by Sean Kennedy
The thought of it was enough to depress me, even though it was stupid to dwell on some alternative occurrence we had never been a part of. We went through the things we did, and we came out on the other side. And life was good, regardless.
“So who do you think it is?” I asked, although, the way my gut was twisting, I had my suspicions.
“I think you know who.”
I looked at Declan again. He was staring back at me, probably wondering what was taking me so long. Now that he had my attention, he made a funny face, trying to make me laugh.
My face was like stone.
“Greg Heyward,” I said finally.
“Told you you knew.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve had it confirmed by two sources, just like you always taught me.”
“And you’re sure they’re right?”
“One of them is involved with the agent who is planning it all.”
“Involved involved?” I asked.
“No, I just meant working with them.”
I don’t even know why I asked, really. My brain just wasn’t firing on all cylinders at the moment. It was like the ghost of Greg Heyward returning had temporarily short circuited normal functions.
Dec was now waving at me to get in. The skies had darkened even more, and the rain was intensifying. Really, my surroundings couldn’t get more symbolic. I held up a finger for him to wait a minute.
“So when is this glorious moment of history happening?”
“Your back’s up already,” Coby whistled.
“No. I’m just thinking about Tuesday’s show. If we have time to put a story together.”
“Of course we have the time. We can’t ignore it. This is going to be huge. Maybe not Declan Tyler levels of huge, especially because he won’t continue playing after he comes out, but it will still be pretty big. Especially when the rest of the media find out the history behind it.”
Twisting gut again. I was probably going to have to lean over the balcony railing and aim for the Yarra River in a minute so that my puke wouldn’t land on any tourists on the river walk below.
“You there, Simon?”
“Yep.”
“Thought I’d lost you there for a sec.”
“I don’t think the… er, history is going to be important. And why would it be found out anyway?”
As if talking to somebody who had never worked in the media their whole life, Coby said very slowly and carefully, “Because it’s their job to find things out.”
Things. Things I didn’t even like thinking about myself, let alone it being splashed across the newspapers and trash magazines like New Weekly. Oh God, and the things they would say on all the crappy boofheaded footy shows. It could be even worse than when Dec came out, because they would have another relationship to focus on. Two football stars in love! Or at least, who used to be.
And I was just focusing on my own fears pretty selfishly right at this moment. I didn’t even know how badly Dec was going to take it all.
“When?” I asked.
“There’s a press conference scheduled for tomorrow at one in the arvo. I figured we could ask to send Barry and Tish down. If the story’s so big, it won’t be a problem.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“You okay, boss?”
He never called me boss unless he thought I was having a breakdown. Which was about once a month in our workplace, what with the divas that inhabited it.
“Fine. Thanks for the heads up. See you tomorrow.”
I hung up before Coby could reply. Dec was on his feet and coming out to join me. I turned for the balcony, and the wind straight off the water hit me in the face. The tang of the salt actually made me feel a little better, so that when Dec hugged me from behind I was able to lean back against him and put on a reasonable facsimile of a smile.
“You’re not pulling it off,” Dec said.
“Huh?”
“Something’s up. I could tell. So, spill.”
The rain was dying down again. I pulled away from him and headed for the banana lounge. I swiped away the water that had collected on it and flopped myself down. Dec sat at the end of it and stared at me until my resolve broke.
Which took about two seconds. He could be very forceful when he wanted to be, especially when I offered no resistance.
“That was Coby.”
“That was pretty obvious.” But Declan knew it had to be more than that, or else I wouldn’t be looking the way I did now.
I picked at a bit of fluff on my jacket. “Uh, not actually a work crisis, for once.”
“That’d be a first.”
“I mean, it will ultimately have bearing on work, because we’ll have to—”
“Simon,” Dec said gently.
Okay, I had to spit it out. “Apparently Greg Heyward is going to come out.”
It took a lot to stump Declan. And he was stumped. He actually recoiled, straightening up and leaning away from me. He looked out over the river, his face in profile. And he was gnawing on his cheek—never a good sign.
“Okay, I knew you’d react badly,” I said. “But not this bad.”
He quickly looked back at me. “No, it’s fine.”
I gave him my best you’ve got to be shitting me look.
“I’m just surprised, that’s all. Actually, I thought it was going to happen a long time before this.”
“You did?”
Declan gave a long sigh. “No. I just hoped he would, for his own sake. Let me guess, he’s about to retire?”
“That’s what the word on the mean streets is.”
“Okay, I thought he might have done it before then.”
“If he manages to say ‘I’m gay’ before ‘I’m retiring’ then technically he’ll have a few minutes as an out professional player.”
“I’m glad your naturally healthy cynicism is still in check.”
“At least I’m consistent.”
I had never really asked him what had happened the night of the first Brownlow medal ceremony I ever attended with Dec, which also happened to be the first time Dec and Greg had spoken since breaking up. I had never really wanted a blow-by-blow account of my partner and his ex discussing old times, other than the brief rundown Dec had given me. But to sum up, it seemed Dec had been led to believe that another outing, other than his own, was imminent.
It never came.
Until now. Three years too late for Dec to have support in his own coming out process by someone in the same position.
Although it made me wonder how it could have affected me if Dec and Greg had been there for each other out of necessity. Maybe we wouldn’t have survived.
No, I couldn’t even entertain that possibility. Shoulda woulda coulda, and all that jazz. And now that this was happening, there was no way that I was going to let Greg Heyward get to me now and start doubting the strength of my relationship with Dec.
“What are you thinking about?” Dec asked.
“Oh, lots of things.”
“Like?”
“If it really is him. Maybe we’re worrying for nothing.”
“Who else could it be?”
“I’m sure there are other gays out there.”
“All the pieces fit.”
I hated to admit it, but it sure looked like it.
“You’re definitely thinking something about Greg,” Dec said.
I had grown up a little in the past three years. Dec and I had “split up” over miscommunication and a failure at the time to question each other properly, so I had sworn to myself that I wouldn’t let things get to that point again. Okay, I wasn’t perfect at it, but I had improved in leaps and bounds. “If it is him, I’m just wondering what he’ll say exactly. And if it’ll involve anything about you.”
“Oh.” That one syllable response sounded as if Dec hadn’t even considered that being a possibility.
“Oh, indeed,” I drawled.
He picked up on that immediately. “You s
ound mad.”
I scooted over to be closer to him. “Nope, not at all. Just concerned. I don’t want you dragged through the media scrum all over again. It was bad enough the first time.”
“It’s not like we’ve ever been out of the media’s targets, Simon.”
He had a point. “Yeah, but it’s waned recently. If Heyward comes out and starts talking about you, you’ll be caught in a shit storm again.”
“You worried about me, or you?”
I didn’t like the sudden hardness in his eye, and I found myself leaning away from him. “Wow. You, first and foremost, of course.”
The glint was gone, almost as quickly as it came. “Sorry. Just….”
“See, it is bothering you.” I put my arms around his shoulders and buried my chin in the crook of his neck. His hands closed over mine.
“I guess I didn’t think it would. But now you’ve got me thinking about him dragging me into it all.”
“Don’t I always tell you to never listen to me?”
He chuckled, and it was nice to hear. It was also nice to feel the warmth of his body in the rapidly cooling air of the fading afternoon. “I should have learned by now, huh?”
We both stared out at the river, not knowing what to say next. It seemed this conversation was over.
For now.
Chapter 3
DEC remained withdrawn throughout the night, and I let him have his space by dragging out my laptop and doing some “research” on his ex. I did so under the guise of it being necessary for work just in case he saw me doing it, but he didn’t. It wasn’t a lie, anyway, because one of the programs I produced, a panel show called QueerSports, would undoubtedly be discussing the press conference and whatever it revealed when it aired later on in the week. So I wanted to be prepared. As I pulled up every article I could find on Heyward, Declan sprawled on the lounge watching TV like a zombie, Maggie perched on his chest.
“I guess I haven’t been lucky enough to find that special woman yet,” Heyward was quoted as saying when chosen as one of Cleo’s fifty most eligible bachelors two years ago. At the time, Dec had been amused, and also thankful that he had never been approached to be one during his time in the closet, and thus was spared the indignity of such an interview. “Playing football professionally doesn’t leave me a lot of time for a relationship.”
The classic deflection of someone in the closet. He might as well have been wearing a T-shirt that said, “I like guys.” Other footballers didn’t seem to have a problem mixing sport and girlfriends.
He was a good player, and even though he hadn’t reached Declan’s levels of achievement, he had played more games and justifiably won himself a good reputation as a consistent and hardworking member of his club.
It didn’t make me like him, however. I had gotten enough bits and pieces over the year about how he had continually kept Dec at arm’s length, but that he also knew exactly how to manipulate Dec enough so that he was at Heyward’s beck and call. Dec had admitted he didn’t like himself much during that period and put up with it because he didn’t know anything else. The closet is a powerful thing. It makes you accept things you never thought you would in order to preserve the facade that you present to the outside world. The one thing that finally broke Heyward’s hold over Dec was the fact that he cheated on him—not just once, and not just with one guy. Dec was out the door the very day Heyward admitted it.
So, no, I didn’t like him at all.
But I knew what first loves could be like. And Declan had loved him.
I stared at the picture currently on screen. Dark short hair, thick full brows, and eyes that were an interesting shade of light brown. He wasn’t bad in the looks department, but he had a smarmy grin that advertised he thought he was hot shit and you should know it as well. It was an easy confidence that usually develops into full blown arrogance.
Still, there must have been something there to make Dec love him. Declan wouldn’t love an out and out arsehole. There had to be some good points.
It was just better for me at the moment to believe he didn’t have any.
When my mobile rang, I was about to let it go to voice mail just in case it was Coby again. I didn’t need any further info right now that could make Dec become even more withdrawn. The screen, however, showed a completely different name and one that shocked me, as he seldom rang anybody—usually leaving it up to his wife to do so. I snapped my netbook closed so that Dec wouldn’t see what I was reading and took the call from my brother.
“Hey, you’ll never guess what I found out,” Tim said without a formal greeting.
“You’re excited because there’s a new Ed Hardy store opening in town?” I could tell from Dec’s face that he knew immediately who I was speaking to, although he was puzzled because Tim normally wasn’t the chatty phone type. He always made Gabby call if they were arranging a family dinner or needed to ask something.
“There’s a new Ed Hardy store opening in town?” Only Tim could be excited by such a travesty.
“Fuck, I hope not.”
“Dammit, you got my hopes up!”
Being brokenhearted over the nonexistence of a store that sold leopard-print mankinis didn’t exactly qualify as a tragedy in my book. After all, Shakespeare didn’t say Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your expensive bogan apparel. “Isn’t one enough?”
“Just because you buy your clothes from Savers doesn’t mean the rest of us should look like we crawled out of a bin bag.”
I was debating fashion with my brother. Should I check to see if blood was falling out of the sky? Next thing I knew, he would be asking me to take him to a musical or wanting to know what an avocado tasted like. “Okay.”
“Look, I’m the one with the news, here.”
“Is Gabby pregnant again?”
“No!” Tim sounded horrified.
“Then what else would have you so excited?”
“Okay, smartarse. I just found out apparently another AFL player is about to admit he swings another way. You know, another way to the norm.”
I decided to let that casual offence slip by, but what the fuck? Even Tim was in the know? I glanced over at Dec, who was trying too hard to look like he wasn’t actually listening in to every word I was saying. I jumped to my feet and headed into our bedroom. Not suspicious at all.
Meanwhile, Tim was continuing to rabbit on. “But I thought, well, Dec’s already out—”
I kicked the door shut behind me. “You know he’s not Australia’s only gay footy player, right?”
“What are you so touchy about?”
I sat on the edge of our bed. Tim was picking a fine time to start being remarkably astute. “Nothing.”
“Do you know who it is?” he asked.
My silence said far too much for my liking, and by the time I was starting to babble out something, anything, Tim was babbling over me.
“Oh, fuck, you do! Who is it?”
“I don’t know for sure—”
“And that’s why you’re acting so weird! Whoever it is, Dec fucked him once upon a time, right?”
I disconnected the call, and jabbed at the off button to kill the mobile before Tim could ring back. Smart bastard. And, just, bastard!
The bedroom door opened, and Dec poked his head in. “Everything okay?”
“Peachy.”
“You’ve convinced me. Come on, who was it?”
I threw my phone onto the closest bedside table. “Tim.”
“What’s he gotten you mad about this time?” Dec was used to the odd relationship my sibling and I had. We seemed to exist in a childish limbo, having not grown up since we were in primary school, still battling like kids. But we were also unflinchingly loyal to one another—we could give each other as much shit as they could handle, but the gods help anybody else who criticised them.
“He knows about Heyward.”
“Your brother knows?” Dec jammed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on the balls of his feet, quickly
agitated once more.
“Not all of the specifics. He knows there’s an AFL player about to come out, and when I stayed silent he guessed that you knew him at some stage.”
“Did you text him earlier?” Dec asked, unable to look at me.
The question stung, and my expression would have turned him to ash had he been glancing in my direction. “No!”
“Then how the fuck did Tim know?”
“Gossip spreads fast, no matter how big the city.”
“That’s really philosophical, Simon.” Dec hardly ever sneered, so when he did it took on movie villain proportions.
I jumped to my feet and pushed past him to cut through the lounge back to the kitchen. It was beer time. But I managed to spit out a rejoinder guaranteed to hurt him. “Don’t blame me for your ex-boyfriend fucking you over yet again!”
I was so glad my back was to him when I said that, because I didn’t even want to imagine the look he probably had on his face right now.
But maybe he realised he had been pushing me away all afternoon, and he followed me out.
At the fridge I stood with my back to him as I yanked the top off my beer and chugged about half of it at once.
“Is there a beer there for me?” he asked softly.
I opened the fridge again, and threw one to him. He caught it expertly and easily twisted the cap off. I, of course, had managed to rip the skin on my index finger with mine. Ever observant, Declan foraged in the top drawer beneath the counter and wordlessly handed me a pack of Band-Aids.
“We don’t know he’s going to fuck me over.”
“No,” I finally conceded, ripping a Band-Aid open with my teeth. “We don’t. But you’ve always been more of an optimist than me.”
“Babe, Eeyore’s more of an optimist than you.” He took the Band-Aid off me and wrapped it around my finger.
“Eeyore’s just a realist, and so am I.” I didn’t want to be proved right. I really didn’t. But who knew what the media could find out once they got a whiff of any “scandal”? My brother had already jumped to the correct conclusion, and once the media caught on they would start uncovering any info they could find on the doomed, tragic relationship of the gay football players. Maybe there would even be a ridiculous TV movie made from it, and we would all be played by ex-Home and Away actors. I couldn’t imagine anything worse.