“You kidding?” I answered. “He’s the fucking Batman.”
It was 12:35 by the time we finished talking. I tried to sound more confident with Andrew than I felt. Although I had great faith in Marc’s ability, the way my luck had been, I was sure something would go wrong.
I checked my e-mail on my phone and saw that Jason Carter had written five minutes ago: “What’s the matter, old man? Your arthritis acting up again? Please don’t leave me alone here with the seniors and the holy rollers. I need you! J. C.”
Jason’s message made me smile and I headed to my bedroom to pick out something appropriate to wear to the campaign office.
I was just through the doorway when I said aloud, “What the hell am I doing?”
I didn’t usually talk to myself, but this seemed like a good time to start. Because, obviously, I was insane.
Why was I going back to Locke’s office? After all, there was no chance The Man Himself would be there. As touched as I was by Jason’s commitment and sincerity, I wasn’t about to become an anti– equal marriage, pro-life zealot.
Was it just about wanting Jason’s approval, the attention of an attractive, interesting man? Was I really that shallow? That desperate?
Apparently so.
God, my life sucked.
All I wanted to do was go back to bed.
I was about to write back to Jason with an excuse, but decided not to bother. Maybe I’d just let Kevin Johnson disappear into the same virtual never-world from which he sprang.
I, unfortunately, was stuck in this world. That being the case, as I still had to make a living, I decided to force myself to go to the gym.
No reason for me to look as bad as I felt.
I threw on the sweats I wore to the deli this morning and opened my coat closet to grab my gym bag.
That’s when I saw it.
Floating on its hanger like a ghost, like an unsaid accusation.
The gold lamé Ansell Darling coat that Rueben had sent me just a few days before his death. Rueben.
I took the coat off its hanger and brought it to the couch. It was soft and plush. I cradled it like a security blanket, like a child, like a lover, and let the sadness wash over me.
Rueben. Brooklyn Roy. Sammy White Tee. Maybe some others, too, whose names I didn’t even know. All gone, forever.
Randy, still in a coma, who knew how he’d emerge from it?
I thoughtIhad problems?
What waswrongwith me?
Had I really just thought I wasstuckin this world? Even with the semi-boyfriend, crazy mother, and thin resume, I waslucky to be in this world. What wouldn’t Rueben or any of the others have given for another chance? Who was I to waste even a moment of mine?
It was half past closing time at my self-pity party. It was time to get to work.
OK, so Jacob Locke wasn’t going to be at his campaign office today, but that was no reason to give up. Maybe I could still snoop around, figure somethingout.
How could I do anything less?
The sweats came off again. What does a young Republican activist looking to make a good impression wear on the weekend?
I chose a pair of navy Banana Republic chinos, one of their trim-fit white button-down shirts, and a zippered navy cardigan. I threw a J. Crew corduroy blazer over it and, satisfied that I looked like, well, Kevin Johnson, headed out the door.
But first, I replied to Jason Carter: “On my way back now.”
And, you know what?
I was.
34
Doing the Reactionary “He’s sick,” Jason whispered in my ear as he shook my hand, and, with his other arm, pulled me in for a bro hug.
Five minutes earlier, I saw Jason’s smile light up from across the room as I walked in the door, shaking off the rain that had drenched me when the already gray skies decided to let loose.
The super-cheery Lucille greeted me, uh, cheerily. “Back again? I’d have thought you’d be with your lady friend on a beautiful day like this.”
Beautiful? I guessed every day on Planet Lucille was all sunshine and lollipops. This was also the second mention she’d made of me having a “lady” in my life. Either she suspected I was gay, or she was planning to pounce on me herself. Maybe she could start her own group: Concerned Christian Cougars of America.
“I’m here to see Jason,” I replied by nonanswer. “May I?” I pointed to a tissue box on Lucille’s desk.
“Absolutely.” Lucille beamed, handing the box to me. I grabbed a handful of them and mopped whatever water I could off my head.
As I did, I looked around the office. I was surprised it was slower on a Saturday than on a Friday. Usually, most volunteers were working people, or students who had classes to attend. Which meant most campaigns were bustling on the weekend.
Locke’s base of retirees and clergy weren’t bound by the restrictions of the workweek. Three-quarters empty, the haphazardly organized office space felt like a set fromI Am Legend.The general gloom wasn’t improved by the volunteers themselves, mostly elderly, who moved though the office with the shuffling gait, outdated clothing, and pale pallor of recently risen zombies.
Apparently, Locke’s pro-life position didn’t apply to his staff.
“Thanks,” I told Lucille, handing the box back to her. “Guess the weather kept a lot of people away today, huh?”
“Mercy, no.” Lucille put a hand to her heart. “This is a good turnout for us! Last weekend, it was just me, Jason, and Mr. Bishop.” She pointed to a man who appeared to be in eighties. He was sitting at a desk in the middle of the room, slumped in a chair, his eyes closed. He snored lightly.
“He’s really very sweet,” Lucille said. “Except the first day he came in, Lord save me, I saw him sitting there like that and thought he’d died! Scared me half to pieces!”
They all scared me there, including Lucille, with her too-big smile and Minnie Pearl wardrobe.
“And what about you?” I asked her. “You work on the weekend, too? Even on a, uh, nice day like today?”
“I’m here whenever they need me,” Lucille said. “I believe the Lord has put me here to help Mr. Jacob Locke take back America. There’snothingI wouldn’t do for that man.”
Thanking her again, I gathered my courage and crossed through the office to see Jason. For some reason, I found myself thinking,Yea, though I walk through the valley of death . . .
I was rewarded for my courage by Jason’s quick, macho hug and his whispered proclamation.
“Who’s sick?” I whispered back.
“Locke,” Jason said, settling back in his chair. He waved for me to sit, too.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear it.”
“No, Kevin, it’sgoodnews. He decided to cancel his DC trip and the rest of the week’s travel, too. He’s coming into the office today. You’ll get to meet him if you can stick around.”
Thatwas good news. My smile was genuine. “Great! I’ve really been looking forward to meeting him.” Then, remembering my role, I added, “I hope he’s nottoosick.”
“Naw, just a head cold. But last time he flew with a cold, he wound up getting a sinus infection and was down for two weeks. So, he’s real cautious now.”
“Better safe than sorry,” I said. Sticking to the dullest possible clichés was part of my strategy for success here.
“Yup, ya don’t want to run your prize horse too hard before the big race. Gotta keep our boy on his feet, ya know.” He winked at me and I felt a flush of attraction. I really wanted to hate this guy, but he was just too damn lickable. I meant, likable. I bet he smelled like hay and had a light dusting of scarlet hair across his tummy that got narrower and finer until you reached his . . .
Focus, Kevin, focus.
“Too bad he’s not going to be able to participate at the conference tonight,” I offered.
“Good news there, too, chief. He’s going to appear via a video feed. They’re coming to set up around six and he speaks at seven. If ya don’t mind me asking”—Jas
on cocked his head to the side bashfully—“I was kinda hoping you could help me out with his remarks. I have a draft, but I think they could use some punching up. Can you take a look at them?”
Oh, God, no. “Sure.”
“Great. Do you think you can stay for the taping? We could always use another hand.”
Since I always reserved Saturday nights for Tony, I had nothing else to do. “Sure.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have any TV production experience, would you?”
Not exactly, but my mother just I thought,
completed a fabulous guest-starring role onYvonne as an insane hairdresser.“Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it, chief,” Jason said. “Just figured maybe you had. Seems like you’ve done everything else a boy could do.”
If only you knew.
Jason set me up at a desk with a computer a few feet from his. He handed me a copy of the speech he’d written on a USB stick.
Jason’s talking points were pretty good for a load of conservative horseshit. They seemed like the same things Jacob Locke said everywhere else, so I don’t know what he needed my help with. Maybe he was just insecure.
I thought about what Jason had shared about himself the day before. Small-town boy, grew up on a farm. Hence his adorable aw-shucksness. Not a family of any means, worked to put himself through school, blah-blah-blah. Split major in political science and theology. Worked as an aide to a US senator for a few years, then as an independent political consultant.
Three years ago, when Jacob Locke was still just a television preacher, Jason was watching him and had an epiphany. Here was a man (or so Jason thought) who combined a love of scripture with practical understanding of the world around him. He approached Locke for a job and Locke hired him.
It was Jason who convinced Locke to enter politics, seeing in him a populist appeal that Jason thought would cut through the noise of other politicians.
I looked over at Jason. He was on a conference call with the state directors of Locke’s campaign. He was leaning back in his chair, his legs on the desk. He absently chewed on a pencil while listening to the reports from the field.
I wondered just what it was about Jason that appealed so much to Locke. Watching his long, lean body as his lips worried that pencil, I thought I might know.
Not that I thought there was anything sexual between them. I pretty much made a living with my Gaydar, and it was telling me that Jason was one hundred percent straight. I believed he had great personal integrity as well. I couldn’t see him doing anything physical with Locke.
From his humble beginnings, Jason ascended to the role of chief of staff to a rising Republican star. Watching him at work, it seemed to me like he knew what he was doing. But I could see why he might feel unconfident. It’s hard to overcome the insecurities of childhood.
I made some tweaks to his remarks. Inserted a few topical references, took out some of the hoariest clichés, added a joke, and changed a line that read, “we have to work harder to protectourfamilies,” to, “we have to work harder to protectallfamilies.”
I knew I was taking a risk on that last one, but I couldn’t stop myself.
I felt my iPhone buzz in my pocket. A text from Freddy. “Call me!” I wrote back, “Busy right now, ring you later.”
Knowing Freddy, I turned the phone off. He’d call or write one hundred times until I got back to him, and I didn’t want to be distracted from what was happening here.
By the time I was done, it was 5:15. I saved my revision to the speech and e-mailed it back to Jason. He had long been done with his conference call.
I watched surreptitiously as he opened the document and read my changes, gratified to see him nodding and chuckling where appropriate. As he started to look up, I ducked my head back down and pretended to be absorbed by theDrudge Reporton my screen, required reading, I imagined, for all young conservatives.
Jason walked behind me and clapped me on the back. “Great stuff, chief. Top notch. Jacob’s going to love this.”
Once again, I gritted my teeth at how gratified I was by Jason’s praise.
“What say,” Jason began, “I order us in some grub and we hang out till the TV folks get here? Sound good?”
“Great. I’m starving.”
“Pizza OK?”
“Pizza’sessential.”
Jason laughed and dialed for delivery.
When he hung up the phone, he walked over to Lucille, the only other person still in the office. “That does it for the day,” he told her. “Why don’t you go on home?”
“But you and Kevin are still here,” she observed with a little whine in her voice. “I don’t mind staying.”
“Now, darlin’,” Jason said, taking her coat from a stand by the front door and holding it out for her. “You have done more than your duty for the week. Y’all get outta here while the gettin’s good.”
Lucille reluctantly stood up. “You sure you two boys are going to be all right on your own?”
Jason walked over with her coat and practically forced her arms into it. “We’re gonna be fine, Miss Lucille. Now, skedaddle.”
“All right then,” Lucille said, her smile a little tremulous. “If you insist.”
“Thank you for your service this week, Miss Lucille,” Jason said, opening the door for her. “I don’t know how we’d get by without you.”
At this, Lucille beamed again. “Oh, Mr. Carter,” she gushed. “I bet you talk to all the girls like this.” Coquettishness didn’t go very well with her plussized appearance, but I gave her points for trying.
“Only the pretty ones,” Jason said with a wink. Lucille giggled as he led her out the door.
The moment it closed behind her, Jason turned the deadbolt, locking the door. He turned to me. “At last! I thought we’d never be alone.”
Was I wrong about Jason? I was pretty convinced he was as straight as his resume, wedding ring, and the picture of his wife and children would suggest. Not that those were guarantees against liking to fool around with guys. The majority of my client list was married, as was Jacob Locke. I just didn’t get a sexual vibe off of Jason.
Not that I’d mind being wrong. Plus, I rationalized, if he was attracted to me, I bet he’d be more forthcoming in my investigation of Locke. I figured I’d give him an opening. So to speak.
“You certainly seemed pretty eager to get rid of her,” I said, walking over to him. I flung back my bangs and licked my lower lip. “What was that about?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Jason said, moving closer to me.
I matched him with another step forward. We were close enough to kiss. “Maybe I need you to spell it out for me.” I looked up at him expectantly.
“Well, duh.” Jason rolled his eyes. “I only ordered onepizza. With Miss Lucille around, we’d be lucky if she left us the cardboard box to eat.” He punched me in the arm. “Now, come on, slugger. Let’s proofread those remarks one more time and print ’em out.” Jason walked around me back to his desk.
Guess I had it right the first time. Damn.
Five minutes after our pizza arrived, so did Jacob Locke.
“Sir!” Jason sprang to his feet when Locke walked in. “Let me get your coat.” He started to sprint over.
Locke waved him away. “Now, don’t be getting up, boy. Eat. I can take my own fool coat off.”
Jason walked over anyway and took the coat from Locke anyway. “I’ll hang it up, sir.” He looked at the door and squinted. “How did you get in, sir?”
Locke pursed his lips. “I have a key, Jason.” He reached over and took his coat back from Jason. He put his hand in one of the pockets and pulled out a silver key on a cross-shaped ring. “See?”
“Of course, sir. I thought you had told me you lost it.”
“No.” Locke laughed. “I told you I lost the five copies you’d given me previously. This one I’ve managed to keep.”
Jason laughed, too. “I’m proud of you, sir. Fundraising is going well,
but I don’t think we can afford to keep getting the locks changed.”
Locke put his hands on his hips in a way that looked surprisingly . . . fey. He pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. “Brat.” He pretended to look annoyed but chuckled. He slipped his key back into his coat, which Jason hung on a rack by the door.
Locke threw his arm good-naturedly around Jason and they walked to where I was sitting. I could see they had a good rapport going. Jason was deferential and respectful to Locke, but they could joke around, too.
On television, Locke had the bland good looks of a local news anchor in a medium-sized market. In person, he was more distinctive. Probably about six foot two, fit for his age, silver hair sprayed into place like the model in an ad for men’s hairspray. Bright hazel eyes and a strong nose were the first things you noticed about his face, but the rest of it was fine, too. His skin was ruddy with a healthy glow that stopped a little too abruptly at his neck. I suspected bronzer.
He was dressed conservatively in a navy suit with a red tie and white shirt. Not a particularly original color scheme for a politician, but he wore our flag’s hues well.
Everything about him, from the carefully styled hair to thejust socut of his suit to his just-shined shoes, was perfectly in place and polished. He looked good, but the deliberateness of it all spoke of a certain vanity. Almost a prissiness. He came over to where we were sitting and pulled up a chair.
“And who,” he asked, his voice musical, “is this fine young specimen?”
Jason blushed a little. “This is the young man I was telling you about,” he answered. “The kind of bright, young thing we need around here. Kevin Johnson, this is Jacob Locke.”
I stood up and extended my hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
Locke remained seated, his eyes pointed directly at my crotch. “Can’t say I’m sorry to make your acquaintance, either, son.” He put his hand in mine, limply, and let it rest there. The uniform length and perfection of his nails displayed a recent manicure.
It was kind of awkward. It reminded me of how the Queen of England gives you her hand. What are you supposed to do, again? Oh yeah, kneel and kiss it.
Second You Sin - Sherman, Scott Page 24