On Shaky Ground

by Andrew Grey

  “Thank you,” Martin said.

  “Would you like to dance with me?” a rich voice asked.

  Brock lifted his gaze, expecting the question to have been for Martin, but he was surprised when a pair of intensely dark eyes stared into his. “No, thank you,” Brock said gently, and took Martin’s arm. “I’m with him.” Beside him, he saw Martin straighten, standing a little taller. “Thanks anyway.” Brock leaned against Martin, wanting him to know just how proud he was to be here with him. “Do you want to dance some more?”

  Martin shrugged. “Yeah, but….” He sighed and held Brock closer. “I want to dance, but this place isn’t the same. I used to come here some time ago….” He paused, and Brock figured he was listening. “Maybe it’s me that’s changed. I came here for the same thing all these guys came here for.” Martin held his arm a little tighter. “I don’t want that anymore.” He sniffed and then crinkled his nose. “We can go whenever you’re ready.” He handed Brock his glass. “I think there’s something much more interesting at home where it’s quiet… and we can be alone.”

  Just like that, Brock couldn’t get out of the club fast enough.

  Martin thanked the valet and tipped him well. Brock made sure Martin was in the car and had his seat belt on before accepting the keys from the valet and pulling out into traffic.

  “It’s going to take a little while to get home.” It was a Friday night, and people were definitely out and about.

  “I’m sorry,” Martin said from the passenger seat. “I thought that would be fun. But it was confusing, and the smell….” He crinkled his nose again, and Brock couldn’t help chuckling. “Now I know desperation has a scent.”

  “That’s funny.”

  “I used to go there when I was younger. I think I told you that, but I can’t remember what I said in there. I couldn’t hear myself.” Martin was speaking a little louder than normal. “God, I sound old, even to myself.”

  “So you grew up,” Brock said. “There’s no crime in that.”

  “Yeah, but you’re young and have everything ahead of you.” Darkness crept into Martin’s voice.

  Brock pulled to a stop behind a line of taxis and cleared his throat. “Is that why you wanted to come here? To bring me to a club so I could have fun and be young?” He forced a laugh. “I hate to tell you this, but I was never that young. Tonight was the first time I’ve ever been in one of those places. And I felt like a side of beef. That guy who came up to me and asked me to dance had this look in his eye like I was a steak or something.” He shivered. “I don’t want that—never did. Those places are for looking for Mr. Right Now.” Brock touched Martin’s knee. “I hope I have something better than that.” Traffic began moving again, and Brock was able to speed down the avenue as lights as far as he could see turned green. He turned left, following the signs toward the Brooklyn Bridge. “I love driving this at night.”

  “What?”

  “Sorry. The bridge. It’s like riding across history. I walked across it once when I first came to the city just because I’d always wanted to. It has an amazing view from the center. You can see so much of the city and the harbor. It was during the day, and the sun glistened off the water like millions of diamonds.” Yeah, he was waxing poetic, but that’s what he’d thought at the time.

  The traffic whizzed past them as Brock kept in the right lane, the tires whirring over the roadway as they crossed the expanse.

  “I remember what the bridge looks like, but I can’t see it any longer. It’s like a permanent fog at that distance.”

  “Can I ask—is there surgery they can do?”

  “No. I have retinitis pigmentosa, which is permanent and degenerative. Sometimes I dream that I woke up and could see again, but those are just dreams. When I wake, my situation hasn’t changed. So I move forward.”

  Brock was pretty sure Martin was trying to make light of how he felt.

  “I am the person I am, and there’s no way I was going to let anything stand in my way, but… I know it’s natural to want things to be different. Just like when I was a kid and spent a lot of time wanting to be like everyone else, wanting to be attracted to girls and… I think you understand.”

  “I do.” He patted Martin’s leg gently. “You know, it’s okay to mourn what you lost. And everyone does that in their own way.”

  “No one died.”

  Brock shook his head. “Your sight did, at least most of it. The principle is the same.” He sighed. He hadn’t meant for their conversation to go down this path.

  “I know.” Martin lightly gripped Brock’s leg. “Don’t listen to me. It’s probably the alcohol talking. I get maudlin as hell when I drink, and let’s just say I’m glad you’re the one driving. I accepted who I was a long time ago. My sight isn’t coming back, and wishing isn’t going to make it any different.” Martin sat back as Brock navigated the streets to Martin’s home and parked in his designated spot. “Come up with me.”

  Brock got out, waited for Martin, and locked the car. Then he followed him up the walk and inside. Martin’s décor was decorator-simple and uncluttered. There was color, but what struck Brock most was how each piece, like the large hammered silver bowl on the nearly black table in the living room, was incredibly tactile. Even the art on the walls. One was a fabric piece, hung in the hallway, which even now Martin gently ran his hands over. The simple farmyard design was done in various fabrics, from satin to mohair, each with its own unique texture. If he had been seeing Martin’s home for the first time, he would easily have placed Martin in it, with plenty of contrast, and yet it was warm and inviting.

  “I like this room,” Brock said from the door to the living room. He gently took Martin’s wrist and used his watch to start some music. “There’s plenty of space.” He took Martin in his arms and tenderly swayed back and forth to the quiet melody. “If you really wanted to dance, all you had to do was bring me here.” They rocked slowly, with Brock holding Martin, their bodies moving to the three-four rhythm of the gentle waltz.

  “I should have guessed,” Martin said, and with a flourish, he spun Brock out and back into his arms.

  “Yeah. A little one-on-one time, just the two of us.” Brock found Martin’s lips and kissed him hard. “Now, why don’t we continue this upstairs?” He turned out the light and carefully danced Martin up to the bedroom.

  Chapter 7

  “CHESTER CARTWRIGHT is here to see you,” Brock said coolly from the doorway, then pulled the door closed.

  Martin turned off the computer narration of the last of their finalized merger deal. He put aside his earphones, got up from his desk, and navigated the familiar space before stepping out. “Morning, Chester,” he said brightly, extending his hand and receiving the now-familiar handshake in return.

  “Morning, Martin. This is my legal representative, Phyllis Davidson. She reviewed the documents for us.”

  “It’s good to meet you. Will John Foster be here as well? I wanted to meet him, since he and I spent so much time working through the final legal details.” She seemed pleasant, and Martin shook her hand as well.

  “He’s stuck in traffic but will be here soon.” Martin motioned to the executive conference room. “There are refreshments in there for you. I’ll be right in.” He turned to Brock and leaned on his desk. “Brock, will you join us as well? Things should go smoothly and I hope this is routine, but if not, I may need your assistance.”

  “Sure. I am your assistant, after all.” Frost dripped off Brock’s tone.

  “What’s wrong?” Martin asked softly. This was very unlike him.

  “Nothing at all. I’ll bring my laptop right in. Give me a minute.” He sounded more normal, and Martin went to the conference room and sat in his chair. Brock entered—Martin always knew when Brock was near—and brought him a cup of coffee, as well as placing the papers in front of him.

  “I was just reviewing the document for the last time, and everything seems in order—”

  The conference door
opened off to his side, sending a breeze past him. “I’m sorry I’m late.” John sat in the chair next to him. “You must be Chester and Phyllis. It’s good to meet both of you.” Martin assumed they were shaking hands. “Does everyone have the agreement dated June thirtieth?”

  They all agreed they did, and John walked them through the agreement, answering a few questions. This was a final review before signing, and the last chance for any changes. Thankfully there were none. John brought in the notary, and after Chester signed, Martin did the same, and then the notary completed the legalities.

  “Excellent. The appropriate funds have been placed in escrow and will be released according to the schedule in the agreement,” John explained, and stood, along with Phyllis, and the lawyers left the room. Brock did as well, leaving him and Chester alone.

  “I think this will work out very well,” Chester said. “And I really look forward to working with you.”

  “Me too, Chester. Now comes the difficult part of making this whole thing work.” Martin leaned back in his chair. “Over the next few days, I have a number of people who have requested to speak with you. A few are interested in joining your team. Edna has all their information and will be glad to assist you with anything you need. I’m happy you’re here so we can all get started.” Martin got to his feet. “We have this conference room booked for your use, so feel free to stay and conduct any meetings you need to in here.” Martin returned to his office.

  Brock sat at his desk, so engaged in whatever he was doing that he didn’t acknowledge Martin as he passed.

  Martin’s watch vibrated as he sat down, and he listened to the reminder and got ready for his next meeting. Work went on and things barely stopped, even if he’d just achieved the culmination of what he’d dreamed of for ten years. He checked his computer, making sure he had the materials he needed, and then called Brock, who came in.

  “Please close the door,” Martin said with a grin, waiting until the door closed. “That’s it. The deal is done, and part of that is because of your good work.” He leaned over the desk. “Would you make a reservation at the restaurant of your choice? I’d love to take you to dinner to celebrate.”

  Brock cleared his throat. “No, thanks. I have things I need to do tonight.” He came closer. “I have all of the materials for your meetings for today and tomorrow set up. Everything should be at your fingertips. I’ve arranged to have coffee delivered to the conference room for Chester and his meetings.”

  The chill was enough to give Martin frostbite.

  “Do you want to tell me what’s going on? You’ve been cold as January in Alaska all day. What gives?” Martin snapped.

  “Oh, nothing. Just that Chester offered me a position with his team. He said he talked to you about it when we visited him. You never said a word, and I want to know why. Do you think I’m not smart enough to work on his team? That I’m only good enough to be your assistant? Or were you selfish enough that you wanted me as your assistant and for other things, so you conveniently neglected to tell me about it?” Brock walked nearer. “Anyway, like I said, I have things all set up for you for the rest of the day and tomorrow. After that, I’m sure Edna can find you another assistant.” Brock’s shadow grew dimmer as he retreated toward the door.

  “Why don’t you ask Edna about that?” Martin said. “She already has candidate interviews set up for next week.” Martin did his best to remain calm, though he wanted to yell at Brock to stop and race to make sure he didn’t leave his office. Not like this.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yes. Edna has a number of candidates set up for interviews next week. She and I were talking, and we thought that with your background, you could either work in portfolio management, or if you wanted, you could take a position at the order desk, but we agreed that given the fact that you’ve already spent weeks working with me, that was probably enough of a hazing for anyone.”

  Brock was silent for a moment. “I don’t get it.”

  Martin sighed. “The truth is, I’ve been trying to find a really good position for you in the organization for the last few weeks. Karl van der Vreed in portfolio management is an experienced money manager, and he’s strong and knows his job better than anyone else. Edna and I agreed that he would make a great supervisor for you because he isn’t going to bend to anyone’s will, including mine. Consequently, he’d make a good buffer to alleviate any conflicts of interest.” Martin hoped he was getting his message across. “The final decision is up to you, of course.”

  “You were working to find me another job? Here?”

  Martin could barely hear Brock and leaned closer. “Yes. Chester was planning to offer you a job with his team, and I wanted to have something to counter with. I don’t want you to go out there, to Milwaukee, but you can if that’s what you want. I won’t stop you and I’ll wish you well. But… I wanted to be able to offer you something in the hope that you’d stay.” Martin swallowed hard.

  “Why wouldn’t I stay?” Brock asked. “You think I’d move away after you and I…?”

  “I’m not enough for you to stay. I know my heart is engaged—it has been for a while—but I have no right to ask you to give up an amazing opportunity that could open doors for you, just for me. Because I want you to. You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had because you truly care about me. You show that in a thousand different ways each and every day. But I won’t hold you here as my assistant. That isn’t fair.” Martin had said his piece and waited for Brock’s reaction.

  “You really did all this? For me?” Brock asked, considerably closer.

  “Of course I did. I love having you as my assistant because I know you’ll look out for me and make sure I have what I need, but you’re qualified for so much more than that. So now you have multiple opportunities, and you can choose the kind of career you want to have.”

  Martin couldn’t see Brock. He looked from side to side before his chair slid away from the desk and he got a lap full of Brock.

  “I want to work in portfolio management. Karl is a legend, and I can learn so much from him.” Brock cradled Martin’s cheeks in his hands, sending heat racing all the way through him.

  “Is that the only reason?” Martin teased.

  Brock patted his cheeks. “Am I sitting in Karl’s lap right now? Silly man.” He shifted and then kissed him quickly before backing away, his weight lifting off Martin’s legs. “We are at the office, and you need to be professional.” Damn, there was a smirk in Brock’s voice. “I’m going to get you a glass of water and some coffee, and you can tell Edna that I’ll stay here as your assistant until we can find someone who meets my standards. Then I’ll look forward to relocating to the portfolio management group.” He pulled open the door, the breeze rustling papers on Martin’s desk. The door clicked closed and then opened again. “Oh, and I’m going to make the reservation, because you and I have plenty to celebrate.” He closed the door once more, and Martin sighed, able to breathe again.

  A FEW minutes later, a rap sounded on the door.

  “Come in,” Martin called.

  “Brock was busy making some calls,” Chester said, closing the door. “He told me thanks, but he’s going to be shifting to a new position here.”

  “Yes. It was his decision.” Martin was super pleased.

  “Good. As long as he made the right choice for himself,” Chester said, clearly amused. “I wanted to give him an opportunity.”

  “I know, and I appreciate that, more than you know.” It had been Chester who had given him the kick in the pants to actually make this happen. “Brock and I are having dinner to celebrate tonight….” Shit, he’d gone down that road and couldn’t turn back. “Would you like to join us?”

  “Thank you, but I think I’d be interrupting something. Besides, my wife arrives in a few hours with tickets to Hamilton grasped tightly in her fingers, and she’d kill me if I made any sort of plans that interrupted that. But why don’t the four of us go out tomorrow night?” Chester shook his
hand and left his office.

  Damn, maybe he and Brock hadn’t been as professional as he thought they’d been. Not that it mattered. It was amazing to be happy.

  “I brought you water and coffee,” Brock said as he came in. Martin’s office was becoming Grand Central Station, though he really didn’t care.

  “Did you close the door?” Martin whispered when he heard the coffee mug slide on his desk.

  “Yes.”

  Martin took Brock’s hand, tugged him close, and kissed him hard. Office or not, professional or not, it felt damn good to experience unbridled joy. “I love you, Brock, and maybe once everything is settled here, we can talk about you moving into the brownstone with me. That place is big, and it gets pretty lonely… especially when you’re not there.”

  “Martin…,” Brock demurred.

  “It’s true. You add color to the life of a man who can’t see, and I want more of that in my life. I want happiness and love… and joy. In short, I want you.” He was breathless and excited just holding Brock.

  Brock stroked his cheek. “You add color to my life too. Lots of it—riots of it. And I love you for it.”

  Now that was something to celebrate.

  Epilogue

  “MARTIN,” BROCK called from the living room. “Dinner is about ready.” He closed the oven door and placed the oven mitt on the counter.

  “I’ll be out in a minute,” Martin called, followed by a crash. “Dammit.”

  Brock lowered the temperature on the chicken he was roasting, then turned the corner, where he found Martin sitting on the floor, a drawer tilted upright next to him, socks spilling out onto the floor. “What are you doing?”

  “I was cleaning out a few drawers.” Martin got to his feet and sat on the foot of the bed. “I wanted to surprise you, but I made a damned mess.”

  “Give me a minute.” Brock put the drawer back into the large mahogany dresser and quickly filled it with socks, placing them in neat order. He explained how he had organized them, and Martin nodded. “What are you doing this for, anyway?”