Ben Ryder - Englishmen 3 - Released

by Ben Ryder

  My jaw was slack. I scanned the room and saw Alex grab his suit jacket. I made no attempt to move. Alex took a quick look around to ensure no one was watching, then surreptitiously pointed his index finger up as he fixed the collar of his jacket. The roof. He wanted me to follow him to the roof of our building. I wanted to feel relieved, but couldn’t.

  “Alex wants to talk,” I whispered to Jackie. “Can you do me a favor? Use some of that charm and get the feeling of the office, see if they suspect I’m the source.”

  “Dominic, if I had no idea it was you, I’m pretty sure no one else has a clue.”

  “Please, Jackie.”

  156“All right, all right. I’ll see what I can glean from our

  esteemed colleagues.” I hurriedly put on my coat, took the elevator to the top floor of our building, and found my way to the short staircase that led to the roof. The sun was blinding, and for a moment, I thought no one was there. But I could hear footsteps. My eyes readjusted, and I could see Alex, alone and walking in circles. I walked slowly toward him but didn’t speak.

  He turned his face to look at me but continued pacing. “He deserved it,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “He fucking deserved it.”

  “That’s it?” I asked, holding my hand up. “He deserved it? No apology? No explanation? Just ‘he deserved it’?”

  “Look—”

  “No, Alex, you look. Did Clive deserve this shit storm you created? Did the rest of the paper deserve to come into work this morning under the threat of losing their jobs? Did the guy who has done fuck all to you, who you’ve just sacrificed by outing, deserve it? Do I deserve having my name dragged through the fucking mud?”

  “First of all, Clive knew all about the article.” I was taken by surprise. I never considered the possibility, and he could tell. “What? You think I have the authority to publish whatever the hell I want?”

  “Judging by what you wrote, you seem to.”

  Alex rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Second, you know your name was kept out of the article.”

  “Well, thank you for protecting my good name while you tore someone else’s down. I take it you told Clive I was the

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  one who told you about him.” I could feel a vein rise in my forehead. He looked sheepish but answered. “Yes. But he trusts you, which is really the only reason he let me publish it in the first place. He knows you wouldn’t lie.”

  “Then why didn’t he clear it with me first? Why not get my side of the story before putting it into print? I’ve known Clive for a while, but we’ve only worked together for little over a month. How is he so trusting of me?” I was still suspicious.

  “He trusts you because I trust you. Look, I know you think Clive is an easygoing guy, but believe me, he’s an animal when it comes to journalism. How do you think he made it to the position he’s in today? It took every bit of persuasion I could muster to convince him not to speak to you beforehand. I knew he’d want every last detail of what happened and what you guys did. Believe it or not, I was protecting you.”

  “ Protecting me? Oh, how gallant of you! So when the shit well and truly hits the fan and you’re put in the position where you either have to name me or save the paper, are you going to protect me? Are you?”

  “I only told him what you told me. Besides, do you think I wanted to know the details of what you did with that guy?” “Are you fucking kidding me? You don’t want to know

  the details, but you’re prepared to put it on the front page for

  the entire world to see? You’re out of your goddamn mind if

  you think that could possibly make sense.”

  “I don’t expect you to understand,” Alex spat. “You don’t

  know what Johannson is responsible for. Kids are throwing

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  themselves off bridges because of the things he’s said and policies he’s influenced.” “Well, maybe his own son will do that tonight now that you’ve outed him. Will that make you happy? Look at you! You stand there on your high horse and demand understanding, but then you throw some poor fucker under the bus? Perhaps when he’s shunned by his family and disinherited, you’ll be happy. After all, he’s the one you were going after, right?”

  “Didn’t you hear what Howard Johannson said last night?”

  “Of course I did. But I heard Howard Johannson say it, not his son. Go after the old man if you need to, but you were out of order bringing his son into it. You have no fucking right to drag someone out of the closet that way.”

  “No right? Don’t talk to me about rights when it comes to that old bastard.”

  “How could you not consider other people when you did this? The staff at the paper? Me? His son? You don’t know a thing about him! The guy must be in his late thirties. Did you ever, even for a split second, think there might be a damn good reason he hasn’t come out to his father yet? Hasn’t he had to live enough of a lie without you bringing the world’s attention to it?”

  “Why the hell are you taking his side in this?”

  “Alex, I understand you’re pissed that you didn’t get the dirt you needed to write your story, but outing his son was wrong, and you know it! He may have all the money in the world, but he still lives in a cage that only his dad has the key to. Isn’t it obvious that he hasn’t got any freedom to be who and what he wants to be?”

  159“He should grow some balls, then. He’s old enough to

  live his own life!” Alex was being completely irrational, and it was just infuriating me more.

  “So you know his story, then? His background? You know enough about him to justify making him suffer for whatever his father has done?”

  “Well, I admit I don’t know him as you claim to. But, unlike you, at least I have the benefit of knowing his name,” Alex said angrily. It was a low blow, and he knew it.

  “You know what, Alex? Fuck you! You think it’s okay to take cheap shots at me after what you’ve done? You think you can stand in judgment of me for messing around with the guy, when you’ve just wrecked his entire life?”

  “Why the hell are you defending him?”

  “For the same reason that you know you shouldn’t have written the story. The guy’s done nothing wrong.” “But his father—”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? I understand you want to expose the old man’s corruption, but why have you got such a bug up your ass? What the hell has he done that’s made you go after him like this? You’ve risked a man’s reputation, your career, and everyone’s jobs, all for a fucking story! Why?”

  “Because of Ted!” Alex shouted. “Ted!”

  It was the last thing I expected to hear. Before I could react, though, Alex stormed across the gravelly roof and pulled at the door leading back to the stairs. He tugged at the handle hard, as if he couldn’t get through it fast enough, but the door wouldn’t budge. In his fury, he missed the

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  small sign to the right that read Push. He hammered his fists on the door and let out a wail of frustration. Slowly, he turned around and slid down the door. He looked broken.

  I walked over and quietly sat next to him. I wanted him to explain, but I gave him a moment to gather his composure. He sat with his back against the door, arms resting on his knees, facing away from me as he angrily wiped away a tear he didn’t mean to shed. He sighed heavily before speaking.

  “Howard Johannson was almost single-handedly responsible for marriage equality not passing the first time it came up in the state legislature. He personally lobbied every state senator and assemblyman and practically blackmailed them into voting against it. He did everything he could to block marriage equality. Then, when he won, the fucker actually boasted about his victory in private.”

  “I agree it’s detestable, but how does that—” “Don’t you see? If Johannson hadn’t interfered, gay marriage would have been legal in New York much earlier. Ted and I could have been married a year before we were due to go to Boston. Ted would ne
ver have been at the jeweler that day. He wouldn’t have been killed. He’d still be here with me. But because of what that man did, I couldn’t even see Ted in the hospital. I was just yards away, but they wouldn’t let me see him. He was all by himself. He died alone. He didn’t have to die alone.” I could barely understand him through his sobs. “I didn’t even get to say good-bye.”

  I pulled him into my arms as he shook with anger and sadness. His tears fell heavy on my neck.

  161He spoke into my shoulder, muffled but understandable.

  “I wanted him to suffer. He had to pay for what he’s done. I had to do it. For Ted.” I had no words. Instead, I just continued to hold him. Besides, anything I could say would be meaningless. I wondered if I’d have done the same in his situation.

  I think I would.

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  Chapter Thirteen

  Monday, May 22, 2017 OUT of the corner of my eye, I caught Alex looking at me from his desk. But as I turned to face him, he looked away. His face was worn with regret, but I didn’t know if it was because of the situation in which he’d put the staff and me, or because he’d actually discovered guilt for what he’d done to Reed Johannson. He’d only been back in the office for a few minutes this afternoon, after spending all morning with Clive and the lawyers. I could only imagine the questions he had to answer regarding the article.

  Since she knew my part in the mess, I told Jackie what was said on the roof. I knew I could trust her, and it didn’t make sense to keep it from her. But other than Jackie, no one else at the paper knew the real reason behind Alex’s motivation to publish the story.

  With both Clive and Alex out of the office that morning, the rest of the staff was bold in voicing their opinions. All of the reporters sided with Alex and defended him against the receptionists, art department, and the copywriters, all of whom thought he’d been a reckless fool. Clive’s family-like culture was turning into an uneasy gathering of warring siblings. As I listened to them bicker, I wondered how they would feel if they knew a member of their “family” had been

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  hurt the way Alex had been. Though it was hard not to speak up, and despite the efforts of both sides to drag us into the fray, Jackie and I remained quiet.

  I’d spent a lot of the weekend mulling over the various forms of revenge that had entered my head right after I learned of Richard’s affair. Some were downright vicious, while others were subtle. Of course, I doubt I would’ve gone through with any of them, even if I hadn’t fled to New York. But they all seem so petty in comparison to the situation Alex was in.

  I thought I might have heard from Reed Johannson sometime over the weekend, perhaps an e-mail of abuse or a demand to meet somewhere so he could tear a strip off me. But his lawyers or his own good sense must have advised him against it. That was assuming he’d actually confided in his lawyers. There was a good chance he’d simply denied everything. Thankfully, I never told him where I lived, even though I imagined a man of his family’s means could find out easily.

  I only heard from Alex once. I sent him a text asking “How are you holding up?” His reply of “I’m okay” was hardly illuminating or comforting. Still, at least it was enough to stop me worrying too much about him doing anything stupid.

  The worst part of the weekend was updating my résumé. I compiled a list of contacts back in London. I would have to write to them in the increasing likelihood that the paper got shut down.

  Even if I was dragged into the mess by name and asked to testify in a lawsuit—the idea of which made me shiver—I had absolutely no evidence that I’d been with Reed Johansson. If it came down to it, it was his word against

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  mine. It wasn’t like I kept a stained garment as a memento. I shuddered at the thought. On the miraculous chance I was to be believed and the paper was saved, I’d still be admitting to engaging in lewd conduct on public ground, sex on private property, and evading police arrest at the hotel. My visa would be revoked faster than a judge could bang his gavel.

  Clive and Alex arrived back in the office by the afternoon. They were both stone-faced.

  “How long do you think before we find out what’s happening?” I asked Jackie.

  “I have no idea, but I imagine it’ll be sooner rather than later. These lawyers work fast. I wouldn’t be surprised if we know our fate by the end of the day.”

  “What will you do? I mean, if the worst happens and the paper gets shut down?” I asked. It killed me to think my actions might lead to Jackie losing her job. I knew she wouldn’t suffer financially, but a degree of financial independence obviously was very important to her.

  “I have absolutely no idea. What about you?”

  “I don’t think I have a choice. I’ll have to go back to London.” I looked out of the window and saw a cloudless blue sky behind the skyscrapers of Manhattan. “It’ll kill me to leave here. But I guess I’m lucky I even got the chance.”

  I let out a sigh and shoved my chair back from the desk. My outstretched arms tipped the pencil holder, and the contents spilled onto the floor. I groaned in frustration and reached to pick them up. A few pencils rolled under the desk, so I got on all fours to reach for them. All of a sudden I heard a commotion in the office. From under my desk, I could see people’s ankles move away from their chairs and rush in the same direction as they shouted to each other. I

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  momentarily forgot where I was and banged my head on the underside of the keyboard drawer as I tried to stand. Rubbing my head, I crawled backward and pulled myself up with my chair. Everyone was crowded in front of the TV screens on the wall.

  “It must be something big,” Jackie said, stifling a laugh at my bumped head.

  We briskly walked over to join the swarming staff, but neither of us could see the screens with everyone else blocking our view. A few people with ingenuity had stepped onto chairs, balancing themselves as the seats swiveled beneath them. The receptionist was furiously tapping on a remote control with her thumb, pointing it in all directions, trying to figure out which screen it was connected to.

  Finally, there was a break in the crowd, and I stepped forward to see the screen. Underneath the serious face of a blond anchorwoman, in bold letters, the headline read: Reed Johannson Arrested for Indecent Exposure.

  “Turn the damn thing up!” a man shouted sternly with an edge to his voice. Everyone jumped at Alex’s demand. His eyes were wide and focused on screen. The receptionist furiously grabbed at the basket storing the various remotes until she found the right one. She raised it toward the screen, and as the volume increased, everyone fell silent. The voice of the anchorwoman rose from mute. But, almost in tandem with the television’s volume, phones began ringing throughout the office. First a couple, then more and more. By the time we could actually hear the anchorwoman, practically every phone in the office was ringing.

  “Reed Johannson, son of billionaire tycoon Howard Johannson, has been charged with indecent exposure. He was arrested late this morning in south Manhattan after he

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  allegedly exposed himself to a police officer in a restroom at the South Street Seaport.” A hushed gasp swept the staff.

  “Details are emerging that the unmarried sole heir to the Johannson fortune was alleged to have encouraged the male undercover police officer to follow him into the public restroom, where he proceeded to expose and touch himself inappropriately. When confronted, Mr. Johannson allegedly attempted to flee the scene, but was apprehended just twenty feet away.”

  The screen changed to a bearded tourist wearing an “I Love New York” T-shirt, standing next to his wife. “I saw a guy runnin’ out of the restroom and two cops chasin’ after him, so I knew he musta done somethin’. I ran at him, you know, to grab him until the cops caught up. But his pants fell down to his knees, and he ended up trippin’ up anyway. By the time he got back on his feet, they were already there, handcuffin’ him.”

  I glanced over at Clive’s glass office. He�
�d pinned his desk phone between one ear and his shoulder while holding his cell phone to the other ear. He looked frantic, juggling both calls. His eyes didn’t leave his computer screen, which I was sure was streaming one of the channels the rest of us were glued to.

  The news anchor returned to the screen. “This highprofile arrest comes just a day after his father, business tycoon Howard Johannson, caused an uproar for making antigay slurs against famed hockey player Noah Lukas. Johannson also filed a libel lawsuit against the New York Daily Ledger, which only days ago published accusations that his bachelor son was gay.”

  167One by one, staff members turned to Alex with

  sheepish, almost apologetic looks. But Alex still stared at the screen. Behind us, we heard Clive open his office door. He walked out with an audible sigh of relief.

  As though awakened from a trance, Alex turned and scrambled to his desk. “I’m going down to Johannson’s offices. He’s bound to be there,” Alex said as he reached for his cell phone.

  “No, stay where you are,” Clive said sternly. “Rodney was already down in Battery Park, so I’ve just sent him.”

  Alex looked determined. “No, I want him to see me when he comes out.”

  “He’ll be gone by the time you get there.” Clive spoke with consoling authority, and Alex’s expression fell in resignation. Sullenly, he returned his attention to the screen.

  “We now go live to Battery Park, where our reporter, John Sampson, is standing outside the offices of the Johannson Corporation. John, has Howard Johannson issued any statement regarding his son’s arrest?”

  But before the reporter could answer, a throng of cameramen and journalists in the background rushed toward the glass doors of the building. The television camera turned its focus to five suited men flanking Howard Johannson himself, visible just inside the glass walls of the building, next to the revolving door. The men were far too large and intimidating to be his lawyers or associates. I surmised they were his personal bodyguards.