Ben Ryder - Englishmen 3 - Released

by Ben Ryder

  All I could do was nod. I had no idea where this was going.

  “Do you get a chance to go out much here? I mean to the bars?”

  “Well, I’ve only been here a few weeks, so I’m still finding my way around the city. I haven’t really seen a great deal of them.”

  “We should go out one night, the two of us,” he said enthusiastically. “Head into town and go for a drink.” He smiled warmly.

  We sat in silence for a moment. He could see on my face that I was totally confused by what was happening. “I don’t mean on a date. You know, as friends,” he quickly added.

  I could only respond with a look of puzzlement.

  180I was quickly losing control over an interview that

  hadn’t even started yet. I had to say something to get back on track. “I admit I’m surprised, considering what happened, that you chose our newspaper to tell your story.”

  Reed must have sensed that I’d shifted gears and didn’t continue with casual chitchat. “I hope that by picking The Ledger, the newspaper that most would assume I’d stay away from, it’ll convince the public that this interview is without spin and said with truth.”

  It made sense, but I still wasn’t sure where the interview was going. “Okay. So I guess the first question I have is, how do you feel about the death of your father?”

  He paused. “I had a complicated relationship with my father, so I have complicated feelings about his death.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, my father was an exceptional man in many ways. He built a business empire that remains one of the most profitable in the country. He was my father, but he was also very much my mentor. I spent my entire adult life working by his side, watching, and learning. The experience and knowledge that I was afforded was priceless. I was witness to practically all of his decisions, both good and bad. I will be forever grateful for the business instincts he instilled in me.”

  “And on a more personal level?” It was the natural follow-up question, but I was still uncomfortable asking it, as it felt too intrusive. But since he hadn’t given me a real indication of the interview’s intention, or what he wanted to discuss, I had no choice but to ask. Still, it was strange to have this casual, anonymous fuck buddy open his life up to me.

  181“That’s a tough one. I knew my father much better than

  he ever knew me. It’s sad to say, but it’s true.” “Are you referring to the fact that he didn’t know you were gay?”

  “Oh, my father knew,” Reed said, shifting in his chair. “Well, he did and he didn’t.”

  “But if he knew, why did he go out of his way to condemn the gay community so vehemently? I know that many parents don’t understand or approve of their children’s sexuality, but most whose children remain in their lives wouldn’t oppose it so aggressively. Your father touted his antigay opinions to the public. Why not remain silent on the issue?”

  Reed took a deep breath and slowly pushed it out of whistle-ready lips. He looked like he was choosing his words carefully. I felt a little satisfaction as a journalist, like my question had caught him off guard. Did he really think his admission of being gay was going to be enough?

  “There are many things people don’t know about growing up as the son of Howard Johannson.”

  He stood and walked to a small bar in the corner of the room. He held up a bottle of dark liquor and raised his eyebrows to offer a drink. I politely shook my head to decline. Whatever he had to say, it was obviously going to take some Dutch courage. He settled back into his tall leather chair, trailing the strong scent of scotch behind him. He took a long sip before continuing.

  “When I was young, I was sent away to boarding school at my father’s request. My mother and he fought over the decision. But, like 99 percent of their arguments, my father got his way. Though I received an excellent education, I was

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  also a long way from home. Even when I was home, his work took him away quite often, so I rarely saw him. But my mom, she was always there for me. I loved and adored her. To me, she was as loving as any mom could be.”

  Reed smiled at the memory, and it was clear that they were close. The fact that he called his parents “father” and “mom” was a testament to which he preferred. It was excellent foundation and background, but I wanted to understand more about his relationship with his father.

  “That’s understandable, and I can see how you might view your father as distant. But it doesn’t really explain his hostility to the gay community.”

  Reed nodded, as if to tell me he was getting to that. “When I was twelve years old, I came home for the Christmas holidays with a school friend who also lived in the city. I think we both knew the other was gay. But at that age, we didn’t really know what it meant. We obviously never discussed it, and it certainly wasn’t acknowledged. All I knew was that I liked him, much more and in a much different way than I liked my other friends.”

  He paused wistfully.

  “One evening, we were bored in the house and decided, as kids sometimes do, to raid my parents’ liquor cabinet. We both took a sip of vodka, which tasted revolting. That’s all it was, just a sip, less than even a nip. But we were kids, and when we got back to the room, we both acted as though we were drunk. To cut a long story short, my friend, who I had such a crush on, leaned in and kissed me. It was my very first kiss.” He smiled broadly. “My God, he had no idea how long I’d wanted him to kiss me or how much I wanted him to

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  be the first one,” Reed said, looking up at the ceiling. I could tell he was replaying the memory in his mind. “First kisses really stick with you,” I said, remembering my own first kiss with a boy. The spark and chemistry, mingled with anxiety and fear, but most of all, how it stood as a confirmation to a questioning sexuality.

  “Yes, they do. All of them,” he said with a wink. Damn, he was smooth. I needed to get back on track. “So, we were talking about your father?”

  “Yes. Well, while I was sharing my very first adolescent kiss, I didn’t know that my father, who I thought was out of town, stood in the doorway watching as it happened.”

  Finally, there was a connection to the story.

  “I’ll never forget the look of anger and utter revulsion on his face as he stormed out the door. Mere minutes later, my friend was unceremoniously shoved into one of the family town cars and driven home.

  “I was petrified because I knew I’d have to face my father. I’d seen his temper flare before, mostly at the household staff or at Mom, and it was terrifying. I know you think of my father as a hunched over, frail man, but you have to remember I was only twelve, and he was a much stronger, younger man back then, so he obviously towered over me.”

  I’d never really pictured Howard Johannson as anything other than what I’d seen. I glanced around the office and noticed a painting of him in his younger days. He stood tall and had an imposing build. I could see how a man like that would intimidate a young boy.

  184Reed continued. “For two hours, I sat in my room,

  scared half to death. Then my father shouted, ordering me to come downstairs. As I did, he looked so furious I was convinced he was about to beat the living daylights out of me. I stood before him, with my head bowed. But he didn’t say a word. Instead, one of his butlers picked up two suitcases and carried them to a car waiting outside. My father didn’t even look at me as he grabbed my elbow, pulled me down the steps, and pushed me in the car. He slammed the door and returned to the house without looking back.”

  “He threw you out of the house at twelve years old?” I asked incredulously. “I thought so, and I was scared. Mom was at a charity function that night, so she wasn’t around. I remember driving past the gates of the house thinking I’d never see her again. My father was a notoriously stubborn man, and I believed that if he never wanted to see me again, he would damn well make sure his wife never did, either.”

  Alex warned me not to lose control of the narrative, and I knew I
should have focused the conversation more toward the questions Alex and I had outlined. But Reed was being so open and so free with his thoughts, I decided to let him continue uninterrupted.

  “I sat in that car with no idea where the driver was taking me. I had no money, and I didn’t know any extended family that wasn’t on my father’s payroll. It was getting dark outside, and I began crying in the backseat. The driver, who’d known me all my life, eventually turned around and told me he was taking me to a place in Albany that helped boys like me.”

  185“Reparative therapy?” I’d never met anyone who’d

  endured it before. He took another sip of scotch. “Yes. But remember, this was back in the ’80s, when it was not only acceptable but widely believed to be effective.”

  I nodded my understanding. I remembered a documentary I’d seen and how horrified I was at all the mind-fuck techniques they used. “What was it like?” I asked.

  “The man who ran it was huge, and not just to a twelve year old. He was about six and a half feet tall and very stout. As soon as I arrived, he sat me down to tell me why I was there. He said my father had sent me there to ‘get better.’ For two hours he told me how wrong it was that I kissed a boy, and how much shame and embarrassment I had brought on my family. He asked me if I wanted my mother to think of me as a pervert.”

  Reed drained what was left in his glass and smacked his lips, more out of disgust at the memory than from the taste of the scotch. “I think I need another. Sure you won’t join me?”

  “Sure, go ahead. Rocks for me, please,” I said. I knew I probably shouldn’t, but our interview must have been hard enough for him as it was without having to drink alone. He poured the drinks and returned to the desk and passed me a glass.

  “Cheers.” I raised my drink and knocked some back before we moved on. “So what happened?”

  “I was just a kid, and hearing that my mom would think of me as a dirty little deviant was the worst thing in the

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  world. He told me that acting on these feelings would make it impossible for her to love me. That pretty much crucified me. “But then he offered me a miracle. He told me I had a sickness, but I could be cured. I could become normal if I really wanted to, and everything would be all right. I was so young and so desperate to believe everything he said.”

  “What did it involve?” “Me and the other boys were subjected to—” Reed stopped and his face darkened. “They tried every method and technique imaginable in the space of four weeks. Electric shock, aversion therapy, gender reeducation, and isolation. The other boys thought of isolation as respite from the incessant torture, but I didn’t have the same experience. See, I was never alone in the isolation room. I always came out of that room with bruises and a swollen face.”

  “They beat you?”

  “Yes. It seemed the clinic director took an extra special interest in curing me. He’d use his fists or whatever else he could get his hands on. They weren’t just a couple of tough knocks; they were full-on assaults.”

  “Jesus,” I whispered.

  “After four weeks of hell, I finally saw my mom. I sat outside the director’s office and listened as she screamed at him, demanding an explanation for why I was black-andblue. I was astounded when he calmly replied, ‘Mrs. Johannson, your husband paid extra for that. He wants the boy toughened up.’ Not only had my father given them permission to do it, but he’d encouraged it with a cash payment.”

  “Did your mother rescue you?”

  187“Yes. But she knew my father’s game. So she told the

  director she was taking me home, and threatened to report him to the authorities for child abuse if he even thought about telling my father anything other than that my treatment was a success. The director seemed happy to go along with it, which, at the time, confused my mom. On the way home, she told me that I had to play the part and act as if I had been cured. She later found out that the reason the director was happy to go along with her story was that he would receive a cash bonus from my father if his work proved to be successful.”

  “I presume pretending you were straight worked?” “Yes, it worked quite well, until just a few weeks ago.” The recorder was still on, so I was thankful when he stopped there.

  “Anyway, when I got back to school, the boy who I had kissed never turned up to lessons. It was a week before I found out that he’d been expelled. My father, who was a huge donor to the school, obviously pulled some strings and made it impossible for him to return.”

  “What about your mom?” I asked.

  “Mom loved me no matter what. She was a shrewd and strong woman, but she was never able to overcome my father’s control.”

  Richard popped into my head.

  “Her already strained relationship with my father only became worse after I left the clinic. As the years went on, she tried to protect me and stayed in the marriage, but it took its toll on her. Her doctor, I’m pretty sure, was also in my father’s pocket, and he prescribed her antidepressants and heavy doses of sleeping pills. Over the years, she became

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  more and more dependent on them to get through the day. She’d been brave for so long, but she was in a daze for a year after my father’s various affairs with secretaries and other subordinates finally became public.”

  I didn’t want to ask the next question, but I knew I had to. I screwed up my face a little to show him my discomfort. “There have been accusations and allegations in the past that perhaps—”

  “Oh, there’s no doubt in my mind that she killed herself,” he interrupted, preempting the question. “And I’m sure my father drove her to it. I had the occasional stab of pain and anger at her for leaving me alone with him, but as I got older, I understood her reasons more and more.”

  “So why did you stay? Why not head out on your own?” “And do what? From the day I was born, it was decided that I would take over and run the family business. I was educated to the highest standards at the best schools in the world. It wasn’t until I left school and tried to start my own career that I saw exactly how powerful my father was. Every company I interviewed with either worked with the Johannson Corporation or had big clients that were connected to it. A phone call. That’s all it took from my father to kill any chance of being hired.”

  “So you were trapped?”

  “Not necessarily trapped, but I certainly had nowhere else to turn. My father had big plans for me. But he was obsessed with having a lasting dynasty, and he regularly reminded me that I hadn’t provided him with grandchildren. He wasn’t content with having one of the most successful businesses in the world—he wanted an empire that would

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  live on forever. So I settled into the company and tried to make the best of it.” “And what did you do when he asked about grandkids?” “Oh, I just told him the work he’d given me kept me too busy for a relationship. He was torn between wanting to see me become as successful as he was, and taking time away from his precious company to settle down with a family. My career was always in my father’s hands, but I did try to have other aspects of my life that he couldn’t control.”

  “Which leads to my next question—”

  “My arrest?” He was making this easy.

  “Yes, how do you—”

  “All I’ll say about it is that I had a mad moment of poor

  judgment. I have to live with the consequences. But I’ve put in motion something that I hope will begin to make amends.” His eyes danced, as though he’d routed me in the interview.

  He was deliberately offering a tantalizing redirection, but I had to ask another difficult question before we left the subject of his father. I wasn’t sure if he would answer. “Your father’s death occurred just hours after your arrest. We know he died of a heart attack. Do you feel that what happened—”

  “Do I feel responsible for his death?” he cut in again. He narrowed his eyes at me. “That is what you were going to ask, right?”

  I no
dded my head slowly. He could see I didn’t relish asking.

  “I’m one of the only people in the world who knew my father’s medical history. That will remain private.”

  190He waited for me to react, but I wouldn’t give him the

  satisfaction. So he went on. “As for whether I feel responsible, no, I don’t.” There was finality to his voice. For the first time, I could hear his father’s tone in his voice. It was professional, but very to the point. The remark about medical history was clearly designed to lead me, and probably the paper’s readers, to believe his father’s heart was ready to give out at any minute. I decided it was best not to press.

  “I appreciate your honesty, I really do, but don’t you think that by being so open about your father it will damage his reputation, or the Johannson brand?”

  Reed considered this for a moment. “I doubt it will come as much of a shock. Pretty much all of the people he dealt with knew what a tyrant he was. They would either respect him for it, or hate him for it. So no, reputation-wise, I think I am probably only confirming what people believed his character to be.”

  “Okay, getting back to what you said about making amends. What plans do you have and what do you feel you are making amends for? You mean for your indiscretion?”

  His reply came softer, and I detected a note of sorrow in his words.

  “Yes. No. Well, I’m making amends for everything. I’m certainly aware of the hurt that my father caused the gay community. Unfortunately, I witnessed it firsthand on more times than I care to remember. I’ve carried a heavy guilt for many years, and I don’t expect any sympathy, but it’s been hard to bear. I only hope my plans can help make up for some of it.”