Those Cerulean Eyes - 2. Chapter 2

LATE FRIDAY AFTERNOON/EARLY EVENING, DAY 3

“Here we are,” Mickey says as we approach his home.”

I’m surprised. “Wow, you actually live on the ground floor of a high-rise, with street access.”

“Yeah, it’s a two-story townhouse,” he explains. “It’s really sweet, and in a location that’s really convenient for me to get around the downtown on foot. Tanner Springs Park is just around the corner. It’s a really nice concept; a wetland park in the city, among high-rises.”

“Cool. You’ll have to take me there sometime, Mickey.”

“I will,” he smiles.

As we enter the apartment, I am assaulted by the most delicious aroma ever. We head to the kitchen and I see a raven-haired woman standing at a stove with her back to me. She’s attractively slender like Mickey.

“Mom, this is Mark Reintjes,” he introduces me.

She turns around and I see the same blue eyes. They are paler, though, not cerulean like Mickey’s. His are more striking and distinct.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, ma’am,” I smile, offering my hand. “And thank you for inviting me to dinner, which smells delicious by the way.”

“It’ll taste even better!” Mickey interjects. “Mark’s never had cacchiatore, mom.”

“Well, I hope you like it, Mark,” she says, lightly grasping my proffered hand.

“Oh, I’m sure I will, ma’am.”

“And I’m pleased to meet you too, Mark,” she graciously smiles. “Now how about you two setting the table while I finish in here?”

“Sure thing, mom,” Mickey exuberantly replies. “C’mon, Mark. Silverware is in that drawer,” he says, pointing it out to me. “I’ll get the plates and napkins. Are we having wine, mom?”

“Well, of course! Italian isn’t Italian without red wine.”

I really like Mickey’s mom!

“Tada!” Mickey’s mom sings out five minutes later as she places the skillet on a trivet in the center of the table and a bowl of steaming linguine beside it. It smells scrumptuous! We all sit down and she offers me the linguine first. I place an ample portion upon my plate, then wait for them to do the same. Then she signals for me to help myself to the cacciatore, which I smother over the pasta, topping it off with a plump chicken thigh. Then I take a piece of hot buttered garlic bread when it’s offered. Wow! I can’t wait!

“Mickey?” she says focusing on her son and gesturing to the bottle of red wine. “Would you please do the honors?”

“Sure, mom,” he chirps as he grasps the bottle, then gets up from his chair and pours each of us a half glass. Afterward, we clink glasses, take a sip, then begin our meal.

“Ummm… delicious!” I commend. “Just the right amount of thyme and basil. And I love shiitake mushrooms. Awesome meal, Ms. Hodges!”

“I’m happy that you like it, Mark,” she smiles. Cacchiatore is too overwhelming for some people.”

“Well, not for me, ma’am. I love it.”

She smiles at Mickey and says, “You’ll have to bring Mark to dinner more often.”

He looks at me, then at her and says, “I will, mom.” I smile, thinking, or maybe hoping, that there’s something in the look that he gives me. I wonder if she sees it too.

After the meal, we sit there nursing our second glass of wine when she says, “I understand that you’re attending law school, Mark. Have you decided what area of law that you’d like to practice? I ask because I’m a legal researcher for Walter Wynne, which specializes in regulatory enforcement litigation, commercial litigation and corporate law.

I look at Mickey. “You didn’t tell me that your mom works for a law firm.”

He looks from me to his mother and says, “I kind of didn’t think about it. I’m sorry, mom.” Feeling Mickey’s discomfort, I immediately regret having said what I’d said.

She smiles at him. “That’s okay, Mickey. Just remember that it allows us to live in a nice home in a nice neighborhood and to eat as lavishly as this. Not to mention that it is helping you achieve your dream as a designer.”

“I know. Thanks, mom.” Now I really wish that I hadn’t mentioned it.

“So, Mark, getting back to my question, have you any idea what area of law you would like to practice?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about criminal law, but I’m not really sure yet. I’ve only completed one year of law school.”

“Well, heaven knows that we need good criminal trial lawyers, as well as prosecutors, but it’s not the most attractive area of law, to me anyway. But that aside, if you develop an interest in the area of law in which Walter Wynne specializes, come talk to me and maybe I can help get you some experience while you’re attending school.

“That’s very kind of you, ma’am.”

“For heaven sake, please dispense with the word ma’am, Mark, and call me Marilyn.”

“Yes, ma’am—I mean Marilyn,” to which Mickey giggles, turning me to jello inside.

“So, I expect that you boys have better things to do, so—”

“Please allow us, Marilyn,” I say, getting up as she starts to collect the plates. You prepared the meal, now let us clean up. Mickey?”

He returns my gaze and says, “Yes, mom, please?”

“Well, if you two insist, who am I to argue. Thank you, boys.”

Mickey and I clear the table, then rinse the plates and utensils and load them into the dishwasher. “What do you want me to do with the leftover cacchiatore, mom?” he asks.

“Put it in an appropriately sized container and leave it on the counter,” she replies, entering the kitchen. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay, mom.

Afterwards, he he says, “C’mon, Mark, I’ll show you what I have for a portfolio so far.”

We enter his bedroom, and once there I get to see the real Mickey. While it doesn’t scream femininity, it doesn’t scream masculinity, either. It’s just Mickey: various posters of art, architecture, models—both males and females—modelling tasteful fashion designs. Like I said, it’s just Mickey, which I find both intriguing and comforting.

“You made tons of points this evening offering to clean up,” he laughs as he removes his portfolio from the closet and lays it out on his bed.

“Well, she prepared the meal, so I thought it appropriate that we clean up afterwards.”

“Yeah, I know. Nevertheless,” he laughs, “you’re on her nice-guy list now, and I’ll hear about it for days to come.”

“Look, Mickey, I’m sorry for saying that about you not telling me about her working at a law firm. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Hey, no problem, Mark. She isn’t going to disown me for it. I really didn’t think about it or I would have told you.”

“It’s just, how could you forget something like that, Mickey?”

“I… I just had other things on my mind at the time,” he replies. “I’ll apologize again after you leave and make it up to her.” Other things on his mind? Like maybe me? Yeah, right. Wishful thinking, Mark. You still haven’t confirmed that he’s in fact gay. And his bedroom—his most personal space—certainly doesn’t scream it.

He lays renderings of four design projects out on his bed and I’m impressed. “Wow, Mickey! I really didn’t know what to expect, but these are really good! You have a real flair for this kind of stuff!”

There’s a design for an office, a design for a bedroom, a design for a living room and a design for what looks like a beauty salon, and all of them have the kind of soft touch that would appeal to women. I would find any one of the spaces appealing and relaxing, and I tell him so.

“You’re very kind, Mark,” he softly says, avoiding my eyes.

“And I mean it, Mickey. You really have a gift for design. You wouldn’t only be cheating yourself but also the world if you didn’t pursue it. Have you ever tried designing other things, like clothes?”

“I did try designing an ensemble once, but I didn’t care for it so much, which means that nobody else probably would either.”

“Do you still have it?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I see it?”

He hesitates, which tells me that he’s uncomfortable. “It’s okay, Mickey,” I relent. “You don’t have to show it to me if you don’t want to.”

“No, I value your opinion, Mark,” he says as he removes a large rendering on cardboard from the back of his closet. As I expect, it’s a woman’s ensemble, a variation of a pant suit with stylish black slacks, a relaxed, loose-fitting gray and white top that doesn’t tuck into the slacks and a long chiffon body veil that flows down to the knees to complete it. Actually, it’s quite attractive.

“I like it, Mickey. It’s stylish and smart, something that I could see myself wearing if I were a woman.”

“Really?”

“I think that you have the designer gene, Mickey. You just have a gift for it. You’re very fortunate. A lot of us have to work hard to achieve what you seem to be able to do naturally.”

I can see that he is seriously contemplating what I had just said, then replies with, “I think I’m better at interior design, though, and I really enjoy it.”

“Well, you certainly have more examples of what you can do,” I say. “But I’ll bet that if you had as many examples of the other, you might see it differently.”

He nods. “Yeah, but fashion designers tend to be more… I don’t know… effeminate. I don’t think I’m that kind of person.”

That sets off all kinds of alarms inside me. Could I be wrong about Mickey? Could I be seeing what I want to see? Well, no matter, I like him anyway. Afterall, there are degrees of homosexuality, and I certainly wouldn’t classify him as camp, or a full blown fairy. If that were the case, I probably wouldn’t be attracted to him like I am.

“I think that I’ll just stick with interior design.”

I look at him and smile. “If it works for you, then do it, Mickey.”

“I… I feel really comfortable around you, Mark. I mean, I have other friends, but I can’t say the same about them. I don’t know… you’re just really super easy to be with.”

I smile, feeling a warm glow building inside me. “I take that as an esteemed compliment, Mickey. One that I don’t value lightly.”

“Boys,” Mickey’s mom quietly interrupts, “I’m going to bed. I just want to say good night and that I’m happy to have met you, Mark. I hope that we’ll see you again, often.”

“You will, Marilyn,” I smile. “I’m very happy to have met you too. Thank you for the wonderful dinner. Cacchiatore is now on my list of favorites.”

“You’re welcome, Mark. And remember what I said about an internship at Walter Wynne if you should choose that area of law. I’ll do whatever I can to help you along.”

“Thank you, Marilyn. I really will consider it.”

“Goodnight, boys,” she smiles.

“Goodnight,” Mickey and I reply in unison.

I look at my watch to see that it is a little after 10:00 pm. Where did the night go? “I should be going, Mickey. It’s after 10:00 and I have a thirty minute walk home.”

“I’m sorry for keeping you, Mark. You could stay over if—”

“Thanks, Mickey, but I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

“But you wouldn’t.”

“I really need to go, Mickey. We’ll talk tomorrow. It’s the Saturday that I don’t have to work, so maybe we can do something together.”

“Give me your phone and I’ll key in my cell number,” he says. “Then you can call me when you get home so I know that you made it safely, okay?”

I hand him my cellphone. After he keys in his number, he hands it back to me and says, “I’ll see you to the door, Mark.”

10:45 FRIDAY NIGHT, DAY 3

“I’m home, Mickey,” I tell him when he answers. “I had a wonderful time with you today. Thanks for making the effort to meet me after my class, thanks for the invitation to dinner, thanks for showing me your design portfolio, and most of all, thanks for being my friend. I mean it when I say that you’re very talented. Actually…I’m envious.”

“Thanks for being my friend too, Mark. I’d love to see you tomorrow. Maybe we could take in a movie or do something fun like bowling. I love to bowl.”

“Sounds like fun, Mickey. I’ll call you tomorrow. Okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight, Mark.”

“Goodnight, Mickey.”

As I lay in bed thinking about the joy that I’ve shared with Mickey over the past three days, I feel a pang of longing and lonliness inside. This evening allowed me the opportunity to really get to know him, get a peek inside him. It would have been so nice to have slept with him tonight if that’s what he’d had in mind, but I wouldn’t have been able to express my feelings for him the way that I want to do. I just couldn’t possibly do something like that with his mother in the next bedroom. Besides, as much as I want to be really intimate with Mickey, I’m still not sure that he’s wired the way I am. I sigh. Only time will tell, I guess. Maybe tomorrow…

SATURDAY MORNING, DAY 4

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Mickey. Are you up, or are you still in bed?”

“Well, I’m up, but I’m still in bed,” he sleepily replies.

“So get your butt out of bed, sleepyhead,” I laugh. “It’s 10:00 am. I’ll meet you at Starbucks at 11:00 for our usual and then we’ll plan the day from there.”

“Okay, Mark. See you at Starbucks at 11:00.”

*     *     *

I walk into Starbucks at 10:45 to find a line of at least ten people waiting to be served. Jimmy has no help, and he’s swamped. Springing into action, I scramble behind the counter and start filling orders as soon as he can take them. Why the fuck would he be working alone on a Saturday morning?

“Man, you’re a lifesaver, Mark,” he says between orders. “Thanks heaps.”

“No problem, Jimmy,” I smile as I draw a coffee. “You’d do the same for me.”

Ten minutes later the crisis is over and Jimmy thanks me again. “So, where’s your friend? Mickey, right?” he asks.

“Yeah. He’s supposed to meet me here at 11:00.”

“Um, how about some help?” we hear at the counter behind us. It’s Mickey and he’s grinning from ear to ear. “So, you’re working today?” he asks me.

“Not scheduled,’ I smile. “Apparently, Jimmy’s working alone today. Why is a mystery to me. He had an unexpected rush and I helped him out.”

“Kaitlyn called and said she’s running late,” Jimmy explains. “She should be here anytime now.”

“Mickey, this is Jimmy; Jimmy this is Mickey,” I say, making introductions.”

“Happy to meet you,” Jimmy says, shaking Mickey’s hand.

“Likewise,” Mickey replies.

“Coffees and scones are on the house, guys,” Jimmy says.

“Cool,” Mickey smiles.

“So, Mickey, I hope hanging around with this guy doesn’t ruin your reputation,” Jimmy jokes.

“Actually, I was thinking that it’s the other way around,” Mickey smiles, looking at me. “But Mark doesn’t look any the worse for wear.”

Jimmy looks at me wide-eyed to which I smirk, nodding my head no. If only …

“So, what’s your poison today, Mickey?” I ask.

“Um…” He looks up at the menu. “How about a Caffè Americano with an extra shot…”

“And a cinnamon scone,” I finish for him.

He looks at the selection of scones and says, “No, a blueberry scone today.”

I look over at Jimmy. “Hm… I don’t know if I can handle him on a caffeine and blueberry buzz.”

“That’s in case we go bowling,” Mickey says. “The caffeine buzz is for bowling.”

“And the blueberries?” I ask.

He grins. “The blueberries are to make me more lovable when I win.”

That takes me by surprise! And I’m sure that my expression shows it. I look at Jimmy to see him smiling as he looks at Mickey and says, “But Mark tells me that you’re plenty lovable as you are.”

“I did not!” I object, feeling my face heat with embarrassment. Then I look at Mickey and say, “Hey, why don’t you get us a table and I’ll bring it to you.”

When Mickey is out of earshot I turn to Jimmy. “Man, don’t do that!” I scold. “You could have blown my cover.”

“Hey, buddy. I’m just trying to help you out since you apparently can’t do it on your own.”

“Well, please don’t, man. If it happens, it happens.”

“Well, I’m just trying to help you make it happen, Mark. He’s a really cute guy.”

“I know you mean well, Jimmy, and thanks. Just don’t blow it for me. Okay? How about drawing me an Americano, with an extra shot, and a cinnamon scone. Looks like I’m going to need the caffeine to keep up with him at bowling.

Jimmy smiles. “You got it, buddy.”