“Twenty-thousand-dollar bonus,” Mrs. Morse said. “Thirty.”
“This isn’t an auction.” Dad held the door open. “Goodbye.”
Mr. and Mrs. Morse headed outside, their expressions flat. Me and Peter got up too. At the last minute Mrs. Morse said, “Emily has been asking for you, Peter Finn.”
Peter looked like he’d been gut-punched. He took a step toward the door and started to say something, but then his mother nodded, and I touched his hand. He bit his lower lip and turned his back on the door. Mrs. Morse glared at his back, and then she and Mr. Morse marched off into the night.
Dad shut the door and leaned his head against it for a second. He looked really tired. He had just stood up to Scott and Helen Morse, two of the richest, most powerful people in the country. And he had turned down all that stuff for me. Holy shit.
He turned around, and I gave him a hug then. “Thanks, Dad.”
“I won’t let them control us,” he said hoarsely. “I won’t let them control you. That’s what dads are for, right?”
“Thank you, sir,” Peter said.
“Come here.” Dad pulled him into the hug too. “It’ll work out.”
I felt Peter shake a little. “Sure.”
Finally we stepped back, all of us blinking hard and pretending we weren’t tearing up.
“I guess we’ve decided Peter is staying here,” Dad said.
“Yes!” I said. “Where will—”
“Couch,” Dad answered. “And don’t forget whatshisname is picking you up at seven tomorrow morning for that Pride-y thing. I can’t decide if I should be made father of the year for this or get sent back to prison.”
ACTII: SCENE IX
KEVIN
IN THE morning I stumbled out of my room still pulling my shirt on. No one should have to get up at seven a-freakin’-m in summer, no matter how proud they are. Peter was sleeping shirtless on the couch with one arm flung over his eyes and the sheet bunched around his waist. For a long moment, I stared at every inch of smooth skin and etched muscle. Woke me up better than coffee.
Silly idea! I pulled out my new cell phone and posed myself with a huge grin and a thumbs-up while chiseled Peter slept in the background. My first selfie! My first boyfriend pic! Then I took another picture of Peter because he was so damned handsome and I wanted to be able to see him on my cell phone whenever I wanted.
Cell phone. Les’s cell phone was still under the couch. I had totally forgotten last night. Even if I remembered, I wouldn’t have had a chance to do anything with it. Maybe I could toss it in Detroit, far away from the Ringdale cops. Or when I got back, I could smash it with a hammer, if I could find time alone.
I crouched and tried to feel around under the couch, but Peter stirred and rolled over. I yanked myself away.
“Hey, Kev,” he said sleepily.
“Morning, Peter Finn.” So much for the phone. I’d get it later.
I touched his black hair, all mussed from sleep. I’d never done that with anyone before, and it was new and exciting and just a little scary, even though we weren’t sleeping in the same bed.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Almost seven. Wayne’ll be here soon. Dad has a job hanging Sheetrock today, so he’ll be up soon too. Uh… you okay by yourself? There’s coffee and bread for toast in the kitchen. I think there’s some peanut butter too.”
Jeez, we didn’t even have decent food for him. He was used to servants bringing him little hors d’oeuvres and sausages, and the best I could offer was stale bread and old coffee.
“I’ll be fine.” Peter gave me a morning kiss. “Infinity. Text me pictures from the festival.”
Gravel crunched outside then. I gave Peter a fast hug. I smelled his skin and touched his hair, and for a moment, I couldn’t think how to leave him. So I made myself dash for the door. Peter gave me one more wave as I shut the door, and then he was gone and the world beyond the front stoop was all pain without him.
A sunshine-yellow Jeep Wrangler scooted up the drive and stopped under the pine trees. Wayne got out of the driver’s side.
“Hey, Kevin.” He waved at me. “I’m glad your dad said you could go. Ready?”
In the passenger seat was the red-haired guy I’d seen on Wayne’s phone. He stuck out a broad hand for me to shake. “I’m Jake. Hop in back. You like McDonald’s?”
“Sure.”
“You be food fairy, then. I have to navigate.” Jake brandished his phone.
“Food fairy?” I hopped in back and found two fast-food bags and a tray of drinks on the seat. The Jeep smelled like coffee, sausage, and toasted bread. I hadn’t eaten since the sandwich at the party the day before, and suddenly I was starving.
Wayne pulled out of the driveway and headed down the road. The Jeep was a sweet ride, even if the back was cramped. I checked the bags. A pile of greasy egg-and-sausage sandwiches, deep-fried hash browns oozing oil, fakeass blueberry muffins. The perfect breakfast. I handed food around, then did the same with cups of coffee.
“Thank you, food fairy,” Jake said around a mouthful of muffin. He tossed a wrapper at me. “Make this disappear.”
I laughed a little and stuffed the wrapper in a bag. Jake calling me fairy didn’t feel like an insult—it was like being accepted into a club.
“So you’re the gay boy from Wayne’s sister’s theater project,” Jake said, then to Wayne, “Turn left up here.”
“I guess.”
“And you scored a boyfriend already. Nice. I didn’t get a boyfriend until I was twenty. You got a picture? Wayne says he’s cute.”
I called up the picture of Peter I’d just taken on my phone and passed it forward.
“Woo-woo!” Jake said, pretending to pant. “Shirtless! You keep hold of him, honey, or I’ll steal him away.”
“You better not.” Wayne thwapped him on the shoulder.
“Ow! My tender flesh!” Jake flinched too dramatically. “You said you don’t like the rough stuff.”
“Not in front of the kid,” Wayne admonished.
“Oh please,” Jake laughed. “We’re going to a Pride festival with leather boys and drag queens who let it all hang out, and you’re worried about a little joke?”
Now I was getting both interested and nervous. “Leather boys?”
“First, ignore my boyfriend. He’s harmless and doesn’t mean half of what he says,” Wayne told me, his eyes on the highway.
“The half I do mean is really fun, though,” Jake put in.
“Second,” Wayne continued, “we already talked about this. Yes, there will be drag queens and guys in leather, but they’re a small part of the crowd. And everyone wears street clothes. Almost everyone.”
“Guys in Speedos!” Jake whooped. “Speed up!”
“Eat your muffin,” Wayne said.
It took almost two hours. I alternated between dozing in the back seat and talking with the guys. Jake was a little strange. One second he’d be all… flamey and stereotypical gay guy, and the next he’d be serious and masculine. I finally asked him about it.
“Flame on, flame off,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Lots of us do it, honey.”
Us. Did that mean I had to act that way?
We finally got down to Detroit. I was expecting bombed-out buildings and gun gangs roaming the streets, their pockets bulging with drugs. Instead Jake and his phone guided us through a superconfusing maze of highways to an area where the tall buildings and plazas looked more like New York. We left the car in a giant parking structure and hiked a few blocks down a hot sidewalk. Music blared in the distance, and lots of people milled around ahead of us. Signs all over the place said Detroit Pride and Pride Power and Celebrate Pride Month.
“Here it is,” Wayne said. “Your people.”
I couldn’t quite take it all in. Ringdale was almost all white, and the first thing I noticed about Detroit was the mix of races. There were men and women walking everywhere, not just guys like I had imagined. There were kids too
, toddlers and babies in strollers and little kids holding hands with their parents—mom-mom and dad-dad parents. I tried not to stare. What would it be like to have two dads? Hell, what would it be like to have two parents?
And there were straight people too. I knew because some of them wore T-shirts that said stuff like Straight Ally and Not Queer But Here. That surprised me.
And yeah, Wayne was right—most people wore normal shorts and T-shirts and tank tops and baseball caps and tennis shoes. But lots of people didn’t. We passed three guys in black leather from head to foot, including jackets, boots, and hats. It was kind of hot out and they must have been roasting, but they didn’t seem to care. And another guy wore nothing but a mesh shirt and a Speedo that let you see pretty much everything. His body was incredible. Two older women in bikini tops and harem pants were holding hands, and so were two guys dressed like cowboys. And over there were two guys kissing, and over there were two girls kissing, and over there were two frazzled-looking guys chasing after a little girl in a pink dress who was running away and laughing. It felt strange and forbidden and all out in the open at the same time. It seemed like everyone knew I was there, and they were all staring at me. Here’s the queer kid! Look at the little weirdo! I half expected a strolling cowboy to ask how long I’d been gay.
Lots of booths sold food—grilled sausage and meat skewers and egg rolls—and tasty smells were everywhere. Wayne bought three cans of pop from a booth and handed them around. I thanked him.
“Drag queen,” Jake said, nodding to a big woman in a huge blond wig and a purple dress with spangles on it. That was a man?
“Oh!” Wayne said. “That’s Eutha Nasia! She’s famous.”
She turned, and now that I knew what I was looking at, I could see she was definitely a man underneath. It made my head twist for a second.
“Do you know him?” I asked.
“Her,” Wayne said. “And I’m about to. Eutha! Hey, Eutha!”
My face went hot. Oh my god! Please don’t come over here please don’t come over here please don’t—
“Darlings,” Eutha said as she glided over. She held out a hand, and Wayne kissed it. I shrank into a little ball. Everyone was staring. Wayne introduced himself and Jake.
“I’m a huge fan,” Wayne said. “Can I get a picture?”
“Love to, hon.” She posed with Wayne while Jake grabbed photos with his phone. When he was done, she asked, “And who’s this tender morsel?”
She was talking about me. I wanted the sewer to open up and suck me down.
“This is Kevin,” Jake said. “He’s just come out, and it’s his first Pride Fest.”
“Congratulations, darling.” Eutha batted giant eyelashes at me. “Welcome to the tribe. How are you loving it?”
“It’s only been a few minutes,” I mumbled.
“Hm.” She held me at arm’s length, and I smelled her perfume. “It’s a lot easier to be yourself than hide yourself, honey. Take it from a big old queen—life gets better when all your fabulousness comes pouring out. Kiss, kiss, darlings!”
Eutha sauntered away to talk to a thin woman in a tank top and flip flops. The tank top said Don’t Assume My Gender. I stared after Eutha for a long moment, the pop can forgotten in my hand.
“I met Eutha Nasia,” Wayne sighed, “and totally forgot to get her autograph.”
“What’s bugging you, Kev?” Jake asked. “Your face is red as a Roma.”
I didn’t want to say. They’d brought me here, like a puppy to a new home, and I wasn’t going to tell them I thought it was weird and bizarre and I just wanted to go home and see Peter. Instead I made myself smile a little. “It’s just so new. I don’t know how to take it in.”
Jake clapped me on the shoulder. “We’ll have you queening around in no time.”
But that was the thing—I didn’t want to queen around. Or snap my fingers. Or flame on, flame off. If other people wanted to, that was fine, but I didn’t want any of it. This was kind of why I hadn’t wanted to talk about being gay. Not until I’d met Peter, anyway. I was afraid I’d turn into this.
There was music too. Wayne and Jake took me past three stages where different musical acts were performing. None of them were in drag. One group sang country songs, another sang rock, and one guy in a flannel shirt and jeans did little folk songs and told jokes in between.
“When I was fifteen,” the guy said, “my dad asked me, ‘Son, are you gay?’ I got really scared, but I pulled my courage together and said, ‘I am.’ And my dad said, ‘Your generation has it lucky. I’ve been stuck in the closet my whole damn life.’”
Everybody laughed but me.
Booths lined the streets and sidewalks too. The big square ones you see at art festivals and stuff. They showcased a church that took gay and lesbian members, motorcycle riders (more leather). Gay Democrats. Gay Republicans. (“Don’t understand those,” Wayne said.) Free HIV testing, books, magazines called Out Post Detroit and Flame and Metra, LGBT bookstores. There were booths that sold clothes and bumper stickers and hats and magnets and stickers and artwork and sculptures and photographs. Almost everything had a rainbow on it.
One booth was from a Detroit radio station, and they were interviewing people. I avoided that, though Jake strode right up and talked to the reporter. Wayne watched him.
“Man, I got it bad,” he remarked.
“Bad?” I said.
“For that boy,” Wayne said. “I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s funny and smart and cute with a capital Q. That the way you feel about Peter?”
“I suppose.” It still felt funny talking about it.
“Is he staying at your place?” Wayne continued. “That looked like his car in your driveway.”
“Oh. Yeah. He had a fight with his parents, and he’s staying with us for a while.”
“Was the fight about him being gay too?”
“Kinda, yeah.”
He gave me a look. “Still strange talking about this stuff, huh?”
“I’ve never talked about it with anyone much,” I said. “I don’t…. It’s just weird.”
“Yeah. Took me a while too. Jake, now—he’s been out and proud since he was younger than you. Got smacked around a lot for it too, but he’s never hidden it.”
Right then Jake came back and gave Wayne a fast kiss. “They’re recording, not live,” he said. “Maybe we can catch the show later. I’ll be a famous flamer.”
Wayne glanced at me as though he was thinking, then said, “Let’s head down this way.”
As we walked, Wayne bought us hot dogs and chips for lunch from one of the booths, and I thanked him. I was kind of embarrassed that I didn’t have money for food, and I hadn’t thought to brown bag it.
“Gotta keep the upcoming generation fed,” Wayne said gruffly as we neared yet another booth. This one was labeled Affirmations. More rainbows and a table covered with flyers. Gay Your Way and Talking To Your Parents and What Jesus Said About Homosexuality. I picked up that one and flipped it open. The inside was blank. It took me a second to get it.
The booth had a bunch of people inside. Behind the table were an older man and woman, and in the back corner were three kids my age—two girls and a guy. The guy looked Hispanic or Middle-Eastern and was kind of cute. The first girl had short hair streaked with purple. The other girl was heavy, with big soft arms, and she wore a red tank top. They were playing cards. In the corner a box fan was going, which made me think of home.
The woman and man said hello, and they introduced themselves as Ronna and Larry. They made some small talk—were we enjoying the festival, how hard was it to park, that kind of stuff. The Middle-Eastern kid caught my eye and sketched a wave. My stomach flipped, and I felt like I was cheating on Peter.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m David,” though he pronounced it Dah-veed. “That’s Sonia”—the purple girl—“and Jess.” The tank-top girl.
“Hey,” I said uncertainly.
“Are you from around here?” Jes
s asked over her cards.
“Ringdale. Up north.” I held up my right hand with the thumb sticking out and pointed to a spot a little right of center. You do this in Michigan—use your hand as a map to show where you’re from. If you turn your left hand sideways, it works with the Upper Peninsula too. People from other states look at you like you’re nuts.
“You drove all the way down here for our little party?” David said. “Damn.”
“Kinda,” I said. “It’s my first time at one of these.”
Sonia cracked her gum. It was purple too. “We need a fourth player. Sit down and we can play Euchre for real.”
She didn’t ask if I knew the game. That’s because everyone in Michigan knows how to play Euchre. It had been ages since I’d played, and David was getting cuter by the second. I looked at Wayne and Jake.
“Go for it,” Wayne said. “You don’t have to hang with us geezers all day.”
“What?” Jake said. “I thought—”
“We’ll text you.” Wayne just about shoved Jake out of the booth. “Have fun.”
I grabbed a chair. “Deal me in.”
“Lesbians against gay boys,” Jess said and flipped us the cards.
We ran through a couple hands. I always play careful, never ordering up without at least two trump cards and a right bower—if you don’t know what that means, look it up—while David was more willing to run with an ace and an unguarded left.
“Your parents know you’re gay?” Jess asked. “I mean, those two guys you were with definitely weren’t your dads.”
Did everyone lead with that question? “My dad just found out,” I said. “He took it pretty good. My boyfriend’s parents totally freaked. They kind of kicked him out of the house. He’s staying with me and my dad.”
They all looked at each other, then laughed and shouted, “Dick kick!”
“Dick kick?” I was kind of pissed off at them for laughing at Peter.
David and Jess traded high fives. “Yeah, man,” he said. “When someone’s parents kick them out, it’s a kick in the dick.”
The Importance of Being Kevin Page 18