Moving in Rhythm (5 page)

After what seemed like an eternity Seth opened his eyes. “That was, um, unexpected.”

Mark watched his lips. Most of his encounters with men hadn’t involved kissing. Why was that when it could feel so good?

“Mark.” Seth’s voice forced Mark to look up and into those blue, blue eyes. He wanted to dive into those eyes but the pool was clearly closed. “Look, you’re incredibly attractive. But I don’t do this.”

Do what? Kiss? Kiss men? Of course Seth kissed men. Wasn’t that what they’d been talking about?

Seth blushed and looked away. His hands lifted from Mark’s shoulders, leaving a vacuum behind. He stepped back, cleared his throat and continued, “I don’t do bisexuals, okay? It’s too painful. And you’re an expectant father, for God’s sake.” He gestured out the window toward the crowd of women. “Now, let’s get this cake out.”

Mark stared at him, willing his mouth to move, his mind to work. He sputtered, “But, but…”

Seth handed him a giant carton of ice cream and a scoop. “I’m really flattered but please, let’s just serve the kids, okay?”

Mark trailed after him. He mouthed his way through the happy-birthday song and scooped ice cream onto the cake slices when they appeared before him, but none of it felt as real as the lost moment in the kitchen. Depression settled an arm around his shoulders like the old friend it was. Self-loathing swamped him and he felt trapped. Within his head he could be so articulate. Funny, even. But put him in front of an attractive man and all he could do was mumble and grope. Nice. Why had he ever left his apartment?

“Are you okay?” Claire asked, settling a hand on his forearm. “You’re dripping all over the grass.”

Mark looked down to see ice cream melting from the scoop in his hand. He shook his head and dumped it back in the carton.

Seth appeared beside Claire. He kissed her cheek. “Hey, I’ve got to go. I have rehearsal in half an hour. It’s been—” he glanced at Mark, “—an interesting afternoon.” And with a wave he was gone.

Claire looked after him for a minute before turning her gaze toward Mark. “You want to tell me what that was all about?”

And suddenly Mark found that he did. More than anything he wanted to talk—the one thing he couldn’t do with Seth. “Yeah. I do. But not now.” He eyed Lisa and the crowd of chattering women. He looked at Claire intently. “Can I see you later? Go for coffee or something?”

Claire’s gaze clouded. “Mark, you know I’m lesbian, and involved.”

Mark nodded. “That’s not what I mean. It’s just—” his voice caught, “—I could use a friend. Someone I’m not related to, okay? Someone who might understand.”

Claire’s face softened. “Sure.”

Mark looked around at the party. “How about if I take Lisa home when this is over and come back to help you clean up? I’ll bring a pizza so you don’t have to cook.”

Claire grinned. “How can I refuse that? Grace is picky about pizza, though. I’ll circle the options on a takeout menu from her favorite place.”

Relief washed through him. Maybe Claire could help him find a way out of the mess he was making of his life.

Lisa, of course, loved the idea. She babbled all the way home about how wonderful Claire was, how fun her friends were and that some were even military wives. She talked of how happy she was that Mark was going back, and did he know that a couple of those women were involved with each other?

Mark called in the pizzas, nodded and made encouraging noises all the way home. Belle greeted them at the door, wagging her whole body. If only everyone was as simple to please as his dog. He fed her, found a health-food frozen dinner in the freezer for Lisa, changed his ice-cream-spattered jeans for a fresh pair and within the hour was on his way back to Claire’s.

His shyness reemerged as he mounted the front steps. It was crippling, really, this inability to step outside of his neuroses. He needn’t have worried, though. Claire put him to work immediately, stacking chairs, picking up Grace’s discarded birthday toys and filling garbage bags with detritus from the party. Then she called him into the kitchen, handed him a dishrag and pointed toward the counter, where cake crumbs and spilled ice cream mingled. He was staring at a glob of chocolate icing when the doorbell rang.

“That’ll be the pizza,” Claire said and Mark sprinted to the door to pay. By the time he returned the counter gleamed. He watched, a little forlorn, as Claire rinsed the last of the icing from the dishrag. What was he, fifteen?

She smiled as he set down the pizza boxes. “That looks like enough to keep us all for a week.”

Mark shrugged. “You told me what Grace wanted but I wasn’t sure what you like so…”

Claire laughed. “It’s the trap of parenthood. You tell yourself you like whatever the kid will eat because it’s easier, but oh,” she said, opening the first box which held what the pizzeria had called Greek pizza: spinach, onions and feta drizzled with olive oil, “this looks wonderful.”

“Yeah, it sounded good.” Mark gestured toward the stack of pizzas. “So did the Mexican. That is, if you like chorizo. And the red pepper and goat cheese looked interesting too.”

Claire smiled sadly. “That’s Kate’s favorite.”

“Oh, sorry,” Mark sputtered, “I didn’t mean to…”

Claire shook her head. “No, it’s good. I’ll eat it in her honor.” She scanned the pile of boxes. “I assume one of those is plain cheese, right?”

Mark grinned and pulled the smallest box from the stack. “Yep.”

Claire opened a cupboard and brought out three dishes. “Can you set up while I get Grace? We should eat while it’s hot.” She gestured to the kitchen table. “If you don’t mind, we can sit in here. We have a formal dining room but it’s too formal.” She wrinkled her nose.

Mark nodded and spread the pizza boxes out along the counter so they could fill their own plates. He found the napkin drawer on the second guess and was setting the table when Claire and Grace appeared. The little girl looked at him sleepily. He nodded sympathetically. It had been a long day for him too.

After dinner Claire excused herself to put Grace to bed while Mark cleaned up. He filled the kettle, rummaged in her cupboard for cups, a teapot and tea. Anything to keep from getting lost in the memory of Seth in the kitchen, the very visceral memory of his lips, the slight stubble along his jaw, the smell of cake, the taste of chocolate and Seth.

Claire’s voice startled him. “Sorry that took so long. I thought she’d go down more quickly but you know how it is when you’re overtired.”

“Um, yeah.” Mark gestured to the teapot. “I hope you don’t mind. I kind of made myself at home. You had caffeine-free tea, cinnamon something.”

Claire laughed and flopped into a kitchen chair. “Do I mind? Are you kidding? Feel free to come over anytime you want to feed us, clean up and make me tea.”

Mark shrugged and sat across from her. He poured and handed her a cup.

Claire blew on her tea, eyeing him over the rim. “So, you going to tell me what this is all about?”

Mark stared into his cup, uncertain where to start. He wasn’t used to confiding in anyone other than Belle. Opening his mouth felt like falling off a cliff.

“It has something to do with Seth, right? Did you guys argue?” Claire prompted.

Mark wrinkled his forehead. “Um, sort of. It’s complicated.”

When he didn’t go on Claire asked gently, “You like him, right?”

Mark sighed. “What’s not to like? He’s beautiful and brave and funny and outgoing. Everyone likes Seth.” He raised his eyes to meet Claire’s. “That’s not what you’re asking, though, is it? Yes, I like Seth. A lot.”

She smiled. “So what’s the problem? Did he turn you down?”

“Yes, no, sort of.” He took a deep breath. “
I’m
the problem. He thinks I’m straight, that I’m married to Lisa.”

Claire’s eyebrows wrinkled. “So tell him you’re not.”

“I can’t.” Mark slapped his forehead. “When he’s around I turn into this sputtering, inarticulate idiot who can’t form complete sentences. I wanted to tell him this afternoon but I couldn’t get it out. That’s why I kissed him. But now he thinks I want to cheat on Lisa with him and it’s all a huge mess.”

Claire stared at him. “Back up. You kissed him?”

Mark lowered his hand to the table and nodded, the memory flooding him in a sudden rush. “Yeah.”

“And then?”

He shrugged. “He said ‘no, thank you’ and we served cake and ice cream.”

Claire gave a low whistle. “That’s why you looked so dazed.”

Mark stared bleakly into his tea.

Claire tapped the table with her fingernails. “Do you want me to tell him you’re available?”

He looked at her, hope blossoming in his chest. Then he shook his head. “And what would I do then? I’m telling you, I can’t get out two words together when I’m with him. Damn it, I’m thirty-four years old and this isn’t seventh grade. I have to get past it on my own. Or forget the whole thing.”

Claire stayed silent, watching him. When she spoke again her voice held a quiet power. “Forget what, that you’re gay? You are gay, aren’t you?”

He nodded, unable to look at her.

“And Lisa doesn’t know. Your brother?”

He shook his head.

“Your parents?”

He cleared his throat. “My mother died giving birth to Pete and my father passed away two years ago. He, uh, he died thinking I would probably marry this woman named Ruth. It was his death that made me finally tell Ruth I wouldn’t, couldn’t marry her.”

Claire looked puzzled. “So you and Ruth were engaged?”

Mark ran a hand through his hair, that particular shame welling up again. “Ruth and I were friends during college and afterward she assumed we would end up together, living in some subdivision with kids, cats and dogs. We used to have dinner together a couple nights a week, catch a movie, walk the dogs, that sort of thing. We never…” He spread his hands.

“Then why did she think you were together?”

He sighed. “Because she comes from a very religious family and thought I was a gentleman. Some gentleman.”

Claire shook her head. “And you’ve never had a relationship with a man?”

Mark smiled ruefully. “Define ‘relationship.’”

“Ah.” Claire sipped her tea.

Mark stared at the table, overwhelmingly sad. Finally he looked up at Claire. “I’d decided on a life alone and was doing a pretty good job of it before Pete called, asking me to come down here. I live alone, work alone. There’s no reason for me to spend time with anyone. It’s safer that way.”

Claire stood, filled the kettle and set it on the burner to warm. Mark watched her, uncertain what happened now. People always said it was good to talk things out. Okay, so he’d talked. Why didn’t he feel any better?

When the kettle whistled, Claire refilled the teapot, adding another tea bag before settling back into her chair. She rested her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands, and looked at Mark. “You want my advice?”

He nodded.

“All right, here it is. The first thing you need to do is come out to yourself.” He started to protest but she raised her hand and went on. “I mean
really
come out, not act like it’s some secret part of yourself you can tuck away and ignore. I’m not telling you that you have to come out to anyone else—that’s always a personal choice. But you need to know, and maybe even like, who you are.”

Mark grunted. “It’s not like I’m holding out for the girl of my dreams.”

“No.” She poured them both more tea. “But you’re not exactly spouting gay pride either, are you?”

He shrugged, acknowledging the point. “So what if I come out to myself, as you say? How’s that going to help me not have a panic attack around Seth? It isn’t only him. It’s any attractive man. The official diagnosis is pathological shyness.”

“You’re not shy around me.” She smiled.

He shrugged. “Evidently you’re not the relevant stimuli. As my last shrink explained it, I’m lucky. I only freak out in crowds, by which I mean rooms containing more than three or four people, around authority figures and with anyone I find sexually attractive.”

She grimaced. “That’s awkward.”

He shrugged again. “It could be worse. Some people with my issues are terrified all the time.”

Claire thought for a moment. “Hey, thanks for coming to my party. It must have been difficult.”

He grinned. “You know, the whole encounter with Seth was so intense I didn’t even notice the other people. So you see, coming out isn’t my only problem.”

She gave him a half smile. “Maybe so. But it could be that if you get through your internalized homophobia you won’t be quite so scared.”

Mark snorted. “That’s the second time today someone accused me of homophobia. I’m not going to kiss some guy to prove I’m not.”

Claire’s eyebrows lifted. “Some guy? Right. Look, we live in a homophobic world. It takes some effort to move beyond that. Maybe it’s time you manned up.”

“Thank you, Sarah Palin. And do you have a plan for how I should do this?”

Claire leaned back in her chair. “All I can offer is a few suggestions from my own experience. I was twenty-two when I came out and still remember how terrified I was the first time I bought a book with ‘lesbian’ in the title. I also had a hard time entering a gay bar at first, but I suspect you’ve already crossed that hurdle?”

He shuddered. “Yeah. I’m done with anonymous sex.”

She laughed. “See, and when I think of a gay bar I think of dancing with my sweetie. Silly me.”

The heat of a blush warmed Mark’s face. “I didn’t…”

She waved him away. “It’s okay. Maybe it’s that I’m a woman, but it seems so dehumanizing.”

He nodded. “It can be.”

“So try the bookstore. Or we can go out for coffee and you can talk loudly about your boyfriend. Coming out in public the first time gave me quite a charge. Who knows, maybe by June you’ll be ready to march in the Pride parade.” She grinned at him.

He couldn’t help smiling back. “I don’t have a boyfriend to talk about and I can’t see myself doing that even if I did. Parading is way outside of my comfort zone. But maybe I can buy a book.”

Claire set her teacup down and gave him a challenging smile. “I dare you to go to a bookstore, stand for at least ten minutes in front of the gay-and-lesbian shelf, pulling out the most outrageous books you can find. Then you have to buy not one, not two but three books with ‘gay’ in the title. Do it before the next Zumba class.”

“I can’t go back to Zumba. Are you crazy?” Mark gaped at her.

Claire shrugged. “Maybe you can, maybe you can’t. First you have to buy the books.”

Mark closed his eyes. A wave of fear washed through him.

“Here’s the thing,” Claire whispered. “You have to decide whether it’s worth it, whether
he’s
worth it. You’re standing in the closet doorway and you have to decide whether you’re going back in or you’re coming on out.” She reached over and patted his hand. “It’ll be okay. Trust me. We’ve all had to go through it sometime.”

Mark swallowed. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

Claire hooted. “That, my dear, is the least of your worries. Strong, silent beefcake is so his type. Besides, I’ve seen how he looks at you. Now toddle on home and think about that. It’ll give you the courage you need to face the big, scary gay-boy monster in your head.”