Page 117 of Pride High 3: Yellow
"Thismanwas in the women's restroom!” the woman cried, pointing an accusing finger at Charles. Her face was beet-purple with indignation.
“Well I could hardly use the men’s room dressed like this,” Charles replied easily.
“I could have been raped!” the woman snarled.
Charles scoffed. “Oh honey, don’t flatter yourself.”
“Ma’am,” the man said, who judging from the nametag and demeanor, was probably the manager, “it seems to me that no harm was done so—”
“No harm?” the woman repeated incredulously. “Only because I noticed his adam’s apple and got out of there! What’s wrong with you people? A pervert is lurking in your restroom, and you’re treating me likeI’mthe problem?”
“For goodness sake,” Charles replied. “I was only washing my hands! I’ll leave now if it makes you happy.”
“No you won’t,” Mr. Finnegan said, turning on the woman. “Not until you apologize to my wife.”
“Yourwhat?!” she cried.
“My wife,” Mr. Finnegan repeated. “The woman who is taking your abuse with class and dignity. Perhaps you should examine howyou’vechosen to conduct yourself.”
Anthony’s heart was thudding, partly because it was such a romantic gesture, but also because he genuinely feared for two people he cared about. Especially now that he knew the truth.
“This is a looney bin,” the woman said, looking around for support. She didn’t get it. “You’re all insane! I’m never eating here again.”
They watched her march to a nearby booth, where a man was eating as if nothing was wrong. She had to tug on his arm to get him to leave the table, and then the restaurant, with her.
“And people judge our love,” Charles said, shaking his head.
“I apologize for the commotion,” Mr. Finnegan said to the manager. “I’m happy to pay their bill, since I believe they just skipped out on it.”
“Such fine upstanding citizens,” Charles murmured.
“No, that’s okay,” the manager said. “I’m gay and so is the owner. You and your wife are welcome here. People like that woman are not.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Finnegan said. “We’ll repay your kindness through frequent patronage and recommendations to our friends.”
The manager began walking around the room to soothe the other customers, the burble of conversation returning to normal levels.
“Honey!” Charles chastised, looking at Anthony and Cameron with concern. “You didn’t have to blow your cover for me. I would have been fine.”
Mr. Finnegan shook his head. “I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself. As for you two…” He took a deep breath. “I guess we’re having lunch together after all.”
They led the way back to the table, Anthony a few steps behind.
Cameron was at his side. “That’s Lover Boy?” he whispered.
“Yup!” Anthony replied gleefully.
“And he’s your journalism teacher?”
“Uh-huh!” he said with a rapid nod.
“Did you know about this?”
“Nope. But I love it!”
Anthony clamped down on his enthusiasm when he saw how drawn the faces across the table were after they sat. Mr. Finnegan in particular. Charles seemed more sympathetic than upset, patting his husband’s arm to comfort him.
“Where to begin?” Mr. Finnegan said.
