Date: Sat, 3 Dec 2011 10:55:04 -0800 (PST) From: First Chance Subject: How Martin Blunt Learned to Live Chapter 7: The International Association of Business Leadership Many thanks for the emails. I've tried to respond to every one and enjoy hearing from you guys. Thanks for the constructive emails and the compliments. Something very cool about getting an email from someone in Asia who likes my story... makes the world seem smaller. -JJ How Martin Blunt Learned to Live Chapter 7: The International Association of Business Leadership Paris had been an insightful trip for Martin. He learned he could trust Tim... and that he couldn't trust himself with Tim. Was it possible he was developing feelings for him or was he just lonely? Something of a reverse Florence Nightingale syndrome where the patient falls for the nurse. Whatever it was, Martin was determined to not think of Tim as anything more than a good assistant. A good, cute assistant. Whether or not it was a mistake to stop at the Apple Store in Georgetown and buy Tim an Ipad as a thank you for taking good care of him in Paris... is debatable. Maybe it was a stupid gesture, but Martin justified that Tim had earned it. Tim was so touched he gave Martin a hug, much to both their surprise. "Thanks Mr. B. That is the coolest gift I have ever gotten. You really didn't have to", Tim said realizing that he was hugging a rock. Nothing sunk in on Martin's body- no gush, no mush. Tim felt a rush of fire go through him. Martin gave Tim a firm pat on the back and didn't allow himself to linger. "I owe you Timothy. We go back to Paris in a few weeks and we'll try again." Tim was amazed. His own Ipad. Martin even had his initials engraved in the back. Martin... sick, healthy, in a suit or half naked throwing up... there was something about him that was so... what was it? Was he just a great boss and mentor or was there something more? Careful, he told himself. He's your boss. Martin left later that morning for a speech in Dupont Circle. In the taxi ride over he decided that Timothy was off limits. The Ipad was understandable, but it would be the last sort of gesture of affection. Strictly professional from now on. Focus on your work, Martin, and everything else will fall in line, he told himself. What would happen at that speech would remind Martin about falling for the wrong person. Martin had received an invitation to give some remarks at the annual meeting of a major business association, the The International Association of Business Leadership (IABL) at the Washington Hilton on Connecticut Avenue. About 400 business executives from across the nation and foreign offices (London, Tokyo, Hong Kong, etc.) gather to network, discuss trade policy and business best practices, and at night stumble down to strip clubs south of Dupont Circle. Primarily, the 4 day conference is a major lobbying attempt to win over Congress and the President. His speech was hand delivered to his house at around 9:30pm the night before by a White House intern. Martin reviewed the cover sheet, reading that his 20 minute speech was drafted by the Commerce Department Office of Business Policy Initiatives in conjunction with U.S. Trade Representative, the Small Business Association, with input from the Securities and Exchange Commission Department of 21st Century Financial Foundation, Executive Office of Secretary of the Treasury and finally approved by the White House Council of Economic Advisers, Office of Political Affairs, Legal Counsel and Chief of Staff, Elliott Anders. He stood in the door of his home barefoot, wearing jeans and a tight Vanderbilt long sleeve tee shirt. "Seriously?", he joked to the intern, as he signed the release form. "Did you have to get all these signatures?" He imagined this poor intern running around DC for one minor speech. "Let's just say it's been a long day, Sir", the interned replied with a smile. Martin spent the night reviewing the speech and dossier Tim put together on the IABL, their stated goals, etc. The next morning he delivered the speech without any problems and even answered a few questions from the audience. He made sure his answers were... diplomatic, without anything concrete that could come back to haunt the President. He received a nice applause and, returning to his seat to finish his lunch, he froze. He made direct eye contact with Jon. It was like a bolt of lightening. Of 400 people in the crowded ballroom, mostly men, all dark suits, all dark blurbs fading into the drab hotel background as waiters hurried to and fro clearing tables, his eyes somehow found Jon. It must have been that blond hair which always stands out. Martin paused before sitting down, not hearing the compliments of the men seated around him. Their eyes had locked, and Jon gave Martin a slight nod. He knew Martin saw him, too. Now there was no way Martin could avoid him, and that infuriated him. It was on a flight to Brussels about 4 years ago that Martin and Jon met. Martin was a new Senior VP and his boss had asked him to attend a meeting with the European division of the bank. It was only a 1 day meeting, but Martin planned on extending his visit a few extra days. He was not dating anyone at the time and relished the chance to eat, relax, drink fine wine and see some great art uninterrupted. When he boarded with the first class passengers, Jon was already seated. Secretly Martin hoped no one would be next to him since he didn't want to talk on the plane. He hadn't seen a movie in weeks and wanted to read his book. First class chatter can be the worst kind, everyone name dropping and trying to convince you they are powerful and important. His reaction on seeing Jon was tepid, at first. Martin stowed his overhead, stuck a magazine and book in the pockets and took his seat. "How you doing?" he heard Jon say. 'Great' he thought. 'he's starting already.' But imagine Martin's surprise when he looked over and saw Jon. Jon was stunning. If Martin was a looker, Jon was a statue. A 40 year old Nordic statue. Jon's face was chiseled from flawless white marble. He had pale green eyes and high, defined cheekbones slightly rosy, pink, full lips. His skin was without blemish and and he had cropped light blond hair- a hair color rarely seen in adults. He looked like a grown up Gerber baby or one of Raphael's angels as an adult. Martin almost stumbled on his words when he saw Jon's face, the brightness of his smile, and heard the softness of his voice. "Hi. Yeah, well, thanks. You?", Martin incoherently replied anxiously sitting down. "Something to drink, gentlemen?" a flight attendant asked with a big smile, either truly happy to do her job or, more likely, truly impressed by the hotness factor of Row 2 seats A and C. The two of them side by side, Martin and Jon, did look like a magazine ad. "Scotch rocks for me. What are you drinking buddy?", Jon asked winking at Martin. "Same, please", he replied. Yes. The same. I will definitely drink what you are serving, he heard himself think. For 5 and half hours Martin and Jon talked. Take off, meals, movies, lights out and shades down, nothing seemed to interrupt their conversation. Jon was from Chicago, but often had business in DC. He was going to Brussels for a two day seminar for Commodities Brokers, which is what he did for a living. Being a banker it was easy for Martin to converse about the markets and monetary policy, but soon enough the conversation turned social, college, college football "Strong Safety at Vandy, very cool" and more personal details. Jon didn't wear a ring, and when he confirmed Martin was single, he replied 'Me too'. Gradually their conversation moved physically closer, each leaning into the others space, unbroken eye contact, a friendly punch to the arm during a joke and hand on the others forearm with a "are you kidding me?!" response. Twice Jon had adjusted his crotch and caught Martin staring. Jon was thinner than Martin, who imagined him toned and tight. He looked good in his flat front navy stripped suit pants that hugged his quads tightly. Jon always seemed to smile and wink when he talked making deep eye contact with Martin. Maybe he was just in love with Martin's eyes. Everyone else was. Maybe it was the contrast of their sizes, tall and solid vs. shorter and slender, or the difference in their skin tone, pale and blond vs. olive toned with jet black hair, that made these opposites so attract. Martin was mad when he had to go to the bathroom- he didn't want to break the prefect flow of their conversation- but couldn't hold it in any longer. As he got up, he felt Jon 'help' him slide past by putting his hands on Martin's waist. His hands fell, running down Martin's thigh and butt cheek. Martin walked up the aisle to the rest room aroused and nervously confused. Did he just make a pass? Did Jon just grab my ass? He thought deliberately and clearly as he washed his hands. "you've got to be careful" he told himself. Martin was always careful. He had met attractive men before with whom he felt a mutual connection and was afraid to confuse friendly banter with a discreet invitation. This was the closeted danger zone. This was the time to be careful because one mistake, one step too far, and there was no going back. Maybe Jon is just taking the initiative? Fuck, why is this so hard... Their conversation picked up naturally when Martin returned to his seat, and an hour later, when the captain announced they were landing, Martin was sad to think his date was coming to an end. He hadn't met someone with such natural attraction, so easy to talk to, so interesting and flat out hot in years. Maybe ever. "Hey how are you getting downtown?" Martin asked. "I'll probably just take a cab". Jon replied. "You have a better way?" "I have a car picking me up. We could ride together and I can have the driver drop you off at your hotel, if you'd like", Martin invited. "Yeah, that would be great. Thanks. Save me a translation headache and we can keep talking. Let me thank you. Maybe dinner? You may be surprised but I don't know anyone else in Brussels", Jon laughed. They agreed to dinner the following night after Martin's speech and Jon's seminar. Martin chose a restaurant near his hotel...just in case he was right about Jon. Call it optimism, call it wishful thinking. Martin called it careful planning. When they met for dinner a day and half later, Jon was already waiting out front when Martin arrived. He was wearing flat front black pants, a pale purple and white stripped shirt and a dark purple v-neck sweater under a classic Burb trench which almost matched his blond hair. He had his hands in his coat pockets and was staring right at Martin as he came around the corner, almost as if he knew from which direction Martin was arriving. Martin still had on his gray suit sans tie. He wore black calfskin oxfords and a black overcoat. Jon greeted Martin with a firm hand shake placing his left hand on Martin's shoulder "Hey Martin. Great to see you again!" During dinner their conversation was as natural as it had been on the plane. Jon asked Martin about his business meeting and the European division of the bank and Martin inquired about Jon's seminar. Conversation was comfortable, relaxed and effortless as they drank good red wine and ate hearty Belgian cuisines of veal shank, root vegetables and cheeses. They sat at a very small table, typical of those exceptionally good European brasseries where they pack in the patrons as if fire codes and emergency exits were only an American concern. Under the table, what started as restricted space gave way to free pass as their legs rested against each other. They tried each others entrees as if they were old friends, or an old couple. Martin liked seeing Jon's fork take food from his plate. He'd eat from that same spot, hoping just a little bit of Jon could be in him. In a hidden, almost childish and silly way, it was one of the few public displays of intimacy Martin knew. Over cognac Martin told him his plans to stay for a few extra days on his own, adding "you know if you wanted to stick around we could see the city together." Jon thought for a second. "You know, let me make some calls. I should be able to work that out. You wouldn't mind if I hung around for few days?" "No, man, that would be great!", Martin exclaimed. "Would be so much nicer than being alone. Plus we get along so well, I think it would be awesome." Martin was afraid he sounded too eager. But then again, Jon did agree right away. . Jon went outside to make a call, and Martin could see him though the large front window talking to someone in the States. Probably his boss. Was he going to stay? If he was, he convinced himself this was a sign. He was interested. "No guy would just drop what he's doing and stay with another guy he just met in Europe if he wasn't... you know... open to the idea", he said in his head. "No, he wants this too. I can tell. What's with his legs under the table? No- he's interested." Martin called over the waiter and paid the check, eager that when Jon returned with good news, they could get going. Sure enough Jon came back inside, his pale cheeks blushed red from the cold but his smile warm and bright. "So, I think we are all set. I was able to push some thing around and told a small lie about a business opportunity and I can stick around until Sunday. We can fly back together." "That awesome!", said Martin, a little more loudly then he wished. He still came off as too enthusiastic. "Well, good", he moderated his tone. "Let's get out of here and celebrate. Let's get a drink somewhere." "You bet! A celebration is due. I'm psyched to get a little vacation in. Let's just settle up and split." "Check's already paid for. My treat." Jon smiled and gave Martin his now standard encouraging wink. Coats on, they stepped into the night air. It was late autumn, and temperatures hovered in the high 40's, just cold enough where it's uncomfortable. "Where do you want to go get a drink?" Martin asked. "How about your place?". Martin smiled. Yeah, Jon was interested.