Strawberries for Dessert

by Marie Sexton

  These were only in his mind. But I had learned to identify when he was being haunted by his past.

  I had a sister once. I had no memory of her—only hazy images that I probably formed afterward by looking at her picture. She was six years old when she died, and I wasn’t even two. She drowned in our swimming pool one day while my mother and I were napping and my father was on the phone with the air conditioning company. My dad had the pool filled in after that, and anytime her name was spoken in our house, it was in hushed tones. More than thirty years later, the guilt of her death still followed him around like a shadow. It wasn’t always visible, but when the situation was right, you would see it there in his eyes.

  And then there was my mother. I knew he still missed her all the time. She had died nine years earlier of pancreatic cancer. My dad and I hadn’t spoken much in the years leading up to her death. He was uncomfortable with my sexuality, and I was young and unaware of the fact that my family wouldn’t always be there. Her death hit us both hard. We realized then that, although we may not have been close, we were all each other had. That was when I left Colorado and moved back to Phoenix.

  I was still waiting for him to speak. I knew he had something he wanted to say. He was just trying to decide how to say it. “Jon,” he said hesitantly, “there’s a girl at the office—”

  “No.”

  “I know how you feel—”

  “Then why bring it up?”

  “What could it hurt, Jon? You’re not seeing anybody right now.

  Why not meet her? Why not see where it goes?”

  “No.”

  “I just….” He trailed off, and I could see the weight of the ghosts upon him. His shoulders slumped. His face was sad. I thought maybe he was fighting back tears. “Families should grow, Jon,” he said quietly. “Not shrink.”

  And that was the true heart of the matter. It wasn’t that he disapproved of me being gay. It was simply that he longed for more. He longed for the family that had been taken from him and for the grandchildren he would never have. I couldn’t blame him for that.

  “I know, Dad,” I said softly. I looked back out at the field so he could wipe his eyes without being embarrassed.

  We didn’t talk again until the bottom of the fifth, and although we stayed until the very end, I had no idea who won the game.

  I CARRIED Cole’s number around with me for the next two weeks. It took me a while to admit to myself that I wanted to see him again. He was arrogant and obnoxious and flamboyant and most definitely not my type. On the other hand, he was also smart and funny and cute and undeniably intriguing. Plus, there was the simple fact that he had shown interest and I had absolutely no other prospects at the moment. In the end, I told myself that if nothing else, I really did owe him an apology.

  When I called, he answered the phone in French. “Allô?”

  “Hello, Cole. It’s Jonathan.”

  “Well hello, sugar. What a pleasant surprise. How have you been?”

  For half a second, I considered reminding him of my name, but then decided against it. I had a feeling I would have to get used to the pet names. “I wanted to apologize—”

  “Don’t worry about it a bit, sugar. I think it’s fair to say neither of us was on our best behavior. Just water under the bridge, really.”

  “I wondered if you would like to try again.”

  “I would love to. Will it be just the two of us this time?”

  “I can’t not bring my phone. But none of my clients are in crisis mode right now, so it shouldn’t be as bad as last time.”

  “I suppose that will have to suffice then,” he said with obvious amusement. “Were you thinking of tonight?”

  “No. I’m actually in LA at the moment.”

  “Well, that would make it more difficult, wouldn’t it? When do you get home?”

  “Tuesday afternoon.”

  “Your timing is dreadful, sugar. I leave for Paris on Wednesday.”

  “Really? Are you going on vacation?”

  “No,” he said in an off-hand manner that made me curious. “So are we on for Tuesday then?”

  “Sure.”

  “What time does your flight get in?”

  “At four, but I have to go straight to the office and meet with my boss. I should be home a little before six.”

  “That’s perfect, sugar. I’ll see you then.”

  “Wait—what?” But I was too slow. The line was already dead. I debated calling him back, but figured I would only end up looking like a fool.

  MY FLIGHT home was delayed by an hour, and I had to rush to get to my meeting with Marcus Barry on time.

  Marcus was in his forties, and although I wouldn’t quite have called him a friend, he was fair and easy to work with. He was the type of man who could be expected to drop dead of a heart attack long before he reached sixty. He was overweight and overworked. He smoked too much, drank too much, and lived off of fast food. He was also incredibly successful. He reported directly to the CEO of the company, made more than five hundred thousand dollars a year, and drove a Porsche. I hoped to follow in his footsteps, minus the trans-fat and imminent cardiac arrest.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, Marcus,” I said as I rushed into his office and closed the door behind me.

  “Where have you been?”

  “My plane was late—”

  “I’ve been trying to call.”

  “You have?” I pulled out my phone and looked at it. “Shit. I’m sorry, sir. I guess I forgot to turn it back on when I got off the plane. I was in such a hurry.”

  “Never mind,” he said. “Leave it off so we’re not interrupted.”

  “Do you want to hear about California?”

  He waved his hand dismissively at me. “No, Jon. You know your job.” That was the closest thing to praise I would ever get from Marcus.

  “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

  I sat down in the chair opposite him. “I’m listening.”

  “Monty called a meeting yesterday.” Montgomery Brewington was our CEO, and Marcus was one of the only people in the entire company who could refer to him by his first name. “He’s talking about restructuring.”

  “Restructuring, how?”

  “He wants to have Account Liaisons in each state, to cut down on travel expenses.”

  “That makes sense, I suppose. What does it mean for me?”

  “Keep in mind, Jon, that this is all conjecture at this point. No decisions have been made. But if it happens,” he shrugged, “there are several possibilities.”

  “Such as?”

  “There are seven major areas he’s talking about having to cover: Arizona, LA, San Diego, San Francisco, Vegas, Colorado, and Utah.

  The problem is we currently have ten of you covering those areas.”

  “So you’re saying three of us will lose our jobs?” I asked, trying to fight the panic that was suddenly blooming in my chest.

  “Nobody’s losing their job, Jon.”

  “Then what?”

  “Three of you will probably be demoted.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t get too upset yet. The good news is you’re fifth in line, so there’s no reason to believe that you would be one of the three.”

  That was good news. I counted to five, felt myself relax a little.

  “In which case, I have a one in seven chance of having to relocate?”

  “Yes. What I’m asking is, how do you feel about that?”

  I had to think about that for a minute. I wasn’t attached to Arizona. I hated the idea of moving, simply because I knew it would be a pain in the ass. And my dad was in Phoenix. I would definitely miss seeing him if I had to move. But there was no reason to fight it. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do, Marcus. You know that.”

  He smiled. “Good man.” He stood up, which told me our meeting was over, and I followed suit. “Go home and get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I LEFT the
office with my head full of visions of moving to another state and the possible promotion that might come along with a new position. I drove home in a bit of a daze. My first indication that something strange was going on was the Saab parked in my driveway.

  When I walked in the front door, I found Julia sitting on the couch with a glass of wine.

  “How was your trip?” she asked.

  “Uneventful,” I told her as I dumped my luggage just inside the door. “What are you doing here?”

  “Your boyfriend asked me to let him in—”

  “My what?”

  “—and I wasn’t going to at first. But somehow he talked me into it, and—”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “—it’s so sweet, wanting to surprise you with dinner—”

  I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I crossed the living room and pushed through the swinging door that led to the kitchen. Cole was at the stove, and I snapped at him, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  He didn’t even turn to look at me. “I’m making dinner, sugar. Isn’t it obvious?”

  “You just decided to break into my house and make dinner?”

  “There’s no need to be dramatic,” he said, turning to face me. “I didn’t break i n.” He was dressed like before: dark, slim-fitting pants and some kind of lightweight sweater in a pale shade of green. It accentuated his eyes, which I could see now weren’t brown but hazel.

  He was barefoot, and for some reason I found my gaze drawn to his slender feet. “Look, I’m sorry if I upset you. I really am.” And he did sound more sincere than usual. “But I know how it is when you’re traveling, eating at restaurants all the time, and I thought you might appreciate a home-cooked meal. That’s all, sugar. I tried to call, but it went straight to voice mail.” Of course. My phone had been turned off since I’d boarded the plane in LA nearly five hours earlier. “I’m sure it was terribly inappropriate, coercing poor Julia into letting me in. But if I waited until you got home to start cooking, we wouldn’t be eating until after eight. So I decided to take a chance.”

  And to be honest, my anger was fading. It really was a thoughtful gesture. I couldn’t remember the last time somebody had made any kind of effort for me. After ten days in LA, eating out for every breakfast, lunch, and dinner, the idea of a quiet meal at home was infinitely more appealing than a crowded restaurant. The mouth- watering aroma of whatever it was he was making wasn’t hurting his cause any either. Maybe the way to a man’s heart really was through his stomach, because at that moment, I really could have kissed him.

  “Thank you,” I said quietly. He turned away from me quickly, but I still saw the blush that had appeared on his cheeks. “What are you making?”

  He glanced at me over his shoulder quickly before turning away again. “Sautéed pasta with lobster.”

  “It smells amazing.”

  He turned back to me with a flirtatious smile. “It ought to, doll. I’m an excellent cook.”

  “Do you need any help?”

  “Cooking? No. But you could set the table. Tell Julia there’s plenty if she wants to stay.”

  Julia! I had forgotten all about her. After my entrance, I had no doubt she was expecting me to be angry with her for letting him in. I went back into the living room and found her pacing.

  “Jonathan, I’m so sorry!” she said as soon as I walked into the room. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s fine, Julia. Really.”

  She looked skeptical. “I promise not to do it again.”

  “It’s okay. He caught me off guard, but it’s really not a problem. I’m glad you let him in.”

  “Okay. If you’re sure….”

  “I am. He says there’s plenty, if you want to join us.”

  She grinned at me. “And crash your date? Not a chance.”

  “It’s just dinner,” I said as she turned to leave.

  “You know, Jon,” she said as she opened the door, “I think he’s a keeper.”

  “It’s just dinner,” I said again. But she was already gone.

  NOT only had he made dinner, he also brought a bottle of white wine.

  “I usually drink red,” I told him as he poured it.

  He tipped his head so his bangs fell in his eyes. The light in my living room was better than it had been in the restaurant, and I realized it had a hint of red in it. It reminded me of cinnamon. I found myself wondering if he smelled like cinnamon too. “You’re not one of those deluded souls who thinks that Merlot goes with everything, are you sugar?” he asked me dryly.

  “Well,” I stammered, feeling myself blush, “I usually buy Chianti.”

  He smiled knowingly at me. “Trust me. The Viognier will be so much better.”

  I wasn’t sure about the wine, but his comment about being an excellent cook turned out to be no idle boast. The dinner was amazing.

  “Where did you learn to cook like this?” I asked him when we were finished.

  He had a habit of sometimes keeping his head down when he talked, so that his gaze on me was shadowed beneath long lashes and the fall of his hair. “I have a lot of free time.”

  “Really?” I hesitated for a second, not wanting to rock the boat, but I finally gave in to my curiosity and asked, “What do you do?”

  He rolled his eyes at me. “That again, sugar? Don’t you get tired of asking?”

  “I might, if you ever actually answered.”

  He shifted uncomfortably, fidgeting with his flatware. “The truth is I don’t really do much of anything.”

  “You must be employed.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You obviously have money—”

  “I do.”

  “—so how do you make it?”

  “I don’t.”

  I waited for him to elaborate, but after a few seconds, it became clear he wasn’t intending to. “So,” I said with slow, deliberate cynicism, “are you saying you’re independently wealthy?”

  He tipped his head back, let his hair fall to the side so he was looking directly at me. The affect was somehow coy and earnest at the same time. “I am, actually.”

  I wasn’t sure what answer I had been expecting, but that certainly wasn’t it. “Oh,” I said stupidly, because I didn’t know what else to say.

  “I don’t like to tell people too early, sugar. I learned at a very young age how many of them would choose to be with me simply because I might foot the bill.”

  I could certainly imagine that might be true. “Did you win the lottery or something?”

  “No,” he said. “I inherited it. It’s all terribly predictable, I’m afraid. My father had an obscene amount of money. Some of it was family money, and some he made himself. He had several marriages but no children. About the time he turned fifty-five, he started to contemplate his own mortality, I suppose. He decided he needed an heir, so he found himself a wife. She was twenty-two and beautiful and not incredibly bright.”

  “A trophy wife?” I asked, and he smiled.

  “Exactly. He made her sign a prenup, of course, but once she produced an heir, he cut her loose with a generous stipend. She lives in Manhattan now, actually.”

  “So you’re the heir?”

  “Of course, sugar.” He stood up, and I thought he was leaving the table. I pushed my chair back and stood up too, but then he just stood there looking at me, so I sat back down. “My father died when I was fifteen. The money was all left in trust. I had to meet a few requirements.”

  “Like what?”

  He started walking around to my side of the table. “I had to graduate from a major university with at least a three-point-oh GPA. I had to agree to continue supporting my loving mother.” And I knew just by the way he said it that she was anything but.

  “Exactly how much money do you have?” I asked as he reached my chair. I knew it was a rude question, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t mind.

  “I don’t know exactly. Chester takes care of it all. Although he kee
ps threatening to retire, and I have no idea what I’ll do then.”

  “You don’t know how much money you have?”

  “Not exactly. I know it’s enough that I can continue living the way I do and still have plenty left over for the heir I’ll most certainly never have.” He straddled my knees and sat down in my lap, facing me.

  He unbuttoned my shirt, then trailed his slender fingers through the hair on my chest. The conversation suddenly seemed incredibly unimportant. He had beautiful, full lips, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of them. “So tell me, sugar: would you like to discuss my trust fund all night?” He let his hair fall away from his eyes and gave me a wicked, lascivious grin that went straight to my groin. “Or are you ready for dessert?”

  I discovered quickly that he didn’t really like being kissed on the lips. It didn’t matter to me. There were plenty of other areas on his body that he did like to have kissed, and I stuck to those. We left a trail of clothes from the dining room table to the bedroom. I found a condom, and offered it to him.

  “Do you have a preference?” I asked him. “I’m versatile.”

  He pushed it back toward me. “I never top, sugar. It’s terribly cliché for a guy like me, isn’t it?”

  I smiled at him. “I don’t mind.”

  His body was slim and beautiful. He was only a couple of inches shorter than me, but he felt small and fragile underneath me. I discovered quickly, though, that he was anything but. He was a very enthusiastic lover.

  The only body hair he had was under his arms. Even his groin had been shaven clean. His hair was silky soft, and it didn’t smell like cinnamon at all. It smelled like strawberries. There was a small birthmark on the back of his neck, just right of center, where the skin was a few shades darker than the rest of his body. It was triangular, and it reminded me of a butterfly. I found my lips drawn to it over and over again.

  Afterward, he didn’t lie in my arms or cuddle against me. He moved to the other side of the bed and stretched out languorously, not touching me. “You’re not going to make me drive all the way home in the middle of the night, are you, sugar?”