A Kind of Truth (29 page)

“Go on, Rand. Go to your meeting.”

“Will you be here when I get back?”

He smiled weakly and turned away.

I stared at the empty space in a kind of trance. Every nerve ending in my body was buzzing. I didn’t know how to proceed. I was torn between an almost-mesmerizing paralysis and the need to do something. Fix something. But as I stood with my fists clenched and my heart in my throat, I was overwhelmed with fear. Maybe I did want too much. Maybe I was the hypocrite who asked for more than he was willing to give. I didn’t want to be that man. The idea alone was enough to stop me cold. Everyone had their own agenda. Everyone had their own truth. Mine was my music. For the first time in my life, I had a feeling it wasn’t enough.

BY THE
time I pushed open the glass door to the conference room in Suite Dog’s deserted office, I was a certified wreck. I knew I had to give Will space to deal with his parents, but it took everything I had to walk away and attend this “damage control” impromptu meeting. I could only hope it was a short one. Unfortunately the second I stepped into the room and saw the serious expressions of the men gathered around the table, I knew my crappy morning was about to get worse.

“Did you read the
Times
?” Cory asked, leaning forward on his elbows. In deference to the August weather, we were all dressed in T-shirts and shorts. No doubt we were wearing matching anxious expressions.

“CNN. Where’s Ed?” I asked, flopping gracelessly into the nearest chair.

Tim pointed to the doorway just as the man in question materialized. Ed set a few water bottles on the table, then slapped my shoulder in a companionable gesture I read as reassurance before taking the seat next to me. He sat at the edge of his chair and cast a look at everyone gathered before he spoke.

“We have a situation. It’s not a big deal, but it needs to be addressed and we need to be on the same page, which is why I asked you all here.”

I didn’t miss that every eye was on me, but I was a beat or two behind and not interested in playing guessing games. I raised my brow and uncapped a water bottle while I waited for Ed to get to the fucking point. Ed met my gaze and let out a rush of air.

“Leah quit. She left a cryptic message about political bullshit I couldn’t decipher until I saw today’s headlines.”

“Leah did this, didn’t she?” The question was rhetorical. Like Will said, it had to be someone from the inside. No one else outside the band would have known who he was without being told.

“Maybe it was her. Maybe it was that Terry guy. He left a message after Will’s last show that sounded like a ransom note. Leah said she’d handle him and—well, here we are. We’ll assign you a new PR person immediately. We can spin this, man. I’m not worried. The bi angle obviously is the best way to explain it, but the relationship part is trickier. The other pictures of you and Will aren’t going to be so easy—”

“What other pictures?”

Tim, Cory, and Mike looked at me with something akin to sorrow as Ed opened a manila folder and pulled out a sheath of grainy photos. They were all recent pictures of Will and me. Some were of us in LA. Hanging out on a towel at the beach with our feet entwined. Or leaning across a table for two at the exclusive restaurant in West Hollywood we found on our last night. There were a few taken in the past couple of days of us doing everyday, boring things like walking in the park. But in every photo, the way we looked at each other gave us away. We were completely oblivious to anyone around us.

I willed the wave of nausea aside as I reached for the water bottle again. My mouth was cottony and I felt warm all over, like I was sitting outside under the blistering sun instead of in an air-conditioned office building.

“Who took these?” I don’t know why I asked. I knew Leah was responsible.

Ed shrugged. “My guess is Leah hired someone, but I don’t know. The solution is you come out as bi and make it sound like a short-term fling. We can fix this. I’ll set you up with a hot chick and we’ll make sure to take pictures of you—”

“Hang on. Do you think they’re going to sell these to the media too?”

“If they’re out for the money and a little revenge… yeah. The media or Mr. Sanders directly. Whoever will pay more. As far as Spiral is concerned, it’s free publicity we need to manage well. The object in the music business is to build an audience. Finding out a temporary band member’s megaconservative dad is running for governor will take a little finessing, but as the saying goes… there’s no such thing as bad publicity. Well, not for us anyway.”

I took another sip and waited for him to fill the heavy pause. I could tell he had more to say, and I knew I wouldn’t like it.

“The thing is… you’ll need to distance yourself from Will. At least until this dies down. It should be easier now that he’s not playing with the band and—hang on, man. Where are you going? We need to discuss—”

Fuck that. I was out the door and down the hallway in seconds flat. I heard Cory calling after me as I stabbed at the elevator button. They could spend the day brainstorming about branding the band’s image based on fucked-up publicity while I figured out how to damage control my personal life.

I SHIELDED
my eyes from the morning sun before realizing my sunglasses were perched on my head. I dialed Will’s number as I raised my arm to hail a taxi. Details, like what I’d say or how I’d fix things hadn’t come to me yet. I was an expert at getting myself out of difficult situations. Charm and a dose of humor usually worked wonders. However, my confidence was shaken by my conscience. As much as I wanted to blame Terry and Leah for being lowlife assholes, I knew I was equally to blame. I should have been watching out for him. I should have warned him that she knew who he was. I’d thought at the time I’d kept it from him so it wouldn’t upset him. Maybe the truth was that I knew it might lead to the calamity unfolding around me now. Will was right. I was a selfish prick.

“Babe, are you home? I’m done at the studio. I’m on my way back. We’re gonna be okay. We just need to talk, okay? Call me.”

I hopped in the taxi and stared at my cell, willing it to light up. My screen lit up almost immediately with a text from Tim, followed by one from Cory. I sighed and flipped it over. I couldn’t deal with everything at once. Will came first.

I PAID
the driver and raced inside my building, nearly knocking over a jogger in my haste. The elevator ride was quick, which was good and bad. Good because I was in a hurry. Bad because I still didn’t know how to handle this. I let myself in my condo and immediately knew something was wrong.

I took a brief look around. The sparsely furnished living room looked like it had before we’d gone out last night. Sheet music was stacked neatly on a corner of the coffee table. I glanced across the great room to the kitchen. My laptop was still on the island, but the broken pieces of the coffee mug he’d shattered in a rage had been picked up.

“Will?” I made my way to the master suite.

The room was so damn white. Blindingly so. The walls were white. The sheets and comforter were white. Sunlight flooded the area, making everything seem stark, cold, and empty. There was no one here. I pushed the closet door open. His clothes were gone. His shoes were gone. I moved into the bathroom. His toothbrush was gone. I opened the drawers, hoping to find lipstick, glitter… anything he might come back for.

There was nothing. He was gone.

A BUZZING
noise roused me from my thoughts later that night. I set my guitar aside to answer the doorman’s cheerful voice telling me I had a delightful visitor named Benny. I sighed heavily, resting my forehead against the wall for a long moment.

“Okay.”

Maybe Benny could tell me how to get ahold of Will. I’d left multiple text and voice messages, but he’d ignored them all. I’d gone by his apartment, the university, and loitered around Washington Square Park for a while. When I started to feel like a stalker, I came home, picked up my guitar, and dodged every call from people desperate to get ahold of me in an effort not to miss the one I hoped to get from the guy who wasn’t returning his messages.

I held the front door open for Benny.

“Hi. You look like hell. Pale, pasty. I might have a little powder in my bag if you—”

“Benny. I’ve been calling you. Is he with you?”

He gave me a head-to-toe once-over, then moved into the living room. He sat on the sofa and nodded. “Yes. I’m here to give you the key. I was supposed to leave it with Keith downstairs but—here.” He set it on the coffee table, then fixed me with a sad expression.

I shook my head and slumped on the opposite end of the sofa. “Is he okay?”

Benny shrugged. “No, but he will be. He’s stronger than he seems, but you know him. He does things his own way. Give him time to think things through. His conversation with his folks didn’t go well. They’re blaming him. Told him not to fool himself… you were using him all along to further your career—”

“That’s bullshit!”

“I know. So does he, but you know how it goes… people twist the truth all the time. Turn on the news when you think you can stomach it. It must be a slow day because it’s all over the place. ‘Governor hopeful’s son comes out as a gay cross-dresser.’”

“Fuck.”

“Well said. How about you? Are you okay?”

“No. And I don’t know what to do to make things right. I hate feeling so helpless. I need to talk to him.”

“Be patient. But don’t give up.” He patted my knee and stood.

“Wait.” I jumped to my feet and handed him the key. “Take this. Tell him the doorman wasn’t there. Make up something. Just don’t… leave it.”

Benny nodded solemnly and gave me a hug. “You’re a good guy, Rand. Make something good happen.”

He was gone before I could respond. I picked up my computer and said a quick prayer the most recent headlines weren’t as bad as Benny claimed.

They were worse.

Political bullshit about agendas and campaign platforms based on family values. Will’s name was thrown about carelessly with adjectives like “queer cross-dresser” as though those were the only adjectives to describe someone as amazingly talented and vibrant as him. It was grossly unfair. I felt like the punkass teenager I once was, raging against the system. But I wasn’t a kid anymore. I was smarter now than I was then. I had power. I just had to figure out how to use it.

TWO DAYS
later, I was still at a loss. How could I do anything if he wouldn’t talk to me? I had to know what he was up against before things got out of hand. The story was buried under bigger headlines when a hurricane ripped through the Southeast. I asked Ed about making a statement, but he was adamant we keep things quiet on our end. Spiral wasn’t a household name. We hadn’t even recorded our first single yet. We were small fish in a big pond. All we had was promise. Ed’s strategy was for the band to lie low until we were due in the studio to record. I had a headful of worry and way too much time on my hands.

Thank God for bagels.

“GOOD MORNING,
Randall. How are you this beautiful Tuesday?” George greeted me at the back door with his customary welcoming smile. He held out his arm with a flourish as though he were inviting me inside the most wondrous place on earth. I held back my eye roll and admitted to myself that I was grateful for this silly familiar tradition. What had begun as a means to remain focused and clear-minded had become an unlikely refuge. It was like being on a treadmill for me. It gave me a break from my thoughts and a place to interact with people whose main focus wasn’t music. They were there for bagels and pleasant conversation.

I followed George into the storefront and listened to his newest gripe about Zeke’s boyfriend. Something about him not attending a family birthday party, which George found extremely offensive.

“I wish Ezekiel would see that man is using him! Do you know anyone nice? Maybe if he met someone unexpected and charming, he’d come to his senses.”

“I don’t know anyone appropriate, George. I’m the kind of guy you don’t bring home to Mom and Dad. Same goes for most of my friends.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re a good man, Randall. You have a good soul. I know these things.”

I kept my head down as I tied my apron strings. It probably wasn’t polite to tell George he didn’t know shit. “What do you need me to do first?”

“You can—” He furrowed his heavy brow and set his hand on my forehead like a worried parent. “You don’t look so good. What’s wrong? Is it William?”

Maybe it was the kindness in his eyes or his concerned tone, but I cracked. I literally wanted to break down and fucking cry like a kid because I was frustrated as hell that I didn’t know how to fix the mess I felt horribly responsible for.

I bit the inside of my cheek and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Did you break up? Is he ill? What happened?”

I didn’t stand a chance with George. He was too real and his worry was too genuine. It had been less than forty-eight hours since my world began to collapse. I could use a friend. I told him everything. I told him about Terry, guitar lessons with Will, and even about discovering Will dressed in drag. I told him about his cold, conservative parents who were focused on him keeping his sexuality a secret for the sake of political aspirations. I lamented their lack of appreciation for his talent as I paced the store impatiently.

“He’s a prodigy, Mr. G. A once-in-a-lifetime type of musician. I’ve never been around anyone so gifted and so… good.”

“You’re in love with the boy, aren’t you?”

I gave a funny half laugh that wouldn’t fool anyone, but I couldn’t say the words out loud. Not when my throat was choked with tears that wouldn’t fall.

“If you love him, Randall, you better make sure he knows.”

“Love isn’t the thing. It’s his dad, the record deal…. I should probably tell you I’ll need to quit at some point. I’m not ready now but… eventually.”

“What does that mean? Love isn’t the thing. Love is the only thing that counts. Nothing is impossible if you love him. His parents may have a perfectly valid reason for what they believe and how they want to conduct their lives, but so do you. So does William. You may not agree with their philosophy and vice versa, but that’s not important. What matters is doing what is right for you. Are you going to let someone else dictate who or what can make you happy?”