by Clancy Nacht
“I’m sure she’ll join us eventually. Come on in.”
They stopped first at Talia’s room, but she wasn’t there, so Lance continued to the kitchen where Talia, a tall, African American woman with dreads, looked over her shoulder while pouring coffee.
Lance gestured in her direction. “Senator Swardson, this is our IT expert, Talia.”
“Elliot, please, Lance.” Elliot gave Lance a side smirk that looked almost flirty as he crossed the room to hold out his hand to Talia.
She set down her mug and the coffee pot to shake his hand. “IT expert, huh? That’s what we’re calling it?” She winked at Lance and then focused on Elliot. “Nice to meet you, Senator.”
Lance raised an eyebrow. “What do you think we should call your position?”
“It’s whatever I want it to be.” She didn’t seem quite as affected by Elliot’s charm as Lance had been, but she was cordial, which was really all Lance could ask from his resident anarchist.
Talia returned to her coffee. “You want some?”
Elliot shook his head. “No, thank you.”
Lance was relieved, because he didn’t believe for a minute Talia would pour Elliot a cup.
She eyed him over the rim of her thick black glasses. “Hm.” With full mug in hand, she turned around and looked between Elliot and Lance, then smirked and repeated, “Hm.”
“Anyway, I’m sure you have something more important to do. Just wanted to meet the folks who make the magic happen.” Elliot gave her what Lance recognized as his broadest, most winning smile.
She walked past, shaking her head and muttering to herself as she went into her office.
“Computer people are a little antisocial.” Understatement of the year, though Lance appreciated Talia was on her best behavior. It had gone better than he’d hoped.
“I’ve heard that. So, no receptionist?” Elliot examined the stocked kitchen, the fruit in the bowl, the requisite water cooler, the small stand of wine bottles Lance curated.
“That would be me.” Lance held up his phone. “We don’t field that many calls. Everyone’s got direct lines if you need them, and new business has to come through me.”
Gretchen, the petite broad-bodied staff lawyer, ducked her head out of her office. Her blue gaze fixed on Elliot, widened slightly, and then she came out to introduce herself. “Senator Swardson, a pleasure to meet you in person. I’m Gretchen Alexander. I try to keep this one within legal bounds.”
She nodded at Lance and shook her head like a fond mother. “I was surprised to hear he’s expanding into politics, given his general disregard for the law, but now I see what’s lured him to it.”
If Lance had been asked before those words if he was capable of blushing, he would’ve vowed himself impervious. Now he looked away as heat rose to his cheeks.
Elliot chuckled and offered his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Alexander. Call me Elliot.”
She giggled, a girlish thing Lance was shocked to hear from the level-headed woman. “In that case, call me Gretchen.”
“Excellent, Gretchen. It sounds like we may be partnering up to keep our boy in line?” Elliot stood by her side and eyed Lance with a strange affection behind his eyes. “Is he a bad boy?”
“Hey!” Lance couldn’t think of anything clever to say under that gaze. He couldn’t think of anyone else who would call him that. “Boy Scout” was the conventional label, though admittedly he’d been known to bend the rules to get the right thing done. Who didn’t?
“No, he’s a good boy. It’s a dirty game he’s in. Public relations. Of all the things he could’ve done with his life, with that intellect.” Gretchen sighed and shook her head. “How he roped me into it, I’ll never know.”
“With cash.” Lance pulled himself together and stopped squirming. “Lots and lots of cash.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Gretchen nodded at Elliot. “Maybe you can help him straighten out his politics while you’re at it. Silly boy thinks he’s a Democrat.”
“Is that right?” Elliot turned and shook his head at Lance. “Here in a red state?”
Lance shrugged. “I’m not into log cabins. The Republican party doesn’t offer much for people who aren’t millionaires.”
Elliot took a step toward Lance, magnetism on, making it all but impossible to see beyond him. “I’ll admit, this Trump distraction has really unhinged our base. It’s hard to motivate non-radicalized Americans to vote, but I aim to change that. Obama preached change—that’s how he got the vote out—but he didn’t deliver on his promises.”
Lance folded his arms and raised a brow. “Uh, health care?”
“A tepid compromise of a Republican plan. A good start, I’ll grant, but he spent a lot of good will and political capital getting the disenfranchised to vote. After eight years, that’s what he’s bragging on?”
Lance was at a loss. He voted, so he wasn’t that disengaged from the process, but he didn’t follow politics well enough to have much of a debate. “The economy’s moving.”
“How much lower could it have gone?” Elliot clicked his tongue as he shook his head.
“He was blocked by partisan opposition at every pass.” Sounded good. Lance had heard it somewhere.
“Right, because he’s the first president that’s ever happened to. Come on, Lance. Say what you will, but the challenges Obama has faced are no different than any other president’s, including now. It wouldn’t be so disappointing had his ambitions not been so high. That said, I intend to be the change and the hope that the American people want. You say the Republican Party doesn’t have anything to offer common people, and I say we do. Trumpers say they want their country back when they’re the ones who stole it. I want to take us back to old school Republicanism. Reaganism. Lower taxes, more personal responsibility, less governmental interest in social issues. Less government period.”
The sun came out from behind the clouds and streamed through the kitchen windows. Bright rays bathed Elliot as if a sign from above. In that moment, Lance could see it: President Swardson.
Lance was hopelessly out of his depth. Beyond the issue of gay marriage—and it wasn’t as if Lance had time for a relationship, let alone a marriage—he really didn’t know what motivated people to vote. The Supreme Court had resolved that one anyway, hadn’t they?
“Seems like social issues are what people latch on to. That’s your base, people who want to legislate what goes on in people’s bedrooms.” Lance leaned against the kitchen island.
“I may have to talk the talk some in the primary. That said, being pro-choice should motivate women to come out for me. That’ll help me stand out.”
Lance nodded, even though he wasn’t sure that was true.
Gretchen shrugged. “That smile is enough to get most of the female vote.”
Elliot put his arm around Gretchen and gave her a squeeze. “I like this gal. Who else you got working for you? They as smart as her?”
Gretchen looked like she was in heaven.
“They’re my core team. We have a couple of private investigators who freelance with us from time-to-time. Sort of a shared space arrangement. They’re not in the office at the moment, but that’s Ian and Marcellus.”
Gretchen looked up at Elliot. “His brute squad.”
“Oh? They bust kneecaps for you, Lance?” Elliot slipped his arm from around Gretchen and raised his brows.
“I’m not that much of a bad boy.” Lance pushed off the kitchen island, took a glass from the cabinet, and got some water from the cooler. “They do background checks, dig up dirt if we need leverage, that sort of thing. If you’re looking for someone to literally bust kneecaps, that’s not us.”
“You just bust balls, right?”
The sneering way Elliot said it made Lance uncomfortable. He turned and glared, ready to tell him off.
Elliot held up his hands. “No, I mean, just, you know, leverage.”
“I hold feet to the fire if it’s the right thing to do.” Lance
sipped his water.
Elliot followed in Lance’s footsteps, serving himself. Lance felt like a bad host, but Elliot didn’t seem to mind.
“Who decides what’s right and what’s wrong in your world?” Elliot affected the same stance as Lance, sipping from his glass casually.
Lance nodded to the front of the house. “I do. It’s my name on the door.”
“Not your clients?”
Lance shared a questioning look with Gretchen. “I give clients options. One of those options is to fire me if they don’t like what I have to offer. Like I said, it’s my name on the door. It’s my reputation at stake.”
Elliot took another sip, unruffled. “Aren’t you defending their reputations?”
“Yes, but usually their reputations are at stake because of their poor judgment. I wouldn’t sacrifice mine to theirs; that wouldn’t be much help, would it?” Lance set his empty glass in the sink.
Elliot tilted his head thoughtfully and then smiled and nodded. “Yes, you’re right. Another reminder I’ve found the right man for the job.” He gazed at Lance, a soft, dreamy stare that made the hair on the back of Lance’s neck stand up.
This wasn’t the typical admiring gaze he won from satisfied clients. This was something more.
Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
The front door opened, and Susan called, “Hello?”
Gretchen cleared her throat and glared at the two of them before she turned and headed to the front door. “Mrs. Swardson, I’m Gretchen. A pleasure to meet you.”
✽ ✽ ✽
“I see the way you look at him.”
Lance tore his gaze from where Elliot and his staffers were prepping for a debate to see Corey smirking, looking smug in his white linen suit. Turning from Corey, Lance stared at the stage. He didn’t understand half of the mock debate. He was learning, but sometimes he found himself standing there staring at Elliot with Elliot staring right back, speaking directly to him, as if there were no one else in the room.
Being called out on those shared gazes made Lance want to run.
Corey hefted a meaty hand onto Lance’s shoulder. “It’s okay, kid. Elliot’s got star power. It’s what he does.”
“Right.” Lance exhaled and looked down at the cheap gray carpeting. They were in a conference room at one of the government buildings downtown.
With his hand still on Lance’s shoulder, Corey pulled him in closer. “But if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was lookin’ back at you.”
The steady background monotone broke, and when Lance looked up, Elliot was across the room at his podium, squinting at Lance. The heat of Lance’s embarrassment caused him to sweat, but he just waved at Elliot to carry on.
He didn’t. “Everything okay over there?”
Corey laughed and pushed Lance away lightly. “Just making sure Lance here is hanging on every word.”
Elliot furrowed his brow and stepped away from the podium.
Lance held up a hand. “It’s all right. It’s fine. I’m listening. Can’t say I understand everything, but I hear you.”
Apparently Elliot was not to be dissuaded. He marched over to them. “If Corey’s bothering you, Lance…”
“Like I said, I’m fine. We were just discussing your stage presence.”
“Were you?” Elliot’s gaze darted from Lance to Corey.
Corey smirked. “Yeah, something like that. I was checking in on him, making sure the rookie understood what he was seeing.”
Elliot cocked his head at Lance. “And did you?”
“Um.” Lance looked between the men, not sure what they expected him to say. There was a double entendre in there somewhere he was pretty sure the senator hadn’t intended, but what if he had? Lance was at a loss.
“You’re a smart guy, Lance. Don’t let all of this wonk talk intimidate you.” Elliot wrapped his arm around Lance’s shoulders and gave him a companionable squeeze. “You’ll catch on.”
He raised his voice. “Hey, I think I’m getting a little bored with this myself. Let’s wrap, pick up again next week. We’ve got plenty of time for prep. I need to get ready for that donor dinner anyway.” Elliot turned his head and practically whispered into Lance’s ear. “You coming over tonight?”
The intimacy of the whisper so hot on the heels of Corey’s implication caused Lance to shiver in arousal, which felt utterly wrong in this professional context.
He has a wife.
“It’s on my schedule unless something’s changed.” Lance leaned into the affection despite himself. “If you’ve got some whales coming in who might be put off by me, I can go elsewhere.”
“Nonsense. You’re part of my team. Come, rub elbows with people, and help get money out of them.”
Corey laughed and clapped his paws. “The more, the merrier.”
Lance being at the fundraising party probably wouldn’t be an issue if the place was as full of old white people as he suspected, but he didn’t feel comfortable in rooms like that.
No time like the present.
As long as he managed to keep out of hugging distance of the senator again, Lance could make it through. Hell, maybe he’d make some new connections.
“Great. So I’ll just run home and change.” With much regret, Lance slipped from Elliot’s grip, but the man followed and put his hand on Lance’s shoulder.
“No need for that. Your suits are a little too…trendy for this crowd. I’ve got something for you.”
Lance balked, blinking at Elliot, who seemed to hope Lance would accept the offer without offense. “You don’t like my suits.”
Elliot held up his hands in surrender and shook his head. “No, no. I love your suits. It’s just that you… You run with a young, hip crowd. You look sensational, just maybe a little too good for these whales. Don’t want them getting ideas.” Elliot smirked as he led Lance to the door. “Try on what I bought you, and if you don’t like it, don’t wear it. How’s that?”
Sounded a little controlling, but Lance decided to call it well-intentioned. He nodded. “All right. Let’s go.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Lance rarely had qualms about performing masculinity for his own purposes. He’d done it most of his life. In fact, he played the straight-acting game for Grindr more than he did in his professional life.
That said, no one paying him had laid out a suit and demanded for him to wear it before. Clothing himself in expensive, gifted fabric to dull the sheen of his sexuality chafed, but only slightly. He reminded himself he’d been more of a whore for a hook up app.
He checked his reflection in Elliot’s well-appointed guest room. Did he look like one of them now?
Cufflinks. Subtle tie. The differences weren’t enormous. A change of collar width. Armani instead of Marc Jacobs. Charcoal. Really, he was just a domestic beer away from being everyone’s favorite straight-acting gay.
Lance snorted and shrugged. Masculinity was a bit of a joke to him, but being forced into this position turned his stomach. Whatever. He’d done worse.
He hung up the suit he’d changed from in the guest room closet and headed downstairs.
Elliot, Susan, and their two small children stood in a polite receiving line in the foyer as guests drifted in. This was the first time he’d seen the children, and he had to admit to an intense fascination. Lance didn’t know much about kids, so he didn’t have an intuitive idea of their ages, though he was sure he’d seen photos and read biographies about them at one point.
The boy, Rick, looked almost exactly like his father, but much, much younger. Eight, maybe. Nine? Lance couldn’t remember, but he looked older than Lance had pictured. The fact highlighted the difference in age between Lance and Elliot, something he hadn’t really thought about until now.
Not that it mattered. Elliot was a married man.
The little girl, Natalie, appeared a few years younger and resembled her mother. She couldn’t be older than four or five, yet she stood in that line greeting people with graciousness
even Lance couldn’t manage.
That seeing Elliot’s family pained Lance wasn’t something he wanted to acknowledge. He made his way to the open bar, snagged a Shiner beer, and wandered around to make polite conversation with people so wealthy they were invited to the candidate’s home instead of a per-plate mass dinner. It was rarified air Lance was breathing, and he made the most of it by networking and passing his card along.
Though he kept saying he worked in public relations, everyone heard “fixer.” Eventually he went with it. His only contact with Elliot was when the senator walked by and patted Lance’s back gently as he passed. They shared a smile, no words, but he got the feeling Elliot was pleased, which left Lance disturbingly gratified.
The unwelcome lightness in his belly when their eyes met grew worse the more Lance fought it.
Not that he was the only one giving Elliot longing looks throughout the night. More than one wife succumbed to the same blushing gazes across the table, and he took some comfort in that. It wasn’t just him.
Elliot had that effect on people. Lance wasn’t a lone obsessive with fantasies about a family man.
Susan turned to Lance and smiled sweetly during dinner, which amplified Lance’s self-loathing until he stopped eating and instead polished off the table wine.
As desperate as Lance was to leave, there was no easy way to do so. His clothes were upstairs. Changing would reveal he’d been in costume the whole night. Besides, Elliot would question it, and there was no way Lance could admit his inappropriate feelings and still keep his job.
If the job was even worth keeping. Was it going to be like this all the time?
He lost himself in pleasantries with the wives seated beside him until he recognized their admiring glances paired with their husbands’ resentful looks. The whole evening left Lance feeling isolated, especially when someone asked where his date was.
Corey slipped in to rescue him. “What? You never ask where my date is.”
One woman gave Corey a sly look and laughed. “You’re too much man for any single woman, Corey.”