Julian wasnât familiar with this side of the coast. Beyond rallies and other business-fueled events, he had hardly ever set foot in these sands, or detoured at all. Itâs a disconcerting thought that hits, as they walk from the car to the bar with security determining their pace, wondering just how it had been for Leon, growing up under these skies â and inhabiting these skies, in due time. How ironic to think Julian had watched launches on TV like he cared, like he knew heâd meet the man behind them and nothing would ever be the same after that.Â
Heâd assumed the choice of place had something to do with privacy, and so Julian has to double-take at the introduction of Ramon â and double-take again, with a certain interest, at the way the Spanish name sounds on Leonâs tongue. Julian is already smiling a polite smile and nodding in greeting when Leon tells him; immediately, he stops.
âWhat?â The word hardly makes it out. Itâs weak and a little mindless. âShut up."Â
Once thereâs a trigger, the entire setting comes to life; the bar, the man behind the counter, the undeniably silly made up of their joke coming to life all over again. A politician and an astronaut walk into a bar⌠Julian canât help but smile; and itâs painfully genuine, the way only Leon ever got to see. He feels silly, childishâ like he isnât fifty (fifty one in a couple hours) and the most powerful man in the world. Itâs only then he realizes he has his hand around Leonâs arm; itâs not a tight grip by any means, and somehow that much more intimate in its simplicity.Â
"Thatâs the most thoughtful thing youâve ever done for me,â he says. âDonât tell me you have a ring in your pocket, too."Â
Of all the reactions Leon had expected, shut up hadnât been in the scope of his imagination. Shut up, he could picture himself saying in the re-telling of this story, maybe one day when all their kids were old enough. Thatâs what he says to me on his birthday. He tells me to shut up.
History had better validate his decision to pick this over Berkeley-Solis 2020.
Laughing, he looped his arm more firmly through Julianâs and nudged him deeper into the surf shack. Thank God Julian had remembered, or was at least pretending to. Leon had replayed the night over and over again in his head so many times that this was finally proof he hadnât made it up. Thoughtful was the gifts that Julian got. And obscenely expensive. Leonâs taste ran to the bitingly personalâCastroâs favourite cigars for the new Vice President, treason-shaped cuff links for Christmas, and a living reminder of all their history for Julianâs birthday.
Across the floor, Ramon gave a brief what-up-man nod at the president of the United States. Paying for first class airfare was going to get Leon only so much apparently. Pulling out a chair at the nearest table, he sprawled down into it. They werenât staying long, but he wanted to soak in the boozy fumes of the place while they could. Not that it was what was making him light-headed.
âWhatâre you even going to do with my ring?â asked Leon, genuinely puzzled. âNever wear it like I got nowhere to wear your watch to? Glenmorangie for me, Ramon,â he added, ââcause itâs a big night.â
He turned back to Julian, and it was kind of hard to not. To not keep turning his head, to not keep his eyes on the way Julian was looking at him now. Men in deserts could walk miles without water for something like that.
âWhat will you have, Mr. President?â It was a name Leon rarely used without irony or a reminder that it was a wedge between them. This time, it rang of nothing but good humour. âItâs all on me tonight.â