“I’m just calling it like I see it, dude. Why wouldn’t you want to live here?” He spread out his arms and we both took in his incredible view.
Since the beginning of this memoir I’ve gotten away with speaking about the location of Mark’s apartment in very generic terms. If you’re familiar with the Chicago area, you have probably already guessed where he lives. High rise. Short drive to the gay district. Short drive to O’Hare. There was also a beautiful lakefront park that was just out his front door. We usually walked to the sandy beach beside his place, though there was another beach within easy walking distance.
That’s right. Mark lived on a lakefront high rise with a city-facing apartment. He didn’t have a window that ran parallel to the lake, but you could see the morning sunrise from his windows. And you could see downtown in all it’s nightly glory. I’m sure that apartment cost more for three months of rent than I budgeted for my entire year. Actually, it’s practically a given fact, even though I have never asked my husband how much he wasted on that bachelor pad. It was a two bedroom, top-of-the-line unit. He had two parking spots in the garage (and a storage unit).
That place cost a fortune.
But, as Mark reminds me anytime we bring up the topic of his former pad, it had everything you could possibly want within a five minute walking radius. The tennis courts where Mark and I practiced were literally just out the door. I don’t know why Tim and Ryan didn’t join us there for our Saturday morning hits... you’d have to ask them.
Mark misses his old high rise now that I’ve dragged him out into the country. I suspect we’ll probably move back to a similar place when Alex heads off to college (in, oh my goodness, seven years). I won’t even complain about the move because Alex is almost one hundred percent going to DePaul. (Okay, so now you know that I graduated from DePaul. That’s also where Mark was taking the summer course which initiated our first interaction. What’s with this sudden rash of personal details when I’ve been so reticent to reveal anything in the past few volumes? I assume if you are from the Chicago area and you’ve read the first three books in this memoir then you have already probably guessed the things I’ve just told you—or Googled a likely list. If not, well, I just spelled it out for you.)
Yes, Mark was a wealthy man—much wealthier than I initially felt comfortable talking about in my memoir. He may have been from money, but he also spent a huge percentage of his modeling income.
He judged me for my tiny budget and for living in a poor neighborhood. My apartment was near a Metra line. It got the job done. There was—technically—parking... somewhere. I had been assured that I could park my car reasonably close to my apartment.
There was nothing wrong with my apartment.
“ENOUGH ABOUT MY APARTMENT! Jeez, Mark.”
“Cheese,” he sang back to me.
I rolled my eyes.
“Let’s get your stuff in my car and get out of here.”
“Fuck, dude. That piece of shit is going to break down and I’m going to miss my flight.”
“You shouldn’t have gotten swallowed by your mirror for fifteen minutes, then you would have plenty of time.”
“I’m taking him to O’Hare,” Melanie stated. “It’s the least I can do for interrupting your weekend so rudely.”
“I’m taking him,” I said with an edge in my voice.
“I’m heading back to Madison. It’s on the way.”
“It’s not out of the way for—” I made eye contact with her and tilted my head. “Hey, come over here,” I said curiously. Melanie followed me to the window. “Is your left eye different than your right?” I looked at Mark. “Yours are both perfectly blue, and you two look so much alike... but...” I stared into her eyes again.
“Not many people pick up on that,” Mel said, mildly embarrassed. “My left eye is greener than my right, but just barely.”
“No it isn’t,” Mark said, belligerently.
“Yes it is.”
Mark took my place in front of his sister and stared from eye to eye. “No,” he said, shaking his head. Then, “Well... I guess. How the fuck didn’t I know that?”
“It’s not obvious at all,” Mel said. “I’m really surprised he picked up on it.”
“Oh, he picks up on that shit alright. He doesn’t let me get away with anything.”
“That’s not true. I let some things slide.”
Mark made a face. “You giving me a look that means you know what I did and you’re going to get me back for it is not ‘letting things slide’.”
I shrugged.
Mark pinched my shoulders with his paddle-hands. “And don’t ask him to look for four-leaf clovers. That is the lamest fucking superpower I have ever heard of.”
“You can’t choose your superpower,” I said sagely. “Your superpower chooses you.” I held up my finger like I was in a high school debate class.
Mark laughed. We kissed—directly in front of his sister. I saw Mel out of the corner of my eye and balked. I had been sucked into Mark-land for a minute, but then I pulled away from him and looked down.
I wiped my mouth. “We’ll... um... we’ll be going now. It was nice to meet you, Mel.”
“It was nice to meet you, too. I like you, Chris. Maybe I’ll see you around. You coming to any family functions?”
“I don’t know...” I looked at Mark. “We haven’t discussed anything. We just made it official last week. I’d love to see Keegan and the kids again. And Kelly offered to do a book cover for me... maybe I’ll take her up on that.”
“Oh yeah,” Mel said. “I forgot you met them. You were the hiker guy... with the coloring book.”
“That was me.”
We left the building together. Melanie didn’t put up another fight after I flustered her with that comment about her eyes. I drove Mark to the airport.
“Well, you dazzled another one,” Mark said as he sat in the passenger seat.
“Un uh,” I said, not really paying attention. I hated driving, especially city driving. I had never mastered the art of driving and talking like Mark. And there was music playing in the background, too. “What did you say? I didn’t dazzle her. She was ready to fight me to the death.”
“Yeah, she was probably going to be the hardest nut to crack, but I think you did it. That thing with her eyes, you don’t miss a thing. I’ve never noticed that.”
“I probably wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t so used to seeing your pretty blues.”
“You think my eyes are pretty?”
I glanced at him because he had used a coy tone. He blinked at me demurely.
“You are so full of yourself.” I sighed. “Don’t distract me. There’s a lot of traffic.”
“Shit. You should have let me drive. I don’t like you when you get road rage.”
“I do not get road rage. I just don’t like driving... because other people are such IDIOTS!” I yelled that last word and laid on my horn. Some idiot from Indiana had swooped into the gap I’d maintained between the car in front of me. “Shit. You just had to say something, didn’t you?”
“You need to calm down. If anything, you need to be distracted while you drive. You’re like a completely different person when you’re behind the wheel.”
“I’m just stressed because you’re leaving for a week.”
“Right. I’ll call you every night. We’ll Skype on Wednesday during Survivor.”
“You got me hooked on that stupid show.”
“I thought we weren’t going to use the ‘s-word’ anymore.”
“Shit. I forgot about that stupid rule. Get me off this fucking highway.”
We parked at the airport departures terminal. “Relax,” Mark said. “We’ll make it through this week, then I’ll be with you for a week straight.”
“I’ll have as much of my work done as possible,” I pledged. “I’m starting a second novel.”
“Are you? That’s so good. I thought you were tutoring...”
“I’m focusing
on my writing now.” I sighed. “It’s a big step. I might have to take a SAT student or two on the side to make ends meet, but as long as I’m in that shitty apartment and my writing is paying the bills, I’m going to be writing.”
“Oh babe,” Mark said. He gave me a hug. He knew I didn’t want to kiss in public. I didn’t even want to hold his hand in public, but I let him grab mine after the hug. “That’s so huge. You wrote one book in three months. If you could finish a book every four or five months... that would be a gamechanger.”
I didn’t tell him that I could write a book in four weeks, especially if it wasn’t under my own name. For some reason I got nervous and second guessed myself when I wrote under my own name. I could ghostwrite novels so quickly...
“Yeah, it’s a big deal. Gotta get better, a little bit at a time. Someday I’ll make as much as you.”
“Oh shit,” he said. “That doesn’t matter. You’re the most brilliant man I’ve ever met. You dazzled me, you dazzled my sister. You’ve got us all in your web. I love watching you meet people for the first time. You really put on the burners. God, I’m so proud of you.”
“Can we stop hugging now? We’re making a scene.”
“I don’t care. I love you and I’m going to miss you. And I want to be near you. Come with me.”
“Not likely. Maybe next time.”
“Next week? I have a Miami shoot coming—”
“After I publish the book that’s with my editor.”
“Okay. Then send it to me when you’re done with your edits. Me and the guys do a lot of reading while we sit through the fittings and shit.”
“You?” Mark does a lot of reading?
“Okay, not me. Shit, can’t you let some things slide? But I’ve seen plenty of guys reading in between events. There’s definitely enough downtime. It’s not all sex and photographs.”
“You paint such a pleasant picture. Is there any wonder why I don’t want to go?”
I was acting sour and nervous and sad. Mark pulled me into his body and kissed me full on the mouth so that it took my breath away. I couldn’t look at him when he was done because of my embarrassment. Think about the people who could’ve seen that!
“Love you,” he said. I echoed his sentiment. “Don’t forget live-chatting Survivor on Wednesday.”
“I won’t. Don’t forget to save some energy for Charlotte’s party on Sunday.”
“Shit, I didn’t get her anything.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Okay.” He pulled a credit card out of his wallet. “Charge it on here. Thanks, babe.” He kissed me briskly and walked away. I stared at him until he waved to me one last time and walked through the glass doors.
I felt like I could breathe again. Then I looked at the credit card in my hand, feeling belittled. Why did he give me this?
Suhail and Nick
This is an embarrassing thing to admit... but I was a needy boyfriend. I did not sleep well that week we were apart. My new bedroom was strange and I didn’t have Mark with me. It was horrible.
Mark called every night and I had to have sounded like a pathetic loser. “I miss you,” I would whine after we shared our I love yous.
Where had the independent Chris gone? Did he crawl into a fetal position and die after frantically kissing Mark last week at the airport? Had the kisses killed my independence or just revealed my true, wimpy nature? I had expected something like this to happen, but hadn’t prepared to be so exponentially needy. I knew my personality and knew I would give everything to him so that Mark would become the center of my world and of my happiness.
I knew that about myself and I was still surprised that it happened so quickly. Looking at it with hindsight, I must have been waiting for a relationship—waiting and preparing to spring myself on some poor, unsuspecting fool that was dumb enough to try to catch me.
I was a mess—stressed out. I did not work on my next novel that week (though I did keep writing, as usual). Instead, I worked on a children’s book for Charlotte—Stacy and Tim’s daughter. Actually, it was a story for Stacy about a mother having ‘wild children’ and being exhausted by chasing two small children around the house. Then the grandmother arrives and finishes the rhyming story by telling the mother how she went through the same thing, but motherhood was worth all the trouble because now she gets to watch her children suffer in the same way she did while gleefully spoiling the grandchildren.
The rhyme needed some work, but I spent the week focused on the illustrations. I wouldn’t be able to print the book by the time we got to Charlotte’s birthday, but I would show Stacy the draft and pledge to have it completed by the birth of her next child that winter.
Suhail and Nick were nice to me during my week-long freakout, especially when my parents were around. They helped me and my parents unload the truck and set up the furniture. My mother poked around the apartment and nearly cried. I made an offhand comment about how it wasn’t the fanciest place to live.
“You gotta do what you gotta do,” she said. “You’re a smart kid.” My mother liked Suhail. She didn’t like Nick. Nick could be very off-putting with his dreadlocks and his long, serious face.
My Dear Readers might be wondering why I am suddenly talking about Suhail and Nick at all. The first reason is that Suhail is a big part of my life and I suspect he will be until one of us kicks the bucket. Second, Nick is the guy that I started my first company with. We initially wanted to help people manage and cope with their condition after being diagnosed with autoimmune disorders by encouraging them to change their diet, stay physically active and mentally positive. I wanted our app to give its users a feeling of control during a time in their lives when they might not have any. Nick, however, just wanted to work on a new distraction for six months. It was a match made in casual boredom.
The funny thing is, it ended up being a six year project for Nick. I stayed on board for three years, but then I met the kid who would later become my son and my priorities changed.
So to condense a long story: Suhail and Nick are in this self-portrait because this is the genesis of my first successful business project. I think some of my readers might like to see what goes into a start-up... the kind of work, and luck, and energy, and setbacks, and—eventually—utter failures. We would one day sell the company to a health insurance provider, but Nick and Suhail had to stay on board for three years after it sold.
As I get deeper into this self-portrait, I feel as though I am getting closer to revealing my true name. I’ve already begun adding in more true locations. You basically know the exact neighborhood where I lived for two and a half years. You know where I went to college. Maybe on one of these pages I will give you my name... but then when I get tempted to do that, I think of all the vile things on the internet and how people can be so crazy about the stuff they don’t like or don’t understand... and I don’t want to be a part of that mess. I don’t want to be the focus of someone’s ire. I prefer to stay anonymous. If I wanted glory, I would have used my real name to publish these memoirs.
The last thing I want is for my son to suddenly be inundated with a celebrity status at his school. The finale of this project will dive very deeply into my son’s biological family and the unique circumstances that brought us together (and nearly ripped us apart). Then there was the hassle with the gay adoption thing and the fact that marriage equality wasn’t everywhere yet (and that Mark and I weren’t even married).
I’m not an activist. I don’t want to publish these stories and be expected to... do stuff. Writing is my doing stuff. Please don’t harass me to march or tweet or ‘get involved’ with politics. I value my simple life and my privacy...
Shit. I’m leaning towards coming out. Hell, I thought I was done coming out when I sat my parents down for a fancy dinner and nearly puked because I was so nervous. I don’t know... we’ll see what the initial reaction is like to these stories. If it’s positive and overwhelming... I guess I might reveal myself. I’ll have Mark beside
me every step of the way (and he would eat up the attention). The attention would wear me down... and I don’t need that extra stress on top of my anxious disposition... and I also write erotica and am explicit in the things Mark and I do with regards to sex. (Clinically explicit.) I just can’t do it. I can’t come out right now... sorry.
Let’s get back on track with the story and back to Suhail.
THAT WEDNESDAY WAS the best day of the week. Mark and I were scheduled to have a long video chat.
“Hey Suhail, can I use your TV for an hour?”
“Sure thing. What’re you watching?”
“Survivor. I’m going to watch it with Mark.” I brought out my smartphone and set up the viewing station so Mark and I could Skype. I texted Mark, then he called me on Skype.
“Hey, babe.”
“Hey,” I said stiffly. Suhail was still in the room so I didn’t want to sound clingy.
“God, I miss you. I’m almost home.”
“Not here. Suhail is in the room.”
Mark laughed. “You are a mushy dude with a big heart. You might not like mushiness, but you are.”
“I know.”
“Talk to you later,” Suhail said.
“You can stay if you want,” I said quickly. “We’re just watching Survivor.”
“Yeah, we don’t do phone sex,” Mark joked.
“Uh... okay. I don’t have anything else to do.” Suhail sat beside me.
“Where’s Nick?” Mark asked.
“He’s out. He’s always out.”
“We need to hook you up with a date,” Mark suggested.
“I don’t swing that way, guys,” Suhail said with a nervous laugh.
“I know plenty of eligible bachelorettes,” Mark said.
“And I wasn’t into guys, either,” I stated. “Until this one changed my mind.”
Suhail gave me a weird look and shifted away from my body.
“He thinks you’re hitting on him, babe,” Mark explained.
“What?” I looked quickly at Suhail. “I wasn’t... I mean... I was just explaining how it worked for me.”
The Lover (It's Just Us Here Book 4) Page 7