Second You Sin - Sherman, Scott

by Scott Sherman

  Mrs. Cherry paused. “Well . . .” she began.

  “‘Well’?”

  “The answer is no. But to be perfectly honest, someone of his stature, well, they don’t rent boys under their own names. They usually have an assistant or associate take care of that for them. There’s no paper trail that way. More than once I’ve arranged for a date with someone who sounded perfectly average only to have my boy report back to me that he just fucked a CNN newscaster or a sitcom star.

  “So, if I had to be honest, which I never, never am, darling, but I’ll make an exception in this case, I’d have to say that just because I don’t remember having ever done business with Mr. Jacob Locke doesn’t mean he’s never availed himself of my services. It’s unlikely, but not impossible.”

  Just on a whim, I thought I’d run another name past her.

  “Ansell Darling?” she answered. “Well, let’s just say if I awarded frequent flyer miles, Mr. Darling would be traveling first class for the rest of his life. I don’t know how much money he could possibly make with those awful rags he peddles at cutrate department stores, but he certainly spends enough to maintain me in designer muumuus and caftans. You know Mama’s a plus-sized girl with a heart of gold, darling.”

  “OK,” I said, feeling more confused than when I’d started. I’d better take another Adderall before my date with Tony tonight. “Thanks for being honest with me.”

  “Anything for you, dearest. But tell me, are you really worried? Because if I thought for one instant that my boys were in any danger, I’d pull you all off the job tomorrow.”

  “No,” I said. “Maybe I’m paranoid. It could be nothing. I’m not sure.”

  “Well, keep me informed. Now, kiss Auntie Cherry good night.”

  I blew her a kiss into the phone and hopped into the shower.

  Tony arrived at my place right on time, looking every inch the straight boy in his pressed chinos, white collared shirt, and navy V-neck sweater. Oh yeah, there were loafers, too.

  Still, a more delicious straight boy you never saw.

  I was wearing black, straight-leg AX jeans and an oversized baby blue merino wool sweater that matched my eyes and made me look more boyish than usual. The sleeves came to my knuckles and the waist just above my ass. The sweater’s deep scoop called attention to the soft skin on my shoulders and upper chest.

  I wasn’t entirely sure how tonight would go, and I figured reminding Tony of some of the things he liked about me wasn’t entirely a bad idea.

  Tony looked as nervous as a teenager on a first date. Usually, he ravished me with hungry kisses as soon as I opened the door; tonight, he looked down at his dumb loafers and shuffled his feet. “You ready to go?”

  I grabbed my denim jacket, keys, and wallet. I put my arm through his. “You’re not headed to your execution, you know.”

  “What?”

  “You look kind of glum.”

  “Oh.” Tony gave me a quick peck on the cheek as we walked to the elevator. “You know me. I’m just not that social a guy. I get uncomfortable meeting new people. That’s all.”

  New gay people,I thought. “You’ll like them,” I assured him. “And they’ll like you. It’s just dinner. We never ask you to sign the recruitment papers at the first meal.”

  Tony stopped walking and looked at me. “Kidding,” I told him.

  “I know that,” he said, with one of those fake laughs where the person actually enunciates “ha-ha.”

  “It’s just dinner,” I repeated. “No agenda. I promise.”

  But of course, I was lying. Agenda was actually the main course at this meal, as I was hoping to strike off the list at least one of the things Tony thought he was going to have to give up to be with me.

  We drove Tony’s car across town and arrived at a beautiful townhouse in the West Village. “Nice digs,” Tony said, as we nabbed an illegal parking space in front of their house. Tony put his shield on the dashboard to prevent a ticket.

  “They’re nice people,” I told him. I got out of the car and waited for Tony to join me on the street. It seemed like he took an extra few minutes to extract himself from his seat belt.

  He really was nervous.

  “Would you come on?” I urged him. “If you don’t hurry up, we’re going to miss our turn in the sling before the appetizers are served.”

  Tony froze again.

  “I’m still kidding.”

  “I know that,” Tony said. “You know, it’s not like this is my first dinner with gay people. Sheesh.” He ran his hands through my hair. “I’m not a rube. I know the sling doesn’t usually come out till dessert.”

  Did he just make a joke?“Wow,” I said. “I’m really proud of you.”

  “And I am really sorry I’m being such a dick about all this. You’re right; I should meet your friends. Maybe it’s not going to be so bad to be at a dinner with you where I don’t have to be afraid to do this.” Tony took me in his arms and planted a kiss on me so scorching that I worried for a moment if hair gel was flammable.

  “I think I forgot to do that when I first saw you tonight,” he said. “Forgive me?”

  “Absolutely not,” I said. “You think one kiss is gonna do it?”

  On the second one, I think I actually felt my lips start to blister.

  “OK,” I said, pushing away, “you’re forgiven. But you kiss me like that in there, and this really will turn into a gay orgy.”

  Tony took my hand in his. “Let’s go meet your friends.”

  Nick opened the door on our first ring. In his dark denims and white button-down shirt, he looked like he could be Tony’s brother. He kissed me hello.

  “And this must be Tony,” he said, giving Tony a naturally butch handshake that immediately put my semi-boyfriend at ease. “You know, we’re pretty crazy about Kevin in this household. You treating him right?”

  Tony put an arm around me. “I try to watch out for him.”

  “Well, then, welcome. Can I get you a beer?”

  “What have you got?”

  “I’m not too fancy about that stuff, I’m afraid. I’m a Bud man. That OK?”

  “That’s perfect,” Tony said, and I could hear the relief in his voice. I think he expected a pink daiquiri or something.

  We walked though the hallway into the living room. Paul was coming toward us with a red cocktail in each hand. As always, his long floppy hair fell over his forehead and he shook it out of his eyes. Obviously the chef tonight, Paul was barefoot, in faded denims, a black, long-sleeved tee, and an apron that read, “I cook, you clean. Deal?”

  “Here,” he said, handing me a Cosmo. “Unless you’re drinking diesel oil like the real boys tonight.”

  I kissed him on the cheek. “This is great, thanks. And this,” I said, feeling very proud of my handsome and so far socially acceptable semi-boyfriend, “is Tony.”

  Paul wiped his hand on his apron before shaking Tony’s. I watched Tony’s face, and apparently Paul’s grip was strong enough to earn a smile from him. “Really nice to meet you,” Paul said. “Kevin’s been single for too long.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “did I leave the room?”

  “Nice meeting you, too,” Tony said. “This place is great. Thanks for inviting us.”

  “Don’t thank us yet,” Nick said. “You haven’t eaten his cooking.”

  Paul smacked Nick on the head.

  Tony smiled again.

  See,I thought at him,they’re just like real people. You can do this.

  “I’m sure it’ll be great,” Tony said.

  Nick rolled his eyes. “You must like to live dangerously.”

  “I’m a cop,” Tony said. “I’m used to walking on the wild side.”

  Wow. For Tony to share that so soon meant he really was feeling comfortable.

  “You are?” Nick asked. “No shit. I used to be on the job, too.”

  “No shit?” Tony said.

  “No shit,” Nick answered. SeePaul looked at me, his expression say
ing, how well the boys are playing together?I smiled back.

  “So what are you doing now?”

  “I’m a PI,” Nick said.

  I didn’t even know that. These two really were

  getting along like two houses on fire.

  Maybe I should be worried.

  “Hey, come in the kitchen with me and grab that

  beer. We can trade war stories.”

  “All right,” Tony said, “and maybe after the second

  beer, I’ll tell you about the time I saved Kevin’s ass.” Nick and Paul looked at me.

  “It was nothing,” I said. “A friendly little murder

  scheme I happened to stumble onto. It could happen

  to anyone.”

  “Why,” Nick asked, “do I doubt that?”

  “Wow, I guess you really do know him, huh?” Tony

  teased.

  When your friends pick on you the first time they

  meet, it’s always a good sign.

  It looked like my plan was going to work. “Hey,” Tony said, stepping on something. He

  picked it up. “Oh, sorry, man, it looks like I crushed

  your . . . Superman action figure? Aren’t you two a

  little old for this kind of thing?”

  “Oh, that’s Aaron’s,” Paul said.

  “Aaron’s?” Tony frowned for a moment, and I think

  he was wondering if this nice couple he was starting

  to like was really living in some freaky three-way

  arrangement. If so, his question was answered by

  the sound of little feet running down the hall. “Kebbin!” Four-year-old Aaron threw himself into

  my arms. “You came!”

  “You are supposed to be in bed young man,” Paul

  said.

  “Aw, but . . .” Aaron whined.

  “Hey,” I said. “How about I tuck the little tiger in?

  Would you like that, Aaron?”

  “Yeah!”

  “OK,” I said, “but first you have to say hello to my

  friend, Tony.”

  Tony tickled Aaron’s belly. “Hey, little man. You’re

  lucky. ‘Kebbin’s’ the best tucker-inner in the tri-state

  area.”

  “Are you his husband?” Aaron asked.

  Tony blanched. “Ah, no, we’re just friends.” I gave Tony a death glare.

  “Special friends,” he amended.

  “Come on,” Aaron said, losing interest in Tony as

  soon as he figured out where he fit in. “You can tell

  me a story.”

  As I carried Aaron to his room, I heard Tony

  asking, “So, is that your nephew or something?” Nick laughed. “Didn’t Kevin tell you? Aaron’s our

  son. He didn’t mention we were dads?”

  “Ah, no, he didn’t,” Tony said. You could feel the

  temperature in the room drop a few degrees. “That’s funny,” Nick said cluelessly. “I wonder why

  he didn’t say anything.”

  “Yeah,” Tony said, his voice tight. “Wonder why?” Paul, being the more sensitive of the two, knew

  Nick was jumping on thin ice. He tried to lighten the

  mood. “Surprise!” he said, throwing up jazz hands. Oh no,I thought,not the jazz hands.

  “Yeah,” said Tony, “big surprise.”

  25

  Being at War with Each Other “What I don’t understand,” Tony snapped at me as we walked into my apartment, “is what were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking they were a nice couple and we’d have a good time,” I answered innocently.

  We’d driven back from dinner in a tense silence.

  “Did you really imagine,” Tony asked incredulously, “that I wouldn’t see what you were up to? I mean, of all your friends, you invite me to dinner with the poster family for gay daddies? Was that even their kid, or did they rent him for the evening to prove how ‘normal’ they were?”

  “They are normal.”

  “That is not normal, Kevin. Kids need a mom and a dad.”

  “OK, well, tell that to the ten million kids being raised by single parents in this country and see what they say.” I totally made that number up, but I didn’t think Tony would take the time to Wiki it.

  “It’s not the same,” Tony barked.

  “No, it’sbetter,Tony. Aaron has two parents who love him and take care of him. He’s surrounded by friends and an extended family that spoil him rotten. What’s the problem?”

  “Theproblem”—Tony over-enunciated in that way that always told me he was really, really mad—“is that poor kid is going to go through life teased and miserable because he has two dads.”

  “So what? I went through school getting picked on because I was short, kids made fun of Vinny Bartucci because of that lisp he had, and Melinda Ninetrees got beat up because hermotherwas fat. Bobbie Pickney went through three years of junior high school being called ‘Booger Pickme’ because he got caught with his finger up his nose in science class. Kids get teased all the time.”

  “My point exactly! Why make life even harder for them?”

  “The world is what makes life hard, Tony. Parents are the people who teach you how to deal with it.”

  “Again, why ask for more problems?”

  “Because we don’t conquer bigotry by painting everyone white, and we don’t cater to idiots by all pretending to be stupid. The world needs more kids being raised by devoted parents who really love them, no matter what genders they are.”

  “Kids need a mom and dad,” Tony repeated.

  “Right, because we know how fabulous Adolf Hitler and Ted Bundy and, I don’t know, Attilla the fucking Hun turned out. It’s like cake mix—add a penis and vagina, throw in a kid, cook for eighteen years, and it’s all perfect.”

  “See,” Tony yelled, slamming his fist against the wall. “This is why I didn’t want to do this. This is why I want it to just be us. I don’t want to be part of your movement, or join a crusade, or spend my life battling social injustice. I just want us . . .” His voice trailed off and he fell onto the couch. He put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

  I felt myself choke up and asked the question I was afraid to ask. “You wantwhat,Tony?”

  “I just don’t want to do this. I don’t want to fight the world and I don’t want to fight with you, either.” He lifted his head and I sat next to him, close enough to touch but not touching.

  “Tony . . .”

  “Because whether we fight the world or each other, Kevin, we’re going to lose. Either way, we both lose.”

  “Couldn’t we both win?” I asked.

  Even though I was trying to be totally in the moment and responsive to Tony’s needs, I suddenly realized I was repeating a line from a Barbra Streisand movie.

  Babs is a funky left-wing Jewish activist, trying to convince her play-it-safe WASP boyfriend (Robert Redford, BTW) that, despite their differences, their relationship is worth fighting for.

  It didn’t end well in the movie.

  Oh. My. God. I was livingThe Way We Were.

  Tony reached over and pushed my bangs out of my eyes. I scooted a little closer to him. He put an arm around me and I nestled in.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just going through a lot right now. There are things I can’t talk about with you. I didn’t mean to take it out on you like that.”

  “I know,” I said, resting my head against his strong chest.

  We sat like that for a few minutes and Tony kissed the top of my head. “I have to go,” he said.

  “You’re not staying the night?” I pulled away.

  “No, I really do have a ton of crap I have to get to.”

  “OK,” I said coldly.

  Tony pulled me back to him. “I’m not leaving because I’m mad, I promise. I’m just on overload. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “OK,” I answered, a little thawed out.

 
Tony kissed me on the lips then, a good kiss, like he meant it, and I hoped it might lead to something more. “They really did seem like a nice couple,” Tony said. “I liked them.” He kissed me again. “I like you.”

  “I like you, too,” I said, very butch and very serious. I gave him a manly punch on the arm.

  “You’re a nut,” he said, getting up. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” I said, seeing him to the door. “Tomorrow. But, Tony?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What you said before, about things you couldn’t talk to me about. You can, you know. You can talk to me about anything.”

  “What?” He screwed up his face. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Yes, you did. Just before. You said you were dealing with things you couldn’t share with me.”

  “Huh,” Tony said, his expression innocent. “If you say so.”

  Like I was the crazy one.

  Tony never lied to me.

  Right?

  He gave me one last kiss and was gone.

  OK, so maybe introducing him to Nick, Paul, and Aaron wasn’t quite as good an idea as I hoped it would be. But it didn’t end too badly, did it?

  Was I pushing too hard? Not hard enough? Why don’t relationships come with an FAQ? What was it that he was so busy with lately? What couldn’t he discuss with me?

  I hoped there wasn’t something else I needed to add to the List of Things Tony Wasn’t Willing to Give Up to Be with Me.

  My iPhone rang, announcing it was my mother. Well, I could use a distraction.

  “Hey, Mom,” I answered.

  “Bitch!” my mother yelled.

  “Nice to talk to you, too.”

  “That horrible, horrible bitch,” she continued.

  “And we’re talking about . . . ?”

  “Yvonne!” my mother screamed. “Guess who just left my front door?”

  “Um, Yvonne?”

  “No,” my mother said, sounding all annoyed with me. “Why would Yvonne be at my front door? We didn’t exactly part as friends.”

  “I’m confused,” I admitted.

  “Her lawyers came here. Or someone from her law firm or some such. They gave me papers!”

  “Papers?”

  “Papers! In an envelope!”

  “What do they say?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Didn’t you open them?”