“Why didn’t you call?”
“I was in the neighborhood. I’ve only been here five minutes. Figured I’d see if I could surprise you.”
“OK,” I said. I looked at him standing there, six feet two inches of Italian pony boy whom I’ve loved from the moment I laid my eyes on him.
Such a good man, he was. A cop, for God’s sake. Struggling with his sexuality not because he hated gay people, but because he didn’t want to disappoint his family and friends. Because he wanted to “be good.”
But why did being good have to preclude being mine? Did he think of me as a bad thing?
For the first time I could remember, I didn’t want to touch him. As solid and strong as he was, I felt like my embrace would make him disintegrate like a ghost.
Tony noticed my standoffishness. “So, um, happy to see me?”
“Why did you lie to me?” I asked.
Wow. I didn’t expect to say that. In fact, I had just resolvednotto say that.
But as my friend JoAnne used to tell me, if it’s on my lung, it’s on my tongue. For better or worse, I can’t keep my feelings bottled up. They spill.
A cloud passed over Tony’s face. “What are you talking about?”
“About seeingSuper Rangers.You told me you’d never see that movie. But I found a ticket stub in your pocket. So, why did you lie to me, Tony?”
“That? That was nothing.” Tony walked toward me and started to put his arms around me. “Come on, let’s talk about it upstairs.”
“No,” I said, pushing him away, suddenly furious. “Let’s talk about it here, Rinaldi. ’Cause the thing about it is”—I felt myself start to choke up and I swallowed hard—“you’re the person whodoesn’tlie to me. You’re the person I trust, Tony. So, why?”
“Kevin.” Tony tried stepping closer and I backed away.
“Why?”
“It’s nothing.”
But he wouldn’t look at me when he said it, and I knew what that meant. “You’re still lying, aren’t you?”
“Can we have this discussion in your apartment, please?”
For some reason, the last thing I wanted was to talk about this inside. I had a feeling something very toxic was about to be released, and I didn’t want it in my home. This needed to be aired out here, in the fresh evening breeze, where there was a chance it could blow away.
“No.”
Tony’s lips set in a straight line, becoming thinner and more strained as they did. His eyes narrowed and appeared darker. “All right,” he said. “I lied, OK. I saw that stupid movie. Big fucking deal, Kevin. Can we get on with our lives now?”
Why do we tell small lies?I remembered thinking earlier.To distract from the big ones.
“Who did you see it with, Tony?”
“Kevin, we agreed not to talk about . . .”
“Who thefuckdid you see the movie with, Tony?” The voice that came out me didn’t sound like mine.
“It doesn’t matter, Kevin.”
The evening wasn’t cold, but a chill ran through me. I felt the blood drain from my face. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”
Tony’s eyes widened and he sucked in his breath. He looked at me with the face of a stranger. “Yes, Kevin. There’s someone else.”
“Huh.” I felt myself starting to tear up. I didn’t want to say what I said next, but I felt like I’d come down with a sudden case of Tourette’s, and I knew there was no stopping me now. “It’s serious, isn’t it?”
Tony worked his jaw from side to side. “Yeah, it’s serious, Kevin.”
“Serious in a way that means we can’t be together?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to figure that out.”
“And when were you planning on telling me that, Tony?”
“Kevin, you know I don’t want to hurt you. . . .”
“Oh my God,” I yelled. “Do you get paid every time you say that? Because that’s always your excuse for holding back, for not being honest, for leaving! For a guy who doesn’t want to hurt me . . .”
I guess to be a cop, you had to be quick, because before I even knew what was happening Tony had taken the three steps toward me and had me in his arms. “Don’t say it,” he said in my ear, his cheek pressed hotly against my forehead. “Please.” I felt tears running down my face and realized, with a shock, that they were his.
We stood like that for a while, Tony shaking in my arms.
Howdo you knowif it’s love or pain?
“I love you so much,” Tony said into my hair. “So much.”
“I know,” I said, stroking his hair.
Slowly, as if through some strange magic, I felt as if the power in our relationship was transferring from him to me. I ran my hands over his back and tried to soothe him. “It’s OK, it’s OK,” I comforted him.
Tony was a good man. One lie, even a big one, didn’t make him otherwise. Despite his tears, I knew he was a strong man, too. In one way or another, he was always going to be there for me.
What he wasn’t, though, wasready. Whether he wasn’t ready to be with another man, or ready to commit to me specifically, or ready to give up his dreams of a perfect suburban family, or ready to stand up for our love, I didn’t know.
And you know what? It didn’t matter. The bottom line was, he just wasn’t ready.
If I had to be honest with myself, and this seemed like as good a time as any to start, this whole open relationship thing he wanted wasn’t working for me, either.
It wasn’t about the sex. If Tony wanted, or needed, to screw someone else every once in a while, I couldn’t care less. Maybe we’d even have merry threesomes one day. As long as I got my share, he could do with his dick as he pleased.
But Tony’s heart? That,I wanted. I wanted all of it. Damn it,I thought,I’ve earned it.I’ve certainly waited long enough.
I wanted to share my life with Tony. Not a few guilty evenings a week.
Tony’s trying to keep me in his life was killing him. It was making him into someone he didn’t want to be. He didn’t want to lie to me, and he didn’t want to hurt me. But here he was, keeping secrets and breaking my heart into a hundred million pieces.
Maybe someday we’dbothbe ready.
But not today.
Truth was, I’m the one thing Tony couldn’t be strong about. I guess it was my turn to man up.
I let go of him. “You need to work some things out, Tony. You need to figure out where you want to go. But, you’re never going to find your path if I’m standing in your way. So . . .” I pointed to my front door. “I’m going to go. And you’re going to decide what you want.”
Tony cocked his head to the side. His eyes were wet and red. “Kevin . . .” he began.
“No,” I said, “I’m fine with it. I understand.” I put a hand on his cheek, because I knew what I was about to say was going to hurt him.
“But I’m done. No more halfway, Tony. If you come back, I want all of you. No reservations, no ambivalence, no ‘someone elses.’ No secrets. Not from me. Not from anyone. That’s the deal, Rinaldi.
“There are some things in life you have to pay a price for, Tony. I’m one of them. You can’t have it both ways forever. You have to choose.”
“I can’t imagine not seeing you.”
“I know the feeling.”
“The worst part is,” Tony said, his voice trembling, “I know you’re right. I’m cheating you out of so much that you deserve. And I want to give it to you. It’s just . . .”
I put my finger to his lips. “If it’s right, Tony, if it’s real, I’ll be here. When you’re ready.”
A single tear spilled down his cheek. “What if you’re not, Kevin? What if, by the time I figure out all the . . . moving pieces in my head and heart, what if you’re not here anymore? What if you’ve moved on?”
I tried my best to smile. “Well, don’t drag it out, Tony.”
He chuckled through his tears. “Kevin, I know it’s not perfect between us, and I know I have my
issues, but I can’t, I can’t just leave.”
Man up, Connor.
“I know,” I said. “But I can.”
And I did.
The short walk to the front door of my apartment building felt like a hundred-year march. At every step, I had to force myself not to turn around. Not to look back.
Never in my life have I had to so consciously will my legs to move.Walk,I commanded them.One step in front of the other. Now another. Another. One more.
As I reached the door, I thought I heard Tony call my name, but it might have been the wind or my own sad heart beating the sound of his voice.
I didn’t look back. I made it to my apartment just in time to explosively throw up in the kitchen sink. I don’t know why they call the pain of a breakup “heartache.” It always hits me in the gut.
As I was cleaning up, the phone rang. Tony? Already? For a moment, I was filled with joy.
I looked at the caller ID. It was Andrew.
I figured he must be calling to let me know if my plan worked.
It was pretty simple, really. I remembered that on the day of my mother’s taping, Andrew and I were able to watch the incident between her and Yvonne on a monitor because the cameraman—Gabe, as Andrew had reminded me—had accidently left his camera running during a break. If Gabe still had that film, Andrew could use it to get the producers to back off him—and my mom.
They couldn’t take him to court with that in his back pocket. Anxious as I was to hear Gabe’s answer, I couldn’t talk to Andrew right now. I leaned against the counter until my iPhone beeped to let me know I had a voice mail. I hit “play.”
“Hey, babe,” Andrew said. He definitely sounded better than when I first saw him this evening, but not ecstatic. “Bad news. Gabe didn’t keep the digital videotape. But it was worth a shot. And it got me out of my funk, man. Maybe we’ll come up with something else. And don’t forget—my other offer still stands. Call me if the ambivalent cop isn’t meeting allyour needs, sexy.”
Ugh. I was about to throw my phone against the wall when an alert came that I’d received an e-mail from Jason Carter. I gave him a fake e-mail on my application, part of Marc Wilgus’s new identity for me, but Marc set it to forward to my regular account. I figured I’d better check what Jason had to say:
“Wanted to let you know that it looks like the meeting between you and Jacob Locke is going to have to be put off for a while. He got a great opportunity to speak at a Christians for a Brighter Future fund-raiser in DC tomorrow, and he’ll be flying out in the morning. He’s on the road for two weeks after that, but I’m still planning on getting you two together when he gets back, sometime in December. I hope you still can come by around noon tomorrow, though. We could really use your help. And I could use the laughs. (p.s.: Feel free to wear the colostomy bag, if you need to, Gramps. I promise not to tell. Smile.) J. C.”
Great. A few hours ago, I had a semi-boyfriend, a great idea I was sure would rescue my mother, and an opportunity to personally scope out the man I thought might be killing my friends.
Now, I was painfully single, my mother was going to lose everything she (we) owned, and it was going to be weeks before I got a chance to take my investigation of Jacob Locke any further.
Not to mention my realization today that while I’d spent the past few years earning a good living and making a lot of men happy, I hadn’t exactly been building a sustainable career path.
What did I have left? Apparently, my best option was a future as a conservative political operative. If, that is, I was comfortable pretending to be Kevin Johnson for the rest of my life and betraying every principle in which I believed.
My stomach gave another lurch and I felt the second return of lunch rising in my throat. This time, at least, I made it to the toilet.
Gee, things are looking up already, I thought snarkily. Then I hurled again.
33
Gotta Move It hadn’t been my greatest night ever. I considered going for a walk, watching TV, calling Freddy, maybe even taking Andrew Miller up on his offer to screw my brains out. I certainly had no use for them.
Instead, I put on The Owl and the Pussycat,a movie that never failed to make me laugh.
It failed.
I picked up my iPhone ten times to call Tony and tell him to come back, that I’d made a mistake. But I knew that would besothe wrong thing to do. Instead, I just stared at it, willing him to call me, but that didn’t work, either.
I tried to fall asleep, but I failed at that, too.
Finally, at fourAM, I took an Ambien so I could get at least a few hours of rest. As I held the bottle in my hand, for one moment, I had the fleeting thought, Why not take them all?
Whoa. I’d never considered suicide in my life. Truth to tell, I wasn’t considering it then, either.
But I did, for the second that thought flittered across my consciousness, understand why someone would.
Yeah, it was bad losing Tony, losing the chance to get that videotape, and losing the opportunity to meet Jacob Locke.
Really, really bad.
Especially that first part.
But it was losing hope that kills you. That I had to hold on to.
I took one of the sleeping pills with a slug of water from the sink.
I lay down again and tried to make a list of things to be hopeful about in my head.
If I came up with any, I didn’t remember them when I woke at eleven the next morning.
I’ve benched 180 at the gym with less effort than it took to get my eyelids open the next morning. My bedroom was uncharacteristically dark for so late in the day. I looked out the window; the sky was as gray and gloomy as my prospects. Perfect. I thought about Tony.
I should go to the gym, but there was no way that was going to happen. Since I started dating Tony, I kept my weekends free of clients, so I was open for the day with nothing to do but mope. Great.
I stumbled to the kitchen and found an amazing assortment of nothing. I checked my phone, no messages.
My stomach growled. I growled back.
I threw on a pair of sweats and a hoodie and ran to the deli on the corner. I picked up a quart of plain low-fat yogurt, some bananas, a loaf of whole wheat bread, peanut butter and jelly, skim milk, a box of Total high-protein cereal, and a half-gallon of bottled water.
Since I’d decided not to kill myself, I might as well not die of starvation, either.
I had a bowl of cereal with a banana sliced in it. I thought about Tony. I swallowed my Adderall with a glass of milk. I took a long, hot shower and thought about Tony some more and since my tears were indistinguishable from the water washing down my face, I figured that didn’t count as wallowing.
I had to stop thinking about Tony.
Still wet and naked from the shower, I called Andrew Miller. He needed a friend right now, and since it was my mother who got him into this jam, I figured it should be me.
By the time I called him it was just after noon. I woke him up. I apologized. He told me not to worry and we chatted for a bit.
“I’m really sorry your friend Gabe didn’t keep his tape,” I said. “I thought we had her for sure.”
“I know, it’s a bitch. After he did the standard upload, he just recorded over it, which erases whatever was there before.”
“Upload?”
“Yeah, we shoot digital. When the camera operator gets back to the office, he or she uploads the video onto the central server. Then we use the tapes again.”
“You keep everything that gets shot?”
“Well, I don’t, but the production company does. It’s all cataloged and retained. You never know when some old footage might come in handy.”
“So, thereisa copy of the tape?” I felt my pulse quicken.
“Yeah, but I can’t get to it. Neither can Gabe. Once it’s uploaded, it’s stored in these massive data banks somewhere. I don’t have access and can’t get any. Believe me, I wish I could.”
“But it’s on a computer?”
“Somewhere. Why?”
“Can I put you on a hold for a couple of minutes?”
“Hey, I’m still in bed. Hold away. I’ll just imagine you’re here.”
He got points for relentlessness. “Great. Hold on.”
I hit “conference” on my phone and dialed Marc Wilgus. Until I pressed the button again, Andrew would be on hold.
“Kevin,” Marc said, happy to hear me. “I’m glad you called. I was thinking about you yesterday. Did you make it over to Jacob Locke’s office? Did they believe you?”
I told Marc it all went perfectly and thanked him effusively for his assistance. “But now I need another favor,” I confessed.
“What’s up?”
I told Marc, in the most condensed manner possible, about my mother’s run-in with Yvonne and the subsequent fallout. I explained what I needed him to do. “Can you help?”
“Probably,” Marc said. “I’d need to know more about the specifics, but it doesn’t sound too hard.”
“I have the guy I was telling you about, Andrew, on the other line. If you’re willing, I could conference you in. Would you talk to him?”
“When exactly,” Marc asked, “did I become Alfred to your Batman?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re right. I’m taking advantage of our friendship. Don’t worry, I’ll figure out something else—”
Marc interrupted me. “You kidding? Iloveplaying Alfred to your Batman. No, scratch that. Can I be Batman to your Robin?”
“Help me out on this, and you can be anything you want.”
“You know I can’t say no to you, Kevin. Put him on.”
Andrew told Marc everything he knew about the systems on which the video was stored, and Marc sounded pretty confident he could get the files within a few hours.
“Can you e-mail them to me?” Andrew asked.
“You don’t want that,” Marc said. “The last thing you need is an electronic trail linking you to the files. Let me get your address and I’ll have a DVD messengered to you.”
Andrew gave him the information, and they exchanged e-mails and telephone numbers.
Marc hung up to get to work.
Andrew asked me, “You really think he can do this?”
Second You Sin - Sherman, Scott Page 23