by Sean Kennedy
“That’s just it,” Roger said. “We don’t know what to do next. We’ve been doing all the things that we can afford, like diet, boxers instead of briefs, all of that crap. The doctors now say if we want to take it that step further we have to think about IVF.”
That was news Fran hadn’t shared with me the other night, although it was pretty obvious that IVF would be their next option. Maybe she had wanted to leave something for Roger to share with us.
“That’s, uh, pretty expensive, Rog,” I said finally.
“You think I don’t know that? For only two cycles we’ll need about ten thousand dollars, even with the Medicare rebate. And that doesn’t even count the money we’ll have to pay upfront before we can apply for the rebate.” He ran his fingers through his hair and downed the rest of his beer. I had barely touched mine, and pushed it over to him as I didn’t want to disrupt the conversation in order to get up and buy another round.
“Can you guys afford it?” Dec asked. It wasn’t like him to be so blunt, but he had his moments when he put everything on the line as well. He was a very logical thinker. The boy liked his lists, even when it came to things like buying a new laptop. He would research for months, consult Choice magazine, surf on geek forums, and consult with friends and family before finally drawing up a list of pros and cons and debating it with himself like Queen Elizabeth over her giant floor map, pushing tiny models of the Spanish armada around with a hockey stick, or whatever name that thing had. Me, I went into the first store I came across and picked something immediately because it looked good, or because the salesperson had told me it looked good. I couldn’t be bothered with decision making.
“We’re applying for an extension on our mortgage,” Roger said.
I could feel my stomach dropping. Rog and Fran struggled enough on their mortgage. Increasing their debt would only make things harder, especially if there was no guarantee that it would get them what they wanted. So I hated myself for asking it, but I did. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
Roger stared me down. “What else would we do?”
“Rog—” Dec said, but got no further.
“No.”
“Seriously—”
“No, Dec!”
“Just hear me out.”
“I know what you’re going to say,” Roger said, “and no.”
“You haven’t let me say anything,” Dec pointed out.
“That’s because I already know. You’re going to offer to lend us money. And no, we’re not going to do that. If we do this, we do it on our own terms. We can’t have a kid and be in debt to our friends.”
I knew Dec, and I knew that he would never let them pay it back. He would always make excuses for never taking payments off them. And that could backfire. Money was a poisonous seed that could take root between friends, and no matter how much I would love to hand over a cheque on Dec’s behalf if it helped Roger and Fran, I also knew how it would begin to gnaw at them in the end.
“So you would rather be in debt to a bank?” Dec asked.
Roger downed the rest of his beer. “I actually would.”
Dec stared at the packet of chips that still lay unopened between us all, as if it were to blame for the high emotion currently electrifying the air.
“I know you’re both trying to help,” Roger said. “But I just kind of wanted to meet up with you guys and forget about it for a just a little while, okay? Can we do that?”
Dec and I nodded.
“Thanks.”
“I’ll get the next round,” I said, and as I got up to leave Dec gave me a quick pat on the thigh. I knew exactly what that touch meant: to stay strong, and we’d all get through this somehow.
It made me think how useless it was to get so angry over Heyward. It was all relative, but there were many worse things to suffer through.
Roger seemed to be in a better mood when I returned with more beer. He was actually laughing with Dec, and he gave me a smile when I sat down again.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said to me. “I just wanted to get away from all that for a while, and not think about it. We’ll tell you guys more soon.”
“You tell us what you want to tell us, and when you want to. We’ll be here.”
There was a long silence between us, and Roger reached for his beer. “Okay, now that that Kleenex moment is over….”
I chucked a coaster at him, and although he ducked it still winged off his ear.
“Anyway,” Roger said. “Let’s talk about something else. Like you guys and your problems.”
“We don’t have any,” I lied.
Dec snorted.
“Hey, you told me not to be a drama queen, remember?”
“Sure.”
Despite knowing that this was most likely a tender subject, Roger stumbled right through it. “I saw in the paper this morning that Greg Heyward is going to be the official representative for the Midsumma Festival this year.”
“What?” I objected, so loud that those seated at surrounding tables overheard me. I turned to Dec. “Did you know?”
“I didn’t get to read the paper this morning, remember? You had practically ripped it to shreds.”
Roger cocked his head, as if he was an adorable golden lab puppy. It made me want to whack him over the nose with the aforementioned paper. “So you did see it?”
“I saw the cover,” I said. “That was enough.”
“Well, he’s going to be—”
“Old news, Rog. You already told us.” I could feel the rant building up within me, and as much as I wanted to stop it, explosion was imminent. “I mean, Jesus Christ, he’s been gay for what, four days?”
“I think he’s been gay longer than that,” Roger said diplomatically.
Declan was staring at the ceiling, trying to stay out of it. Or maybe he was trying to will himself out of his body and disappear to some isolated wilderness for the next hour.
“You know what I mean. He’s been out for five days, max. And suddenly he’s the gay spokesperson of the new millennium.”
“Are you jealous?”
He was lucky there were only coasters on hand, because he might have ended up with a plastic jug wedged down over his head.
“No! It’s just… for fuck’s sake, you have to work your way up to becoming a gay icon, or role model, or whatever. He was so far in the fucking closet he might as well have been Tumnus of Narnia—”
Another snort from Dec, this time appreciative. I guess he was listening after all.
“—and now he’s Saint Greg, patron of the why-the-fuck-now folk.”
“Wasn’t that Dec at some point?” Roger asked.
I was about to leap over the table and tackle Roger to the floor, when Dec spoke up.
“He’s right.”
“No, he’s not,” I said hotly. “He’s never right. Just ask Fran.”
“Fran’s not here,” Roger reminded me. “And Dec was pretty much accepted as a gay role model as soon as he came out.”
“It’s not the same,” I repeated, as if that would make it true.
“Why? Because you hate Heyward, but like Declan?”
Trying to keep things lighter than they were, Dec said, “Oh, he more than likes me.”
“Please, no couple-y stuff.”
“What, should we go back to talking about your sperm?” I asked, inappropriateness being an old chum that liked to call in every now and again.
With steely eyes, Roger shrugged. “Nah, I think this is more interesting.”
“What about something different altogether?” Dec asked.
It seemed we all had our raw areas today. It was time to delve back into a subject that could get everybody talking without battlefronts being drawn.
“So, do you think this is the Tigers’ year?” I asked.
Roger groaned and sunk into his chair, almost disappearing under the table; Dec wordlessly got up and went to buy another round.
“HOW much do you know about Greg Heyward?”
The noise in the kitchen, the usual hubbub of plates clinking in the sink, the fridge door being opened, the collecting of cutlery, ceased noticeably.
Dec’s sister coloured, and it wasn’t because of the temperature of the water her hands were currently immersed in. “Mum, you said you wouldn’t—”
Dec’s sisters-in-law were also trying their hardest not to look interested, and luckily Susan had a child hanging off her to help confirm that facade.
It was the once-a-month family barbecue at the Tyler’s. All and sundry gathered for family bonding, fried meat, and a kick of the footy in the backyard or a swim, depending on the weather. Nicely divided along gender lines as well, with the boys in the yard and the women in the kitchen. The kids, straddling that fine divide of age, moved easily between both spheres.
“Maeve, I’m worried about him!” Rae said, and she was holding her wine glass so tight I was scared it could shatter.
I had only wandered into the kitchen in search of more chips, as Dec’s nephews and nieces were crying for more. If I had known I was walking into a cage of concerned women I would have run all the way back home and left Dec to deal with it instead.
“So do you know anything?” Rae asked again.
“I don’t really feel comfortable talking about this behind Dec’s back,” I said.
“Yeah, Mum, leave him alone,” Maeve said.
“You know Dec won’t tell us anything,” Rae said.
“With good reason,” Maeve interjected.
Rae shot her daughter a look and turned back to me. “He always keeps his cards close to his chest. I just want to know he’s okay. And that you’re okay. It can’t be easy for either of you.”
“We’re super,” I said, and internally winced. Why on earth did I keep coming out with that? Soon I’d be riding on bicycles with the Famous Five, enjoying lashings of ginger beer and racially profiling gypsies.
Dec’s mother raised an eyebrow at that.
“Look,” I said quickly, “Dec’s not an open book with me a lot of the time either.” That wasn’t really true, but at least if I made this little white lie it might get them off my back for the moment. “But, we’re dealing.”
The sisters-in-law shared a look, and I decided to make my escape.
Dec was sitting on the back porch, a beer between his knees as he threw a “my first football” to his niece Katie. I collapsed next to him.
“I thought you were getting chips?” he asked. “The kids will mug you when they see you empty-handed.”
“Do you know you’re playing fetch with Katie, and she isn’t actually a dog?”
“She isn’t?” Dec said in that baby voice adults always put on around children, as Katie jumped into his arms brandishing the ball. “Are you not a dog, Katie? Woof woof!”
Laughing, she barked back.
“Don’t encourage him,” I told her. “He’s not that funny.”
Katie, of course, had no idea what I was saying. Dec threw the ball into a corner of the garden, and she ran off after it.
“You need to talk to your mother,” I said without preamble.
Dec groaned and threw himself onto his back. “Why?”
“Because she bailed me up in the kitchen, wanting to know about your love life.”
“What?” Dec sat up again. “Oh, fuck no.”
“That was pretty much my reaction too.”
“Our love life?”
“No, your little friend on the cover of the Sunday supplement.”
“What did you say?”
“I fled.”
Dec chuckled. “That’s my Simon.”
I looked away so he wouldn’t see my smile. I so was, and it was good to hear. Even I needed to be convinced every now and again, especially with Heyward playing upon my natural paranoia.
Dec nuzzled me behind the ear, and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. It was moments like this I wished I could freeze—us surrounded by family, comfortable, even slightly flirty, as free to indulge in PDAs as the next couple, away from the world at large. Free and easy.
“I better go and speak to Mum,” Dec groaned, getting to his feet. “At least enough to convince her that our life isn’t falling to bits.”
“Good luck with that,” I said, watching him stride away.
I turned to see Katie back in front of me, holding the ball out.
“Do I look like the ‘play fetch’ type, kid?” I asked her.
She smiled and shook the ball at me.
“I guess I do,” I said, using the railing of the stairs to haul myself up. “Let me show you how a real athlete plays footy.”
IN BED that night, my ankle was still throbbing from where I had catapulted myself against the Weber grill while trying to catch a ball Katie had thrown. The savlon cream wasn’t helping the burn, and I was feeling pretty miserable, even though it meant Dec had gotten to play the role of sexy nurse that afternoon—even though he didn’t know he was actually doing so, as it was all just a part of my fevered imagination.
“Are you okay?” Dec asked, muffled by the pillow.
“Yep, fine.” But I kept rubbing my other foot against it, despite the amount of warnings I had gotten from Dec and assorted family members about not doing so.
“You’re rubbing it.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Liar.” Dec rolled over to stare at me, now fully awake. “Speaking of which, thanks for the lie you told my mum.”
“Which one? There are so many,” I mocked.
“About how I don’t tell you anything.”
“Oh, that. I had to say something to get her off my back. I didn’t really want to discuss your emotional state being affected by your ex-boyfriend coming out of the closet in front of your sisters-in-law.”
I usually liked them, but I didn’t like them knowing too much. I knew Dec spoke to Maeve and his older brother, Derek, a lot, and that would have been as far along the family line as I would have indulged anything, had it come to it.
“Do you think I close myself off to you?”
It was too late at night to be getting into this, as we both had work in the morning. “Sometimes. But I do that as well sometimes. Everybody does. You’re better than you used to be, though.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Well, you asked! You used to run away a lot—”
“That wasn’t running away. I just felt overwhelmed and needed time to take in everything.”
“Yeah, Dec, that’s running away. Lucky there was never a circus in town, or I might never have seen you again.”
“Our life was enough of a circus back then,” Dec sighed.
I ran my hand along his side, still taut until that slight curve of his cute little love handle. “For a while.”
“I just thought it would be the last time.”
“It’s never stopped, Dec. It’s just less of a sideshow than it used to be.”
“Yeah, until now.”
“Well, before, we were forced into being the main act. This time, we’ll be the ticket sellers.”
Dec laughed. “That’s a terrible analogy.”
“I mean it. We’re the ones who are going to be in control this time.”
Dec wrapped his arms around me, and I leaned back into his chest. I could tell when he had fallen asleep as his breath slowed and became more measured against my neck. I had seemed to convince him, at least.
I was awake for a while longer, rubbing the fur on Maggie’s belly when she came to lie beside me.
Chapter 7
MONDAY. The day before D-Day, where Heyward would appear on QueerSports, and I would have the “pleasure” of meeting him properly for the first time. The office was already abuzz with pre-show edginess. It normally was on a Monday, but today was different—there was a celebrity coming.
I mean, sure, Dec had appeared on the show a couple of times before his exclusive contract with a proper television network kicked in, but hey, he was old news now.
At least, th
at’s what the media seemed to think. The magazine article on Heyward, which I had finally read over my first work coffee, implied as much. It practically screamed off the page “there’s a new kid in town”. Maybe Heyward should write to the Eagles and ask if he could officially adopt it as his theme song.
So, all in all, just another Manic Monday. Made worse when Coby knocked on my office door.
“Simon, there’s someone here to see you.” His tone suggested that it was somebody I wouldn’t look forward to seeing, but not bad enough that I should duck and cover under my desk.
I gave him a look to elaborate, but I think he chose to deliberately misinterpret it. Instead, he made a waving motion to let the visitor in.
Darren Fiord. Heyward’s manager. I hoped Heyward wasn’t going to follow him. I knew I would have to see him face to face tomorrow, but I was trying to steel myself for that. I wasn’t ready now.
Thankfully, Fiord seemed to be alone. He held out his hand for me to shake, and I tried not to appear too reluctant to do so.
“Darren,” I said, wanting to appear unruffled. “I didn’t know we had a meeting.”
“We didn’t,” Fiord said, making himself at home in the chair opposite my desk. Without being invited.
Ugh, power plays. At least we were in my territory, although it didn’t actually make me feel that secure.
Fiord was already scoping out my office, his gaze falling with unfeigned interest on a framed picture of me and Declan. I could tell he wanted to pick it up and inspect it. For what, I didn’t know—signs of Photoshop? He restrained himself.
“Strange, I thought that’s what people normally do,” I said. “Y’know, arrange meetings.”
“I was in the neighbourhood.”
What, the city? That was a pretty big neighbourhood.
Coby stuck his head around the door, and Darren immediately launched into boss mode. “Coffee, white, two sugars.”
My assistant looked affronted. I didn’t blame him; he wasn’t a barista. Even though that was a skill I loved having most in an assistant. He chewed on his lip and asked, “Boss?”