Smoke In My Eyes

Chapter 1

I joined a gym when not only could I not zip up my favourite jeans any more, but I’d started wondering if I might be too middle-aged to wear jeans anyway. Getting old. Getting fat. And the scene is not forgiving of physical imperfection. I’m alone and it’s been a year since Bill died. It’s time.

I say scene, but we don’t exactly have much of a scene in this town. There’s the Queen’s Head—don’t get ideas, it been called that since 1582—our friendly local gay pub. And we have a couple of nightclubs in the middle of town, but I don’t go the clubs. I always fear that they’ll check my I.D. and refuse me entrance for being too old. Forty-three? Get out of here, granddad!

Then there’s this gym. It’s not exactly part of the scene, but according to Jess, the landlady of the Queen’s Head, it’s gay friendly. No shenanigans in the sauna, though—it’s not that friendly.

“Daniel,” Jess said to me. “Get your arse into Temple and see who you meet on the next treadmill.”

That’s what this gym is called—Temple, because it’s in a converted church. I suppose the joker who named it considered that funny; a temple of the body. Whatever. It’s only five minutes’ walk away from home and practically next door to the Queen’s Head.

The first day in, the person on the next treadmill was a woman my age who looked like she was feeling the weight of the years same as me. I wasn"t there to meet someone, though, I swear. I wasn"t so desperate. I came to get in shape and a better chance of meeting someone elsewhere. Or at least a better chance of not being laughed at or pitied when I start trying.

But, as usual when you have no plans for something, it happens. I’d been jogging or—walking pretty fast anyway—on the treadmill when I saw him. Not on the next treadmill, but walking across the gym floor towards the studio they hold the exercise classes in. He wore the uniform of the gym staff and, though they all wore it well, he was the one who filled it out most impressively. Older than any of them, closer to my age, with magnificent arms, a great big chest, and light brown hair cut short and neat.

When he gave me a flash of a nice smile, along with a nod, I almost tripped over my feet. Okay, don’t get carried away, I told myself. He’s just a staff member being friendly to a customer. Don’t get excited. He passed by, and I turned around to watch him go into the studio. Nice arse. I wondered what shifts he did and what classes he led. I heard him say “Hello, ladies,” as he closed the door of the studio. Would I have the nerve to go to a class full of women to get another look at him?

Oh great. I’d been a member for two minutes and I was already making plans to stalk one of the instructors. This whole dating thing was complicated. It’s changed in the fifteen years since I last had to think about it. Bill and me broke up a couple of times, but I always knew we’d get back together.

That wasn’t happening this time. Not now that Bill was in a graveyard in Yorkshire under a headstone which didn’t mention me anywhere. Beloved son and brother, that’s all. I’d been made to feel I was being granted an enormous favour by being allowed to go to the funeral.

I jogged on, moving the speed of the treadmill up a little. The woman beside me finished her run and moved on to a rowing machine. I barely noticed her leave. I shouldn’t have thought about Bill. All these months and the thought of him still had the power to make my throat tight and my eyes burn.

I tried to think about the hot gym instructor instead. And all I could think of was how different he was from Bill physically. Bill was thin as a whip, whatever he ate; something I complained about bitterly to him on a regular basis, I can tell you. And he had fine blond hair, barely thinning or receding at all, even though his fiftieth birthday was rapidly disappearing in the rear view mirror behind him. Add good bone structure and intelligent blue eyes and you get the picture. No wonder even the young guys still went after him.

I realised at least twenty minutes had passed, and my legs were feeling like someone filled my socks with lead. Better get out of here. They say you should start slow, don’t push too hard. My chest felt kind of tight, too. That might have been from thinking about Bill, though.

I went back into the changing room and glanced at myself in the mirror. Disappointingly, twenty minutes on the treadmill had not turned me into an Adonis. I was sweating very unattractively. But at least I still had all my hair. That’s kind of my mantra. Every time I start getting morbid about being a fat old man who would never have s*x again, I think, “At least I still have my hair!” Like someone would want to go to bed with me for my hair.

A long hot shower cheered me up a bit. Or at least eased the aches and pains from the session on the treadmill. I should stop fretting about the s*x part. I’d had s*x since Bill died, even if they were just casual one-off. If I wanted it again I knew where to go. There were a couple of saunas I’d been told about, though that wasn’t really my thing; nameless and casual like that. But maybe if I got desperate enough I’d go.

I stopped in the empty reception area on my way out and took a look at the board with photos of all the staff members on it. He was right up top—the smile and nod guy was the boss. Chris Bennett, manager.

“Hi.”

Shit, he was right behind me. I’d been so busy studying the pictures I hadn’t heard him. I tried not to jump three feet in the air.

“I think you’re the last out,” he said. I glanced at the clock. It was ten past nine. The place closed at nine.

“Sorry.” I’d taken way too long in the shower. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“No rush. You’re a new member, right?”

It was a small establishment, I supposed. Most of the members were probably locals.

“Yes, just joined.” Oh, snappy comeback. Not. I offered my hand for a shake—or anything else he cared to do with it. “Daniel Goldstein.”

“Chris Bennett,” he said, shaking my hand, then gesturing at the photo board. “But you know that.”

Did he hold onto my hand a little longer than needed, or was I fantasising? He was smiling at me, and…shit, I was going for it.

“Can I buy you a drink, Chris?”

He still had a hold of my hand. He looked thoughtful for a second, then he nodded. “I’d like that.” He let go and my arm felt like it would freeze up and crack off when it lost the warmth of his impressively large hand. “I need to lock up. That will take me about ten minutes. Do you know The Queen’s Head?”

“Intimately.” Hey, it’s only the literal truth. Any double meanings there are entirely in your head, not mine.

“Then I’ll see you there in ten.”

He said yes. I’ve still got it. Holy crap, now what?

“What can I order for you?” I asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as if I bought hot guys drinks every day.

“Diet Coke.”

Well, I should have expected that, since he clearly didn’t abuse that body with alcohol. So I smiled and said, “See you soon,” in a painfully awkward attempt to sound casual.

* * * *

“Two Diet Cokes,” I said to Jess in the Queen’s Head.

“What are you, ill?”

“Just pour them.”

“You know you can’t bring children in here at this time of night.”

“Save the comedy for open mike night, please.” I slapped down the money, not in the mood for jokes, suddenly nervous as hell. Was I sweating again? I hadn’t taken long enough to cool down after my shower before getting dressed. I hated that I sweat too much. I should probably see a doctor about it. Is it an age thing? Or a weight thing?

I took the two diet pops to a table in clear view of the door and waited. I sipped mine. So sweet. Maybe I should get used to it, though. Alcohol was fattening. I’m not saying I’m a big drinker, but I like a pint or two. Or three. But you get to the age where you can’t get away with it any more, don’t you?

Chris showed up a couple of minutes later, jeans replacing the track suit pants he wore in the gym, a fleece over his uniform polo shirt. So he still gets away with wearing jeans. A few more sessions at the gym and I’d be back into mine, I swore it. He spotted me and headed over, getting a couple of admiring glances along the way.

The Queen’s is mostly an older crowd, lots of couples. The boys generally go to the nightclubs. But there were always a few younger lads around—skint ones looking for someone to buy them free drinks probably. And even a couple of them looked at Chris. Maybe I should have taken that as a warning. He could have anyone. Why would he want me? But he’d said yes to a drink.

“Hi,” he said, sitting down. He took the fleece off and draped it on the back of the chair. “Thanks for the drink.”

Man, those arms were amazing. And the chest! A man could spend an hour just kissing and nibbling his way across it and still not cover the whole glorious territory. My eye was drawn to the name and logo of the gym embroidered on his shirt. The logo was a sort of abstract steeple design, reflecting the building’s history, I suppose.

“So,” I said. “A gym in a church, that’s a new one on me.”

Chris put down the cola he’d taken a gulp from.

“Better than knocking it down,” he said. “It’s been de-consecrated, of course.”

I only had a vague notion of what that meant. “Ah, so that’s why I wasn’t struck dead when I crossed the threshold.”

Chris chuckled. “Are you a vampire then?”

“No, just a Jew.” No, vampires are all pale and pretty and sparkly these days. Not that I watched those movies. Well, not with the sound on. “I suppose everyone is getting less religious these days.”

“Not everyone,” he said a bit darkly, and it seemed like something close to home, not just a general remark.

“You have trouble?”

He shrugged. “Nothing dramatic. It’s not like we claim to be a gay gym. We don’t have a flag outside. If the haters come round they throw bricks at this place, not at the gym.”

I knew Jess had a load of CCTV on the outside of the building, and security lights that could burn your retinas out. It was common enough ten years ago to come in here and find several windows boarded up. I think Jess had a loyalty discount with the local glaziers. But the local police were eventually persuaded that they should give a toss and it didn"t happen as much anymore.

“But people in the area know me,” Chris said. “So we get vandalism sometimes. Or those stickers.”

I knew the stickers he meant. You saw them around on lampposts and pillar boxes. Gay free zone. (In their dreams. There’s not one anywhere on Earth.) Gays are sending the country to hell. All that s**t. I tried to peel them off as I passed. I was just old enough to remember when it was the National Front sticking that kind of crap up. Only the source of the hate changes.

I thought about what else he’d said. People in the area knew him. I didn’t and I’d lived here for twelve years. The gym hadn’t been open all that time, only the last five, but you’d think I’d have noticed. I suppose I got too wrapped up in my little world. And with Bill, especially once he started getting ill. I wasn’t really up for getting involved in the community, beyond coming for a pint in the Queen’s. I could see Chris as being the community activist type though. Social justice and all that. He’d have been someone nice to have had on my side when Bill’s brother said. “We’d prefer it if you didn’t come to the funeral.”

“So, how are you liking the gym then?” Chris asked.

“Oh, hey, yeah, it’s great.” To be absolutely honest, not that I’m any great expert on gyms, it was a bit faded and tatty around the edges. I mean, the changing rooms were very clean, but they could do with a lick of paint, that kind of thing. I suppose Chris picked up on my lack of enthusiasm. He smiled a bit apologetically.

“We’re not like the chains, I know. And money’s tight these days. We do our best. I don’t want to raise prices too high.”

Was that just economic common sense, not wanting to lose customers? Or that social agenda again. Get the locals off their fat arses. Speaking of which…I sort of sucked my stomach in a bit. Like he wouldn’t have already checked it out if he was interested. Was he? He’d agreed to come for this drink, so I gave myself the benefit of the doubt.

“The staff are great,” I said and that really made him smile. With a little encouragement he was off and running about his staff and you might think that would be boring, but the way he smiled and glowed as he talked about them, I could listen to him all night.

I pretty much did. We talked until Jess rang the bell.

“Time, ladies, gentlemen, and indeterminates, please.”

I’d drunk four of those sickly diet pops and was feeling wired on the caffeine. Dumb thing to drink at that time of night. But then again, maybe I wouldn’t be going to sleep any time soon. Chris drank the last of his cola and reached for his jacket.

“I guess that’s it for the night then,” he said. “Can’t believe we talked so long.”

He’d enjoyed it. Hell, so had I. He had a story to tell this guy. He’d been in the army. He’d only told me a little about that so far. I’d like to hear more. I’d like some other things, too. Was there a chance?

“I only live ten minutes away,” I said. “You want to come for a coffee?” A coffee? I swear; cheesier than Wallace and Grommit’s fridge. Too long out of the dating game. He thought about it for a second, I saw it in his eyes as he looked at me. A quick assessment, which I hoped wasn’t about my likely skills with an espresso machine. Then he smiled.

“Okay, thanks.”

All right!

Still got it. Okay, calm down. It didn’t mean for sure I’d be on my back with my legs in the air in thirty minutes time. I wasn’t even sure I wanted that. I mean, my c**k probably wanted that, but after talking to Chris for two hours I got the feeling I’d like something more than a one night stand. He was hot, but he was interesting and intelligent, too. I was a sucker for a guy with a great big brain. Bill was a professor.

“You should give me your business card, before I forget,” Chris said as we left the pub. I’m a photographer and we’d ended up talking about having me take some new pictures for that Meet the Staff board of his and for the gym’s website. I like to think this was a ruse on his part to see me again. A man must live in hope.

“Good idea.” I fished in my pockets and had to pull things out to get at my wallet. Keys, lighter, pack of ten cigarettes. I was dying for one of those by now, but wasn’t sure how Chris the health fiend would react. I got my answer when I saw him staring down at the pack in my hand.

Oh s**t. It wasn’t mere disapproval on his face; he looked stricken. When he looked back at me as I handed over my card, his face lost that look, but didn’t go back to the smiling and open expression he’d had in the pub. It went blank, flat, neutral, like he’d slipped on a mask.

“I just remembered…”

Those words were never good. They usually preceded a brush off and this time was no exception.

“I’m on the early shift tomorrow,” Chris went on. “Have to open up at six thirty. So, I think I’d better go home.”

“Oh, right.” What could I say? Call bullshit on it? He had to know s*x was on offer, and I’ve never yet met a man who would sacrifice s*x in favour of sleep, unless he was playing in the Men’s Singles Final at Wimbledon the next day. So it was a bullshit excuse, but I could hardly demand the real explanation. What if that was ‘you’re less attractive than I originally thought’? But no, it wasn’t that, I knew.

It was the cigarettes. Could I claim they weren’t mine?

“Right,” I said again, voice resigned. He’d already moved away from me. Only a step, but I knew it was the end. “Well, I’ll see you in the gym then.” Which wouldn"t be horribly awkward, I’m sure. “Nice talking to you.” While it lasted.

He nodded. “See you in the gym.”

He might as well have added, “Not if I see you first.”

* * * *

I could have not gone back to the gym, but I figured I could deal with a little awkwardness. I went the next day, though I waited until the afternoon. I didn’t want to look like I was going early to try to catch Chris in a lie about being on the morning shift.

He was there when I went in, sitting in his office with the door open, and looked up and smiled when he saw me. A real smile, with warmth in it—a smile he suddenly dropped. Not when he recognised me, no, a few seconds later, like he was catching himself. Remembering. He turned back to working at his computer.

What the hell? Never mind. I had sweating to do. Not as fun as the kind of sweating I’d have liked to do last night. Ten minutes later I was warming up on a bike and Chris came onto the gym floor. He looked around, hesitated, and came over to me. Not too close. I couldn’t have reached out and touched him. He gave me a more nervous smile than the one before.

“Hi,” I said. A predictable opening gambit.

“Hey.” He looked around again, as if checking there was anyone nearby. Just a couple of old ladies going at a gentle pace on the treadmills. The afternoon would be quiet until the after work crowd came in. With my job I don’t have regular hours, so I can avoid the rush if I want to.

“Good to see you in again,” Chris said. Did he mean good that I hadn’t decided to start avoiding the place for fear of this very type of awkward conversation? Please, I’m a gay photographer from a nice Jewish family who wanted me to get married and be an accountant. I’ve had more awkward conversations than I’ve had hot dinners.

“Are you getting in every day, then?” he asked.

I shrugged. I wasn’t in enough of a habit to say that yet.

“My schedule is pretty irregular. I’m just trying to get in whenever I can.”

“Right, good. Ah, have you set up a training program and fitness goals?”

Hell no, that sounded too much like hard work. And I knew what the first goal would be. “Not yet,” I said.

“I could set up an appointment for you. And, if you were interested, we’ve got information in reception on local stop smoking support.”

And there it was. My doctor already gave me regular lectures on the subject. I didn’t need them from anyone else; however hot he was and however much I wanted to lick the abs I could see faintly outlined by his tight fitting shirt. I knew I should give up, and maybe I would, eventually. But it’s been hard enough this last year, without taking away my only source of stress relief. Chris didn"t know the crap I’ve gone through since Bill’s death. He can take his judgement elsewhere.

I slowed down, warm-up done and climbed off the bike. He stepped back from me, either staying out of my personal space or not wanting me in his. He was radiating a pretty strong stay away field. But it didn’t feel like a “don’t touch me, you’re horrible” field because he kept looking at me. He’d flicked glances at my legs pumping those pedals. He’d looked right at my mouth a couple of times. What the f**k was his problem? Cigarettes? Hadn’t he heard of this stuff they have now called mouthwash? I’d gargle a bottle of it if he’s that fussy.

“I’ll set something up,” I said, about the workout plan or whatever he wanted me to do. I probably wouldn’t. “Like I say, my schedule isn’t predictable. I’ll just keep coming in when I can.” I drank from my water bottle and, dammit, he watched me do that, too. Until he suddenly nodded at me and turned away.

“See you, ah, around,” he tossed over his shoulder at me.

I didn’t see him again on that visit. I finished up exercising and decided to take a steam in the small sauna cabinet before I left. I was snoozing up on one of the highest benches, marinating nicely, when a couple of hard-bodied young guys came in. I didn’t move or look for too long. This wasn’t that kind of place and those two beautifully sculpted demi-gods were way out of my league.

When I’d had enough of the heat I left, seeing them glance at me, but look away quickly, not interested. Both ten years younger than me and waxed to perfection. Not likely to want a guy my age who didn’t need waxing, he needed a lawnmower.

And would Chris want someone like me?

I didn’t care. As I lay there sweating I’d decided to forget about him. He was gorgeous, but he was flighty. He was blowing hot and cold on me already and all we’d done so far was go for a drink. I did hot and cold for fifteen years with Bill. I was sick of it. You can keep it and give me warm, and constant.

* * * *

I am such a liar to myself. Chris was still on my mind a few days later. What was his problem anyway? Had he had a bad breakup with a chain smoking boyfriend or something? Smoking wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe I’d give it up, if he gave me a reason to.

I knew where I’d find out what his problem was. The Queen’s Head was information central around here. Like GCHQ, if GCHQ smelled of spilled beer and s****l frustration. It was quiet in the afternoon—isn’t everywhere these days? But Jess was behind the bar when I came in and I knew she’d have the low down on Chris.

“Hey,” I said, after ordering a pint. “Got a minute for a chat?”

“I’ve told you, David Bailey, I’m not doing those nudey pictures and that’s final.”

I shook my head, chuckling. I didn’t think Jess had taken her top off for a man for a long long time. “I’ll have to up the fee. No, ah, I was just wondering…” I was just failing entirely to sound convincingly casual. “Do you know Chris Bennett? Guy who owns the gym?”

She shrugged, picked up a glass to polish in classic bar-tending fashion. “Aye, a bit. Canny lad. What about him?”

“He, um, so, what’s his story? He is single, right?”

“Well, yes. Don’t you know? I thought everyone around here knew.”

“I was kind of out of the loop for a while.” Head always too busy with Bill and trying to figure him out. And this last year…head still busy with him. “So, what happened?”

“The same thing as happened to you, Daniel.”

I went a bit cold at that, since there really was only one thing worth mentioning that happened to me recently.

“He lost someone?”

She glanced around the bar. Nobody after drinks right then. She leaned closer to me. “His partner, Tom. About the same time as your Bill, actually. They’d been together must have been getting on ten years. They were civil partnered. Had their reception upstairs here. I don’t know how you—”

“How did he die?” Had it been sudden? Bill had been sudden. He’d had a couple of health issues for a few years, stomach ulcers, bad back. Nothing life threatening. But the stroke took him from me in a second. Mid-sentence.

“Cancer,” Jess said. “Took less than a year from when they found out. He was only forty seven. No age, is it? Poor guy just withered away to nothing.”

I knew then, why Chris had reacted to the cigarettes the way he did. I mentally kicked myself for even thinking about a bad breakup with a smoker boyfriend.

“What kind,” I asked, voice strained. “What kind of cancer?” I knew the answer before she answered. Before I asked.

“Lung cancer,” she replied. “Though it spread like wildfire from what I’ve heard. Was everywhere before he…” She stopped. “Well, you know.”

“He was a smoker.”

It wasn’t a question, but Jess answered it anyway. “Both of them were. Chris gave up after that, of course. Well, you would, wouldn’t you?” She looked narrowly at me. “Are you still on the tabs? I never know any more since the smoking ban.”

“Yeah,” I said hoarsely, thinking about the times I’d stood outside in the cold in the last few years, braving frostbite or getting wet, for the sake of a drag. f*****g i***t.

The doors opened and couple of customers came in, so I left Jess to her work and took my pint to a table. It wasn’t the same one where I’d sat with Chris last night, but it had a view of that table, which was empty. A couple of beer mats adorned its surface. No ashtray.

I couldn’t blame Chris, could I? The sight of the things must have been bad enough. He’d bolted before I had time to light up, because what the hell would the smell of the smoke have done to him? I couldn"t stand anything that reminded me too much of the day Bill died and scents were the worst. We’d been about to have lunch when Bill collapsed, and the house was full of the aroma of lamb. As the paramedics worked on him, as they shocked him with the defibrillator while I watched helplessly, the aroma gradually turned to the stench of burning. A neighbour who’d come in when she saw the commotion turned the oven off. It would probably have burned the house down otherwise.

I haven’t eaten lamb since. And my mother doesn’t serve it any more when I’m there. Not since a time three months ago when I went round for a meal with the family and the scent of it made me break down crying. I’d thought all my crying was done by then. But maybe it’s never done.

I finished my drink and walked out of the pub. I’d had enough of inside for a while. I made my way to the park nearby. Some people said there was a spot of cruising here at night, but I’d never come to find out. In the daylight there were only joggers, dog walkers, kids on the way home from school, and old ladies.

I’d normally have lit up on a stroll through the park, but not this time. If I wanted any chance with Chris then clearly the cigarettes had to go. The question was, was I prepared to pay that price? Was I prepared to change for the chance of a date that might lead to nothing anyway?

And without the cigarettes I’d put on weight. I always had when I tried to stop in the past. Bill used to start to look at me funny when I did. Little glances at my waistline, when he thought I wasn’t looking. He never said anything, but I knew he’d noticed and it was just easier to go back on the cigarettes. I’d changed myself in other ways for him. Refused to pursue the commitment I really wanted from him, because it might have driven him away. It had always been on his terms, the whole time we were together. Was I prepared to do that again? Let Chris dictate the terms this time?

There was a difference though. I’d loved Bill. I barely knew Chris.

But what Jess said kept coming back to me about Chris’s partner Tom. Only forty seven. No age is it? No. Only four years older than me. I shouldn’t think of this as changing for someone else’s sake. I should change for me. I was changing already. Going to the gym, something I’d never done with any regularity before. Because like it or not, time kept on coming at you, slicing bits of your life off a day at a time.

And, hey, if I was scared of getting fat, well that’s what the gym was for. Might be especially useful to have a gym instructor for a boyfriend then. Stopping smoking didn’t make you fat. Sitting on your arse, elbow deep in a can of Pringles made you fat. Maybe I am orally fixated, but there are better ways to keep my mouth busy.

What? I’m talking about kissing. Get out of the gutter.

I went home by way of the chemist and picked up some nicotine patches and gum to keep that oral fixation busy until I had the chance to occupy my mouth with other activities.