I've Always Loved You - 21. Mark, the Past and the Stroke

I wanted to tell you more about Mark and Eric's past. How did they get where they were? The Stroke was a clot. This I got from personal experience having the clot stroke February 8th, 2005. A day I won't forget. All that happened with that is true. The chapter has a happy ending, I promise. I love you Daniel. I love my readers and I love writing. 

Mark, the Past and the Stroke

I exited the stage and I had an hour or so before I sang again. It was 11:40pm and it would the new year when I did. I walked toward my two favorite people who were smiling at me as I approached. Suddenly, there were three more coming in the area. Thick coats on for the cold, but their caps were off to show who they were to security.

“Listen to the crowd!” Mark said waving an arm toward the crowd outside. He had a bottle in his hand as he waved. “They love you!” He had a couple of champagne glasses in the other.

“I hope so," I smiled, “I’m used to be a solo act, but most of them knew the song and sang it with me.” I shrugged, “These people are happy to be here for New Years. Many are drunk or on their way to it. A lot of what you hear is because of the event.”

“Why do you do that?” Mark asked, a little of his enthusiasm went away.

“What?” I asked.

“Someone gives you a compliment or praise,” Mark said, “and you find a way to downplay it. You did a phenomenal job just now.” He pointed at the crowd. “They were cheering for you!”

“I just don’t want to get a swelled head,” I confessed. “You’ve heard the stories; the divas that have-to-have certain things in the dressing rooms. From a particular drink or food. They give the hotel a hard time to comply with their demands. They think they deserve it.”

“But they do,” Mark said. “They deserve to have it the way they want. If they want you to sing in their town and make them money, they should make sure you get what you want.”

“And if they can’t? Do I throw a fit?” I asked.

“Aw, Eric,” Mark said. “You can’t be like that. That’s not you!”

Mike grinned, “Mark’s right. That could never be you.”

Mark pointed again to the crowd, “They are what put you here. They made you a star!”

I nodded, “And I’m grateful for that and I try to give them the best I can give them.”

“And you do!” Mike smiled. “They love it. Where it all comes from, Chet and I just saw one inspiration hit you. I believe you do have a Muse.”

“I’m not better than anyone,” I explained.

“You are an artist,” Heather said.

Tom nodded, “You, me and Heather are artists.”

“We each cause an emotional reaction,” Heather explained further. “Tom and I play parts that make people feel excited, angry, happy, amazed, but you make people happy! That is a gift!”

“So,” Mark grinned, “Take the compliment! You were amazing!”

I smiled, “Thank you.”

“Good,” Mark grinned and held up the bottle of champagne we had in the fridge in our suite. “Now this has been chilled.” He held up the two champagne glasses. “Everything is chilled now.” He waved at the cold. “There is only a few minutes left. Hurry.” He waved at Tom and Heather.

Tom and Heather also carried champagne glasses. I took the one handed to me and realized they weren’t glasses at all. They were plastic! They looked like glass, but plastic. Mark took the foil off and pushed the cork with both thumbs. There was the expected “pop” and champagne started spewing out of the bottle and Tom and Heather quickly put their glasses in the flow.

“Where is my glass?” Chet asked Mike and me.

Mike looked at me, “What do you think?”

I shrugged, “I don’t believe Chet will turn into an eight-year-old alcoholic if he has one glass of champagne to toast the new year.”

“Is there another glass?” I asked Mark.

He grinned, “I brought a spare, in case one broke.”

“It’s plastic, Mark.” Mike smiled back. “They won’t break.”

Mark had a surprised look on his face, “They are?” I told you, he wasn’t an actor. He knew they were plastic. He also knew what we would do if Chet asked. Another glass was given to Chet. Yes, it was underage drinking. But children in other cultures were given wine at dinners by their parents. Chet would be doing it with our permission, if anyone asked. One tiny glass of champagne wouldn’t make him even light headed.

“Damn!” Tom said looking at the bottle, “We can’t waste this champagne. I recognize the dark label. This is a vintage Dom Perignon. That’s what a thousand dollars a bottle or more!”

Mark gave a grudging shrugging nod, “Well, yes. This will be a toast about a great year that’s coming for all of us.” He smiled grandly. “Because of you and your talent are propelling yourself higher by your talent.” He turned to Tom, “And you broad spectrum talents will show people your ability to take any character and bring it to life! Requests for you for television and movies will come rapidly. Everyone here is starting a new chapter in life. That can’t be toasted by ordinary champagne.” He poured Mike’s, mine and Chet’s. These weren’t the tall glasses some can be, but wide and shallow. A floral pattern to make it look right if a honeymooning couple rented the suite and you know they did. Except for the weight of the “glass” you would swear it was crystal or at least glass. The people at the manufacturing company should be proud of this. Plastic containers have come a long way.

Chet held the champagne glass carefully as he got his portion of the bubbling liquid. He held the glass up and sniffed it, but didn’t drink it yet.

“Everybody should say what they hope for the upcoming year for each other and then at midnight, we all toast that and everyone here. Okay?”

“I know what I hope for in the new year,” Mike said to me. “I know you love me, but it never hurts to wish to be stronger as a couple. I’ll toast to that.”

I nodded, “I’ll toast to that, I know you love me, too.” I looked at Chet, “I propose a toast that we solidify into a close family.”

“Oh,” Chet’s eyes widened. “I get it now. This is the same as blowing out all the candles on a birthday cake and a wish will come true!”

“Right,” Mike chuckled.

“At midnight, everyone in the world will do it,” I said looking at the clock. “They will in three minutes.”

“What do I wish for?” Chet asked. “I just wish everyone will get along. I’m happy now.”

“Then that’s your toast,” Mike said. “We touch out glasses together at midnight and drink to make it our toast. Then drink our champagne.”

“And I propose good things for everyone in the new year.” Mark said making it a universal toast coming. He turned as everyone in Time Square looked at the large screen that showed the countdown. I tell you, that glittering ball got brighter with one minute left. More light shown and refracted and was almost too bright. Thirty seconds left and the ball moved a little. They made it better every year. And I knew everyone in Time Square and all that watched live was holding their breath just like I was.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six,” the entire crowd was saying together, “five, four, three, two, one! Happy New Year!!” Everybody said.

Mike and I touched our glasses, then Mike and I touched Chet’s glass and then we turned and we all touched our glasses and repeated the happy new years wishes to all of us. Mike and I entwined our arms and drank some of the champagne. And kissed. Being parents, we both looked at Chet who had drank a little. His opinion was clear, he shrugged and drank a little more.

“Well, Sport?” Mike asked. “What do think?”

“It’s okay,” Chet admitted, “It’s good, I guess. I was expecting a grapier taste.” He said a little disappointed. “I’ll stick with the juice from that organic store.”

“Grapier?” Mike asked me, “Is that a word?”

I chuckled, “He used it and we knew what he was saying, so yes, it is.”

The show after the ball dropped was sort of anticlimactic. The other performers were good and I did perform again. However, the event everyone came for was over. But they were still here, so we entertained until the time to break things up. The vendors, both legal and not so legal, were happy. There the occasional fight and crime happened like petty theft. The party and the show went on! I felt we did a great job. It was mean, but I sang Make Your Mind and Decide. The only song about Mark when he was unfaithful to me the first time and we were living as a couple. I caught him red-handed. Mark said he was sorry and I told him to make up his mind. It was either me or his free bachelor bedding anyone he wants. He needed to decide. Did he want me or not? He needed to commit. He knew I wanted a partner. Yes, I wanted a marriage. I was exclusive with him. However, with Mark was I? I felt like I was having sex all those he had sex with. Did he practice safe sex? He didn’t that first time with me. I should have known he would do this. I culpable for my own situation. It was my own fault just as much as Mark’s. I made an angry song that had confrontation, anger and demand for heart felt commitment. No pronouns to make it specific about gender. It could be any man or woman who catches someone they love cheating on them. They could a lesbian, gay or straight. It was a powerful song and had a sound that, done in a minor key and heavy percussion, lots of drums, an angry electric bass and guitar. The keyboard was alive and screamed my anger. Anyone’s anger could fit and they can relate. It was popular. It’s good to express anger rather than keeping it inside and letting it fester. It was as close to heavy metal as I ever got and I screamed sang the chorus. I was furious! Of course, I screamed. Then the blood clot and I was partially paralyzed on my right side. I couldn’t use my right hand or raise my right arm. My speech was effected and it showed on my face, the right- side sort of drooped and speaking to be understood was hard. And I did that. I was scared this would end my career! The doctor was very sympathetic and smiled at me.

“Yes,” my doctor began, “There has been damage, but your right hand is warm. The metal pin test you felt all the little sticks with flying colors. Warm toes, warm hands…it was a clot. There was no rupture of any known blood vessel in your brain. We did an MRI to make sure. We removed the clot and blood flow has been restored.”

“So, it wasn’t a stroke, stroke,” I said. “The results are the same.”

Mark, who was here in both an official capacity as my manager and my power of attorney. “You went in his left side.” He pointed to a spot on his left side just up slightly and above his left ear. That was where the went in to remove the clot I had.

“Yes,” the doctor nodded with a smile, “The Human brain is wired with nerves and the left side controls the right side, the right side of the brain controls the left side of the body.”

I chuckled, “My father did this Cognitive Ability Test. I took three tests that had five hundred questions and they were done when I woke up, the middle of the next day and last test was done when I was sleepy and ready for bed.” I laughed again.

“What were the tests for?” Mark asked me.

“He observed me,” I tried to shrug and found out I could only do it on my left side. “Of course, he did. He was my father and he loved me.” I had to over pronounce my words to be understood. “I hardly went outside; I did my homework assignments and began them on the day it was assigned. My breaks were at the piano. I loved our concert sized grand piano. It was so pretty. Polished wood with the lid up. I felt…more important and grander.” I looked at the doctor, “Dad thought there was something wrong with me. My father was a Psychiatrist. He wanted to see what side of the brain I used.”

Mark’s face distorted, “We use our brains. Who cares what side?”

“It tells what sort of person you are. The test results are between plus ten to minus ten. The positive numbers tells you think on the right and are creative, artistic and negative numbers mean you are logical, good at math. People usually hit somewhere on the scale like negative two or positive six.”

“And you where were you?” Mark asked.

“Plus fifteen,” I shrugged, “I am above average on the creative side. Dad was no longer worried about me.”

Mark gave a smirk and shrugged, “I can see that.” He smiled. “The stuff you think of for your shows had to come from somewhere. That test told me why.”

“Well,” the doctor said. “My point is, you had some damage, but you can regain use, but it will take work. Physical therapy is key to making a recovery.”

“But he will make a recovery?” Mark asked hopefully.

The doctor looked at Mark firmly, “Yes, but at his pace. He should be pushed gently. It is not like recovery from a cold or flu.”

“I won’t push him forward,” Mark grinned. “He will himself.”

“Don’t overdo,” She warned. “You don’t want to do further damage.”

“I thought the damage was the nerves,” I said.

“They were,” she nodded. “Neural pathways can be formed and even restored. The nerves weren’t cut or damaged beyond repair. It will not be overnight and may take up to a year or two.”

I sighed and raised the only arm I could, “I just need my fingers’ back on my right hand.”

“The therapist can concentrate therapy for that,” she waved a circling hand at me, “and the rest of you.” She looked at Mark. “His condition at this time is stable enough to be sent home. He will need help. Is there a caregiver?”

“Oh, yes,” Mark assured instantly. “I won’t leave his side. If I do have to go somewhere on business, there is Della who can sit with him.” He shook his head, “But it won’t be long. He is my primary business. He will never be alone.” Mark took my right hand. I could feel his hand, I just couldn’t move mine.

The doctor nodded, “Well, he needs to do as much for himself as he can. Don’t smother him.” She looked at me. “Are there stairs in your home?”

“Yes,” Both Mark and I answered.

A smile grew on the doctor’s face, she knew we had more than a professional relationship, “Don’t try them by yourself” She shook her finger at me like a parent would do scolding a child.

“He won’t until he does it successfully with the therapist,” Mark swore.

I wasn’t deceived by this attention Mark was giving at all. He felt guilty! He should! No, he had nothing to do with the blood clot. Dad was a doctor, a psychiatrist, not psychologist. He had his medical doctorate. He would often come home and tell Mom and I about his day. I knew a clot could form in the healthiest person, Mine could have been an aneurism. Or it could have gone to my lungs and giving me pulmonary embolism or even my heart giving me a heart attack. It wasn’t a big clot and big enough for that vein in my head. The truth was Mark was good at what he did. Very good. He just couldn’t keep his pecker to one person. He told me that the morning after our first time that marriage was for straights. I was a fool to the I could change his mind. I thought I had. He thought of everything. He even had me sign up for a Health Insurance Policy I thought was a bit much, it covered all this and my recovery. I dared them to refuse payment for anything. My angry lawyer would chew them a new one! Contracts were his thing and he read the whole manual and contract and knew what it said. He was there when I bought the house, both sides. My parents life insurances policies and the selling of the house which had a lovely view of the Charleston Harbor and downtown Charleston and the Battery fetched a pretty penny. (What does that mean anyway? There’s an ugly penny you don’t want?) He recommended the big payment down and financing the rest to boost my credit score. I needed a credit history. I had the reconstruction of the other side into the recording studio and equipped it what I needed to make those digital tracks. It was more than a recording studio it was a sound engineering studio. I had hired Della to assist me with the recording. She had studied it in college and she had good instincts. When I said I couldn’t have done it without Mark, I meant it. He was an excellent manager, but a lousy life partner. If he felt guilty, fine! I needed him. I did love him; I was just falling out of love with him.

True to his word, he was very attentive. I had a physical therapist come twice a week and we worked on my leg and arm. My leg wasn’t totally paralyzed. I used a walker at first, then a crutch and then a cane. The therapist did things with my arm to stimulate movement. It was a month after the clot when my right pinky moved. I let out a shout and Mark came running into my room. Yes, my room. I hadn’t shut Mark out, but I wasn’t opening my heart or my bed until he was willing to commit. We got along, he was really caring and I was well aware how many patients fall in love with their caregiver. I was falling in love with him again. I’d wait and see how much he cared when I recovered enough to play the piano and dance again. I would then go on shows again and see if he could move from the guest room to my room.

“What’s wrong?” Mark asked worried.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said happily. “Something’s right!!” I raising pointed at my right hand. “Look!”

It took effort, but slowly my pinky rose. I didn’t wiggle it, but I did raise it up and down. When you haven’t been able to move anything on your right side, the pinky was a big deal!

“This is great!!” Mark cheered. “You’re getting better! Now you only have four more to go!?” He kissed me happily.

I didn’t return the kiss like I could have, but I didn’t mind the kiss, “Technically, I have three more fingers and a thumb, but…”

“Who cares?” Mark said happily. “You moved it!”

I wanted to trust he said he was exclusive when he cheated. You have to remember; my experience was limited. I knew there were people that were gay, but I didn’t go to any of the clubs. I didn’t really know where they were. I was in denial. I wasn’t gay! But really I knew I was. I fought it. I was really going to marry Susan. I knew I was gay in high school when Chuck invaded my dreams. He was six feet and three inches of muscle and a jock on the football team. He was a blond god and so handsome. My dreams had him with me, touching fondling and kissing him. I always woke up when we got into more. I wasn’t gay! Mark was like Chuck, but more. He had been a marine to earn money for college and then Law School. He six feet and a few inches. He was a jock and played football in high school and college. And he liked me? I was no wimp, but you didn’t get muscles sitting on a piano bench. He had this workout machine? It had everything such as the bench to lift weights for the arms and legs. He had a lat pull. For you shoulders and muscles that hug from our arms as we age. Treadmill, Stair Stepper, Curls. Mark was my manager and became my weight trainer. I worked on a group of muscles every day. He spotted and trained me two hours a day.

“You’re an Entertainer,” Mark said. “That’s needs more than a talented voice, but you are selling you. You sing mostly in gay bars. Those boys will love having something to drool over.” I did it for eight months while I lived with him. He had other clients so he would be gone to the office in the day. I was my office. I did make two large purchases before the house. I got a good sound mixer and sound board, a synthesizer with two keyboards and CPU from Intel with enough memory to mix the tracks. I could play the main track and record a harmony or another accompaniment as I wanted. The synthesizer was portable, but heavy. There were a lot instruments in there! Of course, it was. No, not really, but had every very realistic sounds in it. I shopped! I hate shopping! I went to an equipment store for professional musicians. I got his best synthesizer after I tested it. I played Mozart Allegro with it’s complicated finger runs I worked hard to learn. I did. Manual dexterity was needed with that song. It sounded like a concert grand piano (those were a little larger, like a Steinway.) I then tried some sounds like an electric guitar and bass, drums. I played the melody on the bottom keyboard and could play the drums or electric bass on the top. I made it sound like a pipe organ and Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor (think of a classic horror movie, you’ll know it.) That organ sound even had the echoing effect like in a cathedral’s vast space. And it had earphones so I would startle Mark if inspiration hits in the middle of the night.

All this was an investment. When Mark came home as the men were bringing it in. I could tell he wasn’t happy, but covered it well. It was too late. I saw the horror on his face. He knew I was getting one but did think it would take up a lot of space. This equipment did.

I got to know Mark pretty well. I strived to be a good guest, because that’s what I was. A guest. I mentioned what I wanted to do, including the sound studio. I had to move out.

Don’t misunderstand. He was very loving and we had a good sex life. I felt like I was intruding. We found the duplex and that took a big chunk out the bank account. Remodeling the left side and adding the two connecting doors. That took another big chunk. I got a top-of-the-line sound board added to my equipment like my computer I used for my band. I brought that from Charleston.

He got his life back. His old life. It was shortly thereafter I left a CD of music tracks I had looked all over my house and wanted to check his CD library. I let myself into Mark’s luxurious condo and looked and found it. Mark was a neat freak and just probably put it away, because I never stored my CDs there. Then I heard it. The sound of male passion and I knew Mark’s moans. It wasn’t him. I took his key off my keyring. It hurt! I knew where things were and got a piece of paper for the printer. I scrawled a note saying: I came by when you were entertaining a guest. I should have called first, but I thought you were at the office. Sorry. I wanted to return your key. I wasn’t angry. If I was, the hurt overshadowed it. He would never commit. Many times when he “went to the office,” I suspected he was cheating. He probably was. I was mad, at myself. I believe I had the perfect guy. He was handsome, strong, kind and very smart. He could be the tough attorney. He had on office at the condo. A desk some chairs a bookcase full of law books that went from the floor to the ceiling. I asked if they couldn’t put in disc or even a data base to use. They put the whole Bible online with concordances and historical information complete with photographs if they had them. He said, “There is. They have a website that has all of cases and even laws in other states. And if my computer crashes or there’s no power I’m am still a lawyer.” I was amazed the man liked me. He could have anyone he wanted. And he did, just now. How many people was I having sex with because they had sex with Mark who had sex with me? I needed to get a blood test screening for any sexually transmitted disease; especially HIV. Mark said he practiced safe sex. Did he? He didn’t with me. It was two more hours when my phone rang after I got home. I put my note on his perfect clean granite counter. He never left a thing there and that note would be a neon sign. I saw Mark’s picture which told me he was calling. I was not a mean person. I didn’t want to hurt him or destroy anything he had to teach him a lesson. Revenge never got you anything. My Dad, the Psychiatrist, told me that. My father was a great Psychiatrist and worked with hardened criminals who had little no impulse control and who lashed out. He was perfectly calm when dealing with them. He did it with me! Always asking me, “If you do that what do you think I’ll do next?” I was a good kid he didn’t do that often. But got me thinking about the consequences.

I accepted his call, “Hi, Mark.”

“You came here today and saw us?” Mark asked in an angry panic.

“No, I didn’t see,” I said calmly. “But I heard. And please don’t embarrass yourself by trying to figure out a plausible explanation for why I heard a man’s groan of pleasure. And you can’t tell me you were exercising because your work out equipment isn’t in the bedroom. You will be insulting my intelligence.”

“It didn’t mean anything,” Mark pleaded.

“And that’s the problem, Mark,” I sighed. “It should mean something. When I touched you it was because I loved you.”

“Can’t we talk?” Mark asked. “I don’t want to lose you.”

The fact was I was the client of his that brought in the most money singing in all the gay bars around Dallas and Fort Worth. I was booked every weekend on Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. There were a lot of them and I drew good crowds to the bars and they made a good amount of money. I was going to make more with shows I planned do with the themes and props. I wanted to be more than a singer.

“Mark, if you want to talk about it,” I said. “I won’t do it on the phone. Come here and we will. I need you. You are great at what you do and I want you to be my manager. I’m not stupid.” The intimacy between us stopped.

Okay, back to the clot. Guilt was a terrible thing. He said he was sorry and I could see he was, but sorry for what? Was he sorry because I caught him? I don’t believe he would have told me about it if I hadn’t caught him. I wanted him to be sorry for hurting me and betrayed my trust. I shouldn’t have expected him to change. He would if he wanted to have me. I told him that. I was fine with being a paycheck for him. I didn’t need sex from him to keep me. He swore it wasn’t that. I wondered if it was a sex addiction. People had those. I mentioned it to him. I wasn’t telling him to go to a shrink, but I thought he should. If it wasn’t an addiction, maybe they could look at his unwillingness to commit. I also knew he might just like being free and not tied down. I remember watching Queer as Folk on Showtime. Justin Taylor was a kid. I wasn’t sure he was out if he was out of high school when he met Brian Kinney who was rogue. Brian made a lot of money. He was handsome and cruised the club called Babylon a lot and the grocery store or anywhere there were guys. Justin thought he found something special with Brian. Mark was like Brian, but I refused to be Justin. I related more to Michael Novothy. He had the worse luck finding someone to love that loved him. Until he met hunky Drew Boyd and he turns out to be HIV positive! But love can overcome any obstacle. They marry in Canada where gay marriage was legal at that time and had two children at the end. My message with my show was to look for Mr. Right, not Mr. Right now. I didn’t want that life.

My right side woke up agonizingly slow. The therapist said I was just impatient. Of course, I was! I even had to exercise the muscles in my throat. At first I would choke on something as simple as water! I had to exercise my mouth and throat! Mark watched over me like a hawk. He was furious when he caught me coming out of the bathroom using the crutch. I told him I was fine. I didn’t fall and I knew where everything was. He made me promise I would not try that with the stairs.

I had a decorator come and that’s where the Country/Western theme came from. I didn’t care as long as nothing was frilly. This had a masculine feel. It was a man’s house. The therapist had me do finger exercises like rolling a quarter between my fingers. She suggested a grip strengthener. You know, that thing you squeeze to strengthen your grip? Mark asked about lifting weights. She said that was fine, but make sure I concentrated on my right side. The muscle was weak for now as the nerves were working again a little. Mark surprised me with a workout machine like he had. I worked out like crazy. I wasn’t a jock and I never wanted to be a bodybuilder. I did want to return to singing and my music. I was motivated. Mark had to stop me a few times. I wasn’t satisfied until I could play Mozart’s Allegro with those complicated fast finger runs without any errors. That took seventeen months. In all that time, Mark had not really gone anywhere, but the grocery store and my occasional doctor’s appointment. He worked from his laptop and his phone. I heard him sometimes get irritated at someone and say, “No problem. The contract is signed. We’ll just take it to court and let a judge see this. Good day.”

I started my tour of the United States. Well, Texas first. I went back to some bars and clubs in Dallas and Fort Worth to tell them I was back. I did my first show in Austin. It wasn’t a great turn out, but that was because my name wasn’t know that well yet. San Antonio! All of those military bases there I saw many heads with short hair cuts. Houston! Albuquerque! Oklahoma City! New Orleans! Mark was supportive, caring and I was considering letting him back in my heart. I kissed him and allowed myself to love him a little more. I told him he knew what I wanted. He understood. The first part of this drama took place in the first three years, then the clot took almost two years. I was having my music bought or downloaded I was awarded a Gold Album. My shows were now more crowded. I returned a day early from my show in Memphis to get some last-minute things so I wouldn’t be late for that cruise ship. I heard from the guest room Mark was using. This time it was a female voice. I went to the door and didn’t knock. I just opened it and turned his light on. Mark jumped up and the woman pulled the sheet up to cover her naked breasts. The word I would use for her was sturdy. Then I remembered she worked with a group of gardeners that worked on my lawn. Of course she was sturdy. She was out in the hot sun digging holes and planting flowers. Those bags of fertilizer where heavy, so were the bags of mulch. She wasn’t homely, not pretty either. She short dirty blonde hair and wore no makeup…why would she to work outside? I saw her green shirt and beige shorts that was her uniform. I was sure she took a shower before hand and I had no doubt Mark was in it too. That little bit of love I had for him just broke into pieces. I was done.

“Eric!” Mark shouted and was jumping up.

I didn’t even wait. I turned the light off and walked to my room. You know? I forgot what I’d come for!

The door burst open and Mark rushed in wearing only his boxers, “Eric, let me explain…”

I turned and held my hand up, “Stop!” I said sharply. “Explain that what I saw wasn’t what I know it was? It was an accident? What other thing can you say?” I couldn’t think. “I need you, Mark. You are a damned good manager and promoter. I won’t do this anymore.” I looked around the room, “Aw, fuck it!! If I need it, I’m sure it’s available on the ship.”

“Eric, please don’t leave this unsettled,” Mark begged.

I turned at the door, “Mark, we could talk all night and it won’t be settled. You’ll have to send someone to DFW for my car. I took a cab here. I’ll text you where it is.” I shut my door normally and went to get my car.

Exhausted, I went up to the suite with Mike. Mark had taken Chet back and put him to bed. Tom and Heather went to bed, too. Mark sat in the living area. I did love him. He was a good man he never left me. As bad as it got. He didn’t leave.

“You look beat,” Mark smiled.

“Because I am,” I said as I leaned down inches from his face, “You’re a very good man, Mark. Thank you for all you do.” I kissed him next to his left eye near his temple. “I love you.”