Date: Wed, 30 Nov 2011 17:31:08 -0800 (PST) From: First Chance Subject: How Martin Blunt Learned to Live Chapter 6: Vulnerable So many thanks for the emails, suggestions, compliments, etc. Love hearing from you guys. Please keep the emails, positive and construcitve, coming! -JJ How Martin Blunt Learned to Live Chapter 6: Vulnerable Tim had started off way over his head, but his aptitude for hard work coupled with Martin's patience and mentoring skills had Tim up to speed and effectively supporting Martin by the end of his first month. Tim was always surprised at how much work there was. Before he could finish one job, two more would come in. Emails never stopped, and Martin was always being tasked with one project or another. Still, he was very happy with his job, and was learning a lot about international business. He couldn't believe the money. He was hired as a GS12 and had a salary of $65k. He had never known such a surplus in his paycheck, and he began sending money to his mom and sisters every month. He was also certain that George Rollins would be contacting him soon. This was a real struggle because the more Tim worked for Martin, the more he liked him. And that meant digging for dirt would be an even deeper sense of betrayal. Still, he tried to remember the President, his mom, even Josh. He knew what was required to keep that video private and he was determined to give George Rollins what he wanted. The consequence were too dire. He had accompanied Martin on only three domestic trips but looked forward to first international travel. Still appreciated being on a plane and seeing other cities. They had gone to Miami, San Francisco and New York City, which Tim loved. Martin couldn't believe he had never been and took him around Manhattan one night after their event for a midnight sight seeing trip. Tim also had sushi for the first time, after Martin discovered he had never tried it. Martin taught him to appreciate the rice and how the different pieces of fish compliment it, and the purpose of wasabi and ginger. Tim was a little hesitant at first, but ended up enjoying it (not the sea urchin) even though he had to use a fork. Later on that week a package arrived at Tim's home. When he opened it he found 2 elegant sets of chopsticks with a note from Martin "Practice at home and I'll take you out again". Tim was touched. He couldn't believe someone like Martin noticed small details about him. He felt like every day he learned something new from his boss who he saw as a role model and almost a friend. It was on their first international trip that he learned another side of Martin- a human side. And it was triggered by germs and traffic. Martin couldn't believe he was going to be late. He had met Tim punctually at 8:00 that morning in the hotel lobby. How could it take this long to cross town? His driver drove with a slight hesitation that gave Martin the impression he didn't know the best way to go. I'm all for immigration, he thought to himself, but I wish they'd send me a driver who knew where the fuck he was going. Martin kept referring to his smart phone, checking out the traffic patterns to the conference. His speech was supposed to begin at 9am, and he dreaded beginning late and throwing the whole day's schedule off kilter because of traffic and an incompetent driver. Oh, and he felt like crap. Which only made him madder. "Il ya beaucoup de trafic sur les Champs Elysées. S'il vous plaît prendre l'avenue du Président Wilson Avenue à l'avenue de Raymond Poincarré. C'est plus rapide. Il est très important que j'arrive à temps", he said in impatient but well pronounced French. "Oui, monsieur", mumbled back the driver, making a left hand turn down Cours de Reine. He muttered something to himself, probably cursing the stupid America who hires a car and driver but thinks he knows the city better. Thing is, Martin knew Paris well. Not just because of the year of grad school he spent at the Sorbonne, but because he loved Paris and had been back several times over the years. Never with a girlfriend, though. No way. Too much romance, too afraid of the "wow he took you to PARIS?!" reaction from her friends. No, Paris was his alone. "What did you tell him?", asked Tim, sitting beside Martin in the back seat of the black Mercedes. "To go another way. And to get there soon", grumbled Martin. They were both dressed in dark suits but Martin had forgotten his coat in his room, another uncharacteristic error that only compounded his anger this morning. He was cold, and the early spring Parisian dampness began to sink into his bones. He wore a gray, glen plaid flannel suit and crisp white shirt with a deep purple tie. His hair was sharply parted and slicked back with gel. He should have dried it better before stepping outside. He felt cold inside, and his stomach was turning. He only drank tea at breakfast afraid to eat anything that might come back up. And that also caused a little frustration because who doesn't have a croissant for breakfast in Paris? "I can fight through this" he kept telling himself. He was not going to let himself get sick. He had been invited to participate in a 4 day conference titled "The Euro: Economic Diplomacy and the Politics of Stability". This morning he was to delivery introductory remarks and moderate two panels, but only if they made it on time. Tim didn't ask any more questions but instead opted to look out the window as the shadow of the Eiffel Tower whizzed by. Tim looked around, unable to believe where he was. Paris! He was in Paris. For a kid that had only been to Canada, this was remarkable. Last week he had purchased a used copy of Frommers guide book on Paris off Ebay with the slight hope of getting some free time and exploring. He saw the Da Vinci code and always wanted to see the glass pyramid outside the Louvre. He mapped out where it was (less than a mile from the hotel!) but he knew this was no sightseeing tour, and was afraid to ask Martin for time off. Especially since Martin was in one shit mood. Finally at 8:50 the car arrived at the Sofitel in the Defense section. Martin opened the door before the car fully stopped. "Get my presentation loaded. It's the only file on the thumb drive I gave you. You have it, right?", he snapped. "Yes Mr. B. I have it", replied Tim calmly. He had started calling Martin "Mr. B" rather than "sir" or "Assistant Secretary", and Martin didn't mind. They were together all the time, so he might as well allow Tim a more personal connection. Tim felt his inside pocket again to sure he had the thumb drive. He had basically slept with it all night. Martin had made Tim paranoid like the nuclear codes themselves were on that stupid thumb drive. An anxious looking woman about 30 in a sharp looking gray suit and long pale pink scarf stood under the hotel marquis holding a clipboard. As Martin walked briskly to the door she called out "Assistant Secretary Blunt?" "Yes", said Martin walking past her. "Good morning, Sir. I'm Becky with the embassy. I have your..." "Let's talk and walk, Becky, OK. I'm already late." "Yes, of course, I'll escort you. I have your copy of the agenda here." Becky handed him papers and booklets as she explained the morning format. They power walked down the hotel corridors towards the conference. Tim was surprised Martin had not noticed Becky was almost jogging in her heels to keep up with his long strides. He hoped Becky didn't get a bad first impression of Martin. Normally he wasn't like this, so terse and short tempered. When they got to the conference room Martin walked directly to his place on the stage and took his remarks out of the the leather bound binder. Becky and Tim went to the IT station in the wings and loaded the presentation. From there, Becky said, Tim could watch the speech. Martin was introduced by the French finance minister and began his remarks with a slightly shaky voice. Tim saw Martin pull out a handkerchief and wipe his nose. Twice. And that was before he even finished the first paragraph. His remarks as written were 20 minutes long followed by 30 minutes of Q&A, but after only two questions, Martin felt increasingly miserable and knew he couldn't continue. "Seulement une question de plus, s'il vous plaît. Last question please", he said, cutting a full 20 minutes from the agenda. Tim was worried. Martin was not one to leave a task incomplete, so Tim knew something must be seriously wrong. "Merci", he said after the second question. While the audience applauded, Tim walked onstage pretending to get Martin's binder, but really looking for a chance to help him. "Sir, follow me out this way and we can avoid the crowds." Martin followed. "I need your coat", he said to Tim, reaching for his black overcoat. He knew it would be too small so he just put it over his shoulders, mafia boss style. "I've got to get out of here." They walked in silence back to the car, Martin turning ashen and sweating. In the back of the car, Martin breathed heavily and rested his head against the window, eyes closed. Tim was convinced he was going to throw up and started thinking of ways to catch it. Who travels with a plastic bag? He looked around the car and didn't see anything, not even a napkin or tissue. He prayed Martin could hold it in. Luckily there was no traffic on the return trip and they made it to the hotel in 10 minutes. Tim walked Martin to his room. When they got to the door, Martin could barely stand up. He leaned against the wall and reached inside his suit jacket pocket, pulling out his wallet. "Get my key", he whispered. When they got inside, Martin pulled the coat off his shoulders and start to jog, then run to bathroom. Tim sat on the arm of the chair listening to vomit hit water... so he knew Martin made it to the bowl. Martin heaved several times flushing the toilet often. Tim was uncomfortable. Should he help him? Should he leave? He figured it was best to just sit there quietly. After about 5 minutes Martin came out said "sorry" and collapsed on the bed. Tim knew that being the body man was...well... being the body man. And this was part of the job, too. "OK, Mr. B," he said walking towards the bed, "let's get you into bed." Martin just grunted, his eyes still closed and his breaths were short and quick. Tim took off his tie. He'd never felt a tie like that before. The silk was slippery and soft. "That's a nice tie", he said reassuringly. "Now, all you need is some sleep". Tim knelt down before his boss and started to unlace his shoes and pulled off his socks. Martin had big feet- size 12 or 13. Tim noticed they were neat and perfect looking, not that he was surprised. Of course Mr. B would have perfect toes, he thought. He sat him up and helped him take off his jacket. Tim noticed he had sweat through his dress shirt so much that the inside lining of his coat was damp. "You should change under shirt, sir. You don't want to go to bed in a wet one. Not when you're sick." Martin was dazed and appeared to be concentrating on not throwing up again. "In my bag. There." he pointed to the closet. "I have more." "I'll get it. You undo your pants, too and I'll help you get under the covers." He watched Martin fumble with the button and inside catch and start to undo the zipper, but as Martin stood up a little to pull his pants off, he immediately let out a moan "UGH" and scampered back to the bathroom. Again, Tim listened as Martin threw up 2 or 3 times, each pretty violent and aggressive. He waited with a clean dress shirt at the edge of the bed until Martin was done. A few moments later he heard Martin brush his teeth and gargle. Martin exited the bathroom and sat down hard on the bed, like carrying his weight was a chore. "Not my best moment. Sorry, Timothy", he said with half a smile. Martin's sweaty tee shirt was almost transparent, and Tim was amazed at his body. He could always tell Martin was built, but sitting next to him on the bed and seeing him up close like this... well it was just impressive. Tim admired the perfect curves of his pecs, the heft of his deltoids and the tightness of his waist under the clinging damp cloth. "No worries, Mr. B. You just get some rest and you'll be fine tomorrow. I call the conference coordinators and tell them you will miss the rest of today. Maybe you'll be okay by tomorrow. Here," he said handing him a clean tee shirt "put this on. Yours is soaking wet." Martin took a deep breath anticipating the tremendous effort involved in taking off his tee shirt. He felt so weak. Tim wanted to do it for him. One, because he felt bad, and two, because even sweaty and sick, Martin was still hot and Tim wanted to get a little feel of that chest and those arms. But he let Martin do it himself and waited patiently while he peeled off the shirt and dropped it on the floor. Tim noticed that he groomed himself carefully, and that the hair on his chest was perfectly trimmed. He looked incredible, even shaking from sick. "No shirt. Just going to lie down", Martin grumbled in a painful whisper. Tim pulled down the covers and tucked his boss into bed. "Need anything else Mr. B?" "There's some Tylenol in my overnight case in the bathroom. And water." whispered Martin with eyes closed. Martin spent the next day and a half in bed, and Tim didn't leave his side. The first night he stayed in the room sleeping on the couch. He was able to find an English speaking concierge who sent up chicken broth and toast and white rice which Tim fed him. Martin barely spoke, but allowed himself to be taken care of by his young assistant and was a good patient. Though Martin insisted he go out and see Paris, Tim refused to leave him alone. He was impressed with how genuinely concerned Tim was, and the level of detail and attention he paid to his health. There was something... special... about waking up and seeing Tim sitting there nearby, sometimes reading, sometimes asleep himself. It was comforting. It was kind. It was the kind of personal devotion he hadn't felt in a long time. Once when he saw Tim asleep in the chair, Martin found himself staring at his pretty face, his reddish brown, messy hair, his soft features and boyish face. He saw the slim outline of Tim's torso under his shirt, the long lines of his legs, the smallness of his waist and frame. He was cute... he was sweet. He was what Martin hoped to find in someone... "No", he told himself. "No. Go to sleep. Off limits." He was not going to let himself fall for a kid, not someone who worked for him. Not someone who certainly was not even interested himself. Just a dumb idea. Martin closed his eyes, and though he wished he could ask Tim to crawl into bed with him, he was glad they would be returning to Washington tomorrow. He needed time away from Tim.