Games

by Cooper West

  “ NOTto say ‘I told you so’, but….” Gavin trailed off, not even bothering to finish the sentence so that Art would know whether he was talking about the disaster with Jack or the disaster with Art’s reputation.

  In the grand scheme, it would be a blow-over of a scandal that might haunt him a little during live appearances, but it was still painful and exactly what Art had hoped to avoid. Gavin had sent Art links to the interviews Jack did with the queer media, sometimes hinting that Art should consider something similar. He ignored the hints because he figured Jack was saying everything that could be said in a positive light about it.

  Ex-wife number two, Michelle, called a couple of times to “talk about it” (her favorite pastime, in Art’s estimation), but he derailed that idea as hard as he could. There was nothing to talk about, really, because his reputation had already taken the hit and his relationship with Jack had already crashed and burned.

  Art did not think that Jack was being entirely fair to him, but he had to admit that what Jack wanted from a relationship was not something Art was comfortable with… at least, not with a man. So, with all that on the plate, Art retreated from public appearances, his e-mail account, and his phone. The only reason Gavin was standing by the pool looking both annoyed and regretful was because Art left him no other options, if they were going to talk. Which Art did not want to do at all, but it was not as if that ever stopped Gavin.

  “Yes, you look all Hollywood floating around on the lounger with your shades on, but seriously, we need to talk.” “You sound like Michelle.” “Mean. That was just mean.” Gavin snapped his fingers. “Out! Come on, I have Maria holding lunch hostage until you sit down and talk to me.”

  “I should reconsider her holiday bonus.”

  “Whatever you cut, I will double. Out.”

  Sighing in defeat, Art rolled off the lounger and swam over to the steps. Gavin threw him a towel and motioned toward the deck chairs.

  “Look, you want to play the recluse and mope around the house with your broken heart, I’m all for that. Anything that keeps you out of office, I support 100 percent. But we have business agreements, and one of them includes a live appearance at the X-Games semi-finals in L.A. next week.”

  Art grumbled as he sat down. He was not so far gone as to weasel out of a business arrangement, however much he might want to.

  “Okay, good. Nice to have you all quiet and obedient for a change.”

  “Shut the hell up. You sound like a gay leather daddy.” “Ewww.” Gavin wrinkled his nose. “Leaving that horrific image behind, let’s focus on what we do know: people are going to ask you about The Situation.”

  Art could hear the capitalization of “The Situation” in Gavin’s voice, and cringed. “Exactly. You don’t want to talk about it. I’ve totally respected your wishes on that, haven’t I? No requests for interviews or anything. I’ve shieldedyou, man. Now it’s time to pay the piper.”

  Art nodded, knowing he was in the trap with no way to get out. Ten years younger, and he would have fought it, but he was old enough now to know that sometimes, business is personal. He gave himself a mental bitch slap, telling himself to gird up and do what Gavin told him.

  “So what’s this going to entail?” “I honestly don’t know. You’ve got a couple of spots with telecasters—TV and Web—who want to do micro-interviews, thirty-second spots and the like. You’ll be sitting in on the ‘Experts Table’ or whatever they call it, the wrap-up overview of the winners. I’m trying to get Josh slotted on that as well, but I think they want another biker on the roster instead. Up in the air.” Gavin sighed and relaxed into the chair. “So, chances of getting into it with anyone are slim. But they’ll ask—probably about whether you and Jack are still an item, advice you might have for gay teens, that sort of thing.”

  “Fuck.”

  “That would be badadvice for gay teens.”

  “Dammit, Gavin, you know—”

  “I’m joking, for fuck’s sake. Lighten up. But my point is made: think of something positive and hopefully politically correct. Look regretful about the scandal. Tell them, ‘do as I say, not as I’ve done’. Whatever you feel comfortable with, outside of not saying anything at all.”

  “No options.” “None whatsoever, dude. You try to back out, and our business partners will sue us up the ass. You try to weasel through the interviews, and you’ll just re-open the scandal.” Gavin rolled a little to look directly at him. “Low-key is your style, it always has been. It’s part of your coolness factor. Just play to that and we’ll be golden.”

  Art nodded in agreement and surrender. They lay out in the sun for a while in friendly silence, Gavin giving Art the space he needed to mentally prep himself for the upcoming drama. When Gavin finally sat up, Art followed.

  “Jack hasn’t even tried to contact me.”

  Gavin shook his head. “Not surprised. Have you tried to talk to him?” “Would he listen?”

  “No, I don’t think so. He’s feeling pretty burned by this; his interviews were all flattering to us, businesswise, and he isn’t a bitter queen or anything, but his disappointment with you shone through pretty hard. Did you read the Outpiece?”

  Art nodded, knowing exactly what Gavin was going to say. “I’ll give him props for giving you the benefit of the doubt, but that reporter picked up what he was saying between the lines. Anyone who reads that interview knows exactly what went down here, if not who.” Gavin smirked a little on the last, giving Art a life line.

  Art duly laughed, punching Gavin in the arm as they walked over to the kitchen table where Maria’s unique choice of brunch—this time, some kind of Mexican breakfast lasagna, which Art had not even suspected possible—was laid out for them.

  “Seriously, do you know how much it pains me to make politically correct gay sex jokes? You know I love you, man.” “Your sacrifice is noted, hetero-man,” Art said solemnly. Gavin snorted. Then he stopped and looked at Art seriously. “You were happy, dude. With him. Seriously, amazingly happy. I was happy for you. This isn’t what I wanted for you at all; you know that, right?”

  Art sighed. “Yeah. I do. Thanks.”

  “It was like you were being yourself again. I kept waiting for you to get on a board and run the ramps.” That stopped Art, because Gavin was right. It was not just about being with Jack, but about the person Art allowed himself to be when he was happy. He had not felt like himself in years, until he just let down all his guardrails and enjoyed the moment. Even the weeks of tortuously texting Jack were better than the whole time he spent dating Derrick, which had mostly been about the sex anyway. It was as if when Derrick left, Art closed the door on happiness, but he could not blame Derrick for that, nor give Jack credit for opening the door again, because it was all Art’s own doing. He realized that he was not even sure why; he had been infatuated with Derrick, but it was not that much different from his marriage to Michelle in that aspect. Neither was really happy with who he was and kept trying to change the other into the image wanted on their arm. Jack seemed happy to take Art as he was, instead.

  Yet, Art had to admit to himself that part of the problem was that with Michelle and then Derrick, he’d sold them a bill of goods just for the sake of pleasing them. Jack, sneaking in under the radar and living two thousand miles away, was someone Art felt comfortable with from the start. He had nothing to prove to Jack and nothing to lose by being himself.

  Except, he realized in retrospect, he had everything to lose, including himself, Jack, and their relationship. Perversely, he lost it all for the same reason Michelle and Derrick had eventually walked out on him: for trying to pretend he was someone he wasn’t.

  DIANA and her friends treated the semi-finals and finals of the X-Games with the same reverence that Catholics treated live pronouncements from the Pope: all secular activities ceased until it was over. Luckily, the summer games were also in August, so there was no risk of mass school-skipping, something the snowboarder parents had to contend with during the wi
nter games in January.

  Past experience taught Jack that Diana would invite all of her skateboarding comrades to Jack’s house for most of the games, as he had a fifty-two-inch high-definition TV in the living room (whereas most other parents shuffled the kids off into dens or rec rooms, although Jack totally sympathized with that). Jack arranged with a few willing parents to get some food donated potluck style so he was not feeding a dozen ravenous teenagers on his TA salary and the as-yet nonexistent profits from the UrGames. He did not think the accountant would look kindly on him pulling from the business funds just to feed the barbarian hordes, although he considered it by the end of the first day when the leftovers consisted of two hot wings and half a plate of potato salad.

  Jack tended to hide in his room with his laptop during the majority of the thing, the better to pretend he was working on his thesis. He failed to varying degrees, especially when Diana kept dragging him out to watch a particular competitor she knew or admired (rarely both).

  “No, seriously, you have got to watch Theo,” she said, pulling on his shirt to get him out of his comfy lounge chair. “Why? Is he cute?”

  “Ohmygod, you perv! No! Well, maybe. But he’s an awesome skater; you just need to see him.” A couple of the young studs scattered off the love seat to let “the adult” sit down to watch without being crowded by teenage hormones, for which Jack was pathetically grateful. If there was one thing to make a twenty-four-year-old man feel ancient, it was a bunch of spectacularly beautiful teenage athletes looking contrite and polite in his living room. Sighing into his fate, he sat back to watch “The Awesome Theo” do his fairly spectacular run. At the end of it, he even joined in clapping and hollering with the kids.

  “Oh, shit,” Diana said, her eyes wide and fixed on the screen. The room went deadly quiet as Art Nichols’s voice filled the air, answering some question they had been busy clapping over.

  “Yeah, that was impressive. I’m going to be surprised if we don’t see Kaprowski in the finals.”

  “Does it make you miss the thrill of competition?” the faceless interview asked. Art laughed, a self-conscious smile on his face. “No way. I’m done getting beat all to hell. I really admire what the kids have to put out to compete these days; makes my glory days look easy.”

  “Well, you’re a businessman now, with more on your plate.”

  Art nodded. “I guess. Mostly I just show up and look pretty.”

  The interviewer laughed, and Jack could almost guess the next question, word for word.

  “Yet, someone as ‘pretty’ as you is here alone. No sign of your former partner?”

  Art closed down. “Meaning?” “Jack Martinez, the man you’ve been romantically linked with—a bit of scandal there for you, Art. Is Martinez avoiding the Games because you’re here?”

  “I wouldn’t know. We’re not talking.”

  “Really?”

  Art bit his lip and glared at the interviewer, but gamely carried on although Jack saw something fierce and hard in his eyes. “You know what? If you want the real story to that, show up at my interview later today. You be there. Bring your camera.” He turned and walked off. The interviewer stalled in surprise at the abrupt send off, but turned to the camera for a wrap up.

  “Well, you heard it here first: Art Nichols plans to reveal all later today. Will this wreck his career? Or just his reputation? You can be sure we’ll be covering this latest scandal here at the X-Games! Live, from Los Angeles….”

  Sick to his stomach, Jack got up and walked out of the room. Diana found him later, after everyone left. She sat down on his bed, folding up her legs with her hands in her lap. Jack was back in his lounger, but there was no pretense at working. He just stared at the wall.

  “His interview is in about fifteen minutes. It’s picked up a lot of traction; it’s all over Twitter and Facebook.” “Oh, great.”

  “You should watch it.”

  “I’m thinking: no.”

  “You’re kinda in love with him, you know,” Diana said quietly, plucking at lint on her jeans. “Yeah.”

  “See what he has to say.”

  “He’s had plenty of time to say it. About two months’ worth of time.”

  “Are you scared of what he might say?” “He’s on national television and all over the ’Net. He’s not going to say anything embarrassing. And I figure I know exactly what he’s going to say, so no.”

  “Maybe not?” Jack rubbed his face, knowing that Diana was right and he needed to watch the interview. It was pretty clear that it was an on-the-spot decision by Art, and with that thought, Jack reached for his phone. Diana watched as he dialed.

  “Gavin? What the hell is going on?” “The only reason I answered this fucking call is because I saw your name!” Gavin yelled back in frustration. “And then only because I was hoping you could tell me what the hell is going on!”

  “Er… no.”

  “Dammit! I have no idea. He’s avoided me since that bombshell this afternoon. I have no clue what the hell he’s going to say.”

  “I got the feeling this was spur of the moment for him.” “Oh believe me, it is. I had to twist his arm just to agree to show up and play nice—since you walked out, the man’s been a zombie. Not blaming you for his messed up head, man, but seriously, Art’s been a wreck.”

  Jack cringed, not really wanting to think about it. While he was the one who walked out, he still felt like he was justified in being upset about the situation, and was not about to go and take on responsibility for Art’s emo ways.

  “Look, gotta go, need to smooth some waters with business partners, if I can. Watch the interview, Jack. You need to be able to respond, if it comes to that.” Gavin hung up on up him.

  “So, okay, we’re watching the interview. Lead on.” They trudged into the living room quietly. Jack ignored the mess, not much caring about it, while Diana got everything on the right channel and set the volume.

  It started more quickly than Jack was prepared for. There was a brief thirty-second run up that recapped Art’s career, multiple successful businesses, and recent “homosexual scandal.” The interviewer, a well-known sportscaster, did not seem to lean one way or another about it, which was Jack’s only hope so far that the interview would not be a train wreck.

  It was an outdoor interviewing spot, a couple of director’s chairs set up on artificial turf. People ringed around the whole cordoned-off area, and there were more than a few cameras in the crowd along with other news organizations with their own reporters there. The interviewer introduced Art, and after a few polite comments about the Games, got down to it.

  “The community was rocked when a photo of you kissing event promoter Jack Martinez started circulating online. Things have changed, but this is still a scandal for you, Art.”

  “I’d like to say that I’m sorry this kind of thing is overshadowing the Games. This is about the sport, not the gossip. I understand that people are curious, but I hope everyone remembers what the real focus is here.”

  Jack ground his teeth.

  “Is that why you’ve avoided discussing the matter? To keep people from focusing on it?” “Honestly? Yes. But you see how well that’s worked.” Art lifted his hands in concession to defeat, a small smile playing across his lips. The interviewer gave a commiserating laugh.

  “Not to mince words, but you said this was going to be a ‘tell-all’ interview. So what are you here to say, Art? What is it that you need to tell our viewers?”

  Art looked at the camera, comfortable in the spotlight, the light gray in his hair nearly sparkling. He looked distinguished and sad, and Jack’s heart involuntarily clinched up.

  “I want to say: I’m sorry. Not for being gay—I’m bisexual, and have been all my life. I’ve got nothing to say to that, as it is my personal life. But I’m sorry to everyone I know, and to all my fans, for being an idiot. This is who I am, and trying to hide it was the wrong choice, and I hurt people by doing it.”

  He stopped and looked a
t the interviewer, who jumped in.

  “So you’re sorry for staying in the closet as long as you did?”

  Art nodded. “Can you explain why, though? That must’ve been a hard life to lead, and it’s a hard thing to make public now. You just came out, officially, on national television. Tell us what’s going on here.”

  Art closed his eyes for a second then opened them, looking back at the camera. “When I was thirteen, I had a friend… anyway, we were young and horny. He was fourteen, maybe fifteen. My dad walked in on us making out—just heavy petting, it’s not like we were ‘doing it’ on the living room couch. We were kids, and we were fooling around. So my dad calls the kid’s father, and together they beat the hell out of him, accused him of ‘corrupting’ me and ‘ruining’ me and of being some kind of pedophile. I mean, he was fifteen, and not the smartest kid on the block; I don’t know he knew what the word ‘pedophile’ meant. He was just a nice, goodlooking gay boy that I had a crush on.” He stopped for breath, and Jack heard Diana whimper next to him, her hand over her mouth.

  “Was he seriously hurt?”

  Art nodded. “They threw him out on the front yard, and he couldn’t walk. The boy’s mother showed up and she was just as crazy as my dad and the kid’s father, but she took him home. He should have been hospitalized, honestly; he was out of school for two weeks.

  “Look, I know my actions look bad, but I swore to myself then that no one was ever going to get beat up again because of me. And that includes all my fans who are watching this. Sometimes, it’s dangerous to be who you are. I’m not a great role model, I get that, so maybe you should go find someone to talk to, someone safe, and decide for yourself whether to come out or not. Don’t do it just because you found out I’m bi.”

  “Art, are you seriously advocating that gay youth stay in the closet?” Art opened his mouth and closed it twice before answering, but the interviewer waited. “Not when you put it like that. I mean, the other side of the coin is staying in the closet and ruining the best thing that ever happened to you.”