by Sean Kennedy
Wallace shrugged. “I’ll give you that.”
“Declan?” Scott asked.
“Oh, I can talk now?” Declan said pointedly, mainly to me, and he cleared his throat. “I was thinking anyone on the ABC, if they want to have me on.”
Everybody in the room laughed, but not meanly.
“Declan,” Wallace said amiably. “Everybody wants your story at the moment.”
“Tracey,” Scott said to a perfectly manicured woman sitting across from him. “Get onto the ABC after we finish here.”
“You do know you don’t get paid for going on the ABC?” Tracey asked of Declan.
“I think I get enough money to not have to worry about that,” Declan told her.
“Just making sure you know that,” she said, vaguely insulted.
“I think the ABC will probably the best,” I said, sticking up for him.
“A lot of the gay rags are asking for interviews,” Tracey continued. “You should at least do one of them. They’ll probably want to talk to Simon as well.”
“Huh?” I asked stupidly.
“You are part of this,” Declan reminded me. “That’s why you’re here.”
“I just thought I was going to be asked for my opinion,” I said weakly.
“Don’t be naïve,” Wallace said, looking up as his secretary entered with a tray of mugs. “The public’s hungry for both of you. They’ll feel cheated if you don’t figure into some of it.”
I took a long sip of my coffee and placed the mug back upon the table. “Can I ask something?” I waited to hear Declan groan, but he only tensed slightly this time.
“Go ahead,” Frasier nodded.
“You seem to be very accepting of all this. Call me cynical, but I thought you might be a little reserved instead of wanting to arrange photo ops and interviews to get the message out further.”
Ed nodded. “I understand why you would think that. But we’re a business as well. And our numbers are down, membership wise. Lower numbers of members means less money coming into the club and lower-tiered sponsorship deals. And you know what brings more sponsorship and more members?”
“Publicity,” I replied. “Preferably positive.”
“That’s right,” Wallace said.
“Do you know we’ve gotten more publicity in the past week than in the whole second half of last year?” Scott asked. “And it’s all due to you two. Now everybody might not be down with the whole gay thing, but it makes us look good if we deal with it positively. Especially with the media on side.”
“Well, that makes me feel so much better,” I murmured.
“You don’t know me real well, Simon,” Scott said. “But I have always had Declan’s best interests at heart, no matter what. And Declan would be the first to tell you that.”
I looked at Declan; he nodded, and I could tell it wasn’t just for show. I guess Scott was right; Declan had been out of commission for a while, the club hadn’t pressured him beyond his capabilities, and although he was a commodity to the club both injured and at his best, I couldn’t help but believe them.
“This could be a boon to the club, especially image-wise. So much media attention is put on the behind-the-scenes boozing or drug-taking that some of the players partake in. This is something positive affecting one of the players personally, and it is something everyone can get behind.”
I waited for the tired no pun intended wisecrack to rear its head, but it didn’t. Maybe they meant it.
“In that case, I should tell you that a documentary maker was already filming me for a piece about the festival,” I told them. “Her name is Alice Provotna, and she now says she wants it to focus on Declan and me as well.”
Ed entered her name into his Blackberry. “Can you send me her details? I would like to schedule a meeting with her.”
I started to have visions of the highly artistic and temperamental Alice meeting with the business-minded Ed, and her inevitable accusations he was trying to control her project. “Uh, sure.”
“She might like access to some of our stock footage of Declan. We can discuss that in the meeting. But Simon, I’d also be lying if I wasn’t worried about your involvement in this. Declan has been dealing with the attention for years; he’s used to it. You’re not, so you need to be careful. Especially when we’re trying to maintain a positive image.”
“Is this the gag order?” I asked.
“It’s the be careful order,” Ed said, looking every part the businessman trying to protect his product.
“I THINK that went okay,” Declan said as we headed back to the car. He was jiggling his keys in his hand.
I reached over and stole them away from him. “I’m driving.”
“Hey!” he protested. “Do you know how to drive a SUV?”
“Can’t be that hard,” I scoffed.
“So you don’t think it went well,” Declan sighed.
“I feel like I’m on probation,” I replied, activating the central locking.
Declan jumped into the passenger side as I opened my door. “You’re not on probation. They just had a point. I’m used to both the press and the public needling me.”
I slid in beside him. “You’re forgetting I work in the media.”
“Not personally, but as a representative of a business.”
He had a point. “For you, I’ll try to be careful.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
I turned the car over, threw it into gear, and we peeled out of the car park with Declan hanging on for dear life.
Chapter 23
THE ABC was quick to sign us on; we were scheduled to attend a taping the very next week.
“Now we’re doing media,” I told Declan, “you have to meet my parents.”
He laughed at the expression on my face.
“I’m serious. As much as the thought of it scares the shit out of me, if they see us doing publicity and they haven’t had the opportunity to slobber all over you they’ll probably kill me.”
“Well, I can’t have you being killed.” Declan grinned. “But do you have to try and scare me so much before I do it?”
“I’m just trying to prepare you,” I reassured him.
Tim had been trying to get a hold of me for over a week. Well, in his own Tim-ish way. Which meant he tried once a day, while I was at work, and then sounded surprised on the machine every time he had to leave a message. It didn’t occur to him to try my mobile or get my work number from my mother. When I finally did speak to him, I could hear the awe in his voice as he tried to accept that his weird wanker of a brother was going out with Declan Tyler™, who was a Gay Footballer Celebrity™ now.
“So, he’s really a fruit?” he asked.
“A tropical one,” I said, having promised my mother I wouldn’t be too harsh on the dickhead.
“One of what?”
I sighed. “Fruit. A banana maybe?”
“Are you on drugs?”
“No, but I thought you were.”
“Funny. No, seriously—”
“Well, he’s either gay or really good at pretending he is.”
“Gross. I don’t want to hear about your sex life.”
“And I don’t want you to hear about my sex life.”
“Glad that’s sorted, then. So, he’s really gay?”
I sighed heavily for his benefit.
Tim finally got the hint. “Anyway, I’m having a party this weekend.”
“Really?” The hairs on my neck began to rise. Tim had never gone out of his way to invite me specifically to any of his parties before.
“Yeah. It’s my engagement party.”
“Don’t you mean our engagement party?”
“What are you talking about?” he asked. “You’re not engaged.”
“Dickhead. I meant, it’s not just your… oh, forget it.”
“Anyway, are you coming?”
“Sure,” I said, trying to sound happier than I felt about it. “Can I bring Roger and Fran?”
>
“Yeah, okay,” he paused slightly. “But aren’t you going to bring him?”
I played dumb. “I asked if I could bring Roger.”
“Declan Tyler!”
“Oh, him! Do you want me to?”
“Well, he’s your boyfriend or your partner or whatever is it you call them these days, isn’t he?” That’s Tim, sensitive to the last drop.
“I’m not bringing him just so you can show him off to your mates.”
“Fine.”
I knew all this would get back to my mother, and I didn’t want the lecture which would result from it. Besides, it would be a public setting, Fran and Roger would be there for support, and we would only have to make an obligatory appearance for Dec to meet the family.
“I’ll ask him,” I said. Famous last words.
“Cool,” Tim said nonchalantly, although I knew he would be bragging about the celebrity coming to his party to all his friends the second it was confirmed, if not before. I hung up after exchanging good-byes and thumped my head against the wall.
IT SEEMED my house was at peace again. The camp of journalists had been absent for a few days, although they still called from time to time hoping to get some comment from me. They were starting to sniff out Declan was signing up for interviews and wanted to get in on the action. Dale Watson, however, was still acting as Neighbourhood Watch and making sure to glare at me whenever our paths crossed.
Dec emerged from the kitchen, carrying fresh drinks. He sat next to me on the couch, and I immediately swung my feet over onto his lap.
“Are you nervous about the interview?” Fran asked.
“Me?” Declan asked. “Not really.”
“Liar,” I challenged him, and he scowled at me.
Roger reached for a beer. “That guy is really good at getting people to open up. He’ll probably make you cry.”
“He will not!” Declan protested.
“I don’t know,” I teased. “You’ve been holding in all your secrets for so long, it’ll probably be like being on a therapist’s couch. That’s why he always has the box of tissues on set.”
Declan groaned and buried his face under a cushion. “This is such a huge mistake.”
“No,” Roger said. “The huge mistake is all of us going to Tim’s engagement party.”
I felt that momentary stab of family loyalty that made me want to lean over and punch Roger. I know I bitched my family out all the time, but I was family. Nobody else was allowed to bitch them out. Even if Roger was the closest thing to family.
Fran not-so-subtly nudged him, and he looked suitably chastened.
“Is it going to be that bad?” Declan asked.
Fran and Roger remained conspicuously silent. I sighed and took a swig of my beer.
“One, it’s my family, who can be trying at the best of times,” I told Declan. “Two, my brother’s friends will be there. Three, so will his fiancée’s family. Gabby, if you remember me telling you, asked me if I was ‘the gay one’. Four—”
“How long is this list?” Declan asked.
I ground my heel a little too savagely into his lap, and he yelped. Fran almost spat her beer across the room.
“Go on,” Declan said through gritted teeth.
“Four,” I continued. “Fuck… now I’ve lost my train of thought.”
“Stick another drink in him and shut him up,” Roger suggested.
“You’re just lucky his feet aren’t in your crotch,” Declan told him. Roger blanched at the thought.
“Four,” I said, ignoring them both. “Putting two and three together, combined with one, probably means that the apocalypse will finally occur, and we will be in the centre of it all. Nothing will save you, Declan Tyler. Which leads me to five.”
“Stop it!” Fran groaned.
“Five,” I said grandly. “Declan Tyler™ will be the focus of everybody’s attention. And even though he wants you there so he can show off his connection to you, my brother will probably end up resenting it if everybody there starts watching your every move. Tim hates not being the centre of attention.”
“It runs in the family,” Roger muttered, and Fran was unable to stop a second explosion.
“There isn’t a six, is there?” Declan asked.
“I’m sure I can think of one.”
“Don’t,” Fran pleaded.
“Fine,” I grumbled. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I WAS trying to affect an air of grandiose nonchalance about it all and being pretty unsuccessful at it. As usual, my friends were quick to catch me out on it. Declan had already experienced his first exposure to backlash against his lifestyle through Jess’s father, and although I wasn’t expecting fisticuffs at Tim and Gabby’s engagement party, I wasn’t thinking it was going to be a barrel of laughs either.
Which I guess meant he did love me. He would have to, to put himself out like that. But I guess we were all going outside our comfort zones.
The interview on the ABC went perfectly, actually. The host of the program put Declan at ease and was compassionate, charming, funny, and extremely successful at managing to extract all the details the public was dying to know. Declan and I at times appeared awkward on camera discussing our private lives and our relationship, but this seemed to work for us as the media the next morning were all positive in their reports about the interview. Such is the power of media in being able to deflect the darker side of public opinion, because it meant Declan was still fooling himself slightly thinking it would always be like this.
Buoyed by the success of the interview, Declan agreed to do a couple of more, although I warned him not to overexpose himself. Too much of a glut in the media, and he could fall prey to tall poppy syndrome. He was already in the press enough before he came out, just because of his footballing. When the season started up again there would be double the attention on his return, both because of his playing and his recent revelations.
I didn’t want to be particularly overexposed in the media myself, despite the fact that my bosses would have loved it. I agreed to do one more interview with Dec in the meantime, as part of the Weekend Australian Magazine’s regular “Two of Us” feature, where they profile a couple about their relationship. We wouldn’t be the first gay twosome to be featured, but we were the most “famous.” The photographer made us pose in the stands of the MCG with the field stretching out behind, empty and unyielding. I’m not sure what he was trying to say, but I know Declan was stressing about the pose he wanted us to take, that we should look casual but affectionate, but not affectionate enough to scare the general public off their Saturday breakfast. In the end it was best smiles forward, and our hands firmly clasped between us.
The interview and photo session was practically all we got to see of each other that week. Nyssa and I were at battle stations, for the festival began the week after. Alice Provotna was pissed Declan didn’t seem to be around as much as she expected him to be; I had to remind her repeatedly that Declan didn’t work for the Triple F and he had his own life and job. I could tell on opening night she wouldn’t stray at all from our sides, desperate to capture us on every last frame of film she had in her camera.
Declan was still spending time with his family and shuttling back and forth between them and Etihad as his bosses were still figuring out a game plan for his media blitz and getting his career back on track.
“This operation better fix you,” I threatened him one day. “Otherwise everybody will be blaming me for your decline.”
“I’ll make sure I play well,” he said dryly, “just so you can save face.”
“Thanks.”
“Making you look good is what I live for.”
When Friday came around I was feeling burnt out, even more than usual, and the last thing I wanted to do was go to the damned engagement party. What I wanted was to fall asleep on the couch with Declan and wake up to a blissful Saturday morning of breakfast and sex. In any order.
Nyssa was upset the traditional B
og-off-to-the-Pub excursion was cancelled, and could only be mollified when I told her that the rest of us would all be firmly ensconced in the first circle of hell. I told her she could come along if she wanted to, but she was smarter than the rest of us.
“You look exhausted,” Declan told me when I came home and collapsed on the couch.
“Just prop me up if I pass out,” I replied.
He studied me worriedly. “Did you look like this in the lead-up to the festival last year?”
“Probably worse.” I closed my eyes, even though I knew it could mean I would fall asleep within seconds.
I felt the warmth and pressure of Declan’s lips, which was the only thing at that moment of time that could rouse me out of my wannabe coma.
“Come on, Sleeping Beauty.” He grinned as I opened my eyes to find him standing over me.
“Funny.”
“Seriously, you were snoring enough to shake the walls.”
“I was asleep?” I jerked into a fully upright position.
“It’s eight o’clock, we’ve got to go and pick up Fran and Roger.”
“What the hell? You let me sleep?”
“I didn’t let you do anything. But you looked like you needed it.”
I pulled him on top of me and began kissing him again. He gently levered me up, even though I tried to resist.
“Wouldn’t it be nicer to stay here?” I asked.
“You know we have to go.”
“I’ll let you do anything to me you want.”
“Nice, prostituting yourself to get out of seeing your family.”
“You’re not tempted?”
“Nope.”
“Liar. Not even a little bit?”
“You have dried drool on your chin,” he said, matter-of-factly. “It’s pretty gross.”
I pushed him away, and he laughed, watching me as I stomped off to the bathroom. I would have preferred to have a shower, but I had to make do with washing the drool off my face and putting on fresh deodorant and cologne. It was only my family, anyway.
Declan was being so cheerfully annoying it wasn’t like I had to make a true Friday night effort for him. Although truthfully, what I was doing now wasn’t that far removed from my usual effort.
