First You Fall: A Kevin Connor Mystery (18 page)

“Yes,” the man said.

“Louder!”

“Yes!”

“Make me believe it!”

“Yes!”

“If you can’t make me believe you mean it, then how can you make
yourself
believe it?” Michael raged at him.

“YES!” the man screamed like a lunatic.

Michael threw his hands to the sky in a silent hal elujah. “That’s it! That’s the passion. You have to believe! You have the power! Al of you, together now: Can You Change?”

It was hard to tel in the darkened room, but I’d say about three quarters of the audience answered with various degrees of enthusiasm, including Freddy. I turned to look at him.

“I got caught up in the moment.” He shrugged. “I thought he was talking about changing my outfit.” I scowled.

But the truth was, it was easy to get caught up in Michael Harrington’s moments.

Have you ever seen a TV infomercial that seemed to be too good to be true? Someone tel ing you that you could make ten thousand dol ars a week extra income with no investment of time or money? A pitchman extol ing the virtues of a vitamin that would turn back the clock and melt off the pounds? A motivational speaker promising you that his life management system can add hours to your day and years to your life?

And even though you knew—knew!—there was no way the product could meet those claims—were you ever tempted to pick up the phone and order?

Those spokespeople have their jobs for a reason.

There are some people who are just natural persuaders, people whose charisma and carriage and charm strike just the right chords to be convincing on even the most spurious claims.

Michael Harrington was one of those people.

Fantastical y attractive, deep-voiced with authority, he strode the stage like an athlete about to set a world record.

As he spoke on, it was hard not to get excited and believe. Some of what he told us was what anyone would want to hear. We “have the power.” We “are in charge.” We “control our destinies.”

Some of what he said were generalities that could apply to anyone, but when he looked into the audience, you felt he was looking into your soul. Your mother “loved you, but she couldn’t love you enough, and not in the right ways. You worshiped your father, but you feared him, because you were always afraid you couldn’t measure up. When you hit adolescence, you felt different from the other kids, apart from the other boys, frightened of the blossoming girls, awkward and alone.”

Wel , who didn’t feel awkward when they were growing hair in new places, erupting in acne and springing inopportune boners? But if you were looking for a cure, looking for someone who understood you and could lead you to a better place, Michael Harrington would be easy to fol ow.

Then, he spoke specifical y about homosexuality.

How gay men were stuck in a developmental stage,

“like a caterpil ar that never emerged from the cocoon.” That we needed to “break free, to spread our wings, to fly (that word again!)”. That any behavior can be changed through the right kind of conditioning and support.

At the end, he threw in references to a higher power. We were not fol owing Mother Nature’s plan.

We needed to get back to what the Lord had intended for us.

“I don’t get it,” Freddy whispered to me. “Is it God who’s in charge or Mother Nature?”

“I think they’re the same person,” I whispered back.

“Like in drag?” Freddy asked.

Throughout the message, Michael planted seeds of self-hatred and doubt. Weren’t we there because we knew we were on the incorrect path? Didn’t we always sense there was something wrong with us, something deep inside? Didn’t we want to live a life congruent with society’s values? Didn’t we want to make our parents proud of us?

“Wel you can!” Michael thundered. “You have the power! And so, I ask you
one more time:
Can You Change?”

This time the crowd roared. “Yes!” they cried with one voice. They clapped and shouted and whooped it up like Oprah’s audience being told they had al won brand new Buicks.

“OK,” Freddy whispered, “this is a bit much.”

“Ya think?”

Suddenly, the lights came on ful force. We blinked in the sudden bril iance. The room became sober again. “Just by coming here today, you’ve al taken the first step towards reclaiming your lives and your identities as men,” Michael smiled. “Any questions?” A man in the third row raised his hand. Michael nodded at him.

“Excuse me,” the man asked Michael, standing up, “I’m wondering if you’d like to go on a date?” The audience was shocked by the audacity of the man’s proposal. A few men gasped, one hissed.

Michael glowered. “Excuse me?”

“Wel , since I figured that’s the last time I’m ever going to ask another man out, it might as wel be one who’s as good looking as you!”

The audience exploded with laughter and applause. Michael grinned. The man went on.

“No, real y, you can’t imagine how much you’ve inspired me today. I came here with, wel , not exactly no expectations, but pretty low ones. But a friend I know, he went through your program, and, he’s real y doing it, you know? He’s dating a girl at work now and he says it’s not too b … wel , he says he’s real y getting used to it. And I just thought, wel , why not; let’s give it a shot, because I’ve been so unhappy for so long and,” the man’s voice caught for a moment and I real y hoped he wasn’t going to start crying,

“wel , I guess I don’t real y have a question.” He sat back down again.

Michael smiled warmly at the man. He put out his hand. “Come up here.”

The man walked to the front of the room and turned to face us. He looked to be in his early thirties. He was tal , thin, and had one of the worst cases of post-adolescent acne I’ve ever seen. If Michael were honest, he’d tel this guy to skip the counseling and get to a dermatologist.

Michael put his arm around him. “You’re going to do it, friend. Our program combines counseling, peer support, positive reinforcement, neuro-associative conditioning, hypnosis and, where indicated, even pharmaceutical assistance that wil make it impossible for you
not
to change!”

“He left out the pods,” Freddy whispered.

No, I thought, but he’s thrown pretty much everything else into the mix. Hypnosis? Drugs? Dr.

Chambers was right—it takes a lot to suppress someone’s natural orientation.

Michael pul ed the guy closer and put his other hand on the guy’s stomach. Right above his belt. It was almost sexual. “And the next time I put my arm around you,” Michael continued, “I promise you, you won’t be hoping my hand slides lower.”

The room again broke into laughter and applause.

Michael put both his arms around the guy and squeezed him tight. I could swear he even ground his crotch into him a little. He released him and, with a pat on his ass, sent him back to his seat. The crowd was stil laughing and cheering. I looked at the guy’s crotch and thought he might have gotten a little chubby from Michael’s teasing.

I thought about something else Dr. Chambers said, that many of these “ex-gays” were gay themselves. Michael was total y butch and said homophobic things, but he was also single. Where, I wondered, did he fal on the Kinsey scale?

Michael looked out at the audience again. He took a few more questions and answered them with the professional aplomb of a talk show host. Every time his eyes glanced our way, we slunk low in our chairs to avoid detection.

At the end of the session, Michael marched triumphantly out a door at the front of the room to cheers and applause. Immediately, two fresh-faced young men with clipboards came in to announce that anyone interested in signing up for a discounted one-on-one introductory session should fil out one of the forms they were handing out.

“Can we leave now, or do I have to attend the individual brain washing session, too?” Freddy asked.

“Come on,” I said, as we slinked toward the back door. I noticed only one other guy was leaving without signing up. A pretty-good-looking guy who was one of the youngest in the room. One of the staff members gave the three of us a dirty look.

Sorry, I thought, no sale.

Right outside the room was a restroom.

“Darling,” Freddy said, “I need to powder my nose. Want to join me.”

“No,” I said, “I’l wait out here.”

I was looking at some flyers on the wal when I felt someone come up from behind me.

I turned around. Michael Harrington was standing there.

“Leaving so soon?”

I looked up at him. And he was tal enough that I real y did have to look up.

He grinned. “One might think your interest in my seminar was less than sincere. Did you real y think I didn’t see you there?” His words were a little harsh, but his delivery was charming, frisky. His eyes wrinkled with amusement.

It was a completely different face than the one he had shown me at the lawyer’s office. Gone was the officious authority figure. Now he was playful, teasing. Provocative.

“That was quite a performance,” I said.

Michael stepped closer. A chal enge. “Did you like it?”

I stepped closer too. If either of us moved another inch, we’d be touching. “Very much. Very inspiring.” I tossed back my hair, bit my lower lip. “You had the audience in the palm of your hand.”

“How about you,” he asked. “Where did I have you?”

“That depends,” I husked. “Where do you want me?”

Michael’s eyes burned into mine. “You’re flirting with me.”

“Like you were flirting with the guy you brought up?” I asked. “You know, the one you felt up in front of us?”

“That’s my job,” Michael said. “It’s a seduction, you see? Al sales are a seduction. You of al people know that.”

“You seemed to enjoy it.” I was trying to figure out what makes him tick.

“What I enjoy about my job,” Michael said, “is the opportunity to help people.”

“I bet.”

“Believe it or not,” Michael said, “I’d like to help you, too.”

Michael wanted something, but I didn’t know what.

Any other man and I’d be thinking he wanted to bang me. But Michael had made a career out of hating homosexuals,

and

teaching

them

to

hate

themselves.

Of course, be they preachers or politicians, most of the people who are real y rabid about homosexuality are just acting out on their own repression.

Or, Michael could just be playing me. But to what end? To throw me off the track of his father’s murder? To convince me he real y was an OK guy?

And, to be brutal y honest, standing next to his rampant hotness, feeling the undeniable sexual energy he exuded, I could think of worse places I could be than
mano y mano
in his office.

I decided to play along. “Real y?” I asked, doing my best to sound naive. “You think you could help me?”

“I do. Why don’t you lose your friend and come with me to my office?”

“Just the two of us?”

Michael put his hand on my shoulder. I could feel the cotton of my shirt begin to smolder. Nobody this sexy could be al bad.

“Just the two of us,” he said. “It may take al night, though.” He winked and gave my arm a gentle squeeze.

My knees buckled. There was something that was just very… compel ing about this man.

“Wel , maybe …” I began

Michael’s smile widened, baring his teeth.

When you hustle for a living, there’s a look you learn to watch out for. It’s a look that’s not just excited, not just aroused, but feral.

It’s not a look that says “I want to have fun with you.”

It says “I want to hurt you. And I’m going to enjoy it.”

Men like that especial y like to hurt cute little boys like me.

Michael Harrington had that look.

Who’s afraid of the big, bad wolf? I was. I took half a step back.

“Sorry,” I said, “I can’t leave my friend.” Speaking of which, where the fuck was Freddy? “Maybe some other time?”

Michael closed the distance between us. “You sure? Maybe you’d enjoy it?”

I took a ful step back this time. “How about tomorrow?”

Michael’s grip on my arm tightened. It didn’t feel sexy anymore. It felt like a vise.

“Just for a minute,” he said. “We’l look at my book and schedule some time for later in the week.” I hesitated.

“Come on.” He put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed. He pul ed me close enough that I could feel the strong bulge of his pectoral muscles.

Had I misread him? He pul ed me closer, ruffled my hair.

“Don’t be a knucklehead,” he said. “Come on.” I was being paranoid. No one who wants to hurt you cal s you “knucklehead,” right? I was just about to tel him “sure” when my knight in sequined armor reappeared.

“For a man who’s so fucking straight,” Freddy said, “you can’t seem to keep your hands off guys.” Michael looked up at him and growled. Yes, he actual y growled.

Gone was the playful big brother, the charming seducer. This was the Michael I first met at Tamela Steel’s office. This was the wolf.

“Ah, if it isn’t the sidekick,” said Michael. “Your friend and I were just going to make an appointment.

How about you wait here and we’l be right back?” Freddy moved to my side. “How about I come along?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Freddy looked at me.

“We come as a set,” I said, feigning casualness.

“Maybe you could help my friend, too.”