Second You Sin - Sherman, Scott

by Scott Sherman

While I watched, Jason read through some of the incredibly supportive comments on “my” Facebook page and clicked through to read Kevin Johnson’s thoughts on why we needed to return to the traditional values that made this nation great.

  If Jason looked in love before, he was now ready to marry me. “You should havemyjob,” he said. “You, young man, are the kind of person this campaign needs to reach. Smart, articulate, and committed to the issues.”

  I blushed. Even though the person who so impressed Jason wasn’t really me, I felt absurdly flattered by this attractive, sincere man.

  “And you know what I like?” Jason continued. “There’s none of that ‘us versus them’ in your writing. Those people who go on about a ‘culture war.’ I hate that kind of talk. Who are we at war with? Our neighbors? The guy at the gas station? I have a sister who’s a lesbian; am I supposed to hate her? It’s like the left hand fighting with the right. It’s crazy. We’re all people. We just have to get along.”

  If ever there was a speech I didn’t expect to hear from Jacob Locke’s chief of staff, that was it. I must have looked surprised, because Jason started to chuckle again.

  “Now, don’t get all skittish on me, boy. I’m not saying there’s no ‘right’ and ‘wrong.’ I’m just saying it ain’t the same as good versus bad. We’re all God’s children. I love my sister, and I wish her the best, but I don’t want to have to explain to my kids that Auntie Bess and Auntie Mimi got married. I love children, but I don’t want my tax dollars teaching sixth graders how to use condoms. I love my country, but . . . Aw, why am I telling you all this? You could probably say it better than me.”

  I was blushing again. OK, I didn’t agree with everything Jason Carter said, but he wasn’t the awful bigot I’d expected.

  “That’s the thing that gets to me.” Jason slumped his chair, looking exhausted. “Here we are, in New York City, trying to build bridges, but everyone around here treats us like we’re hateful zealots. They act like all we do is sow discord and fight, but Jacob Locke’s message is really one of love and healing. Maybe we don’t do such a good job putting it out there, but, Lordy, why else would we be here? We go on the Sunday talk shows, and we want to talk about Locke’s positive vision for our country, but they only want to focus on the most divisive issues. Get that sound bite. It’s like we keep getting tricked, and I don’t know why.”

  As someone pulling one of those tricks even as he spoke, I was starting to feel guilty.

  “You’ve done campus organizing—you must know how those of us who support traditional values are always being tarred and feathered. How did you do it?”

  “I just put myself in His hands and do whatever the man wants from me.” I was describing what I did in my real job, but they say it’s always best to speak from experience.

  Jason looked at me intently. Studying. Then he jabbed his finger at me. “You have to meet him.”

  “Who?”

  “Jacob Locke, of course. He needs to see there are young people like you, supporting him, believing in him. You know, it’s always the lead horse who has to suffer the burden of the herd, and Locke’s burdens are heavy, indeed. You want to help the campaign? Meet Jacob Locke and tell him what you just told me.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Sure. I mean, that’s great. I’d love to meet Mr. Locke. It’s why I’m here.” This was going better than I’d hoped. I owed Marc big.

  “Great. He’ll be in the office tomorrow. Can you come by around noon?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “He’s going to be pleased as a pig in poop to meet you, chief.”

  I bet.

  “I can’t tell you,” Jason said, looking genuinely relieved, “what a pleasure it has been to make your acquaintance. In a town where we’ve had such a harsh welcome, to meet a young man like you, well, it’s pretty much restored my faith for the day, it has.”

  If I felt any lower, I could play handball off the gutter.

  I came here looking for something that would expose Jacob Locke as a murderer. Now, the whole thing seemed like a ridiculous fantasy and I was the one feeling like a criminal. Jason seemed like a really nice guy; it was hard to believe he’d be associated with the monster I imagined Locke to be.

  “Now, I’m just about to take this stack of media requests”—he pointed to a large pile on his desk —“and go through them to see what our man should be doing. You seem pretty savvy. How about you sit with me and we take a look at them? I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

  “I’d love to,” I said.

  Strange thing is, I wasn’t lying.

  31

  What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life? I stayed at Locke’s office for another couple of hours, helping Jason with the media requests and getting to know him better. At seven, he asked if I wanted to grab a bite with him, but I’d figured I’d done enough sleeping with the enemy for one day. I told him I had to go and decided to walk home, even in my uncomfortable shoes.

  I needed to think.

  It was a perfect fall night, the air crisp and clean. Leaves and litter crunched under my feet.

  As much as I hated to admit it, I really enjoyed

  working with Jason. It made me feel good.

  I liked him. He was a totally decent guy who came

  up to New York because he sincerely believed

  Jacob Locke was a good man who could lead our

  country to a better place.

  Jason had a sweet sense of humor, worked

  eighteen hours a day for a cause he passionately

  believed in, and was committed to making a positive

  difference in this world.

  He inspired me.

  OK, maybe the specifics of his vision were

  different from mine, but at least he had one. What did I have?

  When Jason was reviewing “my” application, and

  praising “my” accomplishments, I couldn’t help but

  feel proud, even if it was all a lie. To be admired by a

  good man like Jason felt affirming.

  The funny thing, men admire me every day. But it’s

  my tight ass, or my eight-pack, or the way my blond

  bangs fall over my eyes they applaud. My mind, my

  ideas, my achievements . . . not so much.

  When was the last time someone genuinely

  appreciated something I did fully dressed? If I were filling out an application for a real job, for a

  cause in whichIbelieved, what could I put on it?

  Good role-playing skills and the ability to maintain an

  erection even with men I’m not attracted to? Kind to

  animals and tricks? Tight, gym-toned body with a

  nice-sized dick? Not exactly a Nobel Peace Prize–

  winning resume.

  I wasn’t ashamed of what I did. I just wasn’t sure if

  it was enough. Yeah, volunteering at The Stuff of Life

  was a good deed, but was I capable of contributing

  more to the universe than supervising the assembly

  of boxed lunches and facilitating the erotic fantasies

  of strangers?

  Or, for that matter, hanging on to Tony, a man who

  identified as straight and lied to me about his dates? What was Idoingwith my life?

  All these questions.

  I needed some answers.

  Focus, Kevin, focus.

  I needed to figure out what I was going to do with

  the next sixty years. But, first, I needed to decide

  what I was going to donext.

  I made a to-do list in my head:

  1.Meet Jacob Locke tomorrow and see what I could find out.

  2.Confront Tony. Maybe.

  3.Check in with Freddy to see how things had gone with Cody.

  There was something else I had to do.... What was it? Something wacky, I remember. Totally nuts. Who was the craziest person I knew?

  Oh, yeah.Her.

  I stopped at the n
ext corner and stepped into the lobby of one of the nice hotels near Locke’s office. Dressed as I was, I got nothing but smiles from the doorman and everyone in the lobby. Money loves money.

  I fished a card out of my wallet and called the mobile phone number on it.

  It was time once again for me to parent my mother.

  Bats and Balls was a sports bar on Thirty-third and Ninth, and like many of the neighborhood’s joints, it was mixed straight and gay. The person I called on behalf of my mother told me he was there with friends, and, since it was on the way home, I asked if I could meet him there.

  Considering how strongly he’d come on to me the last time we met, I was surprised at his unenthusiastic, “Yeah, sure, whatever.” Either he’d gotten over me real quick, or he was playing hard to get.

  Turns out, it was neither.

  Even from across the room, as I walked to the table where he sat with two guys and girl I recognized from the other day, I could see Andrew Miller looked exhausted and ill. Three days ago, at my mother’s disastrous encounter with Yvonne, Andrew was the picture of vitality and strength. Now, he was as pale and drawn as Robert Pattinson in the Twilightmovies, except without the sexy vampiric brooding and crazy hair.

  No, Andrew’s unhappiness looked all too human, and I had the terrible feeling my mother was to blame.

  “Hey,” I said, reaching his table. The bar was crowded and dark, the music low and thumping. LCD screens on the walls showed various sporting events from around the world, but no one seemed to be watching them. Certainly not anyone at Andrew’s table, who all looked down at their beers as if something really interesting was about to emerge from them.

  “Hey,” Andrew said weakly. He gave me a sickly half smile and took a swig of his drink. “Guys,” he said to his table mates, “I’m going to catch up with Kevin for a little bit. Hold my seat, OK?”

  His friends grunted their assent. None of them said hello to me or even met my glance. This was not going to go well.

  Andrew stood up and, without another word, walked to an empty booth at the far corner of the room. I followed obediently.

  “So,” I said, sitting across from him, “what’s going on?”

  Andrew took another long slug from his bottle of beer, shook it to ascertain it was empty, and set it down with a bang. “Let’s just say the last few days have pretty much been the worst of my life.”

  “Oh my God, I am so sorry,” I said, meaning it. “She’s my mother and I take full responsibility for . . .”

  Andrew put up his hand. “Stop. It’s not your fault, Kevin. Obviously. It’s just a really bad situation.”

  “I know, but still . . .” I was about to apologize again, but a glare from Andrew convinced me otherwise. “What happened? Last time we talked, you said you didn’t care what came next. Either Yvonne was going to fire you or you’d quit. You sounded like you were glad to have an excuse to get out of there. What changed?”

  Andrew’s forehead furrowed in anger and he scowled. “It wasn’t that easy. Yvonne blamed me for the whole thing. But she told me she wasn’t going to fire me. She wanted to keep me around to make me as miserable as I’d made her.

  “I figured that was OK, I’d just quit. Then the executive producers of her show called me. They made it clear how connected and powerful they were. They said it was their job to keep Yvonne happy. If having me there for her to kick around did that, that’s what was going to happen.

  “They made it clear that if I quit, I’d never work in the industry again. They’d tell everyone how badly I fucked up. I mean, let’s face it, I booked her with a guest who assaulted her!”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call it assault, exactly,” I offered.

  If looks could kill, Andrew’s would have been guilty of firstdegree murder.

  “Yeah, well, the producerswouldcall it assault. Let’s be honest here, Kevin, so would most people. If someone didn’t know what Yvonne did to provoke your mother, it would just look like your mother was a crazy person who I put in a position to attack the princess of talk TV. Some producer I am, right? It’s my job to screen our guests. Who’d hire me now?”

  “I guess Yvonne thinks most people would consider it assault, too,” I admitted. I told Andrew about Yvonne’s plan to sue my mother for everything she had. All of which probably wouldn’t be enough to pay Yvonne’s monthly dry-cleaning bills.

  “She’s so fucking evil.” Andrew banged his fist on the table. “I can’t tell you how horrible it’s been to work with her these past few days. She openly insults me in front of everyone, calls me stupid or ‘faggot’ or, when she’s really riled up, ‘maricón.’ She has me run some ridiculous errand for her, like fetching her a café latte and, when I bring it to her, throws it in my face, insisting she asked for a café mocha. It’s so fucking humiliating.

  “The worst part is, I’m completely trapped. My life is ruined and it sounds like she’s going after your mother, too. I’m the one who’s sorry, Kevin; I should never have dragged you and your family into this.”

  Andrew rubbed at his eyes. I couldn’t tell if he had tears there or if he was just exhausted. He gave a bitter little laugh. “All because I wanted to see you again, Kevin. ’Cause I wanted to get into your pants. Maybe Yvonne is right. I do think with my dick.”

  “Listen,” I said to him. “The only thing Yvonne is right about is not letting you quit. Because you’re probably the best producer she’ll ever have. You think that show is a hit because of her? No way. It’s how you package and present her that works. Making that nasty skank into America’s sweetheart takes a special kind of magic, Andrew, and you’re the guy who makes it happen. I bet she knows that on some level, and that’s the real reason she won’t let you go.”

  Something related to a smile, maybe a third cousin, struggled across Andrew’s lips. I think my little pep talk helped. But I wasn’t done.

  “About everything else,” I continued, “Yvonne is dead wrong. And you know what her biggest mistake was? Fucking with my friends and family. I’ve spent my whole life standing up to bigger bullies than her. That bitch is going down.”

  Now, the smile on Andrew’s face was halfway there. “Little tough guy, huh? Nice fantasy, Kevin. But she’s rich, powerful, and protected. How are you going to fight back against someone like her?”

  “Actually,” I said, “I have an idea.”

  Andrew listened to me intently. As I explained my plan, he got increasing agitated, nodding and, eventually, smiling for real. It was nice to see.

  “That just might work, Kevin. Holy shit. We might have her.”

  I grinned and pointed to my head. “Prettyand smart.”

  Andrew jumped out of his seat and slid next to me. He acted like his old self—athletic, graceful, and quick. Welcome back, buddy.

  He threw an arm around my shoulder and pulled me toward him. His body felt warm and strong. I remembered just how muscular he was.

  “You are a genius, Connor. I am totally, hopelessly, and forever in love with you. Youhaveto come home with me right now. I’m going to screw you so hard you’re going to see stars.”

  OK, maybe Yvonne was right about one more thing: Andrew reallydidthink with his dick. If we stayed in contact when this was all over, I was going to have to work on that with him.

  “You could do that,” I said. “Or you could check out my idea and see if it’ll work.”

  “Arrghh,” Andrew said. “Decisions, decisions.” But I could see he was dying to find out if I’d just handed him a Get Out of Hell Free card.

  I kissed him on the cheek. “Go do what you need to do, Miller. You know how to find me.”

  “And we can get it on then?”

  I was pretty sure the answer was no, but, I figured, let him live in hope. I gave him the answer I use on the toddlers in Sunday school whenever they make an unreasonable request. “We’ll see.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes!” Andrew said triumphantly. Yeah, the three-year-olds take it as yes, too. Ah, kids. The
n, he added, “Unless you’re still stuck on that screwed-up cop your mother told me about.”

  Not for the first time that week, I thought,Thanks, Mom.“He’s not screwed up. He’s just not up to a commitment right now. We have an open relationship.”

  Andrew pumped his fist. “You guys have an arrangement? Score one for the home team!” he shouted. I saw a few of the other customers look at him questioningly. We were in a sports bar after all. What game was he watching?

  Andrew leapt up from the table again, full of energy and enthusiasm. He took my face in his hands and planted a long, hard kiss on my lips.

  What the hell, I kissed him back. When he pulled away, I gave him a little push. “What are you waiting for, boy? Go!”

  Andrew looked at me for a moment, and I think it was the first time he saw me as something other than a receptacle for his cock. He looked at me like a friend. “Thank you,” he said.

  He ran to his friends at the other table. “Guys, we have to call Gabe. Anyone have his number?”

  32

  Some Good Things Never Last I walked home feeling pretty good. I couldn’t exactly put it on my resume, but helping Andrew reminded me I have talents that don’t involve the emission of bodily fluids.

  Even if my plan didn’t pan out, at least Andrew wasn’t moping around like the living dead anymore.

  I didn’t know what I was going to do about Tony. It was clear he’d been keeping something from me for a while now. But I didn’t want to confront him about it. Our relationship was tentative and fragile as it was. I was pretty sure that if insisted on a truth he wasn’t ready to share, whatever we had would fall apart.

  I wasn’t ready to lose him.

  I resolved not to say a word about the movie ticket I’d found. Tony’d tell me the truth when he was ready. I could wait.

  What had Lucille from Locke’s office said?Those who are patient inherit what has been promised.

  Well, no one had promised Tony to me, but I intended to collect anyway.

  Speak of the devil.

  When I got to my door, Tony was waiting outside, looking all kinds of gorgeous in his brown corduroys and beige turtleneck. “Hey, kiddo,” he said, “I was just about to give up on you.”