Tigerland (6 page)

“Hey!” Declan protested, but that was as far as he got.

“I know,” I said, trying to sound as pathetic as possible. “I sat alone here, mopping up my own blood. While they painted the town red. Probably with hookers and AFL groupies.”

“Reminiscing about the old times when they were stars.” Lisa grinned.

“Hey!” Declan protested again, but gave up and buried his head in a cushion. “Forget it.”

Lisa smiled at me, and I patted Dec’s leg comfortingly. “Look, I told him to go after Abe. He couldn’t be left alone in that state.”

“You’re so much nicer than you pretend to be, Simon.”

“Don’t make his head swell as big as his nose,” came Declan’s muffled voice from within the cushion. “Can I please have another Berocca?”

L
ISA
stayed for breakfast, but left soon after as she was worried that Abe could show up at any moment. Things might have been improving between them, but she didn’t want to push it. When Abe failed to materialise, Dec went downstairs to visit him and make sure he was okay. I sat out on the balcony with a book, but the sun disappeared within a darkening sky as Melbourne began preparing for a summer storm. We often had our worst storms in the heat rather than the winter. Mother Nature liked to screw around with our fair city, making sure we knew she was boss and wasn’t beholden to any meteorological timetable.

I should have known it was a metaphor. Dec returned at lunchtime, although he didn’t have much to report from Abe as he was remaining rather tight-lipped as well. The rest of the afternoon was spent lazing around on the couch, Dec watching some sport I had no interest in whatsoever and me reading. Occasionally we would fool around, distracting each other when we looked too absorbed in our object of interest. Hail began falling outside, coming in at an angle and striking against the balcony door, and along with the air conditioning we were almost duped into believing it was winter. Eventually, we both fell asleep, in what must have been a picture of domesticity, curled up against each other with Maggie between us.

The shrieking of my mobile rudely woke us. I groaned and half crawled over to where it was about to vibrate itself off the kitchen table.

“Bugger, it’s work,” I told Declan.

“Don’t let them make you go in.”

The rain and hail had subsided, so I took my phone out onto the balcony, as Declan was already watching the sports channel again and whooping excitedly over something. Possibly a baseballer getting a hole in one or something.

“Why aren’t you answering your e-mail?” demanded Coby when I picked up. No greetings or salutations.

“I haven’t been on my computer today.”

“What are you, Amish?”

“I wish, if it meant I didn’t have to take your call and could dance with Harrison Ford in a barn. Younger, spunkier Harrison Ford, of course. Not the one married to Ally McBeal.”

“Like you could survive without television. Anyway, I sent you about four e-mails. Normally, a person can tell when they get one, because they hear a little dinging sound, and a cute envelope appears at the bottom of their desktop.”

“Didn’t I tell you at your last performance review that you had to speak to your boss more respectfully?”

“If I recall, my last performance review was held at the pub, and you told me I was no Nyssa, but I would do.” It was a bitter memory for him.

“Huh. So I talked you up, basically.”

“I guess, seeing you had also told me Coby was a bogan’s name and asked if I had a Southern Cross tattoo.”

“Coby
is
a bogan’s name. But it’s not your fault, really. Have you ever thought of changing it by deed poll?”

“And you wonder why… anyway, you should have heard the way I spoke to my last boss. I actually like you. For some strange reason.”

The wind was picking up again, and although it wasn’t exactly a cold wind, the fact there was no sun meant I was feeling a little bit exposed on the balcony. “That’s sweet, Coby, but it’s Sunday. What’s so bloody urgent?”

“Well, if you read your e-mail—”

“Shut up about the e-mail, already!”

“There’s some chatter from various sources—”

“Coby, we’re not in ASIO.”

“You never let me have any fun. Anyway, people are starting to say that there’s a big AFL star about to come out.”

I turned to stare at Declan through the window, the wind hitting my back and going right through me to the bone. He was chucking a cushion at the telly in a pique. Somebody had stuffed up whatever they were meant to do.

“What, as a debutante?”

“Funny.”

“How big?”

“Aren’t you being risqué?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter. I meant, in terms of knowability—”

“Is that a word?”

“—I live with the biggest AFL star who ever came out.”

“It’s sweet that you’re so loyal.”

The rain was beginning to fall again. “Shut up, Coby! How big? Current player, or somebody long retired? Or a rookie who isn’t going to play the game of pretending to be straight from the very beginning?”

Dec and I had met quite a few gay footy players in the past few years. Most of them were either amateurs playing in the suburban teams, or rookies in the VFL who, inspired by Declan, had decided that they were going to be open from the very start of their careers. Unfortunately, none of them reached Dec’s heights. Then there were those who had retired and sadly seemed to prefer remaining closeted, thinking they had survived that long without the attention, so why start now? They were destined to remain gossiped about on footy forums but never confirmed in one way or the other.

But this? It could be big news. The biggest since Dec and I had been caught kissing in the gardens of the St. Vincent Hospital, what now seemed like centuries ago.

“Apparently he’s announcing his retirement at the same time.”

I didn’t want to make any judgements, but part of me was already biased against whoever it was. After all, Declan had taken all the good and the bad at being out while in his sporting profession along with the general public, whereas this guy was waiting until his career was over before coming out and dealing with the ramifications. He would get the glory and only a fraction of the hardship.

I hated thinking like that, but sometimes the harshest critics could come from within the gay community.

And really, could I judge? Dec himself would be the first to remind me that, at the time, he had thought himself quite happy to go along that same path, and he had only really been faced with the decision to come out when it was forced upon him. Instead of being Declan Tyler, the trailblazer, he could have been this unknown guy we were now talking about, like some parallel universe in an episode of
Star Trek
.  Or to a lesser extent,
Sliders
.

The thought of it was enough to depress me, even though it was stupid to dwell on some alternative occurrence we had never been a part of. We went through the things we did, and we came out on the other side. And life was good, regardless.

“So who do you think it is?” I asked, although, the way my gut was twisting, I had my suspicions.

“I think you know who.”

I looked at Declan again. He was staring back at me, probably wondering what was taking me so long. Now that he had my attention, he made a funny face, trying to make me laugh.

My face was like stone.

“Greg Heyward,” I said finally.

“Told you you knew.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve had it confirmed by two sources, just like you always taught me.”

“And you’re sure they’re right?”

“One of them is involved with the agent who is planning it all.”

“Involved involved?” I asked.

“No, I just meant working with them.”

I don’t even know why I asked, really. My brain just wasn’t firing on all cylinders at the moment. It was like the ghost of Greg Heyward returning had temporarily short circuited normal functions.

Dec was now waving at me to get in. The skies had darkened even more, and the rain was intensifying. Really, my surroundings couldn’t get more symbolic. I held up a finger for him to wait a minute.

“So when is this glorious moment of history happening?”

“Your back’s up already,” Coby whistled.

“No. I’m just thinking about Tuesday’s show. If we have time to put a story together.”

“Of course we have the time. We can’t ignore it. This is going to be huge. Maybe not Declan Tyler levels of huge, especially because he won’t continue playing after he comes out, but it will still be pretty big. Especially when the rest of the media find out the history behind it.”

Twisting gut again. I was probably going to have to lean over the balcony railing and aim for the Yarra River in a minute so that my puke wouldn’t land on any tourists on the river walk below.

“You there, Simon?”

“Yep.”

“Thought I’d lost you there for a sec.”

“I don’t think the… er,
history
is going to be important. And why would it be found out anyway?”

As if talking to somebody who had never worked in the media their whole life, Coby said very slowly and carefully, “Because it’s their job to find things out.”

Things
. Things I didn’t even like thinking about myself, let alone it being splashed across the newspapers and trash magazines like
New Weekly
. Oh God, and the things they would say on all the crappy boofheaded footy shows. It could be even worse than when Dec came out, because they would have another relationship to focus on. Two football stars in love! Or at least, who used to be.

And I was just focusing on my own fears pretty selfishly right at this moment. I didn’t even know how badly Dec was going to take it all.

“When?” I asked.

“There’s a press conference scheduled for tomorrow at one in the arvo. I figured we could ask to send Barry and Tish down. If the story’s so big, it won’t be a problem.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“You okay, boss?”

He never called me boss unless he thought I was having a breakdown. Which was about once a month in our workplace, what with the divas that inhabited it.

“Fine. Thanks for the heads up. See you tomorrow.”

I hung up before Coby could reply. Dec was on his feet and coming out to join me. I turned for the balcony, and the wind straight off the water hit me in the face. The tang of the salt actually made me feel a little better, so that when Dec hugged me from behind I was able to lean back against him and put on a reasonable facsimile of a smile.

“You’re not pulling it off,” Dec said.

“Huh?”

“Something’s up. I could tell. So, spill.”

The rain was dying down again. I pulled away from him and headed for the banana lounge. I swiped away the water that had collected on it and flopped myself down. Dec sat at the end of it and stared at me until my resolve broke.

Which took about two seconds. He could be very forceful when he wanted to be, especially when I offered no resistance.

“That was Coby.”

“That was pretty obvious.” But Declan knew it had to be more than that, or else I wouldn’t be looking the way I did now.

I picked at a bit of fluff on my jacket. “Uh, not actually a work crisis, for once.”

“That’d be a first.”

“I mean, it will ultimately have bearing on work, because we’ll have to—”

“Simon,” Dec said gently.

Okay, I had to spit it out. “Apparently Greg Heyward is going to come out.”

It took a lot to stump Declan. And he was
stumped
. He actually recoiled, straightening up and leaning away from me. He looked out over the river, his face in profile. And he was gnawing on his cheek—never a good sign.

“Okay, I knew you’d react badly,” I said. “But not this bad.”

He quickly looked back at me. “No, it’s fine.”

I gave him my best
you’ve got to be shitting me
look.

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. Actually, I thought it was going to happen a long time before this.”

“You did?”

Declan gave a long sigh. “No. I just hoped he would, for his own sake. Let me guess, he’s about to retire?”

“That’s what the word on the mean streets is.”

“Okay, I thought he might have done it before then.”

“If he manages to say ‘I’m gay’
before ‘I’m retiring’ then technically he’ll have a few minutes as an out professional player.”

“I’m glad your naturally healthy cynicism is still in check.”

“At least I’m consistent.”

I had never really asked him what had happened the night of the first Brownlow medal ceremony I ever attended with Dec, which also happened to be the first time Dec and Greg had spoken since breaking up. I had never really wanted a blow-by-blow account of my partner and his ex discussing old times, other than the brief rundown Dec had given me. But to sum up, it seemed Dec had been led to believe that another outing, other than his own, was imminent.

It never came.

Until now. Three years too late for Dec to have support in his own coming out process by someone in the same position.

Although it made me wonder how it could have affected me if Dec and Greg had been there for each other out of necessity. Maybe we wouldn’t have survived.

No, I couldn’t even entertain that possibility. Shoulda woulda coulda, and all that jazz. And now that this was happening, there was no way that I was going to let Greg Heyward get to me now and start doubting the strength of my relationship with Dec.

“What are you thinking about?” Dec asked.

“Oh, lots of things.”

“Like?”

“If it really is him. Maybe we’re worrying for nothing.”

“Who else could it be?”

“I’m sure there are other gays out there.”

“All the pieces fit.”

I hated to admit it, but it sure looked like it.

“You’re definitely thinking something about Greg,” Dec said.

I had grown up a little in the past three years. Dec and I had “split up” over miscommunication and a failure at the time to question each other properly, so I had sworn to myself that I wouldn’t let things get to that point again. Okay, I wasn’t perfect at it, but I had improved in leaps and bounds. “If it is him, I’m just wondering what he’ll say exactly. And if it’ll involve anything about you.”