Three Ex Presidents and James Franco (17 page)

              What I suppose I mean is, what if homosexuality isn’t genetic? That’s what has been bugging me the last few weeks. That’s what it’s all about. What if we’re wrong?

87.
We've wrapped things up here in Buffalo. James has gone, he needs to head back to meet his parole officer, so it’s just Zach and myself now.

              We're going to make a bee line back down towards New York, catching whichever clinics we can along the way. I'm intrigued as to what we'll find in Manhattan when we get there. I've been reading a bit online, and it seems the play has caught the attention of quite a few people down there. Though, from what I can garner, it’s now a love triangle between Lincoln, Buchanan and William King. Shtick, as far as I can see. All mention of slavery, any nuances of the analogy between racism and homophobia, would seem to have been lost.

              The movie has got the green light. The Stepfather seems quite taken with his new role as a movie mogul. He's having a press conference with the director and stars to launch the movie in the media. He's only the money, not the talent, but it seems just like the guys in New York the allure of the spotlight is too much for him.

88.
A drag show wouldn't quite sum it up. Drag involves guys dressing up as women. But, the costumes of the 19th Century have been overdone to the point of cheesy, and there are now musical interludes.

              I'm talking about the play, of course. What was originally your play, then became my play and now is a cabaret act in Greenwich that has given a new lease of life to a small and dingy bar called Down Under.

              I went to see it last night. The guys were delighted to see me. They got me on stage at the end to take a bow. There was much clapping, accompanied with wolf calls. The guys seem completely oblivious to the idea that I might be angry with what has happened. The fact that the village has taken them to their hearts seems a mighty success in their eyes. I dare say they even expect me to be grateful.

              The funny thing is, though I'm not grateful, I'm not upset. It seems this trip has taken some life out of me. When I stood up there on the stage, I was a little overwhelmed. That’s perhaps too strong. More precisely, I was touched. Looking out at the crowd, standing and cheering, I felt I had accomplished something. These people had all come together to join in giving the two fingers to the establishment. The joy and energy was palpable.

              It affected me. It made me think that this could in some way be the answer. Rather than be a cause to be fought for, maybe this celebration, just the right side of tacky, is what it’s all about. The agenda could be to create a community. A safe haven.

              That could be the easy answer. All gays living together in a much bigger closet, insulated from the outside world. No doubt I will eventually come to that conclusion. But at the time, last night, I had a feeling of belonging and happiness which I haven't had in a very long time. That’s no small thing.

              And, do you know what was going through my head?

              I was thinking that I really missed you.

-Jake

The Eigth Part - James Franco

89.
When Jake released me there was no swelling music. No dramatic end to my captivity. There was just a look of alarm on his face at discovering me there. I was bleary eyed and hungry, so I could only muster a half-hearted greeting. I would have gone undiscovered had he not needed fresh clothes after his travels. 

              I washed and ate and caffeinated myself. I surely had been confined for two days. Only then was I able to tell Jake what had happened. For his part he dealt with it very well, sympathising with me greatly and not laughing as he explained the misunderstanding. 'James F is there.' Not the friend, the movie star. 

              Jake had headed south back to the university as soon as he heard that the movie star was making an appearance on campus. The stepfather had arranged a press conference for the launch of the movie to coincide with his daughter's rally to end evil non-patriotic activities. James Franco had agreed to attend, attracted as everyone else would be, by the previously arranged presence of Bill Clinton. 

              "What did you expect me to do? Go meet James Franco and tell him he had to wait around for his biggest fan in the whole wide world? Jesus, what could I have said. Why do you want to meet him so desperately anyway?"

              "I just want to shake his hand. I want to meet my guy, my movie star guy. That’s not a strange impulse. Anyway, you're resourceful, you would have figured out a way to do it." 

              "I know you Jake. You don't have a fan’s mindset. You want to meet him for some other reason." 

              "The real reason is difficult to describe. When I first realised I was gay I did so by realising I liked him. It’s as though he made me in some way. Not him, personally. The concept of him. The Hollywood dream. The image of the carefree hunk. Am I too old to use that word? Whatever. It’s just that I think I'm over him now. That was the me of the past. That’s when I was concerned about high school and aceptance. The man I think, until now, I've wanted to be with." 

              "And now?" 

              "Now I'm not that guy anymore. Now I'm over what people think of me. I don't need to be accepted. I'm happy with who I am." 

              "So we've reached a Hollywood ending?" It could have sounded smug, but I said it softly with curiosity. 

              "Hardly. I want to meet him to draw a line under the old me. I want to shake his hand and have a feeling, some feeling. If I swoon, if I'm star struck, I'll know how far I need to go to become the new me." 

              So what had become of Eric, was the obvious next question. We didn't know at the time. Neither he, nor James were answering their phones. Whatever had transpired, we decided more would come to light at the press conference. So that’s where we went. 

90.
As was revealed later, Eric had no idea where to begin looking for James. He had scoured the campus and the streets. As evening fell he tried the Station with no luck. He'd even gone to Coxx, a place he'd heard me mention in passing. There he'd inquired after James and was lucky enough to get a lead. James had been there the night before. Where did he live? The bar man actually told him the truth, doubtless thinking he was doing James a favour by sending an obvious beauty like Eric his way. 

              On arriving at the small motel room which James called home there was no response at the door. Eric broke in and lay in wait. An act of madness. A felony. The rage filling Eric up had overcome the faculty of reason. When I imagine him there I can see his contorted face. I can hear his ranting thoughts. I can hear the voice inside his head screaming about how everything was James's fault. Without James there would have been no scene on the night of the party, there would have been no animal rage which frightened Fiona away. There would have been no injury. No need to abandon the football team and his friends. And perhaps even the screaming voice told him he could shoot James. The man who had shot him. It would be self defence against a lunatic who had attempted to kill him before. 

91.
James was unaware of this as he made his way home. He had met his parole officer. It had gone as well as these things can go. His thoughts were of that night, whether he'd go to Coxx, had he enough clothes at home or had he left them in Jake’s, did he have enough money, or did he need to get in touch with Jake again. 

              On opening his door he was met with a gun, his gun, in his face. I'm not clear as to what they discussed, or rather what was shouted at each other. Suffice it to say that by the end Eric lay unconscious. He hadn't had the courage to fire, he wasn't the type. The waving of the gun in James's face was probably the endgame in Eric's head. A cathartic release. His indecision gave James the opportunity to wrestle him to the floor and knock him unconscious. 

              James searched him. Perhaps for money, who knows. That’s how he found my phone. That’s how he read a new text from Jake I had not seen myself. 'Bill Clinton will be there tomorrow too. It’s going to be a love-in. Will call when I arrive.' 

92.
How intelligent James was is now a matter of conjecture. But at the very least it can be said that he was no idiot. He kept Eric there, bound and gagged for the entire night. He had been attacked by a man with his own gun. The same man he was on parole for shooting. How could it be explained? Could it be explained? He shouldn't even have a gun.  

              That wasn't all that was going through his head. Eric's shouts must have been ringing in his skull also. Shouts about how James was the cause of everything. The cause of Eric's troubles. James had an understanding of causes. He had once had a wife, a career, prospects. From spending too much time with Jake he no longer blamed his former army comrades for the end of this life. He blamed the white devil.

              When Eric awoke he was made to reveal everything. When Clinton was coming. Where exactly. The route. All knowledge that only Eric and Fiona, of all the students on campus, knew. 

93.
Jake and myself arrived at the press conference early. Described as a press conference, it was really a photo opportunity. There were maybe a hundred people in attendance. Mainly media. From the entertainment and regional press. The rest were student council types. Fiona would talk about their new motion. Then Clinton would speak, presumably in agreement, or at least in a vaguely non committal way, and then he would segue into talking about the movie, which would open the door for James Franco, the up-and-coming movie star, and the stepfather to speak. 

              There was some trouble getting in, until the stepfather recognised Jake and waived us past security. We were ensconced at the back, a modest but impregnable wall of press between us and the podium. We could make out Fiona, sitting nervously beside her father. There were two others, the money, and there were two spare seats, one for Clinton, the other for Franco. Clinton would be sitting between the two money men, their prisoner for the day.

              With a great cacophony in front of us proceedings seemed like they were about to begin. I couldn't see Brandon or Eric, but I thought they surely were in there somewhere. The cameras flashed as Bill Clinton walked in. He took forever to sit down, shaking everyone's hand, having a quick word in the ear, waving to the cameras. 

              Fiona began nervously, spending almost as long sycophantically welcoming Clinton as he had taken in his entrance. She moved on to talk about how he had inspired Young Democrats around the country. He inspired proactive democracy and responsible citizenship. 

              A voice beside me said what I was thinking: "My god I hate this shit. There's probably a book of stock phrases they give kids in college that they don't stop using for the rest of their lives. All the country over, they probably make the exact same speech." 

              I grabbed Jake, to draw his attention to the stranger. He mistook it for a sensitive embrace, and put his arm around my waist. Looking into his eyes I did what I thought was right, I kissed him. Soft, gentle, sensitive. It lasted only a couple of seconds. As we both turned our attention to the stranger he seemed non plussed. "I heard about that play, she told me about it today." He was directing our attention to Fiona who was now talking about college activities being used in grotesque and disrespectful manners. "Sounded very ballsy to me. It’s amazing how reactionaries in this country always get the most airtime. The media has no time to listen to a reasoned point. All they want are the extremes. You'd think the people in this country are all hysterics. And that’s just not the truth of it. You guys students here? Did you see the play?" 

              "He wrote it." Jake said, looking into my eyes with playful pride.  

              "Really? That’s cool man, that’s cool.” The stranger said. “Shake things up a bit. You're only in college once. Ah, here comes Clinton," Fiona had finished and it was Clinton's turn to speak. "Let’s hear what he has to say."