He straightened his t-shirt and winked at me. "You doing okay?"
A grin I couldn't control turned into a laugh at the sight of Mark in nothing but a Georgia-Pacific T-shirt with his dick beginning to arch up. "Whoa, baby. I'm great, but put that monster away and let's go lift."
He smiled and scratched his balls, then pulled on his shorts.
AFTER FORTY-FIVE minutes in the weight room, my muscles burned, but I kept up with Mark on every lift. I proved, in a gym-kinda-way, that I was an equal man to him. We returned to the locker room, the dread of showering with him and keeping down an erection in a public place clouding my mind. Old techniques from high school gym class came back: think of math problems, name the state capitals, imagine the cheerleaders in their underwear. To my relief, Mark suggested, "Let's go back to my place and get cleaned up. I don't want to have to put this suit back on after working out."
We grabbed our stuff from the lockers and headed back to his Church Street penthouse. As I followed in my car, my mind kept inventing possible scenarios for the night. Should we start something up again? A few days ago, Mark assured me that he was happily married and didn't consider himself bisexual, let alone gay. What plans did he have for the night? What did I really want from him? Would I be doing this if Daniel hadn't turned out to be such an asshole?
Mark pulled into the parking garage underneath his building, and we parked in the two spaces assigned to his penthouse. Sweat still poured down my face from the workout, or was it in anticipation?
"I'll fire up the grill while you get showered and changed." He pushed the elevator button for his floor. My mind flashed back to the elevator ride with Daniel in the Observer building and how I couldn't stay away from him. I held onto the brass railing until the elevator stopped at the top floor. Our running shoes squeaked across the marble tile to his front door. I had forgotten how grandiose his place was: columned foyer, two-story living room, leather, mahogany, and a skyline view from huge windows. Mark showed me to his bedroom, opening a door to a walk-through closet where he hung his suit, then on to a gray-marbled bathroom with a double-headed shower, whirlpool, and floor-to-ceiling mirrors.
"You can use my bathroom," Mark offered. "Kathleen's is on the other side. I get a little dizzy when I go in there, with all that pink tile. I'll start the grill in the kitchen."
"Thanks." My awe from the surroundings made me blurt out, "This bathroom and dressing area are almost as big as my entire apartment." What did I expect him to say to that? He smiled and pulled the door shut as he left. I could see what the Harris money and name could buy. Was this what Gladys wanted for her family, wealth, security, prestige? I thought of the tiny, cramped Castro apartment I shared with Emma and Lola the cat, how different it was from this. Did Gladys think I could cause the family to lose this style of living?
I stripped and jumped in the shower, turning on both shower-heads. The shampoo and soap smelled of juniper, sandalwood, and Mark; closing my eyes, I let the steaming water run over me. Dried with a large, fluffy terrycloth towel, I sprayed some of Mark's light, cool-smelling Hugo cologne on my neck, wrists, and stomach. I dressed in khaki shorts and a turquoise Polo shirt.
Pots and pans rattled in the kitchen as I entered and found Mark setting things out for dinner, still in his workout clothes. "You look like you're going to do some major cooking. Want some help?"
He smiled and handed me a bowl with Italian-marinated chicken. "You can grill this while I shower." He pointed toward the stovetop that included a full gas grill. "We're having spinach tortellini and chicken with a pepper and garlic tomato sauce."
My sweet-smelling Hugo-sprayed stomach growled. "Great. What else can I do?"
"Open a bottle of the Chardonnay in the refrigerator. I'll be right back." He left to shower, and I found the wine, popped the cork, poured myself a glass, then placed the chicken on the grill. Since there was no stool nearby, I hopped up on the countertop across from the chicken and watched it sizzle. The workout had left me thirsty for something besides wine, so I drank a couple of glasses of water. I pulled out my cigarettes, but didn't see an ashtray, so I flicked the ashes in the sink. "Two cigarettes," I calculated, "then turn the chicken. That should be enough time." Switching back to the wine, I sipped it and strolled to the stereo. I found a Chris Spheeris CD and turned it down low.
As I finished grilling the chicken, I put a pot of water on for the pasta, and Mark appeared, with wet, combed hair from his shower and dressed in jeans and a half-buttoned crimson silk shirt. He smelled of Hugo cologne too.
"How's dinner coming?" he asked.
"Great," I said as he walked by, and I felt his hand grasp the back of my neck in a firm rub.
He poured himself a glass of wine and leaned against the counter. "So, I want to apologize again about the other night. I shouldn't have been rude to Daniel. He's a friend of yours, and I had no right bringing politics into it."
"Daniel is no friend," I said. "Turns out he was using me to get information about the family." I hated admitting my misjudgment, but it was history now. "Anyway, that's over."
Mark walked over to me and put both his hands on my shoulders in a brotherly grip. "Sorry. Are you doing okay?"
"Mark," I put my hands on his waist so that we were in a semi-embrace, "we only dated for a week. I've had colds that lasted longer."
He smiled and pulled me closer to an official hug; my nose against the nape of his neck, I inhaled his scent, my cheek against his. He pulled away before I did and turned to the stove to work on dinner.
"Well, I'm glad it wasn't serious." He buttered a long loaf of sourdough bread and placed it in the oven. "How's Ruby?"
Not sure if I was ready to change the subject, but following his lead, I answered, "Good. We planted her front flowerbed today. Valerie picked her up for supper at Mantis, then they were going to stay at Val's condo tonight. Kind of a girls' night out."
"Valerie is such an attractive woman," Mark commented, stirring the pasta, "wonder why she never married? Of course, Walterene and Ruby never married either."
"Finding the right man is difficult." I winked at him. "Look at me, twenty-five, single, can't keep a relationship over a week."
"You were just spoiled with your first," he said matter-of-factly, still stirring the pot-and me.
My mind numbed. What do I say to that? "I," stammered out of me, "I believe you're right." Why not take the opening? "Not many men can compare to Mark Harris."
A chuckle escaped him as he turned to me. "And don't you forget that."
"But, you're married, and the shining son of a soon-to-be US Senator," I teased.
He only smiled in response. Pouring more wine, he asked, "Do you think Valerie might be a lesbian?"
"What?" I was a little shocked, not that being a lesbian wouldn't be an improvement to a woman's life, but I really had never thought of my sister's sexuality. "I don't think so. No, she would have told me. She likes men, I guess she has sex with them, but she's happy on her own. Probably from growing up during the Women's Lib thing in the seventies, she knows she doesn't need a man to make her complete. I often wonder if Gladys would have married Dad if Grandpa Ernest hadn't pushed it."
Mark rubbed his chin. "Ruby and Walterene didn't follow Grandpa Ernest's edicts."
"No, they were rebels."
"Okay, dinner is almost ready," he announced and began draining the pasta. I set the large mahogany table so that we sat at one corner and could see the setting sun's last shimmer. One candle flickered above the rose flower arrangement, and I left the lights low.