Second You Sin (30 page)

The funny thing, men admire me every day. But it’s my tight ass, or my eight-pack, or the way my blond bangs fal over my eyes they applaud. My mind, my ideas, my achievements . . . not so much.

When was the last time someone genuinely appreciated something I did ful y dressed?

If I were fil ing out an application for a real job, for a cause in which
I
believed, what could I put on it?

Good role-playing skil s and the ability to maintain an erection even with men I’m not attracted to? Kind to animals and tricks? Tight, gym-toned body with a nice-sized dick? Not exactly a Nobel Peace Prize–

winning resume.

I wasn’t ashamed of what I did. I just wasn’t sure if it was enough. Yeah, volunteering at The Stuff of Life was a good deed, but was I capable of contributing more to the universe than supervising the assembly of boxed lunches and facilitating the erotic fantasies of strangers?

Or, for that matter, hanging on to Tony, a man who identified as straight and lied to me about his dates?

What was I
doing
with my life?

Al these questions.

I needed some answers.

Focus, Kevin, focus.

I needed to figure out what I was going to do with the next sixty years. But, first, I needed to decide what I was going to do
next.

I made a to-do list in my head:

1.
Meet Jacob Locke tomorrow and see what I could find out.

2.
Confront Tony. Maybe.

3.
Check in with Freddy to see how things had gone with Cody.

There was something else I had to do.... What was it? Something wacky, I remember. Total y nuts. Who was the craziest person I knew?

Oh, yeah.
Her.

I stopped at the next corner and stepped into the lobby of one of the nice hotels near Locke’s office.

Dressed as I was, I got nothing but smiles from the doorman and everyone in the lobby. Money loves money.

I fished a card out of my wal et and cal ed the mobile phone number on it.

It was time once again for me to parent my mother.

Bats and Bal s was a sports bar on Thirty-third and Ninth, and like many of the neighborhood’s joints, it was mixed straight and gay. The person I cal ed on behalf of my mother told me he was there with friends, and, since it was on the way home, I asked if I could meet him there.

Considering how strongly he’d come on to me the last time we met, I was surprised at his unenthusiastic, “Yeah, sure, whatever.” Either he’d gotten over me real quick, or he was playing hard to get.

Turns out, it was neither.

Even from across the room, as I walked to the table where he sat with two guys and girl I recognized from the other day, I could see Andrew Mil er looked exhausted and il . Three days ago, at my mother’s disastrous encounter with Yvonne, Andrew was the picture of vitality and strength. Now, he was as pale and drawn as Robert Pattinson in the
Twilight
movies, except without the sexy vampiric brooding and crazy hair.

No, Andrew’s unhappiness looked al too human, and I had the terrible feeling my mother was to blame.

“Hey,” I said, reaching his table. The bar was crowded and dark, the music low and thumping.

LCD screens on the wal s showed various sporting events from around the world, but no one seemed to be watching them. Certainly not anyone at Andrew’s table, who al looked down at their beers as if something real y interesting was about to emerge from them.

“Hey,” Andrew said weakly. He gave me a sickly half smile and took a swig of his drink. “Guys,” he said to his table mates, “I’m going to catch up with Kevin for a little bit. Hold my seat, OK?” His friends grunted their assent. None of them said hel o to me or even met my glance. This was not going to go wel .

Andrew stood up and, without another word, walked to an empty booth at the far corner of the room. I fol owed obediently.

“So,” I said, sitting across from him, “what’s going on?”

Andrew took another long slug from his bottle of beer, shook it to ascertain it was empty, and set it down with a bang. “Let’s just say the last few days have pretty much been the worst of my life.”

“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” I said, meaning it.

“She’s my mother and I take ful responsibility for . . .” Andrew put up his hand. “Stop. It’s not your fault, Kevin. Obviously. It’s just a real y bad situation.”

“I know, but stil . . .” I was about to apologize again, but a glare from Andrew convinced me otherwise. “What happened? Last time we talked, you said you didn’t care what came next. Either Yvonne was going to fire you or you’d quit. You sounded like you were glad to have an excuse to get out of there. What changed?”

Andrew’s forehead furrowed in anger and he scowled. “It wasn’t that easy. Yvonne blamed me for the whole thing. But she told me she wasn’t going to fire me. She wanted to keep me around to make me as miserable as I’d made her.

“I figured that was OK, I’d just quit. Then the executive producers of her show cal ed me. They made it clear how connected and powerful they were. They said it was their job to keep Yvonne happy. If having me there for her to kick around did that, that’s what was going to happen.

“They made it clear that if I quit, I’d never work in the industry again. They’d tel everyone how badly I fucked up. I mean, let’s face it, I booked her with a guest who assaulted her!”

“Wel , I wouldn’t cal it assault, exactly,” I offered.

If looks could kil , Andrew’s would have been guilty of firstdegree murder.

“Yeah, wel , the producers
would
cal it assault.

Let’s be honest here, Kevin, so would most people. If someone didn’t know what Yvonne did to provoke your mother, it would just look like your mother was a crazy person who I put in a position to attack the princess of talk TV. Some producer I am, right? It’s my job to screen our guests. Who’d hire me now?”

“I guess Yvonne thinks most people would consider it assault, too,” I admitted. I told Andrew about Yvonne’s plan to sue my mother for everything she had. Al of which probably wouldn’t be enough to pay Yvonne’s monthly dry-cleaning bil s.

“She’s so fucking evil.” Andrew banged his fist on the table. “I can’t tel you how horrible it’s been to work with her these past few days. She openly insults me in front of everyone, cal s me stupid or

‘faggot’ or, when she’s real y riled up, ‘maricón.’ She has me run some ridiculous errand for her, like fetching her a café latte and, when I bring it to her, throws it in my face, insisting she asked for a café mocha. It’s so fucking humiliating.

“The worst part is, I’m completely trapped. My life is ruined and it sounds like she’s going after your mother, too. I’m the one who’s sorry, Kevin; I should never have dragged you and your family into this.” Andrew rubbed at his eyes. I couldn’t tel if he had tears there or if he was just exhausted. He gave a bitter little laugh. “Al because I wanted to see you again, Kevin. ’Cause I wanted to get into your pants.

Maybe Yvonne is right. I do think with my dick.”

“Listen,” I said to him. “The only thing Yvonne is right about is not letting you quit. Because you’re probably the best producer she’l ever have. You think that show is a hit because of her? No way. It’s how you package and present her that works.

Making that nasty skank into America’s sweetheart takes a special kind of magic, Andrew, and you’re the guy who makes it happen. I bet she knows that on some level, and that’s the real reason she won’t let you go.”

Something related to a smile, maybe a third cousin, struggled across Andrew’s lips. I think my little pep talk helped. But I wasn’t done.

“About everything else,” I continued, “Yvonne is dead wrong. And you know what her biggest mistake was? Fucking with my friends and family.

I’ve spent my whole life standing up to bigger bul ies than her. That bitch is going down.”

Now, the smile on Andrew’s face was halfway there. “Little tough guy, huh? Nice fantasy, Kevin. But she’s rich, powerful, and protected. How are you going to fight back against someone like her?”

“Actual y,” I said, “I have an idea.”

Andrew listened to me intently. As I explained my plan, he got increasing agitated, nodding and, eventual y, smiling for real. It was nice to see.

“That just might work, Kevin. Holy shit. We might have her.”

I grinned and pointed to my head. “Pretty
and
smart.”

Andrew jumped out of his seat and slid next to me.

He acted like his old self—athletic, graceful, and quick. Welcome back, buddy.

He threw an arm around my shoulder and pul ed me toward him. His body felt warm and strong. I remembered just how muscular he was.

“You are a genius, Connor. I am total y, hopelessly, and forever in love with you. You
have
to come home with me right now. I’m going to screw you so hard you’re going to see stars.”

OK, maybe Yvonne was right about one more thing: Andrew real y
did
think with his dick. If we stayed in contact when this was al over, I was going to have to work on that with him.

“You could do that,” I said. “Or you could check out my idea and see if it’l work.”

“Arrghh,” Andrew said. “Decisions, decisions.” But I could see he was dying to find out if I’d just handed him a Get Out of Hel Free card.

I kissed him on the cheek. “Go do what you need to do, Mil er. You know how to find me.”

“And we can get it on then?”

I was pretty sure the answer was no, but, I figured, let him live in hope. I gave him the answer I use on the toddlers in Sunday school whenever they make an unreasonable request. “We’l see.”

“I’l take that as a yes!” Andrew said triumphantly.

Yeah, the three-year-olds take it as yes, too. Ah, kids. Then, he added, “Unless you’re stil stuck on that screwed-up cop your mother told me about.” Not for the first time that week, I thought,
Thanks,
Mom.
“He’s not screwed up. He’s just not up to a commitment right now. We have an open relationship.”

Andrew pumped his fist. “You guys have an arrangement? Score one for the home team!” he shouted. I saw a few of the other customers look at him questioningly. We were in a sports bar after al .

What game was he watching?

Andrew leapt up from the table again, ful of energy and enthusiasm. He took my face in his hands and planted a long, hard kiss on my lips.

What the hel , I kissed him back. When he pul ed away, I gave him a little push. “What are you waiting for, boy? Go!”

Andrew looked at me for a moment, and I think it was the first time he saw me as something other than a receptacle for his cock. He looked at me like a friend. “Thank you,” he said.

He ran to his friends at the other table. “Guys, we have to cal Gabe. Anyone have his number?”
32

Some Good Things Never Last

I walked home feeling pretty good. I couldn’t exactly put it on my resume, but helping Andrew reminded me I have talents that don’t involve the emission of bodily fluids.

Even if my plan didn’t pan out, at least Andrew wasn’t moping around like the living dead anymore.

I didn’t know what I was going to do about Tony. It was clear he’d been keeping something from me for a while now. But I didn’t want to confront him about it.

Our relationship was tentative and fragile as it was. I was pretty sure that if insisted on a truth he wasn’t ready to share, whatever we had would fal apart.

I wasn’t ready to lose him.

I resolved not to say a word about the movie ticket I’d found. Tony’d tel me the truth when he was ready.

I could wait.

What had Lucil e from Locke’s office said?
Those
who are patient inherit what has been promised.

Wel , no one had promised Tony to me, but I intended to col ect anyway.

Speak of the devil.

When I got to my door, Tony was waiting outside, looking al kinds of gorgeous in his brown corduroys and beige turtleneck. “Hey, kiddo,” he said, “I was just about to give up on you.”

“Why didn’t you cal ?”

“I was in the neighborhood. I’ve only been here five minutes. Figured I’d see if I could surprise you.”

“OK,” I said. I looked at him standing there, six feet two inches of Italian pony boy whom I’ve loved from the moment I laid my eyes on him.

Such a good man, he was. A cop, for God’s sake.

Struggling with his sexuality not because he hated gay people, but because he didn’t want to disappoint his family and friends. Because he wanted to “be good.”

But why did being good have to preclude being mine? Did he think of me as a bad thing?

For the first time I could remember, I didn’t want to touch him. As solid and strong as he was, I felt like my embrace would make him disintegrate like a ghost.

Tony noticed my standoffishness. “So, um, happy to see me?”

“Why did you lie to me?” I asked.

Wow. I didn’t expect to say that. In fact, I had just resolved
not
to say that.

But as my friend JoAnne used to tel me, if it’s on my lung, it’s on my tongue. For better or worse, I can’t keep my feelings bottled up. They spil .

A cloud passed over Tony’s face. “What are you talking about?”

“About seeing
Super Rangers.
You told me you’d never see that movie. But I found a ticket stub in your pocket. So, why did you lie to me, Tony?”