by Sean Kennedy
“Us who?” asked Roger.
They entered the kitchen, laughing. They tried to exchange greetings with us, but quickly cottoned onto the fact that high drama was unfolding. I excused myself and walked out the back to get some fresh air. I thought if I stayed in there any longer I could be sick.
It wasn’t that long until I heard someone open the door and step up behind me. I was expecting Declan, but it was Roger.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Trying to seek a bit of sanctuary,” I said morosely. “But we just bring all the shit with us.”
“It’s early days yet,” Roger said in an attempt to be comforting. “You have to expect it, really.”
“Really?” I asked. “The bosses asked Dec if they should cover it up by saying I came onto him when he was upset about his dad, and that he wasn’t reciprocating when the photos were taken. And you know what? He thought about it.”
“And?” Roger asked.
I stared at him in complete shock. “You think that’s okay?”
Roger shrugged. “I think it’s human.”
“Great.”
“I think you’d consider everything if you were in his position, as well.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“For fuck’s sake, of course you would!” Roger scoffed. “I bet you any one of us would think about it for a bit. It would be a complete fantasy, this magic pill that could take your problem away, even if it’s practically impossible.” Roger sat down on the top step and pulled me down with him. “And I think that if you were to put yourself in his shoes for just a minute you know you would consider it as well, if you were honest enough to admit it. But what matters is that he didn’t agree to it. Because that’s not him.”
“That’s a lovely speech, Rog.”
“Fuck off.”
“Seriously, does Declan know you have a man crush on him?”
Roger shoved me. “Arsehole.”
We sat in silence for a moment before I finally muttered, “Thank you.”
“Simon, at the moment, you’re going to have to choose your fights. And, of course, you being you, you’re choosing the wrong ones.”
What was it about friends that they could tell you the truth, no matter how painful, and you had to take it? I nodded. “I know. It just hurt, that’s all.”
“Girl.”
I punched him in the shoulder, and we both sagged against each other, laughing.
“It’s times like this I wish I smoked,” I mused. “These moments need cigarettes.”
“You hate the smell of smoke,” came Declan’s voice through the screen door. “You complain if the next door neighbour is in her yard and lights up.”
Roger stood. “I’ll let him take up the reins here and call you out for being a wanker. As usual.” As he opened the door and stepped around Declan he asked, “Are you staying for dinner?”
“Sounds good,” Declan said. “Thanks.”
“Simon?” Roger asked.
I shrugged. “Might as well.”
The two men in the doorway gave each other looks of commiseration, probably a shared feeling of wondering why they put up with me. Declan came out and sat beside me. I continued staring out past the Hills Hoist and to the dilapidated shed that was never used and was beginning to be swallowed up by junglelike grass. Declan reached for my hand, and I squeezed it, rubbing my thumb over the back of his, a silent gesture to let him know I wasn’t really angry anymore.
“You know,” he said, and cleared his throat because it sounded a little rusty, “I’ve always thought about this day and how I would act when it happened. And in my head I was always unbearably noble and accepted coming out with dignity.”
I looked at him and tried to speak, but he cut me off.
“So how do you think I felt when it did happen, and they offer me this option, this way out that could make it all disappear? That could make it stop, for just a little while, all this fear and self-doubt, this worry that I’m not ready for it yet?”
I let him speak and brought my other hand over to rest upon his arm.
“How do you think I felt when I seriously considered, for one brief moment, letting the man I love take the fall for me? Believe me, no matter how angry you are with me, I hate myself even more for it.”
Hearing him put his fears out there made what little remnants of the anger I was holding onto fade away. And Roger was right, Declan was not the kind of guy who would ever have seriously considered that course of action. It just wasn’t him, after all.
“I’m not angry, Dec. You’re right, it’s a natural reaction to think about it. And I can be a fucking prig sometimes, expecting people to act better than they should, when I’m not in that position and would probably do the exact same thing if I were.”
“I’m going to do it,” he said. “I’m going to come out. And deal with whatever happens.”
I nodded.
“Simon, you’re part of this. Because whatever happens when I do this, you’re a part of it. Are you okay with that?”
“Of course I am.”
He sighed, and I knew he was feeling as uncertain about everything as I was. “So what do we do now?”
I stood up and yanked him up with me. I hugged him tight and said, “We go inside and help them with dinner.”
He laughed. “If only everything else would be as easy.”
Yep. If only.
A TRUER sentiment had never been spoken.
When I got home, my yard was empty. I knew it would be short-lived, however, and the reporters would probably be back in the morning. Declan had gone back to his parents’, saying that he would probably be on the phone for the rest of the night in conference calls to his coach and the board as he convinced them of what he wanted to do and they figured out the logistics of it all.
I received a text as I was jumping in to bed later that read
Tomorrow is D-day.
I couldn’t sleep, I felt so sick.
THE faithful pack had returned in the morning, and I resolutely ignored them as I got into my car and made my way into the city. When I walked into the office, Nyssa met me at the door and intoned theatrically, “The bosses are here, boss.”
“What?” I asked. I think the only way to truly describe my expression was aghast. They never came to our office, Nyssa and I always had to drag our arses across town to meet with them. You would normally think that the consensus would be that as we were on our own territory we would have the advantage, but I didn’t think this would be the case. They were showing how utterly serious this was, that they had to leave theirs.
“They’re waiting for you in your office.”
“How could they all fit?”
She shrugged. “Oh, and Alice Provotna has left you at least fifty messages.”
“Alice Provotna is the least of my worries right now,” I told her. “Wish me luck.”
Nyssa crossed her fingers and waved them in front of me as if they could create a shield to protect me against the board members who were probably deciding my fate as we spoke. I took the long walk down the hall—had this hallway always been this long?
Seriously, it was normally three steps. I pushed open the door with as much confidence as I could muster.
As I swept my way grandly through my extremely small and now extremely cramped office, I tried to appear as nonchalant as possible. “Morning, all,” I said casually, thanking them silently none had resorted to taking my chair in a show of superiority.
“Simon,” Brian Emery nodded at me as I sat before him. “Been quite a few days for you, hasn’t it?”
I didn’t want them to start with accusing me of shirking my responsibilities in the workplace. “Well, the great thing about this job is that there’s still a lot you can do from home. Especially when you have as good an assistant as Nyssa.”
Lucie Andersson peered over at me through her thick-rimmed glasses. “So, the work’s been getting done?”
I calmly counted to three
in my head. “Of course. We’re up to speed. We’re exactly at the point we should be. Is there a problem?”
“Simon, don’t be so defensive,” Brian said, putting up his hands and warding me off. “We’re not here to lecture about the way things have been handled lately. After all, your private life is your private life.”
I nodded.
“As long as it doesn’t affect the festival,” Lucie made sure to point out as a friendly warning.
Jon Daintry finally spoke up. “Which is why we’re here.”
“I thought you just said you knew the festival hadn’t been affected,” I said.
Brian nodded. “We think, perhaps, we can use this to our advantage.”
Why, hello, sinking feeling, my old friend. “How so?”
“Any publicity is good publicity,” Brian said. “If we can get Declan Tyler to attend opening night and a few of the other festivities—”
“Hold on!” I interrupted. “You—”
“It’s no time to get precious, Simon,” Lucie said.
“Precious?” I asked. “This is my life, his life, you’re talking about. He has enough to deal with without me having to parade him around like the ultimate PR accessory.”
“It’s not like we’re asking you to do anything out of the ordinary,” Lucie said. “I mean, you would normally bring your partner to events, wouldn’t you?”
“I haven’t the past couple of years,” I pointed out.
“Were there any partners to bring?” Jon asked.
Actually, there had been, at least in my years as an assistant, but they were never interested enough to attend. I remained silent.
“You like your job, don’t you, Simon?” Brian asked.
I glared at him. “Is that a threat?”
“Not a threat, no. But you can’t deny that this is a perfect opportunity for you to cement your position with the festival. We took a risk hiring you—”
“And it’s paid off,” I said bitterly. “The past couple of years, promotion, sponsorship, and attendance have all increased.”
“Now you have the opportunity to take it even further,” Lucie suggested, not too gently.
The three of them stared me down, as if their combined presence could break me.
“If Nyssa’s as good as you say she is,” Jon said, “she could easily step into your shoes.”
I guess they were going to break me.
THEY left me to “think about it”, and “asked” me to have my decision ready by the afternoon.
I sat for the longest time in a funk, hating myself for having to mull it over. If it had been a couple of years ago, I would have told them to go fuck themselves. But since then, I had grown comfortable in a job I enjoyed, obtained a mortgage, and settled down into a false sense of security I couldn’t bear to lose.
Nyssa came to the rescue with constant cups of coffee, and to try and cheer me up she supplied a Danish she had grabbed from the café downstairs. At twelve, she told me Declan had called in a rush, unable to get me on my line because I had had it diverted during my meeting with the bosses, and it was busy when he tried again later (I was relating my woes about the job on a conference call to a suitably appalled Roger and Fran). The press conference was going to be in an hour.
“He sounds sexy even on the phone,” she said dreamily.
“You have no idea,” I replied just as dreamily. Then I shook myself out of it and switched on the TV. The news breaks were already announcing that Declan Tyler and the Devils had called a press conference, and it was expected that Tyler would “come clean about his recent controversy.”
They wanted to make it seedy. But I knew Declan would be nothing but classy as he stared them all down. Nyssa kept giving me worried glances until I sent her away, although I promised she could come in at one to watch the press conference. I would need the moral support.
It was like Melbourne Cup day, except it was the confirmation of a sports star’s sexuality that would stop a nation rather than a horse race. Ian Roberts, an NRL player, had come out a couple of decades before, but that was rugby. Nobody had ever come out while playing AFL. This was history, and I was at the centre of it. Hiding under my desk all the way.
Should I have offered to face the press with him? Did he feel he couldn’t ask me to? I felt like everything had been taken out of our hands at the moment; we barely had enough face time together to try and discuss these things, everything was going so fast.
Perhaps this was going to be Declan’s first step at taking control of his own life and dictating the way he wanted things handled.
Nyssa rushed back into my office at five to one, brandishing rolls and drinks from downstairs for our lunch. “The press have left the premises for the moment,” she told me. “They must have all run over to Etihad for the conference.”
I took my roll off her eagerly. You would have thought I should have been too full of nervousness to eat, but I was starving. “Good for me at least, probably not for Declan.”
“How are you feeling?” Nyssa asked, dragging a chair over to sit next to me.
“Hungry,” I said through a mouthful of food.
Nyssa shrugged, accepting my answer readily. She seemed to be as well, the way she tore into her ham and salad baguette.
On the television screen, a reporter was talking to the anchor back in the studio. You could make out the long table set up with microphones to the right of his shoulder and the banners of the Devils unfurling from the ceiling. The hall was packed with possibly every form of the media and the usual interested members of the public who snuck into these events. Passes were hardly ever checked as long as you had some form of camera around your neck. Just ask Roger. But that’s another story, for another time.
A hush fell over the hall as the curtains parted, and the more senior board members of the Devils emerged, followed by the coach, and finally by Declan. The room instantly became an epileptic’s nightmare with constant camera flashes giving it a nightclub-like strobe effect.
“He is so hot,” Nyssa said. Again. “I can’t believe you’re going out with him.”
“Hey, I’m hot,” I protested.
“No, you’re not. Not Declan Tyler hot.” She realised what she said, and in the manner of the best slapstick comedienne, clapped her hand over her mouth. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean,” I sighed.
She gave me an awkward one-armed hug, almost spilling the contents of her roll over me as she continued to watch the television.
Slightly embittered—really, what was it with everybody feeling the need to point out my boyfriend was so much better looking than me?—I tried to focus upon the situation at hand. Declan was standing and making his way over to the lectern, wearing his best serious face but also chewing at the inside of his cheek.
“Hello,” he said, and he leaned back, probably spooked by the loudness of the microphone. “Thanks for coming today. I have a statement to read.” He cleared his throat and scratched his neck nervously. “Ever since I was a kid, all I have wanted to do is play football. It turned out that, injuries aside, I was pretty good at it. I never expected to get into the official league; it was really just a dream. And I didn’t know when it first happened at the age of eighteen just how much of a public figure you can become, and with that, how much interest there can be in your private life. For the most part, I have managed to keep it pretty private, but lately there have been articles and rumours I could ignore and deny, but would not be true to myself.”
It seemed the press was now waiting with bated breath. Declan looked up, gave a hesitant smile, and consulted his notes again. Back in the office, Nyssa’s hand suddenly slipped into mine, and I was grateful for it.
“So I come to you today to tell you my own story directly, rather than letting the misconceptions and rumourmongering of certain members of your otherwise fine profession continue to play out.” He took a deep breath, and I hoped he was doing the right thing for himself, not because
circumstances had forced him into it. “While I have always preferred to keep my personal life private, as that is the way I have been raised, right now questions are being asked and I will not hide away from them. I am proud to say I am gay—”
The room erupted in a low hum of excited chatter amongst the reporters, and the blinding flash of cameras desperate to capture the exact moment on film.
“—and I am very happy in my relationship, which has recently been the topic of discussion and pictorial spreads in the papers.”
“Aww,” Nyssa said, resting her head upon my shoulder. “He’s talking about you.”
“Unless he means his other, hotter boyfriend,” I said.
She hit me; I winced.
“Neither my sexuality or my efforts, or lack of effort, on the football field make up the whole sum of me. I just hope by putting an end to this speculation I can continue on in all facets of my life with a respect for my privacy, and also of my partner’s, whose life has been subjected to speculation and curiosity as well. Thank you.”
Declan left the lectern as the press fired questions at him all at once. The coach of the Devils, Scott Frasier, patted him on the back as he passed him to take the microphone.
“I’m sure you can understand that Declan has said all he needs to say for the moment,” Frasier said, looking more like a deer caught in the headlights than Declan had moments before. “I will take relevant questions from the floor. And I mean relevant,” he said, with the glare that made him infamous and intimidating in the coaching box.
“Wow,” Nyssa said. “That was quite a good speech.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” I smiled.
“Oh, listen to you, you sound so proud!”
“Of course I am. This is a huge thing he’s done. I just hope he gets the respect for it he deserves.”
“So, when do I get to meet him?”
My mobile rang, and I leapt out of my chair. “Hold that thought.”
I was relieved to see it was Declan’s number. “Hey.”
“Did you see it?” He sounded excited, scared, and relieved.
“I did.”
“What did you think?”
