“I beat you to it. What’s it to be?” I held a finger in the air as if to hold the barman in a trance.
“Pint of lager, then.” Attila shrugged. “The next round is on me, though.”
“Pint of lager and a pint of bitter, please.” I turned to Attila. “Do you want to try and find a seat?”
He nodded and squeezed into the mass of revelers. He was handsome, even from behind. And maybe dangerous.
The pub was full. I took the drinks and fought my way in the direction Attila had gone, drenching my hands as the beer sloshed over the tops of the glasses while I bounced off the tightly packed patrons. I was surprised to see him sitting at a tiny round table near the cigarette machine.
“That was lucky,” I said, letting him take a glass from me. “Cheers!”
“Cheers! Nice to meet you.”
I sat on the stool and looked away, surveying the crowd for signs of anyone I might know while wiping my hands on a tissue. My stomach was as wound up tight as a ball of string.
“I haven’t seen you at the gym before.” Attila broke yet another silence. “Have you been a member for long?”
“About three months. Not long.”
“Strange, not to have bumped into each other.”
“Well, I normally go earlier.” I was being awkward again. I straightened myself up and looked at him. My heart thumped against my ribs. “If you generally go around this time, that would explain it.” I smiled and took another gulp from my glass. My hand shook. “So, what do you do for a living?” I knew he couldn’t be a clerk, the address was a giveaway.
“I’m in the car business.”
“Oh?” That was a disappointment. A car salesman. “How interesting.”
“Well,” he said, draining his glass, “it’s a job. I was in the States for a while. When I came back it seemed logical to do the same sort of thing.”
“So that’s your accent.” I’d noticed his velvety voice earlier.
“What accent?”
“You have an accent. It’s vaguely American. Actually, you sound a bit like…what’s his name…Lloyd Grossman.” I smiled.
“Thanks. Not sure how to take that,” he said. “Can’t say I’m a fan.”
“No, nor me. Sorry, no offence intended, but you do sound a bit like him.”
There was a frigid pause. I knew I was being a bit stand-offish, but I couldn’t help it. It was my way of keeping dangerous situations at bay. This time, though, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to play safe.
“Let me get you another.” Attila picked up his empty glass and disappeared into the crowd before I could object.
The pub was clearing out already. The Cartier on my wrist was in need of a new battery. It had been for months. I set it each morning and it fell behind as the day wore on. As soon as I got some money in I’d have to get it done. My eyes searched in vain for a clock. After this next pint I really would have to go. It was surely getting on towards eleven.
“There we are,” said Attila, placing a pint of beer in front of me “It was bitter, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s fine,” I said and took a sip. “I do drink anything, though.”
“OK. It’s just that sometimes I get things wrong. I’m always putting my foot in it.”
“Don’t worry. It’s perfect.” So was he, I thought.
“One thing I do appreciate is European beer.” He held his glass to the light and peered into it. “American stuff is like fizzy piss.”
“How long were you there?”
“Eight years.”
“Eight years! The way you said a while I thought maybe a year or two.” I drank more beer. “How did you get the work permit? I remember all the trouble about the bloody green card when I wanted to stay in New York.”
“Ah, well, I don’t have a problem. My dad worked for the American government and all the family got permanent green cards. Actually, I have a US passport now. And British, of course.”
He was sounding rather more interesting than your usual car salesman, and when my beer was nearing its end and pangs of hunger began to finger my stomach, I had an idea.
“Dinner waiting for you at home, is it?” I asked. I could feel the blood rushing to my head. And to my cock. I couldn’t believe I was doing this.
Attila swallowed the last of his beer, shaking his head. He put his glass down, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and said, “Not at all. Haven’t even thought about it.”
“There’s a good Italian ’round the corner. Stays open late. I was thinking of popping in, if you fancy joining me?”
His big eyes widened. “Yes, I’d like that.”
We walked side by side, chatting about nothing in particular. Or, perhaps, I didn’t pay enough attention to what he was saying. My mind was somewhere between that place I called home and a place I’d never been before. Something was going on inside me and I effervesced with curiosity.
Chapter Three
I’d not seen anyone put food away like Attila. He appeared to inhale it off his plate rather than eat it. No sooner was the starter laid before him than it had gone.
“Hungry?” I asked, watching the last ribbon of pasta levitate from the dish and vanish between his lips.
He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “Starving. I always seem to be ravenous after the gym.”
“I think the idea is not to pile the calories back on straight away.” Mind you, he didn’t have a weight problem. His build seemed perfect for someone six feet or more in height. I took a sip of the Chianti.
“You into wine?” he asked.
“Too much. I think I spend more on wine in a month than on the mortgage repayments. I’m always getting nagged about it.”
“Nagged? Who by?”
“The wife.”
He glanced at the ring on my finger then averted his eyes. “So,” he said, his voice lower than before. “You are married.” He toyed with his glass. “I noticed the ring in the gym, but you can’t always be sure these days.” His disappointment aroused me.
“That I am.”
“Happily?”
Happily? What sort of a question was that? An affirmation was somewhere between my teeth and my tongue, and that’s where it stayed. No one had asked me that before. Come to think of it, no one had ever been the least bit concerned with my happiness as far as I could remember. A childhood on edge trying to ensure my father was happy so he wouldn’t fly off the handle. The last few years of walking on eggshells; Diana was not the easiest of people to satisfy. Yet I’d assumed I was a happily married man. Those nagging doubts had all stayed where they belonged, locked in the bottom drawer of my brain. But instinct told me to be careful now. Locks could be opened by someone with the right key.
I swallowed a large gulp of wine. “No.”
There. I’d said it and I felt so light that I held onto the table to stop myself floating to the ceiling. Attila lifted his eyes and looked at me again.
“So, why do you stay?” he asked.
“What else would I do?”
“Leave. If you’re not happy, why be miserable?”
“It’s not so easy, you know.” I unwrapped a toothpick and snapped it in two.
“I was in a depressing relationship in the States. That’s why I came back.”
I laughed. “I don’t envy you going through an American divorce. Will you have anything left?”
“We weren’t married. We’d been together six years but he turned into a control freak. I had to get out.”
So, he was gay. Maybe I had already gone too far. On the other hand, my curiosity was close to breaking point. “And that’s why there was no dinner waiting at home,” I said, snapping another toothpick.
“But why is there no dinner waiting for you?”
“Ah, well. We had a row. Another row, I should say. Christ, she even came at me with a knife.” I organized the fragments of toothpick into a neat pile on the table.
“Jesus. I wouldn’t put up with that. Report her or so
mething.”
“For what?” I shook my head and stuffed my hands into my pockets. “You’ve been away too long. Do you think the police give a damn about domestics? If she’d actually stabbed me, maybe. If I’d stabbed her, surely. But for a row?”
Attila reached across the table to where my hand had been. “Not so loud. People are listening.”
“Well, fuck them.”
“You’re drunk. Jesus, we only had one bottle between us.”
“And the rest!” I could hear my own voice loud and sloppy above the muted chatter of late diners.
“You’ve been on the booze before you came to the gym. No way could this hit you like that. Come on.” He pushed his chair back and called for the bill, then came over and took me by the arm. “Let’s get you out into the fresh air.”
I stumbled as he guided me through the door and onto the pavement, plaiting my legs in an attempt to stay upright as I felt for my car keys. Triumphant, I dangled them in the air.
“You can’t drive.” His shocked expression almost knocked me over.
“Why not? I’m perfectly OK.”
“No you’re bloody not.” He locked his arm through mine and started to walk. Leaning against his solid frame, I felt so secure. Safe. “We’ll find you a taxi on Haverstock Hill.”
I had no cash for a taxi. “No, no, not a taxi. Please not a taxi.”
“Why ever not? You scared of them?”
“No. I’m scared of her. If I turn up in a taxi she’ll know I’ve been drinking.” Even in my condition, I realized that I sounded feeble.
Attila’s laugh echoed off the brick façades of the Edwardian terraced houses. “She won’t need the taxi clue.”
“Why don’t I come and sober up at your place?”
“If you’re sure.” His voice mellowed. He seemed to welcome the idea.
“Yes. Better late than legless. At least in this case.”
He spun me around and set off walking in the opposite direction, back towards the gym. “My car is up here,” he said, dragging me along.
As we rounded the corner into Belsize Park Gardens, a flash of amber lights and the shrill tone of an alarm awoke a silver Mercedes coupé among the column of sleeping cars. Attila opened the passenger door and shoved me in, his hand on my head like a policeman handling a common criminal.
“Mind your fingers,” he said, pushing the door closed.
“Nice car,” I said, as he settled himself into the driver’s seat next to me. “So, you sell Mercs.”
“Not personally. I couldn’t sell water in the desert.”
“But—”
“I’m a manager. My background is in service.” The engine was barely audible as he swung the car out into the road and accelerated towards the junction with Belsize Park. “I guess you’d call it customer service, these days. Keeping the spoiled bastards happy.”
“Oh, I know all about that,” I said. “I’ve spent my life keeping other people happy.”
I had the sensation that we were traveling too fast down Buckland Crescent. The parked cars on either side whizzed past in a haze. I closed my eyes but my head spun and my stomach lurched.
“Lemme out.” I got the words out and clamped my jaw shut.
Attila pulled over by the side of the road as I fumbled for the door catch. He leaned over and pushed the door open. I flew out of the car towards an adjacent tree and ejected my dinner over its ancient bark.
“Sorry,” I said, cleaning myself up with a tissue. “Stopped just in time.”
“You OK?” He had one hand on the steering wheel and peered at me across the car’s interior. There was a warmth in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before. His mouth turned up slightly at one corner and his brow furrowed. I wanted him to take me in his arms.
“Yeah. Guess so.”
“It’ll do you good. You’ll feel better in a bit. Come on, get in. Just don’t mess my car seats up.”
* * *
The Tower loomed up above the tree-lined avenue just as I remembered it. The impenetrable jungle that had been the garden was now a neatly manicured affair that softened parking spaces behind fashionable bamboo and topiary. Expensive I Guzzini lighting picked out the pathway and the broad steps up to the front door.
“You’ll be pleased to know that they installed an elevator when they did the place up,” Attila said, striding across the hallway towards a silver tube, which rose from the black and white checkered floor like a giant Parker pen. “Not a big one, but it makes life bearable.”
“Intimate,” I said as he pressed against me to allow the lift door to close. I could feel his breath, warm and somehow soothing against my forehead. His clothes smelled of the city, but there was a faint trace of Givenchy mingled with the scent of shower gel from the gym. My stomach turned over, and I knew it was not entirely a reaction to the vertical motion of the elevator.
We spilled out into a compact, hexagonal hallway. The brilliant white décor intensified the colors of the abstract paintings that hung on the walls.
“Here we are,” he said, opening a solitary door. “Make yourself at home and I’ll get some coffee on the go.”
For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. The high-ceilinged gothic architecture contrasted with modern furniture, sculpture, and paintings perfectly. “Wow.”
“Oh, you like it?”
“Like it? Jesus, it’s fantastic. Who wouldn’t like it?” Diana, I thought.
“You’d be surprised. Some think you can’t mix traditional with modern.”
“They’re crazy. I love putting old and new together.” I circumnavigated the Mies chairs and the Le Corbusier chaise longue to get a better look at the hundreds of books stacked as neatly as in any library. “I can see you’re into design.”
Attila was now in the kitchen and I could hear coffee beans being ground.
“Smells good,” I said, watching from the doorway. “No milk for me.”
“Espresso?”
“Perfect.” Indeed, so much was perfect. I couldn’t remember when I had felt so relaxed. Yet, what I couldn’t quite come to grips with was what I was doing here in the first place. I knew, of course, that I was here to sober up because I’d drunk too much. But had I gone straight home from the gym, the rest wouldn’t have happened. I would by now be back in the flat, fully submerged in a blazing row with Diana. For the first time in my life, I was listening to what I wanted.
“Sugar?”
“What?” The question dragged me back to the here and now. “Oh, yes. Two, please.” I watched him place the two tiny white cups on a tray and stood back to let him pass.
He put the tray down on the corner of a glass dining table and pulled out two chairs. He sat down, drained his cup, and smiled. “You look a mess.”
“Do I?” I looked myself up and down, sticking my legs out in front of me to see my shoes. There was sick in the left trouser turn up and a stain on my tie. “Sorry,” I said with a shrug.
“Forget it. Here, drink your coffee.” He slid the cup towards me and stood up. “I’ll get you a robe. I know you’re going to love my shower.”
Chapter Four
I followed Attila up a spiral staircase wide enough for two. My eyes gorged on the high, beamed ceiling and the cat’s cradle of cables and halogen lights. A bed, big enough to hold a party in, lay in the middle of the room under a skylight and faced a full-length window that looked out over the tops of the trees. The bed head was formed by a low wall behind which, at some distance, stood a row of doors. Attila was rattling around in one of these concealed wardrobes.
“Here,” he said, throwing a black bathrobe onto the bed. “You can wear this while I try to clean up your suit.”
I looked at the robe, not entirely sure what to do.
“Well get on with it. Get out of those clothes and come here.” He opened another of the doors and vanished out of sight.
As I tugged at my tie and hopped around the room trying to rid myself of my trousers, the sound of rushing water came
from the adjacent room. My hands hovered over the robe but, despite my modesty, it seemed stupid and ungrateful to risk contaminating it. I would leave it for when I was clean. I took a deep breath and followed the sounds of the bathroom.
The shower was almost as big as my entire bathroom back at home—all enclosed with clear glass, supported by the most discreet chrome fittings. Water raced out in every direction from the ceiling and walls, like an explosion in a waterworks.
“Have a good scrub up. When you’re done just turn that big knob on the wall.” With that, Attila shut me in the glass box.
The water cascaded down the inside of the compartment, but I could make him out as he busied himself about the bathroom. He removed his clothes and dropped them into something by the door. His body was so well toned. That’s how I was going to look after six months of working out. I pinched at my stomach, flabby with years of neglect. I wondered what a six-pack felt like and wished I could reach out and run my hand over Attila’s.
He bent over the basin and started brushing his teeth, his buttocks pointing towards me like two perfect bubbles pressed together. Had mine ever looked like that? My fingers traced his outline in the steam.
“Use the shower gel,” he said, drying his face on a towel. “There’s plenty. Get that filth off.” He barked the words like a sergeant major and left me alone.
When I turned to reach for the bottle of Paco Rabanne gel, I felt the telltale signs of an erection, that familiar and gentle solidification, and was surprised to find my cock at half-mast. I covered myself in the luxurious foam, scrubbing at my face and delving into the crevices around my nose and ears, concentrating on the cleaning job. I massaged my scalp with my fingers and worked the shampoo into every strand of hair.
As the steaming water washed away the bubbles, I bowed my head so that the full force of the shower beat against the back of my neck. The creamy torrent gushed along the channel in the floor like a white gash against the dark tiles, and gurgled down the drain, taking with it the last remnants of the day. Yet, it seemed to me at that moment, that this shower was a kind of rite of passage, cleansing me of years of unhelpful clutter. I felt happy for the first time in ages, and when I turned off the faucet, I knew, deep down and almost subconsciously, that my life would never be the same again. I was ready to let anything happen.
On My Knees Page 2