My Own Worst Enemy

"Shut up."

"I mean it, that was one of the best I've ever had."

"Fuck you."

"We'll get to that later." He pulled up his shorts and pants and strode into the kitchen. I heard running water and then Mark reappeared with a washcloth, which he handed to me. "Clean yourself up, and what you spilled on the floor. Then go straighten up. Bathroom's over there."

I wiped my face, my eyes burning a hole in his back as he retreated into his bedroom. I cleaned up what I'd spit out, hefted my bag, and went to the bathroom, which also held his laundry closet. The washcloth went into the hamper before I splashed some water on my face, straightened my mascara, and brushed my teeth. Guys had come in my mouth and in general, I was okay with it, but I'd never liked the aftertaste. I scanned myself up and down but it didn't look like I'd gotten any of it on my clothes.

My eyes settled on their reflection in the mirror. Well, it's begun. You gave him a blowjob and it wasn't intolerable. You're going to pay off your loss and you're going to be okay. I returned to the front room.

Mark was there. He'd straightened himself up as well and seemed very calm. I snorted. "Well, you look very relaxed and pleased with yourself."

"I can't imagine why. Did you already eat breakfast?"

"No. Knowing what I was facing here, if I had eaten, I would have been ill."

He smiled, ignoring my jab. "Good, let's go."

"Go? Go where?"

"Down to the corner market. I need to pick up some things for breakfast."

I held up my hand. "I agreed to fuck you, Mark, not be your personal cook for the weekend."

He gave me an exasperated look. "Sophie, I'm going to make breakfast, for both of us. Are crepes okay?"

"Uh ... I guess so." I crossed my arms. "Making breakfast? What's your game here?"

"My 'game' is I'm hungry and I am going to cook us breakfast. Let's walk."

I left my bag on the couch and followed him out the door. Mark held it open for me again, closed it behind us, and placed his hand on my back to guide me to the elevator. The ride down was quiet. He kept glancing my way and I sensed that he wanted to say something but he didn't.

For my part, I was a little confused and more than a little suspicious of Mark's attitude. He didn't leer at me and since he'd plastered my mouth, he hadn't said another lecherous word. The grin on his face seemed more about heading out on a nice day than about having just gotten a hummer.

He must be up to something.

Mark escorted me to the small natural foods market at the end of his block. I followed him as he picked up a few ingredients. I caught one or two guys in the place checking me out. I always liked an appreciative look and a small smile touched my lips.

"A smile at last."

It vanished as fast as it had come. I glared at him. "It wasn't for you."

"Maybe I can put it back on your face. What do prefer for your crepes—sweet or savory?"

"For breakfast? Sweet. Strawberries if you can manage that."

"I can."

"I doubt they'll be as good as my mother's."

Mark chuckled. "Far be it from me to challenge anyone's mother at cooking."

I stared at him a moment then looked away. There was no figuring him out.

He finished shopping, paid, and we were soon back in the apartment. Mark asked me to make some coffee and pointed at a cabinet, where I found a handful of designer blends. I picked one and set the maker while he pureed strawberries and blueberries for the filling. I watched him whip the batter and pour thin puddles into the greased pan. Within moments, he'd laid filling, folded it, and served it on a plate. He dusted it with powdered sugar and offered the plate to me.

The sweet aroma tickled my nose and I realized I was ravenous. I took the plate and said, somewhat grudgingly, "Thanks."

"I whipped some cream earlier and that's in the fridge. Sugar's on the counter over there, cutlery in that drawer. I would have made Crepe Suzette but I don't have any Grand Marnier or Orange Curacao."

"This will be fine." I took out the cream, grabbed a knife and fork from the drawer, and sat with my meal. I scooped a little cream over it along with a dash of sugar, then cut a small piece and ate it. The flavors melted into a blend of sweet deliciousness.

Fuck. This is at least as good as Mom's, though I'm not admitting that to him. I wiped my mouth on my napkin. "Where did you learn how to cook crepes, anyway?"

"I spent a year in Brussels and the French couple next door used to have me over for breakfast. I learned and started cooking for them. Nice folks but they were getting up there in years, so it was the least I could do."

"What took you to Brussels?"

"Studying abroad. Part of my degree at Princeton. Where'd you go?"

"Undergrad and Masters from Penn." I cut another piece. Strawberry puree oozed from between the folds and I swabbed it up with the crepe.

"Good school for international finance."

"Best in the country."

"How's your crepe?"

I sighed. "Good, I guess. Mom made them a lot when I was growing up, though she does less often now that me and my siblings are moved out. She's French, you know."

Mark cocked his head. "I didn't. She must be where you got your good looks."

His words skirted across my skin like a gale of frost. In an instant, I realized that between breakfast and his friendly demeanor, I was beginning to relax and let my guard down. I frowned and narrowed my eyes. "Did you learn any French when you were overseas?"

"A little."

"T'es un connard."

He raised his eyebrows. "I'm an asshole? Okay."

"What else would you call yourself?"

Mark sat with his own crepe and grinned at me. "A fortunate man who is having breakfast with a lovely coworker."

"A coworker whose mouth you unloaded in." I folded my arms across my chest. "That has nothing to do with your good mood, right?"

Mark paused in the middle of cutting his crepe and placed his knife and fork on the plate. He leaned back in his chair and regarded me with calm eyes. "Sophie, I didn't force you to do anything. There is nothing holding you here except your own ego. If you want to walk out the door and call it even, that's fine. I'm more than happy to call this off and consider it done. In fact, I'm surprised that you showed up in the first place. I thought for sure when I told you to get on your knees that you would have turned and left, and was pretty stunned when you didn't. A little disappointed, too."

"Were you trying to get me to leave?"

"I was on the verge of telling you to go."

I recalled how he had hesitated. "Why did you let me do it, then?"

He stared at me like I had grown another head. "You called me over, remember? Since you insisted on staying, I wasn't going to turn down a blowjob from a gorgeous woman. You probably should have gone."

I looked at my plate. Tears clouded my eyes and my voice dropped to a whisper. "You know I can't."

"So you say. Would you please look at me?" I did and he continued. "If you stay, it's because you choose to—and I don't want you here if you insist on being an ass. I'd prefer us to be pleasant but if you're going to mope or act sour, then I'm going to kick you out. If leaving makes you angst over your debt, that's a 'you' problem. I already told you to get help for that. And if you insist on staying and following through with your so-called obligation, I am not going to swear to not have sex with you, because I find you incredibly attractive, so you better figure out how to deal with it."

He resumed eating. I picked up my fork and made myself take another bite, even though I'd lost my appetite. How ridiculous is this? He'll use my body to get off but keeps trying to push me out the door ... and I hate that I'm letting him use me but refuse to leave. Talk about fucked-up people and—

I scrunched my eyebrows as something he said finally sunk in. He called me gorgeous? And ... "You find me incredibly attractive?"

He nodded without looking at me.

"Since when?"

"Since I transferred to this office."

"You never let on."

Mark shrugged. "Why would I? You were already pretty pissed that I was filling the chair promised to you—which I never asked for, by the way. I didn't know that it was supposed to be yours until I had already arrived and by then, Stackford had made a big deal to my mother about me coming east, so I couldn't say much. Aside from all that, office dating is a minefield. Who needs that aggravation? And you have a few inches on me. In my experience, many women won't date a man shorter than them, and you've already made a few jokes about my height. So why bother?"

He'd ignored me so thoroughly for months that I had no idea. I didn't know what to say, other than, "Oh."

We finished our breakfast in quiet. When we were done, Mark collected our plates and straightened up for a few minutes. When he faced me, he said, "Do you feel like running an errand with me? If not, I guess you can stay here."

"You'd leave me alone in your apartment?"

"Why not? Are you going to trash the place or something?

"Of course not. I just thought ..." I trailed off.

"You thought I'd be ready to fuck now that we've recharged our batteries with a little food, right?"

"Honestly? Yes."

He laughed. "I'm not nineteen anymore. I can't have sex ten times a day, so I like to space them out. In the meantime, I have something I need to do. You may or may not enjoy it but I think it's time well spent. Want to join me?"

"All right, let me get my purse."

#

I got two more surprises that morning.

First, I was taken aback when Mark led me into the complex garage and to his car. Since he had money, I'd expected something nice. I had not expected a streamlined red sports car that had been washed and buffed until it glowed. "Cute car."

"Cute?" Mark sounded mildly offended. "It's a 1995 Porsche 911 GT2. This isn't nice, this is a fucking masterpiece of automotive engineering."

"Okay, I get it. It's your chick magnet. Does it get you a lot of pussy?"

"No, any woman who didn't want me at first and then does because they see the car isn't a woman I'm interested in. Not even for a night."

His attitude was refreshing if he was being honest. I started to make a crack about Mark having a sports car being a reflection of having a tiny dick but caught myself and even blushed. I already knew that wasn't true.

He unlocked the car and held the door for me. I got in and smiled at him. "Who says chivalry's dead?"

"It is. I didn't want you dinging the door on the next car in a fit of pique."

"I knew you were an asshole." I had to push the seat all the way back so my legs could stretch out. Mark climbed in and we took off, pulled out of the garage, and merged into Manhattan traffic. I had a Mercedes, though I didn't drive much and wasn't super-comfortable on the roads with the insane New York motorists. But Mark zipped along the streets with the skill and patience of a veteran. All in all, I had to say he was an excellent driver. "LA traffic must have prepped you well for this."

"Prepped me for what?"

"Defensive driving in Manhattan."

"Nah, I tend to have a lead foot." He grinned. "But with precious cargo in the car, it's better to be cautious."

"Gorgeous and incredibly attractive, and now I'm precious cargo?"

"Yep. Precious and grouchy."

I looked out the passenger window, more confused than ever.

My second surprise came when he pulled into the parking lot of Morgan Stanley Children's Hospital. He flashed a pass at a pole-mounted card reader, after which an automated gate rose and allowed us to enter. The parking lot attendant waved to him. Mark found a spot close to the nearest doors and parked.

"All right," I said, "what's up with this?"

He gestured at the sign near the door. "Oncology ward."

"Oncology—" My eyes widened. "Wait. Kids with cancer?"

"Yeah."

I swallowed. "And what's your interest?"

Mark's face had gone somber, all traces of humor gone. "Nothing, other than well-wishing. I come here and read to some of the kids, to try and pick up their spirits."

Memory came, that he only worked half days on Fridays. "Wait. Do you come down here every Friday morning?"

"Yeah."

My eyes flicked between his face and the door. The very idea of children stricken with life-threatening disease pierced my heart. I glanced at the plain steel and glass entryway, which—now that I knew what waited on the other side—seemed foreboding and sinister. "How do you do that? Isn't it hard?"

"Very." Warmth crept over the back of my hand. I looked down and realized he'd placed his hand over mine. "Sophie, I can see this is distressing for you. I'll call you a cab."

I gazed into his eyes and in the depths of those hazel orbs, I saw sadness and something I had not expected.

Vulnerability.

"N-no, Mark. I'll come in with you."

Looking back, I have to say it was one of the most difficult hours of my life. I'd never wanted children or really been around them much. My siblings and friends had kids and like adults, some youngsters were more pleasant to interact with than others. I wasn't antagonistic toward the idea of children. It was just something I'd never really wanted for myself.

But as I'd feared in the car, walking around the clinic and seeing all those tiny bodies ravaged by disease was almost more than I could take.

When we entered the ward, a bubbly and buxom peroxide blonde in a striped volunteer's shirt, who could not have been more than twenty-two, emerged from behind the receptionist's booth and came around, grinning. "Hi, Mark!" She hurled her arms around his neck, mashed her substantial chest into his, and kissed his cheek. I wondered if he was fucking her.

Mark glanced at me with a hint of embarrassment. "Uh, hi, Krystal." He slowly disentangled herself from her grip. The volunteer's attention settled on me. Mark cleared his throat. "This is Sophie, my friend and coworker. She came to see the kids with me."

"Hi," the girl said. She eyed me up and down, the way someone would check out a rival, and I could tell she hated me on sight.

Mark looked down the hall. "Who needs a pick-me-up today?"

Krystal gave me one last frosty look and focused on Mark. Her eyes sparkled with poorly-concealed lust and attraction. "Camilla, I think. She had chemo this morning and she's kind of in the dumps, and her mom had to go back to work after her session. And she already asked if you were coming in today."

"Got it."

"You're such a good guy." Krystal threaded her arms around Mark's bicep and pressed her chest into his side. She kissed his cheek again while shooting me daggers from the corner of her eyes while she did. "You call me if you need anything."

I resisted the urge to burst out laughing.

"We will. Thanks, Krystal." Mark disengaged from her a second time and motioned to me. "C'mon, Sophie."

When we were out of earshot, I said, "Could she be any more obvious?"

"No, not really."

"One of your playmates?"

I thought I caught a touch of irritation from him. "No, never."

"She looks like she'd be fun."

"Sophie, she's far too young and annoying and I wish she'd leave me alone, but no woman seems to be able to do that when I want them to." He glared at me. "Now give it a rest, please—at least until after we're done here. You want to bitch at me or give me a hard time, save it until we're away from the kids."

He was right, so I let it go.

I tried not to peek in the rooms we passed but it was unavoidable. All were filled with kids in various states of living ... and dying. Some played with toys. Others read or watched television. A handful were asleep—at least, I prayed they were asleep and not in a coma or worse. One sleeping boy was attended by two adults—presumably his parents—standing next to the bed in a full-body hug. With nothing more than a quick glance, I saw the mother's shoulders shaking as she sobbed.

A lump formed in my throat and I tore my eyes away.

Camilla was a perky girl who Mark later told me was nine. She sat upright in her bed, watching television, while a middle-aged nurse fiddled with the girl's monitoring station. I was shocked at how emaciated she was, though she still had her hair. Her blue eyes were bright and her face broke into a broad smile when she saw Mark. "Hi, Mr. Mark!"

"Hi, Cammie." He gave her a gentle hug.

The girl stared at him, hope written on her face. "Did you come to read to me?"

"I did." He motioned at me. "This is my friend Sophie. Do you mind if she sits with us?"

"No. Can I call you Miss Sophie?"

I put on my best smile and bent with my hands on my knees. "Of course you can, sweetie. Are you sure it's okay if I listen to Mark read?"

Camilla's narrow head bobbed up and down. "We can all be friends, right?"

"I'd like that."

The nurse, who had been watching with a kind expression on her face, excused herself. Mark plucked one of the books from the shelf, which by the cover appeared to be something about a disobedient princess, and with Camilla's approval, sat and began to read.

I sat next to him and listened with growing awe. Mark didn't just read; he engaged with Camilla, asking her questions, such as, "And what do you think she did next?" or "I bet the ogre was scary, wasn't it?" He varied his tone and voice for each character. He wasn't just going through the motions; he genuinely wanted the girl to enjoy his delivery.

Rapt, Camilla hung on his every word.

Me? I found myself drawn into his performance too. It was almost hypnotic. And it wasn't just that. As if he'd flipped a switch, Mark was showing a level of empathy and care that I had never seen in the office ... or anywhere, maybe.

At one point, Mark turned to me and said, "I think Sophie can do the silly voice of the old crow, don't you?"

"Oh, would you, Miss Sophie?" Camilla's eyes gazed into mine.

My first thought was that he was trying to needle me but one look in his eyes belied that notion. I could see that in his mission to perk the girl's spirits, he was offering me the chance to help, and my resistance crumbled.

"I can do that." I leaned close to Mark and began to read the crow's lines in a high-pitched, cracking voice. Camilla giggled and laughed.

Through it all, I tried to stave off the gravitas of Camilla's situation. I wondered what exactly was wrong with her. If she was a bed-ridden patient in an oncology ward, it couldn't have been good. As I looked at this little being, so full of life and happiness our visit seemed to bring—a brief respite from the pain and despair that I am sure filled her day-to-day—I felt the tears well up in my own eyes.

No. You don't cry now. You be strong.

All too soon, the hour came to an end. When the story was done, Mark gave her another brief embrace. Camilla extended her arms to me, her expression expectant.

I hesitated but gave her a gentle hug. I was afraid I'd be able to smell the decay and rot on her but I only caught the sharp tang of hospital sheets and gowns. Camilla whispered in my ear, "Thank you, Miss Sophie. Will you come see me again?"

"I hope so." And I think I meant it.

We were quiet all the way back to the car. My thoughts stayed on the little human we'd just left, and all the other kids. Sure does make a lot of your problems seem insignificant, doesn't it? Intellectually, I'd known about such things. I knew people died in accidents, people lost their homes to floods, people ended up homeless, little kids ended up with cancer. As long as it was at a distance, it was abstract, a concept more than a problem for me.

Having it thrust in my face invoked emotions I wasn't sure what to do with.

Mark opened the car door for me again. I accepted without comment this time. When he climbed behind the wheel, I said, "Do you do this every week?"