16
CHRIS
"When I say I intend to take you backstage, that's not an innuendo." As he escorted his companion up the steps at the side of the stage, Chris ran his thumb over the back of Frank's hand.
"Yes, I know. And when I tell you I've been backstage before, that isn’t one either It was a tour of the Theatre Royal as part of the English Heritage's Open House Weekend."
Humor and a string of sentences. Frank must be relaxing. The last time Chris had seen him, Frank appeared emboldened by alcohol and ready to do anything by the end of the evening. Chris could so easily have taken advantage. He certainly was tempted, but he didn't want Frank like that.
From the moment they met, Chris had liked Frank too much for a one-off drunken fumble, never to be mentioned in the future.
Completely sober was more interesting.
"Now that I've got you here, I realize there's nothing much to see." Chris pointed to a collection of crates. "That's my stuff over there."
All his work that was finished and unsold was packed away backstage. Some of it stored indefinitely, other pieces already chosen to send to China. The first and second shipments were ready to go.
The work for the Chinese expo would be sent separately because Chris was taking no chances on nothing arriving at all. If the whole lot went missing, an insurance payout wouldn't make up for the lost opportunity. He was already playing catch-up. Some of his peers had made in-roads to the lucrative Chinese art market a decade earlier when Chris was barred from entering the country.
As they came to a standstill amidst the stored artwork in the darkest part of the entire building, still holding hands, Frank moved close to Chris so that their arms touched.
"Thanks for showing me. So now I know you have crates." Frank released his hand and placed it on Chris's shoulder. He moved in front of Chris and placed his other hand on the other shoulder.
Taken by surprise and knowing what was about to happen, Chris forgot to breathe as his lips parted just in time.
Frank held Chris firmly and when their lips met, Frank slid his hands around Chris's back.
Chris melted under the touch.
No alcohol required.
Unlike the way he spoke, Frank’s kiss held no sign of hesitation. Their tongues met, and Chris tasted a flavor of perfect masculinity and longing. A taste that his whole body seemed to recognize as simply correct.
Chris had fully expected he'd be the one to take the initiative. He was pleased to be mistaken. He found himself absorbed in a moment when time stood still, everything was perfect, and this one kiss could be the only thing worth living for.
There was no sign of the hesitancy from when they first met, two days ago. No sign that this man was inexperienced with men, or that he had any doubt whatsoever.
Chris felt wanted and desired.
Most importantly of all, Frank was in control. He made a move. He took the initiative, and he stayed in control. When they broke apart, it was because Frank stepped back.
When he stepped away with large, black, dilated pupils, Frank's penetrating gaze didn't leave Chris's face. "Sorry, I interrupted whatever it was you were telling me. I just didn't want to wait any longer."
"If that's how you're going to interrupt, I'm not complaining. I don't think I was going to say anything more important."
Frank continued to stare. His mouth remained slightly open. And he seemed a little breathless. "I've been interested in everything you said. And, well, it's rude to interrupt."
Was that innuendo?
"I don't think I mind you being rude — and, yes, that is entirely intended as a suggestion for a future course of action."
"Shall we continue the tour then? If you're not going to throw me out for my rude behavior."
"On the contrary, I'm going to keep you closer now I know how you kiss. I want to find out just how much ruder you can get." Chris winked.
"Take it as a little encouragement. My way of telling you how much I'm enjoying the tour so far."
"I wish I had more to show you."
"I'm sure there's a lot more you can show me." Frank raised his eyebrows.
That was definitely innuendo.
At the thought of it, Chris face became hot. The reddening of his skin probably stayed concealed in the dim shadows of the poor stage lighting.
At a loss for words, not helped by the lack of blood circulating in his brain, which curtailed any quick-witted reply, Chris simply stared at the man in the shadows for a moment before resuming the tour. "So, as I was saying, this is our storage area. Let me take you out around our actual workplaces; be prepared to be underwhelmed."
"I'm already overwhelmed. Lead on, art boy."
There really was very little to show. There were few artists in the building, and most had locked their rooms. Not that Chris would have entered another person's space without permission. In fact, their door might be unlocked, for all he knew. There were shut doors, and they couldn't see any sign of life inside, that was all Chris needed to know. They stuck their heads in where doors were open and gazed through internal windows where office doors or walls had them. They'd passed Steph working; she hadn't seen them, and Chris wasn't about to interrupt her. They walked up the back stairs, past the offices, and were soon into the “public” space again.
Chris stepped back and gestured for Frank to enter the door marked dress circle. "This unlikely workspace is mine."
"You work on the top shelf. The balcony?"
Chris nodded.
Frank walked past and entered Chris's domain.
Along the steep slope down toward the edge of the balcony. most but not all of the seats had been removed. Work benches took their place. The entire setup on the slope appeared similar to the inside of Frank's shed.
"That's an interesting way to make use of the slope."
"When I need a big space I go down to the stalls. We share that area and the stage, but constructing something big really is very much the final stage in the process."
Chris turned right and walked along the flat walkway at the back, which was quite wide. He went to the far end, to an area that looked like a conventional office with a bookcase, a filing cabinet, and a desk. There were also a couple of easels, two white boards on the wall, a cork board, and a flip chart on a stand.
"This is where business stuff happens. I work on the ideas and store them here." Chris swung his arm around to indicate the work benches on the slope where people would have once sat. "And then I make miniatures or test parts. I do that over there." Chris walked down a few steps to the nearest bench, where he had work in progress. "Take these, for example."
Frank followed, his eyes examining the items on the table.
Chris flicked on a lamp. Brilliant, intense daylight shone upon the work. Where they stood the workbench was the perfect height.
"I don't wish to offend, but you weren't kidding when you said your work looks like junk. I can imagine the cleaner sweeping all this up and putting it in the rubbish bin." Frank picked up a tiny glass tile; it was about two inches square. "Not this, though. This is very delicate."
Chris laughed. "No offense taken, and indeed most of this is rubbish. These are simply prototypes. I'm testing the glue and shapes to see how they will work together. The piece that you are holding, I cut and engraved it myself. Again, another test piece. I have ideas in my mind for how these things should work, but I have to try out miniature pieces of glass to see if I can recreate what's in my mind. A large part of my time goes into making these experiments, which really are junk and may well be thrown away tomorrow. The final product might be a hundred times as big."
"A hundred times? Wow."
"I might be exaggerating. You know how we men like to."
Frank chuckled.
"Anyway, I've nothing really to show you. I'm working toward an exhibition and taking some stuff to China in February. Then I've got a big exhibition in London next year. The date is not a hundred percent set, but it will be in at least nine months time: May, or June."
"So these are all bits of glass. Do you just work with glass?"
"I'm working with glass now and I have been for a while. The important thing is to make something commercial to pay the bills. Something unique, amazing, and impressive that people will want to see and remember. And something completely different that people can afford and will want to take home. Just like George Lucas and his Star Wars toys, we artists find merchandising can be an important money spinner. Postcards and books are traditional. Tracey Emin and others have done T-shirts. I produce paperweights."
"Paperweights?" Frank muttered.
"Yes. They are little and affordable. Everyone who comes to my exhibition, who couldn't possibly buy the main thing because they couldn't afford it and they wouldn't have anywhere to put it, they can buy a paperweight. Small, beautiful, practical, and the perfect gift."
Frank looked confused. "You make paperweights?"
"No. I design them and commission them, and they are mass produced in a factory."
"Oh." Frank looked impressed and thoughtful. "Have you thought of snow globes?"
It was Chris's turn for confusion.
"Snow globes are brilliant. They're collector's items in themselves and could link well to this glass theme that you've got going on. And you can put miniature things in snow globes, such as tiny examples of your big things."
"I'm impressed. I'm going to look into that. And if I can afford to take on a marketing guru, I'll think of you for the job."
Frank snapped out a reply. "That's okay, I only need a small commission, and my ideas are all yours."
"What about dinner? I've spent the day in my kitchen, so I'm hoping you'll come home with me for dinner."
Chris hoped he'd say yes. Frank was a refreshing contrast to many of the men in Chris's life. There were people like Jeremy who had dismissed the work Chris did in his studio as a hobby, or some of the more recent men who'd pursued Chris as if interested in him just because they thought he must be a good catch: A solvent man who owned his own home and held some celebrity status in the small world of British artists.
Frank was pretty much unlike anyone else. Interesting, charming, funny, and all wrapped up in a very attractive package. He was down to earth and humble, not trying too hard to impress.
There was some kind of special chemistry that drew Chris to Frank in a way he couldn't explain.
The way he looked at Chris suggested he was interested, but Frank's body language also suggested reticence. Just as on the first day they met, Chris received mixed messages from Frank. He wasn't one hundred percent on board with the seduction thing, but Chris wasn't sure why.
"Dinner sounds great. Yes, I'd love to come." He looked pleased to accept the invitation, but underneath there was a lingering sense that he might easily scare and run away. Possibly because he had so recently been in a long relationship that turned sour, or because of the first-time-gay thing. On the one hand, this made Frank an exciting challenge, but on the other, well, Chris didn't need challenges like that in his life.