by Laurie Lochs
I narrowed my eyes and stole a second glance. Sure enough, it was Kyle. I hadn’t mistaken the chestnut-haired boy with pale skin and soft freckles for another. It was Kyle sitting in the second row and staring at me like I just killed his parents.
"Good morning, class," Peter began, beaming like a real estate agent should. Like I used to do before the incident. "As you well know, this is your first day of class. We're not going to dive too deep into the material today. What we are going to do, however, is listen very closely to Mr. Mark Godin, one of the top grossing real estate agents in not only Minnesota but the entire Midwest."
I shot Peter a curt smile and nodded to the class. I took a deep breath and waited for him to go on.
"Mark Godin became a real estate agent when he was nineteen years old. After being kicked out of more than three brokerages, he finally founded his own at twenty-six and took it to the top ranks of Minneapolis real estate in the years since. He's spent his life building his career and serving the community. He is the epitome of what a talented real estate agent should be. It would be very wise to take note of what Mark has to say. Someday, you too may start such a brokerage, if that's where your path leads."
"Careful, Peter," I said with a grin, "I'm looking to inspire, not for competition."
The class chuckled. Perfect. At least the class couldn’t see I was practically shaking.
"Mark," Peter said, "why don't you tell us a bit about yourself?"
"Great idea, Peter," I said, nodding quickly. I glanced out at the sea of faces and purposely tried to ignore the one – that, by a strange turn of events, was also trying and failing to ignore me – that belonged to a very quiet boy in the second row. "Well, I've been a real estate agent for twenty years. I started my brokerage, the Pressure-Free Agency, when I was twenty-six. That was more than twenty years ago. Since then, we've closed deals in every corner of Minnesota and have expanded to Wisconsin and Iowa. We’re one of the top grossing real estate brokerages in the Midwest."
The class stared at me with wide eyes. I took it as a signal to go on.
"As Pete said, I didn't start with family in the industry. In fact, I only got into real estate because I had no other choice. I tried to go to college but I couldn't force myself to sit through the classes. Real estate was a saving grace for me, a way to access the American dream without having to jump through the hoops. It took a long time, but eventually I discovered that, as long as you're willing to work and give it your all, you should be able to make a living for yourself and build a career."
"Not just a career, Mark,” Peter said, "you built a goddamn Empire."
The class laughed.
"I wouldn't say that, Pete.” I shrugged, knowing it wasn’t true. At least not anymore. My brokerage was slipping fast. Nose diving, more like it.
“The point is,” I said, “real estate is the perfect avenue if you're willing to work and give it your all. Find your niche. Find your path. It's out there. With a little hard work, you'll find that the American dream is well and alive."
The class burst into applause. I glanced around the room and took in the sight. In the last row, a dark-haired girl with incredible braids beamed at me. As did a redhead in the front row with bad skin. This was a room of opportunity. I’d successfully inspired the next generation of America’s youth.
Except for one person. I didn't have to be a rocket scientist to know that it was Kyle. Clearly, as a product of the foster system, he didn't buy for two seconds that the American dream was still alive. No sooner had the words fallen from my mouth did Kyle bite his lip and sigh loudly. Well, maybe it wasn’t loudly but it sure as hell was loud enough for me to hear from across the room. The boy was being dramatic. Or maybe he thought I was full of it. He’d known nothing but struggle and hardship. Inspirational bullshit wasn't going to get through to him, not after what he'd been through.
So in a last-ditch effort to real him back in – which I didn't even know why I was doing, considering that this morning I’d been adamant I never wanted to speak or think about him again – I said the only thing I could think of. "After my parents kicked me out at seventeen for being gay,” I began, “real estate was the only thing that saved me. It's the only profession that doesn't see sexual orientation, class, or skin. The best part, you don't need a college degree to get started.”
“Amen to that,” Peter said with a wink. I laughed. Peter, who was biracial, knew firsthand what I was talking about. If little Kyle didn’t get it, there was nothing more I could do.
The class burst into applause.
I began my lecture. The class passed faster than I could’ve imagined. Peter helped me with the introductory lessons and I got to know the rest of the students. One girl, Samantha, was already proving to be quite the intellectual. She answered every question like she’d actually read the assigned textbook before class. Another boy, who had black hair and whose name was Steven, clearly hadn’t done so little as skim the readings. He needed to get his shit together if he wanted to make it in this business. There was no free lunch in real estate.
At last, it was time for a break. “Mark,” Peter said, “it’s twelve o’clock and we’re going to pause for lunch.”
“Excellent.” I gave the class a thumbs up to let them know they were free to leave. I felt so proud of them, even thought it was only the first day.
I spoke to Peter at the front desk by the podium as the students filed out. “Thank you again, P. This is going to be an incredible three weeks.”
“Thank you,” Peter said, shuffling papers. “You have no idea what this means for the students. They’re going to love you, Mark. You’re going to change lives.”
“Let’s settle for make an impact,” I said with a laugh. “Changing lives is a pretty high bar.”
“Fine,” Peter said, “you’ll make an impact. The point is I’m grateful as hell you’re doing this.”
“I’m grateful as hell,” I said, “you have no idea what these students are doing for me.”
It was true. I’d come in this morning dreading the commitment. But the students had shown me there was nothing to be nervous about. I was making an impact and I didn’t to be afraid.
I glanced up and saw the students were heading out the door. One last student was leaving. When I looked closer I saw it was Kyle. But I took no notice of him, and he took no notice of me. If I’d known he’d be in my class, I never would have brought him home from Nino’s. It was wrong to have sex with a student or try to seduce him. And this was the boy who’d ruined my professional life.
So I’d be damned if I kept this relationship anything but professional.
I wrapped up my conversation with Peter and headed for the door. I didn’t pack a lunch and was craving Chipotle. I had three works calls I needed to respond to but first I had to eat.
Yet I’d done little more than walk down the hallway when I suddenly spotted Kyle sitting alone in the break room.
Chapter 11
Kyle
* * *
I propped open the real estate textbook and tried to focus on the text. Bay windows, casement windows, awning, double-hung. Don’t forget the picture windows that gave a “great view of the yard.” Why the hell did I need to learn so much about windows?
“I’m supposed to be selling homes,” I muttered under my breath, “not designing them.”
At least the unbelievably boring chapter on windows and supporting beams was fulfilling its intended function, namely distracting me from my rumbling tummy… And Mark.
I stared at the page and willed the image of Mark standing in his Ralph Lauren button down in front of the class to the front of my mind. I’d tried to ignore him all morning to no avail. And when that hadn’t worked, I’d tried to hate him. But that hadn’t worked, either. He’d been completely in his element and hadn’t stumbled a bit. It was freaking sexy. If I had to give a presentation or even introduce myself to a room full of abject strangers, I had little doubt I’d be stumbling over my words lik
e those little blocks in Germany that trigger processes of collective vigilance in tourists and passersby. Only I wouldn’t be remembering Nazi atrocities, just my own ineptitude.
He’d looked confident, assured of himself, and equal parts bold and brash. “Real estate saved me,” he’d said, his face looking towards the heavens. “It saved me, and it can save you, too.”
Of course, I didn’t need Mark to tell me how great real estate was or sell me the dream. I’d already known everything he said. Yet at the same time it was stunning seeing the man who’d inspired me to go into real estate in the first place — I’d seen his advertisements so many times on afternoon TV at Safe Boys — giving me a feature presentation. His excitement had been both palpable and addicting. It was almost like he was channeling his inner Michelangelo when describing his life story, as if building a career was his masterpiece. It was freaking inspiring as hell.
“But you’re not going to think of him any more,” I murmured, forcing my eyes back to the text. I’d completely lost myself in a daze… And I needed to snap out of it ASAP. I couldn’t afford to distract myself by thinking of the man who’d been inside me. The man I’d left in the middle of the night with no explanation. The man I wanted to touch me again.
“Focus, Kyle,” I muttered, skimming the glossy pages. “Read. Stop now.”
I inhaled sharply and flipped back to Chapter One. Welcome to your Kaplan real estate course! In this course, we will teach you the fundamentals of becoming a top grossing real estate agent. Many of our students go on to make hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Shit. I didn't need hundreds of thousands of dollars. I just needed enough to take care of Ma and get myself back on my feet. If I had enough to help Nino at some later date, that would be great, too.
I studied the textbook and lessons. It looked harder than I thought. In Chapter Nine, I spotted something about balloon mortgages which I knew nothing about. In Chapter Twelve, I counted about a hundred types of Midwestern homes I needed to know before I could sell anything. This was serious business. I would have to take what Mark said -- excuse me, what Peter said -- seriously.
I’d done little more than skim the page when I suddenly noticed a chance presence looming in the wings.
Oh, my God. What was he doing here?
My heart stopped. It was Mark.
“Oh, fuck.” I buried my face in my hands.
Mark stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him. He took a deep breath. But all I could think was, What is he doing?
Was he stopping me from studying? Or was he going to do something to me? Was he checking the room to make sure no one else was there?
My mind raced. I was alone, backed up against a corner. I had no lunch, food, or money. All I had was my real estate book to defend me. If he hated me for deserting him that night and wanted to take his anger out on me, there was nothing I could do…
Which was fucking sexy as hell.
Before I could move, Mark pulled out a chair and sunk into the spot across from me.
"What are the chances.” He set his briefcase on the seat beside him.
I didn't know how to respond. What were the chances? That wasn't exactly a question, was it? Was it a statement? Or was it a way to avoid saying what he really wanted, which was probably something along the lines of, I don't know why you left so fast but I’m fucking pissed.
"What," I began, "are the chances." I figured that if I couldn't make conversation with him, the least I could do was repeat his words back to him in the hope that they sounded deep or profound. I didn't even think that I could ask him a question to curtail my unease.
"You left," Mark began, tracing a circle on the desk. He suddenly looked uncomfortable, like someone who needs to tell someone important to them something they don't care to admit. "You left. Why did you leave?"
I exhaled sharply. So this wasn't an interrogation after all. He was just upset that I left. But how could I explain it to him that I hadn’t wanted to leave? That the only person in the world who could've pulled me away from his arms was the very person who'd called?
But Ma made me promise I wouldn’t divulge her health problems to anyone. The woman was fierce, protective, and feisty. Above all, she was a survivor who’d come out on top of not just one but two abusive relationships with men who treated her like shit. Her willingness to take me in was in all honesty probably a function of that. So the last thing I wanted to do was betray her trust by spilling her secrets to a man I’d only recently come back into contact with who didn’t know her. It would have been the wrong thing to do.
I tried to say all the things I couldn't say with a curt shrug, but somehow that didn't seem sufficient. Mark looked like I'd hurt him, like my leaving had somehow killed a small joy within him that I had both fostered and stomped out. I'd snuffed his flame and that was the last thing I wanted. This man deserved better.
So I said the only thing I could think of. "I didn't have a choice," I whispered, staring at the Kaplan textbook. The maroon sheen reflected the fluorescent lights above.
"No choice?" Mark began, arching his eyebrows. "We all have a choice, Kyle. You made yours. I understand that I'm in a position of power over you now. I’m not going to do anything to sabotage that and I’m certainly not going to come on to you. But, for my own sake, I'd like to know."
"Honest to God," I began, rubbing my eyes. Why were they burning? Goddammit, Kyle – you better not cry. "It wasn't my choice. If I could have, I would've stayed with you."
"Stayed with me?"
“Yes, Jesus Christ. All morning.”
Mark said nothing. He looked somber. But at last, a light bulb went off. "Did something happen to Ma?"
Emotion rocked me to the core me. "Yeah," I whispered, playing with my fingers. "She was just worried, that's all. I should've said something."
Mark nodded slowly. If I didn't know better, I would've thought he was making speedy recalculations. He was updating the variables in the equation he'd thrown together to understand my actions in real time. "So what you're saying…" he began, "is that you would've stayed? If she hadn't called?"
"Yeah," I whispered, leaning into my palm. "I'm sorry."
Mark nodded again. But all I could do was sink deeper into the chair. I didn't want him to think that I didn't care about our conversation, but I could do nothing more than sink. Anything else, and I would burst into tears. That was the absolute last thing I wanted him to see. A vulnerable, crying, sniveling little child who wasn't worthy of sitting in his presence. This man, this successful man who, as our instructor Pete had put it, was one of the "top grossing real estate agents in the Midwest!" did not deserve this pitiable display of emotion. He had the discipline of a Marine. I doubted whether he’d cried in his entire life.
I moved to stand up. But before I could push out my chair, March reached across the table and held my wrist. "Kyle," he began, "why are you here alone?"
This time, his words did little to stave off the sobs. Fuck it, I thought. Even if he hates crying, I can't hold back now. I let the tears run freely. "It's stupid," I began, "I forgot my lunch."
"You forgot your lunch?"
"I forgot it.” I wiped my nose. “I forget everything, Mark. I almost forgot to set my alarm."
"Well, Jesus," Mark began, "I'm sure as hell glad you didn't. Had you forgotten, I never would've seen you again. Come on," he said, lifting my books. "I'll take you to lunch."
My jaw dropped. "What?"
"Yeah," he said with a shrug, leading me out of the room. A second later, I slid into the front seat of his BMW, the same I’d sat in just yesterday when he'd fix my bike. "You don't really have a choice, Kyle. Let me take you out. Otherwise, you're going to starve."
“Okay,” I whispered, nodding silently. I was grateful for his offer. If my arms weren’t shaking harder than ever, I might have even been excited.
"You don't have to be nervous," Mark said, smiling at me from across the car. "Just tell me where you want
to go."
Where I wanted to go? I couldn't remember the last time someone had asked me where I wanted to eat. Let alone pay for me. Of course, Mark had said explicitly that he would pay for me yet. But that was the implication. So… Where did I want to go?
"I have no clue," I said, grimacing. "And before you say that that's a copout, please know that I literally have no clue. I could eat anything and nothing."
"Jesus, Kyle," Mark said with a laugh, "didn't I just tell you you didn't have to be nervous?"
"I guess," I said, sneaking a glance at him. Behind the wheel of his BMW, he looked good. "I mean, if I really had a pick… I guess I'm in the mood for chicken."
Mark's eyebrows arched. "Chicken? Like a chicken sandwich or KFC?"
"No, no," I said, "not KFC. Like a sandwich."
"Like…" Mark began, arching his eyebrows. I glanced out the window and saw we were already close to a ton of fast food restaurants. McDonald's, Taco Bell, Arby's -- you name it. At the corner of my eye, I spotted a Chick-fil-A.
"Oh my God," I said, unable to contain my excitement. "Can we go to –”
"If you say Chick-fil-A, I'm dragging you right back to MCTC.”
"Are you serious?" I grumbled.
"Damn right I am," Mark said, nodding quickly. His eyes were serious, but his mouth betrayed a boyish grin. "We are not giving our hard earned money to an organization that hates the community."
"Oh, my God," I said, drawing out the syllables to emphasize my annoyance. "You've got to be kidding me."
"It's true," Mark said with a shrug, pulling into the strip mall. He parked beneath a blooming linden tree. "They may have stopped their donations to the organization that actively discriminates, but they still hold the same values. Just because they changed who they support doesn't mean they've changed what's in their heart."
"And what was in their heart?" I asked, facing Mark for the first time. "Wasn't that just a bunch of B.S.? Besides,” I said, "it's a little ridiculous to think that just because they support an organization that happened to discriminate against gay people, they hate ‘the community’. Is it really worth depriving ourselves of a five-star chicken sandwich over what might very well be an overreaction?"
