by W. S. Long
Caleb splashed water on Sebastian. “Come on, hot stuff, the water’s fine.”
Sebastian toed the water to make sure, and jumped in, feet first. The heated water easily enveloped him, and he went straight down until his toes touched bottom, and then he frog-kicked up. “It’s pretty warm. Been pissing in it?”
“No, but I bet a hundred kids did earlier. Want to race?”
“Freestyle?” asked Sebastian.
“Uh, no. You medaled in that statewide.” Caleb scratched his chin for a moment. “How about butterfly?”
“Whatever, I’ll still whip your ass.”
“Sounds like a bet. If I win, you will wash my truck,” said Caleb.
“If I win, you tell me why you’ve been at the pool for over an hour and you be honest about it.”
Sebastian waited for Caleb to answer. He wasn’t sure why there was some hesitation. But, finally Caleb spoke. “Okay, deal.” Caleb got out of the pool and Sebastian followed, shaking off water and his arms as he faced the pool again, his feet, curled over the edge of the pool. “Ready? On the count of three. One. Two. Three!”
Sebastian dived into the pool a half-second quicker than Caleb. He dolphin-kicked for at least two body lengths before he broke surface and started his strokes. He heard Caleb right behind him. He pushed forward, keeping time and breathing. He heard splashing, so Sebastian lunged towards the wall and touched first when he got to the other side. Caleb finished shortly after him.
“Ha! I win!” yelled Sebastian, trying to catch his breath.
Caleb exhaled hard, and high-fived Sebastian, who moved closer to the rope.
“You didn’t let me win, did you?” asked Sebastian.
“No, of course not.” Caleb heaved then spit out water as he tried to clear up his exertion. “You started off the edge quicker than I did and you have a stronger stroke. So you won fair and square.”
Sebastian exhaled then inhaled to clear his lungs and get his heartbeat back to normal. “Well, you want to tell me, why we’re here? Why have you been swimming laps for more than an hour?”
“I needed to clear my mind.”
Sebastian nodded. “Obviously. This is where you come when you’re pissed. Who’re you mad at? What’re you mad about?”
Caleb wiped the water dripping into his eyes, and draped his arms over the lane divider. “I asked my dad about a third car for racing.”
“So you finally asked?”
Caleb nodded. “And, it didn’t go over well. I knew in my heart, he would probably say no. I guess I kept deluding myself that it was always a possibility. But, when dad said it, it felt like a dump truck full of bricks just dropped those bricks on my head. I should’ve known it was coming, but it was damn tough to hear.” Caleb’s voice broke. Tears ran and Caleb blinked away them away as soon as it happened. “God, I should’ve listened to my instinct. When Dad told me last year he didn’t want me to be subjected to the abuse as a gay man in stock car racing, I should’ve read, as they say the ‘writing on the wall’, but I was too deep into it.”
Sebastian bit his lip when he saw the redness around Caleb’s eyes. He only saw Caleb act like this one time before, when he talked about his mother in her last moments in hospice. “I’m sorry, babe.” Sebastian’s heart pained; he didn’t know what to say. How do you comfort your lover when his heart is breaking? He placed his hand on Caleb’s back and rubbed it, as Caleb bowed his head and rested it on Sebastian’s free shoulder.
“I don’t know why I’m acting like a baby about it.”
“You spent your life believing in a dream, and now you feel like it’s being taken away.” Sebastian raised Caleb’s chin and kissed him. Caleb kissed him back, soft on the lips, more of an acknowledgment of his presence.
“But, why now? I mean why’d you ask him today?”
“I don’t know. Getting married makes you think of these things, doesn’t it? Life. Marriage. Career. Money. I have to think about our future right? Eventually, we might want to get a house. We haven’t talked about it, but I want us to think about adopting kids.”
Kids?
“We should talk about kids. But not right now. And, don’t you think that maybe you’re overthinking this a bit.”
“No. And, when I think of it, my future in racing was written off a long time ago. Probably before I even entered racing. I don’t think you can be gay and be a top NASCAR driver. But, I won’t lie. While swimming these laps for the past hour, I have moments of being angry, and then I have moments of acceptance. I think right now, I’m going through thoughts of resignation regarding my racing career.”
Sebastian pinched his nose to get rid of the excess water he got from swimming, and kissed Caleb’s forehead. “I love you, Caleb. I’m so sorry. Don’t give up on this dream. Maybe today’s not the day to be driving. Maybe in the future, NASCAR will be ready.”
The lights flickered off and on. Caleb and Sebastian turned to the female attendant who stood several yards away, holding a mop and pushing the mop bucket with her foot. She shouted, “Hey, guys, closing time in fifteen minutes.”
Sebastian waved in response. “Okay, thanks.” He squeezed Caleb’s biceps and cocked his head. “Ready to go?”
“Sure.” Caleb pulled himself out of the water, and Sebastian followed. As Caleb walked towards the men’s locker area, Sebastian couldn’t help but notice that the attendant eyed Caleb in his swim trunks but she grunted when she saw Sebastian in his tightie-whities. Sebastian quickly grabbed his clothes and shoes, dashed into the room, stripped off his Fruit of the Loom, then jumped in with Caleb and shared Caleb’s shower.
“Hey, I don’t think she appreciated me in my underwear. You think I’ll get banned from this place?”
“Who cares? I thought you looked good in it.” Caleb slapped Sebastian’s ass. “We’re the last ones, so let’s hurry up and get out of here.” Caleb leaned in and kissed Sebastian. “Thanks for coming.”
“I’m sorry about what happened.” Sebastian took body wash from the bolted wall dispenser, washed Caleb’s back, and then soaped himself quickly.
Caleb didn’t say anything for the next minute. Sebastian rubbed Caleb’s back again. Caleb smiled. “I was just thinking. I made the right decision coming out last year. That I don’t regret.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” answered Caleb. “I’m pretty upset about everything, but being with you makes all the hurt worth it. I’ll never regret coming out because I don’t want to live a lie. And, I don’t want you living in a lie.”
Sebastian’s heart fluttered, and he stood tippy-toed and kissed Caleb, wrapping his arms around Caleb’s neck as he did so.
Caleb broke off the kiss and again slapped Sebastian’s buttocks in a playful fashion.. “You know, we’ve never done it in a shower, in a gym, after hours, when it’s closed.”
“We’re at a pool, not a gym.” Sebastian laughed. “And, we’re not going to start because I don’t want to be caught, and I don’t want the police being called. By the looks she gave me, she wouldn’t hesitate reporting me. And you.”
Caleb smiled as he moved in for another kiss. “You’re right, let’s take this home.”
Chapter 7
Caleb straightened his tie, cleared his throat, and tried the best he could to make it look like he was comfortable. He’d been at the Speedway over an hour, and he’d met, re-met, and reintroduced himself to several in the organization as well as several of the other owners.
How does Joan do this day in and day out?
When a server brought around a tray, he eagerly grabbed a champagne glass. He’d turned down beer, wine, and champagne for the past hour, but he couldn’t resist this time.
Hell, maybe the time will pass faster.
Gnawing at Caleb was his realization that he was a stranger now in a strange land. Since Earl told him there would be no third car, and the likelihood of driving in a major race was not in the remote future, Caleb seemed adrift in the charity event. Fro
m the corporate hospitality lounge, he peered down to the track. Groups were taking a walk along the track and its infamous thirty-one degree angle turns. With the backstretch gone from the renovations, the suite box had a greater view of the oval.
I should be driving on the track, not doing this here.
Caleb heard Joan before he saw her; her voice caught his ear.
“Now, here’s my baby brother, even though he’s much taller than me.”
Caleb faced her and prepared to smile, and chitchat as he’d down for the past hour but when he saw whom she was talking to, he threw out his hand to shake Wendell Watson’s hand. “I’m Caleb Youngblood.”
“I know,” I’m a fan.
“Really? I mean, that’s great.” Caleb blushed at his over eagerness. Wendell’s recent album had just come out and Caleb had been a fan since his first album three years ago. Joan smiled next to another man who stood behind Wendell.
“Listen, I’d like to take a selfie, so my wife won’t call me a liar. Do you mind?”
“Oh, I can take the picture,” offered Joan.
“Sure, that’d be great,” said Wendell. He promptly fished out his cell phone from the back of his Wrangler jeans and handed it to Joan who then took it.
“All right, smile.” Joan took one picture and then changed the position of the one. “Let me take a couple more.”
“You have a really good album out. I love that song, ‘Midnight Rain’.” Caleb caught himself. Shit. I’m acting like a teenager.
The man next to Joan spoke up. “Well, I’m glad you liked it. It’s a great song. I’m Tom, Tom Jacques by the way.”
Tom stood slightly taller than Caleb and had graying hair on the sides. Wendell appeared much thinner than his album covers suggested, solid square jaw, a nose broken a few times from Alabama bar brawls, from his days as a bouncer before he made it big. Wendell’s face broadened to a crooked smile. “Tom’s my agent. He’s booking me to sing the American anthem or something here for the 400.”
“You raced in the 400 last year, right?” asked Tom.
“Yes, he did. He placed second.” Joan beamed. “And Cujo Bannon, who beat him by a few seconds, now races for Youngblood Racing.”
Wendell smiled at Joan, like a puppy who’d found a new friend. Wendell then faced Caleb. “So, not racing this year?”
“No. I’m taking a break from racing.” Caleb hoped he came off as matter-of-fact, not bitter, and not angry. At Sebastian’s urging last night and this morning, he practiced this phrase over and over so it didn’t come out as sour grapes.
“Well, what are your plans if not racing?” asked Wendell. “You don’t sing do you?”
“Oh, please, I used to hear my brother sing in the shower. He’s got nothing on you, Wendell. His voice could peel the paint.”
“Well, I for one, wouldn’t mind hearing him sing in the shower,” said Tom, who winked at Caleb.
Caleb’s face flushed. Even though he was used to compliments about his looks, he didn’t expect this to come from Tom, and especially not in front of Wendell.
“Tom, you’re not in New York City. You can’t hit on every guy you see,” said Wendell who laughed as he said it. Before Wendell could say something else, another group saw him, and he started talking to them as Tom and Joan moved closer to Caleb.
“I sent Tom some of your photos from the photo shoot,” said Joan. “He thinks you have a future in modeling, if you want it.”
“Modeling?”
“I’m the one who reached out to your sister after you did a couple of interviews last year. Your picture on one of the covers was done by a friend of mine up in New York, who flew down to Orlando for the shoot. I asked to see some stills after I saw the cover. You’ve got the cheekbones and the bone structure of fashion model. But, you’ve got the physique of a fitness model. I mean you can go either if you choose.”
“I only choose to go one way, these days,” said Caleb.
Tom laughed. “A stock car driver, who has a quick sense of humor. I like that.”
“You had to be a little of a smart ass. My parents sent me to Catholic school growing up. You couldn’t fight or be expelled, so you had to be quick on your feet.”
“I was talking to your sister about underwear and cologne ads. Those are pretty competitive. You’ve got a lot of celebrities doing those ads. Eddie Redmayne, Chris Evans. And you’d fit right in with a line of men’s aftershave and cologne that’s due to make a splash in a few weeks. That’s what I was hoping to talk to you about.”
“So you didn’t just come out to get Wendell signed on to do the anthem?”
Tom hesitated then spoke. “Well, the ink’s probably dried on the deal already. So yeah, he’s going to sing and tell the drivers to start their engines. But I did want to kill two birds with one stone. You can make a lot of money in modeling. After commissions to an agent, or publicist if you want one, you’re probably clearing almost half a million a year. That’s not a lot in the modeling world. It’s probably the only career where women make more than men. But, unlike starting models, you’ve already got a brand. You’ve already got a name. Your name on a brand will sell. You just need the right kind of packaging.” Tom bit his bottom lip. “Sorry, that came out wrong. You’ve got good packaging.”
Joan laughed. “Okay, I’m going to powder my nose for a little bit. Play nice, Caleb.”
Caleb didn’t say anything at first. He recognized that Tom was attracted to him. And this made Tom more of a fan boy. Or is it fan girl? But his ears picked up on the amount of five hundred thousand. A cool half a million. “The income isn’t guaranteed though, is it?”
“No, it’s not. The highest paid model right now makes less than two million. I was being conservative in numbers with you, but I’ve handled singers and models most of my life. I grew up in Nashville, actually. My dad worked at a record label there. Wendell is one of my few country singers I represent. Most of the folks I represent are fashion models, Broadway type singers, and actors. Wendell knows my father, and his family and my family go way back.”
Caleb knew that since he won second place in the 400, Youngblood Racing made a lot of money. So much money, it got the family books back in the black. Earl gave Caleb a nice bonus on top of his regular salary, after his second place finishes, but it wasn’t even half of what Tom was pitching to him. “Okay, I’m intrigued by the numbers.”
“Joan said you would be.” Tom glanced over to Wendell. “Hold on.”
Caleb stood alone for a moment and finished what remained of the champagne in his glass.
When Wendell returned with Tom, Wendell approached Caleb. “Hey, can you show us the track?”
“Sure.”
“Cool. Tom booked a tour later today but I wanted to get your take on the track. I’m sure the tour is awesome, but I reckon it’s different from a race driver’s perspective.”
“That’d be awesome,” added Tom. “Tell me about the parts they call too tough to tame.”
“Well, they actually use that phrase to describe the speedway at Darlington, and its egg-shaped track. There are only a couple of spots here in Daytona that are tricky turns, but I’ll show you.”
“I bet they say that about certain men, too, don’t they?” asked Tom. “That some men are too tough to tame.”
“We’ve had some very colorful drivers.” Caleb nodded his head and laughed as he spoke. “Maybe we should grab a couple of beers as we do this tour. I have a feeling we may need some.”
“Wait, let’s take a selfie: all three of us. I’m dying to send it to my wife,” said Wendell.
Caleb moved closer to Wendell, who cocked his head. Tom stood close to Caleb and put his hand over his shoulder as any newfound friend would. And they all smiled. As they exited for the stairs, Caleb waved at Joan, who was talking to another owner, and she nodded. She also had the cheesiest grin on her face, which she used when she wanted to tell signal a told-you-so moment.
* * * *
Sebastian pul
led the studio camera back, and positioned it for the next broadcast, allowing foot traffic to walk in front of the camera. His stomach growled and he put the headset he used for the noon telecast on the handle and headed downstairs. In the past two hours, he debated if he would drop off the form he’d filled out earlier. He thought about emailing the station manager his intentions, since he was the one who gave him this opportunity, but decided instead to go online and print out the form that Human Resources provided. As he neared the Human Resources office, he took out the envelope with the completed form, took a deep breath, and put it in Zahra’s inbox slot by the door.
He knew she’d get it tomorrow, and he’d address the potential fallout then. Sebastian wasn’t sure what the response would be to his request not to go to Rio, but he knew that he couldn’t go. Caleb may have outwardly said it was okay for Sebastian to go, but Sebastian knew that David and Sebastian’s former engagement still bothered Caleb. David being a complete asshole in his dealings with everyone at the station, like shouting at other cameramen, delaying tapings, and making snide remarks to Sebastian, had also helped Sebastian make his decision.
His stomach called his attention for food, so Sebastian went down the stairs and headed for the parking lot. He reached the second floor landing but as he turned the corner, he heard a familiar voice.
“Hey, Seb!”
Shit.
“You know I hate you calling me by that name. So, why do you keep calling me that?” asked Sebastian. Sebastian took a step down while Benoit took a step up, Benoit one level lower than him now, but still blocking Sebastian’s path. Sebastian could see through the glass that enclosed the staircase from the fourth through the first floor, traffic moving on the interstate, and his Honda parked outside, beckoning him to get in, grab food, take a nap, and wait for Caleb.
“I don’t know why I still call you that. You used to like it. Right? But, hey, we got a few more weeks and we’re off to Rio. Maybe we can get more reacquainted on what you still like and don’t like since you seem to busy, or whatever, to text me back.” Benoit grinned sheepishly. David scanned the area quickly to see if they were the only ones in the stairwell. “I bet you still suck dick like no one else,” he whispered.