Mark moved the cigarette away from his lips, slowly, with a gesture that had to indicate he was thinking hard about something.
The room was in a half-light as the corners of night began to recede and the dust of dawn began to powder the sky.
What was it he could not remember?
That would be the key piece, the missing piece, he thought. The reason.
What had he said?
Everything was a blank.
Well it was nice anyway that who ever it was he had come home with had left him a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches ^Ö and a slip of paper with a phone number on it and a name.
He had not had any cigarettes by his bedside for over three years, and there he was, standing only in a pair of jeans by the window looking out at the falling snow and smoking a cigarette.
He rubbed his head and remembered the bar and the guy.
The guy from the bar had gone after Mark had passed out and he realized he'd been burned.
That was not so long ago. But it was before Mark woke up and sat forlornly looking at daybreak.
Mark was gorgeous. That was the first thing Tayler noticed when he saw him walk into a flood of rose light as he entered the bar. The exit sign was shining on the wall above the arch that framed him. He stood like a model on a runway.
Tayler let out a long sigh and wondered why a guy like that would get so fucked up.
He shut the radio and blew out the candle by his bedside.
Maybe it was from the beatings he'd taken in the army from guys who couldn't overcome their need to push their mouths onto his and devour his beauty, but not only his beauty. Maybe you could call it his energy. Maybe not.
It was his electricity they wanted. It had nothing to do with him. It was a force they desired and detested. Then desire turned to envy; envy turned to hatred; hatred gave way to disparagement, and disparagement became contempt. And so they beat him for his unworthiness.
I understood that people were monsters who deserved only my sneers, Mark said to Tayler, enjoying his words and taking a long swallow of his vodka sour.
He had just told him what happened to him in the army.
Not always, Tayler said, not wanting Mark to be talking like that, wishing he were speaking of love not war, wishing to hear the tenderness he needed to hear in his voice.
Not always, Tayler's words, hung between them.
Always, Mark said, intransigent.
Tayler put his hand out and took hold of Mark's shoulder, stubbing out his cigarette in the thick clear glass ashtray on the bar with his other hand.
You're really not so cynical are you?
I probably am, crossed Mark's mind, but the feeling of Tayler's hand on his shoulder had a content all its own that had nothing to do with what he was saying.
Tayler felt the life pulsing inside Mark as he held Mark's shoulder.
Mark was saying in return, with his whole body, welcome.
Tayler felt it and drew near.
As if moved by the force only of desire, which had united their wills in one purpose, their lips met, their tongues touched, their breaths mingled.
I want to go home with you, Tayler said.
Come, Mark said. I want you inside of me.
But it did not go that way.
Tayler would never take anybody in his sleep. He did not think of it that way. Nor did he think of it as making love, a phrase that just about embarrassed him. It was simply being with someone, you and him, knowing the thrilling quietness of a mutual humanity.
He looked at Mark, thrown upon the bed in only a pair of black satiny mini-boxers clinging to him. He kissed him lightly on the temple and covered him and quietly let himself out.
Mark found his note and melted when he read it. Tayler's sweetness filled his words. His words had the life of his body in them.
Now Mark remembered sitting with him in the rose light of the bar fascinated by the determination in his green eyes. His jaw was set, too. He was comfortable with himself, at home in his own skin.
Mark wanted to claw at him. His body only became calm when Tayler touched him.
He snuffed out the cigarette. And shook his head. No, there was no risk of that. That was that.
He brushed his teeth and gargled.
He picked up the piece of paper on the night-table as he passed his bed, only a towel around him, went into the living-room, and unplugged his cell phone from the charger.
He woke Tayler up.
I'm sorry," he said.
For what? Tayler said.
Falling asleep, Mark said sheepishly.
Oh, Tayler said. I thought it might be for waking me up.
I'm sorry for that, too, Mark said with a little dark purr in his voice. I'll call back later^Å.If that's ok.
No, no, it's ok. I'm up now. Stay on. Why are you calling? Not just to apologize?
No, Mark said. I want to see you again. I want to make it up to you.
You want to make it up to me?
Yeah.
Is that all??
I still want you inside me. Maybe I want to make it up to myself, too.
Meet me at the waterfront this afternoon.
Can't.
You can't?
It's not that I don't want to. I teach. How about tonight? Is later tonight, around nine good? So I can get myself together. You can come over for dinner.
I'd rather go out.
They met on St. Mark's Place outside The Taberna, a Greek place that Mark knew.
It had begun to snow. They both arrived in front of the restaurant at the same time and embraced. No one had to wait outside in the cold for the other, stamping his feet.
It's good to see you. I'm really sorry about last night, Mark said, a lovely smile gracing his face.
But Tayler was not having it and told him he had nothing to apologize for although he might have a lot to think about.
Like what? Mark asked without rancor.
Tayler drew in his breath.
Like what you keep avoiding.
What's that?
I don't know, Tayler said. It just seems to me you keep trying to blank something out.
You're so analytical, Mark said gently taking Tayler's cheeks in his palm and drawing his lips to him.
Not here, Tayler said.
And why not here? Mark said.
Look at your menu.
Octopus.
Octopus?
I like it, Mark said. And vine leaves. They're good here.
So they both had a vinegar drenched grilled octopus and stuffed vine leaves and Tayler liked them. But he was easy to please, anyhow.
Will you go with me next Friday night? Mark said.
You know what you're doing?
Yeah, being who I am. Openly, as they say.
Tayler shrugged.
Outside, the snow had begun to fall again.
Why else you want me to go?
Because I'm starting to feel like I need to be with you all the time. I'm complete only when I'm with you. Otherwise I'm missing something. Do you feel that way about me?
Do you think I'd surrender that kind of information to a sadist like you?
Torture will ope your lips.
So will kisses, Tayler said coming closer.
In that case, Mark said, but the rest of his words were smothered in a kiss.
They were like two Greek warriors horsing around, wrestling with each other on the plains of Troy. Naked, their bodies glinted bronze in the evening light. They looked as if they were still clad in breastplates. As the blazing sun inched its orange-saturated ball downwards, it fell behind the distant jagged mountains. Then it became impossible to distinguish between rock and the ether.
They strained their muscles in the simultaneous effort to seize and to evade until the force of the power that strove through them brought their lips together and the kiss only intensified their struggle.
Tayler gave an open-throated yawn and squeezed Mark's hand as they walked through the chill air of Manhattan in December.
I love you, Mark said.
It's mutual, Tayler said.
He meant it, but he was pessimistic. The surface often has a way of disappearing leaving you stuck somewhere that isn't anywhere.
He looked at Mark.
You don't believe me? Mark said, stopping in his tracks and turning a full half circle so that he was facing him
I don't know what to believe.
You'll believe what I tell you to believe.
Yes, Sir, Tayler said with a stifled grin, snapping to attention.
Mark leaned over and the warm breath of his whisper taunted Tayler's neck.
I really mean it, he said.
Time has a way of changing meaning, Tayler said with soft sadness in his voice. And desire has a way of vanishing in time.
Do you expect yours will?
I don't know.
They walked a little in silence until Tayler took Mark's hand.
Now it's my turn, he said, to ask for forgiveness.
For what? Mark said, truly puzzled.
For being a wet blanket.
Wet as you are, I'd love to crawl under you. Come home with me. We can have some hot rum and you can fuck me. I'm starting to feel you inside me already.
Tayler spotted a cab and hailed it. They sped through the city and got out in the urban pastoral of a snow-swept Washington Heights.
I want it to be always like this, Mark said, his arm wrapped around Tayler's bare shoulder, looking into his eyes. Always.
Tayler nodded his head and smiled wistfully, fleetingly and then kissed Mark gently on the lips. He understood that he was committing himself to something that was sure to get out of his control.
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