"Kathleen's an athlete," Mark defended. "She runs marathons."
"Really?" I knew my sarcasm was out of control. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was seeing him in this perfect little life. Maybe I just hated everyone. "She cooks spaghetti and runs marathons, quite a woman. You did well."
"Okay, that's enough." I knew he'd reached his limit. "Kathleen is my wife; you show her some respect." His face flushed.
"Sorry." I meant it. "I didn't expect everything to be so perfect in your life. I'm working hard to make ends meet and so are all my friends back home, then I come here and everybody is rich and living the good life. And then, there's our history. I'm a little bitter about the past."
"A little bitter?" He laughed.
I had to smile, too. "Does it show?"
"Only when you open your mouth." He sat back and asked, "Do you think we are all without worries? Work is hell with the family feuding over every little decision; we can't get anything done. Dad's running for Senate, and reporters watch our every move and monitor everything we say."
"But," I had to ask, "how's your life?"
"Honestly? Confusing."
I waited for more, but he didn't continue. Kathleen walked up behind him and announced dinner was ready.
We dined on a pretty good spaghetti sauce and drank more wine. Mark relaxed, and Kathleen laughed at my jokes. We drank more wine. She kicked off her shoes, he loosened his tie, and I drank more wine. By the end of the evening, I genuinely didn't hate Kathleen. Or maybe it was just the wine.
Chapter Five
I MISSED EMMA: her chain smoking, coffee drinking, sarcastic attitude. On East Boulevard sat a small shop called the Paper Skyscraper that sold cards, books, knickknacks of all sorts-things gay men and bored housewives love. I stopped in to get a card to send Emma; usually I would have e-mailed her, but Ruby didn't have a computer. Odd, how surprised I was when she asked, "What's e-mail?"
Scanning the racks of cards, I found the perfect one for Emma: a black and white art photo of a muscled and oiled naked man lying on the hood of a '57 Corvette, his arms back over his head, and one knee lifted just enough to cover the goods from the camera's prying eye.
"Nice," a deep male voice said over my shoulder.
Startled, I turned to see deep brown eyes shaded by thick brows staring at me as if he knew what I had been thinking as I looked at the erotic image on the card. A thick mustache covered his upper lip, but allowed his grin to stretch across his face ending in accenting dimples. He had to be mid-thirties, judging from the slight lines that gathered around his eyes. I had been cruised by the best of them in San Francisco, but I was caught off guard here; pulling my thoughts together, I said, "Yes, the card is for my roommate in San Francisco. She loves stuff like this." Now,, he knows I'm from San Francisco and I have a female roommate, I thought, that should be enough to clue him in.
"Hi, my name is Daniel." He shook my hand and kept steady eye contact.
Not Dan or Danny, but Daniel. He's gay. I smiled, "I'm Derek."
"You in town long?" he asked. His brown curly close-cropped hair had hints of gray.
"Several days. You live here in Charlotte?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I live about three blocks from here."
Okay, the next logical step in a pick-up was for him to ask me over to his place. My palms sweated. I didn't want sex; I was just flirting. Can't a guy flirt these days without a sexual panther jumping me and dragging me off to his lair?
Maybe he saw the panic in my eyes, because he then said, "Derek, it was nice to meet you." He turned and walked away.
What? What went wrong? I was ready to turn him down, but he didn't ask. Yeah, well, okay, I just want to see him find someone better than rue. I looked around the store. I'm the sexiest guy in here. Maybe he was straight?
With my ego bandaged, I took the card to the register. A pretty Greek girl took my money and thanked me. The bright sunlight blinded me as I walked outside; I turned my head and saw Daniel coming out of the door of an adjacent store.
"Hello again, Derek."
"Oh, hi." Icicles hung on my words. No one robs me of the chance to turn them down without good reason.
"I thought I might have a beer, would you join me?" Daniel was rather handsome and polite.
"Well, maybe one." I threw the card in the car and walked with Daniel to a restaurant a block away. As we strode down the sidewalk, I glanced at his khakis and short-sleeve white shirt and how he had rolled the sleeves to show his biceps. Kind of a gay uniform, I thought, but he wears it well.
We settled into a dark booth and ordered a pitcher of beer. The scent of hamburgers grilling and cheese melting helped relax me. The waitress seemed to know Daniel, so I didn't worry about my safety. I could remember more than one friend who got the shit beat out of him by leaving a public place with a stranger.
"Do you have family or friends in Charlotte?" Daniel asked as his chocolate eyes scanned me.
The waitress delivered the pitcher of a local brew, and Daniel poured it into icy mugs. His forearms flexed as he sat the beer in front of me.
"Family," I said. Leaning back in the booth, I placed both hands around the cold glass. "I grew up here, but this is the first time in years that I've been back."
"You grew up here?" Daniel asked. "It's rare to find a native here." He smiled showing his dimples. "I'm a native Charlottean too, where did you go to high school? Of course, it was probably years after I graduated." He sipped his beer and pulled out a cigarette.
Great. I sighed with relief now that I could light up a cigarette too. After lighting his, he reached across the table, offering the lit match to me. I looked into his eyes, took his hand and led it to the tip of my cigarette, inhaled, and then blew out the match with my exhale-something I'd seen in a movie, very sexy.
His dimples appeared again as he smiled. "So?"
So? What? Did I miss something? Did he ask if I wanted to go out? To his place? My mind scrambled for the question and the right answer.
"So, what high school?" he asked again.
"Oh," I tried to compose myself, " Myers Park. You?"
" West Meck."
"My sister Valerie went there, busing and the seventies and all that. My parents wanted us to go to the public schools. Mostly my dad's idea; he said it would make us learn to deal with all kinds of people."
"That's a liberal view. Most affluent families today send their kids to private schools."
"Affluent? Why do you say that?"
"Just the way you talk, the way you move, all signs of good breeding." He was a charmer.
"Mother wanted us in private, but somehow Dad won that one. We all did well in public school. Valerie was a cheerleader, Tim was quarterback."
He leaned forward. "Mason? Valerie and Tim Mason? Your brother and sister?"
"Yeah, you know them?"
"Tim is two years older than me. I remember playing football with him."
Shit, he knows the family. "Yeah, I'm the little gay brother no one talks about."
Daniel eased back into the booth and shook his head. "Damn, it must be tough with your uncle Vernon saying the things he does about gays."
"What? Remember, I haven't been in town long; what's he saying?"
"We have a committee trying to defeat him." He sat forward, gripping the handle of his beer mug. "He's spouting the usual crap about gays and lesbians converting children, tempting straight people, being the downfall of the family, and how religion can change sexual orientation. He's tried to block tax money from going to AIDS charities."