All that Matters

*******************

After we stopped seeing each other and in the occasional breaks from the ensuing endless mental self-flagellation regarding everything I'd allowed to happen, I excused myself by thinking that I'd been sucked into overestimating the connection I felt with Trevor by my own unacknowledged loneliness after twenty years of constant moves and the increasing isolation I felt as I grew older and less able to adapt to foreign cultures. It could have happened to anybody, I told myself. It didn't necessarily make me a bad person, only a deluded one. But for the most part, I blamed myself for everything that took place. No matter what the reasons, I'd been weak and given up on my own moral code, lenient as it was in the first place. Worse, I'd willfully and consciously ignored reality and seen only what was convenient for me. And at the end of it all, everybody was worse off.

That first night, though, I couldn't have known everything that would follow, even though in retrospect it turned out to be so fucking predictable and trite. That first night I actually convinced myself that I didn't even want to kiss Trevor, that all I wanted to do was finally give him the opportunity to dance with a friend. If I were younger, I'd have either given in immediately and dragged him into the restrooms for a blowjob, or I'd have pulled away, knowing that I'd eventually succumb to temptation. But I was 45 years old; I thought that if I hadn't done it all, I'd certainly done most of it, and that I had everything under control.

Turned out I had nothing under control. Not Trevor, not the situation, not even myself.

Sometimes, when I wasn't firmly on guard against stray and maudlin thoughts, I was overcome by the oddest regrets. Mostly I regretted that I couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when I'd fallen in love with Trevor, because it must have been before he told me we needed to stop seeing each other.

Was it in Detroit, when we caught each other's eye and smirked whenever one of our fellow newly minted executives raised his hand for the umpteenth time to ask a stupid question in an effort to make an impression on the orientation speakers? Or perhaps it was at some point during the conferences that followed, maybe that night the hardcore drinking group found itself stranded in a bar in Gibraltar, not one of us sober enough to remember the name of our hotel across the border in Spain, our keycards craftily blank so as not to provide information to possible pickpockets, until Trevor called Juliet to ask her where he'd told her he'd be staying, and we all then serenaded her over the phone, as Trevor leaned drunkenly against me and giggled.

Maybe it was that Tuesday night in Berlin, as Trevor and I danced, sometimes with each other and sometimes with others, brushing against each other every so often, stubbornly covering sexual attraction with a display of affectionate friendship.

Maybe I fell in love with Trevor two nights later, after the announcement of my new assignment and the end of the conference, when most people had already headed home. My return flight to Kiev was on Friday morning, so I'd already arranged to hold the hotel room one extra night.

*******************

"Ready to celebrate?" Trevor asked me Thursday evening, obviously prepared to celebrate with me.

"You're not flying out tonight?" I asked, pleased at the prospect of spending some extra time with him.

"Nah. Bright and early, tomorrow morning."

Perhaps nothing further would have happened if we'd gone out clubbing again, if we'd been distracted by the music and the crowds; the next day we'd have both been on our way home and the ensuing physical distance would have allowed us to regain our equilibrium. But we were both tired, and, in a case of divine retribution, that morning I'd woken up with real flu symptoms. We went to Playoff, a sports bar in the Potsdamer Platz arcade, for hamburgers and ribs, and then back to the hotel for a nightcap. The bar was relatively empty now that our group was gone, and we snagged ourselves a couple of armchairs. My joints were starting to ache, but I was reluctant to call it a night, because I had no idea when I might see Trevor next. We sat quietly, and I was starting to drift, when I felt his cool fingers touch my cheek.

"You're burning up," he said with a frown.

"I'm okay. Nothing a couple of aspirin won't fix," I told him drowsily.

"Come on, Marcus. I'll see you to your room."

He stood up and pulled me to my feet. He was staying on the floor above mine, but unlike the previous nights, in the elevator he only pressed the button to my floor.

"Do you have aspirin? If not, Juliet always packs some for me."

"I've got some," I said hastily. The last person I wanted to think of was Juliet, even though that was exactly who I should have been remembering all along. I glanced at him, but he was glaring at the elevator doors, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

When the mechanical voice announced my floor, I started to say goodbye to Trevor, but he only shook his head, and shoved me gently out of the elevator, following close behind me down the quiet corridor.

"This is me," I whispered awkwardly when we reached my room, and I fished in my back pocket for my cardkey. I opened the door, and, one hand on the handle, turned to him once again to say goodbye, but again he pushed me, backwards this time, until there was enough space for him to step into the room and close the door behind him. I didn't exactly resist him, but I was stiff, uncertain, wondering if we both wanted the same thing, simultaneously hoping that we did and that we didn't.

"Trevor..." I started, but I had no idea how to continue. I'd been bungee jumping in France once, and I was now feeling a lot of the same sensations I'd felt standing on the bridge railing, too terrified to take that final step into the void. But at Artuby people had counted down for me, and way deep down I'd known that I was firmly anchored and in no real danger. In my hotel room in Berlin I knew no such thing, and there was nobody to direct or encourage me one way or another, only Trevor standing in front of me, his face stern.

"I'd like to kiss you," he said a little stiltedly.

"I don't want to give you my cold."

Apparently that dazed, inane comment was the right thing to say, because he burst out laughing and reached for me, pulling me into his arms. He bent his head and kissed me, his lips soft and cool on mine.

*******************

So maybe that was the moment I fell in love with him, or maybe a little later, when he walked me backwards until my knees hit the edge of the bed and we fell back together, or when he kneeled behind me, his skin almost as hot as mine by that point as he lay against by back and pushed into me in one long stroke, gathering speed as I rocked back against him, his hand wrapped around mine as I jerked off.

Or maybe it was even later, when he pulled me into his arms, even though I hadn't asked him to stay and had half-expected him to leave after we were done, and we lay awake but silent until dawn.

Ultimately it didn't make any difference, because whenever that moment had occurred, it had apparently created a rippling effect, like a stone falling in a calm lake; the ripples spread out across my whole life, until it seemed like I'd never known Trevor and not loved him.

*******************

From 2006 until 2009 all I remembered was traveling. My home base was ostensibly in Frankfurt, because most of our operations were located in Europe and Frankfurt Airport offered the most frequent connections to almost anywhere I needed to be. I rented an apartment in Wiesbaden, but I was almost never home.

During those years there were only three people I was consistently in contact with. One was Kerem, the cab driver who drove me to the airport and picked me up again. He was an older man, who liked to tell me all about the successes of his children and the increasing number of his grandchildren. The second was Gulseh, who was my cleaning lady and also turned out to be Kerem's second cousin by marriage. Between them, they kept tabs on me.

The third was Trevor. In mid-2006 he got his second chance at Germany, only in a much higher position than the one he'd refused before, running our largest European operation. He moved to Frankfurt with Juliet and the girls. I had few reasons to see him professionally, other than the occasional courtesy call or visit. But he always came around to see me the few days I was at home.

It started innocently enough, when I sent Trevor an e-mail congratulating him on his promotion. I'd been out of the country during his move, but I promised I'd take him out for a celebratory drink when I returned. Trevor offered to pick me up from the airport, but Kerem already had my arrival details.

"Why don't you come over to Wiesbaden? I'll show you around," I told him, but all he ended up seeing was my apartment and my bedroom. If he ever ended up visiting the sights of Wiesbaden, it wasn't with me.

"What do you tell Juliet?" I asked him once, when we'd lost track of time and he was sitting on the side of the bed, hastily pulling on his socks. He paused, staring at the shoe in his hand as if he'd never seen it before, then shrugged.

"This and that, depending on when and how long I'm here. That I'm visiting a client in Munich, or that I'm playing golf; once that we had a meeting in London. It's not like this happens so often or with any regularity."

He had a point; a couple of hours here and there, mostly when Juliet would have expected him to be at work, an average of one or two overnights every eight to ten weeks. Weekends were off bounds. It would have been barely noticeable.

"What about when you see others?"

He turned then to stare at me. "Others? I don't see others."

I gaped back. This was another one of the many discussions we'd never held, but I hadn't expected or even wanted exclusivity, because exclusivity increased my responsibility. And yet, that had been my rationalization in the first place, hadn't it? That if I gave Trevor what he needed, he wouldn't pursue other, riskier activities, that I didn't pose a real threat to his marriage or his way of life.

"I thought..."

He turned his back on me and resumed putting on his shoes, then bent over to tie his shoelaces.

"No. There's only you."

"And Juliet," I reminded him.

"Don't, Marcus."

He sounded so anguished that I shut up.

And so, I kept on letting him know my schedule, generally just forwarding him the ticket confirmations our travel agency e-mailed to me. The rest was up to him, but I was never disappointed. In January of 2007 I gave him a key to my apartment.

*******************

"Detroit," I told Trevor, as we lay on top of the sheets, sweaty and sated. Germany was in the grip of a heat wave, and the windows were wide open. The occasional car drove by, and a TV droned somewhere in the neighborhood, but otherwise it was quiet enough to hear the second hand on my old-fashioned alarm clock jerking forward, marking the time until Trevor finally reacted.

"When?"

"September. It's another cost-cutting measure. More tele-commuting, fewer actual trips."

The move was being imposed on me, but I should have recommended it myself. Often things got accomplished a lot faster if we just went on site and spent some face-to-face time, but after three years my team and I had established enough processes and templates that there were fewer severe or urgent issues regarding our presence.

Trevor sat up and hunched over, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers. "Well, shit," he said softly, then more vehemently: "Shit!"

I rolled onto my side and stroked his long thigh soothingly. Ever since the HR Director had told me of the coming move, I'd been considering my options. And really, there was only one.

"I'm not going to do it."

He looked back at me.

"What do you mean, you're not going to do it? Do you have a choice?"

"Yeah. I can quit, look for something else."

"In this economy? Are you nuts?" He paused for a second. He'd always been quick to connect dots, even under stress. "Marcus, no. Whatever you're thinking, no."

I swallowed.

"It's been over three years. Isn't it time you... we reached a decision?"

His eyes grew soft with something that I perceived as pity and that made me want to punch him. "You know my decision, Marcus. You always have."

"Over three years," I repeated, a little helplessly. I should have prepared some arguments, but surely the length of time meant something in and of itself.

I'd stopped stroking his thigh and instead was gripping his quadricep, my knuckles white. He had to pry my fingers loose, and then he laced them through his own.

"I know," he agreed softly. "But we both knew this wasn't going anywhere, right? It doesn't mean it hasn't been important to me. It's just... Well, it's a dead end street."

He raised our linked hands to his lips and kissed my wrist, then ran his fingers down my forearm and kissed the inside of my elbow, my shoulder, my neck. I pulled him on top of me, feeling his solid weight press me into the mattress. His lean hips fit snugly between my raised thighs. It was only June, and I wouldn't be moving to Detroit until September, but I knew, without his having to say so, that this was the last time we were going to be together.

After he'd dressed, he stood at the side of the bed, looking down at me, his blue eyes wide, as if he was trying to stop tears from forming.

"Marcus. We're friends. We're still friends, right?"

What did he want from me?

"Yeah. We're still friends," I agreed quietly, even though I could no longer imagine it ever being the same again when we hung out with the hard-core group at conferences, or that we'd ever sit next to each other and keep each other awake and amused during long and boring power point presentations.

Besides, there were credible rumors flying that Kim was going to retire within the next two to three years, and that Trevor was regarded as the most likely successor. I thought it entirely possible. As he'd gained more experience, he was consistently scoring higher than me in every single review. His direct reports loved him, his clients loved him, his bosses loved him, even the unions loved him. His undisclosed homosexuality and his affair with me were the only shadows in an otherwise unblemished life and future. But I couldn't see reporting to him in the future. I couldn't see how I'd stand it. Resigning remained my only option.

"Be careful, Trevor," I told him. "Please, take care."

"Don't worry about me, Marcus." He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and balled them into fists. "I won't do this again," he promised after a few seconds. "This was only with you."

For a while I tried to interpret what he was trying to tell me that hot afternoon, but there were too many possibilities, most them painful, and finally I gave up.

*******************

After handing in my notice and briefly entertaining daydreams of doing something simple and uncomplicated like becoming a tennis instructor or a wilderness guide in Colorado -- both of which I'd done as a student thirty years ago but sadly no longer had the skill or stamina for -- I took the route of practically every other jobless upper level manager and dubbed myself a consultant. My first and for a long time only client was my old company; ironically they now appeared prepared to foot the bill for almost limitless travel, if I told them it was necessary. I didn't, of course. Instead, I tried to accomplish as much as possible from my home office, which I'd set up in Morrison, just west of Denver. Given that I wasn't an EU citizen, and having lost the sponsorship of my employer, in the end it had been easier to move back to the US and the place I grew up in.

Things were different, of course. I was my own boss, and my old team had been disbanded, so in some ways I was working harder than ever, yet there was also a sense of freedom I'd never experienced before. I felt a pang of regret when I heard about the annual international leadership conference, which was going to be held in Prague and which was the first one I wouldn't be attending, and I moped around for a couple of days, but I soon got over it.

I put off visiting Frankfurt for as long as I could, but finally needed to schedule the trip. I took the official route, arranging the visit with one of Trevor's direct reports. After everything had been set, I dropped Trevor a one-liner, advising him in vague terms of the days of my visit to the operation and stating that it would be nice to catch up, if he was free at some point. By now I had enough experience with other ex-colleagues to know that they rarely turned out to be free, and I expected that Trevor wouldn't be either. He sent me an equally brief mail back, expressing his regret that he would be in Detroit those two days. Problem solved.

I arranged to stay in Germany over the weekend; despite the fact that I'd been living in Wiesbaden for almost four years, I hadn't seen much more of the town and the region of Hessen than the local supermarket and dry cleaners, and the road between my apartment and the airport. I rented a car for a couple of days and drove from Frankfurt to Wiesbaden and to Mainz, where I walked around, enjoying the sights and the beautiful late spring weather. It had been almost a year since the last time I'd seen or spoken to Trevor, other than that one exchange of e-mails.

I got back to my hotel in Frankfurt Saturday evening tired, hungry and slightly sunburned. The hotel bar boasted a small shaded patio and served club sandwiches, so I decided to stay put. My return flight wasn't until Monday mid-afternoon, so I had some time left to also explore Frankfurt, and I could afford one lazy evening doing nothing but drinking a couple of beers and reading the book I'd downloaded on my Kindle.

"Marcus."

He was thinner, his face both leaner and older-looking; he looked tired. He sat down, crossed his arms and rested them on the table, and simply stared at me, as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

I laid the Kindle on the table.

"Hey," I said, as if I'd just seen him yesterday. "Is this a coincidence?"

One corner of his mouth curled up.

"No, it damned well isn't. My PA told me which hotel you're staying at, and when I called, they told me you weren't in your room, but that you hadn't checked out."

"I thought you were in Detroit."

"I was. From last Friday through to Thursday. Got back here yesterday morning. I was under the impression that you were in Frankfurt only on Wednesday and Thursday," he remarked mildly, and I blushed. "I guess I know you better than you thought I did," he concluded.

"You're looking good," I lied. "Was the Detroit trip about the expected announcement?"

"Yes and no. I was visiting the girls first, then I had a meeting with the Board. Nothing's certain yet, but my chances aren't bad."

"You already moved your family back to Detroit? Isn't that jumping the gun a bit?"

"You haven't heard the gossip? You must be losing your touch."

"What gossip?"

He sighed.

"Juliet and I are getting a divorce."

"What? Why?"

He kept his eyes fixed on me.

"You told her about you?" I asked incredulously.

"I told her. I also told her about you."

"Jesus, Trevor."

He made a dismissive gesture.

"Not about the past. But about what I hope for the future."

The waiter picked that exact moment to come ask Trevor if he wanted a drink. I was vaguely aware of Trevor ordering a beer for himself and a refill for me, and then we were alone again.

"Well? Aren't you going to say anything?"

I looked at him accusingly.

"Were you going to say anything if I hadn't come to Frankfurt?"