Suddenly, lunging forward from behind us, Finn stepped up. “So what if he is?” Jorge slapped the side of his own face. Everyone grew expectantly quiet as Finn jutted his chin forward and moved his shoulders in a circular motion. No one knew if he was stretching, or finished or what. Then he continued. “What would it matter if he’s gay? I played for the Niners for thirteen years and no one cared that I’m gay.”
Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click.
The crowd collectively gasped and several of the men grumbled,
“Finn Ayres is gay?”
“Did Finn Ayres say he’s gay?”
“How could Ayres be gay? He plays defense.”
Jorge sidled up to Finn and whispered, “Nobody knew.”
“They couldn’t tell?” Logan asked, rolling his eyes.
“Is the shiny little guy your partner?” a reporter asked.
Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click.
Horrified, Jorge squeaked, “Shiny little guy?” Finn threw his arm around Jorge’s shoulder and pulled him in close. “Ouch! Give me some warning.”
“Yeah, this shiny little guy is with me, and anyone who’s got a problem with it can come talk to me about it face to face, man to man.”
A “God Hates Fags” placard dropped to the ground. Men stood agape absorbing the news that the man they’d watched sacking quarterbacks for more than a decade went home to a five-foot-seven-inch Chicano with perfectly gelled hair and a penchant for glittering rodeo gear.
Click, click, click. Click, click, click. Click, click, click.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I wondered if Logan was a bit jealous that Finn’s coming out of the closet was a bigger news story than his lawsuit. Starting on the four o’clock news broadcasts, TV news media flashed headlines about the gay linebacker. CNN dubbed Finn and Logan “Backer and the Scout,” which frankly sounded like a gay porn version of Butch Cassidy. Thankfully, MSNBC never came up with “Lineback Mountain.”
“How do you feel about all this, buddy?” Jason asked as we all watched the story unfold on television.
“Okay, I guess,” he said. “It was just weird to have everybody screaming about me at the courthouse.”
Jorge reminded us to look at the bright side. “Now that you’ve been outed, those Hot in the Trousers boys will go home.”
As it turned out, the O’Mally faction did not go home. Their numbers grew as Bob O’Mally urged his viewers to come support the “ballsiest kid in America” as he was being slandered by the liberal media. “They’re callin’ our Logan gay, people!” he shouted from the local Fox studio, where he filmed his show that evening. “That means one thing and one thing only! Logan must have kicked butt inside that courtroom today. Otherwise, they wouldn’t need to throw in this red herring about Logan being gay,” he shouted, dramatically placing quote marks around the last word. “We’re not falling for it, people! Stay focused on our issue!”
O’Mally spent the entire show urging his viewers to grab their camping gear and join him in Corderos State Park, where he would be camping until the judge issued her ruling. “It’s a God-blessed Boy Scout jamboree out here and if you miss it, then you really are gay!”
After the kids went to sleep, Finn and Jason went outside to continue a discussion on our drainage. Jorge and I were left alone with the dishes.
“I’m so glad you and Finn showed up today,” I told him as we rinsed plates and loaded them into the washer.
“Me too, Li-li, but I have to tell you, this place is different than I expected. So much fresh air and open space. I love it here.”
“You do?” I asked.
“Don’t you think —”
“That you complain a lot?” Jorge interrupted. “Yes, but I love you anyway.” He turned off the water and took a more serious tone. “You told me you have no friends, but Michelle is adorable and now you’re hob-nobbing with Kate Parr. I don’t see what’s so terrible about Los Corderos.”
I groped for words to explain. “These houses. Don’t you find them to be completely devoid of individuality?”
“Ay, houses,” he dismissed. “Li-li, listen to me. You have a hot, sexy husband who loves you, two healthy children, good friends, talent … what more do you want from life?”
“Jorge,” I whined, begging for his understanding. “I hate where I live.”
He placed his hand over my heart. “This is where you live.”
At that point we noticed that in Jorge’s hand was a sudsy sponge, which had soaked the front of my blouse. I laughed and wiped away a tear. Jorge tossed the sponge over his shoulder and embraced me. “Come here, Mamita,” he said, patting my back. “There, there, you’ve had your ruby slippers all along.”
Jason and Finn shook the floors as they walked in bellowing about home repairs. “Guess who figured out our drainage issue,” Jason said.
Jorge shooed him away with the wave of a hand. “No one cares,” he told them. “We’re having a moment.”
When the phone rang, we let the call roll over to the machine. Surely the only people rude enough to call after ten were reporters. Jorge was already regaling Jason and Finn with his imitation of Wax in court when we heard Michelle’s voice struggling to be heard amid the bedlam. In the background, we heard voices toppling each other, boisterous laughter and music. “I wish you could see what’s going on down here at the courthouse!” Michelle shouted. We all looked at each other, unsure if it was a good thing — or a complete disaster.
“Michelle,” I said, picking up the line. “What’s going on?”
As she began explaining, I interrupted. “Oh my God, we’re on our way.”
While O’Mally still clung to the delusion that Logan was their macho Messiah, gay men everywhere took one look at my son and knew he was one of the family. As the news was still airing the story about Finn’s defense of Logan, Queer Nation mobilized its forces, calling for a counter demonstration in our community. I imagined that a few hours earlier there had been a string of auto lights spanning from San Francisco straight to Los Corderos.
Now they had transformed the Los Corderos courthouse plaza into a gay nightclub, using the steps as a makeshift stage. There were so many sports cars parked on the street, it looked like a showroom. And the number of motorcycles rivaled any hog fest. Parked beside the stage was a lavender bus with “Priscilla, Queen of the Bay” painted in glittery pink script. This bus held the generator that powered the sound system as well as the pink Christmas lights that framed the stage.
“Is that …?” Jason asked in amazement.
“A pasta bar,” I confirmed.
“Cool, I’m starved,” said Finn.
“Ay, you just ate,” Jorge said, swatting Finn.
“Smells good,” Jason said. “I could go for some pasta.”
The two walked toward a smiling older man in a chef’s hat and a simmering pan.
Jorge and I scanned the crowd for Michelle. “I hope she’s okay,” I said. “I really like her, but she may be a little out of her element here.” I began looking with greater intensity.
The drag queens from the Priscilla bus had enlarged Logan’s photo onto dozens of foam-mounted posters, which were framed in magenta marabou with the words “A Beautiful Thing” in block letters. Before I could point them out to Jorge, I heard the familiar musical prelude, a horn section that I’d heard at every Gay Pride Parade I’d ever attended.
What was that song? I wondered. But before I could go through my mental playlist, Jorge looked excited as he pointed to the stage. “Look, Li-li!” he shouted over the crowd.
“Oh right, it’s the Village People,” I said.
“Look on the stage, Li-li!” Jorge urged. “It’s your village people!”
And there they were. Michelle, Barb
and Cara, fully costumed onstage with two guys they’d presumably just met. Under a monstrous Indian headpiece, Michelle had the microphone and began belting, “Young man, there’s no need to be down.” I watched her strut across the top of the courthouse steps as Barb and Cara did impressive backup. “I said, young man, pick yourself off the ground …”
Jorge turned to me and scrunched his mouth to the side. “You were right, Li-li,” he said. “This place is snooze city. How do you stand it?”
Turning our attention back to the stage, we watched Michelle continue. “Okay, guys, ready for the chorus? Just like we practiced, okay?” she shouted, always the Girl Scout leader. Amazingly, the group got the revamped arm movements perfectly as they all sang in unison, “Let Logan please join the G S of A. Let Logan please join the G S of A.”
I stammered, not knowing exactly what to make of this spectacle.
Jorge started copying the fluid motions of the “G” and “S” and told me, “I like this version better than the original.” As he got the movement down, he started adding a little sass to the moves as if the “S” were an Egyptian princess strutting her stuff.
When we connected with Michelle, Barb and Cara, they were high from their performance. Jason and Finn made their way back to us, raving about this guy’s fresh basil pesto. “I can’t believe you guys did this!” I said to my village peeps. “I’m so touched. And Cara, who knew you looked so hot in leather?”
Barb cleared her throat. “Any love for law enforcement here?” she asked, tipping her police hat.
“We just wanted you to know we’re behind you,” Michelle said.
“I would do anything for that son of yours,” Cara said.
Barb said, “You know I don’t necessarily agree with the lawsuit, but I like your family, so we’re friends no matter what.”
Before I had the chance to get misty, a six-foot-tall black drag queen approached our group, holding a tray of desserts. In a deep baritone she offered, “Twinkies, anyone? Moist on the outside, creamy in the center.” She glanced at Jason and winked. “I have them in chocolate too, lover.”
I don’t know if my husband had fully overcome all of his issues—or if he just could not turn down food—but he shrugged, grabbed a Twinkie and popped it in his mouth whole.
“That is so fucking hot,” Jorge joked.
The following morning Wax was taken aback when he saw Jorge sitting at the kitchen table wearing one of the “Free Wax” t-shirts given out as party favors the night before. He had come over to discuss a phone call he received from Lexie Stein after he was released from jail.
Finn and Logan were still asleep, but Maya had a one-woman party going as she danced to music blasting through her iPod. She would occasionally let out a “Yeay-yah” or a random lyric while moving her body to the beat only she heard.
As Wax sat at the table, trying to avert his eyes from his own image on Jorge’s shirt, he said he advised against our meeting with Girl Scouts. “I need to run it by you, of course, but I think it’s a vera bad idea,” Wax said.
“Says the brothah fresh from the joint,” Maya said, still moving to the music.
“What do they want to talk to him about?” I asked.
“Gee, I wonder, Li-li,” Jorge quipped. “Maybe they want to sell him some cookies. Lord knows you can’t give those things away these days.”
“I’m not falling for that one again,” I said with a smile. I can’t say exactly why, but that moment was the first time I’d felt at peace here.
Jason poured Wax a cup of coffee and suggested we just wait for Logan to wake up so we could ask him.
After a few minutes, Logan came downstairs looking pale and clammy. “What happened to you, dude?” Maya asked, cueing the rest of us of his entrance.
“You look like you’re in shock,” I said. “Do you have a temperature?”
“I had a dream,” Logan said, looking dazed.
Maya shouted, “Preach, brothah!”
“It was more like a nightmare,” Logan said. “A premonition.”
“Ay, Joseph and his amazing Technicolor dreamcoat over here,” Jorge said.
“I’m serious,” he snapped. “I was up half the night after this nightmare.” Logan sat at the table and poured himself a cup of coffee, something he never does. He took a moment before continuing as we all waited for him to get himself together. Even Maya removed her earbud.
“I dreamed that I won my case, but then Max, Jared and Craig joined the troop and destroyed it. We were all in the house here and they started a fire and no one could get it out, and I kept thinking this is all my fault.”
Jason placed his arm around Logan. “It was just a dream, buddy.”
“I’m sorry, Wax,” Logan began. “If I win, then Girl Scouts loses.”
Wax lifted his brows. “That is the nature of a lawsuit.”
“I mean the girls lose, not just my friends but millions of Girl Scouts,” Logan said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t have that on my head. I want to drop the case.”
“Would Rosa Parks give in just because —” Maya began.
“I’m not Rosa Parks,” Logan said.
Maya accepted her brother’s words with a furl of her lip. “What about you, Logan?” she asked. “Doesn’t what you want matter?
“It does,” he said with a shrug. “But what I want isn’t more important than what the organization needs in order to survive. I love Girl Scouts. I’m willing to give up what I want so the organization can keep what makes it awesome. What can I say, it’s the Girl Scout way.”
When the doorbell rang, we all looked at each other quizzically. Except Maya, who ran to answer it.
“Maya!” Jason shouted. “Who’s at the door?”
“Michelle, Ashley, Bianca and Kenny,” she answered.
“Oh, okay,” Jason said. “We can’t be too careful. Security had to taser one of the reporters last night.”
Wax chimed in, “Should I call Lexie and let her know what you’ve decided, Logan, or would you like some time to think it over?”
“Oh, that’s right,” I said, remembering that the Girl Scouts wanted to chat with Logan anyway. When I explained this to Logan, he suggested we invite them over so he could give them the news in person.
“Good morning!” we heard Michelle chirp at the front door. “Are you sure this is okay?”
Maya replied, “Totally. Finn loves meeting his fans.” The four entered the room with Forty-Niners posters, a jersey, a football and four red Sharpie markers.
As we waited for the Girl Scouts to arrive, Michelle gave us an update on the influx of men visiting Los Corderos. “We’re up to a thousand O’Mally viewers camped out in the park. He’s doing his show live from Shasta Field on Monday.”
“Where’s Queer Nation? They’re not camping at the park too?” I asked.
Jorge snorted. “Puh-lease, Li-li. They’re at the Hyatt.”
“They are using the park,” Michelle announced.
“For what?” Jason asked.
Michelle chirped, “Volleyball.”
“Tires? Mucho interesting,” Julia said of my couch as she, Lexie and an insanely handsome young man entered the family room and sat down. “Thanks for meeting with us.”
“No problem,” Logan answered, though the comment was directed at Wax.
“It’s quite a scene out there,” Lexie said. “Some whack job jumped on our windshield.”
“Ay, that’s just Amy,” Jorge said, making a shooing motion.
“Michelle,” Julia said tentatively. “Good to see you again.”
Michelle ran into her arms and hugged her. “Miss Julia, I’m sorry. I was just so mad that day, I lost my head. You know I love you, I just felt passionately about Logan.”
Julia’s rigid posture collapsed as they hugged. “I know, sweetie. You’re a good girl.”
While the adults watched the Girl Scout reunion, Maya, Ashley and Bianca were fix
ed on the teenage boy that stood by Julia’s side. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Julia stammered. “This is my nephew, Kip. He goes to Corderos High.”
The girls smiled dumbly as Maya attempted to speak. Her mouth moved a few times before she finally uttered, “Kip, Kip, Kip,” sounding somewhat like a Chihuahua. Logan and Kenny rolled their eyes at each other.
Seizing the opportunity, Lexie added, “Isn’t Los Corderos High where you kids will be going next year?”
Bianca and Ashley nodded emphatically, never taking their eyes off him.
“Kip, Kip,” Maya yapped.
Wax rescued my daughter from Kipping any further. “You came here to introduce the kids to your nephew?”
“No, of course not,” Julia said. We all sat and listened to what she had to say. “Logan, we think you’re a terrific kid, and we’ve been very impressed by your commitment to Girl Scouts.”
“Right,” Logan interjected. “About that.”
Lexie pushed her way into the discussion. “We know it means a lot to you, but the fact is that we cannot have one boy join or else—”
Logan jumped in, eager to make his announcement. “No, I get it. I get what you’re saying.”
“Let me finish, Logan,” Lexie said sternly. Even I was a little bit scared. “We’ve been talking a lot about you, and how we wish there was a way you could join, but there isn’t.”
“I know,” Logan said, now almost laughing. “That’s why—”
“That’s why you’re suing us, we know,” added Julia. “What if there was another way you could be a part of Girl Scouts, Logan?”
Wax cleared his throat and shot Logan a quick look letting him know he’d taken over. “What are you saying, ladies? If you have an offer, I’d like to hear what it is.”
All eyes shifted from Wax to Lexie.
“What we’re saying is that we could give Logan an advisory role with the troop,” Julia began. She said to Logan, “You could attend meetings, go on field trips, sell cookies … everything but the campouts.”
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