I'm Your Man (39 page)

Just in case there were reporters, I combed my hair and changed shirts while I thought things over. Jeremy was right. There was a way to make Daniel spend time with me and maybe work through some of our differences, and it could also spare our friends public scrutiny.

When I rounded the corner, I saw three people relaxing on the stoop of Daniel's building. It was obvious they didn't really expect anything to happen but intended to stick it out, just in case. I took a deep breath and walked purposefully toward them. Tonight they were going to get lucky.

I was on the third step before one of the photographers recognized me. He jumped to his feet, which alerted the others. Daniel had anticipated them, and by the time I was at the door, he opened it, jerked me inside, then quickly pushed it shut.

“Thanks,” I said.

“I didn't want you to be stuck ringing the buzzer with those jackals nipping at your heels,” he said. I followed him to his apartment, then froze when it occurred to me that I hadn't been inside since the fight that broke us up. Daniel saw the look on my face and said, “We should have met somewhere so you wouldn't have to put up with that crap.”

“It's not that,” I said. “Anyway, where would we meet, Daniel? I feel like I'm always looking over my shoulder. Gavin and Violet have to screen my calls. I've been accosted going into my office building several times. Usually after somebody's done a story on you. I can't go near Sheila and Josh's place. People stare at me at the gym—”

“They always did,” Daniel said with a slight smile.

“—and Gretchen and I have to act like CIA operatives to see each other. This is ridiculous. Elections, mad cow disease, global warming, people fighting over Cuban children—wait, hold the presses, because America must know:
Are Daniel Stephenson and Blaine Dunhill a gay couple?
How fucked up is this? I want to go to work, come home, go to the gym, have an occasional dinner out, walk through Central Park without someone saying, ‘Hey, are you that guy?' I never minded being recognized for my accomplishments. Attention is okay if it's something I worked for. But this is so . . . so . . .”

“Artificial?”

“Or superficial. I want my life back.”

“I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “My family is going through the same thing you are. I never meant for anyone else to get sucked into my little nightmare.”

I nodded and said, “In spite of all the bitching I just did, I don't really give a shit what they're doing to me. It's everybody else. Sheila. Jake. Our friends. What if they start bothering Gretchen? She doesn't need the stress. She's already having blood pressure problems. What if some unscrupulous reporter like Lola Listeria finds out Gretchen's pregnant with my baby?”

Daniel opened his mouth as if to make a quick retort, then stopped himself, finally saying, “If they're willing to print lies to sell tabloids, how do you keep them from printing the truth? There are some things you can't control, Blaine.”

“What if we do what everyone else suggested?” I asked. “Pose as a gay supercouple until everyone gets tired of us. Anne and Ellen just broke up. We'll carry the torch now. If we're willing to give interviews, maybe reporters will stop hounding the people who know us.”

“You want us to lie,” Daniel said.

“I want us to take the heat so no one else has to,” I said. “We do a few interviews, smile, and profess our love for each other. The story dies, and we all go on with our lives. Privately.” When he stared at me, saying nothing, I realized that I'd wanted him to tell me that we did love each other, so it wouldn't be a lie. That obviously wasn't going to happen. “Never mind. Lying would probably only make things worse. Forget I asked.”

He didn't stop me from leaving. There were now eight people on his stoop, all of whom I ignored as I walked through them. I was a few steps down the sidewalk when I heard Daniel call my name. I stopped, turned around, and waited for him to walk to me, keeping my face empty while the cameras flashed.

“You forgot this,” Daniel said, wrapping his arms around me and giving me a long kiss.

The kiss was wonderful, even though I knew it was only for show. I pulled away, forced a smile, and said, “You could have answered me inside.”

“Be careful what you ask for,” Daniel said, smiling as insincerely back at me. “See you in the papers.”

V
iolet arrived for breakfast with a wary look on her face. I saw Gavin give her a reassuring glance, then they both sat down at the table with me. Violet filled her plate, lifted her fork, then set it back down.

“I can't eat,” she said. “Blaine, if you're about to fire me, just do it.”

“Fire you?” I asked. “Are you nuts?”

“Why am I here? Something isn't right.”

“You're here because I need you. Both of you.” They listened silently while I described the effect the unwanted media attention was having on my friends and Daniel's friends and family. I finished by telling them the decision we'd made. “A few days ago, we agreed to go public with our relationship. Or rather, with the pretense that we have a relationship. Last night we taped an interview that will air on Daniel's network tonight. We're hoping if we're more accessible, everyone else will be left alone.”

“How can we help?” Gavin asked.

“Violet, all you'll have to do is coordinate my schedule with Gavin. Gavin, if you're willing, you'll work with Daniel's publicist, Ronald, to manage whatever interviews or engagements the two of us need to do. We'd like to keep that to a minimum. I think you have some idea what we may be in for if you've followed the stories of other gay celebrities and politicians who've come out. I understand it can get a little crazy.”

“I can handle it,” Gavin assured me.

“I'm not a public figure and never intended to be. But Daniel is. He's also very honest, so this isn't an easy game for him to play. But he accepts it as the fastest way to put an end to something neither of us ever wanted. We feel like we've been backed into a corner, so we'll play the game for a few months, then we can both move on with our lives.”

Violet nodded, took a bite of food, then dropped her fork again.
“Months?
There's more, isn't there?”

“Yes,” I said. “I need to apologize to you both. I gave you a hard time about the apartments we looked at because I couldn't be honest with you.” I told them about Gretchen's insemination and our December due date. “When we first started looking at apartments, we didn't know if Gretchen was pregnant. Then I got too busy to worry about moving. But when I do, I need a place big enough so that my child can occasionally spend nights with me.”

“Congratulations,” Gavin said, grinning at me. “It's great that you're going to be a father.”

“I already suspected as much,” Violet said, also smiling, “after hearing that Gretchen was pregnant. I'm happy for you both.”

“Don't worry; you won't end up being nannies,” I promised. “Gretchen is already interviewing people for that position. Her health is my main concern. Her doctor wants her to avoid stress as much as she can, so she doesn't need to be subjected to what my other friends are going through. Plus, this is the one thing I want kept private, no matter what. Gretchen and I are not exactly
Rolling Stone
cover material like Melissa Etheridge and David Crosby, but as far as I'm concerned, any press is bad press when it involves my child. If Daniel and I appear to be a happy couple, no one will try to dig up dirt about us. And on the bright side, at least we're being honest that we're gay. You never know. That could help someone.”

“It will,” Gavin said. “Including you and Daniel. You shouldn't worry about pretending that you're a couple. I think the well-being of an expectant mother is a pretty compelling reason to do what you're doing.” He looked at Violet and added, “I admire honesty, but I've never been a fan of outing. People should be allowed to share things about themselves on their own terms.”

“Yeah, it's too bad Lola Listeria took that choice away from Daniel and me,” I said. “So you two are okay with this?”

“Yes,” Violet said.

“Totally,” Gavin agreed.

“Good. Can we eat now? Violet's getting a Dexterish look of hunger in her eyes,” I said.

That night I went to Gretchen's to watch the interview. The network had chosen the most dignified, understated of their entertainment reporters to question us. It was hard watching myself on television, but fortunately Daniel was the main focus, and I admired his poise and his ability to keep things light. His publicist had prepped us, but Daniel's innate acting ability helped him carry it off.

Although I'd been with him and already knew what he was going to say, I found myself affected by his description of how it felt to have our privacy invaded and our lives turned upside down. Even when I spoke, the camera couldn't stay away from Daniel, whose face conveyed affection for and approval of me. I was sure that if we hadn't been honest with our small group of friends, they would never have guessed that we'd arrived separately, spoken very little to each other, and parted quickly after the interview was over.

Gretchen turned off the television, looked at me, and burst into tears.

“What's wrong?” I asked. “Is this another hormonal moment?”

“No,” she said, taking the Kleenex I held out. “I'm sad because it's not true. You're doing this to protect me and the baby, but I want it to be real. I feel like it's my fault that it's not.”

“Daniel and I broke up months before you and I made our decision.”

“I know, but you almost got back together at the wedding. Why can't this be real? Why can't the two of you stop fighting and work this out?”

“Please don't get upset. That's exactly what we're trying to avoid.”

“I'll be fine,” she said. “But what about you and Daniel?”

“Did we look like we were suffering?”

“Not on camera.”

“We're tired of being at the mercy of people like Lola Listeria. You have no idea what a relief it is to finally feel in control of this situation. If anyone's going to tell lies about me, dammit, it's going to be me.”

Gretchen managed a weak smile and said, “You're awfully good at it.”

“He's an actor. I'm in advertising. Would you expect less?”

“Hand me the phone and go home,” she ordered. “It's time for your friends to do a postmortem.”

“I wanna hear,” I whined.

“No. Trust me, the phone lines will be busy, and you're better off not knowing.”

“Why? Did I look fat on television?”

“Are you still here?” she asked.

I laughed, gave her a hug, and left as she was dialing the phone. My cell phone rang before I was a block from her building, and I looked at the display with a smile.

“You'd better be calling to tell me how good I looked,” I said.

“You both looked great,” Ethan said. “You came across as intelligent and funny. I'm afraid it's going to be a while before you bore them into leaving you alone.”

Over the next couple of weeks, thanks to anonymous calls from Gavin and Violet tipping off the press, Daniel and I were “caught” going to the movies, having dinner together, and attending a performance at Lincoln Center. On each occasion, we'd be as affectionate as possible and offer a quick sound bite professing our love for each other. Other than a photo in the
New York Times
“Styles” section capturing Daniel and me shopping on Madison Avenue, captioned, “Can dashing Daniel liven up bland Blaine's fall wardrobe?,” reactions to our stepping out as a couple were favorable.

Gavin was able to confirm what Daniel's publicist, Ronald, had told us might happen. Requests and calls from the mainstream media dropped off when the story began to be perceived as less of a scandal than as “another gay couple trying to promote their agenda,” as one of my least favorite talk show hosts put it. With occasional guidance from Violet and painstaking coordination with Ronald, Gavin began providing us with lists of interviews and public appearances to choose from.

Daniel's friend, Andy Vanedesen, owner of Club Chaos in Greenwich Village, hosted a benefit at his club for God's Love We Deliver, which we attended. Andy talked Daniel into singing one song, and Daniel dragged me on stage with him. Holding hands, smiling, and ending with a kiss, we sang “Together, Wherever We Go,” much to the delight of the audience. It was actually a nice evening for us, and I started feeling hopeful that our ruse might have a positive outcome. Pictures of us embracing with microphones in our hands ran in
HX
and
NEXT
magazines the following week.

Our social calendar began to fill with a cavalcade of confusing acronyms. I'd dash home from work to change and discover which group would be garnering an appearance from Daniel and Blaine, Gay Supercouple.

“I know I just came from the office, Gavin,” I said one night, “but could you call Violet and ask her to memo the Deity shooting schedule to the other departments? What am I dressing for? Where are Daniel and I going tonight?”

Gavin consulted his PalmPilot and said, “Tonight is ELBOW.”

“Who's elbow?” I asked.

“Empire Lesbian Bowlers of Woodside,” he said.

“You've got to be kidding. We don't bowl. We're not lesbians. What could they possibly want with us? Is it too late to back out?”

“Tonight is their Bowling for Breast Cancer benefit,” Gavin explained. “You and Daniel will show up, tell a few jokes, introduce the league president, bowl a little, and have your picture taken. Oh, yeah, and have fun.”

“Why was I thinking tonight we were supposed to be dancing somewhere? I would've remembered ELBOW. I thought you said something about dancing. Or a bake sale. Not bowling.”

Gavin shook his head and said, “No. You're thinking of BACON. Bears and Cubs of Newark. You and Daniel are judging their dance marathon this weekend. The bake sale for SIQC is tomorrow.”

“Sick? Is that a health group?”

“Staten Island Queer Coalition,” Gavin clarified.

At every event where Daniel and I cut ribbons, spoke, or put in an appearance, we were photographed hand in hand, smiling at each other. If the press asked about our relationship, our only comment was that we were simply a couple in love offering support to our gay brothers and sisters.

Unfortunately, the social whirl began taking its toll. What we didn't let anyone see were the arguments that began to precede and follow every appearance. The problems that caused our breakup remained unresolved and added to the tension. Sometimes, smiling for the camera, we'd whisper terse comments through clenched jaws, squeezing each other's hands a little harder than necessary. I endured it, hoping that sooner or later these meaningless fights would force our more serious issues to surface.

The most significant, immediate payoff of our farce was that the more approachable we became, the less our friends were bothered. There was only one reaction I'd been anxious about, and it came in an e-mail.

Remembering Ethan's warning that teenagers tell us what they think we want to hear, I put everything else on hold and wrote a long response, describing the adolescent fear and denial that had led to my dating Sheila and marrying Sydney. I told him how much I admired his courage and honesty, reminding him that if things got difficult, he could talk to his PFLAG contacts, especially Jeremy. Finally, choosing my words with care, I assured him that he could always tell me anything, especially about problems he experienced with our family.

It chilled me to think of how much like my father Shane was. When I thought of my baby, I felt a mixture of joy, fear, hope, and humility. Had my father ever felt that? Had Shane felt that way when Beverly was pregnant? If so, what happened after a child was born that closed a parent's heart?