Role Model

by Becky Black

  “Interrogating? I can’t shut her up.”

  “Okay, I concede that.”

  “Is that why you don’t have a date?” Paul asked. “Because they’re here? Would it be awkward?”

  “What? No, of course not. They’re fine with my sexuality. I told you that.” That got him a glance from the people in front of them in the queue.

  “I remember, but there’s fine and there’s fine.”

  “And what’s the difference between fine and fine, then?”

  “You know what I’m saying. Some people say it’s fine, as long as they don’t ever have to think about it or see you with someone or….” He stopped, giving too much away. Drew looked at him seriously for a moment.

  “Your family. Are they fine, or are they fine with it?”

  “Neither. Not even close,” Paul admitted.

  “I’m sorry.” They reached the counter, and he ordered the coffee and snacks. “I’m sorry it’s tough for you, Paul. I knew there was something more than the work issue. But don’t judge everyone by how your family are. Mine are genuinely fine. Ask them when we get back.”

  “I can’t do that,” Paul gasped out, scandalized.

  “Of course you can. You’re a reporter. Asking intrusive personal questions is in your blood. So do it. Be as nosy as if Leveson never happened.”

  When they got back to the table they shared around the drinks and snacks, and there was much munching for a while. Once all the biscuits and cake had gone, Drew elbowed Paul, who gave him a side-eye glare but then gathered his nerve. He leaned forward over the table.

  “You two are clearly really proud of Drew.”

  “He’s not a bad lad,” Frank said.

  “Not because of the award and everything,” Pat said. “We’ve always been proud of him.”

  “What about…I mean, does it never bother you that he won’t…get married and give you grandchildren?”

  “Who says he won’t?” Pat said. “The law’s changing, and there’s always adoption and other options.”

  “So you see, I won’t escape being nagged to settle down either,” Drew said.

  “Anyway, his sister’s given us three grandkids,” Frank said. “Christmas is expensive enough already.”

  “But he’s your only son,” Paul said, feeling out of his depth here. Was this for real? Did these people truly not mind? “What if he never has a son of his own? Never passes on the family name?”

  “Family name?” Frank chuckled. “Lad, I’m a plumber. I’m not the Earl of Grantham.” That set Drew off laughing, and Pat joined in. The three off them looked so relaxed together Paul could only gape. Could only burn with envy. And could at last see how absurd his father’s talk about letting the family down had been. Not carrying on the family name? Who the hell did Dad think they were?

  And then he was laughing, too, as a weight slipped from his shoulders. He didn’t have to tiptoe around these people. They knew what Drew was, and they loved him despite that. No, he realized, that wasn’t it. There was no “despite” about it. They didn’t see that anything about Drew gave them any reason not to love him. There was nothing they had to overlook or get past. He was their son and they loved him. End of story.

  * * * *

  It wasn’t the end. The awards ceremony was the end of the story that began all those weeks ago in the dead of night on the moor road.

  It started early—there were a lot of kids there, the families of nominees and young nominees, too, in children’s categories, so it all kicked off in the ballroom of the hotel at three in the afternoon. Drew did indeed look gorgeous in his suit. Dark gray and made to measure, with a crisp white shirt and a dark green tie that brought out the color of his eyes. Pat had done well if she’d help to pick all that out.

  Paul actually got choked up when he saw the enamel pin in Drew’s lapel. A rainbow flag. Drew’s category came, the heroic acts of various fire officers and paramedics were spoken about, and pretty much all of them deserved the award.

  “Hell, he should get it,” Drew said, voice soft, as they watched a video clip about a fireman. But the fireman didn’t. Drew got the award, and he looked genuinely shocked, which made Paul want to grab him and kiss him. He shook Drew’s hand, taking his turn, as everyone else at their table wanted to do the same. And then Drew went onto the stage. On the big screens above the stage, Paul’s photograph came up, of Drew emerging from the wreckage, carrying Lily. The celebrity presenting the award handed it over, gave him a kiss. The big screens changed back to a close-up of the stage and Drew with his award.

  Paul couldn’t take his eyes off Drew on the screens. The rainbow pin made a splash of color against the gray of Drew’s lapel. Everyone must be able to see what it was.

  What it meant.

  * * * *

  The ceremony ended around 7:00 p.m., and those old enough to drink flocked into the bar. Paul knew he should be taking opportunities here. The place was swarming with journalists, print and TV. He should be networking his arse off. But he didn’t. He stuck with Drew.

  A fancy dinner was served in the ballroom quickly repurposed. After that, Frank and Pat had a drink with Drew and Paul in the bar, then headed off to their room, declaring themselves tired out by the early start.

  So that left Paul alone with Drew. At last. Paul set them up with another round of drinks, and they sat at a smaller table, which Paul liked, as it made them sit facing each other, heads close, knees brushing under the table. Drew had loosened the knot of his tie and undone his top shirt button, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the hollow of his throat.

  “I’m glad this is all over,” Drew said. “It’s nice to be honored, but I’m tired of being reminded of that night. This has to be it, Paul. I want to get on with my life, do my job. After you write the report about the ceremony, make that the last story you write about me, please.”

  “But—”

  “I mean it. You know, when you reporters cover these bravery awards, I don’t think you appreciate that most of these people are being honored for what they did on what was probably one of the most horrible and frightening days of their lives. It’s not something they want to celebrate or be reminded of. It’s not something they want to talk about. They want to forget. I want to forget.”

  “Then I promise,” Paul said sincerely. But he got a heavy feeling in his chest to think it might mean saying good-bye to Drew. He fought to keep his voice steady as he spoke. “Thank you for wearing the pin.” Feeling bold, he reached across and touched it gently. “It’s understated as statements go, but it was perfect. It really popped on camera.”

  “The tailor would have my balls for poking a hole in his fine work.”

  “I’m sure. It’s still a shame you didn’t bring a date, though.”

  “Of course I brought a date.”

  “Your parents don’t count.”

  “Oh, bloody hell, you are dim sometimes. I mean you, idiot. You’re my date.”

  “Me? I’m covering the story. I’m just…here.”

  “You’ve been ‘just here’ a lot recently, and I’ve started to like it. I had a rough time for a few weeks after that night. Being able to call you, having you listen to me. It helped. I started to trust you. Manchester shook that a bit, but I got over it. I…trust you, Paul. Even if you are a reporter.”

  He took a pull of his beer while Paul stared at him. At last Paul regained the power of speech.

  “Does this mean you’ve changed your mind about…me?”

  Drew shrugged. “I consider myself on a date with you tonight. The question is, are you on a date with me? Because that’s what will make a difference.”

  “If I’m still closeted….”

  “If you are, it can’t happen. I like you a lot, but I can’t be with someone who’s living a lie. I can’t watch you poisoning yourself with a secret like that day after day.”

  “I want to be as strong as you, Drew. I want to be the kind of hero you are. I don’t mean what they gave you this for.�
�� He touched the award statuette. “I could never be that. I mean this.” He touched the rainbow pin again. “Living openly. Authentically. Every day. I think…maybe I could do that.”

  “You seemed pretty adamant that you couldn’t.”

  “I know. But something your dad said this morning got me thinking. When he said, ‘I’m a plumber, not the Earl of Grantham.’”

  “Ah, yes, clearly wise words. I totally see why they’ve influenced you.”

  Paul gave him a playful shove for his teasing tone. “It made me think about my family, my father.”

  “You’re not going to tell me that he’s the Earl of Grantham, are you?”

  “No. He’s an MP.”

  “Ah.”

  “He’s not in the cabinet or anything. Never going to be. He’s a backbencher for an obscure constituency in the West Country.”

  “Conservative?”

  “Very.” Paul took a long pull at his pint, giving himself a moment to think what he wanted to say next.

  “And he thinks having a gay son is a scandal?” Drew said.

  “Yes. As if anyone cares outside of his association or the bloody golf club. But he said it would ruin his good name, his chances of being selected as the candidate again.”

  “And that’s why you live so far from home?”

  “Being a journalist isn’t exactly endearing me to him either. He calls it ‘grubby.’ He might accept it if I worked on the Telegraph or Financial Times. But…it’s ridiculous. That’s what I’ve realized. He’s not the Earl of Grantham. He was an insurance company executive before he gave it up for the politics. I’m not knocking that. He worked hard and provided for us. I had everything I could want growing up. But he’s got this idea in his head that we’re some kind of upper class dynasty or something. And I fell for it. For years. But I’m done with it.”

  “What about work? How are you going to handle that?”

  “As best I can. And if it hurts me…then those are battle wounds.” His voice shook as he said it. Did he really have so much courage? Drew reached across the table and laid a hand over his. In public. Anyone in the bar might see. Might assume things, sneer, even abuse them. Paul would take whatever anyone threw at him. If it hurt…battle wounds.

  “All these years,” he said. “Lying. Laughing when people made jokes about poofs. Every time I lied or laughed, I felt another piece of my soul blacken and shrivel up. I don’t think there’s much of it left.”

  “I think there’s enough.”

  “Drew.” Paul spoke quietly. “Will you give me a chance? You said you would if I was out. Does that still apply? Because I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to be worthy of you.”

  “Oh, God, Paul, knock it off. My head is big enough already after tonight.”

  “Sorry,” Paul said, grinning. “How about if I tell you you’ve got a gorgeous arse and I’ve been dying to get my hands on it for months?”

  “That’s more like it. Okay, let’s go back to my room. See how it goes. And tomorrow morning, we’ll talk some more.”

  Paul gulped. His hands started to sweat. My God, at last. Dream come true.

  “I’ll go to the bar first,” he said. “Meet you in the lobby.”

  A few minutes later he found Drew by the lifts. Paul held up the bottle of champagne he carried and winked.

  “Expenses.”

  * * * *

  Paul glanced over his shoulder at the sound of stirring in the bed. Drew sat up, looking mussed and sleepy. He rubbed his eyes. The sheet fell away from his bare chest.

  “Is it morning?” he asked.

  “The sun is rising. But we don’t have to get up yet.”

  “So why are you up?” Drew asked.

  Good question. Paul hadn’t slept much, despite Drew quite wearing him out the night before. Drew on the other hand slept the sleep of the just. Slept like a hero. When the first signs of the sky getting lighter had appeared, Paul had slipped out of bed, put on his dressing gown, and stood by the window, the curtains half open as the dawn began to creep in.

  “Come on back,” Drew said. “I’m cold.”

  It was a little chilly. Paul turned away from the window, leaving the curtains partly open, and dropped his dressing gown. The chill hit his naked skin, and he slipped under the covers quickly. Drew pulled him close; then he made a small protest.

  “Your hands and feet are freezing!”

  “Sorry.” They soon warmed as he wrapped himself around Drew.

  “Okay, what now?” Drew asked.

  “Now?” Paul grinned. “Well, there were a couple of things we didn’t get around to last night.”

  “Oh, put it on a leash, will you? I meant in general terms. Where do we go from here?”

  “Do you want to see me again?” Paul asked.

  “I want to.”

  “As long as I come out.”

  Drew pulled away and sat up against the pillows so he could look into Paul’s face. “I’m sorry if I seem arrogant to ask you that.”

  “I don’t think you’re arrogant. I think you have a right to protect yourself from getting hurt. Because if I tried to be with you and keep the rest of my life the way it is, then in the end, I’d hurt you.”

  He’d introduce Drew as simply a “friend” if they met someone Paul knew when they were out together. Paul would spend every Christmas away from Drew. Paul’s parents might never know Drew existed. And that led to horrible stuff. To people kept away from their lover’s hospital beds and graves. To people grieving for a dead lover in secret—sometimes after being evicted from the house they’d shared.

  “I want to be with you,” Paul said. “But I don’t think I have the guts to walk into my office and announce it. Not yet.”

  “You don’t have to do it all in one jump if you don’t want to. Take small steps. And I know it won’t be easy dealing with your parents.” He stroked Paul’s hair. “Let me help you with it.”

  “We don’t know if we’ll even be together in a month.”

  “I’m an optimist. And that doesn’t matter. I want to help you even if we’re not together that way.”

  “Why? Why would you care?”

  “It must be the healer in me. Living a lie that way is poison. I won’t stand by and watch it.”

  “You really are my hero.”

  “Don’t. So what will you do if you get problems at your job when you come out?”

  “Get another one, I suppose,” Paul said.

  “Wrong answer,” Drew said. “That’s not how a pioneer works. You stay and fight. If they push you out, you take them to an industrial tribunal for constructive dismissal. You get your union to help. You get a solicitor.” He ruffled Paul’s hair when Paul stared at him with some dismay. “That’s the way things change. Not big heroic gestures. Small battles fought every day. Do you think you can do that?”

  “With my hero beside me, I can do anything.”

  THE END

  ABOUT BECKY BLACK

  Becky likes nothing more than trapping her characters in tricky no-win situations and watching them figure a way out. When not chasing her characters up trees and throwing rocks at them Becky can be found working in an office—where she’s usually drinking tea and thinking about the next rock to throw. For more information, visit her online at beckyblack.wordpress.com.

  ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

  JMS Books LLC is a small queer press with competitive royalty rates publishing LGBT romance, erotic romance, and young adult fiction. Visit jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!

 

 

 
nline-share-buttons">share