Second You Sin (32 page)

By the time I cal ed him it was just after noon. I woke him up. I apologized. He told me not to worry and we chatted for a bit.

“I’m real y sorry your friend Gabe didn’t keep his tape,” I said. “I thought we had her for sure.”

“I know, it’s a bitch. After he did the standard upload, he just recorded over it, which erases whatever was there before.”

“Upload?”

“Yeah, we shoot digital. When the camera operator gets back to the office, he or she uploads the video onto the central server. Then we use the tapes again.”

“You keep everything that gets shot?”

“Wel , I don’t, but the production company does.

It’s al cataloged and retained. You never know when some old footage might come in handy.”

“So, there
is
a copy of the tape?” I felt my pulse quicken.

“Yeah, but I can’t get to it. Neither can Gabe. Once it’s uploaded, it’s stored in these massive data banks somewhere. I don’t have access and can’t get any. Believe me, I wish I could.”

“But it’s on a computer?”

“Somewhere. Why?”

“Can I put you on a hold for a couple of minutes?”

“Hey, I’m stil in bed. Hold away. I’l just imagine you’re here.”

He got points for relentlessness. “Great. Hold on.” I hit “conference” on my phone and dialed Marc Wilgus. Until I pressed the button again, Andrew would be on hold.

“Kevin,” Marc said, happy to hear me. “I’m glad you cal ed. I was thinking about you yesterday. Did you make it over to Jacob Locke’s office? Did they believe you?”

I told Marc it al went perfectly and thanked him effusively for his assistance. “But now I need another favor,” I confessed.

“What’s up?”

I told Marc, in the most condensed manner possible, about my mother’s run-in with Yvonne and the subsequent fal out. I explained what I needed him to do. “Can you help?”

“Probably,” Marc said. “I’d need to know more about the specifics, but it doesn’t sound too hard.”

“I have the guy I was tel ing you about, Andrew, on the other line. If you’re wil ing, I could conference you in. Would you talk to him?”

“When exactly,” Marc asked, “did I become Alfred to your Batman?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re right. I’m taking advantage of our friendship. Don’t worry, I’l figure out something else—”

Marc interrupted me. “You kidding? I
love
playing Alfred to your Batman. No, scratch that. Can I be Batman to your Robin?”

“Help me out on this, and you can be anything you want.”

“You know I can’t say no to you, Kevin. Put him on.” Andrew told Marc everything he knew about the systems on which the video was stored, and Marc sounded pretty confident he could get the files within a few hours.

“Can you e-mail them to me?” Andrew asked.

“You don’t want that,” Marc said. “The last thing you need is an electronic trail linking you to the files.

Let me get your address and I’l have a DVD

messengered to you.”

Andrew gave him the information, and they exchanged e-mails and telephone numbers.

Marc hung up to get to work.

Andrew asked me, “You real y think he can do this?”

“You kidding?” I answered. “He’s the fucking Batman.”

It was 12:35 by the time we finished talking.

I tried to sound more confident with Andrew than I felt. Although I had great faith in Marc’s ability, the way my luck had been, I was sure something would go wrong.

I checked my e-mail on my phone and saw that Jason Carter had written five minutes ago: “What’s the matter, old man? Your arthritis acting up again?

Please don’t leave me alone here with the seniors and the holy rol ers. I need you! J. C.” Jason’s message made me smile and I headed to my bedroom to pick out something appropriate to wear to the campaign office.

I was just through the doorway when I said aloud,

“What the hel am I doing?”

I didn’t usual y talk to myself, but this seemed like a good time to start. Because, obviously, I was insane.

Why was I going back to Locke’s office? After al , there was no chance The Man Himself would be there. As touched as I was by Jason’s commitment and sincerity, I wasn’t about to become an anti–

equal marriage, pro-life zealot.

Was it just about wanting Jason’s approval, the attention of an attractive, interesting man? Was I real y that shal ow? That desperate?

Apparently so.

God, my life sucked.

Al I wanted to do was go back to bed.

I was about to write back to Jason with an excuse, but decided not to bother. Maybe I’d just let Kevin Johnson disappear into the same virtual never-world from which he sprang.

I, unfortunately, was stuck in this world. That being the case, as I stil had to make a living, I decided to force myself to go to the gym.

No reason for me to look as bad as I felt.

I threw on the sweats I wore to the deli this morning and opened my coat closet to grab my gym bag.

That’s when I saw it.

Floating on its hanger like a ghost, like an unsaid accusation.

The gold lamé Ansel Darling coat that Rueben had sent me just a few days before his death.

Rueben.

I took the coat off its hanger and brought it to the couch. It was soft and plush. I cradled it like a security blanket, like a child, like a lover, and let the sadness wash over me.

Rueben. Brooklyn Roy. Sammy White Tee. Maybe some others, too, whose names I didn’t even know.

Al gone, forever.

Randy, stil in a coma, who knew how he’d emerge from it?

I thought
I
had problems?

What was
wrong
with me?

Had I real y just thought I was
stuck
in this world?

Even with the semi-boyfriend, crazy mother, and thin resume, I was
lucky
to be in this world. What wouldn’t Rueben or any of the others have given for another chance? Who was I to waste even a moment of mine?

It was half past closing time at my self-pity party. It was time to get to work.

OK, so Jacob Locke wasn’t going to be at his campaign office today, but that was no reason to give up. Maybe I could stil snoop around, figure
something
out.

How could I do anything less?

The sweats came off again. What does a young Republican activist looking to make a good impression wear on the weekend?

I chose a pair of navy Banana Republic chinos, one of their trim-fit white button-down shirts, and a zippered navy cardigan. I threw a J. Crew corduroy blazer over it and, satisfied that I looked like, wel , Kevin Johnson, headed out the door.

But first, I replied to Jason Carter:

“On my way back now.”

And, you know what?

I was.

34

Doing the Reactionary

“He’s sick,” Jason whispered in my ear as he shook my hand, and, with his other arm, pul ed me in for a bro hug.

Five minutes earlier, I saw Jason’s smile light up from across the room as I walked in the door, shaking off the rain that had drenched me when the already gray skies decided to let loose.

The super-cheery Lucil e greeted me, uh, cheerily.

“Back again? I’d have thought you’d be with your lady friend on a beautiful day like this.” Beautiful? I guessed every day on Planet Lucil e was al sunshine and lol ipops. This was also the second mention she’d made of me having a “lady” in my life. Either she suspected I was gay, or she was planning to pounce on me herself. Maybe she could start her own group: Concerned Christian Cougars of America.

“I’m here to see Jason,” I replied by nonanswer.

“May I?” I pointed to a tissue box on Lucil e’s desk.

“Absolutely.” Lucil e beamed, handing the box to me. I grabbed a handful of them and mopped whatever water I could off my head.

As I did, I looked around the office. I was surprised it was slower on a Saturday than on a Friday.

Usual y, most volunteers were working people, or students who had classes to attend. Which meant most campaigns were bustling on the weekend.

Locke’s base of retirees and clergy weren’t bound by the restrictions of the workweek. Three-quarters empty, the haphazardly organized office space felt like a set from
I Am Legend.
The general gloom wasn’t improved by the volunteers themselves, mostly elderly, who moved though the office with the shuffling gait, outdated clothing, and pale pal or of recently risen zombies.

Apparently, Locke’s pro-life position didn’t apply to his staff.

“Thanks,” I told Lucil e, handing the box back to her. “Guess the weather kept a lot of people away today, huh?”

“Mercy, no.” Lucil e put a hand to her heart. “This is a good turnout for us! Last weekend, it was just me, Jason, and Mr. Bishop.” She pointed to a man who appeared to be in eighties. He was sitting at a desk in the middle of the room, slumped in a chair, his eyes closed. He snored lightly.

“He’s real y very sweet,” Lucil e said. “Except the first day he came in, Lord save me, I saw him sitting there like that and thought he’d died! Scared me half to pieces!”

They al scared me there, including Lucil e, with her too-big smile and Minnie Pearl wardrobe.

“And what about you?” I asked her. “You work on the weekend, too? Even on a, uh, nice day like today?”

“I’m here whenever they need me,” Lucil e said. “I believe the Lord has put me here to help Mr. Jacob Locke take back America. There’s
nothing
I wouldn’t do for that man.”

Thanking her again, I gathered my courage and crossed through the office to see Jason. For some reason, I found myself thinking,
Yea, though I walk
through the valley of death . . .

I was rewarded for my courage by Jason’s quick, macho hug and his whispered proclamation.

“Who’s sick?” I whispered back.

“Locke,” Jason said, settling back in his chair. He waved for me to sit, too.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear it.”

“No, Kevin, it’s
good
news. He decided to cancel his DC trip and the rest of the week’s travel, too.

He’s coming into the office today. You’l get to meet him if you can stick around.”

Tha t
was
good news. My smile was genuine.

“Great! I’ve real y been looking forward to meeting him.” Then, remembering my role, I added, “I hope he’s not
too
sick.”

“Naw, just a head cold. But last time he flew with a cold, he wound up getting a sinus infection and was down for two weeks. So, he’s real cautious now.”

“Better safe than sorry,” I said. Sticking to the dul est possible clichés was part of my strategy for success here.

“Yup, ya don’t want to run your prize horse too hard before the big race. Gotta keep our boy on his feet, ya know.” He winked at me and I felt a flush of attraction. I real y wanted to hate this guy, but he was just too damn lickable. I meant, likable. I bet he smel ed like hay and had a light dusting of scarlet hair across his tummy that got narrower and finer until you reached his . . .

Focus, Kevin, focus.

“Too bad he’s not going to be able to participate at the conference tonight,” I offered.

“Good news there, too, chief. He’s going to appear via a video feed. They’re coming to set up around six and he speaks at seven. If ya don’t mind me asking”—Jason cocked his head to the side bashful y—“I was kinda hoping you could help me out with his remarks. I have a draft, but I think they could use some punching up. Can you take a look at them?”

Oh, God, no. “Sure.”

“Great. Do you think you can stay for the taping?

We could always use another hand.”

Since I always reserved Saturday nights for Tony, I had nothing else to do. “Sure.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any TV production experience, would you?”

Not exactly,
I thought,
but my mother just
completed a fabulous guest-starring role on
Yvonne
as an insane hairdresser.
“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, chief,” Jason said. “Just figured maybe you had. Seems like you’ve done everything else a boy could do.”

If only you knew.

Jason set me up at a desk with a computer a few feet from his. He handed me a copy of the speech he’d written on a USB stick.

Jason’s talking points were pretty good for a load of conservative horseshit. They seemed like the same things Jacob Locke said everywhere else, so I don’t know what he needed my help with. Maybe he was just insecure.

I thought about what Jason had shared about himself the day before. Smal -town boy, grew up on a farm. Hence his adorable aw-shucksness. Not a family of any means, worked to put himself through school, blah-blah-blah. Split major in political science and theology. Worked as an aide to a US

senator for a few years, then as an independent political consultant.

Three years ago, when Jacob Locke was stil just a television preacher, Jason was watching him and had an epiphany. Here was a man (or so Jason thought) who combined a love of scripture with practical understanding of the world around him. He approached Locke for a job and Locke hired him.

It was Jason who convinced Locke to enter politics, seeing in him a populist appeal that Jason thought would cut through the noise of other politicians.

I looked over at Jason. He was on a conference cal with the state directors of Locke’s campaign. He was leaning back in his chair, his legs on the desk.