The Importance of Being Kevin

by Steven Harper

  Ray waved.

  “And you, Kev,” Meg added. “This is your first play, right? How come you never auditioned before?”

  A lie formed in my head and showed up at the back of my throat. But suddenly I was tired of lying, tired of keeping secrets from people who were supposed to be my actual friends. The truth leaped out ahead of the lie. “I beat up another kid, and my parole officer said I had to get a job or do volunteer work this summer. So I tried out for the play.”

  A second of silence followed. “No shit?” Ray said.

  “No shit,” I said.

  “Why’d you beat up the kid?” Melissa asked.

  Because I had a crush on Hank. Because I hated myself. Because I still can’t make myself say the word gay out loud to you, even now. Apparently the truth only goes so far.

  “Because I was hanging out with some really shitty guys, and I got caught up with them,” I said. “It was stupid, and I feel really bad about it. But I met all of you”—Peter—“because of it. So that was a good thing, I guess. I never really had friends before.”

  “What about the shitty guys?” Thad said.

  I snorted. “They’re by definition shitty. Not friends. They just wanted to fight and get high and break shit. I only hung out with them because… I was mad.”

  Melissa said, “At who?”

  This was turning into a real therapy session. “At everyone. At the world. Is there any more of that sandwich left? I only had a couple bites before dickwad over there threw me into the pool.”

  “I’m not a dickwad,” Peter said airily. “I’m just a dick.”

  And we went back to swimming and eating and talking and listening to music. I sat at the umbrella table and ate more sandwich and watched Peter—and the other guys, I have to admit. Thad sat down and grabbed a handful of potato chips from the bag, his dark hair damp from the pool. We talked about nothing much for a while.

  “So who do you think killed Les?” he asked suddenly. “I mean, if Peter didn’t do it.”

  The question caught me off guard. I’d been concentrating so hard on Peter not being the killer that I hadn’t really thought about who it really was. “Some guy, I guess,” I said. “I don’t… didn’t… know Les.”

  Thad crunched another chip. “Did you know he was dealing?”

  “Nope.”

  “Pills. Pot. Meth. He had it all. Found a lot of customers at the Art Center.”

  “Like who?”

  “Lots of people.” He threw a glance toward the pool, where a bunch of the cast were still swimming.

  “Someone in the play?” I said. “Who? You gotta tell.”

  “He was all beat up, right? He probably pissed off one of his customers, or maybe the guy he bought his shit from.”

  “Who supplied him?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  I took a swig of pop. “You tell the police about any of this?”

  “The cops?” he scoffed. “They’ll arrest you soon as look at you.”

  “Amen, bro,” I said, tilting my bottle toward him. But I still wondered.

  A ways after ten, Mrs. Kimura gently kicked us all out. Me and Peter headed for his car. I was still kind of trippy over the awesomeness of the party, and Peter must’ve noticed.

  “You’ve caught it,” he observed as we climbed in.

  “Caught what?”

  “The theater bug,” he said. “You’ve had your first cast call, your first rehearsal, your first set building, and now your first cast party. And you’re loving it.”

  “Yeah,” I said with a smile. “Sometimes I think I could live here.”

  “Wait’ll your first performance,” he said. “It’s total magic when the house is full of people and you’re in costume and makeup and the lights go up and you go out there. Nothing like it.”

  “Why don’t you try it? You know, professionally?”

  “Me?” Peter snorted and pulled into the street. “I’m not good enough. It’s fun, but I like building stuff. Before the play even started, I was helping Iris with the set design. I want to be an architect.”

  “You’re an awesome actor,” I protested.

  “Nah. I’m just good. You’re the one who could go all the way. All of us have seen it. It’s rough breaking into acting. Lots of guys just as cute with just as much talent want in just as bad. But you could do it, Kev. When you walk on that stage, everyone looks. They can’t help it. I’m serious.”

  I was flushing red-hot by now. The compliments were coming fast and furious, and I didn’t know how to handle them. “Uh….”

  “Say thanks,” Peter said with that killer grin.

  “Thanks,” I said with a grin of my own.

  Peter turned down good old Six Mile Road. “You know, I hadn’t thought about where I was going to stay.”

  “Yeah,” I said slowly. “You know, my dad might let you stay with us. For a while. He turned out to be pretty cool about me being gay. And being with you.”

  “That wasn’t a hint,” Peter said. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Just shut up and say yes,” I interrupted.

  Peter thought a moment. “Let me take you home, and we’ll talk about it.”

  Dad was on the couch, the one Peter and I had been messing around on earlier that day. The one that had Les’s phone under it. So much kept happening, I never had the chance to dump the stupid thing. Dad was barefoot and reading, like usual. He looked up when we came in.

  “Hey, guys. Rehearsal run late?” His tone was super casual, and suddenly I was nervous again.

  “Little bit,” I said, not quite lying. I didn’t want to go into the cast party. Even though there hadn’t been any drinking or stuff, Dad might get suspicious anyway because of the shit I used to get into, and we’d get into a fight. “Can I talk to you?”

  Dad closed the book. “Is this about the two of you? Kevin told me you two are… dating, or whatever you guys call it, Peter.”

  “We are, sir,” Peter said. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “It’s complicated,” Dad said seriously. “I mean, you’re a Morse, and we’re… not.”

  “Dad,” I said.

  “How old are you?” he said, ignoring me.

  “Nineteen, sir.”

  “A little older than Kevin,” he said in a voice you could have bent an I-beam around. “He’s technically age of consent, but he’s still a minor, and I’m his father.”

  “Yes, sir,” Peter said.

  “Are you having sex?” he said bluntly, even though he’d already asked me about that.

  “Dad!” I said again.

  Peter slid his hands into his back pockets. “No, sir.”

  Was that a lie? Had Peter and I had sex? I wasn’t sure if what we’d done on the couch counted. What did count?

  But Peter wasn’t finished. “Can I ask you something, sir?” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Would you have brought up that last question if I were a girl?”

  Dad thought about that for a second. “I don’t understand how it’s relevant.”

  “When people see a guy and a girl holding hands, they think, ‘Oh, they must be boyfriend and girlfriend,’ or ‘They must be married.’ But when two guys are holding hands, they think, ‘They’re having sex.’ Isn’t that right?”

  Dad thought another second. “I guess so.” He thought again. “Not really fair, I suppose.”

  “Yeah,” Peter sighed. “It’s been an unfair kind of day.”

  “I just found out my son was gay and that he already has a boyfriend,” Dad said. “And he’s the son of a billionaire and accused of murder. You’ll have to give me some time to catch up. At least Kevin is positive you’ve been falsely accused. I trust his judgment, and I don’t trust the police, so you’re welcome here.”

  This was weird, my dad talking to my boyfriend. It was weird enough that I had a boyfriend at all.

  “Uh… speaking of that, Dad.” I sank to the couch next to him while Peter took up th
e only chair. “I wanted to ask a couple things.”

  He took on that narrow look all parents do when they know they’re in for an argument. “Like…?”

  I decided to start small. Smallish. I told him about Wayne and Jake and the Pride festival. The more I talked, the more my earlier worry about it faded, and the more excited I got. “Can I go? Please? Wayne said it would only be okay if you called him.”

  “Are you going?” Dad asked Peter.

  “I can’t,” Peter said. “I have rehearsal during the day. Kevin doesn’t.” He left out the news cameras.

  “Please?” I said.

  “Kevin, this is… a lot,” Dad said slowly. “I just found out about you yesterday, and now you’re already asking to go to this Pride parade thing. It’s all moving so fast.”

  “There’s no parade,” I said. “No parading. Parades are right out. I just want to go and look around.”

  “Kev—”

  Words spilled out, words I didn’t know were inside me. “Dad, my whole life I’ve wondered what it was like to see other people like me. I knew they—we—existed, but never actually knew anybody. Peter’s the first one I met, and it was incredible. There’s a whole… community out there, and I want to see it so much, see if they’re like me. Wayne and Jake will be chaperones, so nothing’s going to happen. Please, Dad.” I made my biggest, best puppy face at him.

  A long moment passed, and then Dad sighed. “What’s Wayne’s number?”

  Yes! I pulled out my cell. “I’ve got it here.”

  “What? When did you get a cell phone?”

  Shit. “Oh. Uh—”

  “I gave it to him,” Peter said. “A gift.” Then he flashed his most disarming smile. “It’s what the Morse family gives instead of flowers and chocolates.”

  “Oh Jesus,” Dad grumbled. He poked at Wayne’s number, strode into the kitchen to speak for a few minutes with his back to us, then came back into the living room. “It’s not happening,” he said flatly.

  My heart sank. “What? Why?”

  “Because you’ll never get up by seven in the morning.”

  I attacked him, but it turned into a hug. He slapped me on the back, and Peter looked jealous.

  “Thanks, Dad. Uh… can I ask something else?”

  “Oh god. Hit me.” He plopped back onto the couch.

  “Peter’s parents kind of saw us kiss.” I held up my hands. “That’s all we did. But now they know Peter’s gay. They didn’t take it really well. Not like you.”

  “They freaked?” Dad said to both of us.

  “Big-time,” I said as Peter nodded. “That’s kind of why Peter’s here. He didn’t just give me a ride home.”

  “They threw you out?” Dad said incredulously.

  “Sort of,” Peter said. “My mom yelled at me, and I left, and they cut off my debit card and stuff. I haven’t talked to them.”

  “So… you’re asking if Peter can stay here?” Dad hazarded. “Oh, Kev, I don’t know.”

  “Just for a while,” I said quickly. “Until—”

  A harsh knock banged on the door. Dad sat up and glanced at the clock. It was nearly eleven. “Who the hell?”

  Cops? I mouthed at Peter, who paled. But how would they know where Peter was?

  Dad strode to the door and yanked it open. On the other side were Mr. and Mrs. Morse.

  ACT II: SCENE VIII

  KEVIN

  “MOM! DAD!” Peter said. “What…? How did you know where I was?”

  “There aren’t a lot of Devereauxs in Ringdale,” Mrs. Morse said. “When you didn’t come home from rehearsal, we looked up this address.”

  “There’s also a GPS on the car.” Mr. Morse stuck out a hand at Dad. “I’m Scott Morse. This is my wife, Helen. You must be Jerry Devereaux.”

  I stared hard at Mrs. Morse. Earlier today she had slapped me and thrown Peter out of the house, and now she was coming here?

  “You got me,” Dad said. “Looks like we have stuff to talk about. Do you want to come in?”

  I so didn’t want them to come in. But they did. Mrs. Morse looked around the trailer and at the book piles with iron eyes. I didn’t like her judging where I lived. Who made her queen of the sun?

  Dad ushered the Morses to the couch. Peter gingerly took the armchair, and I brought in two kitchen chairs for me and Dad. The box fan whirred in the window, trying to keep things cool, but it was a losing battle with all these people in the trailer.

  “So, Scott and Helen,” Dad said, and I liked the way he called them by their first names, “where do we start?”

  “We’re really here to see Peter Finn,” said Mrs. Morse.

  Mr. Morse coughed. “Helen.”

  Her face tightened. “And Kevin.”

  “Me?” I said. “What for?”

  She didn’t say anything until Mr. Morse touched her arm. At last she said very fast, “I’m sorry about my outburst today. I wasn’t thinking, and it was wrong. Please accept my apology.”

  That caught me off guard. I could tell she didn’t really mean any of it and Mr. Morse had probably pushed her, but she still said it. I didn’t know how to respond.

  “Way to go, Mom,” Peter said, but he was clearly still mad.

  “What outburst?” Dad asked.

  “Apparently Helen and Kevin got into it at our house today,” Mr. Morse said. “She said some things, and there was some… behavior on both sides. But she’s apologized. I hope that can be the end of it.”

  “What did I do?” I burst out.

  “You were engaged in inappropriate activity with my son,” Mrs. Morse said tightly.

  “Inappropriate how?” Dad asked.

  “We were hugging,” I said.

  “Peter’s over eighteen,” Dad said. His hands lay flat on his thighs. “I don’t know why the two of you are involved here. He can hug who he wants.”

  “What do you want, Mom?” Peter asked. His face was tight, and I could see he was being pulled in different directions. He was pissed off, but he was scared too. I knew the feeling.

  “I—we—want you to come home,” said Mrs. Morse.

  “You threw me out.”

  “I did no such thing,” Mrs. Morse said. “You left.”

  “And you canceled my cards. Did you try to get your hooks into my personal bank account too?”

  “That’s unfair, Peter Finn,” said Mr. Morse.

  “I could have reported the car stolen,” Mrs. Morse said. “I could have shut off your phone.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better? That you have all the power? After you called my boyfriend trailer trash? After you slapped him?”

  “Oh Jesus,” Mr. Morse muttered.

  Dad’s head came around. “What’s that now?”

  My mouth was hard despite Mrs. Morse’s earlier apology. “She slapped me in the face, Dad. That was her ‘outburst.’”

  “You insulted me,” she shot back, trying to rally.

  Dad leaned forward, his face a quiet thunderstorm. “So you’re telling me Kevin called you a couple names, and you slapped him? That’s assault.”

  “You would know,” said Mrs. Morse.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Dad asked in a low voice.

  Two red spots appeared on Mrs. Morse’s cheeks now, the same ones I had seen before in Peter’s room. “We had our people run a background check. You served time for murder. Kevin is on probation for beating that boy. What kind of people are you getting involved with, Peter Finn?”

  Dad’s face was red too. “You come into my home and—”

  “We’re only fighting about this because you don’t like me being gay,” Peter interrupted. “You can’t handle your perfect son being a ho-mo-sex-shul.” He drew the word out with a drawl.

  “You aren’t gay, Peter Finn,” said Mr. Morse. “You’re just… experimenting. One day you’ll meet the right girl, and—”

  “You think I haven’t tried, Dad?” Peter interrupted again. “You’ve seen me go out with
girls. It doesn’t work. But with Kevin… it’s different, okay? You can’t change it, and I don’t want to change it.”

  “You have to,” Mrs. Morse snapped. “This isn’t a good time for any of this. We have the court case to deal with, and god only knows what’ll happen there. Detective Malloy has already decided you killed that man, even though our own investigators are—”

  “Helen,” Mr. Morse said warningly.

  She glanced at me and Dad and clamped her mouth shut.

  “Look,” Dad said, “I know this isn’t easy. Shit, it shocked the hell out of me when Kevin dropped the bomb. But Peter’s your son. Who cares what other people think?”

  That made me feel all warm inside.

  “Where is this going?” Mr. Morse asked.

  I realized he was talking to me. “Where is what going?”

  “Your relationship with Peter Finn,” he said. “Where’s it going? Casual dating? Long-term relationship? Are you getting married? Do you want kids?”

  I was swimming in a whirlpool, no control over where the currents yanked me. “I—what?”

  “Hey, they’ve only known each other for a few days,” Dad said. “Give them a break.”

  “You have to come, Peter Finn,” Mr. Morse said. “You have to come home, you have to study business, and you have to give up this… stuff.”

  Peter worked his jaw and looked pointedly away. I wanted to take his hand, but I was sitting on a powder keg, and I was afraid it would explode if I moved.

  Then Mrs. Morse smiled a little, cocked her head, and leaned forward. “You know,” she said in a sweetie-pie voice, “we’re putting up a new facility in Toledo. Big project, lots of workers. They could use a foreman. Very easy to arrange. We can overlook the background check.”

  Now Dad blinked. “Sorry?”

  “Salary. Sick leave. Medical benefits. Moving expenses. And a ten-thousand-dollar signing bonus.”

  Jesus. I looked at Peter. His face was a white stone.

  Dad swallowed hard. He flicked a glance around the shitty little trailer. A foreman’s salary. A signing bonus. No background check.

  “You move down there. Peter stays up here,” Mrs. Morse continued. “Everyone is happy.”

  Dad stood up. “I think it’s time for you both to leave. Thanks for coming by.”