by Clancy Nacht
As Upton pulled out of the parking garage, he saw the glint of a lens and knew that as far as denials, he was done. Smoking gun and all. But he tried to look at it that he was in the nick of time to get Sloan out before something bad could happen. If the press knew where Sloan was, who else did?
“Is it bad that part of me is annoyed I forgot to pack hair product and that the photo of me that’s likely to be splashed everywhere will have puffy hair?” Upton hoped the dark joke would lighten the mood a little. “I am sorry. I don’t… you know, but we’ll figure something out. My mom had to deal with my dad and his scandals. A lot of people on Capitol Hill owe their anonymity to her. Can’t say your life will be back to normal, but you’ll get through it.”
Upton turned and started them on course for Bethesda. “She may have more specific questions than I’m going to ask you. I’ll apologize in advance. She’s… not pleased.”
“Your hair looks fine, but... Hold on.” Sloan reached into his pocket and pulled out a comb and a tiny container of what appeared to be pomade. “My looks are—were—my livelihood. I’ve got you.” He leaned over and started styling Upton’s hair while he drove like it wasn’t even a thing, his hands gentle on Upton’s hair, mindful not to obscure his view of the road. He sat back after a couple minutes, seeming satisfied, and then folded his hands in his lap, almost prim.
“That’s about the extent of my ability to help with any of this. What contacts I had won’t talk to me now. Even...” He shook his head and gazed out the window. “Just ask what you want to ask. I’ll do my best to cooperate. I would never want to mess up your career. You’re doing good things for us, for the queer community. God knows a little good is overdue. If I wrecked that...” Sloan looked haunted, even in profile. “How will I live with myself?”
“What you did, your job, there’s nothing shameful in it. I think what I’ll have to do is just take it head on. Even if I’d wanted to deny everything, at this point that’s not practical. Would’ve been cowardly anyway. It’ll probably make any sex worker legislation look self-serving, so that will have to be on hold.” Truthfully, everything would be on hold for a while. “Mom will know better about the optics and if reelection is slammed. I’m in a small enough district that likes me well enough that it may not be an issue.”
Upton patted Sloan on the shoulder. “Let’s just think onward and upward for you, right? Life won’t be the same, but you could use this to pick up where I may need to leave off. You’re charismatic; you’d be a great spokesperson for sex workers. We’ll handle it. It’s politics. Nothing is over until it’s over.”
This was his turn to be seductive and in control. In this world, Upton understood the game. Having to play it wasn’t always fun, particularly when the press got invasive, but this was what Upton did. “I wanted to tell you, I would care if you went missing. I know our relationship was transactional. But I’m here. Not just to control the message. I want to make sure you land on your feet, all right?”
They didn’t have that far to go; it was more a matter of traffic than distance. He eyed Sloan at a light. “Did you receive specific threats?”
“Vaguely worded, more like. Two of the Senators I service had their goons contact me via my Zane Skype to warn me what would happen if their names came up in the media. Instead of saying, ‘If his name is leaked to the media, I’ll find you and shoot you in the face till you’re dead,’ they said basically, ‘You’re just a worthless whore, and if I so much as think you’ve spoken to the press, you’ll find out just how little anyone cares what happens to you.’“ Sloan shrugged and met Upton’s gaze briefly before looking away, his cheeks blazing. “I got the message, anyway.”
With only a couple of logic jumps, Upton could probably name whose anti-gay rhetoric almost guaranteed their being in the closet. Crossing that with the sort of guys who had goons, he could narrow down who was threatening Sloan, and they were pretty scary people. “All right. I don’t want to know the names because I have to work with those people, but Mom will need to know so she can negotiate on your behalf.”
Before Sloan could interject, Upton held up a hand. “I’m not implying you’d sell them out, but she’ll smooth them over, let them know you’ve got goons of your own.” Upton gave him a quick smile. “But mostly that a fixer is on it and that you’re not going to go wilding in the press.”
Upton turned to take a few back streets, driving through neighborhoods.
Sloan sat in silence for a minute or two, seeming to process Upton’s words. Maybe wondering if he could trust him. Maybe weighing his options. But Sloan was here. He’d gotten in the car with Upton, which spoke to a certain amount of trust, at least. He hadn’t believed Upton would dump his body in a marsh.
Eventually Sloan looked from the passing scenery back to Upton and swallowed audibly. “Thanks. You’re really decent, Upton. I didn’t...” Sloan licked his lips nervously. “I hoped you were who I thought you were, but I couldn’t be sure. I’ll cooperate, all right? I can’t get a fixer on my own, and I really... This needs fixing.”
Despite how composed he looked, Sloan seemed to be unravelling. He wasn’t that much younger than Upton’s twenty-nine, but he hadn’t been raised with this either, didn’t have old money to cushion him from the blows raining down. Upton doubted someone else would even notice, the signs were so subtle, but Upton had been trained from childhood to read people.
“It does need fixing, but it’s not unfixable, all right? I’ve been on this ride before. Not in this position, but I’m not going to let you get killed.” Upton gave his hair a little pat. At the next stop sign, he peeked at it in the mirror. “Looks good. Thanks, by the way.”
After another few turns, the scenery changed to beautiful homes behind private gates. If Sloan didn’t know which house was the Bennett home before, he could probably tell by the vans parked out front. Upton punched a code into his phone, and the gates drew back.
Reporters apparently recognized his car, and there was a scramble to get a shot. Upton navigated through the people and cameras to get them through the drive and closed the gates behind them. He sighed as he watched everyone crowding on the other side. “That brings back some weird memories. How you hanging in there?”
Sloan stared at the reporters in the side mirror, breathing shallow and a little too fast. Then he looked over at Upton and seemed to gather himself. He forced deeper breaths and closed his eyes. After a few moments, he seemed centered and gave Upton a faint smile. “I’ll manage. Let’s just get inside, huh?”
“Yes. I just want you to be prepared for my mom. She’s a wonderful and warm woman, but she’s also the person boogeymen are afraid of.” Upton smiled, though he hoped Sloan knew he wasn’t kidding. “She’s not going to do anything terrible, but know that she’s not going to be happy about this situation. It’s not personal. She’s got a lot of baggage from my dad. He put her through the wringer. I’ll probably get more than an earful, too, just, you know. All right. Let’s do it.”
Upton drove them as far from the gate as he could get. From this angle, it would be difficult for the paps to get a shot. Another thing experience had going for him. He got out of the car and waited for Sloan to join him.
Sloan emerged slowly, but once he closed the sedan’s door behind him, he stood tall and defiant, as if he’d psyched himself up. He ran a hand through his hair, tucked the chin-length strands behind one ear, and smoothed his suit. “Ready as I’m gonna be.”
He rounded the car to stand beside Upton and fell into step with him as they headed toward the door.
Though he had a key, Upton rang the doorbell. His mom answered with a frown. “Upton, the longer you’re in the daylight with those vultures out there…”
She ushered them in and shut the door. Her icy gaze skated over Sloan, lips pursed, then she offered her hand. “Candice Tinsley-Bennett. I assume you are the—” She took a deep breath and then eyed Upton. “Sex worker? Is that what they say now?”
Sloan smiled his
best smile, the one that melted Upton a little, and took her hand, shaking it politely as he made eye contact with her. “Yes, ma’am. What an honor to meet you. I’m Sloan McInnis, but call me Sloan. What do you prefer I call you?” Sloan cut his gaze at Upton swiftly and then looked back at his mom. “I understand it probably pains you to have me here, but please be assured I’ll do everything I can to make my visit as tolerable and productive as possible.”
“Of course, of course. Call me Mrs. Bennett for now. You may want to call me a lot of things by the time this is all over.” There was mischief behind her eyes, which filled Upton with excitement and dread. “Come along. You look like you could use a drink, Mr. McInnis, and I have the feeling my son will want one before long.”
She gave Upton a quick hug before leading them to the living room. It had been so long since Upton had been here during the day, he forgot how beautiful it was to see the sun streaming in, making the crystal glitter, the cream-colored furniture glow, and the wood gleam.
Upton took a seat on one of the overstuffed couches and watched Mom at the wet bar.
“What’s your pleasure, Mr. McInnis?”
“Cognac, if you have it, Mrs. Bennett. Thank you kindly.” That hint of Southern accent Upton had detected before was in effect, coloring Sloan’s words, softening them. Sloan stood near Upton but seemed uncertain where to sit. Though it was an awkward moment, he made it look good somehow, as if he was waiting for the lady to be seated. He even shot Upton a little smile, as if reassuring him.
“Certainly.” She pulled out a snifter and poured, then brought it over. “Sit, sit. It’s fine. We’re all going to be pretty cozy soon enough. Upton?”
“Little early for me.” Upton raised a brow at her. She was being awfully nice. Not that she wasn’t kind, but still.
“Yes, it’s early for drinking, but it might go a little easier for all of us. I’m having scotch. You’ll join me.” Her grin appeared to be more teeth-gritting than joy, so he nodded. She poured the two tumblers and then handed Upton one before sitting down. “Sit together, you two. Don’t make me work at this.”
Sloan inclined his head, oddly formal, charming in his way, and acquiesced. He sank onto the couch close beside Upton, but the way he held himself was utterly self-contained. He might have been a hundred miles away as he sipped his cognac and smiled appreciatively. “Thank you again, Mrs. Bennett, for the drink and for your time.”
She gave him a tight smile and then took a sip of her scotch. “You’re welcome, Mr. McInnis. So, my boy, my Upton, he’s been following in his father’s footsteps. I’ve always thought he’s twice the man his father was. Smarter, bolder, stronger. He’s been through a crucible with the press, coming out in such a public, painful way. As much as I’ve tried to, I couldn’t protect him from the world. He’s going to be president someday. Do you know that, Mr. McInnis? Can you see that in him?”
“Mom.” The hairs on the back of Upton’s neck rose as his cheeks prickled with heat. He took a sip of the scotch.
Mom held her hand out to silence Upton. “You see that, don’t you, Mr. McInnis?”
Sloan gave Upton a searching look, as if he could see into his soul. He’d certainly seen more of Upton than anyone else could claim to. The thought didn’t make Upton any less embarrassed.
After a long moment, Sloan looked back at mom and nodded. “I do, Mrs. Bennett. I’ve been a fan of his career for quite some time. He has it in him to do great things, if our puritanical culture gives him the chance.”
“Good! Good. Because I’ve put a lot of work into building his career. I want all my children to be everything they can be, and Upton has always been brilliant, warm, everything you want a politician to be. This puritanical culture, they’re not ready for a change yet. Legally, he’s still too young for a run. We’re building his bona fides. House, hopefully a governorship, and then president. When the time is right, we have to be ready to move. So, you know what’s on the line for him.” She swigged her scotch.
Upton had a swig himself. If he was going to sit here listening to his plans rehashed with no hint of modesty, he really did need a drink. “Mom, it’ll pass. I was talking to Sloan on the way in, he could represent sex workers…”
“No.” She shook her head and took another swig. “No, no, no. We’ve got to get him as far away from being a prost—sex worker as possible. This is non-negotiable. You want to go forward with your volunteer work, be a gay lobbyist, that’s fine. But sex work is done.”
“But why?” Upton stared at her, mystified. He thought for certain she’d want Sloan to become a symbol of something bigger.
“Two things. One, that will lead to more media questions about his other clients. We cannot have that. It is imperative not for you, Upton, but for him.” She pointed at Sloan with her glass in her hand. “I’ve had some quick, preliminary talks. I don’t need to ask you who your clients were; they’ve been calling.”
She gave them both a nasty smirk. “Trust me, if you weren’t involved, Upton, I would love to see most of them fry. But aside from your involvement, that would actually be very dangerous for Mr. McInnis. So, we’re going to have to play this differently.”
Upton watched her knock back the rest of her drink. “What are we doing?”
Setting her glass down, she looked between them. “You two are in love. Maybe Mr. McInnis was a sex worker in the past, but you two… Once again, the media has outed poor, sweet Upton for no reason.”
“Um.” Upton set down his glass. “Mom.”
“And!” She stood, picked up Upton’s glass, and put it back in his hand. “You’re getting married.”
Sloan stared at Mom like he didn’t understand what she’d said. Then he looked to Upton, brow furrowed, lips pursed, as if he expected Upton to interpret. Then, dark eyes widening, he knocked back his entire snifter of cognac at once.
“Mom.” Upton set down his glass once again. He stood and headed to the window to look out on the back lawn, shaking his head. “Married?”
He could smell her perfume behind him before he felt her hands on his shoulders. “Yes. It has to be true love.”
Upton exhaled. “I don’t really know him that well. He’s… His life’s just starting.”
“His life’s just ending, Upton.” She squeezed hard to emphasize her point.
“What kind of representation of gay marriage is it if I just quick marry someone I’m in a scandal with?” Upton felt sick. Sloan was a perfectly beautiful man, and they did have a lot in common, at least on the surface. Outside of this, Sloan would be exactly the kind of guy he’d want to take with him to a presidency. At least, insofar as politically engaged and sexually compatible went. “We’d have to be married for like…”
“Five years, though I’ll do a poll to confirm.” She patted his back gently. “We can gauge along the way to see if interest has waned. You’re young; being a little flighty might set you back a couple of years.”
Upton turned and looked at Sloan. “What do you think of this plan?”
“I don’t...” Sloan shook his head, but he seemed to have recovered his wits. He ran a hand through his hair and looked between Upton and his mother. “I don’t see how this can possibly work. I had no plans of returning to sex work after this—my biggest asset has been discretion—and I admit I don’t know what I’m going to do for a living now, but this is lunacy. We’re supposed to pretend to be madly in love, have a media circus wedding, and stay together for five years? And people would just accept that?”
“Not everyone.” Mom looked between them, but focused on Sloan. Apparently, she believed Sloan would be the one to buck.
How many scotches had she had? Was she laying down this judgement to punish Upton?
She kept her hand on Upton’s shoulder. “There are two big, immediate problems right now. One, you have a well-connected senator who would find it easier if you never turned up anywhere again. I spoke directly with him while you two were on the way. He’s a cold son of a bitch, crook
ed and nasty as they come. I can’t even imagine…”
She averted her gaze from Sloan and focused on Upton briefly. “He needs to be comfortable that Sloan will be kept in check. My initial idea was to move Sloan into an activist role, but the Senator was concerned Sloan would then have leverage with him to get a bill passed that he would categorically not support.”
“Sounds like a fun conversation.” Upton had to keep his mind off which senator that would be. “So, you offered that I’d marry him?”
She took a deep breath. “I told him that if Sloan was connected to the family, the political dynasty, we would tell the press that he refused to answer any questions regarding past clients. The senator believes this will mean that he has something over Upton, but the secret would be mutually assured destruction. The point is, if Upton married a man who then outed a bunch of politicians as clients, Upton would take the hit for falling for a sex worker who had sex with that many people.”
That wasn’t something Upton wanted to talk about. “So, he thinks that being married to me, Sloan wouldn’t disgrace my name.”
“He feels like Sloan, you”—she turned to him—“would have a good, comfy life that you wouldn’t risk by causing a sex scandal.”
Upton wasn’t sure about that, but maybe. The important thing was that the senator believe it. “The other problem?”
“The media will be cynical. We’re going to have to play them, reminding them how terrible it was that they outed you after your father died, Upton. It won’t work for all outlets, but the important ones I can tug their heartstrings. As for the public, a good romantic story—boy loses father, finds love in an unlikely place. People can get behind that, especially if there’s a big media wedding. There will be naysayers, but you can sell it, can’t you, Sloan? That’s your business.”