9
FRANK
As he had since they'd met, Frank continued to watch Chris, who led the way from the café. With long straight hair touching his shoulders and a geometric-patterned button-down shirt that was so loud it cried out for attention, he wouldn't have looked out of place on a building site. Many of the men Frank worked with appeared equally unconventional. Earlobe stretchers, tattoos, and colorful Mohawk hairstyles were so common in construction they barely qualified as an individualistic fashion statement.
Chris would fit in as one of the guys, and yet stand out as different. Mostly because of the way he talked and something very subtle that Frank couldn't explain. Probably because he was an artist and not a builder. Possibly it was a gay vibe thing.
They'd met each other by chance instead of through messages on a dating website, and Frank had a good feeling about Chris. He liked him.
Outside the café, as they approached the row of parked cars, the lights flashed on a black Range Rover with darkened tinted windows. Chris must have clicked on the key fob because a moment later he opened the boot and put his iPad in it.
"Do you want to put yours in here too?"
Without replying, Frank lay his tablet down next to Chris's. Alongside an odd collection of things that were neatly organized in little boxes. Frank didn't want to pry, but he couldn't help noticing assorted art materials, an acetylene welding torch, plus offcuts of copper and plastic tube. And he spotted the cherished number plate, C1 ART, which concealed the age of the car.
"Nice car," Frank said. It was an understatement.
"It's a big car for a single man, but I quite often have to move some big stuff in it for work. When all the seats are down, it's like a van."
It was nothing like a van. It was everything like one of the most expensive cars you could buy that is practical and not a sports car.
Sitting in the passenger seat, Frank took in the luxury around him. The seats were as comfortable as armchairs; his back thanked him for the lumbar support. When the engine came to life, so did the interior. Ambient mood lighting created a magical glow all around. The digital dashboard that lit up in front was more akin to the controls of a futuristic spaceship than any car Frank had ever driven.
Any preconceptions about Chris dropped away. An ordinary bloke scraping by and hardly making a bean from art couldn't drive a car like this. There was nothing in his appearance, the way he spoke, or the things he said that suggested he would drive such an expensive vehicle. Either he’d modestly inherited a tidy sum, or he was making far more money as an artist than Frank imagined possible.
Their destination was too far away to walk, but at this time of day it took little more than five minutes to drive. It was a short and uneventful journey, during which the men talked about cars.
"This is nothing like a van," Frank said. "I drive a van for work." He had to stop himself from mentioning scaffolding and remember he'd claimed carpentry as a career. It was just a small white lie. He didn't mind revealing he was a construction worker but was wary of giving too much detail about himself to a total stranger; one who knew he'd set up a profile as a man seeking men on a dating website.
"Agreed, it's not exactly a van, but serves that purpose for me. I more often have the seats down and strange objects in the back than I ever have passengers. Do you have a car as well as a van?"
Frank shifted in his seat. He didn't have a van, he drove commercial vehicles for Sky High Scaffolds and had inadvertently given Chris the wrong impression.
"No. I haven’t got a car."
Most of the time Frank would leave it at that. He didn't waste words and favored the shortest possible sentences. He knew he'd have to make more of an effort to communicate if any man was going to be interested in him. And so far it seemed Chris could be that man. "I don't need a car at the moment. It's easy enough to get everywhere I need to go from my house. And I have my weekly shopping delivered."
They soon arrived in the parking lot of the modern commercial district, surrounded by retail and eatery establishments. The multi-screen cinema itself was presumably not busy as there was ample parking nearby. They got out of the car and slowly strode over to peruse their options.
Chris checked his watch. "Whatever time the program starts, the actual film will begin about twenty minutes later. I'm stating the obvious in case you don't come here often."
"I come here often enough. I know we get twenty minutes of adverts and trailers. Time to start on a barrel of popcorn. You hungry?"
"A little. I'd love a hot dog." He glanced at Frank. "I mean that. I'm not being suggestive."
Used to suggestive and filthy male banter, Frank smiled. He didn't mind innuendo. "I wouldn't mind seeing The Mechanic." He pointed at the poster.
"Suicide Squad looks good too," said Chris. "It's been out quite a few weeks."
"I'm free all day. We could watch both, depending on the times. Let's go in and find out."
A few minutes later, laden down with tickets and cinema food, they made their way to the back row in screen number eight. They were alone in the room. They sat in the extra large VIP seats toward the back. They placed the bucket of popcorn on the floor between them while they tucked into their hot dogs, and nachos coated in melted cheese.
With long, delicate fingers, Chris carefully picked at the messy meal. "I'm pleased they leave the lights on low while the adverts are on so we can see our food. I mean I know where my hands and my mouth are, but it's still easier to eat when you can see what you're doing."
His hands looked soft, and Frank longed to touch them.
While watching his companion via side glances, Frank ate too. "You think you've got problems. I'm wearing a plain white T-shirt, which is practically like a bullseye for dribbles when eating like this. At least you're wearing a brightly patterned shirt to hide the fact you've thrown mustard, ketchup, and cheesy sauce down it.."
Chris chuckled. "Noted. When we leave at least I'll be able to remember you as you once were. A man with a clean T-shirt."
The lighting dimmed, but not to complete darkness. Not yet.
In the safety of a lonely public place, where there was no one to overhear, Frank plucked up the courage to say a few things that he wasn't sure he could say if they could actually see each other clearly. Something he'd never thought he'd say to a man. "Is this a date?"
Chris grinned. An excruciatingly long time seemed to pass until he spoke. "It can be if you want it to be. Or we could just be friends. Friends watching a film."
Frank wiped his hands on his paper napkin. "I think I'd like a date. But first I have to tell you something. A bit of a confession."