Covert

by Kelly Fox

  “You look a little scared,” I say, not unkindly.

  His laugh is soft, as are the lines around his eyes, which only make him more handsome. “I am a little scared. I am a lot surprised. I am entirely shocked. I thought it was only ever about getting off. Like a kink, or something.”

  “It can be…and it can be an epic love story.”

  I apparently wasn’t done letting words just fall willy-nilly out of my mouth, but more surprising, he’s looking at me, nodding, not afraid of what my rogue brain just belched out onto the table.

  “You realize that you can’t work anywhere else,” he says, running his hands through my hair. “Logically, this is a huge mistake, but… No, there’s actually nothing that would make any sense to say after that. You’re not working anywhere else. You’re working for me, because I would lose my mind otherwise.”

  I nod in agreement and sigh. My lesbian friends are going to have a field day with me. For the number of times I made fun of their insta-love stories, I’ve fallen damn near square in the middle of one of my own. I’d had plans. I was going to fuck my way through grad school, then the rest of my thirties, and maybe when I was forty and going saggy I would consider settling down.

  I stroke his cheek. “I don’t know what just happened, but…I don’t want it to end.”

  We whisper a few more words to each other and his hands don’t leave me the entire evening. Finally, when sleep begins to claim us, he rolls to his back and I to my side, my head on his chest, and his arm around my shoulders.

  No, I don’t know what just happened.

  But this is home, and I can’t imagine us anywhere but here.

  ❖

  Chapter Seven

  Christopher

  I’ve made an enormous mistake. What was I thinking, bringing him here to my house? I am not the only state, or hell, federal politician on this street, let alone this neighborhood. How the hell am I going to get him out of here without being caught?

  I look down and see Magnus, his body still attached to mine, his hand on my belly, looking up at me with curious eyes.

  “So, it finally hit you.” Not an accusation. Not a question. A statement of fact.

  I run my hand over my face and let out the trapped gust of air.

  “Was it the sex? Are you freaking out about putting your dick in my ass?”

  I shake my head.

  “But there’s something.”

  I nod.

  He raises both eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.

  Letting out another breathy sigh, I attempt one. “I might be a Democrat, but I’m a Texas Democrat, and I am holding on to my seat by the thinnest margin. The smallest whiff of gay in my direction, and it won’t matter that I’ve done more for my district than any other State Senator. Someone finds out, and this would end my political career just as I’m getting traction.”

  “I thought that if I worked in your office…”

  “Too risky.”

  Magnus pulls himself off of my body and sits up in the bed, cross-legged. His beautiful face is marred with a frown and a hurt look in his eyes. “Do you not trust me?”

  I extend my fingers to touch his face but retract at the last second. His eyes track the movement, then turn down.

  “Maggie, this is the kind of thing that could make national news, and then none of the initiatives I’ve been working on for years will be worth a damn.”

  “Don’t call me Maggie when you’re breaking my heart.”

  “We just met yesterday, how can I break your heart?” I ask, lying through my teeth, my own heart twisting in on itself, painfully squeezed in my chest. “And anyway, you’re a writer. This isn’t the kind of thing that would be good for your career, either.”

  “Yes, because no creative has been out, ever,” he responds dryly. His eyes, however, are suspiciously wet.

  I can’t stop thinking about what he’d said last night. Show a little goddamned respect.

  I look at my hands again, remembering his cum, so warm on my fingertips. It took years for the sitting president to acknowledge the HIV crisis. I think about the angry New Yorker and am suddenly, selfishly so in tune with his anger. Sure, I’d known that it was bad for a long time, but something about Maggie’s cum on my skin made it more real.

  I couldn’t have refused him last night if I’d wanted to. I’d…needed him. More than I’d ever needed another human. To be honest, the need would have superseded a need for safety, because he was like mana. Oxygen. The folks in New York and California can say all they want, but I know in my bones that if we’re to get a solution, it’ll take people like me who can speak the language of the conservative, who can get them to care.

  But they won’t care if they know I’m gay.

  I’ve spent too much time in my head and by the time I look up, he’s pulling up his pants, berating himself for letting a one-night stand turn into something more.

  “Wait!” Again, that feeling of desperation overwhelms me.

  He turns, his shirt unbuttoned, his skin and hair gold-infused in the morning light. “Why? Why should I wait for you? So that you can explain to me why you’re pulling away from something that you know is special? Don’t lie to me. Don’t try to act like this didn’t mean anything to you. Don’t you—“

  “I would never do that,” I say quietly. “I just…I have the opportunity to do so much good, to help so many people. I can’t do any of it if they know I’m gay. And not just gay, but if they find out I’ve been with a man three decades younger than me, there isn’t a single voter out there who would re-elect me.”

  “So, I’m just all kinds of wrong for you, aren’t I?”

  “Maggie, we both avoid serious heartache if we stop right now. Of course this means something to me. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, ever. Every question I’d ever had about my sexuality was cleared up last night. I’m not just some straight guy with a gay kink or one of those guys who says that they can do both. I thought I was maybe that,” I say hesitatingly.

  “Bisexual?” His chin is trembling, but he’s kept his dry tone and it hurts.

  “Yeah. Bisexual. But I’m not. Maggie, if last night taught me anything, it taught me that I am gay and that everything else I’d told myself about who I was…was just a lie to cover up the truth.”

  “Well, at least now you can keep your lies straight.” His face is impassive, despite the tear rolling down his cheek. “And my name is Magnus. Only people I trust and respect can call me Maggie.”

  “Magg—Magnus. You’ll see. This is too intense to be real. We had one night of passion, and we let it get out of control. A month from now you’ll know that we were on some testosterone high and that these feelings aren’t the real thing. I was married to my wife for several years, and that kind of relationship takes time to build. That’s not what this is, and it is foolishness to risk my life’s work—your life’s work—to follow this absurd notion that we are somehow made for each other.”

  By the time I’ve finished my nattering, he’s pulled his clothes together and stepped into his shoes. Turning to me one last time, tears now slipping more freely down his face, he opens his mouth to say something, but thinks the better of it and closes it, turning away from me, stealing down the stairs so quietly it makes me wonder if he’d ever been there in the first place.

  Chapter Eight

  Magnus - one month later

  Working for State Senator Thompson is good for my resume and the experience has taught me a lot. Mostly how to look like you’re doing a lot of work while making exactly zero enemies and accomplishing absolutely nothing at all.

  It’s a skill, and he’s got it in spades.

  What’s worse is that I’m starting to follow suit without questioning it.

  You see, I want to write world-shifting political thrillers, but maybe I just don’t want to get my hands dirty.

  “State Senator Morris has once again ruffled feathers in Austin today by insisting that his district support testing fo
r the AIDS virus, provide free screening, and condoms for all who need them. His is an important vote on the business initiatives that the majority Republican state senate wants to pass, since they no longer have the support of the far right contingent. State Treasurer Richards has praised Morris’s bipartisan efforts as forward-thinking and a move in the right direction for the state of—”

  It took me a few moments to find the remote control to shut off the blasted news report, and before I cut off more of the effusive—and probably well-deserved—praise that the sharp-tongued, iconoclast treasurer laid on him, several pictures of him standing next to Ann Richards herself flashed across the screen. Her convention speech a few years ago was a firebrand, and the two of them together…well, it probably spelled trouble.

  Seeing his roguish smile tore at the scarred over, stitched-together parts of my heart, and I clicked off the TV before heading out to meet up with Clarence, my super-gay roommate, at our favorite spot under the big gazebo. The UT guys are on the water, but…I can’t get into it.

  Sure, I’d hoped to see Christopher in passing, hoped he would wander this way for the same reason I wander this way, but…no.

  I’ve said nothing of Christopher to my friends, not even to Clarence, but he’s noticed the change in me.

  “Darling, I haven’t said anything because I thought it was just a passing thing. But you look like you haven’t slept in ages and you’ve lost weight, what gives?”

  Clarence is my age, but he’d grown up in New York City’s Ball culture, and pulling punches wasn’t in his wheelhouse. He isn’t nice, but he’s fiercely loyal, and he’d scratch out the eyes of anyone who’d dare say a word against those he called friends. I found, and stayed, on his good side.

  “Thanks, Clare. I thought you could never be too rich or too thin,” I respond snippily, hoping he doesn’t notice that I didn’t answer his question.

  “Honey, you’re right on the first count, but you’re pushing the second count. Seriously, do I need to drag you to Mama Star’s house and force feed you her collard greens?”

  Mama Star is one of those not-to-be-trifled-with people and I’d be in for collard greens, her famous baked chicken, and an earful. If Clarence is pulling the Mama Star card, I might need to consider taking better care of myself.

  “Thanks, but no. I just…I’ve been working a lot of hours.”

  “A lot of thankless hours. Did that no-good prefect, or whatever he calls himself, even use any of those things he had you working on?”

  “State Senator, and no. Not a one.”

  “I thought you’d interviewed with Our Holy Saint of AIDS a few weeks ago—is that job still an option? His office seems to be doing good things.”

  “Nope. He wasn’t a good fit. Kind of an asshole, to be honest. Though, I suppose to get things done you need to be an asshole.”

  Clarence looks at me with a critical eye. “I heard he has a hard time keeping staff.”

  “See? Asshole.”

  His head tilts to the side. “What exactly happened on that interview? Do I need to twist somebody’s testicles? Because you know me, I’ll do it.”

  Honestly, I contemplated his offer a little longer than was probably totally necessary.

  “Nothing, really. His muscles seize up if he stays seated for too long, so we went on a walking interview. By the end of it he said he could never work with me.”

  “Never work with you? Honey. Please. You are the kindest, hardest working person I know. And one of these days you’re going to write a best-selling political thriller and leave all of these podunk politicians behind.”

  “He’ll go beyond state if what I saw was any indication.”

  “And what did you see?”

  “Politics above all else.”

  “What, even family?”

  “Especially family.”

  “Hmmm. He’s standing beside his son, who is almost as gay as I am, honey. I mean, he’s not going to join us in any parades, but Morris just went to his son’s PhD commencement.”

  That fact draws me up short. “Shit, how did I miss that his son is gay?”

  He flutters his fingers dismissively. “Oh, it’s very hush-hush. Not on the media radar at all, just the gossip at Oil Can Harry’s. You know how it is.”

  Fuck, I wish I’d known his son is gay. Though, I doubt he’d be showing up at our favorite gay bar any time soon. Bet he’d have been a much better fit than that crotchety old fucker. An ugly part of my brain wonders how fucked up it’d be to date his son instead.

  Probably pretty fucked up.

  “Okay, what is this expression?” Clarence asks, circling my face with a perfectly manicured nail. “Did this man touch the bad place while on that walking interview with you?”

  No, he touched all of the fucking good places, and that’s the problem.

  Clarence’s eyes narrow at me and…fuck. I am far too familiar with that expression on his face. “Baby girl, did you…”

  I looked at him and felt the damned tears well up.

  “Magnus. Did you and Morris…? Did he force himself…?” he whispers hastily.

  Why am I still so fucking upset about this? Why does this one question torture me?

  “No,” I say, appalled that my nose is starting to run. Clarence reaches into his inner jacket pocket and pulls out a beautiful white handkerchief. I take it from him and blow my nose. “He did not force me.”

  “But you…”

  I look around and there isn’t anyone with us under the gazebo. I bite my lower lip in a vain attempt to stave off a fresh new set of tears and give him a brief nod.

  “Just once, and it was perfect, and I stayed the night at his place, and we started talking about plans, and the next morning he woke up and said that it’d ruin his political career, and he’d never be able to do the things he’d wanted to do for his community if they knew he was gay.”

  “So, the AIDS initiatives, the working with the other side of the aisle for business initiatives in areas like his…”

  “All gone if he gets found out.”

  “Is that why you haven’t said anything about him?”

  I nod, wiping more tears. “If he can’t love me openly, he won’t do it at all. His mind was already made up.”

  He rubs my arm soothingly. “One night, sweetie? You’ve got all of this drama from one night?”

  “I feel like an idiot.”

  Clarence takes my face in both hands and shakes his head. “No, baby. I shouldn’t say that. Sometimes you just know right away. With Mario…”

  “I know. I remember teasing you two about it. Y’all didn’t even make it to the three-month mark before he moved in with us.”

  Mario had been active in the bathhouse scene before he’d met Clarence, and with the ‘gay cancer’ scare, they’d used condoms. I suspect Mario always knew he was sick but loved Clarence so much that he protected him the only way he knew how. We had two years before AIDS took him from us.

  “But now you hate him?” Clarence asked gently.

  I swear, if he’d just asked in his bitchy, straightforward Clarence way, I’d have been fine. This softer side just wrecked me.

  More tears fall as I feel his warm arms wrap around me. I shake my head into his shoulder. “N-no. I don’t hate him at all. I feel like part of me has been ripped away and I feel so stupid about it. Some dumb guy in his twenties going after an established, rich politician who’s, like, miles above my league. After one stupid night of the best sex of my life.”

  “Better than Big Mike?”

  I sniff loudly. “Way better than Big Mike.”

  “And if you could support a man who is trying to do something positive in the community and live out the good life in a big, sprawling ranch in Fredericksburg, then why not?”

  “I tried to say that we could make it work, but he wouldn’t hear it.” I wipe my nose and shake my head as I twist my fingers together. “Anyway, aren’t we supposed to be coming out of the closet, not trying to find ways
to stay in it?”

  Clarence looks into the distance and then looks at me. “Yes, and if I thought keeping this to yourself would hurt your introverted ass, I wouldn’t even let you consider it. But some people help others by coming out of the closet, and others help by staying in it and working in the background until everyone can be safely out.”

  The words sound good in theory, but… “Doesn’t matter, he doesn’t want me anyway.”

  “Sugar. Look at me.”

  Slowly, I allow my gaze to meet his.

  “If you’re still feeling some kind of way about this thing that happened between the two of you, then so is he.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Well, because I’m wise beyond my years…but also because there’s a man on forearm crutches walking over here and he’s looking at us.”

  I whip around and sure enough, Christopher is there, ambling slowly in our direction.

  Clarence kisses my cheek, then takes his leave, pausing to say something to Christopher before he leaves. Christopher looks at him for a hard minute, then looks at me and nods.

  God only knows what came out of Clarence’s mouth.

  Chapter Nine

  Christopher

  I’d had another terrible night’s sleep and was growling at pretty much anyone who talked to me. Not the best day for my monthly lunch with Ann, but you don’t reschedule a meeting like that unless you’re in the hospital.

  I should have faked an aneurysm.

  “That’s unimaginably stupid, Ann. You can’t start the meeting by announcing you’re an alcoholic.”

  “Christopher Morris, if those assholes want to take over my one sacrosanct evening and make me speak at their rubber chicken dinner, then I’m going to remind them where I’d usually be.”

  “Be it on your head, then.”

  Ann widens her eyes and looks at me with an eyebrow so sharp it could kill a man. Might not be a winning career move to piss off the woman who could one day be Governor.