17
FRANK
It felt good to get back into the natural light outside from the dank, dark innards of the former cinema building, even though the day was nearing sunset.
Frank took in a big breath and exhaled slowly. "I didn't think it was going to be so shabby on the inside."
"I know what you mean; it's a stark contrast to the grand external façade."
Together they stood on the street and looked at the building.
"You're telling me, but it was great to see where you work. Thank you."
"My pleasure. I've shown you mine. I'd love to see where you do your creative work."
Frank waved a hand dismissively. "It’s just a shed in my backyard."
Chris pouted. "I'd still like to see it. After all, you've seen my dark and damp cinema."
"That's the smell."
"We try to mask it with incense, strong cleaning products, and perfume, but we can never fully cover up that pungent undertone." Chris nodded. "It's okay, Frank. I'm not asking you to take me back to your place right now. In fact, I thought I'd tempted you back to my place for something tasty. Remember, I told you, I've been slaving over a hot stove for much of the day. Come on." With a slight jerk of his head, Chris indicated the way to his car and Frank made to walk alongside.
"What have you been cooking?"
"Baking."
Chris didn't look like the sort of man who had a passion for baked goods. He was not as scrawny as some of the younger scaffolders, but he wasn't overweight either.
"Do you do a lot of cooking?"
"Baking. Yes. To great protests from my friends. Although I pay scant regard to them because they all come running when I tell them I need someone to eat the fruits of my labor." Chris held his key fob in front of him, and a little way ahead, lights on a large black car flashed.
"Do you like cooking? I mean baking."
"Yes, I suppose I do. I like creating something that people enjoy. We have to eat, and we all love nice food."
"What exactly have you been baking?"
"Cakes. Don't worry; I'm not inviting you back to eat cake, Marie Antoinette style. The cakes are for a party tomorrow."
They paused the conversation while Chris walked into the road to reach the driver's side and Frank slipped into the passenger seat.
The traffic was more snarled than the previous time they'd driven together. Despite the congested roads, Frank knew it wouldn't take long to get to Chris's house. Any one place in town was never too far from another. From Frank's home, the harbor was quite a long way to walk but no distance in a car.
When the vehicle was moving safely with the flow of traffic, Frank asked, "You're having a party?"
"My friends, Colin and Greg, are having a party. They live in a tiny house but have a rather big garden. They've even got an outdoor kitchen, the whole kit and caboodle. A cooktop, grill, sink, fridge, and granite worktop. So they make the most of it in the summer months. I'm getting this around the wrong way; I intended to ask: if you've got nothing on tomorrow, perhaps you'd like to come with me? It's nothing fancy, just hanging out with friends in a garden, having a barbeque, drinking a few beers."
"And eating cake."
"Eating cake, that's right. As I said, I wanted to ask you, but I thought we should get a little bit further into today's date first."
So this is a date, thought Frank, and I'm going back to a guy's house. This is really happening. A guy who appears to be a successful artist, with a flash car, who lives in a more affluent area.
They drove past the harbor, and Frank could see where they’d parked the car two days earlier. At this time on a Saturday evening, the crowd spilling out of the bar and onto the streets was much larger, and the music was loud and pulsing.
A few streets later, Chris turned and turned again, and then another sharp turn into a street that had no pavement and was lined either side by fences, gates, and garages. It wasn't the front of houses, it was the rear; a track between two streets of Victorian terraced houses. The passageway between gave access to the rear gardens, where many houses now had garages.
Chris brought his car to a standstill. "We're going to get out here because I need to open the garage door, and once I've driven into the garage, there won't be enough space for you to open your door and get out."
After parking and closing the garage door, Chris joined Frank and led him through a high wooden gate toward the back door of the property. It appeared Chris wasn't being overly modest when he said he lived in an ordinary house. It was a Victorian terrace, similar to Frank's, but a little wider.
"Sorry about taking you in the rear."
"It's okay; I'm not upset by the use of the tradesmen's entrance."
The back door, secured by a mortice deadlock, led straight into a long, narrow kitchen. A warm, fragrant scent of baked pastry and herbs assaulted Frank's senses. Modern, sleek fitted units wrapped around two sides, leaving space for a small table pushed up against a wall. The table could seat four people around its three accessible sides. This wasn't a tiny kitchen.
"This is where the magic happens."
"I can still smell it, but I don't smell cakes."
"I've packed the cakes away, already. They were baked first thing this morning. I then went on to bake pies. There might be salad, potato salad, and tabbouleh in the fridge."
"I wasn't feeling too hungry, but you are getting all my juices flowing." The thought of the delicious sounding food hitting his palate had Frank salivating, but that wasn't the only thing that had him drooling. He could still taste Chris and recall the feeling of his body close to the other man’s. He wanted more of that feeling, and he couldn't take his eyes off Chris.
"That's the idea. Tom and I sit here in the kitchen, but I always like to treat first-time guests to the dining room. Come this way."
Unable to keep from ogling the rear view, Frank followed. He was used to hanging out with guys, but not used to feeling this way in any male company. Somehow, for Frank, spending time with Chris felt different. Frank couldn't stop a longing to get closer to Chris, to feel his skin and his breath and taste him again.
Frank had never had such a strong desire for another man before. At least not as far as he could remember — he didn't recall feeling like this about a woman either, apart from Ash in the very distant past.
Frank himself lived in a small two-bedroom terraced house, but Chris's house was similar on a larger scale: wider and deeper, with higher ceilings and wider doorways. Along the hallway, they passed into one large room that would once have been two.
The open plan space was a riot of color and luxurious furnishings. Velvety curtains, a plush carpet, colourful rugs. The bold, daring furnishings perfectly suited for a burlesque dancer's boudoir. Paintings on canvas, framed photographs, and other artwork lined the walls.
"There is plenty for you to look at in here while I go get drinks. What would you like?" Chris held out his arm, signalling for Frank to take a seat on a sofa, which was lined with cushions and looked as big and as comfortable as a bed.
Frank sat down and then noticed the table. A round table set for dinner with white linen and a candle centerpiece.
"Oh. Anything. You can surprise me. Whatever you're having." Frank hoped Chris was having a beer, but his head was in a whirl.
"I've got wine, or would you prefer beer? Or something non-alcoholic?"
"Beer would be good."
"Wise choice. I think it's the ideal complement to the food. Are you hungry enough to eat right away or shall we leave it for later?"
All these questions. All these decisions. It seemed Chris was also a little nervous.
If they were going out to dinner this time may have seemed a little early, but Frank hadn't eaten since breakfast, and his stomach was protesting. "Food right now sounds good. Can I help get stuff?"
"Oh, yes. Why don't I place it in your hands and you bring the stuff in here."
Frank promptly stood up again. "A relay. We often work like that on site." He bit his lip, recalling the white lie about his job.