Fifteen Shades of Gay (For Pay) (27 page)

“Sen. Donovan, you’ve never been married. There’s some speculation you were romantically linked with Rep. Fontaine,” a different female said, pushing herself to the front of the thong. “Care to comment?”

“
Romantically
linked?” Cormac looked stunned. “Of course not!”

“Rep. Fontaine has admitted to using interns as go-betweens for his extramarital affairs. Did he ever ask you to cover for him, Sen. Donovan?”

“No… no… I had no idea….”

“Earlier tonight, Mrs. Fontaine told Piers Morgan her husband will receive counsel from their church. Possibly even so-called reparative therapy,” the aggressive woman persisted, still trying to get her microphone beneath Cormac’s nose. “Rep. Fontaine has said many times that he supports traditional marriage and considers homosexual relationships bad for society. As his protégé, do you agree?”

“Well, I. You know. Some of that language….” Cormac resembled a trapped animal. “It’s needlessly inflammatory….”

“Do you still support traditional marriage?”

“Of course. I ran on that platform. Defending tradition.”

“
Are
homosexual relationships bad for society?” the reporter asked. The others, having fallen more or less silent, kept their microphones poised to capture the answer. “Please, in light of these revelations about Rep. Fontaine, tell us what you think.”

“It’s not a question of what I think. The Bible is clear on this point. Homosexuals shouldn’t be persecuted,” Cormac said. “Nor should they receive special rights or be permitted to reshape society in their own image. We have to think of our children.”

Andrew felt like he was choking. It took a moment for him to realize he was gripping his own throat, squeezing it as if sufficient pressure would make Cormac stop talking.

“Some people would argue Rep. Fontaine’s disgrace was caused by repression,” a man called from the back of the throng. “That people like you, Sen. Donovan, make laws that force otherwise good people to behave in underhanded ways. Rep. Fontaine has a distinguished public record. If he divorced his wife and came out as a gay man, would you support him?”

Cormac pressed his lips together. Andrew could see the pain in those pale eyes, even if no other viewer could.

“No,” Cormac said at last. “That would be a terrible betrayal of his wife and a complete reversal of everything Martin’s ever stood for. Perhaps with the help of his church, his friends….”

The most aggressive reporter, sensing a golden sound bite dawning, gave Cormac the friendliest possible smile. “So to be clear, Sen. Donovan,” she asked, “do you think reparative therapy would be the answer for Rep. Fontaine?”

“Maybe,” Cormac said. “If he wants help, help to overcome this, I’m sure it’s out there for him.”

“Shit,” Marie whispered in Andrew’s ear. Until that moment, he had forgotten he was still holding the phone.

“Not now,” Andrew muttered. Turning off the mobile, he forced his eyes back to the television, where footage of the bombshell interview soon ran again from the top.

Chapter 16

The next two weeks unfolded slowly, inching toward Thanksgiving as the weather plummeted to an unseasonable thirty-one degrees, hovering just above freezing thereafter. Some New Yorkers, including Huey Wasserman, preferred to believe any cold snap instantly disproved the notion of global warming.

That’s why Cormac preferred to call it ‘climate change’ or ‘global weirding,’
Andrew thought.
Because hundred-degree summers are only half the story.

Of course, the moment the memory crossed his mind, Andrew pushed it away. He wasn’t thinking about Cormac anymore.

The media bloodbath had continued for a full eight days, during which time Cormac’s statements about homosexuals and reparative therapy had been condemned by GLAAD, the Human Rights Campaign, and Whoopi Goldberg, who commandeered five minutes of live airtime on
The View
to ream Cormac as thoroughly as mere words allowed. On the flip side, Cormac’s “courageous honesty and truth-telling” had been lauded by Focus on the Family, the Catholic League, and Kirk Cameron, a middle-aged ex-TV star of whom Andrew had never heard. As expected, Martin Fontaine had resigned from his seat in the U.S. House of Representatives, citing his “grievous moral lapse” and desire to regain his wife’s trust. In a farewell press conference, Rep. Fontaine stated he would undergo private reparative therapy, then took a moment to praise Cormac specifically.

“I hope the voters of the great state of California will realize Sen. Donovan has always been an honest, trustworthy man. For years, I sought to mentor him, when clearly I would have done better to heed his example,” Martin Fontaine said. “I hope voters will remember Sen. Donovan’s good service and elect him to the seat I now vacate.”

Shortly after that press conference, a full three days after the scandal had broken, Andrew and Cormac spoke at last. Until that moment, Andrew had been unwilling to read Cormac’s texts or accept his calls. But after hearing Martin Fontaine’s closing endorsement, Andrew called Cormac himself.

“So that’s what you’re doing? Throwing your friend under the bus so you can snag his place in Washington?”

“Andrew.” Cormac let out his breath all at once. “I know you’re angry—”

“You think?” Andrew all but screamed into the phone. “You lying sack of shit! I don’t know why Martin endorsed you. He should have called you out on national TV!”

“Andrew. I know it’s hard to understand. But the press ambushed me. I did what I had to do—exactly what Martin would have done in my place, had our roles been reversed. Turns out his boyfriend was wearing a wire, working for some tabloid. There was too much evidence to deny. Martin had no choice but to fall on his sword. It would have been the same if he'd been caught with a mistress.”

“I don’t give a damn about Martin. I care about what you said, on CNN for the whole world to hear.” Andrew’s heart pounded wildly; his words came so fast, he couldn’t have stopped himself if his life depended on it. “You said gay people shouldn’t be able to reshape society in their own image. You said we have to
think of the children
,” he sneered. “Do you know why my dad married my mom in the first place? Why he snuck around like a pervert until he made my life a living hell? Because of people like you. Smart people—powerful people—who spend their weekends getting fucked up the ass and the rest of their time shaming anyone who wants to do the same!”

“Andrew, please. My back was against the wall. Some of the stuff I said—I’d take it back if I could. It’s the party line, but you know I’m not really like that.” Cormac’s voice broke. “Please, Andrew. I love you. You know I love you.”

“Yeah, well, if this is love, God forbid I meet someone who hates me. You know what, Cormac? I hope you get whatever you’re looking for. Maybe a wife and kids and a male escort on the side. If you ever make it to the White House, the Secret Service might even send boy toys up to the Lincoln bedroom. But you and I are done.”

“Andrew.” Cormac sounded like he was crying. “Please. Please don’t—”

“I can’t believe I ever called you a real fucking man. You’re not a man at all. Just a cowardly piece of dirt.” Andrew disconnected. Then he shut off his phone, retreated into the shower, turned on the water full blast, and cried till no more tears would come.

* * *

“You’re brooding again.”

Andrew’s gaze snapped up. Marie was smiling at him. Her oxygen tank clicked as the compressor attached to her tubing delivered another milliliter of air. Either she was feeling better after a week at Sloan-Kettering, or she was putting on a cheery face for his benefit.

“Not brooding,” Andrew lied. “Thinking about seeing Dad tomorrow. I wish he could have brought Hugh.”

“Yeah. It’s a shame teachers don’t get more vacation time. I know Hugh wanted to come.” Marie coughed, less deep and torturous since that morning’s nurse-administered breathing treatment. What had begun as a simple head cold had turned into bronchitis, then double pneumonia. Sputum cultures had gone to the hospital lab. If the infectious agent turned out to be methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus, commonly called MRSA, most of Marie’s medicines would change. They might even send her to ICU.

“If I had to have a setback, why couldn’t it be at Christmas?” Marie continued. “Then at least school would be out. All I’m doing is torpedoing Thanksgiving for everyone.”

Andrew shrugged. “As far as Thanksgiving goes, Mom can’t cook. Dad does nothing but watch football. Besides, I’d be lying if I said I felt all that thankful.”

“You’ve got your health.” Marie’s tone was light.

“True. Sorry. Don’t know how I keep managing to forget that.”

“Yeah, well. At our age, being grateful for every breath isn’t exactly normal.” Marie ran her fingers through her inch-long hair. What had once been soft and medium blond was returning dark and coarse with a smattering of white. The fine crinkles around her eyes had multiplied; the lines on either side of her mouth had deepened. As the saying went, cancer wasn’t for sissies.

“So tell me,” Marie continued, stabbing Andrew with her most acute gaze. “When are you going to call Cormac and make up?”

Andrew gave an exasperated noise.

“I’m not saying you have to go out with him. Just offer an olive branch. Open the lines of communication.”

“Jeez. Marie. You know what he did was bogus. Hell, at first, you were madder than I was.”

“I know. But I've had a lot of time to think.” She looked out the window which provided a lovely, sun-drenched view of the cafeteria roof and maintenance van parking lot. “It must have scared the crap out of him, being confronted on live TV that way. If he'd said what he really thought, he might have lost everything.”

“Yeah, well, he got his position by lying. Running on a platform called Defending Tradition.”

“Technically, he wasn’t lying. Not then,” Marie said. “You told me he chose that phrase to please his mom. She must have done a number on him, if he stayed a virgin for so long.”

“So you’re saying there’s nothing worse than being forced to tell the truth?” Andrew challenged his sister. “Especially if it means risking the big paycheck and fancy office?”

Marie didn’t answer. The oxygen compressor clicked, delivering another breath. Then she said, “I don’t know. Neither do you. Even when I was working, I was just a massage therapist. I could have gotten the same salary and perks at Macy’s, if I'd played my cards right. And Andrew, no offense, but you never got anywhere with the acting gigs. Gay-for-pay is all about your looks and your ability to lie.”

Andrew felt a rush of unexpected anger. “What exactly are you saying?”

“I’m saying, neither of us knows what it’s like to climb the ladder. To be halfway toward your goal and have a pack of reporters come at you like wild dogs, trying to take it all away.
No
,” she emphasized, reading Andrew’s face all too easily. “I’m not defending one word Cormac said. I’m only pointing out he had a lot to lose. So much, he screwed up.”

“I don’t want to discuss Cormac,” Andrew snapped. “Don’t feel like talking about me, either.”

“Fine.”

They sat in silence for a time. Marie kept her face turned toward the window while Andrew looked around the room, searching for something else to talk about.

“Have you picked out a new book for me to read to you?”

“No.” Marie’s voice was hollow. “No point starting something I’ll never finish.”

“Marie—”

“
Andy
.” She looked him in the eye. “I’ll be dead in six months. Maybe before New Year’s. Why do you think Dad’s dropping everything to fly back? Because the miracle drug is working?” Her voice was bitter. “I swear, I didn’t expect to be spared when babies die every day and the children’s ward is full of terminal cases. I just thought I might have a little longer, time to do something with my life, to make a difference….”

“Hey.” Pushing down the guardrail, Andrew climbed into the hospital bed with his sister, taking her into his arms and holding her tight. “Stop it. Please. Don’t talk like this.”

She started to cry, weak soundless tears sliding down her Prednisone-swollen cheeks. “I wish I felt differently. I wish I was brave. I’m such a failure.”

Throat closing, Andrew cast about for something to say. But in the end all he could do was hold her, rocking Marie until exhaustion pulled her into fitful sleep.

* * *

“I thought you were working tonight,” Connie Reynolds said when Andrew arrived late the next afternoon. She was knitting a baby blanket, sky blue, for a friend back home in Kansas. “Standing by backstage in case the, uh, lead actor couldn’t continue.”

“Stage manager gave me the night off.” Andrew glanced at Jake Reynolds, sitting beside Marie’s bed with a box of his daughter’s childhood treasures nearby. Believing personal talismans would help, Jake had flown in laden with many artifacts from Marie’s old bedroom: softball trophies, yearbooks, and stuffed animals. “Has she woken up?”

“Not since I’ve been here.” Jake looked like he hadn’t slept for days. “Dr. Czarnecki said changing the meds to formulas that could take on MRSA would cause a lot of fatigue.”