Our Christmas Cookbook - 17. Mark Weber!

Mark Weber!

 

By Cole Matthews

December, 1994

“What are we going to do with all these cookies?” Mylo asked, putting the last glazed and decorated cookie on the wax paper. As I looked around my dining room and kitchen, almost every surface was covered with gaily adorned sugar and gingerbread cookies.

My Christmas cookie decorating party had been a huge success. There had been ten people at the party drinking wine and beer, laughing, and icing cookies as fast as I could bake them. Most everyone had already left with a package of treats. Mylo and Kelly had stuck around to help finish up. My apartment was a mess. Flour and powdered sugar seemed to adhere to every surface not shingled in cookies.

“We should clean up here and head downtown.” Kelly was already carefully stacking cookies into a plastic carrier. “I need to meet my future ex-husband.”

I laughed along with Mylo, who then added, “You’re such a slut.”

“Moi?” Kelly turned posed his hand on his hip. “Not just any man can explore my secret garden.”

“Central Park is a more secluded garden than yours, Kelly,” I said.

“Mark Weber!” Kelly snorted flailing his hands dismissively. That was his code word for “whatever.” It was an endearing Kellyism.

“Listen, boys, it’s Friday night and we’re young and single.” He paused and looked both Mylo and me up and down. “Well, you’re young and single. I’m youngish. Well-preserved.”

“Like a fine wine,” I said, snorting at his characterization.

“Or a pickle,” Mylo said.

Kelly rolled his eyes and looked around the room. “If we’re going anywhere, we need to help get this place cleaned up.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said, quickly jumping to my feet. I, too, began placing cookies into another plastic tub. “There’s a shit-load of Christmas here. What are we going to do with them?”

Kelly shook his head. Mylo had begun stacking sheet pans and spatulas, empty dishes of frosting and bowls ringed with drying royal icing in his arms against his chest. “Why don’t we bring them to the Aliveness Project?”

“What’s the Aliveness Project?” I asked having just moved here recently from Florida.

“Oh honey,” Kelly said. “It’s Minnesota Nice meets the AIDS epidemic.”

I stopped moving cookies and looked at Kelly who looked at Mylo who looked back at me.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

Kelly smiled indulgently and began, “The Aliveness Project was started because friends of gay guys dying of AIDS became alarmed as they disappeared.”

“Huh?” I asked. “What does that mean? Disappeared?”

“AIDS victims were shut out. They were social pariahs. It was like the second closet.” Mylo said, looking at me resolutely. “When gay guys with AIDS started getting sick, they were marginalized, and didn’t have a life outside of medical care.”

Thinking about people I worked with in Florida, I understood, at least I thought so.

When people with AIDS got sick, they received help to get to medical appointments, earned food stamps, and found subsidized housing, but they were alone. Again.

Like when they first came out as gay.

“So what does this group, the Live Group do?” I asked.

Kelly looked at Mylo. They both looked at me and Kelly said, “They bring life back to them. The Aliveness Project gives them tickets to stuff and rides, concert experiences, alternative health therapies like acupuncture and stuff, and helps them live before they die.”

Mylo caught my eye and with a gentle voice added. “You get it, right?”

I could feel a catch in my throat. I finally said, “Sounds like a good cause.”

“It is. I work with a guy who dated one of the people who started it. Been around about nine years now.” Mylo had paused, and was looking off into the distance. “Troy helps out there,” he added, shaking his head.

“Your ex?” I asked.

Mylo nodded and headed into the kitchen with his armful of baking implements.

After he left, we continued putting cookies into the containers. I was thinking about the guys I worked with back in Jacksonville who had disappeared from the bar, from church, from life.

“That’s weird,” Kelly leaned over and whispered to me.

“What’s weird?”

“You know, Mylo’s mention of his ex.” Kelly proposed. “It’s odd.”

“I think he’s not really over him,” I murmured back.

“Oh, I see,” Kelly said, and continued on the next layer of cookies. He seemed to ponder something for a moment. “Mylo?” he called out. “Want to go downtown with us?”

Mylo’s voice called back. “I guess so. After we drop off the cookies, we can go see some strippers.”

Kelly smiled, “Or a drag show. Kitty Korner has a new routine I hear.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said.

Mylo continued to wash the dishes and I grabbed a towel and started drying a sheet tray.

“What’re you doing for Christmas?” I asked brightly.

“My parents probably,” he answered rather coolly. “Not really a great holiday for us.”

“Why?”

Mylo looked at me and smiled ruefully. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Okay.”

“Hey, bitches,” Kelly addressed us as he came into the kitchen. He had three plastic tubs of cookies and he set them on a chair. “Need some help. I’ve got everything packed away.”

“Sure,” I said. “If you’ll dry, I can put things away.”

“I can do that,” Kelly said, taking the towel from my hand. “So, Cole, what are you doing for Christmas this year?”

Mylo shot him a look, but Kelly seemed to ignore it instead looking at me with his kind brown eyes gleaming.

“I have to work. My family Christmas was last weekend so I picked up both Christmas eve and Christmas Day at the Tower bartending.”

“Well, I’m having some people over Christmas eve night, so we may come and visit you,” Kelly said, handing me a dried spatula. “I’ll bring you some supper.”

“That would be awesome,” I said. “Frankly, I’m a little down about it. My first Christmas in the Cities by myself.”

“What do you usually do?” Mylo asked, rinsing a bowl and setting it into the dish drainer.

I shrugged. “I guess I usually have some kind of orphan Christmas, but this year I’ll be working.”

I must have sounded more somber than I intended because both men averted their eyes from me.

“Mylo, you should stop by for a drink too,” I said, perhaps overcompensating with my eagerness.

Mylo tilted his perfectly coiffed head, and looking at me smiled and nodded. “That might be fun.” He returned to the sudsy water and continued. “Since my brother died, our family Christmas is pretty subdued.”

“I’m sorry,” Kelly said. “Some kind of accident?”

“No,” Mylo responded, and turned to look at both of us. He steeled himself with a breath and said, “He killed himself.”

“I’m sorry,” I said without thinking, surprised. “That must be hard.”

“My parents struggle with it,” Mylo admitted, draining the water from the sink. He turned and while wiping his hands on a towel said, “The nieces and my nephew make it look like a festive holiday, but my dad and mom are never really themselves.”

Kelly picked up the last glass and asked, “Did it happen around Christmas?”

Mylo nodded.

“No wonder,” I said, taking the glass from Kelly.

“It’s their shit and I try to avoid it,” Mylo said, and smiled at us. He had a mischievous kind of grin, one eye arched as if a plot was about to be hatched. “Are we ready for this?”

“First the Aliveness Project, and then downtown?” I answered.

They agreed.

We got into our coats and each of us grabbed a container of cookies. We headed out to my Ford Tempo, which was parked on the street. They were chattering as we walked through the frigid air to the car.

There was a thin layer of ice coating the sidewalk. We slid and slipped our way to my car and I had to bang on the doors to crack the gleaming ice to get the doors open.

“That sleet really made it treacherous,” Mylo said as I finally got the back door open. We stacked the boxes of cookies on the seat. “I call shotgun.”

Kelly answered, “No way sister. I’m riding in front and playing navigator. Coley doesn’t know where this place is.”

“I know where it is,” Mylo groused, but he walked around and got in back.

I slid into the driver’s seat and started the car up. I turned on the defrost and grabbed the scraper. The fine gleaming layer of ice made the outside world look wavy and dreamy. I got out and started clearing the frost from the windshield.

I heard murmurs and then Kelly’s exclamation rang out through the streets, “Mark Weber! Talk to the hand.”

Mylo’s voice was soft, but the words drifted out of my car door. “I’m really not interested. He’s a nice guy, but not my type.”

“What is your type?” Kelly’s sharp retort came quickly.

There were more murmurs and I felt uncomfortable. I knew they were talking about me. My face burned with the heat of a thousand embarrassments, yet I didn’t stop clearing the ice.

“Maybe you need to try something new,” Kelly’s voice again rose above the sounds of the ice shattering and skittering down the hood of the car. “How long have you and Troy been Splitsville?”

I didn’t hear Mylo’s answer, but I knew it already. It had been over a year since they broke up, though they still met up from time to time. Troy had recently started dating, and Mylo wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea. Still, he consistently insisted they were over.

“Are you done yet?” Kelly called out. “I know you’ve been listening to us and the coast is clear.”

After the last perfunctory brushing of the windshield, I ducked into the car. “You really are a bitch, aren’t you?” I asked Kelly. His face bunched up in a wry grin knowing I heard it all, and said, “Yeah, I’ve perfected the craft. Now, let’s get going.” He leaned over and whispered, “We’ll talk later.”

I threw the scraper onto the floor of the back seat.

“Hey,” Mylo protested. “You got ice all over my trousers.”

“Trousers?” Kelly said, smacking my arm. “Mylo’s trousers got wet.”

I grinned back and added, “Perchance did milord’s slacks get damp?”

“These pants cost a fortune at Daytons,” Mylo retorted, but I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Let’s go,” I said, putting the car into drive and easing out of the parking spot. The tires slipped and spun a bit.

The asphalt was glare ice. I slowly made my way down the side street to the main road. There was sand and salt spread on that thoroughfare and as I turned down it, I could feel the wheels take purchase gaining traction. It was still slow going, but I wasn’t nearly as nervous.

“Kelly, so when was your first relationship?” Mylo asked, and there was a needling quality to the sound.

“I’ve never been in a relationship. It’s not something that’s ever interested me,” Kelly answered.

“So, you’ve never had a boyfriend?” I asked, a little shocked. Kelly hadn’t dated anyone in the last year since I met him. However, I assumed he was just off the market for a while.

“I’ve never had a serious romantic relationship,” Kelly said. “I don’t believe in them.”

Mylo snorted loudly.

“You’ve never?” I asked incredulously. “Never been in love?”

“I’m not the ‘happily ever after’ sort. For me, love and relationships are just more work than their worth.

“So you’ve never loved anyone so much it hurt?” Mylo asked.

Kelly didn’t answer at first. “No, not really. There was a guy in college and someone I saw after I moved here for a while, but having a boyfriend wasn’t something I wanted.”

“Really?” Mylo asked. “So you’re just a lone wolf? Kelly, that I don’t see.”

“Mark Weber!” Kelly announced and held up his hand.

“Have you ever been in love?” Kelly asked Mylo looking in the rear-view mirror.

“Of course,” Mylo answered crisply. He swallowed and continued, “I’ll always love Troy, even though it didn’t work out.”

“See what I mean,” Kelly said nodding. “What about you?” he asked me as I began stopping at an intersection.

“I’ve been in love twice,” I said. “My first boyfriend didn’t last, but I loved him. I guess we kind of drifted apart. The second broke my heart. He was an asshole and I regret ever meeting him, but I admit, I loved him to death.”

“I rest my case,” Kelly said. “Love is an illusion. We fall in and out of it. It’s not a permanent state of affairs. Chasing down ‘love’,” and with this he added air quotes, “is a waste of time.”

“I don’t know about that,” Mylo said.

“Just because you have a couple of mistakes doesn’t mean the ideal doesn’t exist.”

Kelly was shaking his head. “I find a guy, we have some fun, and we both go on our merry way, and it works. You guys should accept this fact. Romantic relationships are a load of hooey.”

I shook my head. “I disagree. I see lots of relationships that work all around me.”

“My parents have been together since they were married thirty-three years ago,” Mylo said. “I mean, they have their ups and downs, but they seem relatively content.”

“First, they have all of society supporting their relationship and second,” Kelly said, ticking off a finger. “They seem content with their partnership. That’s not exactly Romeo and Juliet.”

“Romeo and Juliet killed themselves,” I said wryly, “So I’m not sure they are the best example. Do I turn here?”

Kelly looked at me, annoyed, and then indicated I should turn onto the main drag of Lyndale. “It’s at 38th and Nicollet so you’ll need to turn at 36^th.”

“Got it,” I said. “Kelly, have you ever had your heart broken?”

Kelly was silent. The quiet filled the car.

“I never said that,” he answered quietly.

“Perhaps you got hurt so bad, you don’t want love to exist.”

“I never said love doesn’t exist. I meant that ‘happily ever after’ is a farce,” Kelly said heatedly. “Especially for gay guys.”

“I’m curious,” Mylo said, “Did the college boyfriend or the other guy break your heart?”

“Stan, the guy in college, wasn’t a boyfriend, in fact he wasn’t even gay. He was experimenting.”

I nodded and asked, “Did you fall for him and he couldn’t return the feelings?”

“Don’t make it sound like I did something wrong,” Kelly sniped. “He and I had some fun. He decided to get married and have a kid. I, well, I couldn’t do that.” He turned and faced the window. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Okay,” I said, putting my hand on his forearm. Kelly turned and smiled, but it was full of pain. With his other hand, he squeezed my arm.

The rest of the ride was silent. We were all musing on the nature of love or at least our own stabs at it.

The storefront, small and bold, finally came into view. Above a metal encased glass door was a sign that said, “Aliveness Project.” A discrete red lighted neon proclaimed it “Open.” I stopped in a spot across the street and we grabbed the cookies and slid and skirted across the slippery street. We laughed. It was fun, and I’m not sure why.

In single file with Kelly leading, we entered the building. Situated to one side of the door was a reception desk. There was an older woman seated behind it. She looked up and smiled.

“Can I help you?” she asked sweetly.

“We wanted to donate these cookies?” Kelly said. “Is Darren here?”

“He is, but I don’t believe we can accept home-baked items for donation,” she said, standing. She was dressed in a plain pair of blue knit pants and a blue and white striped top. An enormous gold chain dangled around her neck and a large black belt girdled her waist. “I’ll get him for you.” The clothes were good quality, but looked well-worn.

She disappeared into a door behind her.

“Oh crap,” I said. “I thought this was such a good idea.”

“Let me talk with my friend. I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t take them to share with their clients.” Kelly was puzzling, his mouth working wildly, as we three waited for someone to return.

After a few minutes, a tall lanky man with a brown beard streaked with white came through the door. The receptionist followed and both had downcast faces.

“Kelly,” the man said reaching out a hand. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“Darren,” Kelly responded, and after handing me his container of cookies, hugged the man tightly. “It’s so good to see you. How’s your mom?”

“She’s doing okay. The latest round of meds hasn’t been working well. But, we keep hoping,” the man said.

“Make sure you tell her hi from me,” Kelly said. “Maybe give her some cookies?”

Darren shook his head slowly. “I can’t take home-made items anymore.”

“Not even for your mom?” Kelly asked, pouting.

“We are a legit charity and so there are rules to follow and there’s insurance and health inspectors and…” his voice trailed off. “It’s a long way away from the potlucks we held as fund-raisers and the gifts we accepted and handed out from people. I’m sorry Kelly. He paused and looked at us, smiling widely. “Who’re your friends?”

“This is Cole,” Kelly said gesturing at me. I waved. “And this is Mylo,” he nodded towards him.

Darren’s eyes seemed to enlarge and soften as he looked at Mylo with his small compact body, his perfectly styled hair, and his handsome face. “Nice to meet you.”

“You as well,” Mylo said, taking his hand. They seemed to pause, taking in one another, then Kelly cleared his throat.

“The cookies are definitely a ‘no’ then?”

“Sorry guys,” Darren said, and shrugged forlornly. “We can only accept cash donations, tickets and such, and approved vendor products when we’re talking food. We had a bake sale last year and got into all kinds of trouble.”

“Well, a rule’s a rule,” Kelly said. His expression revealed his mind was going a mile a minute. I could only imagine what he was plotting. “Maybe we’ll have a cash donation for you next week. How does that sound?”

“Sounds great. How’s Mark doing?” the man asked. “We tried to send him tickets to a movie, but he can’t sit that long.”

“He’s not doing too well,” Kelly admitted and sighed. “I’ll tell him you asked, Darren.”

“Thanks,” the man said, moving forward and opening his arms, hugging Kelly again. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Kelly said stepping back, and took the container of cookies from me.

“What’re we going to do now?” Mylo asked as we headed towards the front door.

“I think I know where we can sell these babies and get a donation for the cause,” Kelly said, pushing open the glass door. “It’s still worth the effort to help. Fuck these people.”

“Where?” I asked, following him to the car.

“Off to the Oak Grove Methodist Church,” he announced putting his container in the back seat. He took the one from Mylo and the one I’d carried and stacked them neatly. “I know just the people who are craving some sweets right about now.”

“Who?” I asked, feeling stupid.

“You’ll see,” Kelly said, rounding the front of the Tempo and climbing inside.

After we settled in, I pulled out of the parking slot and Mylo asked, “Who was that hottie?”

“Darren?” Kelly said, his voice light and airy. “He’s an old friend. Interested?”

“Maybe,” Mylo answered. “Did you date him?”

“Oh, heaven’s no,” Kelly answered quickly. “He’s married to a woman. He’s always a bit flirty and rumor has it he swings both ways.”

“Sounds complicated,” Mylo said.

“Why not?” Kelly asked. “It could be fun.”

“The guy is bi?” Mylo asked.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far. I think he’s rather friendly, if you get my drift.”

“I’d hate to get mixed up in a family situation,” Mylo said. “Does he have kids too?”

“Yeah, two really cute little kids. Jeez, they must be school-age now.” Kelly rubbed his chin. “Darren’s never been caught up in the labels thing, neither does his wife.”

“Are they both bi?”

“No labels,” Kelly repeated. “Why does it matter?”

“I couldn’t date a bi guy,” Mylo said. “How do you know it’s real and not just getting your rocks off?”

“That’s a good question,” I said. “What makes a person gay? Is it who your attracted to or who you love?”

Kelly’s head snapped in my direction and Mylo’s face appeared beside me in between the seats.

“What does that mean?” Kelly asked. “Of course, it’s who you’re attracted to. I’m gay because I love dick. I am attracted to men.”

“Yeah,” Mylo said slowly. “Men turn me on. What do you mean about love as part of it?”

I paused, chewing my lower lip. “Obviously I’m attracted to men. But, I’ve had girlfriends in the past and I enjoyed being with them, but it just wasn’t... wasn’t, I guess, as exciting.”

“No thunder and lightning?” Kelly asked, and his eyes were blazing.

“Not with women,” I said. “I never understood why poets waxed so, well poetic, about romance until I met my first guy.”

“So, you think love is part of the equation like it’s not just--,” Mylo said.

Kelly interrupted. “Turn right here and then left at the light.” He paused. “That’s ridiculous. Love has nothing to do with being gay. It’s attraction and connection, period.”

“I think who lights you up makes you gay or straight,” I said simply. “I’m not sure attraction is the only criteria.”

Mylo asked, “So if I find a woman attractive, but she doesn’t push the right buttons, I’m gay. If I find a guy attractive, but he doesn’t push the right buttons, I’m what?”

I sighed. “I’m not pretending to know all the ins and outs and even if I did, it’s merely an idea. I’m saying that attraction and connections both matter.”

“I’ve never been attracted to women,” Mylo said. “I only dated a couple girls as cover. I always knew I was gay.”

“Me too,” Kelly said, and then he stopped. “Well, except for Cathy.”

“Who’s Cathy?” I asked.

“My fiancée,” Kelly laughed. “Okay, so I was in denial for a while in college.”

“I have loved a couple of women, but I was never ‘in love’ with them,” I said.

The three of us sat quietly as we approached the large, brownstone church.

“Okay,” I said. “What’s your plan Kelly?”

“It’s simple. The AA meeting is about to end and those Mos and Bos are going to be craving some sugar.”

“What are mos and bos?” I asked, and then realized he meant homos and lezbos. Kelly merely laughed at my slow recognition of his joke.

“You want to sell cookies to addicts?” Mylo asked.

“Yeah,” Kelly said. “We sell them the cookies and take the money and give it to the Aliveness Project.”

It was simple, effective, and quite ingenuous.

As we got out of the car and grabbed the plastic containers, Mylo stopped me with a touch on my shoulder.

“Why did you make so many cookies?”

Kelly looked over and cocked his head. I felt my face flush warm as I considered my answer.

“You baked just enough to have everyone go home with some,” Kelly said.

“And then you started making more cookie dough,” Mylo added. “I wondered why you were doing that?”

I opened and shut my mouth a couple of times, until I finally resolved to admit the reason.

“I didn’t want it to end. Everyone was having such a good time, and I wanted it to keep going. I mixed up a couple more batches so you wouldn’t leave.”

“You’re lonely,” Kelly said.

I nodded.

“Well, not anymore,” Mylo said, squeezing my shoulder.

We carried the three bins of cookies to the front door of the church and I couldn’t help but smile as my heart warmed.

 

Gingerbread Mos and Bos

Sift together

3-1/2 cups flour

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

1 tablespoon dry ginger

2 tsp cinnamon

¼ tsp ground cloves

¼ tsp ground allspice

 

Then blend the following:

1 stick butter

2/3 cup brown sugar

¾ cup molasses

1 large egg

Add dry ingredients after wet ingredients are fully blended only until just mixed. Remove from bowl, wrap in plastic and refrigerate for at least 2 hours. Better if left overnight because the spices will bloom more fully over time.

Roll out and cut into drag queens, drag kings, leathermen, twinks, lipstick lesbians, and well, gaily shaped cookies to decorate with royal icing, gum drops, fruit leather, cinnamon red hots, sprinkles, and colored sugar. Let your imagination run away with you.