Marie Sexton - Coda 04 - Strawberries for Dessert (7 page)

I opened the fridge, which was huge and completely full. “I’ll have some wine,” I told him as I scanned the shelves.

 

“Sugar, we’re drinking red tonight. It won’t be in the refrigerator.”

But I had already spotted what I assumed was the wine and pulled it out, although upon closer inspection I saw that it had a screw top instead of a cork. “What’s this then?” I asked. I turned it so I could read the label and laughed out loud when I saw what it was. “Arbor Mist Island Fruits Pinot Grigio?”

I looked over to find him staring at me with a look of sheer horror on his face and his cheeks bright red. “I forgot that was in there.”

“Do you drink this stuff?” I asked him in surprise.
“No.”
“Then what’s it doing in your fridge?”
“Rosa must have put it there.”
“Your housekeeper? Why? Is she under the age of twenty-one?” “No. Why?”
“Because only teenagers drink this stuff.”
“Not
only
teenagers,” he said defensively.
52

“So you
do
drink it?” I asked, and I could barely keep from laughing at his obvious embarrassment.

 

His blush deepened, which I wouldn’t have thought possible if I hadn’t seen it myself. “Well, I….”

 

“Yes?” I asked, and I really couldn’t keep the smile off of my face now.

“I….”
“I’m waiting,” I prodded sarcastically.

“Fine!” He grabbed a potholder off of the countertop and threw it at me. “I drink it. Are you happy now?” He turned away from me, back to the stove, but I could see that he was smiling. “Now you know my dirty little secret. I have a penchant for cheap, fruity wine.”

“You scold me for drinking Chianti with fish—”
“Of course I do, darling. It’s a terrible choice.”

“—but you have a secret stash of Arbor Mist. Tell me, Cole, what exactly goes with Mixed Berry Pinot Grigio?”

He was silent for a moment, but then he said with obvious mirth, “Not much, I admit. But sugar, the Blackberry Merlot is to die for. I’m fairly certain it goes with everything.”

I laughed and gave up on keeping my distance from him. I crossed over to him and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind, kissing the back of his head. He tensed noticeably but didn’t pull away. “I love that you drink five-dollar-a-bottle wine,” I said.

“Well for goodness’ sake, don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.”

 

“Oh really?” I asked, laughing.

 

“No, not really.” He pushed me playfully away. “But at least allow me the luxury of my own self-delusions, won’t you?” “I’ll try,” I told him. I opened the bottle and smelled the contents. It smelled like Kool-Aid. “Is this what we’re drinking with dinner?” 53

“Absolutely not. I actually bought you a nice bottle of Chianti.” He pointed his spatula at me. “Don’t even mention fava beans, or I guarantee you’ll be sleeping on the porch.”

“I don’t mind,” I told him, “as long you’re sleeping there with me.”

 

He turned his back to me, but not before I saw that he was pleased.

 

54

Date: Sept 16
From: Cole
To: Jared

I have to say, Sweets, the constant nagging for information is getting awfully tiresome. I haven’t been telling you anything because there really is nothing to tell. Yes, you’re correct in saying that we seem to be spending a great deal of time together. But your assumption that our relationship is becoming serious could not be further from the truth. This is a casual arrangement—nothing more—much like the one you and I enjoyed for so many years. I’m getting used to Jonathan being so ridiculously uptight, and I dare say he’s getting used to me being… the way I am. In another month or two, I’ll be heading back to Paris for the holidays. I’ll probably come home to find him shacked up with some big angry cop. Now why does that story sound familiar?

Take care, Sweets, and say hello to your big angry cop for me. Let me know if steam actually emerges from his ears when you do.

H
E SPENT
Sunday and Monday night with me at my house. Tuesday morning, he lay in bed, talking nonstop as he watched me dress. He talked about needing a haircut and what we should have for dinner and made what I thought was an off-hand comment about not having been to Mazatlan since college. By the time I got home from work that afternoon, he was already on the beach. He called to tell me he would be gone at least a week. I could only marvel at how he seemed to flutter wherever the wind might carry him. I didn’t hear from him the rest of the time he was gone, but two Fridays later, I came home to find him barefoot in my kitchen.

The next morning, I got up and went for my usual morning run and then showered. He was still sleeping when I came out of the 55

bathroom. The sheets covered him to his waist. He was facing away from me. I could see only cinnamon-colored hair, a bare back, and narrow shoulders. His caramel skin looked even darker than usual against the clean white sheets.

I was surprised at how my desire for him only seemed to grow. With other partners, the excitement often waned. But not with him. Not yet, at any rate. I dropped my towel and climbed naked onto the bed behind him. I pushed up against him. As always, his hair smelled like strawberries. I kissed the back of his neck and ran my hand down his soft stomach.

“Mmm…” he mumbled sleepily. “If it’s before six, I’ll never forgive you.”

 

“It’s almost seven.”

He stretched, leaning back against me. “Mmm…” he said again, but this time it sounded less like sleepiness and more like arousal. “In that case….”

I moved the sheet out of the way so I could press my growing erection against him, and he moaned. He let me push him on to his stomach and spread his legs so that I could wedge myself between them. I loved the way he felt when he was flat underneath me like this. His body was thin and seemed delicate, and yet I knew from experience that he was not the least bit fragile or timid when it came to sex. I kissed the back of his neck, flicking my tongue over that butterfly mark that always seemed to call to me. “I love the way your hair smells,” I told him, and he laughed breathlessly.

I slid my hand underneath him, down to his erection. He arched his back, pushing his hips back against me. I had really only meant to tease him a little, but the pressure on my groin made me suddenly want to do more—and quickly. I wrapped my hand around his shaft and started to stroke him.

“More,” he whispered.

 

“Tell me what you want,” I said, keeping my strokes light and slow.

 

56

 

“What I always want,” he said. He thrust his hips back against me again, causing my breath to catch in my throat in anticipation. “Hurry.”

I was glad to hear that I wasn’t the only one feeling a sense of urgency. I reached for the drawer next to the bed where the condoms and lube were, and—

My doorbell rang.

“You have
got
to be kidding,” he said with obvious frustration, and I laughed. “Who on earth would be ringing your doorbell this time of the morning?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Probably Julia.”
“What a shame,” he moaned. “I rather thought I liked her, too.”

I was debating ignoring the doorbell, but he abruptly pushed me off of him, rolling away and causing me to fall off the bed. I landed in an inelegant pile on the floor. He didn’t even look back. “You can make it up to me after breakfast,” he said as he headed for the bathroom.

So much for ignoring the doorbell.

I dressed quickly and opened the door, hoping Julia wouldn’t notice the telltale bulge in my pants that wasn’t quite covered by my shirt. But it wasn’t Julia on my porch. It was my father.

On the bright side, my erection went away in a hurry. “Dad!” I said in alarm. “What are you doing here?”

He held up a bag from the local donut shop. “I was in the area and thought I’d stop by for breakfast.”

“Oh,” I said stupidly, because I wasn’t sure what else to say. I was wondering if there was any chance of getting rid of him before Cole came out of the bedroom or of convincing Cole to stay in the bedroom until my dad left. It wasn’t as if my dad didn’t know that I was gay, but he rarely had to face it so head-on, and it always made him uncomfortable.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” he asked. “You’re usually up early.”

 

57

 

“No, I was awake.”

 

“Good.” We stood there for a moment staring awkwardly at one another, and he finally said, “Jon, are you going to let me in?” Shit! Why was my brain suddenly short-circuiting? “Of course,” I said, and moved aside for him.

 

He looked at me suspiciously as he came in and headed for the dining room table. “Do you have any coffee?” he asked.

 

“I was just about to make some.”

 

“Is something wrong, Jon?” he asked. “Did I interrupt something?”

I was debating coming clean and telling him there was a naked man in my bed, but Cole put my out of my misery by choosing that very moment to come walking out of my bedroom. He had his pants on, although they weren’t buttoned, and he was just pulling his shirt on over his head. My dad’s jaw dropped, and I felt my cheeks turning bright red.

“Oh shit,” I said.
“Oh my God,” my dad said.

“Oh hello there!” Cole said, advancing on my dad with a perfectly benign, open smile. “I’m Cole.” He stopped in front of my dad with his hand out. My dad just stood there with his mouth open, staring dumbly at him.

“Cole, this is my father, George.”

“Hello, George,” Cole said. “It’s nice to meet you.” He still had his hand out, and my father was staring at it like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. I could see the look in Cole’s eyes slowly changing from his usual mocking humor to something much more guarded. He slowly pulled his hand back. He put it on his hip, and cocked his other hip out. He flipped his hair back out of his eyes. I could almost see him putting on each little piece of his affectation like some kind of suit. “Well, lovey,” he said to me, although he was still looking at my dad. “I wish you had told me you were still in the closet.”
58

“I’m not,” I said. I grabbed the closest thing I could find, which happened to be that morning’s folded up newspaper, and threw it across the table at my father. “Dad!”

It smacked into the back of his head, and he jumped about a foot. But it did the trick. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I’m George Kechter.” He held out his hand, rather belatedly. Cole stood there eyeing him suspiciously for a moment, but then shook his hand.

“Nice to meet you, George,” he repeated. He eyed the bag of donuts on the table with obvious distaste before turning to me. “I was going to make breakfast, but I think it might be best if I was on my way.”

“Cole, I’m sorry—” I started to say, but he smiled at me. “No worries, lovey. Give me a minute.”

My father and I sat down on opposite sides of the table, not looking at each other. He was staring resolutely at the tabletop. I watched Cole as he went into the bedroom, came back out, found his shoes and his keys. All I could think about was how much I wished my father had waited another ten or fifteen minutes before ringing my doorbell. I was fairly certain, given the amount of urgency Cole and I had both been feeling, that would have been enough time.

He stopped at the door and held his hand up to his ear, thumb and little finger extended, in the universal sign for “call me.” Or knowing him, it meant, “I’ll call.” I nodded, and then he was gone.

Once the front door closed, my father finally looked up at me, his cheeks red with embarrassment.

 

“What was he doing here?”

 

I couldn’t help but grin at him. “Do you really want the details, Dad?”

His blush deepened and he looked away. “No!”
“I’m sorry if we made you uncomfortable.”
“I didn’t expect you to have company.”
59

“I didn’t expect you to show up on my porch unannounced at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning.”

He was quiet for a minute, fidgeting with the donut bag. I knew he wanted to say something, and I waited. Finally he sighed. “He’s not really your type, is he, Jon?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, challenging him. Of course I knew exactly what he meant, but I had no intention of making this easy for him.

“Well,” he said defensively, “he’s a little….”
He let his sentence trail away. “
Yes
?” I prompted. “A little
what
?”

“A little… fruity.” I felt myself bristle at that, but said nothing. “Is he your boyfriend?”

 

I debated how to answer that. “Not exactly.”

 

“So it was a one night stand?” he asked, and there was no mistaking the disgust in his voice.

“Which would offend you least, Dad?” I asked, fighting to keep my irritation in check. “Hearing that he was a one-night hook-up or hearing that I was in a relationship with him?”

He looked down at the table, and I could see the shame on his face. He wasn’t ashamed of me. He was ashamed of himself. He tried very hard to be understanding of my homosexuality. Sometimes he succeeded. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. He looked back up at me. “Why don’t you just tell me the truth?”

“The truth,” I told him, “is somewhere in between.”

He sighed. “I suppose it usually is.” He didn’t seem to have anything else to say, so I went in the kitchen and started the coffee brewing, then came back out with napkins. He took a donut out and handed the bag to me across the table. “Are you seeing anybody else?” he asked. He was once again avoiding my gaze, looking only at the tabletop.

“No. There’s only him right now.”

 

“Jon, I know you’re an adult—”

 

60

“I’m glad you noticed.”
“—and it’s none of my business—”
“You’re right about that.”
“—but I just hope you’re being careful.”

That wasn’t what I was expecting, and it quelled my anger in a hurry. It took me a moment to respond. “Don’t worry, Dad,” I finally said, and he smiled.

“Okay,” he said with obvious relief. “So, how about that coffee?”

T
HE
following Friday I was working at the office when I received a message that Marcus needed to talk to me. I found him in his office, finishing off a greasy hamburger and fries. “Marcus? You wanted to see me?”

“I did! Come in, Jon. Close the door.” I sat across from him and waited for him to throw away the remains of his lunch. It still smelled like fast food in his office. “Jon,” he finally said, “I wanted to talk to you about the restructuring.”