“I know.”
“I’m sorry.” Cassandra shook her head, sat up straighter. “I take it back. I’m not sorry.”
She took another dumpling from the plate. “You and Derek make no sense. Neither one of you were using or disrespecting the other. Why wouldn’t you let me help you guys talk it out?”
“We reevaluated,” I said. “We went too fast. Didn’t have enough information. Of course, we couldn’t sustain our early success.”
“Shut up with your strategic-planning vocab. You and Derek are so annoyingly alike. You’re not planning to start some new initiative or take over the world. It’s just a relationship. Which, frankly, is more important than taking over the world, whatever that even means. All I know right now is that some people are irrationally stupid.” Cassandra jabbed her hands on her hips and stared straight at me. “I can’t believe you two won’t let me help you talk it out. I’m training as a minister. I know mediation. I know counseling. I can help.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Derek thinks I’m damaged goods.”
“I love you, but you are wrong.” She shook her head. “Derek told me that when he was coming back to your office at the Homeless Coalition he heard one of the program managers congratulate you for working Derek for a donation. He heard you say, ‘I got this.’”
“‘I got this’? Yes, I remember saying ‘I got this.’ Christine had just congratulated me on seeming so happy with Derek. She knew we were dating. I was talking about the relationship. I got this—as in it was going well and I was doing things right for a change. The specter of Oscar was disappearing. ‘I got this’ meant I got Derek, and I was happy.”
“That’s not how he heard it.”
“That’s how I meant it.”
“Let me help you guys.”
“No. If he jumped so quickly to thinking I was using him, he doesn’t have a high opinion of me. We’re done.”
“Jeffrey—”
“Staff at the Coalition is working on the grant. I’m not going to tell them to stop, because the homeless community needs the funds. But Derek and I are done. End of story.”
MOST WOULD say the wedding was perfect. The Jefferson Memorial was perfect. The water cradling it from behind was perfect. The tourists were even perfect, staying appropriately far enough away, but scurrying to take pictures of the quintessential American moment. It was a mostly black and brown moment in front of the memorial for Jefferson, whose own life had been a complication of pigment. But that afternoon, everything was simply beautiful. Was that moving on? As long as the work was still happening. Which it was.
There was no seating. We stood in a circle around Cassandra and Eddie. There he was, Derek, straight across. Damn, he looked good. That was frustrating. Did he always have to be so perfect? Maybe Hollywood Handsome was exactly the right way to think about him—great-looking but little substance. Shit. Now I was being judgmental. I breathed it out. The day was about Eddie and Cassandra. Not me. And seriously, Derek wasn’t vacuous, I knew better than that. The ceremony had all the things you’d expect. A flute, a song, quotes about love and perseverance. You could be cynical and think it meant nothing. Or you could know it meant everything to a handful of people and wish that someday it would to you too.
After the kiss-the-bride moment, the circle loosened as guests moved to congratulate the newly married couple. Derek hugged Eddie and kissed Cassandra. He turned and headed straight to me.
My mouth clamped shut. My shoulders tightened. My arms shot straight down my sides. My back was rigid. Dammit. Breathe. I didn’t want to be a jerk. I actually wanted to thank Derek for helping me feel better about not seeing Oscar’s problems. I wanted to tell him about a new arts program we were thinking of introducing at the Coalition because creation could be a type of ownership for people who owned very little.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said.
“All right.”
“The Homeless Coalition has been awarded our first three-year grant. The kids chose you guys over the other contender.”
“Thank you.” I was surprised how dryly that came out of my mouth. “Our staff worked hard on it. The homeless community needs it.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t.” I stared straight at him.
“But I am.”
I wouldn’t say anything else.
“Nothing is better than waking up with you.”
Really, now?
He sighed. “We’re hoping you’ll come to next year’s award ceremony. The kids plan to make it a bigger deal than usual. They’re excited to launch this multiyear grant and build a relationship with the Homeless Coalition. In the meantime at least one television station is considering a story about how Burkewest Academy students are using their privilege to impact DC’s underprivileged. They think you’d be perfect to interview. You bridge those worlds.” A swarm of clicks went off from an old-fashioned camera.
“Next year the three Homeless Coalition program managers you met at my office would probably be better representatives. I won’t be there.”
“We’ll talk about it later, but I know the students will want you. You’re the face of the Homeless Coalition.”
“I’m sorry.”
Derek shook his head and his shoulders drooped. “Really, Jeffrey. I’m sorry. I jumped to conclusions.” He took a breath. “You jumped to conclusions too. You thought I was being a jerk.”
“You were.”
“True, I was. At least please come to the ceremony. It’s not about me. It’s about the kids.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I thought you’d say that, so I’ve scheduled a lunch for you, Alex, and me at Old Ebbit Grill.”
“Alex?”
“Alex Harris from Columbia Heights.”
“You’re playing dirty.”
Derek launched into his huge smile. That smile, those eyes? How could everything suddenly seem good again?
“I can’t say no to Alex.”
“That’s what I’m counting on. We could start working together now. He says the two of you could bookend the perfect story for television, print, and other media. The kid is thinking big. He’s going places. He reminds me of someone.”
We silently stood there. Neither of us turned away.
“Except for this shit, we were really good,” I said.
“We were.”
“You know we should give us another chance.”
“I do.”
We didn’t grab hands, but I could feel the warmth of Derek only millimeters away.
Was it one of us? Or both? Did it matter who reached out first? We walked hand in hand to congratulate Eddie and Cassandra.
“I told you,” Eddie said as we approached.
“We both told them.” Cassandra kissed Derek first.
The rest of the day was a blur. The night too. And the morning. But all of it was with Derek, a truth I was beginning to understand.
SCUDDER JAMES JR believes happily-ever-after begins today. Junior high was terrible, boarding school better, and college the place he met the boyfriend he married (despite a pit stop in a fraternity). He started in finance because he thought he had to, but instead became a counselor for refugees, a fundraiser, and a teacher of sex and spirituality classes. After Chicago, Seattle, London, and Japan, he’s back in Boston where it all started. His favorite place to write has a harbor view of two colonial ships.
Scudder loves telling stories in print and on film. He’s thrilled that his short LGBTQ films have shown around the world in places as unexpected as Alabama and East Africa. Twenty years ago, he was diagnosed with a debilitating neurological disease that doctors are bewildered has disappeared. Scudder is an avid meditator and passionate about appreciating every moment.
One of his favorite mornings has been waking up on a boat in Patagonia with his perfectly imperfect partner and hiking an island of 130,000 penguins.
A note on Power Players: Although Scudder moved from DC to Boston after
his first birthday, some of his favorite childhood memories involve returning to the city for Easter egg hunts in the gardens of a family friend. As an adult, he has worked in organizations for homeless families and foster children.
Website: www.scudderjamesjr.com
By Scudder James Jr
Boca Dreams
Power Players
Published by Harmony Ink Press
WATERMARSH TALES
Cranberry Boys
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Published by
DREAMSPINNER PRESS
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Power Players
© 2019 Scudder James Jr
Cover Art
© 2019 Brooke Albrecht
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Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com.
Digital ISBN: 978-1-64405-567-0
Digital eBook published October 2019
v. 1.0
Printed in the United States of America
Power Players Page 7
