A Kind of Truth (12 page)

“Jesus.”

“It wasn’t the worst reaction ever. He didn’t kick me out or beat the crap out of me. He hit me, then he just… stared at me like he was willing me to tell him I was joking. When I didn’t say anything, he told me the conversation never happened. I was banned from seeing Sean, banned from the library and a host of other things I can’t remember anymore. One of them may have been speaking to him ’cause I don’t think we’ve said more than a handful of words since then. ‘Pass the pepper’ and eventually ‘maybe you’re better off going to New York’ were about it.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen. It was almost six years ago exactly. I survived those last two years living at home by avoiding my dad whenever possible. He did the same. He remembered I was around when I started applying for college. He made it clear I was expected to attend the private university in Pennsylvania where he and Mom met, but I’d lobbied for NYU and even applied against his wishes. It really pissed him off. I started leaving brochures around the house to make him nuts. But the final straw was when I left one in a copy of E.M. Forster’s
Maurice
and highlighted the line ‘You confuse what’s important with what’s impressive.’ The next day my mother told me I could go to NYU.”

“Passive-aggressiveness at its finest,” I commented with a laugh as I adjusted my guitar in front of me. I ran my fingers over the strings but kept my gaze focused on Will.

“Yes and no. He didn’t mention that he wasn’t willing to pay for it or support me at all. He paid for the first semester, then pulled the rug out without letting me know. I should have known something was up at Christmas that year. He hardly looked at me. I didn’t find out until I went back to the city and was met with a bigass bill I had no way of paying. My mom tried to help, but in the end her suggestion was to call Martin Kanzler. The rest, as they say, is history.”

“Marty the Molester? Does she know about him?”

“No, of course not! He’s not a molester, idiot. He’s just… quirky, kinky, or whatever you want to call it. My parents went to college with him. They’re friends. My mom thought he might agree to lend me the money to get through my second semester. It would give me time to apply for loans for the next year or give her time to talk my dad into not being a prick. Or for me to take back my words and tell him I was just going through a phase.”

“You decided to go a different route, eh?”

“I took the money for that second semester because I felt like I had no choice. It was that or go home. I think my dad wanted me to fail and come crawling back for help. I met with Marty a couple months ago to discuss the ‘terms’ of the loan. Since I’m graduating and am about to take on even more debt in grad school, I was hoping he’d give me a slight reprieve and let me begin paying him back in another two years. He said he was open to that, but he had another idea.”

“What was your initial reaction? It’s a little outside the norm to be propositioned to dress as a chick. Even in New York.”

“You’d be surprised,” he said with a short laugh. “I thought it was… different, but after I got over the initial shock, I didn’t think it sounded so bad. I’ve always loved—never mind. Dressing up to go to a few clubs and bars wearing heels and a dress sounded like a piece of cake. My friend Benny is in theater. I knew he’d help me with the makeup. It seemed like a sweet way to pay off thirty grand fast.”

“Thirty grand?” I repeated with comically wide eyes.

Will nodded solemnly. “Yep. It was an unconventional choice that some people might find… distasteful, but I’m not sorry I tried it. It amounted to a few ‘dates,’ and I learned something about my own limits. I can’t decide if the best or worst part was that I got a strange thrill doing something I knew would make my dad apoplectic if he ever found out. I don’t know what that says about me. Probably nothing good. No one in my story is sympathetic. My dad is a homophobic prick, my mom is cold but she tries… I think. And I’m… an opportunist. A spoiled kid who got what he wanted, then made some unorthodox adjustments when it went sideways instead of doing the honorable thing.”

“By ‘honorable’ you mean go into debt?”

“Oh, I’m in debt all right. I owe Martin thirty, but I owe close to two hundred thousand dollars in student loans.”

“Two hundred thousand? Holy shit,” I yelped, jumping to my feet.

“I know. I’m in debt up to my eyeballs. And I’m in music and theater. Jobs out of college in my field don’t pay great, so chances are good it will take years for me to crawl out of this hole. No, the honorable thing, according to my parents, would be to renounce my words. Deny my gayness.”

“Is that why you’re thinking of going back in the closet? Is it to please them?”

Will shrugged and looked out the window for a long moment. “I thought things would be different here. It’s a great city, but it hasn’t changed me. Not really. Once upon a time, I at least had a family I could count on. Now I’m alone, and whenever I see my family, it’s… uncomfortable. It’s hard being alone all the time. But that isn’t the only reason. My dad asked me to do it. As a favor.”

“Recently?”

“At Christmas. I told him I’d think about it. That’s what I’m doing. I’m thinking about it.”

“But why? I don’t get it. You haven’t given yourself a chance. I haven’t known you long, but c’mon, Will, you barely go out! You won’t go to clubs or bars unless you’re in disguise. How will you meet anyone else like you?”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve to tell me I should step out of the closet when you’re in your own. Bars and clubs aren’t my scene. It’s not—”

“Because you haven’t tried. There’s part of you that’s still the little geeky kid from a Podunk town who wants to do what Mommy and Daddy say. I have my own reasons for not blasting my sexuality to the world… and I’m not saying they’re noble by any means, but—”

“Then don’t say anything! You don’t know who I am or where I’m from. Don’t judge me until you’re ready to tell the world who you really are, Rand. Not that it matters. Being bi is nowhere near the same.”

“You mean you think being bi makes me closer to straight than gay?”

Will shrugged. “Doesn’t it? I’m nowhere close to straight. I could never even pretend to be interested in a woman.”

“Well, if you ask the average straight man, he’d probably say the fact I love sucking cock makes me closer to gay. The thing about being bi is it’s hard to explain. It’s the gray line in between that gay and straight people don’t trust,” I commented with a shrug as I looked out the window. Only the tops of barren trees in the park and the muted pewter sky were visible. There was no real diversion to offer from uncomfortable conversation twists.

“So that’s why you decided not to come out as bi?”

“Initially, yes. I didn’t want to waste time talking about sex when I’m trying to sell music. But I changed my mind. I don’t think fracturing myself to appease anyone’s sensibilities for the sake of a sale is a good thing. Not in the long run. I haven’t had the opportunity to tell my buddies or our manager, but I will. I can’t see myself making a giant statement immediately. No one knows us on a bigger stage, and I want the music to speak for us. But if someone asks… I won’t lie.”

“So you’ve changed your mind about us?” His voice was so low I might not have heard him if I wasn’t standing close.

“No. Nothing has to change. I understand things aren’t so simple for you. I may not have come from the same place, but that doesn’t mean I’m naïve about the measure of tolerance and acceptance so-called good people dole out like currency. I’ve seen it. The playing field isn’t equal no matter what the laws say. People will always look at the surface and judge without knowing the real story. I hate the unfairness of it all. It’s a bullshit world sometimes. Don’t speak too loud, don’t upset the balance. Fuck that. Honesty isn’t always pleasant, but it’s better than ignorance. I don’t want to be a hypocrite. I don’t want to sell my soul by sharing the ‘accepted’ part to make a buck. I’ll regret it. I’m speaking only for myself now. You’ll make your own decisions. I’m nobody… yet,” I said with a wicked grin. “Nobody cares who I sleep with. But when the time comes, I’ll be honest. I’m a terrible liar, anyway. I should have known denying myself wouldn’t work. It’s been three months since I swore off guys for good. And then you came along.”

“What will your band say? Terry won’t like it.”

“Now I’m coming out for sure,” I exclaimed, rolling my eyes. “Terry won’t be around by then. In the meantime, I’ll stay on the DL for your sake. In case you decide the closet is your home,” I teased, reaching out to tweak his ear.

“We’ll see what happens,” Will responded, swatting my hand away. “So we’re still on?”

I nodded, strangely turned on by his bashful smile. My dick twitched in my jeans, and suddenly I needed more. I pushed my guitar behind my back again and cupped his neck to bring him close to me. Our noses brushed and our lips touched. Not a true kiss, more of a whisper. His instrument between us did nothing to sever the connection. I felt in sync with him. We weren’t playing music and we weren’t naked. But the moment felt intimate.

Until I opened my mouth.

“Right. Lipstick, fishnets, and sequins optional.”

Will threw his head back and laughed. “You want me to dress up?”

“Just be yourself. If you feel like it, it’s cool by me.”

“Thanks.” His eyes sparkled with a sort of gratitude that made me feel ten feet tall. “Come on. Let’s get to work.”

“All right. I started something new, but it’s pretty raw.” I strummed a couple chords and sang a line I’d memorized from my notes. “‘Golden brown, green-eyed boy or a platinum blonde with a….’ What’s next? I could add fishnet hose and a—”

“Is this about me?”

“Maybe. Yes. Probably.”

“Hmph. My eyes are brown. Not green. Why not write about the city or—?”

“Too predictable. And your eyes aren’t just brown. They’re golden and green, like a cat’s. My words. No arguing. Anyway, I’d like to keep it upbeat, kind of like—”

“Like ‘Brown Eyed Girl’? You aren’t writing a same-sex version of that classic, are you?” he asked, obviously amused. I had the feeling he wasn’t sure how he got stuck with me and was surprised to find he didn’t mind so much after all.

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea.” I pointedly ignored his amused snort as I strummed a few rough chords.

Will smirked and playfully improvised a catchy hook. It was eerily close to what I was trying to inexpertly play.

“Exactly! That’s it!” I paced while I tried a few new chords and hummed along.

He immediately reworked them and added the first portion, then played the short melody from the top. I tried to keep up with him, but he was further ahead than me. Will could hear things I couldn’t, and he wasn’t afraid to bend the notes to fit. He was musically fearless. I listened in awe for a few minutes, then struck my hand over the strings on my guitar to get his attention. He was becoming consumed, and I had to ask one more question before he got lost in the music and took me with him.

“Hey, stop for a second. I was gonna ask if—”

“If what?”

“How about a redo? Let’s go to the movies. Two guys, no shame. Take back the night your folks found out you were a gay boy and make it yours. What do you say?”

Will stared at me with his mouth open. When I set my hand on his chin, he smiled, then looked down at his strings to hide the faint pink blush on his cheeks.

“I’d love to.”

I nodded with a nonchalance I didn’t feel and willed the heat on my own face to subside as I listened carefully to him coax a new sound from his instrument. I couldn’t say why, but the moment felt like a beginning. A blank page, no words, no music, no real expectation. Anything could happen… or nothing. Starting now.

“WHAT DO
you think about changing the drums at the end of ‘Lost Boy’ to something like this? Hello? Earth to Rand.”

“Oh. Sorry. Sounds good.” I glanced up at Tim from my perch on a stool in the practice studio to indicate I was listening, then back down at my guitar. The band had been together all afternoon practicing. Maybe the meeting a couple weeks ago had helped because I thought we sounded pretty damn good. We weren’t making as many mistakes on songs we should have been able to play in our sleep, which left us time to work on newer material. I loved the creative process. I wrote most of the lyrics, but everyone in the band collaborated musically. It was invigorating to hear my friends’ interpretations to my words. Tim and Cory laid the backbeat while I worked on rhythm, and Terry…. Well, he tried.

Tim set his sticks aside and crossed the room to straddle the stool Terry had just vacated. He and Cory left together to hang out with Holly and Leah. The girls had come by earlier to hang out. I never minded playing to an audience, even if it was tiny. What I did mind was the weird way Terry baited me when they’d walked into the studio. He made a point of fondling Leah’s breasts and cupping her ass while he checked her fillings. I wasn’t a prude by any means, but there was something more there than a guy simply greeting a girl he liked. It seemed contrived.

And then there was Leah. She was always somewhere near me. It was innocent in a way. Her conversation was never overtly flirtatious, but there was something in the way she looked at me with slightly parted lips and meaningful stares that made it clear she wouldn’t mind having
my
hands all over her ass. Maybe Terry noticed and hoped taunting me would get under my skin. I wanted to say it wasn’t working… but it was. Not because I was jealous, but because I hated the distraction. As long as we were playing, I could tune out the background nonsense. When the music stopped, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I went bat-shit crazy. Hopefully I’d find a replacement before then.

“What’s on your mind?”

I refocused on Tim’s concerned frown and offered my friend a sly grin. “Are you worried about me, honey?”

“I always worry, shnookums. Whatcha doin’ tonight? Want to come to Boots with me later?”

I snorted and shook my head. “No thanks. I’m busy.”

“Doing?”