September 2019
Mark pulled up in front of Dan's apartment. That afternoon he had taken his truck to the car wash and then had vacuumed the interior. It was during times like this that Mark wished he had a car; he didn't want to be seen as a red-neck pulling up in a truck on his first date. Mark saw Dan walk out of his apartment door, and he caught his breath. Mark had decided that Dan wasn't the most classically handsome man in the world, but there was an air of humility and serenity about him that was captivating. His features were symmetrical and his short brown hair complimented his looks. Mark didn't think he looked like anyone he had ever met. There was no Irish, Scottish, or English inbreeding with this man. His golden eyes sparkled. There was a grace about his gait as if he was touching the ground on every other step. There was nothing effeminate about him but he wasn't entirely masculine either. Dan was Dan. Mark decided he was exotic looking and absolutely beautiful.
Mark was wearing his best khakis, button-down blue oxford cloth shirt, navy blazer, and Weejuns, which was the typical dress-up fashion for men in his part of the world. Dan had on a pair of black slacks, a close-fitting white shirt, a multi-color tweed blazer that had the sleeves rolled up, a scarf wrapped around his neck, and he wore ankle boots. It was obvious he didn't purchase his clothes in central North Carolina.
Mark jumped out and walked around the front of the truck. He opened the door for Dan. Dan easily pulled himself into the truck and settled into his seat. Mark reopened the driver's door and got in. He couldn't wipe the smile from his face. He looked over and his smile was mirrored by Dan's.
"Okay, Captain. Where are we eating tonight?"
"Head down Route 15-501 to Route 54 and head east. I heard there is a good restaurant, so I called and reserved a table for us."
As Mark steered the truck onto Route 54, Dan pointed to his left, and Mark pulled the truck into the parking lot. Mark knew of the restaurant. It was one of the best steak houses in the area. When they got out, Dan grabbed Mark's hand as they walked across the parking lot. Mark was okay with Dan taking the lead. He grinned at himself, thinking that he was okay with holding Dan's hand in public.
The maŒtre d took them to their table, which was a two-top in a corner. This would allow the two men plenty of privacy during their meal. Mark looked at the menu and swallowed hard. The restaurant prices were some of the highest in the area. He and the kids didn't eat at such upscale restaurants. Luckily, he had a credit card with him. Mark ordered a bourbon and branch to start the night. Dan demurred and said he would just be drinking wine. Mark questioned whether he should have ordered his drink. After talking about the offerings and hearing the nightly specials, Dan asked if he could order for both of them. Mark said he would be honored if Dan would order. He then wondered if he would be hungry later.
The waiter appeared. Dan handed him the menus and then ordered Tuna Tartare, Filet Mignon, saut‚ed asparagus, mushroom ragout, and risotto followed by a baby lettuce salad with balsamic vinaigrette. Dan then said they would do the trio of house sorbets to finish the meal. Dan ordered a bottle of French Bordeaux wine. The waiter clarified that they wanted two servings of each dish ordered. Dan apologized that he wasn't clear, but said they would be sharing each of the a la carte items. The waiter gave them an odd look, and Mark thought the waiter was calculating a smaller tip because of the reduced amount of food.
During the meal, Mark realized what a limited range of foods he had eaten in life. It started when the tuna tartare arrived. Mark waited for Dan to take the first bite of the raw fish. He watched Dan's face, and after he saw a smile, he decided to take a nibble. He felt so middle class at that point. A look of surprise, and then a smile came to his face after letting the fish settle in his mouth. Dan glowed. The plate was clean when the waiter returned. Dan had ordered the steak cooked rare. Mark was thinking about foodborne illness. His father had always grilled the steaks and they were dry and tough, but no one ever got food poisoning. Mark took the lead and shaved two slices for them. The B‚arnaise sauce was the perfect complement.
The pace of their eating was slow and thoughtful as they sampled each of the dishes. The mushroom ragout was a revelation to Mark. He knew he couldn't pick up the plate and lick it clean, but his desire was to do precisely that. The new tastes were overwhelming, and he felt himself opening to Dan, and expressing how much he was enjoying the food.
"You order for us from now on."
"Thank you. I hope we have many more meals together."
When the waiter placed the salad on the table, Mark thought that one ate a salad before the meal. His mother had always put lots of blue cheese dressing on the salad to cover up the taste of the greens. When Mark took the first bite, he realized how refreshing the salad was after eating foods with such complex flavors. He could only smile at the amazing man sitting at the table with him. Dan asked the waiter to give them a few minutes before he brought the sorbet so they could sit back in their chairs, relax, and digest the delicious food. They talked about how the chef had prepared the different dishes and the new taste sensations for Mark. Leisurely dining was a new concept for Mark. Dan caught the waiter's eye and nodded his head; a large white plate with the trio of sorbet was placed in front of them. They each tasted the choices. Mark said he wanted a gallon of each to take home. They laughed easily. Expresso and then Calvados Brandy finished the meal.
The waiter brought the check and handed it to Dan. Dan didn't flinch when he saw the total. He pulled out a credit card.
"Let me leave a tip."
Dan only shook his head.
"My treat tonight."
Mark was gracious enough to know not to argue. He figured that Dan, being a surgeon, made much more money than he did even though he was doing alright. Mark had always taken money for granted. There was enough for what he wanted, not thinking that his needs and desires had been shaped by the money he had. Mark asked if he was ready to leave, and Dan smiled and said yes. When Dan stood, Mark pulled him forward, and they kissed. Dan leaned into Mark and smiled.
"Faggots. God damn, you can't go out to eat without some faggots kissing in public."
Mark was startled to hear such comments. He straightened, and looked at the man who had made the comments. Mark couldn't decide whether to snarl at him or to melt into the floor. Dan grabbed Mark's hand and started speaking to the man in French. Dan was imperious, and the man shrunk back even though he didn't understand a word directed his way. Dan had become the aristocrat talking to the bourgeoise. In this French Revolution, the aristocrat won. Dan gently leaned in and kissed Mark again. Mark couldn't get his feet to work as he wanted to flee, so Dan took the lead, grabbed Mark's hand, and led him toward the door. The maŒtre d had not heard the comments and wished them a good night. Mark was shaking when they walked outside until Dan held him close and told him it was okay.
"Don't let him ruin our beautiful evening. He is a swine. Tonight has been perfect; you are perfect. Look at me, Mark."
Mark did, and then Dan leaned in and kissed him again.
"Can we go back to the lake?"
"Of course, it will be pitch black out there, but that is cool with me."
Mark started the truck and drove a leisurely route through the city as he headed north. He had grown up in the area and knew all of the backroads. When they pulled up to the beach, Mark stopped the truck, grabbed a blanket, and took Dan's hand as they walked to their pine tree.
Mark sat and pulled Dan back into his chest.
"Thank you for a wonderful meal. That was incredible."
"You are welcome. It is nice to have a civilized night out. Tonight has been a rare occurrence for me since moving to Durham."
"Tell me more about you."
Dan pulled Mark's arms tighter around his chest and sighed.
"It is not a pretty story, so I need for you to let me tell my story without you interrupting. Okay?"
"Turnabout is fair play. I promise to listen."
They settled with Dan wrapped in Mark's arms.
"I was born in Algiers. My father was a Pied-Noir and my mother was French. My father studied architecture in Paris; his family had money and prestige in Algeria, so he had access to the best education. He was in his senior year of studies at the Sorbonne when he met my mother. She was smitten. My mother was a graduate student in archeology. They fell in love. My mother's parents were outraged that she was marrying an Algerian, and to make it even worse, he was Jewish. My father was from an ancient line of Algerian Jews, and my mother's family was old French Catholic. They married in France and immediately left for Algiers. The family reception in Algiers was not as welcoming as they hoped it would be. My father's sisters tried to exclude my mother from all family activities. After all, she was Catholic. Mother tells me that she and my father were very much in love. They were part of the emerging haute society that developed in Algiers after the country had gained independence from France in 1962. My father renovated a grand old home in a historic neighborhood by the sea, and they moved in and held parties. Having an invitation to one of their parties was coveted. Both native Algerians and French expatriates enjoyed themselves when my parents entertained. It was a very artistic, academic crowd.
My father's family begrudgingly accepted my mother when she became pregnant. It was essential to carry on the family line. My mother was more warmly received after giving birth to a boy. Heaven knows what would have happened if I had been born a girl. When I was two years old, my father flew to Cairo on business. The plane went down, and nobody survived. The cause was never determined. There was a lot of fighting along the coast as the North African countries threw off the shackles of European dominance. My father's sisters always alluded to some nefarious scheme that caused his death.
I grew up in a primarily matriarchal family. My father's mother and aunts were insistent that I be reared as an Algerian Jew. They fought with my mother, but she had the upper hand: she had her own money and was independent. She threatened to return to France, and then none of them would ever see me again. I remember they reached a point of d‚tente when I was in my eighth year of school. My uncle, Samuel, my father's only brother, had grown weary of the catfights among the women. He was a quiet, mild-mannered man. He was a librarian and used all of his energy to rescue old Jewish and Hebrew texts and scrolls from synagogues that had closed across all of North Africa. The synagogues closed after the creation of the nation of Israel. Most of the countries kicked out all of the Jews, so the houses and synagogues were taken over by the government. I digress. Anyway, I liked my uncle. He wore these little glasses and always had on a black suit and a yarmulke. I think he probably wore his suit to bed. He met with my mother about my future, then met with the women in the family and told them what life would be like moving forward. He was a quiet-spoken man, and he only said things once. He was the head of the family, and thus they obeyed him. When it was time for college, I went to Paris. I spoke Parisian French, but I didn't look French. I wasn't chic. I wasn't urbane. I was seen as a foreigner even though I had French citizenship. I was called Pied-Noir by the Parisians - they didn't bother to learn my name. My French grandparents tolerated me. I overheard my grandmother calling me unkind names to the maid because of my African and Jewish blood. They were very prejudiced. I depended on them and never let them know that I heard what they said about me. I was their only grandchild. I took their last name of Lillie when I was in France. I was Daniel Lillie L'Oranaise when I was in Algeria.
I finished school and then started medical school. I had a small apartment near university and rode a bicycle. It was during my senior year in college that my mother was diagnosed with cancer. She had always been a heavy smoker. She would sit on the patio and smoke pack after pack of those nasty Gauloises. I flew to Algiers and saw a shell of the woman who had raised me. She told me to go back to Paris and to make her proud by being a surgeon. In her mind, a surgeon was much better than being just a doctor. She wanted my father's family to be envious of what I had achieved. She died the following summer. I went to Algiers, buried her in the Jewish cemetery beside my father, and closed up the house. I couldn't decide what to do with it - it was where I grew up and I could not get rid of it. I have someone living in the guest house, and he makes sure the property is not vandalized when I am not there. He works in the Casbah and has a free place to live. He and I have been quite satisfied with the arrangement.
I finished medical school. I had been so determined to make my mother proud that I finished top in my class. Immediately after graduation, I was offered a job in Paris. I was also offered a position in Algeria. My heart and brain were constantly fighting over what to do. I convinced the medical school to affiliate with a hospital in Algiers, to make it a teaching hospital, and I flew down for one week of every month to see patients and teach students. It was the best of both worlds. It helped that I was ploy-glot. My uncle, the librarian, made sure I knew Hebrew, Farsi, as well as Portuguese, French, Spanish, and English."
"When the fellowship at Duke opened, I thought it was an opportunity to learn some new skills and new technology that we did not have in Paris. It also provided me an excuse to travel. My life had become so busy that I had no time to explore the world. The job at Duke was probably a step down in some ways, but I didn't care. I now have my grandparent's home in Paris, I have a wonderful home and my father's family in Algiers, and yet I live in a squalid studio apartment in Durham." Dan laughed as he said that.
"I still ride a bicycle everywhere. I don't need a car or a big truck. I take the Metro in Paris. I have a motorbike in Algiers. My life is good."
They sat in silence.
"So, how long will you be here?"
"It is an eighteen-month fellowship, and I started on July 1st. I can leave before the eighteen months, but I will miss out on some important aspects of what I want to learn. I can extend the fellowship to a maximum of two years, but not beyond that. I have jobs in Paris and Algiers that are giving me time away, and they expect me to return and apply these newly learned skills."
"So, we can only be together until you return to Paris. Dan, it will break my heart, and I can't deal with another broken heart. Belinda already loves you. I can't do this to myself, Robert, or Belinda."
"You could always move to Paris and Algiers with me. I have money. I can support us. Robert and Belinda would love it. Any capital city has such much to offer - but both Paris and Algiers are remarkable. The international communities would be intriguing for you and the children. Belinda would be at her best in inviting those people to visit our home."
Mark had not considered that as a possibility until Dan said it. Mark thought of Linda and all of the things she had taught him. He was a willing student. A new horizon opened for Mark that had never been within his wildest imagination. They sat in silence. It was too early in their dating life for him to think about moving to Paris, much less Algiers. Mark changed the subject.
"So, now I know why your skin and hair are dark, but you don't look African."
"I am African. Through and through. I am more African than French. Does that bother you?"
"No, I don't think so. I would describe you as Jewish looking or North African, not really African."
"Are you going to be like my grandmother? Mark, I hope you are better than that."
"I am fine. I like you, Dan, the person. Whether you are French or African or American or Asian, it doesn't matter. I like you."
Mark was unsettled but was trying not to let it show. He knew if they dated, the question would come up about Dan's heritage and Mark didn't know if he could say he was dating an African man. Perhaps we could say North African, which was viewed as less offensive in North Carolina. He wasn't sure about the inherent racism that he carried. He never thought of himself as racist, yet his stomach was churning that he was dating a mixed-race man.
They left the lake and went to the Mill House. Dan and Mark made love for the first time, and they found each other willing and open. They instinctively knew what the other needed. Mark hadn't conceived of the possibility that he could be so turned on by a man who had sharp planes on his body where with a woman, there would be soft curves. Mark thought he was wrestling with a very masculine angel who was his match. Dan wasn't quite like Jacob, who wrestled with an angel all night. After all, Dan wasn't God, but Mark was already putting Dan on a pedestal. How did one fall completely in love so quickly?
Dan fell asleep immediately after kissing Mark good night. He threw his arm across Mark's chest and snuggled in close. Mark did not sleep for the rest of the night. He kept doing mental gymnastics about making love to a man, dating a man who identified as African, dating a Jew, and how to rationalize these issues to himself and others. He knew he was overthinking what was happening. Dating a man was so new yet satisfying. He craved Dan's touch. The entire evening had been a revelation about possibilities. He thought about the man in the restaurant who called him a faggot. He remembered being upset with Linda when she bought a black dildo for them to use. He asked her if there were dildos that had skin tones, and she quickly told him that brown was a skin tone. He replied that she knew what he meant, and she was trying to twist his words. She didn't scold him, but she took out her frustration while she worked his ass. He was begging for mercy that night, but he refused to say the safe word. She kept going until they were both covered in sweat. When he spontaneously ejaculated all over his chest, she climaxed, and they fell into each other's arms. The second time they made love that night, he didn't care about the color of the dildo. He was more worried about the simple act of walking the next day. Now he was dating someone who identified as African and was part Jewish and was a MAN. So went the tautological thought processes most of the night until Mark chuckled as he remembered the Principle of Occam's Razor. It was like someone turned on the light switch for him. Attraction was a simple construct, and he was trying to make it painful and complicated. He turned on his side and pulled Dan to him. He kissed Dan's shoulder blades and was finally at peace.
As the sun sneaked above the stand of trees in the east, Mark finally fell asleep. He awoke when he heard voices in the kitchen, and there was the smell of bacon cooking. The smell of bacon frying was like a siren's call that exploded in his senses. He stumbled into the bathroom and realized that he looked like hammered shit. He peed, washed his face, and cleaned his teeth. When he stepped into the kitchen, he found Dan and Belinda stirring pancake batter. Dan gave him a loving look, kissed him, handed him a cup of coffee, and told him to waken Robert so they could eat breakfast together.
Belinda led the conversation at breakfast. She and Dan laughed and joked with each other. They naturally took to each other; she giggled as she fed him a bite of pancake. Dan's joy was incredible. Mark's brain was too foggy from not sleeping to keep up with their joyful banter. Robert kept giving Dan and Belinda a sideways glance and would then glare at Mark. As soon as he finished eating, Robert excused himself and asked if he could visit with Joe. Mark saw the tears in Robert's eyes as he ran out of the front door. Mark started with his mental gymnastics again so he could explain things to Robert and then stopped his brain. He would be straightforward and simple. Mark didn't need to complicate things for his children when enough obstacles were being thrown their way. The simple truth was he found someone with whom he was falling in love.
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