We relaxed around the table. Mark was drinking wine, so I had limited myself to one glass since I’d be driving home. “Marty has a nice vegetable garden on his platform...” Claude said. “Why don’t you go check it out?”
“If you want a proper garden,” I suggested, “you need to move out of the city.”
“I’m not moving out of the fucking city,” Mark slurred, a touch drunk.
Marty took me out to his garden and we looked over his plants. Marty didn’t care to show them off—he only wanted to gossip.
“So how is it going, really?” he asked. He kept trying to touch my arm, as if this was a soothing gesture.
“What? Our relationship? Good. Never better.”
“Good, good.” He nodded. “Do you have any regrets? Any questions?”
“What do you mean?” Regrets?
“Anything not up to your expectations? Anything... worse than what you dreamed about?”
I shrugged. “No.” I hadn’t dreamed about anything... so...
“Of course not. This is Mark we’re talking about.” Marty let loose the most wistful sigh I had ever heard. “So no questions?”
“About what?”
Marty smiled. “I’m the bottom.” He sounded proud—Marty, the proud bottom.
How do you figure out which one is the bottom and which is the top?
“How has it been for you? Nothing hurting? I heard you took the initiative last week. How was that?”
I blushed a radioactive red. It was dark on the balcony so I assumed my face was glowing with phosphorescent shame. “That’s too personal.” I can’t believe Mark talked about that with you!
“So you’re a new gay,” Marty said while we looked over his tomatoes. “Anything you want to talk about? Ask about?” He held up his hand like a boy scout. “I swear neither of us will tell Mark. And if you want it to stay between me and you, I won’t even tell Claude.”
“Nothing I can think of...” I said weakly. Being called a ‘new gay’ was disorienting. I wasn’t gay. But I was doing gay things... like getting butt-fucked. And that’s pretty damn gay. “Is there anything I should worry about? I think Mark takes good care of me.” But how would I know? I’ve never had a male lover. I’ve never been butt-fucked before...
“Are you thinking about trying adventurous positions? I know what I would do if I had your body.... Unfortunately, Claude and I have never been fit... or attractive.”
“Don’t say that,” I scoffed. “You two are nice guys. I love your apartment. You both have such fun energy. I feel very comfortable here.”
Marty smiled at me, ruefully. “Okay,” he touched my arm. “Let me give you my number. If you have any questions... about anything, give your gay-dad a call. Claude and I will sort you out. Sometimes there are things you simply can’t ask your partner...”
I readily took his number even though I knew that what Mark and I had done would be considered vanilla of the highest order. I assumed that some time in the future (probably in the near future) I would have quite a few embarrassing questions that I would type into Google. Marty would probably be a better resource.
We headed back to the party.
“We’ll have to invite you over to our place,” Mark slurred. “Don’t you want to throw a party, babe?”
“I guess...” I hated parties. Why would I ever want to throw a random house party?
“Chris said he enjoyed our apartment,” Marty said. “And he’s living in that palace... can you believe it? What a nice thing to say. Such a charming young man.”
“So charming,” Mark agreed. It sounded like an inside joke that Mark was going to have to explain later.
“Can’t do it this weekend because I have my dad’s birthday party... Chris won’t come with me.”
“Fuck, Mark! I said I would have to change my plans with my parents. If you want me to go with you this weekend, then I’ll have to have next weekend with my parents.” We had been arguing about this for a few days. Mark wanted to have me to himself every weekend of my life. I wanted to go up to the marina with my parents and grandparents.
“Marty, can you convince this dude to go with me to Milan? You’ve both been with me before. Aren’t I a good tour guide?”
“I’m sure you’re a good tour guide!” I almost shouted. “But we can’t all pick up for a week and galavant around the world. I’ve got real world stuff to take care of, like bills.” And I could see the same words he used in every conversation we’d had about his upcoming Milan trip: if you moved in with me, you’d have the money. “We’re not talking about it here,” I hissed.
“If we talk about it at home, then you always win.”
Exactly.
I didn’t think of myself as someone easily influenced by peer pressure, but I sure did like to make people happy. Neither Claude nor Marty jumped in to defend Mark, so my victory was complete. They were very wise gay-dads. We left dinner with a promise to host them at our place. Marty gave me a solid hug—I think he got a thrill from touching my body.
I drove us home.
“What the fuck,” I spat at Mark as we pulled out of the parking spot. “Why did you have to bring that up? I can’t spend every weekend traveling.”
“If your parents knew about us, we wouldn’t have this problem.”
“We still would have this problem! What makes you think I can just drop everything and travel with you for Men’s Fashion Week?”
“The room is already booked. I’ll take care of the meals. You just need to book the flight. Please, babe. At least consider it. Really consider it.”
“I have considered it. And it’s out of the question! How—”
“Haven’t you always told me how much you wanted a job that you could pick up and move anywhere? Don’t you dream of living for a season in a foreign country? Writing your books in an exotic city?”
I had said that. Many times. I had stated it to my cousin and to my parents and to anyone who asked what my long term writing goals were: to make a living and to be able to live anywhere, and to make my readers happy.
“This isn’t the same.”
“Start now. Let’s see if you can do it. Come with me. Stay in the room all week if that’s what you need to do to write, but I’ve seen your discipline. If you challenge yourself to get the writing done before lunch, then you can go out in the city and get the vibe... let it infuse your writing.”
“I can’t do that! I have my novel to finish editing.”
“It’s already been to the editor’s. How much more can you do?”
“A lot!”
“You have a November release date.”
“I’ll be lucky to get it done by then!”
“You need to give your final readers at least a week to analyze your book. Send out your book the day before we go to Milan. I’ll keep you distracted from the worries and you can focus on writing the next book. And we’ll explore the city. Please, it’s my favorite city. So many important things in my life have happened in Milan.”
“We can’t all be fashion models.”
“I’ll help you this weekend... I swear I will. Come with me to my dad’s party. You’ll get to meet my grandparents. You’ll get to see the Lakehouse. I really want you to meet my grandma. She’s going to love you.”
“Stop nagging me.”
“She’s an artist, too. I bet you and her are going to be best friends.”
“Aren’t your grandparents Catholic? And Republican?”
“My parents are Republican. My grandparents are Democrats. And it’s my grandpa that’s the Catholic. Grandma doesn’t give a shit. But she loves Christmas.”
“You’re drunk.”
“You’re going with me...”
“Okay. I’ll go with you this weekend. You know I had a hard time when you were in New York for a week.” I sighed. “We can discuss this Milan thing later, but I need to seriously look at my budget for this year. I’ve got to sell a ton of books to make that trip possible. I really did
stretch myself by taking the apartment.”
“You weren’t expecting to add random trips around the world?”
“No... I wasn’t expecting that.” I pursed my lips. I can’t afford this.
“My sister said she would make you a cover... I’m sure she’d do it just to do it.”
“No. I’m paying her. I pay everyone who works for me.”
“You didn’t pay me.”
“You don’t count. And you barely did anything.”
“I found three plot holes! You even said so to your cousin when I met her.”
I need to keep my damn mouth shut.
He kept begging. “I’ll sit next to you all weekend as you work on this thing. I’ll give it my best critical eye. Tell me what you’re looking for and I’ll go to town. I’ll read it to you like we did that one time. I’ll do whatever you ask of me. I’ll get my grandma to read it for us.”
“Okay.” I sighed. “I’ll go with you to your dad’s party.”
“You already agreed to that!”
“I know. But now I mean it.”
We pulled into his parking garage. His car had so much power... I had to be cautious with the pedals. I glided past his parking spots. My junky car was in mine. His spot was taken.
“Whose car is that?”
“The fuck is my sister doing here... on a Wednesday?” Mark turned on his phone. I had yelled at him when it dinged during our dinner so he had turned it off. “Fuck,” he said. He put his phone to his ear and directed me to the guest parking area.
“Mel,” he said breathlessly. “Where are you? I had my phone on silent.”
I listened to her tiny squawk and couldn’t make out a word of what she said.
“We’ll be up in a minute. Tell Shane that you both better be sober by the time I get there.” We parked. He hung up.
“She knows Shane and Devon?” I asked.
“She’s gone with me to The Ugly Rhino a few times.”
“What happened to her? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” We walked to the elevator. “But I think we are about to find out.”
Hurricane Melanie
[Jester’s Dictionary: skull (v.): to drink an entire unit in one smooth motion by throwing back one’s skull and guzzling, usually of beer. Origin: Jester visited Australia and the young folk were using the term scull, which he thought meant ‘throwing alcohol into a skull’. Jester didn’t realize until just now that he was spelling it wrong in his head all these years. Apparently scull comes from the Viking word skol, which was used like how Americans say cheers during a toast.]
Melanie was a force of nature under normal circumstances... but when she was tipsy—she was unstoppable. She made Mark look like a pony to her bucking stallion. I once asked Mark how she got to be so wild—seeing as he was the rebel child and the sibling who earned the displeasure of their father. How did she (to use her words) get the bigger balls?
It must be a quirk of genetic personality. I thought I had it bad trying to corral Mark away from his natural inclinations... but there was no herding Melanie. I felt bad for her future partner, whoever that poor soul would be. I wondered if she would try to trick her future mate like Mark had worked so hard to trick me. Mark had only revealed his true nature to me when he was certain I would be in more pain if I backed away from him... the coward.
We wouldn’t be together if he was anything else.
WE TOOK THE ELEVATOR up to Shane and Devon’s floor and approached their room warily. I had no idea what to expect. Mark knocked.
Devon opened the door, beer in hand.
“Marky! There you are. God damn, I love your sister. If I wasn’t gay, I’d fuck her in the ass.”
“You’re drunk,” Mark said. “No touching my sister.”
“Hey Mark,” Mel called. “Time for me to go, guys. Sissy came to take me home.” She cackled while punching Shane on the shoulder. “See you guys tomorrow?”
“Hell yeah,” Shane answered. Devon tipped his bottle to her. Mel stood on unsteady legs.
“Shit. I’m pretty drunk.”
Mark lent her his arm.
“Fuck, Mark. I’m a single girl again.” She snorted. “You finally get yourself a boy and I lose mine for good.”
“I’ve heard this all before. Hell, Dev has heard this all before.”
“This time it’s different,” she declared drunkenly. “I’m over him. His penis does nothing for me. He’s twice as big as Devon, but it doesn’t matter!”
“Hey,” Devon said, hurt. “You don’t know shit, Mel.”
Melanie cackled again.
“She’s mean when she’s drunk,” Mark said, by way of an apology.
“And she lies. I bet I’m the same size as her boyfriend. I’m pretty big, aren’t I Shane?”
“Whatever, dude,” Shane said. “You both had too much to drink.”
Mel stared straight at Devon’s crotch. “Pics or it didn’t happen,” she said snidely.
Mark and I prodded her until she left the apartment. We might as well have been catching raindrops in our hands—she spilled around us like water. If she wanted to go somewhere... she went. We couldn’t stop her.
She also wouldn’t stop with the uncouth behavior.
“Where the fuck have you two been? The Fruit Brigade?” She probably meant to say ‘Parade’.
Mark eventually convinced her to enter the elevator. “It’s over,” she said. “It’s finally over. He’s found some prissy socialite virgin... says he’s done with me.” She sobbed on Mark’s shoulder. It was like I wasn’t even there.
“It’s okay, Mel. I didn’t like that guy, anyways.”
“You never met him!” She hiccuped.
“I’ve heard enough about him. How long have you been on again off again? Two years?”
“Yeah. Guess now I can focus on my studies. Hopefully graduate on time.”
“You’ll be fine. Chris can tutor you.”
“Yeah. Where is Chris?”
Mark gave me a frightened look as I got out of the elevator. I signaled that I would go ahead and prepare the guest room. The two of them stumbled in my direction as I unlocked the apartment door. I forced the door to stay open for Mark, then made my way to the back bedroom and made sure everything was there for Melanie... water, puke bucket, guest sheets, pillows, robe, tee shirt, shorts... I couldn’t think of anything else.
She stumbled into the bedroom and passed out when she hit the bed. We shut the door and left her there to recover. “I don’t know what the fuck happened to her,” Mark said. “I guess we’ll find out in the morning.”
We got ready for bed and Melanie’s plight echoed into my dreams. Thursday morning was our usual running day... but we probably wouldn’t be able to go with Melanie around.
I WOKE UP THE NEXT morning and checked on Mel. She had rolled onto her back and was snoring as bad as Mark. I turned her body so she stopped ruining her throat. The water bottle was unopened at her bedside.
I added a bottle of Tylenol containing four pills.
Then I made breakfast and got to work. Mark was up, too. We ate and discussed Melanie. Mark apparently had some work stuff to pick up before lunch. He left quickly in the hope that Melanie would still be asleep when he returned.
Mark was late—as usual—so Melanie was up and moving around before he got back. That gave her enough time to take the Tylenol, demand food, and attempt to seduce me.
“Oh Chris,” she said dreamily. “You’re such a dreamboat. So fine.” She looked at me behind heavy-lidded eyes. “I know what Mark sees in you.”
“Why don’t you eat the breakfast I made.”
“I bet you make this for my brother, don’t you?” Her voice was husky.
“I do.”
“Knew it.” She laid the tines of her fork in her mouth like she was sucking on a dick. In and out, in and out. “Where’s my juice?” she asked with a pout. I poured her a glass of orange juice. She downed the entire drink in one long skull. Midwa
y through her guzzling she flicked the hair that had fallen across her chest so that it danced over her shoulder. It also gave her a chance to prop up and jiggle her boobs.
“So,” she said with a sigh. “You like my eyes?”
“Your eyes are very nice.” What was I supposed to say? I tried to placate her.
“I know you were looking at me... I know you’re straight. My brother said he was trying to seduce a straight guy. That was you.” Okay. “So... how do you like it? Which do you prefer?” She smacked her lips and wrinkled her nose at me.
“Are you trying to seduce me?” I asked.
“What? Me? How can you even ask such a thing?” She batted her eyes at me like a prostitute.
“I’m going to work at my apartment,” I said suddenly. “I can’t work here very well.”
“Ohh! Take me. I’ve heard about your shitty apartment. I’d like to see it for myself.” She clapped her hands excitedly.
How the fuck do I get rid of her?
“Shouldn’t you be hungover right now?” I didn’t know her well enough to know if she was hungover.
She belched in my face. It was rancid.
Mark showed up and I fled with my writing devices, leaving him to deal with his crazy sister. Suhail wasn’t around. Neither was Nick. It was a perfect office—away from the Wolff drama.
I worked until lunch.
~babe, we’re going out tonight with Mel~
~gay bar hopping~
~you’ll love it~
= see you soon =
= almost done =
I was honest to a fault. I should have lied and said I still had a lot of work to do. I was trying to avoid his sister after all—she had been very nasty to me from the moment we first met. I couldn’t believe that Mark had left us alone for as long as he had that morning... knowing my partner, he had probably stopped in a bathroom to look at himself for a few hours instead of running home to save me.
I walked the mile to his apartment since my parking spot was filled by his sister’s car. The weather was still warm for a mid-October day... the entire month had been unusually warm, though the leaves had finally started to change. I was excited to get out of the city for the weekend. His grandparents’ lake house was apparently in an underdeveloped part of the Michigan shoreline. Mark was right... I was going to love it.
The Lover (It's Just Us Here Book 4) Page 18