Tigerland

by Sean Kennedy

  “I’m fine,” I said, pulling a bit of tissue off my lip and wincing.

  “You look it,” Roger said.

  “Shut up. I’m listening.” I started biting at my thumb instead, the metallic taste of blood at the back of my throat. A beer would probably wash that away, but I didn’t trust myself around Heyward if alcohol became involved. I had a vision of me stumbling drunk onto the set and making a total fool of myself on live television.

  Although that would really bring some attention to CTV, I doubted that would be the kind of publicity Gigi would appreciate.

  “You’re a big old spunk!” Emcee was gushing. “A big old spunk!”

  Quality sports journalism there. I rolled my eyes. Emcee was usually quite on the ball—yeah, obvious pun—with her knowledge of sport, but she seemed to have fallen too far under Heyward’s spell. Lachie was trying to bring the conversation back to something other than Heyward’s shaggability, but was having little success. I reached into my pocket for my headset and activated it.

  “Coby?”

  His reply was instantaneous. “Boss! Where the hell have you been?”

  “Distracted.”

  “Bruce is chucking a shit fit!”

  “Emcee, right? What the fuck is going on with her?”

  “Heyward, obviously.”

  “Has Bruce spoken to her?”

  “She isn’t listening.”

  “How long until the first break?”

  “Four minutes.”

  Too long.

  “Get Lachie to talk over her and introduce that package about gays in sport that we prepared.”

  “Okay. What are you planning?”

  “An abduction.”

  Roger and Fran were watching me with unabashed interest. “Be back in five,” I told them.

  Running down the stairs, I pulled my mobile out and called Suki.

  When she answered I hissed her name, unable to speak normally in case she was close to set and would be overheard by the equipment. “Where are you?”

  “In makeup. What’s wrong, Simon?”

  “I need you on set now!”

  “But I’m not due on for fifteen minutes!”

  “Change of plans. I’m coming to get you.”

  Suki was our rugby and women’s sport specialist, which was why she wasn’t involved with the Heyward interview, although she wasn’t exactly lacking in AFL knowledge either. She was just getting out of the same makeup chair Heyward had been in twenty minutes ago when I got to her, Tina behind her packing away her makeup, now that everybody who needed it was dealt with.

  “What’s going on?” Suki asked.

  “Emcee is making a mess out of the Heyward interview, and Lachie is about to explode.”

  Suki grinned widely. She and Emcee weren’t the best of friends, and more so when she actually dropped her drag persona and became Filip Carver again. “She’s going to hate me when I replace her.”

  “And you’ll love every second of it.”

  “You can get that other prick for me, too.” Tina threw herself into the chair, looking tired.

  “I’m sorry about Heyward,” I said. “If it’s any consolation, he’s treating everyone like shit. Including me.”

  “He has a reason for treating you like shit.”

  “Thanks, Tina. Your support is awesome.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Suki said, giving her girlfriend a sweet little peck on the lips. “I’ll make it up to you tonight, baby.”

  She yelped as Tina pulled her into her lap and demanded more than a peck.

  “Hey, office decorum!” I protested.

  Suki pulled away from Tina, laughing. “He wasn’t saying that the night we caught him and Dec in here, was he?”

  “We were pashing, nothing else,” I said, sure I was red-faced.

  “At that point,” Tina teased. “Who knows what we might have seen had we walked in five minutes later.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” I said hurriedly, grabbing Suki by the hand. “Come on!”

  “Bye!” Suki called to Tina over her shoulder as we fled the short distance into the studio space.

  Emcee was leaning over towards Heyward, who was nervously standing his ground. Thankfully, I could hear Lachie saying, “We have a small piece here we’d like to share on the state of play where it comes to gay people in sports, and when we return we’ll be speaking again with Greg Heyward.”

  The lights dimmed slightly to let everyone know the set currently wasn’t on air. Suki and I came around the back of Emcee’s and Lachie’s couch.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Lachie demanded of Emcee.

  “It’s called an interview,” Emcee huffed.

  “More like an episode of Perfect Match,” Lachie said.

  “You just can’t help yourself. I get it,” Heyward told Emcee.

  That even seemed to stump her. “It’s okay. I’m over it now.”

  After that quick turnaround, I almost felt bad about what I had to do. “Emcee, you’re off. Suki’s taking over.”

  “What?” Emcee demanded, jumping to her feet and towering over me. “You can’t do that!”

  “He is the producer,” Lachie reminded her.

  “Is there a problem?” Heyward asked.

  I ignored him. “We want to be seen as a serious sports show, not Let’s Have a Perve,” I told Emcee. “Normally you’re fantastic, but tonight you’re all over the shop.”

  “I told you, I’m fine now,” Emcee pleaded.

  “Sorry, no. Suki, sit!”

  “I’m not a dog, Simon.” But Suki sat next to Lachie anyway.

  “I’m sorry. Suki, sit, please. Oh, you’re already sitting. Good. Good.”

  “You’re losing it,” Emcee grumbled.

  “You can come back on when we return to the panel.” In other words, when Heyward’s interview was over and he was no longer on set.

  “You can’t do this!” Emcee cried again, but already knew she had lost.

  “He’s the producer!” Suki and Lachie said in unison, while Heyward watched on with bemusement.

  Coby appeared at my side, pulling on my arm. “Back in forty seconds.”

  “Take Emcee backstage,” I told him. “And don’t let her near the alcohol.”

  Coby nodded and pulled Emcee away. She stumbled along on her platforms like a petulant child, and I wasn’t looking forward to later on in the night when the makeup and dress were removed and the even more strident Filip Carver appeared.

  I sprinted, or more like a faster shuffle than walking, back up the stairs and into the production room, where Fran and Roger were still watching the drama on the live feed.

  “That is one angry drag queen,” Fran said.

  “Really?” Roger asked. “I thought she seemed more sad than anything.”

  Fran leaned in and gave him a huge kiss. “I love you, you dork.”

  “Likewise,” I heard him murmur.

  “Shut up!” I yelled, my eyes on the feed as the studio lights went up to full brightness again. “My show is imploding!”

  “Drama queen,” Fran said, but mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key when I turned around.

  “Welcome back,” Lachie crowed. “Emcee Gee has graciously allowed our other star reporter, Suki Majors, to participate in the rest of our interview with Greg Heyward.”

  “Hi, Suki,” Heyward said, turning on the charm again.

  “Arsehole,” I growled.

  “Hello, Greg, nice to meet you,” Suki replied, although she wasn’t falling under his spell like Emcee had. You could have jumped to the conclusion that it may have been because she would rather meet an Olympic volleyballer, but Lachie was immune to Heyward as well, although he always made himself out to be Mr. Professional no matter what. “We’ve just watched a package about out gay sportspeople. Of course, you’ve just announced your retirement. Was there anything that particularly held you back from being out as an AFL player, unlike, say, Declan Tyler?”
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br />   It was a good, but harsh, question, and one that the mainstream media had been remarkably quiet about. I saw a momentary tension in Heyward’s brow, but it was gone as soon as it was noticed.

  I wished Suki hadn’t mentioned Declan by name, but I guess he was going to come up in conversation sooner or later.

  “I would say it was my own fear,” Heyward finally answered. “And in my own defence, I guess I would like to say that Declan didn’t come out on his own choice. Who knows when he would have done it if he hadn’t been outed by the papers?”

  I wanted to drop a lighting rig on his head.

  “But it could also be said that he didn’t try and hide it when he was outed,” Lachie said, and I could have run down and kissed him.

  Heyward’s composure was slipping, and part of me felt a little sorry for him. I didn’t want our show to look like it was feeding upon its own, especially when other media had been a little more generous to him. There’s nothing worse than a community that doesn’t support a member when they come out, and it also wouldn’t look that great on my behalf when I was involved on a personal level. “You could say that, I guess. But isn’t it different for everyone?”

  “But Tyler was outed, and he survived it. The two of you out together could have made it easier for each other,” Suki said.

  “And that was something I thought about for a while. But then I saw some of the other problems Declan encountered. Like troubles with fans, and even some dissension within the ranks of his own team. And I wasn’t ready for that.”

  Dammit, was he making me feel a little empathy? What was wrong with me? I had to remind myself that this was part of his charm offensive, and that he had shown quite a different side to himself before he walked on stage. It just irked me that the public wouldn’t see that behind the scenes Heyward we had been exposed to.

  “Did you know about Tyler?” Suki asked.

  It was at that moment that everything became movie clichéd slow-motion to me. I am sure I heard myself yelling Suuuuuukkkiiiiii, nooooooo! while running for the door of the office. Fran and Roger were watching me, mouths agape, as I flew out the door and down the stairs.

  It wasn’t Suki’s fault. It was a natural question to ask, and she didn’t know about Declan and Heyward. Only Abe and Lisa, Fran and Roger—Tim had guessed, but never had it confirmed for him.

  Even as my world swirled slowly around me, I could hear Heyward say at perfectly normal speed, “It’s hard not to know about him when he was your partner for over a year.”

  The world collided back into me as if I’d been punched in the chest, and I came to a standstill. It was too late.

  I could see Suki and Lachie sit up straight, shocked by the news. They didn’t know how to continue. Part of them were still wanting to act loyally to me, who had worked with them for the past three years, and the journalist part of them knew they had the biggest scoop of all—an exclusive nobody else could take away from them.

  “You were… romantically involved with Declan Tyler?” Lachie asked.

  Heyward nodded. “Yes.”

  “The Declan Tyler?” Suki asked, still in shock.

  Heyward nodded again.

  I sat on the bottom step, aware that some of the crew were still staring at me as if waiting for a reaction. Maybe they thought I didn’t know, and was having a nervous breakdown.

  “You heard it here first,” Lachie said, addressing the camera. “Greg Heyward and Declan Tyler. After the break, we’ll see if we can get any more revelations out of Greg Heyward about the life of a closeted football player.”

  The lights dimmed again as they went to commercial, and I found I still couldn’t move.

  Chapter 8

  FROM there on, I don’t remember anything, really, about the rest of the interview. I sat on that step, wondering if Dec was watching this at home, and how he was going to react. I also stressed myself silly by imagining what the media would be saying in the morning. Even if it didn’t make the papers at this late hour, it was bound to be on the morning television shows and all over the net. My phone was buzzing in my pocket, and I looked at the number to see that it was private. I let it go to voice mail, knowing that it was probably the start of the media press, wanting to get access to our footage to use as part of their own packages. Or fuck, maybe even wanting a quote from me. Declan was probably already receiving calls.

  Best to let Coby deal with it all. I was toast.

  I don’t know how long it was until Fran and Roger joined me on the stairs. It could have been minutes; it could have been hours. Okay, it couldn’t have been hours, or else the show would have been over, and as far as I could see, Heyward was still being grilled by my employees on air.

  “Shit, Simon, are you okay?” Fran asked.

  “Yep,” I lied. And they knew it was a lie but didn’t push it.

  I watched Heyward shake hands with Suki and Lachie; the interview was over. I stood up and wiped my sweaty hands on my pants.

  “Simon, you’re not going to do something stupid, are you?” Fran asked.

  “Who, me?” I said, walking away.

  “Roger, stop him,” I heard Fran say.

  I couldn’t hear Roger’s reaction, but I could guess it was him asking what she possibly thought he could do.

  Heyward was stepping off the stage, and Coby was meeting him to take him back to what we laughingly called our “green room.” I brushed aside Coby’s questions, grabbed Heyward by the arm (and was actually surprised when he let me, as he could have thrown me off easily), and shut the door of the green room behind us.

  “You know, if that had happened on the field, you would have been on the ground. I don’t let anybody touch me,” Heyward fumed.

  “That must make your sex life difficult,” I said, trying to stay calm. “What the hell was that crap you pulled out there?”

  He feigned surprise. “It was my interview! The one you wanted, remember? Well, I don’t think you wanted it, but you know what I mean.”

  His cockiness was infuriating. “You planned this from the very start, didn’t you?”

  “Now, why would I do that?”

  “Because it’s my show. Because you knew the fuss that will probably come from it. That it will just get you the attention you’re obviously craving. What, are you pissed off that Declan went there first?”

  “You obviously care a lot.” Heyward grinned. “It kills you, doesn’t it? That I was there before you. And by there, I mean Dec.”

  I hated hearing him say Dec’s name, but I wasn’t going to give him the response he craved.

  My silence irked him. “You’re pretty good at keeping quiet, aren’t you? You must have learnt that from Declan.”

  “I think he had to learn it to protect himself when going out with you.”

  Heyward now looked genuinely surprised. “You think I’m the one who closeted Declan? He wasn’t exactly out and proud when we first hooked up, you know.”

  It just showed how little he knew Dec. “No, he’d be the first to admit he did that himself, but you were part of it. You took advantage of it.” There was a knock at the door, but I ignored it. “You used it to make sure you could manipulate and treat him whatever way you wanted.”

  “Does he know you think he’s so weak?”

  He obviously didn’t contradict the theory that some jocks were dense meatheads. “Weak? You think that makes him weak? He did it because he thought he loved you! That makes him a hell of a lot stronger than you!”

  “Whatever you reckon.”

  “Dec may have been outed, but at least he didn’t try and hide when it happened. He stood up to them all. You fed him some bullshit over three years ago about how he was an inspiration, and you were thinking of doing the same. And then you locked yourself back in the closet.”

  He remained impassive, and I had to give him kudos for his acting as if he just hadn’t fed me and Dec to the dogs. My hands were balled up so tightly that my knuckles were even paler than the rest of my sk
in. Like, fluorescent. It had been years since I wanted to hit somebody and abandon my self-proclaimed pacifist streak, but the urge was there.

  And that was when I remembered the last person I had hit, and the world of trouble it had caused. It had led to mine and Dec’s limbo of “separation,” and there was no way I was going through that shit again.

  Heyward apparently wasn’t so stupid that he couldn’t see the emotion playing upon my face. “Go on. I know you want to hit me. My agent would love it. So would the press. What a fucking story it would be!”

  He might as well have been stroking an impressively cartoonish moustache. And hadn’t that guy I had hit said something similar to me after I had not-so-impressively hit him? I couldn’t even remember his name now. Had I ever mentioned that whole sorry mess in an interview, and Heyward was playing on it, or was it just something every arsehole with an overload of testosterone and a need to swing his dick in public pulled out of their “One Liners for Social Situations” manual?

  It was amazing how much that realisation calmed me. I looked back up at Heyward, my face as composed as his. “Your fifteen minutes are almost up. You’re not getting any extensions from me.”

  I threw open the green room door just as there was another knock upon it. Coby was standing there, his hand raised. As I exited the room, Heyward yelled something after me, but I didn’t hear it, especially as Coby was now following me and yelling in my ear, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I had no idea he was going to do that!”

  “I know,” I said, still sounding calmer than I felt. “It’s just his way of getting more attention.”

  “Heyward!” Coby yelled, pushing past me, about to go after him. I appreciated his loyalty, and also recognised that it was partly due to his professional pride as well, but I wasn’t going to let anybody give Heyward the ammunition he wanted to then go on and start playing the victim.

  “Don’t bother,” I said, yanking him back. “It’s what he wants.”

  And it was lucky that we were on a commercial break, so our whole conversation hadn’t been broadcast to the—admittedly, small—viewing audience. But knowing that the show would probably go viral tomorrow, it was best not to take chances. As it was, there was probably some bastard already uploading it to YouTube.