Dead Fit - 5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

All Saturday, I had pre-date jitters. I wasn’t even sure if this was considered a date. I supposed if we had a great time and our night ended with a kiss, I would call it a date. But in case it ended in failure, I could just think of it as dinner with a friend. Easy way to protect my ego. Of course, I was hoping at the end of the night, I would be able to call it a date. That way I could officially enter the adult world of dating. Everyone tells me going on a first date is always the most nerve-racking. Better to get it out of the way.

In the evening, when I was ready to head out, I checked myself out in the mirror. Convinced I looked as good as it was going to get, I drove the six miles to Brian’s condo, arriving shortly before 7:00 pm. Brian's condo was on the 1000 block of Ocean Avenue. From the outside, the development looked to be, at most, five years old. Just as he promised, there was plenty of guest parking located in an underground structure. I parked my trusty Honda Civic between a Mercedes and an Acura. A quick scan of the parking lot revealed that most of the cars in the lot were expensive imports. My Civic looked out of place. But at least I got the import part right.

I walked to the front of the building. The doors were glass and I could see the lobby was breathtaking. To the right of the doors was a security system and I entered the five-digit code Brian gave me. The green light let me know I was granted access to the building.

Inside, the floor, walls and column pillars were marble. Intricately woven area rugs were strategically placed throughout the lobby, giving it a sense of warmth. A concierge's desk was just to the right of the elevator; however, no one was there to greet me. A little sign indicated that the concierge had gone home for the evening and that he would return the following day to take care of any of my requests. So this was how the wealthy lived.

I took the elevator up to the fourth floor, which was also the top floor. A penthouse condo. Nice. Brian's was a corner unit on the side closest to the Ocean. As I rang the doorbell, I could feel my heart rate increasing, and perspiration forming in the palms of my hands. I hate it when my nerves take a physiological form. After a few seconds, I heard his footsteps approach the door.

"Hi, Jaysen, come on in." Brian's warm greeting seemed sincere enough and I could feel my pulse slowing down a bit. He extended his hand to shake mine. Weird. I thought we had moved beyond the hand-shaking thing by now.

"You have a great condo,” I said. That was understatement. Brian’s condo was phenomenal.

Every window in his living room had an ocean view. The sun was just setting and its reflection on the water was stunning. Someday I wanted a place with this kind of view. Sliding glass doors along the south side of his living room opened to a balcony. There was a rather manly-looking barbecue grill sitting on the balcony and two sets of patio tables and chairs were next to it. He was probably the kind of guy who was always having parties. And with this kind of view, who could blame his friends for accepting his invitation?

Brian's living room was tastefully furnished – a leather sofa and love seat faced a flat panel television. He had quite the entertainment center with the latest electronics, a surround sound theater system and a library full of DVD's.

The adjoining kitchen had stainless steel appliances and a little breakfast nook in the corner. The dining room was consumed by an oversized oak table and matching chairs for six. The kitchen and dining room were immaculately clean, perhaps a sign that this Bachelor ate more meals out than in his home.

"You wanna tour," Brian offered.

"I'd love one. Should I take off my shoes?"

“Nah.”

The first bedroom we passed had been converted to a home office. One wall of the bedroom was lined with two mahogany bookshelves. A matching desk faced a set of windows on the adjacent wall. The books on the shelves were primarily management and investment books, although I did see a few comic books, a good sign that Brian wasn't too much of a grown-up to have a little fun.

Next to his home office was a bathroom, followed by another bedroom for guests. I wanted to ask Brian how frequently he had guests stay over, but I thought it was a bit premature for me to be so nosy.

The final bedroom was Brian's. A California King sized bed took up a significant part of the room. The image of Brian and I rolling around on his massive bed flashed through my mind, but disappeared as quickly as it formed when I remembered that I wouldn't even know how to conduct myself if the opportunity ever presented itself. The disappointment of reality always seemed to hinder my imagination.

The doors to his built-in closets were open, revealing a wide selection of shirts and trousers hanging neatly on wooden hangars. I poked my head into his master bathroom, which had a hot tub, a shower, and a bath tub. It felt invasive being in the room where he bathed and took care of personal business, so I made some noises to show my approval of his condo and that I was ready for dinner.

While we pulled out of Brian’s garage, we negotiated dinner plans, finally settling on going to Belmont Shore, a yuppie, beachside neighborhood of Long Beach. Second Street, the main drag of Belmont Shore, was teeming with the usual weekend crowd. It took almost twenty minutes for us to find a place to park Brian's Rover, a serious downside to driving an SUV in a congested city. As we walked from our parking space to the restaurant, I became very aware of the number of heads turning to check out Brian. In one way it made me feel good, to be with someone that others found attractive, too. In another way, it made me feel very insecure, knowing that he could have somebody else so easily. Oh, the cruel ironies of life.

We settled on Lucky's Steak and Seafood, an upscale restaurant that proudly advertised its Zagat rating. The hostess let us know that the wait would be about fifteen minutes. While we waited to be seated, Brian and I visited the bar for drinks. I was nervous enough as it was and didn't think having a drink would be a good idea. But I gave in, not wanting Brian to get the impression I was uptight.

We grabbed two stools at the end of the bar. The bartender laid down cocktail napkins and took our orders. Brian ordered a vodka martini with olives. I opted for a glass of the house red wine.

The bartender looked at me and asked, “Can I see you id, please?”

I handed the bartender my driver license. I could feel my face turn red. I hate being carded. The bartender handed me back my id and left to get us our drinks.

“How old are you, anyway,” Brian asked.

“I'm 22. I always get carded.”

“If you think you hate it now, you'll really hate it when they stop carding you.”

While the bartender made our drinks we watched the Dodgers play the Giants on a flat screen television. Brian seemed only half interested in the game. The other half of his attention was devoted to watching people. I was curious what was going through his mind.

Moments after the bartender brought us out our drinks, the hostess called our names to let us know our table was ready. Brian left the bartender money for the bill, and we took our drinks and followed the hostess to our table.

Our waiter came over to introduce himself and provided us with menus. I scanned the main entrees and couldn't help but notice how pricey the dishes were. Given his track record, I assumed Brian was going to pay, but didn't want to order anything too expensive and look like a mooch. Or worse yet, I didn't want to order the priciest dish and then end up paying for the bill. God, I hoped I still had available credit on my Visa.

After wrestling among a few low-priced options, I finally settled for a barbecued chicken breast and a side of vegetables. Brian selected the filet mignon, medium, and a side of mashed potatoes. The waiter assured us that our selections were “two of his favorites,” a line I was quite confident he would have said no matter what we ordered.

Brian seemed more serious during dinner than during lunch we had the previous day. I suspected it was because this occasion was more formal – this was an official date, or at least I thought it was. In any event, it felt much easier to understand him when he was being straightforward in conversation. He was still playful, but more in a romantic way than before.

“So, how did you decide to become a personal trainer,” Brian asked.

“I guess I've always liked sports and fitness. And, I really like helping people. I know it sounds generic, but I'm happiest when I am able to help others achieve their goals. It's a good feeling.”

“I can tell you like working with people. You’re good at what you do,” Brian said. He stared at me thoughtfully for a few moments, then asked, “You don't like talking about yourself, do you?”

I smiled. “Why do you say that?”

“You avoid eye contact whenever you answer personal questions.”

“Yea, I know, it's a bad habit,” I said, looking down at the table. I realized I was doing it again and made a conscious effort to look him in the eye. “Sorry.”

“You don't need to be sorry. I just think you should like who you are and be proud to talk about yourself.”

“I'm not really sure if I'm making this up or not, but I kind of think that I don't like to talk about myself much because I spent so many years hiding from who I really was. Maybe I'm over analyzing it, but when I was younger, I think in order to feel like I fit in, I would never really tell people about myself. Now, it just feels really awkward to talk about myself.”

“It doesn’t sound like you’re making that up at all.” Brian took a sip of his martini and continued with the questions, “So you said you live here with your parents, right? Have you always lived here?”

“Yea, that pretty much sums up my life.”

“Do you ever want to move away?”

“I wouldn’t mind living somewhere else at some point in the future, if anything, just to say I’ve tried it. Right now things are comfortable for me here, though, so I have no immediate plans to venture off.” I was feeling uncomfortable talking about myself, again, so I kicked the conversation back to Brian. “How about you, how long have you lived in Long Beach?”

“I’ve only been in Long Beach for the past five years or so. I actually grew up in South Orange County. I'll admit it, I grew up sheltered – wealthy parents who pretty much gave me everything I needed or wanted. In school, all of my classmates were basically shaped from the same cookie cutter that made me. I loved it and thought I would never want to live anywhere else. Then I went to UCLA for school. That’s when I learned that there was a whole ‘nother world out there.”

“Do you still keep in touch with friends from high school?”

“There was a core group of us that all went to college together. Mainly guys I played football and basketball with. I'm still friends with some of them. But the majority of my friends I have now are the ones I met in college and in the working world. Even in a metropolis like Los Angeles, you’d be surprised how small the circle is for professionals in banking, real estate and finance. It pays to have good friendships.”

“Do most of your friends know that you’re gay?”

“Yea, a few years after I graduated from college, I didn’t want to live a phony life anymore.” Brian paused to think about his words and then corrected himself, “Maybe phony isn’t the right way to describe it. But after college, I just figured if people didn’t want to accept me for who I am, it’s not a friendship worth pursuing. I do have to say the toughest part of coming out was telling my friends from high school. Most were cool with it, but some wanted nothing to do with me, especially the ones I played ball with.”

Brian’s life sounded pretty similar to mine, at least the part about coming out. It felt good to find someone who I could relate to.

The waiter brought out our meals, warning us that the plates were hot. He asked if we wanted another round of drinks and Brian responded affirmatively for the both of us. Good thing the food was here. I needed something in my stomach before I could drink another glass of wine.

I sliced into my chicken breast and asked, “Does your family know you’re gay?”

“Yea, I came out to them a few years ago. I didn’t necessarily want to tell them, but I just figured when I started telling my high school friends, word would eventually get back to them. I wanted them to hear it from my lips, not from someone else.”

“How did they take it?”

Brian sliced a hunk of his filet and rolled it around in his mouth. He made some noises of approval and then answered my question. “When I told my dad, the only thing he said to me was, ‘You’re old enough to make your own decisions, even if I think it's a mistake. But for God's sake, whatever you do, don’t embarrass me by marching in some parade with your ass hanging out of a pair of chaps or prancing around twirling a baton.’ That’s all he said. My mom took her cues from him and stayed quiet.”

“That sounds awful,” I said, then regretted my remark. He didn't need me to say the obvious.

“It wasn’t easy, but luckily, my sister was cool when I told her. She and I are close. We see each other regularly. But, whenever the family gets together for the holidays, it's the elephant in the room no one wants to acknowledge.”

The waiter returned with our second round of drinks. He made a big production of shaking the martini and pouring the drink into a glass. My wine didn't receive nearly as much attention – it must have been because I ordered the cheap house wine.

Compared to Brian's situation, I had no reason to complain. At least my dad just avoided talking to me about my sexual orientation – Brian's father sounded downright hostile towards him.

When the waiter left, I picked up where we left off in our conversation. I hoped it didn't make him uncomfortable, but his story had similarity to my own, and I wondered how he dealt with it. “So after your father said all that to you, what did you do? I mean, how do you go on after someone says something that harsh?”

“Same way I deal with everything, Jaysen. I put my shoulder to the wheel and work really hard to get what I want. I'm driven, which is probably my greatest strength and my greatest weakness. I've been like this for as long as I can remember. When I want something, I won't stop until I get it. Once my father wrote me off as a failure, I had it settled in my mind that I needed to prove my worth to him by succeeding in my career. I worked like a dog getting my real estate business set up. I’m just hoping that someday, I’ll be a success in his eyes and he’ll see me as his equal; not his inferior gay son.”

“Do you think he’ll ever get there,” I asked. A pained look shot across Brian’s face and I wished I could have retracted my question. A beat later, his face returned neutral and he softly answered, “I hope so.”

We were both silent for a while as we stuffed our mouths with food. I wondered if Brian regretted telling me about his family. Or worse, I wondered if he expected me to reciprocate, revealing all the deep dark secrets of the Marshall family. It wasn't my style to talk about my parents, and besides, there really wasn't that much to tell.

When my chicken was half gone, I changed the conversation up a bit. “Have you dated a lot of guys, Brian?”

“Well, truthfully, yes I have. I love dating. Hell, I love guys. But usually after the first few dates, I know if it's going to work out or not. I've really only had one long term boyfriend. It was in my younger days and I dated him for several years. He was actually my first boyfriend.”

“Did you break up with him or did he break up with you?”

“I broke up with him. I didn't make it any easier, though. He taught me a lot about life, about love. Over time, as the initial infatuation and excitement wore off, I could see the two of us were heading in different directions. We wanted different things from life.” Brian said it in a way that made me realize it was still a sensitive subject with him, so I didn't press the issue further.

While we ate, I wondered if this was typical for Brian. Our conversation seemed pretty intense for being a first date. I felt like I knew him on such a deep level. Maybe this was all part of adulthood, being able to hold personal conversations early on in a relationship. Or maybe it was Brian’s way of cutting to the chase, seeing if someone was compatible with him before he wasted his time and money on additional dates. If that was the case, I wondered how I was doing and whether there would be another date in the future or if I should enjoy my last few minutes with him before being cast aside with the other rejects.

At the end of dinner, the waiter brought out the bill. I attempted to grab it before Brian did, but he was too quick.

“You don’t have to pay for everything,” I said.

“I asked you out, it’s only fair.”

After dinner, Brian and I walked along Second Street checking out the different boutiques. Shopping typically didn't appeal to me, but with Brian, it was actually fun. He took delight in finding the uncommon. I liked seeing this side of him, which provided a different dimension to his personality. Up until now, I had the impression that he was a typical wealthy businessman, driven by the superficial: physical appearance, money, career. Seeing him get so excited about his little finds was downright adorable.

We made our way to a surf shop that carried an assortment of boards and gear. Neither of us surfed, but we both found different sections of the store that held our interest. Brian prowled among the racks and racks of T-shirts, while I checked out the sunglasses. The price tags hanging from the shades were a little more than what I was used to paying, so I left the store empty-handed. Brian managed to find a blue Quicksilver shirt to purchase.

After making it from one end of Second Street to the other, we were ready to sit down and relax. We found a little coffee shop near the Belmont Shore Pier and ordered two iced coffees, which Brian let me pay for. It didn't amount to much, but it did make me feel a little better that I could contribute to our night out.

Brian and I took our drinks and found a bench looking out to the water. We sat next to each other in silence, watching the waves roll in and out. A steady stream of people walked by us, but I was hardly aware of their presence. I was in my own world, enjoying my time with Brian and wanting it to last as long as possible.

When our night came to end, Brian stood and pulled me up from the bench. For a split second, he held my hand and the energy I felt between us was awesome. On our drive back to his condo, we exchanged few words. I couldn't tell if he was bored with me, if he was tired, or a little of both.

Brian pulled into the underground garage of his condo building and asked, “Do you want to come up for a while?”

The thought of spending more time with him was certainly tempting. But, I had already promised to help my mom with a project early on Sunday morning and I didn't want to let her down. Regretfully, I said, “I should get going. I promised my mother I would help her clear out the garage and collect junk for a group she volunteers with.”

“Oh, okay,” Brian said. He didn't even try to change my mind. Bummer.

Brian pulled his Rover behind my Civic. When he didn't say anything, I said, “Well, thanks for dinner.”

“I had a great time, Jaysen.”

I was ready to pull the handle on the door when Brian slid his right hand behind my neck and gently pulled my head towards his. Then he kissed me.

It was an odd sensation having the lips of another man on mine. It was certainly a moment I had fantasized about many times before. Still, I wasn't prepared at how it would actually feel. It was nice. Really nice.

In fact, it was probably a little too nice and I had sensory overload. Just as fast as the kiss started, I pulled away from him, grabbed the handle to the door and hopped out of his car. When I looked back at Brian, he was still leaning forward, expecting a much longer kiss. Sorry, it wasn't going to happen tonight.

“Well, thanks, again. Goodnight.”

“See you later, Jaysen.”