Adam's Daughter (49 page)

Kellen stared at Tyler, taken back. She touched his arm. “Tyler, I don’t want to argue.”

“Forget it,” he said quickly. When he saw the look on her face, his eyes softened. “Trust me, Kellen. I can take care of myself.”

Before either could say anything more, Clark returned to the table, apologizing for his absence. “I got a really great tip from a real estate guy
that will make a lead item,” he said, grabbing his coat. He kissed Kellen’s cheek. “Dinner next week? My place?”

With a hurried goodbye, Clark was gone. Kellen and Tyler sat quietly for a moment without looking at each other.

“Well, I’d better get home,” Kellen said, rising. Tyler followed. They paused just outside the door.

“I don’t mean to be hard on you,
Tyler,” Kellen said. “It’s just that I hardly see you these days.”

Tyler pulled up the collar of his sport coat against the cold.

Kellen smiled. “Look at you. You don’t even have the sense to wear a warm coat.” She kissed his cheek. “Call me this week, okay?”

She was about to turn but Tyler grabbed her arm. “Listen,” he said. “Let’s go have a drink. I know a nice quiet place that won’t card me. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Kellen paused. “All right,” she said.

They took a cab across town. The bar was tucked back in an alleyway, discernible only by a discreet neon moon above the door. The interior was dark, and Tyler led Kellen to a banquette. He ordered two manhattans.

“That’s a rather old-fashioned drink,” Kellen said with a small smile.

“I’m an old-fashioned guy at heart,” Tyler said.

When the waiter brought the drinks, Tyler quickly took a gulp of his.

“Makes me feel old seeing my little brother in a bar,” Kellen said.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Kellen looked around. The bar was handsomely decorated in ebony wood and art deco banquettes. A pianist was playing Gershwin at the baby grand in the corner and the men sitting at the bar were dressed in business suits. Slowly, her eyes swept the entire crowded room. Suddenly, it hit her. There were only men. It was a gay bar.

She looked back at Tyler. “Very funny,” she said. “Why did you bring me here?”

Tyler’s eyes held hers. Even in the half light, she could see the strange mix of emotions in them. Great trepidation, wariness and a sort of giddy exhilaration. “You want to know about my life,” Tyler said. “Well, this is it. This is my life. I’m gay.”

He said it matter-of-factly, with a smile, but she could tell he was waiting for her response. She was so stunned, she couldn’t think of anything to say.

“But how —-”

Tyler laughed so loudly others looked over. “We’ll leave that question for the geneticists, shrinks and priests,” he said
.

Kellen frowned. “I was going to ask how long.”

He began to play with the drink stir. “All my life,” he said. “But I’ve known for sure since I was thirteen.”

The pianist started in on “A Foggy Day.” The bar seemed suddenly oppressive. She
wanted desperately to say something, something that didn’t sound reproachful, but her shock was just too great. “Why did you decide to tell me?” she asked finally.

A vulnerable look crept into Tyler’s eyes. “I don’t know. Tired of keeping it to myself, I guess.
You’re the only person I’ve told.”

Another silence, long and awkward. Kellen looked at her watch. “I have to get going,” she said. “Stephen will be worried.”

“You disapprove, don’t you,” he said.

“It’s not that. It’s just that...” Kellen’s voice trailed off. She knew that whatever she said it would sound wrong and Tyler would take it
as another attempt on her part to try to interfere with his life.

“Well, don’t worry,” Tyler said with a smile. “I’ll stay in the closet like a good boy. I won’t do anything to embarrass you.”

Kellen started to say something but he held up his hand. “And I’d appreciate it,” he said, “if you kept this to yourself. I’m not ashamed of it but I’m not quite ready to go public. I’ve seen one too many friends pay the price.” He looked out over the bar. “Had one get the shit beat out of him the other day. Just walking down the street, minding his own business and these three guys jumped him.”

When he finally looked back at Kellen
he was smiling but his eyes had hardened. “So. I’ll see you soon,” he said curtly. “Give my best to Stephen.”

Kellen
rose, pulling on her coat. “Why don’t you come over for dinner tomorrow night?” she asked.

“Can’t. I’m going away skiing for a week. Ian invited me to go with him and Clarisse to his condo in Aspen.”

She was unaware that Ian and Tyler had any contact, let alone were friendly enough to vacation together. She immediately suspected Ian must have an ulterior motive but decided it was a bad time to suggest such a thing to Tyler.

“Well, have a good time,” she said. “And call me when you get back. We’ll get together.”

“Sure,” Tyler muttered. He picked up his drink and didn’t look up at her.

When she got to the door, Kellen looked back to the table, but Tyler was gone.

As she rode home in a taxi, Kellen’s thoughts stayed with Tyler and his incredible revelation. The only person she knew for certain was gay was her hair stylist and he seemed like a happy uncomplicated man. She had never given any thought to his lifestyle, thinking of it only as a sort of strange netherworld.

But now it was more than that; it was her brother’s life. And she realized she knew nothing about it
—- or him. He was a stranger to her all over again.

She remembered suddenly an article that had run recently on the front page of the
Times.
The American Psychiatric Association no longer classified homosexuality as a mental illness. It had generated many negative letters to the editor, and Ian, who had a homophobic streak, had taken Stephen to task for giving it such prominent display.

N
ow, more than ever, she was worried about Tyler. He needed someone to take care of him, and how in the world would he ever find someone?

When she went into the bedroom,
Stephen was sitting up in bed, reading a book. “How was dinner?” he asked.

“All right, I guess.”

“You sound a little down. Is Tyler all right?”

She thought for a moment about telling Stephen. “He’s fine,” she said
. She went into the dressing room, closing the door behind her. She changed and went into the bathroom. She stood for a moment before the mirror, staring at her reflection.

Her makeup and hair, swept up in a French twist, were perfect as ever, but she looked tired. She leaned forward to inspect the tiny lines around her eyes. No need to worry
—- no wrinkles, no signs of age. But something had crept into the corners of her mouth, setting it into the beginnings of hardness.

She thought again of what Clark had said about her appearance. And she thought, too, of Tyler and how he had picked up on her shock and disapproval. He had told her his greatest secret. Why hadn’t she been able to give him the comfort he needed? Had she become that grim and self-centered? At one time, she might have easily dealt with Tyler’s news, when she had been more open-minded.

She washed away the makeup and brushed out her hair. She paused to look at herself once more then went into the bedroom. Stephen didn’t look up from his reading as she slipped out of her robe and into bed.

“Stephen?”

“Hmm?”

She turned in the bed to face him. “I want to go back to work.”

“We’ve talked about this before,” he said.

“But I’m not so sure you’ve really listened, Stephen.”

He set aside his book, waiting.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you to do your job,” she said. “
This has nothing to do with you at all.”

“I can take care of things at work, Kellen.”

“I know. But this isn’t to help the
Times.
It’s to help me.”

She had wanted to explain this to him for so long and now struggled to find the right words. “Most of my life, I’ve been doing things to try to please the people who are important to me
,” she said. “First my father, then you. But outside of those years I spent in Paris, I’ve never really lived according to my own needs. I always talked a good game but I never really had the guts to live my life the way I really wanted.”

She looked at him but there was nothing in his eyes that told her she was getting through to him.

“I feel like I’m drying up inside, Stephen,” she said quietly. “I need something else in my life besides this house and the children. I want to go back to work.”

“But you’ve always had the newspaper, Kellen,” Stephen said.

She shook her head slowly. “My father told me something once, something I never forgot. He said everyone needs a passion in their lives, something they believe in. That’s what the
Times
should be to me. Up until now, I’ve only given it parts of me -—in the beginning because of my inexperience and in the last seven years because the children needed me more. But if I’m ever going to really claim it as my own I have to give myself to it completely. Just like my father did.”

He remained pensive, but she could see a hint of understanding, or at least acceptance, in his eyes.

“Please try to understand,” she said.

He
sighed. "I don’t completely,” he said, “but I want you to be happy, Kellen. And I know you haven’t been lately.”

She forced herself not to look away.

“If going back full-time will make you happy, then you should do it,” he said. “I guess the kids will survive. Don’t know if I can say the same for me, though.”

She realized with relief that it was an attempt at levity. Encouraged, she smiled. “Oh, it won’t be so bad. Do you remember what it was like when we worked in the newsroom together? We had a lot of fun in those days.”

He gave her a begrudging smile. “Don’t even think about coming down to my newsroom,” he said.

“I’ll stay upstairs. I promise.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Kellen picked up the
Times
that had just been delivered to her office. She pulled out the Lifestyle section and sighed with resignation.

Well, there it is, she thought. But at least the problem is solved.

The front page of the section, which normally was filled with features, photographs, and Clark’s column, was dominated by a huge lingerie advertisement from Macy’s. Clark’s column was the only editorial content, stripped down the left-hand side.

About a month ago, right after she had returned to the office full-time, the battle over the section front had begun. She found out that the advertising department, with Ian’s blessing, had promised Macy’s that they could move their ads
to the front page if they re-signed their contract.

The fallout from the circulation report had begun, and if Macy’s pulled out others might eventually follow. Reluctantly, even Stephen came to take advertising’s side.

“I know it stinks,” he told Kellen, “but it’s a matter of survival.”

Clark had taken the news as a personal insult. “That column is my life,” he said. “When your father gave it to me, I don’t think either of us realized
what it would become. This tells me that it’s not important. That I'm not important.”

Kellen knew that the
Times
had to keep Macy’s under contract. But she still wanted to make a stand for Clark and the
Times
. She proposed a compromise: that the store cut its ad back to three-quarters of the page, leaving space for Clark’s column.

“It’s the best-read thing in this city,” she told Macy’s representatives. “Your ads will benefit from placement near Clark.” Macy’s signed a new contract.

It had been her first decisive move since her return, but as Kellen stared at the ad she felt no real sense of victory.

The real problems remained untreated
. The cost projections on Stephen’s plan to build a suburban printing plant were due any day. She hoped the news would be positive, not just for the
Times
’ sake but for Stephen’s.