38
CHRIS
Preparation for The Glass Ceiling exhibition in London dominated Chris's life, so he buried himself in his work after the party. The distraction suppressed the poisonous pot of toxic emotions that percolated. Righteous indignation trampled down by disappointment and regret had left him upset and hurt.
Work buried him.
He did not dwell on fantasies about what he wished had happened that night, or since, or what he wanted to say to Frank.
The feeling of justified anger didn't emerge, as if all that emotion had been soaked and redirected in response to Jeremy's persistent requests to meet up.
Everything about Jeremy still churned up a simmering annoyance. Even though years had passed since they dated, when Jeremy steadily chipped away at Chris's belief in his artistic visions. Jeremy repeatedly dismissed Chris's talent and undermined his self-confidence with a flow of negative energy.
On entering the house, thoughts of art disappeared from Chris's mind. Pushed out by the distractingly delicious scent of Frank: a pleasant mixture of oak and fruit. Chris wanted to gulp in deep mouthfuls of air and bask in Frank's intoxicating presence.
Adjusting to the light in the hallway, Chris noticed they passed beneath shelves fixed to the wall at a high level, constructed from beautiful pieces of shaped wood such that the only straight edge was the one flush to the wall. The other sides complemented the grain. Even some bark remained on display. The shelves were not just functional but decorative pieces of furniture, or art. Coats, scarves, and empty coat hangers hung from a series of hooks. Boots and shoes lined the foot of the wall.
Walking with purpose, Frank didn't linger in the hall but walked straight through. Chris followed him into a long room. In the nineteenth century, it would have been two tiny rooms that were easy to heat. Post-war, a knocked-through larger space was typical in these bijou terraced houses.
"Take a seat." Frank gestured but remained standing.
Many single men of their age preferred faddish minimalism: open space, sleek coordination, and one or two amazing art pieces. It wasn't Chris's style and evidently not a fashion favored by Frank either. The absence of matching seating symmetrically arranged around a fireplace or wide-screen television helped Chris feel instantly at home. The smell of fresh cut wood and handcrafted furniture permeated the unconventional sitting room. Cluttered with unique items, the room felt like an artist's den. And Chris had many friends who lived in places just as unusual as this one.
"Dust collectors."
"Pardon?" Frank looked confused.
"Dust collectors." Chris walked across the room to a display cabinet.
On display, a bizarre collection of ornaments hinted at exotic travels. Some artisan, from colorful blown glass to carved wood and textiles. Chris couldn't help but focus on the most kitsch of ornaments, the type he would expect to find in his grandmother's house, not the home of a young single man. He was particularly drawn to a shell lady figurine complete with Victorian hooped dress and a parasol, wholly crafted from shells.
"That's what my mother would call these things. She has very few knick knacks in her house. She looks after my grandmother who has every surface covered in dust collectors like this. Granny has a display of plates on a shelf around the top of one room and in another room, old original Corgi cars, you know the toys. They are on the shelf around the top of the room." Chris dragged his gaze from the ornaments and cast his eyes over the rest of the room before fixing his sight on Frank. "You have lovely furniture. Did you make any of it?"
"I've made a lot of the things in this room. These two chairs I bought." Frank waved his hand at the two matching armchairs. Although they looked well upholstered and incredibly comfortable, they also had unique wooden frames. "Sit down and try them out. Can I get you a drink?"
"I'd certainly like a drink with you, Frank; I wouldn't be here if I didn't. But first, can we address the elephant in the room?" Chris sat down in one of the armchairs.
"I wasn't sure if you'd noticed him." Frank strode across to the shelves where Chris had been looking only a moment earlier. He picked a black elephant off one of the lower shelves. “I bought this on a trip to Africa. I've always liked collecting bits and pieces made by the local people on my travels." His eyes twinkled, and he smiled. "I was delighted with this elephant because it's made from dogwood. And guess how I know?" The rising intonation suggested a question and Frank paused, waiting for an answer.
"Because you spoke to the person who made it?"
Frank shook his head. "You can always tell dogwood by the sound of its bark."
And he chuckled. The joke barely deserved a groan but Frank's titters escalated into a bellowing, loud laugh. Chris giggled, appreciating Frank's infectious humor.
Frank's expression turned serious. "This isn't the elephant you were talking about, though, is it?"
A rhetorical question. Chris didn't respond.
"I'm really sorry about how I stormed off the other day. I should have talked to you. I jumped to the worst conclusions. The very worst possible conclusions. And I didn't take a minute to find out the truth or your side of things. I'm truly sorry."
"You stormed off last week. So what's happened between last Saturday and today?" Chris asked.
"I went and got tested. I found out about HIV. I had a lot to learn. To be honest, I was pretty ignorant." Frank sat down in the other armchair. He didn't sit back. He leaned forward toward Chris. "At the clinic, I told them I'd been with someone who was HIV positive and they asked me questions I couldn't answer, about medication and being undetectable. You are uninfectious, aren't you?"
"You weren't at risk, Frank. I wouldn't do that to you or anyone. I'd never put someone at risk."
Frank nodded. "I know. Once I found out more, I realized that."
"Undetectable." Chris nodded. "I have been for years. I take a pill each day and forget about it."
Frank moved further forward until he perched on the very edge of his seat. "Chris, it feels like I'm always asking you for a second chance, and I hope you'll give me one. I'd say I won't do another stupid thing to mess things up in the future, but I don't suppose you'll believe that because I can't guarantee it."
"After that dogwood joke, how can I resist you?" Chris leaned forward. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Sure it was good to have a conversation and to receive an apology for the way Frank stormed off.
But…
"I should be the one apologizing to you for not telling you." Chris stared down at his feet. "I can't lie. If we could go back in time, I wouldn't have told you any sooner. I've had too many bad experiences after guys find out. From sympathy to keeping me at arm's length to running and not looking back."
"Well, you didn't deserve that, and all those guys are jerks. Including me. I didn’t know anything about HIV; I treated you like a leper. And I don’t know anything about leprosy either, come to think of it. I should stop jumping to conclusions about things that I know nothing about. I vaguely remember hearing on the news that people with HIV lived normal lives now and don't expect to die young, but I had no idea that we could fuck without condoms and it would be fine." Frank blushed as he seemed to realize what he'd said after he'd said it.
With a smirk, Chris mumbled, "It'd be more than fine." He enjoyed seeing Frank blush.
Fucking Frank with or without latex protection appealed greatly. Top or bottom. It was a vision Chris could do without right then, but it was too late to stop it.
"You are moving things along a bit fast when we haven't even had a drink yet," Chris added to defuse the situation.