Fifteen Shades of Gay (For Pay) (15 page)

They each had another beer during S
ports Central
, enjoying the recaps and disagreeing about the Bengals’ prospects after that first disastrous away game. Andrew judged a team’s potential based on its coach and number of star players; Cormac was a living, breathing encyclopedia of stats, percentages, and past trends.

“I don’t care if they haven’t done it since 1970,” Andrew said, referring to the Kansas City Chiefs’ championship hopes. “Past is past. It’s a brand new season.”

“You base your predictions entirely on loyalty, don’t you?”

“Not just loyalty. Feel. I have a feel for which team will make it. There’s such a thing as instinct. Stats are fine for fantasy leagues, but they don’t apply to real life.”

“Um, sorry, but most of the time they do,” Cormac said. “That’s why stats are compiled. They’re valuable.”

Unable to refute that, Andrew made a dismissive gesture. “Is this how you decide issues as a state senator? You collate everything that’s come before and figure out what’s likely to come next?”

“Sometimes.” Cormac smiled. “Depends on the issue. The environment is a good example of bucking the trend. As a conservative, usually I’d be expected to choose the interests of the business sector over seemingly expensive green policies. But the fact is, climate change is cutting into farm profit. Unethical food production will make consumers sick for decades to come, overtaxing the health care system. There’s even a religious argument, which I happen to have nailed. So I might be one of the first conservatives to take up this fight, but I’m confident it will be a bipartisan effort in the end.”

Andrew liked the way Cormac’s eyes lit up as he discussed the environment. “You’re just too good to be true.”

Cormac blinked. “Hmm. Obviously, that’s, well, not the case.”

“Why not? Mind if I get another beer?” At the mini-fridge, Andrew popped open a can of Budweiser, enjoying another long pull. He’d missed dinner—after Marie’s news, eating had seemed impossible—so now he was pleasantly buzzed and feeling upbeat about pretty much everything.

“I mean, yeah, you need to get your butt out of the closet,” Andrew continued, stretching out on the bed again. “How do you go about that, anyway? Press release? Or do you just show up at an event with a dude and let people do the math?”

Cormac’s sigh was half-astonished, half-amused. “The night we met, you said you weren’t political. Have you ever—well. Voted?”

Andrew had wondered when that question would come up. “Okay. I meant to. I’m registered. But I can never keep up with all the little elections, like, you know….” He waved a hand vaguely.

“Judge? Dog catcher? State senator?”

“Come on, you know what I mean, it’s all a bunch of random people saying random stuff. I meant to vote in the last presidential election, but something came up. Wasn’t too sure where my polling location was anyway.” Andrew felt guilty. Cormac cared enough to fly to New York and meet Marie; couldn’t Andrew care enough to take a friendly interest in Cormac’s livelihood? “So are you saying it’s not easy to be a politician who’s out of the closet? Because I know there are gay politicians. I’ve seen one on the
Daily Show
.”

“Yes, there are a handful of prominent, openly gay elected officials,” Cormac agreed. “And ninety-nine percent of them belong to the other party.”

“Well, then, switch parties.”

“That’s about as helpful as telling me to switch teams. Especially since now,” Cormac smiled, “I know firsthand how awesome my team really is. I mean, yeah, it’s great being with people who know the truth about me. Not having to hide. But my party is behind the curve when it comes to gay acceptance and if I make waves now, I’ll be booted out. Period. By staying inside, I can help change it from within.”

Shrugging, Andrew took another sip of beer. A little sleepy, his inner defenses had waned enough for him to begin wrestling with Marie’s diagnosis. Was it really true that she was stage four, with a twenty percent of survival over the next five years? Suppose Jake was right, suppose a biopsy would rule out malignancy? Were the doom-and-gloom doctors dragging Marie down a deadly path with their assumptions?

“I’m sorry.” Cormac’s tone was genuine. “Right now, politics is probably the furthest thing from your mind.”

“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t judge the choices you make to get by. Look at me. Male escort isn’t exactly my dream career, but I’ll do what I have to do.”

“It is… unpleasant?”

Finishing his Budweiser, Andrew resisted the temptation to crush the can. “That’s
not
what you want to know.”

Cormac sighed. “True. Sorry.” He picked up the remote. “Want me to find a movie? Something with explosions?”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t ask.” Placing the empty can on the bedside table, Andrew moved closer to Cormac, near enough to feel the other man’s warmth. “So. Here’s your answer. You’re the only guy I’ve jerked off. The only guy I’ve gone down on. But yeah, I’ve done more. I let this client—Paresh—watch me use a toy.”

“What kind of toy?”

“A dildo.” Andrew slid his arms around Cormac, smiling as the embrace was returned. “Feels so good….”

“A dildo?” Cormac tried to sound neutral, but his curiosity came through.

“No. You.” Andrew had to laugh. “Well, actually, the dildo was good, too, but I meant you, dummy.”

“Did you eat any dinner tonight?”

“Nope. That’s why I’m drunk. Just buzzed, really.” Andrew was surprised he had to explain so many basics to a man as intelligent as Cormac. “Anyway, Paresh gave me a dildo and I used it right in front of him. What do you think of me now, knowing I did that for money?”

“Andrew. Come here.” Exerting his strength, Cormac pulled Andrew down atop him, pressing Andrew’s face against his chest. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

“That’s not all,” Andrew continued, unable to stop himself. “He wanted to finish. You know, do me. And I let him. For an extra thousand, I let him.”

Cormac stroked his hair. “Was it awful?”

“No.” Andrew moaned as Cormac’s fingers worked against his scalp. “Came my brains out. Have you ever felt that with a woman? Lust out of nowhere that you never thought possible?”

“Yeah, of course. That’s why I started dating Natalie. Back when I was trying to pray out the gay,” Cormac said. “She was… she was you in a skirt. About the same height, round bottom, gorgeous face with big blue eyes. The first time we made out, I thought maybe I wasn’t gay. That I just hadn’t met the right girl until then.”

“Round bottom?”

“But it was just a little spark,” Cormac continued. “Since I was eleven, I’ve been attracted to boys. As much as I liked Natalie, the more we played around, the more worried I became. She wanted to get physical, but I lied and said I wouldn’t because I was Catholic. The truth is, I was afraid I couldn’t get it up for her. Not even if I thought about men the whole time.”

“Seriously. Round bottom?”

“Yeah. Your butt cheeks are so perfectly round, you could calibrate basketballs with them. But my point,” Cormac said, beginning to knead Andrew’s shoulders with both hands, “is that for me, attraction to women is very weak. But you’ve always enjoyed being with women, haven’t you?”

Andrew made a guttural assenting sound. Cormac’s hands were surprisingly skilled.

“And when this man Paresh made love to you, that was good, too?”

“He didn’t make love to me. He stuck it in and went to town.”

“But you liked it?”

“Of course.” Andrew snuggled against Cormac’s chest, grateful for the warmth and the delicious pleasure spreading across his loosening shoulders. “Why can’t I just be bisexual? Why do people act like bi is bullshit?”

“Because sometimes, girls kiss girls just to attract straight men. Because sometimes, gay guys take that first step out of the closet by claiming to be bi. A few years later, the girls are married to men and so are the guys. It makes ‘bisexual’ seem like a dodge.”

“So if they’re liars, I must be, too?”

“No, it’s just—think about the whole ‘born this way’ meme,” Cormac said. “It’s a way to get straight people to let up, because most people are basically fair, even when religion tells them not to be. But if human beings can be truly bisexual—as happy with the opposite sex as they are with the same—then the religious rules still apply, meaning folks like me just need to try harder. To take what society offers and be happy.”

“Talk about missing the point,” Andrew muttered.

“Well.” Cormac stroked his hair thoughtfully. “I really think I’ve summed it up. If sexuality is a spectrum, I must not be a hundred percent gay, because I was a little attracted to Natalie. And your dad was married to your mom for years, right? So he’s not one hundred percent, either. But again, if people like us are reclassified as bisexual, the argument could be, we should get in touch with our female-loving sides and give up our sinful gay practices.”

Andrew made a rude noise. “Please. I don’t think bi means any woman is as good to me as any man. It just means initial openness. If I wanted you, Cormac, there isn’t a woman in the world who could take your place. Yeah, the playing field would have been open in the beginning. But only in the beginning.”

Cormac sucked in his breath. Then, kissing the top of Andrew’s head, he went back to kneading his shoulders with that rhythmic, perfect pressure.

Andrew felt like he’d said something questionable, but his body was already eight-tenths asleep. His fear for Marie was locked away, safe in a compartment with the walls sealed. All he wanted now was oblivion. Which made the erect penis against his midsection all the more insistent.

“You’re horny again. Sorry. Probably shouldn’t have rambled on about the dildo and whatnot.”

Cormac cleared his throat. “I just have a lot of lost time to make up for. Doesn’t take much to get my motor running.”

“We can do it,” Andrew said, uncertain if he could even open his eyes or lift his head. “Seriously, if you’re all that horny, I don’t mind.”

“Andrew.” Cormac’s voice was soft. “Which would feel better? Doing it? Or staying like we are for the rest of the night?”

“Like we are.” Sighing, Andrew kissed Cormac’s throat, adoring his taste, his scent. “Just like we are.” And not long after he spoke the words, he fell asleep.

Chapter 9

The next week passed slowly. Marie stayed at Sloan-Kettering a total of three days, consulting with a hepatologist before beginning Dr. Czarnecki’s new treatment plan. It stopped one drug, began two more and included targeted radiation therapy for her liver. On the afternoon of her release, Marie tossed the book Jake had given her,
Cancer Proof: A Survivor’s Guide to Positive Thinking
, in the trash. Her baseball cap with its familiar pink ribbon and the glittery notebook containing her bucket list went in, too.

“Sure about this?” Andrew kept his tone neutral. From time to time, his sister threw a tantrum. He’d pitched a few as well, always in the privacy of his own apartment. Sometimes the universe dealt out more frustration than even generally well-behaved, rational people could handle.

“That book is garbage. No more cancer books for me. From now on it’s all romances or porn. Preferably romances with porn,” Marie declared. She didn’t sound angry, just resolved. “As for the cap—if I see one more pink ribbon, I’m gonna strangle someone. The ribbon’s starting to look like a noose to me. Drop it over someone’s head, pull both ends, and
voilà
.”

Andrew chuckled. He liked this side of Marie. “Fair enough. But your bucket list?”

“That list is about the future. From this day forward, I’m all about now. Besides, there’s too much bull on that list. I don’t really want to swim with dolphins. I want to veg out on a beach drinking hurricanes and watching hot dudes in swim trunks. Wish I hadn’t cut off the cable. I’m sure there are movies about women doing that.”

“I’ll get the cable reconnected,” Andrew said. “You might not be on the beach with a hurricane, but we’ll have you vegging out in front of the TV with an Ensure by dinner time.”

“Andy. Dad was right about one thing,” Marie said. “You need to save some money. Don’t blow it all on me.”

“Let me worry about money.” As he said it, Andrew realized Wasserman hadn’t called him with a job offer in almost a week. But it was another two days before he guessed something was wrong.

“What can I tell you?” For a Wednesday morning, Huey Wasserman sounded unusually harassed. “The upper echelon men who use my service all know each other. Whatever went down between you and Mr. Choudhari created a very dissatisfied customer. The last five opportunities I booked came with a stipulation: no Andrew Reynolds.” Wasserman sighed. “What’d you do, kid? Tell him you prefer girls? Spit instead of swallow?”

“Nothing like that.”

“Spill it.”

“He invited me to his next party. I said I’d be there if I could. But Marie was in the hospital, so I forgot all about it.” Andrew ran his fingers through his hair. “Maybe I should have called to say I couldn’t make it.”

“I see. Want a piece of advice, from me to you?”

“Sure.”

“Call and apologize. Explain you had a family emergency,” Wasserman said. “I know it stinks, but these guys are paying for a dream—the fantasy that handsome, fit young men desperately want to be with them. Choudhari probably thought you were in love with him and just taking the money for show. I know it’s ridiculous, but getting a taste of reality makes his type see red. You know the saying. Hell hath no fury like a rich man scorned.”