been absent today but who would be back in tomorrow.
I headed home to prepare the project plan from a template I’d used a dozen times; it always impresses.
“Lies, damn lies and impressive plans!” I chortled to myself as I ordered a Thai Vegan Special Noodle Dinner from the place around the corner, and picked it up as I walked from the Tube to the flat. Instant dinner, instant project plan and a not so instant date on the cards. A young fashion student; Maltese, trim - perhaps a little short - brown eyes, brown hair, with hands that looked as if they should be tinkling the ivories ... and a not so small package, judging by the mound in the slightly too tight black work trousers. I could have imagined that; after twenty shots of coffee, one is apt to see things which are not there. Why I felt so ... well, to put it bluntly - aroused, I couldn’t be sure. He was neither the most attractive man I had ever seen - reserved for Luke; nor the most charming - reserved for Etienne; nor the most dashing (a combination of attractiveness and charm) - reserved for me; nor the most potent - reserved for Sam.
I had a feeling this could get messy.
