The Guy Across The Hall Ch. 01

At the other end of the long room, rather than a dining room table, the entire dining area had been turned into a home office with a huge computer desk and what looked to be a rather extensive and powerful computer system. The one outstanding thing about these apartments were the kitchens. They were large by apartment standards - big enough to eat in with lots of cabinets for storage and fairly modern appliances. However, Pete’s kitchen was very different from mine in that his cabinets were all dark wood and leaded glass so that the contents could be seen behind the small panes of glass and the counter-tops were all a deep red granite - as was the sink.

He motioned me over to a good-sized kitchen table of dark wood that looked like it was an antique (it was - over 150 years old, I found out later) and brought over two cobalt blue mugs filled with what turned out to be some of the richest, most flavorful coffee I’d ever had. There was a cut-glass sugar bowl on the table and Pete pulled from the refrigerator a matching cut-glass pitcher filled with cream. Adding both to my coffee and looking around the kitchen, I couldn’t help but be impressed by my surroundings.

“This is really quite a place you’ve got here! Either you or the landlord has been doing some upgrading!” I said.

“Well, I guess you could say we both have. The landlord is a particular friend of mine.” Pete smiled.

“You mean the guy who runs the grocery downstairs?” I asked.

“Oh, no. He’s not the owner of the building. He simply manages the apartments for the owner.” Pete said.

“Oh!” I said. “Well, I wonder if I’ll get to meet the owner?” I asked.

“I would expect you will, in due time.” Pete answered.

“So I guess that’s why your place looks like this, huh?” I asked.

“Well...you might say that. Eventually the landlord wants to redo all of the apartments this way but before he could do your’s, you rented it.” Pete said. “But maybe, if you don’t mind putting up with the mess, it could get upgraded while you’re living there.”

“Sure! I don’t mind, especially not if it would end up looking like this!” I enthused.

“Well, I’ll have to see what I can do about that.” Pete grinned. “So, you’re getting divorced?”

“Yeah. The marriage was really a mistake. I didn’t love her but she got pregnant. I stuck it out for three years, but finally my Dad offered me a way out. He and Mom are paying for the divorce.” I said.

“Really? That’s quite unusual.” Pete said.

“Well, Dad said they’d never given me a wedding present.” I grinned. “I guess a divorce was the best present they could give me. That, and this apartment.”

“They rented the apartment for you?” he asked.

“Yeah. I wanted out and we didn’t have the money for that. I can pay the rent but Mom and Dad did the first, last and security so that I could move quickly.” I explained.

“I understand. Did you ask them to do all this?” he asked.

“No. Dad came to me. They saw how miserable I was and wanted to do something to change it.” I smiled.

“Well, it seems to have worked. You don’t seem miserable to me.” Pete smiled back.

“No, ever since we saw the lawyer and rented this place, it’s been like a thousand pound weight was lifted off my shoulders.” I said.

“Well, it looks like you could almost hold that much. You must work out with all those muscles.” he grinned.

I was shocked at first. I didn’t think of myself as muscular - especially not looking at him. And that was part of the shock. I found myself looking at him - a lot. I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from his muscular body. I’d never had this happen with another guy before and I couldn’t understand why it was happening to me. I found myself blushing hard - whether from what he said about my body or from the embarrassment of not being able to tear my eyes away from his form.

“No. I don’t. I guess it’s from work. Throwing around engines and transmissions will keep you pretty well toned. And I do still run every morning. I do about three miles a day to stay in shape.” I admitted.

“It definitely shows.” he said, eying me.

“How about you! I’d say you must work out pretty regular.” I said.

“Well, I have to!” he smiled. “It’s one of my professions.”

“One of your professions? How many do you have?” I asked.

“Actually, I have two. I’m a male model and I also am a writer. But sitting in front of a computer for hours at a time doesn’t do much for your body so I have to work out to stay looking good enough to do the modeling gig.” he said.

Well, that certainly made sense considering how handsome he was! In fact, I don’t think I’d ever seen such a good looking male in my entire life! And the fact that I noticed that bothered me as well! What the fuck was wrong with me?

“So you don’t model around here, do you?” I asked.

“No, I moved here about five years ago. I wanted to live somewhere small and quiet - away from the big city where I’d been raised.” he smiled.

“Where was that?” I asked.

“You mean you can’t tell? Most people say that my accent gives me away!” he laughed.

“No, I can’t say that I can. I really can’t hear any accent.”

“That’s because I’ve had enough speech courses to basically train it out of me! I was born and raised in New York City. That’s where I still do some modeling - that and in California. Sometimes, I’ve been on shoots in Europe but mostly I only accept assignments in the United States now. Unless the money is just too enticing.” he said.

“Fuck! That must be fun! Traveling all over the place!” I said.

“Yeah, you would think it would be, but it’s not. It’s a very lonely life. The only people you spend time with are other models and, I don’t like to seem elitist, but models - by and large - are about the most egotistical and boring people on earth. All they seem to be concerned about are themselves and their looks. I didn’t seek out a career in modeling. I just kind of fell into it so I’ve never been that hung up on how I look.” he said.

“What do you mean, fell into it?” I asked.

“Well, I was walking down the street one day in Manhattan and there was a photo-shoot going on. The photographer spotted me and got his assistant to give him my name, address and phone number. The next thing I knew, he was contacting me and offering me $250 and hour to do a layout for a men’s fashion magazine. That’s how I got started. It was money I just couldn’t pass up.” he said.

“You make $250 per hour just for standing around getting your picture taken?!” I exclaimed.

“Well, it’s a little more work than that, but basically, that’s it. Only I now make over $1,000 per hour.” he said.

“Fuck! $1,000 per hour! That’s incredible!” I said.

“Don’t be too impressed. It won’t last. I’ll soon be too old to get that kind of money. And I’ve been considering retiring anyway. Since I moved here and my writing career has begun to take off, I’ve been less and less inclined to having to travel to New York or LA. So, what about you? What is it you do?” he asked.

“I’m just a mechanic. I work on cars.” I said.

“Hey! That’s a really important profession! Shit! I can’t do anything nearly that practical. Engines and such are a complete mystery to me. Whenever I take my car into the shop, I’m sure that they’re ripping me off because I have no idea what the fuck they’re doing!” he laughed.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. You need your car fixed, you just let me know. I’d be glad to do it for you.” I said.

“Oh, I couldn’t impose on you that way!” he said.

“Why not? It’s just the neighborly thing to do.” I said.

He looked at me for a moment like he couldn’t figure out what I was talking about. Then he smiled.

“Yes, the neighborly thing to do. You have to understand, I wasn’t raised here like I guess you were.” he said.

“Yeah, I was. I love this little town. Never wanted to live anywhere else.” I said.

“You see, in New York, where I was raised, the ‘neighborly thing to do’ was often to rip off your neighbor. Not exactly the same kind of ideas there as here. That’s one of the reasons I moved here. I wanted out of that rat-race, the dog-eat-dog world. But I find it’s been hard here as well, making friends. People here seem to have a distrust - a standoffishness - where strangers are concerned.

“Well, there is that. This is New England, after all. But it ain’t just because you’re a newcomer. I don’t have any friends either. I had friends when I was in high school, but they all took off for college after graduation and none of them ever wanted to come back and live here. Can’t say as I blame them, really. There ain’t much here in the way of what you might call a ‘career’.” I explained.

“You’re the first guy I’ve felt comfortable talking to.” Pete said, giving me a shy smile.

“Same here! I don’t think I’ve ever felt this comfortable with somebody when I first meet them. I hope that we’re going to be friends.” I said eagerly.

I was afraid that I’d said it a little too eagerly! I didn’t know what the fuck was up with me. It was like I really wanted Pete to like me more than anything else in the fucking world! I’d never felt that way about anybody before! But he just gave me this really bright fucking smile!

“Yeah. I’d really like that, too.” he said and his voice showed just as much eagerness as mine! “So, now that’s settled, have you had breakfast yet?”

“Nah. I was gonna go over to the café and have some in a little while.” I said.

“Well, there’s no reason to do that. I was just about to cook breakfast when I heard you. It’s just as easy to make it for two.” he said, smiling.

Wanting to spend more time with him - for reasons I couldn’t explain even to myself - I looked at him and smiled.

“Yeah! I’d like that - if it’s not any trouble.” I said.

“No trouble at all!” he smiled.

He got up and went over to the refrigerator and started pulling stuff out. Before I knew it, I could smell the wonderful smell of bacon cooking and onions and green pepper as well. In not a lot of time, Pete was laying out a full breakfast of western omelets, home fries, bacon and toast. There looked like there was enough to feed an army but between the two of us, we devoured it all.

“Damn! That was good!” I grinned at him, finishing off the last of my home fries.

“Thank you! It’s always nice to cook for an appreciative and hungry audience!” he laughed. “And now that I’ve fueled up, I feel like working out. Why don’t you join me?”

“Uhh...well...I don’t have anything with me to work out in.” I said. “I should probably just get out of your way and let you get to it.”

“Nonsense! I’ve got stuff that will fit you easily.” he said.

“Where do you work out anyway?” I asked.

“Come on. Let me get you some thing to change into and I’ll show you.” he said.

He led me into his bedroom. If I thought the rest of the apartment was impressive, it was nothing compared to this! The central feature of the room was the bed. King-sized with a dark wooden canopy and long, heavy velvet drapes in deep burgundy gathered at the four dark wooden posts carved in intricate details at the corners. The bed was covered in what looked like (and I later found out was) a black leather cover. At the foot of the massive bed, was what looked like a massive carved wooden chest which looked ancient. Indeed, I later found out it was from a Spanish Galleon and was from the 1600's. There was another plasma screen television on the wall opposite the bed and I could see speakers suspended from the ceiling in all four corners of the room. The floors were again highly polished wood but there were small rugs which looked like old Arab prayer rugs on both sides of the bed.

The headboard of the bed itself was a bookcase and filled with books. Above it was a mirrored wall and when Pete hit the light-switch by the door, not only did lamps on dark wooden night stands on each side of the bed go on but spotlights from up inside the canopy illuminated the bed as well. I could also see small halogen reading lights on swing arms sitting on top of the bookcase headboard. On the other two walls, rather than paintings or artwork, there was displayed a collection of swords, the likes of which I’d never seen before. Swords of every shape and size! There must have been at least a hundred of them between the two walls. My eyes were particularly drawn to a large, curved sword which I knew from reading and movies was more than likely Japanese in origin. I walked over to take a closer look at it.

“You have a good eye.” Pete said, coming up behind me. “That is the prize of my collection. A true Japanese Katana sword dated to around 1535. The sword of a Samurai in service to Ashikaga Yoshiteru who was the 13th Ashikaga Shogun who reigned from 1546 to 1565.”

“This is really amazing! How did you get interested in swords?” I asked.

Pete laughed.

“The usual way, I guess. I studied fencing when I was in high school and college. Got to be quite good at it but not enough to enter the Olympics.” he said.

I was quickly deciding that there were so many sides to this very attractive man - so many sides that it would probably take years to learn them all!

“So let me get you something to change into.” he said, walking over to a tall chest of drawers against one wall that I hadn’t noticed. It, too, was of the same dark wood as the night stands and bed.

He pulled out a pair of gym shorts, a clean jock and a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off so that there was only about a two or three inch sleeve.

“You can change in the bathroom over there if you’re shy.” Pete said.

Even though there was no belligerence to it and it was said gently, this sounded like a type of challenge. A challenge that I couldn’t quite understand. I just knew somehow that I was just supposed to change right there and so I did.

“That’s okay. We’re both boys.” I joked as I quickly stripped out of my t-shirt and blue jeans and donned the jock, gym shorts and sweatshirt.

I noticed that Pete’s eyes never left my body as I did so - as if he wanted to see me naked. I just figured that this was just my mind playing tricks on me. That couldn’t be the case!

Once I changed, Pete led the way out of the bedroom and then out of the apartment. I followed him downstairs and then down to the basement. The first room we came to was a small laundry with a coin-operated washer and a coin-operated dryer. There was a concrete-block wall which made the room very small. I wondered at this because, if this were a full basement, the room beyond the metal door set in the middle of the wall had to be huge.

Pete pulled a key from his pocket and opened the metal door and reached inside to turn on the lights. The ceiling lit with rows of fluorescent lights show the room to be, indeed, huge! Huge and filled with work out equipment. More than I’d ever seen before. More, in fact, then there was in the gym at White Mountains Regional High!

“Holy shit!” I exclaimed looking around.

Pete just grinned at me.

“My little home gym.” he said.

“Some fucking home gym! You could train for the fucking Olympics in here!” I said.

“Well, perhaps. It would depend on what sport.” Pete laughed. “Come on, let me show you the rest of it.”

“The ‘rest’ of it?!” I exclaimed.

Pete didn’t say anything, just led the way to another door in a back wall past all of the equipment and free-weights. He opened the door, turned on more lights and we stepped into what would be termed a ‘wet’ area. There was a huge shower with four heads coming out of the walls, two on each side. Next to this, was a glass door which was fogged with condensation.

“Steam room.” Pete said, pointing to the glass door.

Next to this was a small wooden door which Pete pulled open to reveal a small sauna, basically big enough for two and finally a large hot tub. Pete reached over to the side of the hot tub, threw a switch and the water began to churn and bubble.

“There’s also bathroom facilities here.” Pete said pointing out a urinal and toilet along with a sink and mirror.

All in all, in a compact area, was everything you would think to find in a good health club.

“This is incredible! Don’t tell me, your good friend the landlord built this for you?” I asked, wonder in my voice.

“Well, you might say that. Look, Tommy, if we’re going to be friends, there’s something I need to tell you. I’m the landlord. I own the building. I bought it when I moved here to provide not only a home for me but some income. I let the grocer, Tony, handle the rentals and act as my agent for a reduction of his rent and I don’t tell the tenants that I’m the owner. That way, they don’t bother me with problems. If their sink overflows, I want Tony to call a plumber. I don’t want to have to deal with it because there’s not a whole lot I could do other than that. I don’t know anything about plumbing or electrical, for that matter.” Pete admitted.

“Well, that at least makes sense! For a minute there, I was thinking that the landlord must be a very wealthy woman and you were her kept ‘boy-toy’!” I grinned.

Pete almost collapsed, he was laughing so hard at this. I didn’t think it was all that funny but it must have struck him that way.

“No, no way, guy!” Pete said when he’d finally calmed down. “So, how about we work out?”