Fifteen Shades of Gay (For Pay) (18 page)

Andrew felt himself blushing. He wished he could confess he already knew exactly how it felt to be with a man. He’d been penetrated by Paresh, and then returned the favor. And both experiences had satisfied Andrew; neither had felt uncomfortable or wrong for him.

“When I was a virgin,” Marie continued, “back before the meteor struck and wiped out the dinosaurs, I was pretty scared to actually do it. I mean, I wanted to, but I was afraid it would hurt. Which it did. I was also afraid it would be awkward. And yeah, it was awkward as hell. But you know how much I loved Steve. He was the best first boyfriend a girl could want. After a few tries, it became good for both of us.” Marie sighed. “Honestly, I think if he’d lived, we’d be married now.”

Andrew nodded. Steve, a motorcycle enthusiast, had been killed in a rainy night collision with an eighteen-wheeler. Though Marie had dated several men afterward, both in Fort Scott and New York City, not one had meant half as much to her as her high school sweetheart.

“Of course, if he’d lived, and we’d gotten married, he’d be sitting by my bed right now, watching me die,” Marie said. “So I guess either way, it wasn’t meant to be.”

“Hey.” Andrew cleared his throat. “No maudlin statements. It’s a rule.”

“I’m changing the rules.” Marie didn’t sound sad, just matter-of-fact. “Sometimes I think maybe there’s an afterlife, and I’ll see Steve again. Other times I think life’s just one big crapshoot. He rolled the dice and got killed coming home from work. I rolled the dice and got breast cancer. I swear, I could handle it better if I just had something to show for my life, you know?” She looked at Andrew, nakedly pleading for understanding. “I’m not married. No kids, no career to speak of, just a certificate from massage therapy school. I’ve never traveled outside the U.S. I’ve never had an affair with a man like Elijah—an alpha male so obsessed with me, he cared about my every move, practically my every thought—”

“Elijah wants to control Josephine,” Andrew interrupted. “That’s not the same as caring. And you can’t tell me you actually want some man to control you. Not really.”

“It’s a sex fantasy,” Marie cried. “Being taken care of! Being the object of a man’s undivided attention! Haven’t you ever wanted to give yourself up? Be totally passive in bed?”

“It’s the other side I can’t quite wrap my head around,” Andrew said. “What kind of person wants to take absolute control? Doesn’t that turn sex into a grudge fuck?”

Marie stared at him for a second. Then she started to laugh, and before long he was laughing, too.

“Never thought my baby brother would discuss grudge fucks with me,” she gasped when able to talk again.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t need a definition, did you?”

“Nope.” She grinned. “Honestly, I used to know a chick in a Dom/sub relationship, and she seemed pretty happy. She liked to surrender. He liked to assert himself. I think it only becomes a grudge fuck if the sub is being hurt or used.”

Although Andrew nodded, he struggled internally, remembering the unattractive emotions his encounter with Paresh and Sven had stirred up.

“I’m sorry I got down for a minute,” Marie continued. “It’s just—really, Andy, it sucks to look back on your life and see nothing but a few softball trophies. Cormac’s not much older than me and he’s a state senator. Maybe he had to sell his soul to get there, but at least he’s accomplished something.”

“Sell his soul?” Andrew frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“His website. Haven’t you looked at it?”

“You know I don’t care about politics.” But even as he said it, Andrew rose, seeking their mother’s laptop. Bringing it to Marie, he placed it on her lap, watching as she pulled up Cormac’s website. The slogan DEFENDING TRADITION featured prominently, and was available on T-shirts for a campaign donation of just twenty-five dollars.

“He’s a Republican,” Andrew said. The website’s aggressive use of red, white, and blue reminded him of the Colbert Report, which wasn’t the most dignified comparison. “I think he has to use a lot of eagles and flags to stay in office.”

“Yeah, well, read this.” Marie clicked on a tab entitled,
What Cormac Donovan Stands For.

Andrew did so reluctantly, feeling strangely defensive. Whenever politics came up, someone’s feelings got hurt. Why did Marie care about the minutiae of Cormac’s job? Surely even a state senator had to sign off on things he didn’t adore, just as retail employees shilled for certain products and waitresses pretended the house wine tasted wonderful.

Andrew took in the list. Cormac Donovan supported, among other things, the War on Terror, the War on Drugs and the death penalty. He stated unequivocally that the United States hadn’t caused global warning and/or climate change. He opposed illegal immigration and supported fiscal responsibility. He supported Prop 8 on the grounds that marriage was only between a man and a woman, and opposed SB 48 “at all costs,” stating “the gay agenda has no place in classrooms filled with impressionable young children.”

“Shit,” Andrew murmured.

“Do you think he was in denial about his sexuality when he ran for office?”

“No. He’s always been gay. Only dated women to make his mom happy. Stopped when she died.”

“So. He’s a hypocrite.” Marie clicked on Cormac’s portrait, which led to a photo gallery of Cormac in various activities—making speeches, cutting ribbons, and shaking hands. “The sexiest hypocrite I’ve ever seen.”

“He thinks the best way to change the party is from within.” Andrew worked hard to make the notion sound reasonable instead of lame. “Besides, I think he—well, he was raised different from us. We had a big gay dad with a big gay boyfriend. We arrived at ‘some people are gay, get over it’ way before the T-shirt. But Cormac was brought up to think homosexuality was wrong. That he needed to be someone else, to pray for God to make him straight, that kind of thing.”

Marie made a noncommittal noise.

“It’s true.” Andrew’s voice rose slightly. “Jeez, he was a virgin when I met him. He’d held himself back for years. That’s how bad a number those people did on his head.”

“Yup. And now that he’s all grown up, he’s doing it on other people’s heads. They see him and they don’t see a closet case. They see a handsome, confident,
perfect
man saying being gay is, at best, second class.” Marie stopped, turning to Andrew. “Hang on. Did you say he was a virgin when you met him? A
virgin
virgin? Or just with guys?”

Andrew rolled his eyes.

“And you deflowered him?”

“Not all the way.” Andrew felt his cheeks heating up again.

“Andy.” Marie grinned. “What made you cross the line? What was it about Cormac that pushed your buttons? His body? His face?”

“I liked him,” Andrew said. “I like him.”
And I miss him.

* * *

Connie loved her tour of Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, returning with a DVD and commemorative mug. Andrew felt a strange mix of guilt and pride when she hugged him, praising her son the actor, the artist whose talent made such expensive indulgences possible. Thank goodness she had little interest in the theatre beyond his involvement, and didn’t insist on attending rehearsals or taking a backstage tour.

Returning to his apartment, Andrew fell into a vague funk he couldn’t define. What bothered him the most, he realized as he ate take-out—fried rice, Moo Shoo Pork and Crab Rangoon—was Marie’s belief her life had been wholly inconsequential. She was wrong, of course, so wrong rational words failed him. But how could Andrew convince her, how could he make her see, when he couldn’t formulate a coherent argument, even in the silence of his own head?

He was about to break open his fortune cookie when his mobile buzzed. It was Cormac.

“Hey,” Andrew said.

“Hey. It’s, um, been a long couple of weeks.” Cormac cleared his throat. “Sometimes I hate California. I miss New York.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot to miss.” Andrew sighed. Texting Cormac had become second nature. Actually talking to him, hearing his voice, was a wee bit awkward.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. Fine.”

“What about Marie?”

“You know. Good days and bad days. Maybe a little better with Mom taking care of her twenty-four/seven.”

“That’s good.” A pause. “Is this, um, a bad time to talk?”

“No. But Cormac, what’s the deal with you and gay marriage? Teaching the ‘gay agenda’ in schools?” Andrew burst out, surprising himself. “Marie showed me your website. It’s all a bunch of anti-Mexican, pro-corporation, homophobic crap!”

“Hey.” Cormac sounded equally startled. “For a start, I’m not anti-Mexican. I’m anti-illegal immigration, mostly because California is close to bankruptcy. We can’t feed, clothe and doctor our own citizens. We don’t have limitless resources, so a line has to be drawn somewhere. Sad but true.”

“I’ll bet your big corporate backers use undocumented workers all the time.”

“Yeah, they do, and it’s modern-day slave labor. People working sixteen hours a day or more in hellish conditions. Another good reason to support nothing but
legal
immigration.”

“It’s not slave labor if people choose to do it.”

“Maybe not, but it’s still taking advantage of human desperation, and it’s still morally wrong. Look, personally I’m willing to discuss the Dream Act, amnesty, lots of ideas. But to accept the status quo and simply look the other way is not only fiscally irresponsible. It’s immoral, too.” Barely taking a breath, Cormac continued, “As for being pro-corporation, of course I am. Businesses are the backbone of this country. Businesses create jobs that benefit everyone. What’s wrong with—”

“Marriage is between one man and one woman? Impressionable school children must be protected from the gay agenda?”

Cormac sighed. “Andrew. It’s the party line. I had to sign off on it. Besides, be fair. Think of your own family. What your dad’s affair with your English teacher did to you.”

Andrew let out a bitter laugh. “Are you kidding me? Cormac, you’ve got one hell of a nerve. Let me explain something to you. My dad knew he was gay before he married my mom. But he grew up in a time when there was no such thing as gay marriage. He thought he was a bad person, a sick person, and the only way to deal with it was to cover it up.” Andrew spoke rapidly, voice shaking, heart pounding. “So he married Mom and had kids, all the while smothering his true self. If he hadn’t met Hugh—if times hadn’t changed enough to make acceptance possible—I think Dad would have offed himself rather than keep on living a lie. Was it hard on me when he came out? Yeah. Because my dad fell in love with a man? No. Because of people like you. People who work night and day to make gay love seem dirty and scary and unnatural!”

Cormac said nothing.

“You think because you’re hurting yourself, too, that makes it okay, don’t you?” Andrew demanded. “It doesn’t. It doesn’t balance the scales. Just because you’re a closet case who flies across the country to dance with other men, that doesn’t—”

Cormac disconnected, but Andrew was so deep in his rant, it took him a few moments to notice. The realization the other man had ended the call was like ice water thrown in his face. For several seconds Andrew stared at his mobile, hardly able to believe what he’d done. Then he tossed the phone on the sofa and got up to wash his face. Long ago he’d learned that slow, careful ablutions with cool water would often forestall tears, if he concentrated on the process and not his emotions.

The phone beeped while he was in the bathroom. Patting his face dry, Andrew debated whether or not he should check his messages or just go to bed. Finally he returned to the sofa, snatching up the mobile. Cormac had texted him.

I’m sorry.

Andrew laughed, more from guilt and relief than actual mirth. He was calling Cormac before he could question the impulse or even wonder what he might say.

Cormac picked up without speaking.

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” Andrew said. “Crap. I don’t know what came over me. Marie’s really depressed. Talking about dying and how she has nothing to show for her life. I know she’s wrong, but what am I supposed to say? Besides.” He swallowed, embarrassed by the proximity of hot tears. “I did something for money. If I told you, you probably wouldn’t like me anymore.”

“Oh. Well. Depends,” Cormac said. “Was it a clean kill, execution-style? Or did you leave the victim to die of exposure?”

Andrew felt himself grinning. “When you put it like that, things fall into perspective.” He swiped at his eyes. “Can we start this conversation over again?”

“Sure. I was just thinking, sometimes I hate California. I miss New York.”

“Well, there’s a lot to miss. Just sent my mom on a sightseeing tour. You could spend your life studying the city and never learn everything.”

“I don’t care about the sights or the history. I miss you,” Cormac said. “That’s all I was trying to say. I miss you, Andrew.”

“Oh.” Andrew sat down, hugging his knees to his chest. His heart beat hard and fast again, but this time he wasn’t sure why. “I was just thinking the same thing. I know it’s only been two weeks, but I wish you could come back. I’m lonely.” Andrew shifted, repositioning himself so his jeans weren’t so confining. All that aggression had done its work below the belt. “Horny, too.”

“Yeah, well, me too. I keep imagining it. You and me.” Cormac’s voice softened. “But I can’t decide how I want it to go down.”

“I could suck you off again,” Andrew teased, knowing perfectly well that wasn’t what Cormac meant. “You’re a mouthful, and you come like a tidal wave. But I’ll swallow it all.”

An incoherent sound.

“Where are you?” Andrew unbuttoned the top of his jeans.

“In my apartment.”

“What are you wearing?”

“A shirt and tie. My shorts. The rest is on the floor.”

“Are you hard?”

“God, yes. Arguing about politics always gets me up.” Cormac chuckled. “Actually, it’s just the sound of your voice. I consider myself a people person, but I was a little shy to call you.”

“Can’t imagine why. I wanted to yell at you and dump all my personal baggage. Now I’m dying for make-up sex.”