On My Knees (2 page)

Attila’s outline was unmistakable as it emerged through the clouds of steam that gathered and tumbled around the open door. His broad shoulders almost touched both doorjambs, and he had to duck to avoid banging his head on the lintel. Against skin as pale as the mist, the serpents on his arms seemed real. For a moment, I felt they were coming to get me, just as I’d felt so many times as a child.

He removed the towel from around his waist and folded it, then laid it on the mosaic-tiled bench. Confronted with his buttocks, I bowed my head, but from under my brow, I couldn’t help but notice how his balls hung and rested on the towel when he sat down, like a well-stuffed coin pouch. I knew I shouldn’t be looking.

But I wanted to.

Attila inhaled deeply several times before speaking. “The steam’s good to get your pores open.”

“I guess so,” I said. A silence followed and I listened to him and the steam inlet breathing one against the other.

“Do you live around here?” he asked after a few minutes.

I cleared my throat. I hadn’t intended having a conversation. “Not far away. Just the other side of the heath.” I paused. Why not make an effort? “And you?”

“Fitzjohn’s Avenue. Do you know it?”

“Oh, yes. I used to live there. Opposite The Tower. Do you know it? I think it’s been turned into flats now.”

His face beamed at me through the steam. “That’s where I live. Right at the top, actually. Small world.”

“Yes, indeed it is.” That tower had been derelict for years. I’d often thought it would be lovely to buy it and do it up, but I never had the money.

“So, were you in Agnes Court, the place with the dome?” He was now leaning towards me, elbows resting on his knees. His cock had slipped off the towel and dangled in full view.

“Yes,” I said, squeezing my knees together. I willed my cock to stay down, hoping it would obey for once. “But it was years ago, when I was a student.”

“Oh, really? What did you study?”

“Architecture. For my sins.”

“So you’re a clever chap. Who do you work for?”

“Myself. I’m kind of unemployable.” It wasn’t a lie. Even my career was a mistake. I should never have gone into any kind of business. I’d done it to please my father, as if that had ever been possible, and was now stuck in a rut as deep as the Grand Canyon.

“I’d better be off,” I said. “Maybe see you around.” I blushed as I turned to leave. I’d been with Diana so long I’d started to talk in platitudes.

* * *

I leaped back from the blast of the shower, the water scalding my shoulder as the pipes emitted superheated steam. “Shit.”

“Is it hot?” Attila stood naked to my left, ready to enter the adjacent shower stall.

“Fucking hot! It’s because there’s no one here. There’s been no water used for a while. They need to get the thermostat fixed.”

“It’s ok, it’s coming through,” he said, fiddling with the faucet.

It was still too hot for me, so I rinsed myself off quickly, rubbed myself down with my towel and left Attila to cook. I felt a sense of achievement in that I’d managed to get away without revealing the semi-erect state of my cock. I thought about the cancelled contracts, the red reminders, and the calls from the bank to try to forget it.

It’s a fact that I’m slow at doing certain things. Getting dressed is one of them. I was always the last to be ready after games lessons at school. Socks are possessed by demons, sent by the Devil to make me late. The humidity of a changing room only makes it worse. By the time I’d got my shirt on and was about to have a go at threading my legs into my trousers, Attila had come from the shower, gotten dressed, and was already tying his shoelaces.

He looked up at me. “I’m popping into the George Washington for a quickie, if you fancy joining me.”

The effects of the alcohol from the earlier session in the wine bar had worn off, and maybe it would be better to delay returning home until Diana was in bed. “Why not?” I said. A couple of drinks with him couldn’t hurt. Deep inside, I felt a thrill.

“I’ll wait downstairs for you,” he said, zipping up his bag. “I just need to have a word with reception.”

When I’d finished dressing, sweat poured out of me like I’d just got off the treadmill. I wiped my brow on the towel before tossing it into the laundry bin on the way out, but I was soaked again when I reached the main lobby. Attila was standing by the door.

“You’re sweating,” he said.

“I know.”

“Be careful you don’t catch cold.”

We walked in silence all of the three minutes to the pub. At one moment I wondered what I was doing, going for a drink with a stranger. I really ought to be at home trying to sort things out. Then again, the situation with Diana never changed. Row, followed by short-lived peace, followed by row. As time went on, the rows bunched up closer together as the peace got squeezed in between. Home life was an emotional bar code. I needed to face up to the situation, like my therapist, Jack, kept telling me.

The din inside the pub rushed out and slapped me across the face as Attila opened the door. I stepped across the threshold, and the familiar smell of stale ale, spirits and bodies brought me to my senses.

“What can I get you?” I asked, jostling towards the bar.

“No, I invited you,” he said, reaching out to try and grab my arm.

“I beat you to it. What’s it to be?” I held a finger in the air as if to hold the barman in a trance.

“Pint of lager, then.” Attila shrugged. “The next round is on me, though.”

“Pint of lager and a pint of bitter, please.” I turned to Attila. “Do you want to try and find a seat?”

He nodded and squeezed into the mass of revelers. He was handsome, even from behind. And maybe dangerous.

The pub was full. I took the drinks and fought my way in the direction Attila had gone, drenching my hands as the beer sloshed over the tops of the glasses while I bounced off the tightly packed patrons. I was surprised to see him sitting at a tiny round table near the cigarette machine.

“That was lucky,” I said, letting him take a glass from me. “Cheers!”

“Cheers! Nice to meet you.”

I sat on the stool and looked away, surveying the crowd for signs of anyone I might know while wiping my hands on a tissue. My stomach was as wound up tight as a ball of string.

“I haven’t seen you at the gym before.” Attila broke yet another silence. “Have you been a member for long?”

“About three months. Not long.”

“Strange, not to have bumped into each other.”

“Well, I normally go earlier.” I was being awkward again. I straightened myself up and looked at him. My heart thumped against my ribs. “If you generally go around this time, that would explain it.” I smiled and took another gulp from my glass. My hand shook. “So, what do you do for a living?” I knew he couldn’t be a clerk, the address was a giveaway.

“I’m in the car business.”

“Oh?” That was a disappointment. A car salesman. “How interesting.”

“Well,” he said, draining his glass, “it’s a job. I was in the States for a while. When I came back it seemed logical to do the same sort of thing.”

“So that’s your accent.” I’d noticed his velvety voice earlier.

“What accent?”

“You have an accent. It’s vaguely American. Actually, you sound a bit like…what’s his name…Lloyd Grossman.” I smiled.

“Thanks. Not sure how to take that,” he said. “Can’t say I’m a fan.”

“No, nor me. Sorry, no offence intended, but you do sound a bit like him.”

There was a frigid pause. I knew I was being a bit stand-offish, but I couldn’t help it. It was my way of keeping dangerous situations at bay. This time, though, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to play safe.

“Let me get you another.” Attila picked up his empty glass and disappeared into the crowd before I could object.

The pub was clearing out already. The Cartier on my wrist was in need of a new battery. It had been for months. I set it each morning and it fell behind as the day wore on. As soon as I got some money in I’d have to get it done. My eyes searched in vain for a clock. After this next pint I really would have to go. It was surely getting on towards eleven.

“There we are,” said Attila, placing a pint of beer in front of me “It was bitter, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s fine,” I said and took a sip. “I do drink anything, though.”

“OK. It’s just that sometimes I get things wrong. I’m always putting my foot in it.”

“Don’t worry. It’s perfect.” So was he, I thought.

“One thing I do appreciate is European beer.” He held his glass to the light and peered into it. “American stuff is like fizzy piss.”

“How long were you there?”

“Eight years.”

“Eight years! The way you said a while I thought maybe a year or two.” I drank more beer. “How did you get the work permit? I remember all the trouble about the bloody green card when I wanted to stay in New York.”

“Ah, well, I don’t have a problem. My dad worked for the American government and all the family got permanent green cards. Actually, I have a US passport now. And British, of course.”

He was sounding rather more interesting than your usual car salesman, and when my beer was nearing its end and pangs of hunger began to finger my stomach, I had an idea.

“Dinner waiting for you at home, is it?” I asked. I could feel the blood rushing to my head. And to my cock. I couldn’t believe I was doing this.

Attila swallowed the last of his beer, shaking his head. He put his glass down, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and said, “Not at all. Haven’t even thought about it.”

“There’s a good Italian ’round the corner. Stays open late. I was thinking of popping in, if you fancy joining me?”

His big eyes widened. “Yes, I’d like that.”

We walked side by side, chatting about nothing in particular. Or, perhaps, I didn’t pay enough attention to what he was saying. My mind was somewhere between that place I called home and a place I’d never been before. Something was going on inside me and I effervesced with curiosity.

I’d not seen anyone put food away like Attila. He appeared to inhale it off his plate rather than eat it. No sooner was the starter laid before him than it had gone.

“Hungry?” I asked, watching the last ribbon of pasta levitate from the dish and vanish between his lips.

He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “Starving. I always seem to be ravenous after the gym.”

“I think the idea is not to pile the calories back on straight away.” Mind you, he didn’t have a weight problem. His build seemed perfect for someone six feet or more in height. I took a sip of the Chianti.

“You into wine?” he asked.

“Too much. I think I spend more on wine in a month than on the mortgage repayments. I’m always getting nagged about it.”

“Nagged? Who by?”

“The wife.”

He glanced at the ring on my finger then averted his eyes. “So,” he said, his voice lower than before. “You
are
married.” He toyed with his glass. “I noticed the ring in the gym, but you can’t always be sure these days.” His disappointment aroused me.

“That I am.”

“Happily?”

Happily? What sort of a question was that? An affirmation was somewhere between my teeth and my tongue, and that’s where it stayed. No one had asked me that before. Come to think of it, no one had ever been the least bit concerned with my happiness as far as I could remember. A childhood on edge trying to ensure my father was happy so he wouldn’t fly off the handle. The last few years of walking on eggshells; Diana was not the easiest of people to satisfy. Yet I’d assumed I was a happily married man. Those nagging doubts had all stayed where they belonged, locked in the bottom drawer of my brain. But instinct told me to be careful now. Locks could be opened by someone with the right key.

I swallowed a large gulp of wine. “No.”

There. I’d said it and I felt so light that I held onto the table to stop myself floating to the ceiling. Attila lifted his eyes and looked at me again.

“So, why do you stay?” he asked.

“What else would I do?”

“Leave. If you’re not happy, why be miserable?”

“It’s not so easy, you know.” I unwrapped a toothpick and snapped it in two.

“I was in a depressing relationship in the States. That’s why I came back.”

I laughed. “I don’t envy you going through an American divorce. Will you have anything left?”

“We weren’t married. We’d been together six years but he turned into a control freak. I had to get out.”

So, he was gay. Maybe I had already gone too far. On the other hand, my curiosity was close to breaking point. “And that’s why there was no dinner waiting at home,” I said, snapping another toothpick.

“But why is there no dinner waiting for you?”

“Ah, well. We had a row. Another row, I should say. Christ, she even came at me with a knife.” I organized the fragments of toothpick into a neat pile on the table.

“Jesus. I wouldn’t put up with that. Report her or something.”

“For what?” I shook my head and stuffed my hands into my pockets. “You’ve been away too long. Do you think the police give a damn about domestics? If she’d actually stabbed me, maybe. If I’d stabbed her, surely. But for a row?”

Attila reached across the table to where my hand had been. “Not so loud. People are listening.”

“Well, fuck them.”

“You’re drunk. Jesus, we only had one bottle between us.”

“And the rest!” I could hear my own voice loud and sloppy above the muted chatter of late diners.

“You’ve been on the booze before you came to the gym. No way could this hit you like that. Come on.” He pushed his chair back and called for the bill, then came over and took me by the arm. “Let’s get you out into the fresh air.”

I stumbled as he guided me through the door and onto the pavement, plaiting my legs in an attempt to stay upright as I felt for my car keys. Triumphant, I dangled them in the air.

“You can’t drive.” His shocked expression almost knocked me over.

“Why not? I’m perfectly OK.”

“No you’re bloody not.” He locked his arm through mine and started to walk. Leaning against his solid frame, I felt so secure. Safe. “We’ll find you a taxi on Haverstock Hill.”

I had no cash for a taxi. “No, no, not a taxi. Please not a taxi.”

“Why ever not? You scared of them?”

“No. I’m scared of her. If I turn up in a taxi she’ll know I’ve been drinking.” Even in my condition, I realized that I sounded feeble.

Attila’s laugh echoed off the brick façades of the Edwardian terraced houses. “She won’t need the taxi clue.”

“Why don’t I come and sober up at your place?”

“If you’re sure.” His voice mellowed. He seemed to welcome the idea.

“Yes. Better late than legless. At least in this case.”

He spun me around and set off walking in the opposite direction, back towards the gym. “My car is up here,” he said, dragging me along.

As we rounded the corner into Belsize Park Gardens, a flash of amber lights and the shrill tone of an alarm awoke a silver Mercedes coupé among the column of sleeping cars. Attila opened the passenger door and shoved me in, his hand on my head like a policeman handling a common criminal.

“Mind your fingers,” he said, pushing the door closed.

“Nice car,” I said, as he settled himself into the driver’s seat next to me. “So, you sell Mercs.”

“Not personally. I couldn’t sell water in the desert.”

“But—”

“I’m a manager. My background is in service.” The engine was barely audible as he swung the car out into the road and accelerated towards the junction with Belsize Park. “I guess you’d call it customer service, these days. Keeping the spoiled bastards happy.”

“Oh, I know all about that,” I said. “I’ve spent my life keeping other people happy.”

I had the sensation that we were traveling too fast down Buckland Crescent. The parked cars on either side whizzed past in a haze. I closed my eyes but my head spun and my stomach lurched.

“Lemme out.” I got the words out and clamped my jaw shut.

Attila pulled over by the side of the road as I fumbled for the door catch. He leaned over and pushed the door open. I flew out of the car towards an adjacent tree and ejected my dinner over its ancient bark.

“Sorry,” I said, cleaning myself up with a tissue. “Stopped just in time.”

“You OK?” He had one hand on the steering wheel and peered at me across the car’s interior. There was a warmth in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before. His mouth turned up slightly at one corner and his brow furrowed. I wanted him to take me in his arms.

“Yeah. Guess so.”

“It’ll do you good. You’ll feel better in a bit. Come on, get in. Just don’t mess my car seats up.”

* * *

The Tower loomed up above the tree-lined avenue just as I remembered it. The impenetrable jungle that had been the garden was now a neatly manicured affair that softened parking spaces behind fashionable bamboo and topiary. Expensive I Guzzini lighting picked out the pathway and the broad steps up to the front door.

“You’ll be pleased to know that they installed an elevator when they did the place up,” Attila said, striding across the hallway towards a silver tube, which rose from the black and white checkered floor like a giant Parker pen. “Not a big one, but it makes life bearable.”

“Intimate,” I said as he pressed against me to allow the lift door to close. I could feel his breath, warm and somehow soothing against my forehead. His clothes smelled of the city, but there was a faint trace of Givenchy mingled with the scent of shower gel from the gym. My stomach turned over, and I knew it was not entirely a reaction to the vertical motion of the elevator.

We spilled out into a compact, hexagonal hallway. The brilliant white décor intensified the colors of the abstract paintings that hung on the walls.

“Here we are,” he said, opening a solitary door. “Make yourself at home and I’ll get some coffee on the go.”

For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. The high-ceilinged gothic architecture contrasted with modern furniture, sculpture, and paintings perfectly. “Wow.”

“Oh, you like it?”

“Like it? Jesus, it’s fantastic. Who wouldn’t like it?” Diana, I thought.

“You’d be surprised. Some think you can’t mix traditional with modern.”

“They’re crazy. I love putting old and new together.” I circumnavigated the Mies chairs and the Le Corbusier chaise longue to get a better look at the hundreds of books stacked as neatly as in any library. “I can see you’re into design.”

Attila was now in the kitchen and I could hear coffee beans being ground.

“Smells good,” I said, watching from the doorway. “No milk for me.”

“Espresso?”

“Perfect.” Indeed, so much was perfect. I couldn’t remember when I had felt so relaxed. Yet, what I couldn’t quite come to grips with was what I was doing here in the first place. I knew, of course, that I was here to sober up because I’d drunk too much. But had I gone straight home from the gym, the rest wouldn’t have happened. I would by now be back in the flat, fully submerged in a blazing row with Diana. For the first time in my life, I was listening to what I wanted.

“Sugar?”

“What?” The question dragged me back to the here and now. “Oh, yes. Two, please.” I watched him place the two tiny white cups on a tray and stood back to let him pass.

He put the tray down on the corner of a glass dining table and pulled out two chairs. He sat down, drained his cup, and smiled. “You look a mess.”

“Do I?” I looked myself up and down, sticking my legs out in front of me to see my shoes. There was sick in the left trouser turn up and a stain on my tie. “Sorry,” I said with a shrug.

“Forget it. Here, drink your coffee.” He slid the cup towards me and stood up. “I’ll get you a robe. I know you’re going to love my shower.”