Almost Like Being in Love (33 page)

“Uh—point at the top?” I mumbled, blushing shamelessly. But Clayton merely shrugged it off and played the good sport. (Why not? I probably wouldn’t have been the first male to faint on his Adidas.( Reaching behind him, he grabbed a 3-by-5 snapshot tucked into the blotter.

“Something like this?” he asked, handing it over. Against my better judgment, I stared down at it dumbly—barely registering the black Bronco or the waterfront A-frame or a glimmering Lake Ontario in the background, which might just as well have been made out of Silly Putty.

All I saw was the lithe body seated on the top step, with the snug white T-shirt and the chestnut hair and the thermonuclear one-dimple grin that had been tattooed on my heart since 1978.
Jesus Christ! How could
he have gotten cuter?! It’s not biologically possible!

“Who’s the guy?” I inquired casually, hoping I hadn’t urinated on the floor. Clayton stared at his feet for a long moment before he replied—and when he did, it was almost a challenge.

“My boyfriend,” he said carefully. “You got a problem with that?” For the first time all morning, my eyebrows unclenched. I even managed a grin of my own.

“I’m wearing an earring and size 28 jeans,” I retorted. “Does it look like I have a problem with that?”

So he took me out to lunch. Somehow, we never got around to discussing my house.

Dear Gordo,

This is going to be a lot easier than we thought. It turns out that Craig and his law partner Charleen eat at the same noxious greasy spoon every afternoon at 12:30. (Paradoxically, somebody decided to christen it the Sweet Shop and build it right around the corner from the municipal courts building. In a pinch, it’s possible to order a sandwich, come down with ptomaine, and file a lawsuit—all in the same lunch hour. You should see what passes for chicken salad in this joint.) Fortunately, they don’t charge for eavesdropping, so a cup of coffee that was indistinguishable from liquid nitrogen bought me the booth next to Craig’s for ninety minutes.

Here’s what we know so far:

1. They have a chunky piece of eye candy named Kevin who sits behind the reception desk and pretends he’s not sexually flammable. (Men only, of course. So what else is new? Vaginas and rotary telephones—relics of the twentieth century.) At first he thought I was a process server, but after we’d exchanged our respective theories on Matt Damon’s genitalia, he surrendered the enigma code and pointed me toward the Sweet Shop.

2. Craig and Charleen represent a first baseman who plays with (a) the Utica Blue Sox, and 'b( Charleen. Apparently, he can’t afford custody of his son, so they’re trying to find him a job in Saratoga Springs. God only knows why. From the sound of it, if he’d take off his pants and hop onto a calendar, he’d clean up.

3. The Democrats have just asked Craig to run for office, but he hasn’t made up his mind. How come? Get this. Clayton doesn’t know about it yet. And when he finds out, they’re liable to be finding pieces of New York State as far south as Ecuador. So maybe we have a shot after all. Clayton sounds like a real pip.

Beaver’s right. Craig was worth waiting twenty years for. At first glance, he’s merely followthe- dots cute—but when he smiles, it’s like a sunburst hitting you right in the face. And I’d kill for his eyes.

We need to arrange for them to run into each other ASAP.

Whatever’s going to happen is anybody’s guess—but we’ve got nature and Beaver’s moxie on our side. Who knows? After this, I might even be able to stomach
It’s a Wonderful Life
.

Love,

A.J.

G:

This is going to be a lot tougher than we thought. Remember when I called Clayton an Arrogant Asswipe? Maybe I should have waited until I’d met him first.

The Bad news

1. They’ve been living together for twelve years.

2. Clayton calls him “Honey.”

3. They built a summer house with their own four hands in a place called Cape Vincent.

4. Craig’s name is on Clayton’s license plate. Sort of. CLAY CRG.

Craig must have hit the ceiling and I don’t blame him. According to the unwritten rules, Clayton should have plates that say CRAIG 78 'the year they met(, and Craig’s should say CLAY 78.

Duh.

The Encouraging news

1. They started seeing each other right after a Harvey Milk vigil that Craig organized. (I may have had something to do with that.)

2. They broke up for three and a half years around the time that Craig forged Anita Bryant’s signature and got her elected to the American Nazi Party. (I definitely had something to do with that.)

3. Clayton gave him a wedding ring a couple of weeks ago, but as of 4:32 this afternoon Craig hadn’t given him one back yet.

'And he won’t. You always have to let Craig make the first move, even if the idea’s yours.(

4. They got into their first fight in 1979 and it hasn’t ended yet—mostly because Craig can’t say no to a human rights issue and Clayton can. (Never ever ever ever tell Craig not to do something. Two reasons: 'a( He’s got a sweet heart and he’s usually right; and 'b( if he’s making a mistake, he’ll figure that out for himself. You just have to be sure you’re holding his hand in case things backfire on him.)

We wound up spending most of the afternoon together. First he took me on a field trip of the hardware store 'bet you don’t know what an adze looks like), then he bought me lunch, then he showed me the bowling alley, then he gave me a Tic Tac, and then we drove out to Saratoga Lake because that’s where he wants to build my house. Know what he told me? I only have to pay for materials and costs. Nothing else. “That way I can prove I was your first best friend in the Springs.”

G, I don’t know if I can go through with this. I like him.

T

ARGOSY ENTERTAINMENT

Literary Representatives

LOS ANGELES

NEW YORK

TORONTO

LONDON

He
likes
him?

Gordon, either get yourself some new friends or talk some sense into this one. Just remember—you’ve got thirty million people rooting for Travis. Don’t fuck it up.

If you’re not doing anything for dinner, I’m eating out tonight. Your stepmother’s in another one of her moods. She called here twenty minutes ago to issue the following bulletin: “If I’d had good feet, I could have ruled the world.” God only knows what that meant.

Canter’s Deli, 7:30. Maybe you can explain women to me.

Pop

11

Craig

MCKENNA & WEBB

A LAW PARTNERSHIP

118 CONGRESS PARK, SUITE 407

SARATOGA SPRINGS, NEW YORK 12866

MEMORANDUM

TO
: Kevin

FROM
: Craig

DATE
: June 8, 1998

SUBJECT
: Couple of Things

1. I just got a message from Costanzo’s clerk. They’re going to be in trial next week for at least a month, so they’ve asked if we could move up the Kessler petition to this Friday. That’s only four days from now. If we say yes, it might mean a couple of late nights. Can you swing it? Don’t feel obligated. Just because you’d be leaving us adrift without an anchor while a small child’s welfare hangs in the balance doesn’t mean you’d be missed. Much.

2. I may be getting a call from somebody named Travis Puckett.

It’s a personal matter. If I’m not here, page me. I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing. This is a Code 3: highest priority.

3. I’m sneaking away early tonight because Clayton and I are camping out at Saratoga Lake. 'Don’t ask.(

4. Where the hell is Charleen?

MCKENNA & WEBB

A LAW PARTNERSHIP

118 CONGRESS PARK, SUITE 407

SARATOGA SPRINGS, NEW YORK 12866

MEMORANDUM

TO
: Craig

FROM
: Kevin

DATE
: June 8, 1998

SUBJECT
: Your Couple of Things

1. Actually, I’ve already put the next three nights on hold in case I meet a dazzling Frenchman who (a) looks exactly like Alain Delon, (b) whisks me off to Paris for dinner, (c) feeds me wine and cheese in a barge chugging up the Seine, and (d) rapes me senseless. But if that doesn’t happen, I’ll be here. When have I ever left you in the lurch, you schmuck?

2. Charleen is getting her hair done again. It seems that Jody’s calling her tonight and she doesn’t want him to see what color her roots are over the phone. You guys must have had one hell of a weekend. At breakfast this morning, she poured coffee on her scrambled eggs. 'I promised I wouldn’t reveal what she did with the Lea & Perrin’s. Especially to you.) 3. I assume I’m not supposed to know that the Democrats want you to run for office. Tough. What do you expect me to do—not read your faxes?

4. Who’s Travis Puckett? And how personal is “personal”? I need to know immediately. You can’t just give me an instruction like that and keep the details to yourself, especially when it sounds like the page-one lead in a trashy tabloid. Don’t forget that we’re protected by the employer-employee confidentiality statute, so whatever you tell me stays sealed (unless Oprah offers cash).

MCKENNA & WEBB

A LAW PARTNERSHIP

118 CONGRESS PARK, SUITE 407

SARATOGA SPRINGS, NEW YORK 12866

MEMORANDUM

TO
: Kevin

FROM
: Craig

DATE
: June 8, 1998

SUBJECT
: Omerta: Code of Silence

Travis was the love of my life. It happened when we were in high school, it ended when college separated us, and I can still taste our first kiss in the rain (Saturday, May 27, 1978, 3:21 P.M. EDT).

We haven’t spoken to each other in twenty years, but certain recent discovery responses indicate that he’s trying to find me.

I know I probably shouldn’t, but nobody ever fit into my arms the way he did. The least I can do is have lunch with him.

MCKENNA & WEBB

A LAW PARTNERSHIP

118 CONGRESS PARK, SUITE 407

SARATOGA SPRINGS, NEW YORK 12866

MEMORANDUM

TO
: Craig

FROM
: Kevin

DATE
: June 8, 1998

SUBJECT
: Dish

1. This is way too good for Oprah. It belongs on Frontline. Hey, if Clayton and Travis get into a Bette Davis–Joan Crawford catfight over you, can I watch?

2. Just a reminder: You already share the deepest part of your soul with a man who, among other things, might have been the by-product of a clandestine midnight union between Adonis and Dionysus. On top of that, he’s sensitive, he’s real, and he loves you. Haven’t you learned what “rock the boat” means yet?

3. Actually, something just occurred to me. If Travis succeeds in turning your head, Clayton’s going to need somebody to pick up his shattered little pieces and put them back together again.

Does hitting on the boss’s boyfriend constitute a dischargeable offense?

MCKENNA & WEBB

A LAW PARTNERSHIP

118 CONGRESS PARK, SUITE 407

SARATOGA SPRINGS, NEW YORK 12866

MEMORANDUM

TO
: Kevin

FROM
: Craig

DATE
: June 8, 1998

SUBJECT
: Your Interrogatories

1. No.

2. No.

3. Yes.

Craig McKenna

Attorney notes

Clay, wouldn’t it be funny if the Democrats asked me to run for office?

No.

Clay, here’s a thought. How about if I run for office
? How about if you don’t?

Clay, remember when Lucy tried to tell Ricky she was pregnant and
couldn’t figure out how?
Yeah. You’re not running for office.

Clay, wouldn’t it be great if we had somebody in Albany who could push
through a Freedom to Marry bill?
Yep. As long as it isn’t you.

Clay, I’m running for office
. Wanna bet?

Whenever my sig oth buys a new chunk of land, we always pitch a tent and spend the first night there ourselves. Kind of like cocker spaniels leaving a scent. The routine is generally the same: we build a campfire, grill a couple of hot dogs, and tackle the thorny questions head-on.

“Honey, who was the one with the cute ass—Snap, Crackle, or Pop?”

“Crackle.”

“That’s what I thought.” Afterward, we unroll our sleeping bags, fight about The Issue of the Day, lock eyes, forget about The Issue of the Day, and make love under the eighteen million stars that jointly decided to call Saratoga Springs home. And when we’re finished, I can usually get him to say yes to anything, provided I remember that I only have a four-and-a-half-minute window of opportunity before the glow wears off.

“Clay?” I began nervously, with my arms wrapped around his perpetually astonishing chest. “There’s something we need to talk about.” Except for the crickets chirping, I heard only silence in return.

“Clay?” Unexpectedly, he lowered his mouth gently to mine and kissed me for a good minute and a half before he finally pulled away.

“I was just thinking,” he sighed finally, staring up at the Big Dipper with a dopey smile on his face. “The only two things I could never handle are the Jets winning the Super Bowl and losing you.” Then he nuzzled my neck and kissed me again. “Now what’s on your mind?” he murmured, running a sexy finger up and down my back. His whisper was so amorous, and the caresses so genuine, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Mayday! Mayday! Abort the program! He’s just crashed my hard drive! Which left me with one remaining problem: he was still waiting for me to say something.

“Why—why don’t we go skinny-dipping?” I asked weakly, improvising on the spot. Before I’d even finished the question, Clayton was already reaching for our towels.

“You bet,” he grinned wickedly. “But you go in first. I want to watch.”

I’m in
really
deep shit.

NEW YORK STATE DEMOCRATIC COMMITTEE

ALBANY HEADQUARTERS