Have A Little Faith In Me (20 page)

Dex made an appointment with Charlotte the next day.  He insisted that she move some things around on her calendar to make time for him.  That told you all you needed to know about the relationship, didn’t it, he thought.  Two busy superstars who needed to schedule time together.  More of a corporate merger than anything else.  A corporate merger he was about to call off. 

Charlotte answered her own door at the Ritz-Carlton.  She’d dismissed her entourage, for now.  She pecked him on the cheek when he came in, her mind clearly on other things.

“I barely have a minute, Dex.  But I’m glad you’re here.  I’ve got a release date for my next album, and we really need to set a wedding date around that.  Just before it, for the publicity of course, and so that we can get out honeymoon out of the way before I go on tour…”

Dex was agog, more at his own reaction than anything else.  If this had happened twenty four hours earlier, he would have…succumbed.  Felt the lines of The Script flying off the page, wrapping around him like bondage ropes.  But not today.  After last night, the Script had been burned.

“No, Charlotte.  Sit down.  We’re not gettin’ married.”

She blinked.  “Of course we are, Dex.  It’s all arranged…”

“No.  Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Dex said, a dizzy exhilaration taking hold of him as he felt the pen in his hand, marking up the script.  “We’re gonna break up.  It’s my fault.  The press will blame me, and you’re gonna get more sympathy and publicity than even a wedding could get you.”

She looked off into the distance.  Dex was stunned that she
wasn’t
stunned.  “I see.  It’s him, isn’t it?  That Rocky person.”

“Yeah.  I’m gay, Charlotte.  I’m not doing this anymore.”

“Dex, you can’t be gay.  Don’t you know what that will do to your
career?”

He laughed.  “As a good time, good ole boy, country western star.  Yeah, I know.”

She bit her lip.  Thought about saying something.  Changed her mind.  And like a woman, changed it back again. 

“I know you are, Dex.  I’ve always known.  I thought I could, I don’t know, fix it, or stop it, or something.  Then you met Rocky, and I saw those pictures from the festival and I guess in my heart then I knew.  I thought maybe we could pray on it, that if we got married and had kids…”

“That would have been the worst thing we coulda done.  You can see that, can’t you?  Having kids, living a lie, letting it eat at us, and those poor little ones watching it happen, watching their parents grow to hate each other?”

She sighed.  And, surprisingly, smiled.  She reached into her purse. “I saved this article from the paper for you.  I don’t know why.  Well, I guess I do.  For the day I knew was coming.”  She handed him a printout of an article off the web.  “I know you’d never have time to find it yourself.  You always talked about Pastor Panko and what a great man he was and how he helped you.  Shit, that shoulda told me right there, right?” she ended with a laugh.

Dex took it.  His eyes widened.  He laughed, disbelievingly at first, and then with pure relief.

Anti-Gay Minister Weds Male Partner.  Pastor Neil Panko, an outspoken advocate for traditional marriage, simultaneously announced yesterday that he was an “out gay man” and that he had just married his partner, Jeffrey Watt, in a civil ceremony in California.  “We’ve been together for three years now,” Panko said, holding his partner’s hand at a press conference, “living a lie.  Now the lies are over.  I still stand by what I always said – ‘marriage is about love.’  And Jeffrey and I are very much in love.”

He surprised Charlotte by grabbing her and hugging her hard.  “I’m so sorry, Charlotte.  I’m sorry you wasted your time with me…”

“Oh, Dex, it wasn’t a waste of time.  We’re both guilty, you know.  We both did what we knew would help our careers.  And…I like you.  I always liked you.  I couldn’t have done this as long as we did if I didn’t like you.”

“Can we be friends?”

She laughed.  “Yeah I guess we better be.  You’re gonna need some friends pretty soon.”

Nine years.  Nine years since the hurricane.  Dex could hardly believe it.  Sitting at the dinner table with his family, it was as if a time machine had just transported him from then till now.  He hadn’t been around much, he’d been so busy working, earning, touring, recording, promoting.

“Princess” Carrie was now a senior at Vanderbilt University, majoring in Economics, with an eye on business school.  Bratty little Kaleb was seventeen, a strapping athletic junior in high school.  And his favorite, Lisa Sue, was a sullen rebellious fifteen year old with a ring in her nose, dyed black hair, and a Wiccan pendant around her neck.

There was no KFC on the table anymore, that was for sure.  His mom had all the time in the world to cook now, with no job weighing her down.  And she’d become a born-again disciple of Jamie Oliver, a fresh and healthy food fanatic.  The table was weighed down now with lean chicken breasts in a light lemon cream sauce, asparagus, salad, some rough country bread and real butter.

Some things never changed, though.  His dad Mike sat there, nodding off, at least twelve beers into his day by now.  In front of him was a special plate, macaroni and cheese. 

But it was Dex who sat at the head of the table.  When they’d eaten, Dex gently rang a spoon on his water glass. 

“I got some things to tell you all.”  He steeled himself.  “First off, I’ve broken it off with Charlotte.”

His mother gasped, dropping her fork.  “Oh, no Dex, what happened!  Did she cheat on you?”

“No.  I guess you could say I cheated on her.  By lying to her all these years.” 

He paused, looked around.  Their eyes were on him, intent.  He felt a wave of love for them, a wave of regret that he hadn’t been around to watch them grow up, to…parent them, because his daddy sure had abdicated that job.  But they’d turned out all right, hadn’t they?  The girls weren’t pregnant, they were all in college or college bound…they were good kids.

“Well I might as well drop it on the table.  I’m gay.”

His mother screamed.  “No, you’re not!  I know you’re not.”

The table was silent, his shocked siblings taking it all in.  Then his dad, who Dex had thought was fast asleep, raised his head.

“
Thass
why you never tried out for football…”

His brother and sisters laughed, the spell broken.

“Well, I took your place there, Dex,” Kaleb grinned, in his new deep voice.

“Wide receiver,” Mike mumbled.  “School record.  Goin’ to the pros.”

“Dex, we can pray on this,” Carla pleaded.  “We can call Pasto Panko…”

“Pastor Panko just married his gay lover, momma.”

Carrie laughed so hard the tears flowed.  “Oh, shit, Dex.  Are you serious?  That man who used to come to our church and tell us all about how hard he was defending the family?”

“The very same,” he grinned. 

“You can’t do this to us,” Carla said.  “I can’t hold my head up at church with a gay son…”

She stopped, feeling the temperature drop.  Her four children looked at her like she’d grown a second head.

Dex swallowed the hurt.  This was the first time it had hurt, being gay.  The first time he’d felt the knife of hate.  Not the last time, he knew.  Best to have the first time be the worst.  Best to have it be your own family who stuck it in first.

Kaleb spoke up. “Dex.  Brother.  We…we owe you everything.”  His sisters nodded.  “We’re all going to college wherever we want, wherever our grades are good enough to get in, anyway.  We’ve never been hungry for a day since you signed that record contract.  Never been cold, never had to make do with an old pair of shoes or… Shit.”  He shook his head.  “And all this time, you been holdin’ that in.  You did it for us, didn’t you?  You lived in the closet so we could have all this.”

“Yeah,” Dex whispered.  “I did.”  He could feel it, a tear pooling in his eye.  He tried to tip his head up, to keep it in.  “And I’m not sorry.  You all turned out great.  It was worth it.”

Lisa Sue finally spoke.  She looked at him with her wide blue eyes, all the more startling with the globs of black makeup around them.  “Dex.  It’s your turn.  It’s your turn to be happy, it’s your turn for us to support you now.”

Splat.  There it went, the tear, giving away the game. Dammit. “Thank you.”

His mother shook her head.  “I will pray on this.  I will pray for you, Dex.  I will make it better.”

Dex smiled.  “It is better, momma.  It’s already so much better.”

Rocky sat with Faith on the couch, holding her hand.  She was crying as quietly as she could.  He pulled her in, and she fell on his chest, and then the sobs began.

“Oh God, the worst thing in the world is to outlive your children.” 

Rocky didn’t say anything.  He knew better.  There would be flocks of old birds descending on the house soon enough, prattling about how Reverend Norman McCoy had been called to God in God’s Good Time, who would say “there, there,” and “it’s all right.” 

It wasn’t all right for his grandmother.  It was fucking awful.  And Rocky’s sorrow was for her.

He had made it home in time for his father’s last gasp.  Faith had begged him to come.  So he had.  For her.

The Reverend had come home to die.  There was no more medical science could do for him, other than “make him comfortable.” 

And now Rocky had one more thing to hate him for.  He wouldn’t let the hospice nurse “make him comfortable.”  Wouldn’t take the extra dose of pain medication that would snow him out, that would end his suffering, and his mother’s. 

“I’ll go when God’s ready to take me,” he whispered, his face a paper mask, the only life left in it the twin furnaces of his eyes, his body frantically burning up all the life it had left in it.

“You’re gonna sit there in pain,” Rocky hissed, when Faith was out of the room.  “And make her watch.  For how long?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” his father croaked.  “The Devil took you from me long ago.”

Rocky’s throat clenched.  He knew what his grandmother wanted.  Something out of a sentimental novel, the tearful reconciliation.  All they could give her was this – to have it out when she wasn’t around to hear it.

“The Devil took
you
.  You know, they’re lynching people in Uganda right now.  Gay people.  Because of you.  You’re a murderer.”

The Reverend shook his head, just a quaver, all he had strength for.  “They’re going to Hell anyway.  Might as well make it sooner than later, before they drag any more innocent victims with them.”

Rocky nodded.  “No.  You’re right.  You shouldn’t take the killing dose.  You should lie here in agony.  Because there’s no heaven and no hell, and this…this is all the punishment you get.  I hope it lasts a long time.”

“I’ve been in agony since I lost my son.  Since he made himself dead to me.”

“You killed him.  You remember that day?  The day you smashed my guitar?”  He saw the flicker in the Reverend’s face.  “Yeah.  You killed him that day.  You drove him out.”

“I will pray to my last breath that you repent and save your soul.”

Rocky stood up.  “You do that.” 

And those were the last words between two people who were once father and son.

He went to the funeral for one reason.  Well, two.  To support Faith, literally – she stumbled several times on the long walk down the aisle of the Family Victory megachurch to the place of honor in the front pew.  He was rude and abrupt to anyone who tried to waylay her, who tried to hug her, who fucking tried to stop them, to fill them with…bullshit about his father. 

He got her settled.  “I can’t stay, you know.  I can’t sit here and listen.  To them talk about what a great Warrior for Christ he was.”

She looked up at him, sympathy in her eyes.  “I know.  I’m so sorry.  I’m so sorry I ever let him…”

He smiled.  “Oh, but you didn’t.  You stopped him, grandma.  You made sure I had everything I needed.  My art, my music, it’s…all thanks to you.  You were my parent.”

She smiled.  “Go on, then.  Do what you need to do.  You’ll meet me at the house, won’t you?  When it’s over?”

He nodded.  “Yeah.  I’ll be there for you.  I promise.”

The church was packed, thousands of seats filled, a lone pianist softly playing a hymn over the sound system.  The people murmured, exchanged condolences and memories and, of course, gossip about
him
, the Prodigal Son.

Then it was time to do the other thing he’d come for.  Rocky ascended the steps to the stage, the altar, and raised a hand.  The pianist stopped playing.  The thousands of mourners went silent.  He approached the open casket.

I have to see him there.  I have to know he’s really dead.  That…that it’s over.

He’d thought a lot about his father the last few days.  And about himself.  Why had he chased unattainable men, why had he guaranteed that he would end up alone when it was over, why had he hidden, not from his sexuality…but from his emotions?

And from his bottomless hunger, his unsatisfied craving, for a man’s love.  He could not recall a single instance when his father had hugged him.  Had held him.  Had done anything but look at him as if from behind a pulpit. 

That was what his father had taught him was normal.  To love, and not be loved in return, was normal. 

But not anymore.  Dex.  Dex fucking Dexter, of all people, of all men, to fall in love with and, shockingly, amazingly…miraculously, who loved him back.

The crowd was still, expectant.  Waiting for what they wanted.  For him to turn and speak, to praise his father, to repent his evil ways.

He looked at his father’s dead face, as still and peaceful as mortuary science could make it. 
I can rest now, too,
he thought. 
You have no power over me anymore.

He reached up.  Put a hand on the lid of the coffin.  And slowly, gently, but firmly, closed it. 

And he walked out of the church, “his Father’s house,” for the last time.