Holy Rollers (28 page)

He hadn’t necessarily liked what he found in the gym, but his instincts had been right. And anyway, that ex-gay wouldn’t talk about what happened in the men’s room off the gym, so Jared’s reputation wouldn’t suffer.

Same thing with the guy he met at the business center when he wandered in an hour later, still wearing cute gym shorts, cuter sneakers, and a tight tee, a slightly used towel slung over his shoulders. And still
not
wearing underwear.

He almost felt sorry for his business center conquest, who began crying and praying to God for forgiveness and reciting The Lord’s Prayer the minute
his
part of the encounter was over, but…no. Jared couldn’t feel bad for someone who’d taken care of his own needs without worrying about Jared’s, so he left him on his knees in front of the HP printer and, whistling, went off to explore the rest of the hotel.

The conference didn’t start until the following day, but already it was teeming with gay men who desperately didn’t want to be gay. He rode the elevator floor to floor, getting off only to walk the halls as if walking a runway, and got more than his share of double takes. On the seventh floor he passed Business Center Guy as he hurried to his room, still reciting The Lord’s Prayer under his breath, but their eyes didn’t meet. On the eighth, Gym Guy also brushed past without acknowledging him.

He felt a sense of power over these gay men who didn’t want to be, but who still couldn’t resist a hot piece of ass like…well, like
Jared Parsells
. So he took a position in an extremely uncomfortable high-back chair just outside the tenth-floor elevator, threw one leg over the arm so one cute leg—and one cute sneaker—dangled in midair, and waited for the next encounter.

It didn’t take long until a man—fortyish in body, late-fiftyish in face—got off the elevator, gave him that now-familiar double take, and kept looking back as he walked two doors down. He inserted his keycard in the slot, walked into the room, and the door closed…

Almost
all the way. But not quite. And even Jared knew that a door ajar was an invitation.

Tenth-Floor Guy, to his credit, didn’t cry when he got back down on his knees…this time to pray.

Jared was still satisfied that no one would talk; he just wasn’t…
satisfied
. So for the next few hours he investigated the rest of the hotel until—at some point after 4:00 a.m.—he decided the night had dried out. It hadn’t been the most exciting night he’d ever prowled through—not even the most promiscuous; not even in the Top Fifty, for that matter—but it had given him some insight into the people he was dealing with.

They were gay. They would
always
be gay.

Oh, they didn’t
want
to be gay. But as much as they tried to pray and cry the gay away, they were gay. Given the right temptation—Jared Parsells, for example; maybe the
best
example—they couldn’t resist nature.

They were also selfish. He was fine being objectified—he
lived
to be objectified—but these men were missing the whole “us” aspect to their sexual encounters. It was all about them until they got off, then it was over.

No wonder their heads were so screwed up, he thought as he turned off the TV a few minutes before the sun would peek over the horizon and prepared to sleep alone.

$ $ $

Golf…gardening…history…golf again…home makeovers…politics…golf yet again…religion…politics…more golf…

Bored, he powered off the television and reached for his cell phone on the nightstand. As if to rub it in his face, his hand landed on a Bible instead of a cell.

He knocked the Bible to the floor and remembered the phone was back in Nash Bog, because cell phones weren’t allowed at Beyond Sin. Nothing was allowed at Beyond Sin. Especially this morning, when the attendees in the hotel were no longer limited to the early arrivals.

Today it was going to get real.

Hurley and Merribaugh would be there. Members of Congress would be there. The prayers would begin today; the brainwashing would kick into high gear tomorrow.

Which meant no more hanging out on random floors, naked under sheer gym shorts as he dangled his cute leg and super-cute sneakers and picking up random guys getting off of the elevators.

Or did it? There could potentially be some prime hunting during this conference. Not that the night before had been so great, but it
could
get better. Maybe Gym Guy, Business Center Guy, and Tenth-Floor Guy were the exceptions, not the rule.

He didn’t add Off-Duty Room Service Waiter to the mix. That one really didn’t really count, after all.

He ran through the rules for the conference one more time.

No cell phones.
Well, his was gone, and sadly missed.

No outside phone calls.
The phones had been programmed to go directly to the front desk; not even room-to-room calls were allowed.

No illicit fraternization.
Jared assumed that meant he shouldn’t have any more sex with the ex-gays and wannabe ex-gays, but—after the previous night—that rule seemed sort of flexible.

No alcohol, drugs, or pornography.
He would miss the occasional drink—and porn, of course; did he even have to go there?—but he could survive.

Participants should reflect, pray, and read the Bible during downtime.
Whatever. Jared was going to watch
The Golden Girls
as soon as he was free of the conference and he could find a cable channel that wasn’t politics or golf.

But there was no requirement that participants stay in their rooms, and while “illicit fraternization”—whatever that meant besides sex with ex-gays, although maybe that was all it meant—was discouraged, no one said you couldn’t make friends.

In fact, wasn’t one of the purposes of this conference to help build ex-gay support networks? Jared couldn’t quite remember, but it seemed to make sense. So if he stayed out of the gym…and the business center…and the elevators…and…well, if he
behaved
himself—
and
wore underwear—there was no reason to stay cooped up in his room.

He chose the tightest clothes he could find. Chase had a sharp eye, but not sharper than Jared’s when it came to packing a suitcase. Soon he was wearing jeans so tight they almost showed a blemish on his lower leg and a shirt that, if he yawned, would expose a stomach that—if not exactly a six-pack, because that would require actual gym time with weights, not just the steam room—was so taut you could bounce a quarter off it and get back two dimes and a nickel.

And then it was time to check out the check-ins.

$ $ $

First, Oscar Hurley had to walk a gauntlet of Merribaugh’s limp-wristed ex-gays on his way through the lobby. The way they practically leered at him—no doubt imagining him naked, despite their avowed if probably futile hope to change their sexualities—was bad enough.

Worse was the realization that more than a few of them bore a passing resemblance to his wife. Not the rail-thin Francine he’d married; the three hundred pound Francine to whom he was
still
married.

Worse yet was the realization that their makeup was better than Francine’s.

And worse still, Merribaugh was now standing in the open doorway of his hotel room. And he had one of them
with
him! That was just too much.

“Can I help you, Mr. Merribaugh?” Hurley tried not to look at the young man standing at Dennis Merribaugh’s side. “As you know, I have a lot on my mind today.”

Merribaugh understood. “I know, but this will only take a moment, Dr. Hurley. Can we come in?”

“No.” To emphasize the point, he motioned to the robe he was wearing. “I’m not dressed.”

“Oh, uh…” Merribaugh recovered from his momentary fluster. “But I thought you’d like to meet Daniel Rowell.”

Hurley didn’t try to hide his contempt. “Why?”

“Oh, uh…Because Daniel here was referred by one of our friends.”

Hurley began to close the door. “I don’t have time…”

“Our friend Senator Cobey!”

Hurley held the door in the half-closed position and finally took a look at the young man standing in the hall. He was presentable, he finally decided. Not a flaming queen like that Jerry Stanley. Dressed in khakis and a blue button-down shirt, with a conservative haircut, he could almost pass as normal. In short, he was one of those
dangerous
gays: the type who moved among respectable people without giving off warning signals, infiltrating society from within.

Hurley would have to keep an eye on him.

“Welcome to Project Rectitude, Daniel,” he said, holding his gaze as long as possible, which wasn’t very long. “I assume you’re the young man Senator Cobey mentioned the other day.”

“Yes, sir.” Dan nodded respectfully. “He wants me to…to…get well.”

Hurley clutched his robe tightly. “I heard hesitation in your voice. Do
you
want to get well?”

Again there was the briefest of pauses, almost imperceptible. “I do, sir. I want to be normal.”

Merribaugh, standing in the hall behind Dan, clapped his hands. “I am so pleased that Senator Cobey is helping you get your life back on track, Daniel! Isn’t this good news, Dr. Hurley?”

Both Hurley and Dan grunted an affirmation.

“If that’s all…” said Hurley, who began closing the door without waiting for a response.

“I have one question,” Dan said quickly, and Hurley again held the door, although not without a slight eye-roll. “Will there be electro-shocks?”

Hurley neither knew nor cared, so Merribaugh answered. “Oh, no! No one uses electro-shocks anymore!”

It was probably Hurley’s imagination—it
had
to be Hurley’s imagination—but the kid seemed almost disappointed. Again, he started to close the door.

“Will I have to sleep with a woman?”

Hurley held onto the door handle and it stopped its swing. “What kind of question is that?” he asked sourly, as Merribaugh stuttered.

“I was just wondering what you’ll be doing to make me normal.”

Finally composed, Merribaugh said, “Nothing like that, Daniel. In fact, we frown upon sex outside of wedlock. You will learn to get beyond this sin through reflection, prayer, and the testimony of those who have already learned to leave homosexuality behind and love normally. No electro-shock treatment, no sex with…” He blushed, unable to finish the sentence. “Trust me though, son. When this conference is over, you will only want to have personal relationships with women!”

“And only in a marriage sanctified by the Lord,” Hurley added, tightening his grip on the robe.

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

“Okay,” said Dan. “Thank you. I was just curious.”

But by then, Hurley had finally closed the door and thrown the lock.

$ $ $

Jared sat in an overstuffed chair in the lobby, watching the slow trickle of guests check in. His gaydar told him that at least half the people who’d passed by the registration desk were there for the conference, but few were even passably his type, his type being “pretty” and / or “rich.” Pretty was obvious, rich less so, but there seemed to be little of either in the hotel that afternoon.

There was, however, a lot of “sad,” “angry,” and “self-conscious”; usually in the same package. He could see it in their faces, in their walks, in the way their shoulders slumped and their eyes darted warily.

He’d been sitting for the better part of an hour—time in which he hadn’t even pretended to do something other than watch the passing crowd—when a middle-aged man swept in with such a sense of self-importance that Jared had to take notice. He was trim, tall, fair, and square-jawed, with red hair trimmed short and the hint of a bristly five o’clock shadow. His expensive clothes had obviously been tailored to show off his body.

Jared thought,
Hmmm…

He exchanged seats for one a bit closer to the registration desk in time to hear the clerk say, “Here’s your room key, Mr. Lombardo. Enjoy your stay.”

Jared’s eyes followed Mr. Lombardo as he strutted through the lobby to the elevator bank and watched his ass under the perfectly tailored fabric as he waited. Finally, the doors opened; Mr. Lombardo made a half turn toward Jared, smiled, and stepped inside. He held the door open for a few seconds—maybe waiting for Jared to join him?—but finally it closed.

He might have followed him if not for the appearance of another hottie, this one considerably younger than Mr. Lombardo. The sad, angry, self-conscious ex-gays seemed to have made way for eye candy—albeit eye candy of indeterminate sexuality—and that was fine with Jared. This was why he’d come to the lobby, after all.

The hottie wore a blue shirt and khakis that hung loosely on his frame, offering more than Mr. Lombardo to the imagination. It was a preppy look, reinforced by a conservative haircut. Not a bad effect, overall; not Jared’s look, but who
else
could carry off Jared’s look?
Although…
He glanced down at the boring clothes Chase had forced him to bring to the conference and sighed.