Tigers and Devils

by Sean Kennedy

  “You want to know what I think?”

  “Of course I bloody do!” he laughed.

  “I think…,” I teased. “I love you.”

  “Sounds good to me,” he couldn’t resist teasing back. “Are you at work?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m coming over before the media follows me.”

  When I hung up, Nyssa was looking at me in shock. “Did I just hear you right?”

  “What?”

  “You said you loved him!”

  “Oh, Nyssa,” I grinned madly. “That’s old news.”

  TRUE to his word, Declan managed to beat the press to the office, probably because they were still detained at Etihad, trying unsuccessfully to get more details about his love life from the hapless Frasier.

  He burst through the office doors, and Nyssa, who was still on red alert, locked them immediately after him and shyly hung back, suitably awestruck.

  Declan crossed over to me; I was leaning against Nyssa’s desk, and he pulled me up to him, taking my face in his hands and kissed me rather passionately. In public. With no fear. Still in front of the glass doors, where anybody passing by could have seen within. I liked it.

  “Uh, hey, this is Nyssa,” I said, fighting to gain my breath back.

  Nyssa, her eyes wide as she had never seen her boss in any public display of affection, stepped forward and shook Declan’s hand. “Hi, I’m Nyssa. Pleased to meet you. Nyssa. Nyssa Prati.”

  “Hi, Nyssa,” Declan said warmly, taking her hand. “Simon has a lot of nice things to say about you.”

  “Really?” Nyssa asked suspiciously. “Simon? Saying nice things? That Simon?”

  Declan turned back to me. “You really have people fooled with this whole pretend hate-the-world thing, don’t you?”

  I shrugged. “It works for me.”

  “Would you like a coffee, Declan?” Nyssa asked, all charm.

  “Thanks, that would be great.”

  “I could even make it Irish.” She smiled, looking rather like Fran and, I suspected, myself whenever any of us talked to Declan.

  “Why not?” he winked. “Let’s make it a celebration.”

  “Come into my office,” I offered.

  He nodded and took the few steps from Nyssa’s desk to my tiny room.

  “I have a good view—” I said.

  “So do I,” he growled, and before I knew it I was pressed up against the window with my arms full of lusty footballer.

  “I’m pretty sure this is against office decorum,” I panted.

  His left hand had crept under my shirt and was stroking the skin of my stomach.

  “You’re probably right.” Lips were now working against my neck. “And you do have a great view here.”

  “Told you.”

  We rested against each other, and it seemed that the weight of the past few days suddenly settled upon us. The afternoon sun lulled us into a silent reverie, just standing there and holding each other. Had I ever felt the sun upon us before as we did such a thing? I couldn’t think properly, but I didn’t believe so. It was a great feeling. Nyssa knocked on the door, and she smiled sweetly at the two of us. “Coffee,” she announced, setting them upon my desk and discreetly leaving the room.

  True to her word, there was a shot of whiskey in each mug.

  “Making out and drinking on the job,” Declan said. “Your bosses better not find out.”

  “I think they’d forgive me at the moment, as long as they got their way,” I said, darkly.

  Declan took his mug and sat beside me. I decided to beat him to the punch this time and dangled my hand down by the side of my chair to pick his up and hold it tight.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “I basically got raked over the coals this morning by the big bosses,” I said.

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing. Which is why they’re calling meetings with me.”

  “I don’t get you.”

  “Don’t tell the press that.”

  “Funny. What’s wrong?”

  “They want me to exploit our relationship by making sure you come to our premieres and guarantee us some major media attention.” I tried to gauge his expression out of the corner of my eye, but he seemed unperturbed as he sipped at his coffee.

  “And what, you were planning to take somebody else as your date?”

  “Well—”

  “You didn’t think I would want to support my partner at a major work function?”

  “No, but—”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “Just, I hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to you first and make sure it was okay. Because I don’t like the fact that I’m going out with you is going to be used for other peoples’ nefarious purposes.”

  “What does it matter, if we’re doing what we want anyway?”

  “I guess?” I didn’t sound so sure, as he could probably tell.

  “Are you going to ask me for a date, then?” He grinned and tried to hide it by gulping at his coffee again. “Ask me nicely, and I may accept.”

  “Are you asking me to ask you on a date?”

  “Yeah. But I would also like to go on a date that isn’t a media event first.”

  “Huh. Maybe I’m waiting for you to ask me.”

  “I asked you on our first date!”

  “Are you keeping score or something?”

  “Something,” he admitted.

  “Fine. Hey, Declan?”

  “Yes, Simon?”

  “What are you doing this Friday night?”

  “I don’t know, I’ll have to check my diary.”

  “Arsehole.” I dropped his hand and cradled my mug like a baby.

  “Stop sweet-talking me, you bastard,” he murmured, reaching up to slowly stroke my neck. “What are you asking me?”

  He almost had me purring. “Want to go out on Friday?”

  “Sure. But my parents will probably chaperone.”

  That was it. I set my mug down, grabbed his and set it aside, and pulled him toward me by the collar of his jacket. “Shut up,” I ordered, and I kissed him to ensure that he would.

  Chapter 22

  “SIMON,” Dec murmured into my ear, “they’re back.”

  On that ominous note, I opened my eyes and groaned. “It was too good to last.”

  While Scott Frasier was still dealing with the hordes at Etihad, I had left work early, and Declan and I had holed up in my house, determined not to answer the door or the phone in preparation of the second wave of attack.

  After we had breakfast, we faced the media together in order to get to the car. They threw questions at us, but we pushed through until we unlocked the doors and Declan said, “You got your statement yesterday. That’s enough for now.”

  It obviously wasn’t enough for now, judging by the way they pressed against us and started yelling, hoping volume alone would make us respond.

  Declan was meeting with members of his team at Etihad in some sort of preemptive get-together where everybody could air their feelings about how his coming out would affect them all. The rest of the team would be connected via video conference.

  “They really push the psychology angle nowadays, don’t they?” I asked as we turned out of my street, referring to the club’s nicey-nice share-our-feelings approach.

  “It’s all very by the book,” Dec agreed. “Sometimes I wonder if a few beers down at the local would get better results.”

  “Oh yeah, alcohol, extreme masculinity, and controversy. Can’t see anything bad resulting from that.”

  “At least it would all come out. No pun intended.”

  We couldn’t help but laugh at it anyway.

  When he pulled over to let me off on Bourke Street, he surprised me by leaning in and kissing me. “I’ll call you.”

  “Okay,” I murmured, and I stumbled out the door.

  It felt weird to have gone from hiding everything and being so careful to him suddenly being so cavalier
. So far everything had gone really well for him; the backlash wasn’t starting to appear (as it inevitably would), everybody that he dealt with personally had been supportive. There had been no reaction from Joe Public he had seen yet. In his view at the moment everything was hunky-dory, and I felt shitty about waiting for the bubble to burst. I had been there before; I knew the pattern. I didn’t want to be the one to burst it for him, but sooner or later he would hit his first of many walls.

  I felt even more shitty when it only took a few hours. It was as if I had cursed him and made it become possible. Was I Cassandra reincarnated?

  He appeared in the doorway of my office; Nyssa had told him to go straight through. She had gone in search of the office medkit and icepack even though the doctor at the Etihad’s gym had already looked at him.

  “Don’t panic,” he said, because my face must have already been showing what I myself hadn’t even recognised as feeling yet.

  I was out of my chair and across the room to him before he even took a step. “Who the hell did that to you?”

  His jaw was bruised, the skin broken around the edge of his lip to show blood that was fresh even now, peeking out around the ends of the butterfly bandage attached to his skin. He winced as I gently inspected it, and he pulled my hands down.

  “It was that bloody Geoff Hendricks, wasn’t it?” I demanded.

  I had never liked Hendricks; he always seemed too full of himself on the field, even by footballer standards.

  “It wasn’t Geoff.” He looked at me, with what seemed like a new light in his eyes. “You look fucking mad.”

  “I am fucking mad!”

  “What, are you going to go up there and defend my honour?”

  “Give me a minute, and I will!” And I meant it. I was on fire, ready to let out all the frustration had been ebbing and flowing in me lately onto whoever had done this to him.

  “That’s very noble of you, but I really don’t want you beating up Jess’s dad.”

  “What?” That revelation forced me to sit down.

  Nyssa appeared behind him with the icepack and handed it to me. “Is there anything else you need?” she asked.

  “Thanks, Nyssa, this’ll do,” he told her, giving her a small smile.

  Nyssa looked at me for confirmation; I gave her a grateful nod.

  Declan took the pack off me and moved across the room to sink gratefully into one of the chairs. He held the pack against his jaw and gave a deep breath.

  “Okay, you have to fill me in,” I said, walking over to him.

  “Can I just give you the abridged version?”

  “No.” I pulled my chair around my desk so I could sit beside him. I checked over his hands; no defensive wounds. He hadn’t fought back. Whether that was good, I couldn’t decide yet.

  “The meeting actually went pretty well,” he said finally. “I mean, the real test will be when we go back to training. You know, there were a few jokes, but it was all pretty easygoing. When we walked out, though, Jess’s dad was there. And he just punched me. I didn’t even see it coming, just heard him ranting about betraying his daughter, you know, that kind of stuff.”

  “Sounds like a bad soap opera.”

  “It was.” He managed a smile, even though it was probably a bit painful. “I’m just glad it was inside Etihad’s inner sanctum and the press wasn’t around to capture it on film. I think he was actually about to come in for a second punch when Abe pulled him back. Then security came in and took him out.”

  “Took him out? With a gun?” I asked hopefully.

  Declan looked at me like I had lost my mind. “No, took him outside, dick.”

  “Well, I don’t care if he’s Jess’s dad. I want to take him out. And not outside.”

  Declan shook his head, trying not to laugh.

  “Shit, Dec, it’s not fair that he’s singled you out when he doesn’t know the full story.”

  “Of course he doesn’t know the full story! So what else is he going to think?” Declan asked. “In his eyes, his poor daughter has been used and abused by the guy who would and could never love her. She’s the victim, and I’m the bad guy. The evil, predatory fag breaking her heart to further his career.”

  “I thought predatory fag was my role,” I said, trying to make him smile.

  He didn’t. “Don’t.”

  I gingerly stroked his injured hand. “You’re not a bad guy. It’s just the way it was.”

  “Jess and I were stupid to think it could ever work.”

  “No offence, Dec,” I said gently, “I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did.”

  He nodded. “Probably. I just wonder what Jess is going to do.”

  I kept my mouth shut. Wisely. I hoped Jess would have the courage not to let Declan take the fall for her actions as well as his own. The irony was not lost on me; this was an exact repeat of Dec’s position only a few days before, where he had the choice to continue the charade or step up.

  I don’t think the irony was lost on him either, but he looked too exhausted to acknowledge it.

  “Why don’t you go back to my house?” I suggested. “I still have to work here for a while, but you should get some rest.”

  “It’s not rest I need,” Dec said tiredly.

  “Well, go and see your folks or something. We can see each other later.”

  “You trying to get rid of me?”

  “No. You can crash here if you want.”

  He stared down at his feet. “Is the floor comfortable?”

  “I’ve never slept on it.” I shrugged. “I only usually crumple on it in a ball when something goes wrong here.”

  “I’ll go back to your place,” Dec said. “Have a nap and a drink.” He stood, for a moment seeming unsteady on his feet. “See you later.”

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, because he felt he had to. And I had to accept it, because I had to.

  But when he gave me a quick kiss, I could taste his blood on my lips, and it made me feel sick, vulnerable, and mad as hell.

  THE sun had just about disappeared over the horizon when I got home, and my already troubled stomach fell into even further disrepute when I noticed the media presence on my street was even bigger than usual.

  The scrummage for my attention started as soon as I pulled into my driveway. Yet the first person to get in my face was not from one of the major networks, but one of my neighbours.

  Dale Watson. Somebody whom I avoided at the best of times.

  “Simon, we need to have a word,” she said firmly.

  “Kinda busy, in case you haven’t noticed,” I replied.

  “Have I noticed?” she fumed. “You can’t help but notice!”

  I couldn’t help but notice that although the media were packed in tightly, they were being strangely silent. And I realised Dale was gearing up for a confrontation.

  While courting the press at the same time.

  “I’m sorry for the chaos around here lately,” I said smoothly. “Believe me, it’s not something I want either.”

  “And yet look at all this,” Dale said grandly.

  “It will blow over soon. Some soapie star or politician will get done for a DUI, and I’ll be forgotten about.”

  I could hear some press members snicker at this; they knew it to be true.

  “That’s not good enough! Everybody on this street has been putting up with this crap for far too long!”

  “There’s nothing I can do about it,” I repeated, just wanting to get inside.

  “No,” Dale said coldly. “The only time something could have been done was stopping the likes of you from moving here in the first place.”

  I was gratified to hear some astounded whispers from the press at her outburst.

  Did she really think that would upset me, though? I’ve heard far worse directed at me during my life. There had been better insults when I was in primary school, for fuck’s sake, and I wasn’t even out then.

  “If we could decide w
ho could and couldn’t move into our neighbourhoods,” I said, “then I would have made sure we had an anti-old-nosey-bigots policy before you moved in.”

  More laughter from the peanut gallery.

  It would have become even more heated, I could see the hate screwing up her face as she tried to think up a comeback, but everybody assembled around my car was distracted by the front door of my house opening and Declan stepping out onto the veranda.

  The press immediately made a beeline for him, calling his name.

  And then Jess stepped out behind him.

  I groaned inwardly. They were going to have a field day with this.

  “Oh, look,” Dale said nastily, a satisfied smirk on her face. “It’s your boyfriend’s girlfriend.”

  I was stumped for a comeback; all I could do was roll my eyes.

  The throng was also momentarily stumped by Jess’s presence, but they were well practiced in responding to the unexpected scoop, calling her name and hurling cheeky questions at her.

  “Jess! Are the rumours true that your father attacked Declan this afternoon?”

  “Jess, how are you dealing with Declan’s revelation?”

  “Jess, did you know Declan was gay before he came out?”

  Who was that journalist with the inane questions? Was it some high schooler on work experience? Because, crap, they needed to up their game if they wanted to survive in this profession.

  Declan looked back at Jess; she nodded at him and moved around to take centre stage.

  “I won’t take up too much of your time,” she said in a loud, clear voice. “And I’m not sure if I will be as eloquent as Dec was yesterday. But the truth is, I am not the victim as some of you seem to enjoy making me out to be.”

  Oh frig. Here it goes again. Did someone call a national coming out week and forget to tell me? At least they might have notified me it was taking place on my front doorstep. I would have gone round to the back entrance.

  “Declan and I have always had an understanding; a marriage of convenience, if you will, without the marriage. We acted as support for each other when we needed it. I also am gay and happily living with my partner.”

  I thought Dale Watson was about to explode under the weight of her own prejudice. It would have been entertaining had it happened, for her to spontaneously combust like that shopkeeper from Dickens’ Bleak House. Unfortunately she remained breathing, although heavily so.