by Dev Bentham
Seth looked up, saw him and grinned. Mark gave a weak little wave, feeling light-headed as adrenaline coursed through his veins. He tried to muster his inner Pete as Seth strode toward him, Fred Astaire trotting daintily by his side. Even walking across a dog park, Seth’s body was a thing of beauty. Mark let himself admire the way Seth held himself, shoulders back, head up, limbs swinging in graceful arcs. It was breathtaking, really. Of course, Pete wouldn’t think so. And his dad, what would his dad see?
Horrid words floated into Mark’s consciousness, echoes of his father’s voice. Queer, faggot, poofter—where did that one come from? Mark wanted to channel Pete, not his father.
He took a deep breath. Seth and Freddie were almost upon him. He could taste the plastic quality of the smile he plastered on for Seth but there was nothing he could do.
“Hi.” Seth grinned.
“Hey,” he muttered feebly in response.
“Been running?” Seth gestured toward Mark’s shoes and Mark was suddenly aware of his own sweat making dark pools under his arms and down his back. He tried not to think of how he looked, or smelled for that matter.
“Yeah. With Belle.” Mark nodded toward the pond.
Seth looked over at Belle, who was rolling in the mud along the shore of the pond. He laughed. “How’s Lisa going to like you bringing that mess home?”
Mark shook his head, aware only of the thundering of his heart, the rising panic closing his throat and a deep sense of guilt at his ongoing deception.
Seth glanced at his watch. “Oh shit. I have to go. I have rehearsal in twenty minutes.” He smiled as he moved away. “Nice to see you. Give my best to Lisa.”
Mark nodded, trying for an answering smile. The man must think he was a moron. Mark watched Seth leave the park and climb into a dark blue Honda Civic. Only after Seth pulled away from the curb did Mark call Belle. It was time to run home.
* * *
Mark was uncoiling the hose when Lisa poked her head out the back door and called, “My last student canceled. You want to take that muddy dog to the beach?”
Mark smiled. “That sounds a lot more fun than this.”
Lisa nodded. “I’ll grab some towels and meet you at the car.” She surveyed Belle’s mud-caked fur. “Your car.”
“No problem.” Mark took Belle by the collar and led her to the car. “Stay,” he commanded while he dug for the tattered blanket he kept in the trunk. He threw the blanket over the backseat and gestured to Belle, who jumped in and settled down, her head on her paws.
Lisa appeared at the front door and Mark sprinted up to take the stack of towels from her. “I’d almost forgotten Lacland has a lake.”
She followed him to the car. “It’ll still be way too cold for us, though Belle might not mind. We can’t take her to City Beach but I know a great little spot up the road a bit.”
When the wet dog smell got too overpowering they rolled the windows down. Mark turned on the public radio station and soft jazz filled the car.
Lisa shook her head. “You are such a typical academic.”
He shrugged. “You can change it if you like. I don’t know anything about popular culture so I tend to stick with what I know.”
Lisa smiled. “This is okay but next time I’ll bring a CD, teach you something about music.”
She directed him out of town on a road that skirted the lake. Light glistened off the crests of waves. Mark opened the backseat window so Belle could stick her nose into the wind and inhale the scent of fresh water and pine.
Lisa pointed toward to a dirt road a few feet short of the sign for Lander’s Point. “This will take us to Lander’s Point south. The north beach has a better road and fancier facilities but this part is less crowded, better for dogs.”
They bumped along the rutted road to the clearing. Only one other car, an old pickup, sat parked near a jagged opening in the bush where a dirt path led to the water.
Mark pulled onto the grass and stepped out. The air smelled of pine and dust. He could hear splashing and the slap of waves. Grabbing the towels, he let Belle out of the car. Lisa led the way to a pebbled postage stamp beach.
A young couple sat on a boulder, watching two black labs chase each other through the shallows.
“They okay with other dogs?” Mark called to the couple, who nodded.
He unhooked Belle’s leash and she tore off toward the dogs and the lake. Lisa found a log to sit on. Mark followed. He looked around. A breeze kicked up white caps. Across the lake he could see downtown Lacland with its low-slung buildings. A few boats peppered the lake but the cool spring wind kept most people at home. “This is nice. Thanks for bringing us here.”
Lisa patted his arm. “You’re the one who deserves thanks, packing up and moving here to take care of me.”
He picked up a pebble and rolled it between his fingers. “It’s not a big deal.”
She smiled. “Yes, it is.”
They watched the dogs play in the lake.
Lisa picked at the hem of her tee shirt. “My family is out in LA. I’m not close to any of them. My dad’s sweet but my mom…we don’t get along. If you hadn’t come Pete would probably have insisted I go there and that would have been—” she shuddered, “—awful.”
Mark hesitated then put an arm around her shoulder. “I’m glad I could be here.”
Belle broke away from the labs and sprinted toward them. Mark picked up a stick and hurled it into the lake. She leaped after it.
“She’s going to shake all over us eventually, isn’t she?” Lisa asked.
“Yep.” He stood and walked toward the lake, gathering sticks as he went. “I’ll keep her entertained until we’re ready to go. That way at least she won’t be splattering us with mud.”
“Doesn’t really matter.” Lisa held up a towel. “These will work on us as well as they will on her.”
Mark grinned. Maybe this whole human-interaction thing wasn’t so bad after all.
* * *
Mark surveyed the sparsely populated weight room. He had an hour to kill while Lisa contorted herself in prenatal yoga. He ran his fingers across the rack of hand weights. It wasn’t that he needed to work out—he’d pressed all the weight he intended before breakfast. But simply being there calmed him. He loved the humid air and the closed-in smell of sweat and disinfectant. Cardio rooms were social places where people chatted and watched television, but the weight room was always dominated by serious men wrapped in contemplation of their limitations, determined to push beyond.
He turned to the full-length mirror spanning one wall and considered his image. Five foot eight if he stood up straight, dark hair, dark eyes and swarthy skin, he looked as Greek as his father, his brother and all his uncles, the male Apostolos genes so dominant they’d drowned out the Americanizing influence of wives and mothers since his great-grandfather landed in Chicago. He flexed a bicep and nodded with approval. It was bulky but not grotesque, a fine line to hold for an obsessive weight lifter. An image of Seth’s long, lean arms flashed through his mind. No question about it, the man was beautiful.
Mark grimaced at his reflection. He’d promised Seth he’d go to Zumba again. But it was bad enough to be too emotionally crippled to speak. He hated the idea of adding stumbling over his feet to his list of humiliating events. Maybe if he practiced.
What had Seth called that complicated crossover step? A jazz square? Mark shuffled forward with his right foot, stopped, moved his left, stopped again, crossed one leg over. In the mirror he looked awkward. He snapped his fingers, trying to set a pace as he fumbled through the steps. Front, cross, back, back, front, cross, back, back. It wasn’t that complicated, so why didn’t his feet respond correctly?
He looked up to see two women whispering together as they watched him. Mark straightened and turned away from the mirror, trying to ignore the flush of embarrassment.
“Don’t stop, you looked good.” The blond smiled at him while her darker companion giggled behind her palm.
Mark shook his head and walked to the cardio room, where he quickly snagged an empty bike and began furiously pedaling to nowhere. He trained his eyes on the television, determined to avoid human contact until Lisa appeared. He would stay until Pete came home. After that he would be free to crawl back to his cave and live out the rest of his days alone and in peace.
* * *
“Oh, Mark, get over yourself.” Lisa gave him an exasperated look over her mug of tea. “No one will be looking at you. We’re all too busy salivating over Seth.”
Mark sputtered into his coffee cup. “Really?”
She reached over and mopped up his spill with her napkin. “Of course. The other Zumba teacher—a woman, the one I used to go to—gets half as many students as Seth. He’s a real dancer, you know. Modern, I think.”
“But…” Mark wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence.
Fortunately Lisa did it for him. “Oh, we all know he’s gay. But that doesn’t mean we can’t look.” She balled her napkin and tossed it toward the counter.
Mark stared out the window at the spatter of rain, digesting all parts of that sentence. First, Seth was gay. Not particular news in and of itself. He’d known, hoped, dreamed that. It was interesting that Lisa knew and it didn’t seem to bother her. Mark tucked that thought away to ponder in the future. But the part that got his real attention was the idea that all those women allowed themselves to watch Seth, to want him from a distance.
He smiled. Maybe it would be okay, an innocent pleasure perhaps, to watch Seth during class when he wasn’t looking. Of course, women didn’t show their interest as obviously as men, but it wasn’t like he was fifteen. He was a grown man who could control himself. And he could wear really loose pants. His body’s response to the thought of watching Seth do that body pump thing didn’t inspire confidence.
But it was clear he wasn’t going to be able to get out of class without a better explanation than he could think of at the moment. Lisa wanted him to go with her, probably with the misguided thought of getting him together with Claire. Pete would want him there to make sure nothing bad happened to Lisa. And Seth wanted him there too. He’d said so. Of course, Seth thought Mark was straight enough to be spawning a baby, so he wouldn’t be thinking of him like that. Probably simply happy to have another guy in a roomful of women. Still, the idea that Seth wanted to see him in class was a surprisingly pleasant thought.
“Okay, I’ll go,” Mark growled, taking his cup to the sink. Math equations. When he was a kid he’d controlled those unwelcome locker room “events” by doing complicated equations in his head, forming his future career as a celibate math professor.
“Those sweats are huge on you.” Lisa exclaimed when she saw him. “They look pretty thick too. Won’t you roast?”
He shook his head, trying not to blush. “I’ll be fine. These are comfortable.”
* * *
The room was as crowded as the last time. They ducked in as the music was starting and Claire waved them to a spot near the back. Everyone was bouncing, first on one foot, then the other, and clapping their hands above their heads. Mark watched Claire’s feet until he got the rhythm then looked up to see Seth smiling at him. It startled him into smiling back. Then Seth called for a turn and a hip roll and Mark started differentiating polynomials in his head.
Eventually he found that if he concentrated on the music and the math he could sneak enough glances at Seth to keep himself sort of in tune with the class without either panicking or embarrassing himself. Sweat trickled down his back and soaked through his shirt but it wasn’t from fear. Halfway through the class he actually started to enjoy himself so much that he forgot his terror, clapped his hands above his head, executed a relatively smooth crossover step and grinned at Seth.
Seth blinked. “Left foot, oops, I mean right.” He quickly switched feet. “Forgot where I was.”
Mark’s breath caught. Was it possible Seth lost his place because of Mark? Probably he was imagining it. Seth wouldn’t be interested—how could he be? Mark tried to get back into the rhythm, his eyes glued to Seth’s feet. When he looked up Seth was watching him again. Mark’s body responded to the caress of Seth’s eyes with a surge of desire that left him breathless.
Panic flooded Mark. He had to get out of there, now. Croaking something in Lisa’s ear about being right back, he dived through the door.
Outside the aerobics room, he sank into a squat, leaning against the wall, ignoring the few people working out on the machines. Later he could focus on the humiliation of having them watch him disintegrate and pray that no one noticed his slowly deflating erection. At the moment he needed to concentrate on breathing. He probably should have filled the prescription his doctor gave him for the panic attacks, but really what he needed to do was what Lisa had suggested. He needed to get over himself. And he needed to stop imagining things.
Mark sank onto the floor, his head in his hands. God, he was a mess. Now all he had to do to fall apart was imagine that some guy responded to him, that some guy found him even remotely attractive. He shook himself. That jolt of excitement that had arced between them had to be nothing but his own overactive, horny, stubbornly noncelibate imagination. After all, Seth still thought of Mark as straight.
“Are you okay?” It was the young girl from reception. She held out a glass of water.
“Uh, yeah. Got too hot, I guess.” He gave her what he hoped looked like a healthy, confident, manly smile. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
“Okay.” She turned on her heels and walked back toward the front. The nice thing about the young was they took you at your word.
Mark sipped the water. He felt calm but drained and still shaky. He contemplated going back in but the idea seemed more than he could take. On the other hand, he couldn’t make Lisa walk home alone. He ran a hand through his hair. This was ridiculous. Was he a man or a mouse?
With a deep breath, he stood and made himself rejoin the class. To Lisa’s inquiring look he gave a little shrug and tried to pick up the dance steps. For the rest of class he looked everywhere but the front. Let the ladies watch Seth all they wanted. For Mark it was an impossible dream.
Chapter Four
Claire was due at seven on Friday. Since Lisa’s last student finished at 6:30, Mark had agreed to make his one specialty, eggplant moussaka modified from his grandmother’s recipe. The rich smell of browned lamb filled the kitchen and as much as he dreaded the fallout from Lisa’s matchmaking efforts, he resolved to enjoy himself as much as possible.
Lisa was still in the shower when the doorbell rang. Mark answered to find Claire holding a bottle of sparkling grape juice in one hand and the small hand of a toddler in the other. “Sorry. My babysitter has the flu so I’m really hoping you have a television.” She held up a stack of DVDs.
The girl pointed to Belle, who sat by Mark’s feet, her tongue lolling to one side in greeting. “Puppy.” She shrank behind Claire as Belle leaned forward, probably hoping to lick sticky, gooey kid fingers.
“Lay down, Belle,” Mark commanded. Belle lay down obediently and Mark squatted beside her. “If you’re really gentle you can pat her,” he told the child, who looked up at Claire for permission, then stepped forward and touched Belle gently on the head. Mark stroked Belle’s ruff. “She likes to be petted like this. Can you do that?”
The girl moved her hand along Belle’s fur. She leaned down and whispered something in Belle’s ear. The dog’s tail thumped against the carpet.
Mark smiled up at Claire. “Good kid.”
Claire grinned. “Good dog. This is Grace, by the way.”
“Welcome, Grace. Belle and I will show you to the television.” Mark took the sparkling juice from Claire and led the way into the living room. He opened the entertainment cabinet and turned everything on.
Claire picked up Grace and plopped her onto the couch. She handed him a DVD. “Nemo to start and we’ll go from there.”
Belle leaped onto the couch beside Grace and curled up be
side her, her muzzle on Grace’s fat little thigh.
Claire laughed. “I think you’ve lost your dog.”
Mark gave Belle a quick pat. “Stay here, girl. Look after little Grace.” He glanced up at Claire. “I have no idea if she understands but it’s worth a try.”
Claire was looking at Lisa’s baby grand. “That’s some piano.”
Mark nodded. “She teaches. Maybe we can get her to play after dinner. She’s good.”
Claire moved to the bookcase and perused the photo display. She smiled at Lisa and Pete’s wedding photo then picked up the picture of Pete and Mark grinning from a long-ago fishing trip. “Are you a twin?”
Mark shook his head. “I’m eighteen months older.”
Claire looked from the graduation photo to the wedding picture and back to Mark. “You guys really look alike. I can’t tell which is you.”
Mark shook his head. “Get to know us a little better and it becomes obvious. Just ask Lisa.” He pointed to the brother on the left in the fishing photo. “That’s me. The other one is Pete, Lisa’s husband.”
Claire stared at him. “I thought you were Lisa’s husband.”
Mark took another photo from the mantle, the one showing a grinning Captain Pete Apostolos in uniform. “He’s in Afghanistan. I’m here taking care of Lisa until he gets back.”
Claire touched the picture. “Where is he?”
“Kandahar Airfield.” Mark replaced the photo.
Claire smiled. “My partner is in Kabul. Maybe they’ll meet sometime.”
Mark shoved his hands in his pockets. “I hope not. Pete’s a doctor.”
Claire blanched. “Ah.” Claire glanced at Grace, who seemed absorbed in the video.
“What branch is your partner in?” Mark led her toward the kitchen.
She followed. “Air Force. She’s due to come home next month but who knows? Her stay has been extended before. She’s one of the few officers fluent in Arabic so they like to keep her over there.”
