At which point all my complications came thundering back. I still needed to sort out which country my next job was going to be in, and if I did go to Seattle, for the short or long term, I didn’t know how far Andy would be willing to take this friendly flirtation, let alone how far I myself had the courage to take it. I set down my phone, wondering if Andy had felt this same mix of excitement and dread after coming out to me ten years earlier.
CHAPTER 13: BLASPHEMOUS RUMOURS
THOUGH FOR THE REST OF HIGH SCHOOL WE RARELY TALKED ABOUT ANDY’S BEING GAY, WE DIDN’T PRETEND the issue had ceased to exist. When watching TV together, I’d say, “She’s hot,” about a female character, and he’d say, “Yeah, but I like him better,” about a male. He seemed to enjoy being able to say those things to me, perhaps because he still wasn’t out to anyone else. In high school, after all, even in a liberal part of the country, someone was likely to be an immature asshole about it, and who needed “fag” painted across their car by football players?
Shortly before graduation, Andy beckoned me into his room and took his mortar board off a shelf. “Decorated this.” He flipped it to show me: in red and white paper he had lettered “Stanford bound,” and across the top corner had painted a rainbow. “The rainbow,” he said. “I can’t decide if it’s too much. Or maybe too subtle.”
“Are you making a deliberate statement?”
“Kind of? I mean …” He fiddled with the edges of the board. “I’m going to show it to my parents. Tell them that way.”
“Wow. When?”
“I think tonight.”
By his report to me in text later, he tackled them one at a time. He brought the mortar board to his mom and said, “Do you know why I put a rainbow on it?”
She hugged him and said, “I’m pretty sure I do.”
It went basically just as smoothly with his dad and siblings. Some people had all the luck when it came to families.
Andy let the gossip spread on its own; he didn’t bother coming out to our classmates, though he wore the mortar board to commencement, rainbow and all. As we mingled in the crowd after the ceremony, a girl in our class wandered up and asked, “Is that, like, an LGBT rainbow?”
“Yeah, it is,” he said. “I’m gay.”
“Oh, cool. So am I,” she said.
“Sweet. Well, good luck at college.”
“You too.”
He shook hands with her. She drifted off. He looked at me with widened eyes, then we both broke into laughter.
The gossip took nearly all summer to spread to my parents.
My mom blocked my bedroom doorway one August day as I was about to leave for my job at a coffee shop. Hands on her hips, she squinted as if about to say something she herself couldn’t fathom. “Andy is claiming he’s gay? Did I hear this correctly?”
“Actually, he just is gay.”
“You knew this?”
“For a few years now.”
“But—” Her gaze dropped to my shoes, then rose back to my face, like this fact might have been printed on me somewhere without her noticing. “He seems so responsible.”
“He is.”
“But that—how—I mean, doesn’t it bother you, as a boy, hanging around him?”
“Now that we’re eighteen, I believe we’re men.” I said the word with slight irony. It did still feel strange. “And no. It doesn’t bother me.”
“But what if people think you’re like that?”
I swept my hand upward, gesturing to my heavy eyeliner and crazy hair. “Do I look like someone who cares what people think?”
She pressed her lips together. “You don’t realize—you don’t even consider what people will think of us, let alone you—”
“Nope, I don’t.” I grabbed my keys and sunglasses.
“And that time you … you kissed him, was that because—”
“We are not talking about that. Ever.”
She reared back at my sharp tone, then something like respect entered her face. I realized, stunned, that she must think I hated having kissed him and wanted to pretend it never happened. In short, she assumed I was feeling exactly what she hoped I would feel.
Which was not even remotely the truth, but I wasn’t about to correct the record. There was no talking about this with my mom and dad—whom I’d overheard bitching to friends of theirs the other week that gay parents were unhealthy for children to grow up with and were unraveling the fabric of marriage in our society, or some such bullshit.
I could unload a lot of outrage upon them. But they were about to fund four years of university, cutting down my student loans by a tremendous amount, and despite cringing every time they saw my clothing and hair and makeup, they had not in fact tossed me out of the house. I was lucky compared to plenty of kids. I was also smart enough to keep my belligerent mouth shut until I got clear of their influence, or at least their hearing.
“I’m going to work. See you.” I bumped past her and left.
CHAPTER 14: TRUE COLORS
THE MORNING AFTER ARIEL’S PARTY, I WOKE LATE, AND FOUND A VOICE MAIL FROM MY AGENT JERRY.
“Sinter, hi. Listen, bad news, the BBC closed with another actor for that role we wanted. I just spoke with them. I’m so sorry. That’s what they’re like sometimes, dangle you along for a while. It pisses me off … anyway, I know your work visa needs sponsoring, so there’s an opportunity in Cardiff I’m almost sure I could get you. It’s with a soap they film there. They always need more actors. It’d mean moving down there for a while, but Cardiff’s far less expensive than London, so that could be good. Anyway, ring back and let’s talk.”
I fell back on my pillow, covering my eyes. My smile became a grin, then I was laughing.
Sometimes it’s pretty damn obvious when life is nudging you toward something. And that something was not Cardiff.
I rolled out of bed and made tea, my mind whirling with chaotic new plans.
A text buzzed my phone.
Fiona: Hi! Checking in to see how you’re doing. Best party I’ve ever been to, for sure ;)
Sinter: Ha yeah, glad I got to sleep in. Doing ok, you?
Fiona: Fine, we’re all a bit slow today on filming as you can imagine. I wanted to see if you could meet for lunch
I cringed and took a swallow of hot tea. Putting this off wouldn’t make it any easier, though.
Sinter: Yeah of course, what time?
The sun shone in a clear, frigid sky, casting no warmth upon London whatsoever. The streets teemed with bag-laden holiday shoppers, looking stressed despite their bright scarves and hats. Fiona and I picked up sandwiches at a deli near the studio and wandered the sidewalks, eating while we talked about the film.
In Soho Square Garden, we sat on a bench facing the Tudor-style garden shed in the park’s center. Leafless sycamore trees stood around us, and I looked up into their branches, realizing I missed being around tall trees. You can take the boy out of the Pacific Northwest, but …
“I think I know what you’re going to say,” Fiona said.
I dropped my gaze to her. “What?”
“That it isn’t going to work.”
“Oh. Why do you say that?”
She smiled sadly. “I could see it as soon as I looked at you afterward last night. You have no idea how expressive your face is, do you?”
I blinked, trying to close the shutters a bit on my expressive face. “Well … I mean, we should talk about it, yeah.”
“I suppose I’m hoping you’ll give it a chance. I was in love with Taylor before I met you, when I was writing him. Then you came along and brought him to life, and I fell in love in a new way.”
Touched but discouraged, I settled my gaze on a statue across the park. “I don’t think it’s me you’re in love with, though. I think these feelings are all wrapped up in the project.”
“I do realize you’re not Taylor. That you’re an actor, that it’s not 1981.” She sounded wry. “I know all that. It’s still you I find fascinating.”
&
nbsp; “But that’s what you hired me to do, play this part so it would fascinate you. I don’t think you’d go on finding me fascinating after the film’s over.”
“I might do. We don’t know.” When I didn’t answer, only gazed off across the square, she finally added, “But clearly you don’t feel the same.”
I set my crumpled-up sandwich wrapper on the bench, then curled one hand inside the other on my lap. “I am definitely attracted to you. Those love scenes would have been a thousand times more fun if they’d been you instead of Ariel.”
“But?”
“But my mind has been in a really strange place lately. I’m wanting things I didn’t think I would want. And not wanting things I thought I would.”
She slumped back against the bench. “Ah. You fancy someone else.”
“Kind of. I mean, yes. And who I fancy, it’s … my first kiss, actually. Sort of. I’m still best friends with him, and in touch with him a lot. I mentioned him to you once.” I made sure to speak the pronoun clearly, no mumbling, no misinterpretation.
“Oh. I see.” A resigned surprise entered her tone. “Yes, you did mention him.”
“And I’ve never … well, almost never acted on thoughts like that, but I’ve been obsessed with it lately.” I glanced at her, miserable for slamming her down this way. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t lay this on you.”
“No, it’s better to know the truth.” She wasn’t smiling anymore. The tip of her nose was turning red in the cold air. “Gosh. If you’re gay, you’re an even better actor than I thought.”
“No, I’m … I’m bi. Bi-curious, in any case.” I blinked at the empty bench facing ours. “I’ve never said that out loud before.”
“Then I’m honored. And I’m sure you’ll find plenty of willing men in this city.”
“I’m sure, but … I feel like I ought to go back to the States. See Andy. Give it a try.”
“You’re really planning to leave?”
“Yeah. It’s looking that way.”
Our gazes met. She looked forlorn. “He must be charming indeed.” She forced her mouth into a smile. “I hope he’s charming.”
At the fusion of that word with everything I knew about Andy, a warmth tumbled through me, relaxing my face into softness. My gaze went unfocused and drifted to a patch of grass, and I smiled as I remembered the album cover he had sent me in a message not long ago. “He’s Prince Charming.”
CHAPTER 15: ASK
WHEN DANIEL AND JULIE FOUND OUT I WAS STAYING IN LONDON BUT DIDN’T HAVE PLANS FOR CHRISTMAS, they insisted I come to their flat, with not-taking-no-for-an-answer vehemence. Daniel’s parents and other relatives would be dropping in and hanging around on the twenty-fifth, and I was required to join.
So I spent the afternoon backed up against the mantel in their flat with a mug of mulled wine, answering enthused questions from his mother, grandmother, cousin, and someone-in-law about what I did for a living and how exciting it sounded, and wasn’t I sad not to be with my own family over the holidays?
I pretended it was indeed a shame, because that was better than bringing down the holiday mood with an answer like, “Eh, it’s just as well. They sent me a check for Christmas and I sent them a gift certificate to a boring clothes store they like, and I’ll talk to them later today but we won’t have anything interesting to say.”
All the while, I held onto the secret excitement of having come out to Andy, and the vague hope of feeling my way into a bisexual future with his help. He’d sent better gifts than my parents: a box of awesome assorted cookies and an array of temporary tattoos. “For your collection,” he wrote in the enclosed tag. I’d wanted real tats for years, but had denied myself, since about a thousand people had warned me that ink made you less castable. Directors liked your body to be a clean slate. Thus Andy had been giving me temporary ones for years, and I stuck them on whenever possible.
I’d sent him a T-shirt, black with a London skyline, with boxy vintage Tetris pieces falling down to fill it in, plus a game cartridge of what the guy at the shop promised was the next big role-playing video game out of Japan. Andy adored video games, from classic era to newest releases.
We’d thanked each other in messages, though we hadn’t had time to converse much, given I was being temporarily adopted by Daniel’s family, and Andy had relatives visiting.
But my lease would be up on the first of January, less than a week away. If I wasn’t going to Cardiff, I had to plan my return to the States, and soon.
On Boxing Day I was alone at last. Andy had said he was working, so I could probably depend on the usual hours he was awake and available for texting. In the afternoon, I took the Tube to Mansion House station and walked across the Thames on Millennium Bridge. Ever since my teen years, when my parents’ house had begun to feel like a correctional facility, I’d been in the habit of going for walks whenever I felt nervous. The open air and the reminder that other people led other lives in these other buildings tended to soothe me.
Andy likely wouldn’t be awake for another hour or so, but I leaned on the embankment railing and sent him a message for when he woke up.
Sinter: So … I didn’t get the BBC role, and the easiest thing to do next is to move back to the States. I’m considering looking for work in Seattle. If I do, can I stay with you awhile? I’ll pay rent of course. And we can see how things go, with new interests and such ;)
My stomach was fluttering, my fingers tingling. Cold wind blew into my face, smelling of river water and wet stone. The setting sun touched the tips of the buildings across from me, staining them orange. Their reflections rippled in the water.
Too jumpy with adrenaline to hold still, I walked. I liked this part of the river because Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre was there, and I circled its exterior twice, thinking wistfully about how I’d never gotten to act on its stage yet. Ah well. Some other year. I turned my back on the Globe and kept walking.
At Southwark Bridge, I climbed the steps and paced out to mid-span, and stared at the twin tips of Tower Bridge, far downriver. Traffic rumbled past behind me.
He’d be awake any minute. I looked at my phone for the hundredth time and nearly dropped it in the river when I saw he had answered.
Andy: Oh my god yes! Please come to Seattle!!! Yes yes yes
I sagged my weight against the railing, reading the words again and again. The sunset shone in golden light. Church bells rang down the river, the sound of celebration.
Yes yes yes.
The casting dazzles had nothing on this feeling.
Sinter: Whew, thank you. Awesome
Andy: This is the best news! I bet you’ll find theater work here before long
Sinter: Hope so, I was looking it up and it seems promising
Andy: As for those new interests, I’m definitely up for it, or we can find you someone else on Capitol Hill if you prefer. Happy to help either way ;)
Sinter: I tend to prefer a trusted friend for these jobs. So if you really do want to help …
Andy: Ummm YES please. Get your ass on that plane already
Grinning, I swung away from the railing and wandered back toward the north bank.
Sinter: Much obliged then :)
Andy: Wow this is the most interesting conversation I’ve had before breakfast in a long time
Sinter: Haha, same
Andy: Hey, send me a selfie right now. I just want to see your face. I’ll send one too
I had reached the Thames embankment, and the sky still held enough light to take pictures without a flash. Feeling like a dork (but a happy dork), I ignored the judgey glances of passersby and snapped a few photos of myself with river and south bank in the background. I deemed one picture acceptable enough: the wind was blowing my streaky hair into my eyes a little, but my smile looked natural, and if my plaid wool scarf stuffed into my zipped-up leather jacket wasn’t exactly sexy-photo material, it at least looked a tiny bit stylish.
While I sent it over, Andy’s selfie came in. With his h
air all rumpled, he was lying on his stomach in bed in what looked like the warm glow of a lamp, in a long-sleeved white T-shirt with a frayed collar, his glasses on. He was smiling self-consciously and beautifully, temple resting on his hand, morning stubble shading his jaw. So familiar, yet exciting in an entirely new way.
Andy: Ugh you look like a gorgeous model, and I’m this disheveled lump
Sinter: Actually I was thinking you look cute and warm and you’re in bed and I really want to crawl in there with you
Andy: Jesus, why couldn’t you have sent me texts like this in high school? :P
Sinter: Totally should have. Sorry. :)
Andy: Forgiven. I’ve got to get ready for work, but we will talk later of course
Sinter: Sounds good. And thank you. Just seriously, thank you so much
Andy: Don’t thank me till you’ve tried it and liked it ;)
CHAPTER 16: IF YOU LEAVE
Sinter: Hi Fiona - I’m thinking of leaving on the 1st when my lease is up. But would that be ok with the schedule? Am I needed after this week?
Fiona: Goodness, that is soon. Well … no, after the dubbing tomorrow you’re clear. There might be media interviews we’d like you to do, but not till spring. And you can probably do those from another city as long as they have a TV studio who’ll work with us.
Sinter: Seattle probably does, but yeah, let me know, I’ll help
Fiona: Then it is Seattle? You’re off to see Andy?
Sinter: Yeah, I’ll be staying with him at first. We’ll see how it goes
Fiona: I wish you luck. I’ll see you tomorrow so I won’t say any dramatic goodbyes yet
Sinter: See you tomorrow, and thank you for everything. And … I’m sorry, really
To which she didn’t answer.
I emailed my landlord to inform him of my intent to vacate by January 1. He grumbled about short notice and pushed me to let him show people the flat during the next few days so he could find a new tenant. I gave him permission. I had enough errands to do to keep me out of the place.
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