Boy Toy (29 page)

I glanced at Pierce with arched brows, mirroring his. Thad and Kwynn lapped up the attention, beaming with toothy smiles.

Eventually we ordered and fell into conversation, all four of us sharing lighthearted patter about the weather, the newspaper tour, the coming school year, and the play, but we managed to avoid
the
hot topic, at least for a while.

At a pause in the meal between courses, Kwynn finally sighed, her face pinched with worry. “It’s not true, is it, Sheriff, that Thad might be arrested? Some of the kids are saying that if—”

“
Kwynn
,” Pierce stopped her, “there’s no reason for your friends to say such things.”

Though he gave the right answer, the question itself had already produced the predictable effect—Thad’s breezy manner was instantly quelled by the unexpected mention of arrest. I don’t know if the possibility had yet crossed his mind, but now, there it was, openly discussed at lunch by his best friend and the county sheriff.

Berta, our waitress, bustled over to clear salad plates, leaving the glass boat of iced relishes. I helped myself to a slice of pickle, eating with a show of nonchalance till she left the table.

Thad listened, stunned, as Kwynn continued, “It’s just that what happened to Jason is so
much
like the play itself. Just this morning, I met Thad at the house before we toured the
Register
, and he got the most awful phone call—some dunce calling him a ‘killer boy toy’ or whatever.”

So Sunday’s prank call was not an isolated instance. Though I’d managed to shield Thad from that first one, another had gotten through to him. Had there been others? He wilted even further as Kwynn recounted it.

She shook her head. “I
know
Thad didn’t have anything to do with what happened, but some of the kids are saying that he
must
have. Even Mr. Diggins has been—” She stopped short.

While I was grateful that she at last understood how disturbing Thad found her words, she had raised a topic that interested me greatly. Since the door was already open, I decided to venture in. I asked quietly, “What
about
Mr. Diggins?”

She turned to Thad briefly, apologetically, then answered, “He’s been talking about, um”—she searched for the word—“ ‘contingencies,’ he calls them, contingencies for this weekend’s run of the play.”

“Huh?” said Thad, now looking more confused than upset.

With a soft laugh, I explained, “Contingencies are options or alternatives when there’s a possible problem.”

With a soft laugh of his own, Thad said, “And the possible problem is, like, me—in jail.” Eyeing the relishes, he helped himself to a pickle.

Pierce assured him, “If you didn’t kill Jason, that’s not going to happen, Thad.”

Though I was pleased to hear it from Pierce’s lips, my worst apprehensions about Thad’s stature in the microsociety of the theater troupe had now been borne out, and I again feared the emotional toll this would exact from him. Even the play’s director, the pompous Mr. Diggins, was preparing for Thad’s demise. Was Denny simply looking out for the show’s best interests? Or was he moving forward with a more sinister agenda? I told Thad, “I’m sure that Mr. Diggins just wants all the bases covered. If, for some reason—
any
reason—you couldn’t go on this weekend, who’d take over for you?”

Thad shrugged. “I don’t have an understudy, not anymore. I guess Tommy would step up, if he could memorize the role fast enough.”

Listening to this, Kwynn nodded. “He’s a quick study.” She picked up a long, thin slice of carrot and munched the end of it.

“Meaning,” Pierce asked her, “Tommy learns lines quickly?”

She swallowed. “Uh-huh. There were a couple of times at school when Mrs. Osborne had to make late casting changes, and Tommy always came through. I think he’d get better roles in the first place if he wasn’t so short; maybe that’s why he tries so hard. Anyway, when I was back at Unity High during my freshman year, there was a flu bug or something going around during the spring production. Our director had to make lots of last-minute cast changes, and
nobody
could handle it; the show turned out a mess.” Kwynn shook her head, lamenting the fiasco. “We could have really used Tommy, but he’s always gone to Central.”

I’d forgotten—if I’d known at all—that Kwynn had attended both of Dumont’s high schools. “When did you start attending Central, Kwynn?”

“Sophomore year. We moved to a new house, in town.”

She was referring to the geographical distribution of the two schools’ students. Dumont Central was located near downtown and served the city school district; Unity High was located just beyond the city line and served several outlying county districts. She continued, “I could have stayed at Unity because I started there, but since Central has a better theater program, I made the switch.” She turned to Thad, smiling. “Glad I did too.”

It dawned on me that Kwynn was doubtless a good “source” regarding who’s who—she’d been a student at both high schools, and she’d been involved with theater two years longer than Thad. I asked, “Did you know Jason back at Unity?”

“Sure, Mr. Manning. We were in the same class, and we were both in a couple of plays that year.”

Pierce figured out why I’d asked. He leaned forward on his elbows. “How well did you know him, Kwynn?” Tentatively, he added, “Did you ever…date?”

She laughed. “Not as
freshmen
, Sheriff. Besides”—she and Thad briefly turned to each other, sharing a grin—“Jason didn’t exactly ‘date.’ ”

Pierce and I turned to each other, sharing a grin of our own. I crossed my arms, asking both Kwynn and Thad, “Level with me—was Jason Thrush gay?”

They looked at each other and exchanged a shrug. Turning to me, they both nodded matter-of-factly. Thad qualified his nod: “Jason never actually said so.”

Kwynn told me, “He put up a good act, but everybody knew Jason liked boys.” A la Seinfeld, she quickly added, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

Pierce laughed.

I slapped a palm to my forehead. “Jeez, guys, why didn’t you ever
mention
this?”

“You never asked,” said Thad, taking another pickle.

“And everybody
knew
,” Kwynn repeated.

Had times changed that much? An attractive, outgoing high school athlete/scholar/actor from a prominent family was generally known to be gay, and no one bothered to
talk
about it? Somehow, I couldn’t quite believe that the gay subculture had been that successfully mainstreamed out here in the middle of Middle America. Though Wisconsin could boast a proud tradition of tolerance and progressive attitudes, the Jason Thrush story struck me—any way you sliced it—as hot gossip-fodder.

I laughed quietly, shaking my head at the irony of the situation. “If Jason was gay, his put-down of Thad at last Wednesday’s rehearsal was not only mean-spirited, but the height of hypocrisy.”

Pierce snorted. “Yeah—the pot calling the kettle black.”

Thad and Kwynn looked at each other, not quite getting it.

I explained to Thad, “When Jason called you a ‘boy toy,’ he implied that you were gay, and he meant it as an insult. Knowing what you knew about him, why didn’t you just shoot the insult right back at him?”

“Because”—Thad hesitated—“you and Neil were there. How could I put Jason down for being gay?” He smiled at me. “Not much of an insult, not in my book.”

My jaw sagged. A lump came to my throat. I couldn’t respond.

Kwynn leaned forward. “I hope you weren’t offended, Mr. Manning, when I razzed Jason about his ‘cheap perfume.’ As soon as I’d said it, I wished I could take it back.”

“Hey,” I managed to tell both of them, coughing past the lump, “you guys are
way
too sensitive. But believe me”—I rose from my chair, stepped between them, and hugged both their shoulders—“I appreciate it.” Laughing, I added, “Jason very nearly heard far worse from
me.
I’m glad you both spoke up when you did.” Sheepishly, I returned to my seat.

Even Pierce was moved by these tender emotions—he fidgeted with the knot of his tie and wiped a fleck of something from the corner of his eye. Taking a stalk of celery from the relish boat, he bit off the end, breaking our momentary silence. After swallowing, he said to Kwynn, “You mentioned that everyone at school knew that Jason liked boys, but you said he ‘put up a good act.’ I’m sort of surprised that he got so involved with theater. I mean, theater’s great, but in the jock mentality, isn’t it a bit…suspect?”

Kwynn rolled her eyes. “Maybe, but Jason couldn’t have cared less. He had this whole
macho
thing—the sports, the big talk, even the way he walked.”

She’d noticed too, huh? I could still envision Jason’s butch swagger. I asked, “But he didn’t date?”

“Well,” she qualified her previous statement, “he didn’t ‘date’ date, if you know what I mean. He occasionally went out with girls, but as far as I know, that was just ‘public’ stuff.”

“Like school dances?”

She nodded. “Exactly. Do you know who Nicole Winkler is—from the play?”

Indeed I did. “I’ve met her mother. Nice woman. Nicole seems a bit—what?—emotional, I guess. Was she friendly with Jason?” I was playing dumb, of course, hoping to hear the story from a perspective other than Burton Thrush’s or Mica’s.

Thad suppressed a laugh.

Pierce, also playing dumb, looked from face to face, asking, “What’d I miss?”

Thad said, “Nothing, Sheriff. I’m sorry. It’s just that Jason and Nicole were sort of an item.
Sort
of.”

Kwynn amplified, “At least
she
thought so. This goes back a couple of years. I had already transferred to Central High, but you keep your friends, and friends talk. Nicole is a year older than Jason was, but they got acquainted while working on a school play. She apparently bought the macho act and fell for him, dismissing all the rumors. I guess
he
figured Nicole made a good ‘cover,’ so they went to dances and stuff together. They looked good together too.”

I said, “Jason’s father mentioned that they were on the homecoming court.”

“Yup,” said Kwynn, “last fall. That’s when Nicole assumed things were getting serious, and I guess that’s when Jason decided it was time to back off. In certain ways, they seemed like the perfect couple, but what was he gonna do—
marry
her? So no one was surprised when Jason dumped Nicole.”

Pierce asked, “No one was surprised—except Nicole?”

Kwynn shuddered. “
That’s
putting it mildly. She just didn’t accept it. What do you call that—denial? And from what I hear, her mom wasn’t much better. That’s the only reason Nicole got involved with summer theater—to be near
Jason.
And that’s also why her mom got involved with the costuming—to be near
Nicole
.”

I recalled, “Nicole leaves town this fall for college, right?”

Kwynn nodded. “As far as I know. She graduated in June.”

“Wow,” said Thad, who’d been listening quietly, “next year, that’s
us
.”

He was referring to graduation and college, and his voice carried an unmistakable verve, suggesting he was eager to get on with his life. Was he truly focusing on the future, as I would expect of any bright seventeen-year-old, or was he merely yearning to escape the mess that now surrounded him in Dumont?

Berta appeared again to serve the main course of our lunch, depositing plates in front of us with efficient flicks of her wrist. Only Thad had opted for that day’s special, Nancy’s renowned mushroom Strudel. This unique creation, something of a signature dish, I’d sampled many times and enjoyed. Today, though, it struck me as wrong for the warm weather, and besides, I’d grown squeamish of late about fungi, even the most benign button variety.

While we ate, we continued to converse, shifting to topics less emotionally fraught than Jason’s sex life or Nicole’s unrequited crush. Our talk drifted back to school, and it was clear that both Thad and Kwynn were now ready to put
Teen Play
behind them and get back to the “real world” of hitting the books. Not that either of them was all that scholarly, but both of them, naturally, looked forward to ruling the roost next year with their fellow seniors. The word
college
kept popping up as well, and it became apparent that they’d both been giving their options considerable thought. What I had not realized, though, was that they’d been making these plans
together.

Thad nudged his plate aside, leaning forward to tell me, “Kwynn’s parents have decided that if she wants to major in theater, she can. Isn’t that great?”

Truly, I didn’t know how to answer. It was important to
enjoy
college, of course, but it was also important to learn disciplines useful in later life. Objectively, Kwynn’s chances of actually becoming “someone” in the theatrical world were slim. There were, after all, countless kids with stars in their eyes, heroes of their local drama clubs, dedicated, determined, and talented. But few would ever achieve anything professionally; most would end up waiting tables while waiting for the big break, broke. Their hopes could be dashed by
anything
—a fickle casting director, a favor owed someone else, even the color of their eyes. Only minutes ago, Kwynn herself had said that Tommy Morales could never get a decent role because he was a few inches too short. How, I wondered, could would-be actors willingly, eagerly subject themselves to the desperate competition, superficial standards, and cold scrutiny of the profession they sought to enter?

Thad, Neil, and I had already had this discussion with regard to Thad’s intentions. He wanted to study theater; we were grateful for his enthusiasm, but gave him the hard-knocks lecture; still, his ardor was undampened. Privately, Neil and I ultimately conceded that with the Quatrain family fortune left in trust to Thad by his mother (he’d collect nothing till he turned twenty-five), he was in the enviable position of not needing to worry much about his “next meal” after college. Why shouldn’t he devote his education to something he loved? And—who knew?—he might just be the one to beat the odds and achieve stardom.

Kwynn, though, was another matter. I barely knew her parents and had no awareness of their financial circumstances. It might well behoove her to devote her college years to honing skills more predictably marketable than acting.