Troubled Waters

by Jerry Cole

  “I’ll give him a call,” Darren said. “But you know, there’s also plenty to do right here in this country. Polluted rivers, lakes, streams. Lead in city water. Wells and aquifers drying up. We could focus, as you say, on small community projects. Education—public awareness.” Darren nodded. “Yes, I love it. We could start with a huge fundraiser with lots of stars that could raise money and public awareness. Make this a primary issue.”

  “And just how are you going to do all this with your teaching and raising a nine-year-old? And getting laid?”

  “I’ll have to give it some thought.” He laughed.

  ***

  Tyler had disassembled and reassembled half of all the mechanical or electrical appliances in the two family houses and had his eye on the other half. He officially lived with Mai, his Vietnamese mom, but he also spent a lot of time with Darren, his dad. They lived just down the block from each other, and Tyler was allowed to be with whichever parent he wanted as long as both parents were informed. It was almost like they were still a family, only Tyler had two houses in which to wreak havoc.

  Stretched out on the floor of Darren’s house, Tyler flipped through an advanced trigonometry book. He was a scrawny nine-year-old with a wiry slim body, big brown, inquisitive, Asian eyes from his mom and a shag of blond from his dad. He pushed the trig book aside and turned to a mechanical engineering textbook.

  “You didn’t like the trig book?” Darren asked from his chair, where he’d been watching Tyler.

  “Oh, yeah, but I’m done with it,” Tyler responded.

  “But what about the exercises, don’t you need to work those out?”

  Tyler glanced at him. “Oh no, I got it.”

  “By got it, you mean you learned it all?”

  “Uh huh.” Tyler turned back to his new book.

  “Tyler, let me ask you something.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m thinking about going to Greece this summer after classes. I’m planning to rent a sailboat and sail the Aegean. Wondered if you might like to come along.”

  Tyler looked up again. “Sounds fun, but Mom’s already enrolled me in a math and science camp for the summer. There are going to be a bunch of really great university level teachers, and I think I need to do that if I’m going to get into MIT by fourteen.”

  Darren sighed. “Tell me, Tyler, do you ever play?”

  Tyler looked at him like he just asked him if he’d like to jump off a building. “Well… chess sometimes, but it’s kind of too easy.”

  “No, I mean like baseball, or volleyball, or hockey—you know—boy type things.”

  “Oh, ugh.”

  “That’s it? That’s your response?” Darren couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I suppose you want to teach me how to catch a ball or something. Create some quality son-dad bonding time. Is that it?”

  Damn, who was this kid? Where did he come from? And Darren thought he was different because he was gay. But this kid… total alien.

  “Well, your mother kinda hinted you might need some strength building exercise.”

  “Oh Dad, come on, you know I’m not the jock type.”

  “But don’t you need to meet other kids… socialize? Gain interpersonal relationship skills?”

  “Dad, if I did that, I’d just get beaten up. At my school, if one has an IQ over one hundred, you’ve got a target on your back.”

  “Maybe we need to find you another school.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Let’s talk to your mother about that. I’m open to it.”

  “Well, there’s this program at Stanford…”

  “But that’s way the hell over in California. Maybe somewhere closer?”

  “I’ll research it,” Tyler said, and then went back to his book.

  Chapter Two

  They’d been setting up the stage—a towering two story structure with pillars of programmable lights to fit the mood of the performance, in the ancient amphitheater on Cyprus, with its stunning view of the sea—for three days now. The Americans were going all out to make this a classy presentation.

  Ness, born Nestor Drakos, from the Island of Crete, started singing as a young boy in both the school and church choirs. By eighteen, he had won a number of local and national singing competitions and had become known throughout Greece as Ness. And now, PBS was doing a pledge drive special that everyone said would open up the US market for him to become a huge international pop star.

  Ness had spent hours on his father’s fishing boat helping with the catch, and over time developed a muscular physique. He stood at six foot-two. He kept his black hair medium long, but he adopted a slightly tousled look, like he’d just gotten out of bed. He kept a five o’clock shadow beard, and with his bedroom eyes and his previously broken nose, he had every female in Greece swooning as he gazed provocatively at them from the posters announcing his performances.

  His manager, Phillipe Sasson, a frazzled middle-aged Frenchman who had too many clients and not enough time, had lately begun to focus more of his attention on Ness. He realized that Ness had the potential to become his biggest client. And, if it worked out, he could drop most of his deadbeat acts and focus on his successful few.

  They were preparing for a tech rehearsal in just over an hour, as soon as it was dark. Ness wore his smartly tailored tux with no tie. His unorthodox maroon dress shirt was unbuttoned just enough to give a glimpse of his hairy chest. Phillipe had polled various costume combinations and this ensemble came out on top.

  Ness fiddled with the earpiece, which he found uncomfortable but necessary. Phillipe came over to him, adjusting it. “Remember, it’s just a tech rehearsal. No need to belt it out. Save the voice for the performance, okay?” Philippe put his hand on Ness’ shoulder.

  Ness nodded. One of his guest stars, the delightful blonde and curvaceous Segneé LaPoint, approached, wearing a sporty spangled jumpsuit with her buttons open generously below the top of her cleavage.

  Philippe nudged Ness and whispered, “Now there’s one for you.”

  “But she’s not Greek,” Ness murmured back.

  “What the fuck does that matter? What’s your obsession with Greek women?”

  “And I’m not ready. My only focus is my career.”

  “Well, a hot babe on your arm would certainly help with that, you know.”

  As Segneé put her hand on Ness’ arm and leaned in, Ness became overwhelmed by the onslaught of her perfume. He noticed her make-up was so thick it was beginning to show hairline cracks below her ear.

  “Did you want to go into the second verse together or solo?” she asked.

  “You lead in. I’ll pick up on the harmony.”

  Segneé tapped her finger to her lip. “Okay.” She smiled and wandered off, giving him a little wave as she retreated.

  “There, see, she’s interested,” Philippe insisted.

  Ignoring the comment, Ness asked, “Any word on the Athens gig?”

  “I’m still working on the sponsors, but after we wrap this up and have a reel, I’m sure they’ll eagerly get on board.”

  “I’d really like that June booking. We’re on a roll, and I’d like to take advantage of it.”

  “Doing all I can, chou.”

  Ness nodded before looking around. “Have you seen Kori?”

  “No.” Philippe glanced at his pager and patted his shoulder again. “Stage manager. Be back later,” he said, walking off.

  Ness spotted Kori heading toward him, so he walked over to greet her. Kori was shorter than Ness but had many of his same features. She wore her long black hair done up tightly at the back of her head and wore little makeup. Of the five sisters, two were married, but the family had generally given up on Kori ever finding a husband. She was bossy, stubborn, efficient, and generally intimidating.

  “Did you get something to eat?” Kori asked.

  “Had a couple of coffees,” Ness replied, taking her arm in his. “But not to worry, I’m fine.”

  �
��How can you be fine?” she said, opening a paper bag. She slipped him a slice of Kasseri cheese and green pepper.

  “Oh, Kori, how you drive me crazy. I love it.” He leaned in and bumped his sister with his shoulder as he took the food. She reached up and tried to straighten out his hair with her free hand. “Kori, leave it,” Ness objected, as he pulled his head away. “It’s my look.”

  “Look? Look? What’s that? Ruffian, that’s what you are—κακούργος. I thought we taught you better than that.”

  Ness stopped and turned to her, taking her by both her arms and looking directly at her. “My darling Kori. It’s getting dark and I have to get ready for the rehearsal. Now please, go take a seat in any of the rows, and let me get on with this. I’m nervous enough as it is.”

  Philippe came back over. “Okay, Ness, it’s time. We’ve got to see your makeup under the lights. Go get ready.”

  Kori waved at him before going to sit on the front row, and Ness went to the makeup trailer.

  ***

  Ness was sitting in the makeup chair with a cape spread over his front to protect his tux. Gaspard was brushing off the excess powder he’d just applied to set the base.

  “Honey, you look like a million Euros,” Gaspard said, stepping back and giving Ness the once over.

  “As long as it does the trick,” Ness answered.

  “Doll, you’re the trick,” he added saucily, as he flicked Ness’ nose with his soft brush.

  Ness felt his face flush. He’d not had too much exposure to gay people and didn’t know how to react to dishy comments.

  Luckily Philippe came in just then, with another of the guest stars, Bethney. Just Bethney—just as Ness was just Ness. Bethney was the latest U.S. pop sensation, more known for her outrages tweets than her voice. Celebrity in one hundred and forty characters. She had a shock of styled hair, half black roots and half purple and green tips. Her eyes were so made up she looked like a hysterical raccoon. Her lips were the color of molten lava. She was short but extremely bosomy and knew how to promote that fact.

  “Have you two met yet?” Philippe asked.

  Ness turned to her just as Gaspard removed the makeup cape. Ness got out of the chair and offered Bethney his hand, but she leaned in and gave Ness a kiss on each cheek instead.

  “Oh…?” Ness responded in surprise.

  “Hey, stud. You got slo-o-w heat,” Bethney said.

  “I… ah…” Ness didn’t understand what she was saying.

  “She means you’re hot,” Philippe added.

  “Oh… thanks. You look… radical yourself,” Ness added, trying to be diplomatic.

  “Yeah, I am pretty rad. Gotta say, primo hot stuff.”

  Ness had no response.

  Philippe stepped in. “So, Ness, Bethney’s going to be in Greece for another week. She’s chilling in Mykonos. How about the two of you create a hot scandal or two in the clubs? Would be great press and would be a sensational follow up to this concert. The media is on both of your cases right now.”

  “Oh, super peachy,” Bethney cooed, as she took Ness’ arm and leaned in.

  Ness stepped back and disengaged from Bethney’s grasp, trying to be graceful about it. “Sorry, but I’ve got to head home after the concert. My dad’s not well, and my family needs me.”

  Philippe glowered. “Ness, when are you going to take your career seriously? I’m busting my ass for you and you seem to be resisting me all the way.” He pulled Ness aside. “Listen, I need you one hundred percent with me. And that includes all aspects of promotion, including being seen in public with appropriate dates.”

  “We may have different definitions of appropriate. So let’s get one thing straight right now.” Ness pointed a finger and tapped Philippe on the chest. “You manage my career. That includes bookings, travel, interviews and coaching. It does not include my family, my personal life, or my choice of dates. If that doesn’t work for you I’m sure I could find another quite suitable manager. Should I start looking?”

  Philippe stood stony silent. Ness could see he was weighing all his options.

  “I understand, and I accept your conditions, but you have to know it makes it difficult for me to help you.”

  “You know I appreciate all you’ve done for me,” said Ness. “I want this success as badly as you do, but not at the expense of my quality of life.”

  Philippe clapped Ness on the shoulder. “Okay, we’ve got a rehearsal to do.”

  Ness went over to Bethney. “Have a great rehearsal, and let me know if you need anything. Philippe here can set you up.”

  ***

  “Thirty-love,” Darren called out as Tyler missed yet another serve.

  “I’m cold,” Tyler protested. “It’s late April, what are you thinking?”

  “Come on, man up. It’s just a little chilly. If you were more active on the court, you would warm up.”

  “This sucks. Why are you making me do this? I hate it.”

  “Your mother and I think you need more exercise.”

  “I exercise my brain,” he protested, swinging his racket before him like a broadsword.

  Darren stood still, looking at his son, and sighed.

  “Well, is there some other activity you might like? What about swimming?”

  “I get earaches.”

  Darren shook his head. “Then what about fencing? I liked that when I was in college. Maybe you would too. There’s a lot of strategy involved.”

  “Hmm, possibly. Would I have to shower with other kids?”

  “I guess not, but why?”

  “They make fun of me. Call me the chink scarecrow or spaghetti arms.”

  Darren couldn’t help but laugh.

  “There see… you too.”

  “Well, it is kinda funny.”

  “Not to me, it isn’t.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. But hey, you’re only nine. Haven’t even hit puberty yet. You’ll grow out of it.” Darren walked up to the net.

  “How do you like it when they call you fag?” Tyler asked, defiantly.

  “Woah, hold up there, Mr. Tyler. Where did you hear that?”

  “At school. I heard some teacher talking about you.”

  “And you know what that means?” Darren asked. Tyler shook his head. “Here, come sit with me.”

  Darren led Tyler over to a bench at the side of the court. They sat down.

  “I don’t know what it means literally. But the way he said it, it didn’t sound so nice.”

  Darren nodded. He’d wondered when this moment might come, and now it seemed to be the time.

  “Son, a lot of people use it as a pejorative. You know what that means?”

  “No, sir.” Tyler lowered his head and looked at the ground.

  “It’s what people say to others when they want to hurt their feelings. Like calling you spaghetti arms or the chink scarecrow.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, fag is a word folks use to demean a person’s masculinity. It is a pejorative word that refers to someone who is homosexual. Do you know what that is?”

  “Sorta,” Tyler said. “A butt fucker.”

  “Wow, how do you now about stuff like that?” Darren asked.

  “Kids… talkin’…”

  “And do you know what that means?”

  “I know what a butt is. I know what a fucker is. I guess it’s pretty obvious. Don’t need a Ph.D. in biology to figure that one out.”

  Darren couldn’t help but laugh again. “Kids these days, huh?”

  “Everyone’s connected.”

  “That’s pretty profound for one your age.”

  “I don’t see why. Everyone’s got a phone or a computer.”

  “Oh, I thought you meant connected—as in one with the universe.” Darren chuckled.

  “Dad…”

  “So, Tyler, let me explain to you what that teacher meant about me. It’s true; I am a homosexual. But we prefer to call ourselves gay. It means I am attracted to men sexually, and I f
ind my emotional fulfillment through loving men. Can you understand that?”

  Tyler scrunched up his nose. “Kinda. But does that mean you don’t love Mom?”

  “No, I do love her. But I came to realize I needed to be with, and love, a man more. Your mother and I talked about it and she understood, and we decided to part and get a divorce. But it doesn’t mean that I don’t love you. And your mother and I still love each other, but in a different way now.”

  “So does that mean I’ll be gay?”

  “No way of knowing. You’re too young to be certain, though when I look back I now realize that I knew I was different at eight.”

  “Well, I know I’m different.”

  “But you’re different in a different way. You have an Asian mother and a Caucasian father. You are exceptionally smart and have a high IQ. But that has nothing to do with what your sexuality will be. You’re just going to have to wait and see what happens later. If you find you want to pull the pigtail of the girl in front of you in class, it probably means you’ll be straight. But if you find you want to hold your male best friend’s hand at the movies, then you may be gay. Or you may want to do both—some people like girls and boys.”

  Tyler lay his head back against the chain-link fence. “This growing up business sure can be confusing.”

  “You sure got that right. Nothing’s that simple.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Okay, then. Let me try that fencing stuff.”

  ***

  Darren appeared at Reggie’s library office open door.

  “Knock, knock. You have a moment?” Darren asked.

  “Always for you. Sit your adorable butt down.”

  “I need your expertise,” Darren said as he rested on the edge of a table by the window

  “Shoot.”

  “Tyler, as we are discovering, is far too accomplished for normal schooling. I’m afraid we’re raising something of a prodigy, and we don’t know what to do with him. Was hoping you might know of resources where we could find the perfect school.”

  “Hmm…” Reggie rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. “Well, there’s Harvard or MIT. Or even Stanford.”