by Cooper West
Art frowned at him. “Look, this isn’t love at first sight for either of us. And as we’ve both pointed out, I’m flying out tomorrow. So what do you want here?” Jack, frustrated and confused, straightened up his clothes.
“I don’t want you to fly out tomorrow.” Art crossed his arms.
“Uhhh… that’s not really an option.”
“I’m not stupid. I know that. But you asked me what I want, not what’s going to happen.” Jack rethought the “not love at first sight” thing, because Art was implying that was the case, or at least possibly the case, or… he had no idea.
“Okay, fair enough. But you’re in the closet and in Nevada. I’m out and proud and in Illinois. So unless you’ve got ideas for that, I think we’re done with this.” Jack waved a hand between them.
Art bit his lower lip, which Jack totally did not think was sexy as hell. Art turned and tapped his desk, deep in thought, then straightened up. “If that’s what you want.”
Jack blinked in surprise to have his words thrown back at him. The intense, serious look Art was giving him stopped him from making the snappy comeback that was his first thought, so he paused to reconsider. Art waited.
“I’m a little taken off guard by this, okay? And while I’m not against a little fling, I’ve got Diana and my career to think about.” He ran his fingers through his hair while Art remained still as a statue. “It’s been a long time since I’ve tried to do the ‘relationship’ thing.”
Art’s interest clearly picked up. “But you’re not against it?”
“Of course not! Who is? But this… is still kind of a surprise.” Art nodded, then walked slowly across the room to Jack, as if he was worried Jack might slug him. He kept going, though, until they were nearly chest to chest. “Let me call you. E-mail you. Whatever. Give me a chance.”
Jack felt his eyebrows go up, but he nodded anyway. “Sure. I’d… I’d like that, it—” “ Guys! Josh says….” Diana trailed off as she hit the doorway, staring at them. Art bounced backward, only making them look even guiltier. Diana narrowed her eyes. She did not say anything, though, and for that Jack was willing not to disown her.
“Josh says what?” Jack segued quickly, and Diana’s excitement returned like a steam train. Jack and Art trailed along behind her for the rest of their stay at the house as she went on and on and on about how awesome Art, Josh, Gavin, and (sometimes) Jack were. Art saw them off at the door, and Diana waved frantically at him as the car went down the long drive. Then she turned around in her seat and crossed her arms.
“You were hitting on him!”
“Believe me, I totally wasn’t.”
“Whatever. I don’t believe you! Slut!”
“Hey, don’t use that word like that. It’s sex shaming, and we don’t do that in our family,” Jack snarled at her. “Okay, okay. Sorry. But still!”
“I did not hit on him, okay? And anyway it’s not your business.” She glowered the whole ride back to the hotel, but once she was back on the phone with her friends, it was as if Jack did not even exist. He was good with that.
ART decided that the window for adult maturity and sanity was fairly narrow. His twenties had been handled well professionally (mostly due to Gavin), but personally it was a clusterfuck, with the only positive outcome being his son, Mark. Between thirty and thirty-three, Art lived a relatively pleasant life with his money, his boyfriend, and skateboarding. After he broke up with Derrick, though, he re-entered stupidhead land or something—he was not too sure anymore. All he knew for sure was that he was thirtysix years old and off the rails; Jack was twelve years younger, had a fourteen-year-old sister and an academic career to look after, and lived two thousand miles away. A sane, mature man approaching forty would go out, get laid, forget his troubles for the night, and forget about Jack for good.
Instead, Art squinted through his glasses as he punched in his text message via the number pad of his phone. “Seriously, that hurts to watch. Let me get you a smart phone.” Gavin cringed as Art had to back up after spelling “diama” instead of “Diana.” Again.
“It’s a phone, not a doohickey.”
“That? Right there? Is part of your problem. ‘Doohickey.’ You sound like you’re eighty.”
Art ignored him as he concentrated on pressing the “4” key three times.
“And not even that. My grandfather is on Facebook more than you are,” Gavin snarled, grabbing the phone. “Hey!” “‘How’s Diana?’” Gavin stared at the half-finished message. “You’re texting Jack Martinez.” It was not a question; Gavin was looking at him curiously, trying to connect the dots.
Art made for the phone, but Gavin jogged backward from his desk. “Why are you… oh, shit! You like him!” “Thanks for reducing this to the level of ten-year-old girls.”
“Which is about where your emotional life stalled out.” Gavin punched the phone. “I deleted it. We’re going shopping for a real phone. If you plan to do some long-distance dating, you at least need something with a touch screen.”
“We’re not dating.”
“Okay, long-distance flirting. Jesus, you’re repressed.” “No, I’m not!”
“As far as I can tell, you had sex once when you were eighteen.” Gavin walked out, both of them knowing that Art would follow. He grabbed his jacket and tried to catch up.
“You cannot judge my sex life by my number of offspring!” “No, I judge it for being pathetic. How did you get married two times? I had to wait ten years for the first woman who was willing to put up with me long enough to get a ring on her finger.”
Art smirked. “I’m irresistible. Thrashersays so.” “Shut up and get in the car.”
Gavin got him a phone that was so fancy, the instruction book was nearly an inch thick. But the flirty young salesgirl walked him through it for nearly thirty minutes, until Art could text out a message on the pop-out keyboard faster than he ever thought possible. She even set it up so he could use Facebook on it.
“This is amazing! Why didn’t you make me get one before?” Art said, playing with his phone as they sat down for lunch at a nice restaurant near the mall.
Gavin sighed heavily. “I tried, you son of a bitch. How was I to know that the key to getting you interested in modern technology was a twinky twentysomething who lives a dozen states away?”
“Jack isn’t twinky.” Gavin glared at him. “If that’s the only part of that sentence you’re going to argue with, I’d say I’m still on target.”
Art put the phone down, picking up on something in Gavin’s tone of voice. “Is this going to be a problem for you?” Gavin waved the waiter off angrily before they could even place their drink orders. “You know what? Yes, it is.” Art sat back, surprised. Gavin knew he was bisexual, and never seemed bothered by it before. “Don’t give me that look; I’m not a fucking homophobe and you know it. And I’m the one who told you that it’s not going to hurt the business if you date a guy.”
“Then what’s the fucking problem here?” “ Secrets! Dammit, Art, I didn’t even know you were dating a guy until you broke up, and that was only because you were smashed-out drunk on my couch for three days. Look, I’m not only your friend who doesn’t want you living in the closet, I’m also your business manager. And this circuit deal we have with Jack, it’s blowing up already. Press is going to be all over us, and by ‘us’ I mean you and Jack.”
“You just said—” “ Secrets. Listen to me! Dating a guy? ‘Cutting edge!’ ‘Heroic!’” Gavin did air quotes around the words, indicating headlines. “For every parent who shies away from your terrible homosexual ways, we’ll pick up butt loads of exposure in the LGBT press. It’s win/win… but not if it’s a fucking scandal!” Gavin hissed, then waved the waiter back over.
Art sat quietly while he thought about what Gavin had said, and Gavin was angry enough to let him. It was not as if Art was confused by his desire to stay in the closet; he knew damn well what motivated him to do it, and it was not something he cared to rehash with anyon
e.
“I’m not a rebel with a cause, here. I just like the guy.” “Don’t. Fucking. Care,” Gavin snarled, cutting into his salad. “Dammit, Gav….”
Gavin waved a fork at him, his mouth full.
Art rubbed his chin, trying to ground himself. He really did not want to go there, but Gavin was being a jackass. “I ever tell you about my Phil?”
Art trusted that Gavin understood him well enough to know that the non-sequitur was probably on topic. Gavin did, so just shook his head.
“My dad….” Gavin snorted. “Your dad was a holy roller bastard, Art. Don’t you think it’s time you crawled out from under his shadow?”
“My dad and his best friend—Phil’s dad—beat the crap out of him when he was about fifteen, I guess.” “Let me guess: teaching the queer boy a lesson.” Gavin sighed. “That was years ago, and it’s not like your father even sends you a Christmas card. He was a jerk and you’re better off without him. Tell me you don’t really think he’ll hunt you down and—”
“Shut up and listen to me.” Art tapped the table angrily, shutting Gavin down. “That’s not the point. The thing is, I don’t want any other kids beat up because they walk out of the closet on my account. ‘Oh, Art Nichols is queer! Long live the revolution!’ And then they get thrown out of the house. Not on my watch, Gav. Not happening.”
Gavin sat staring at him, stunned and speechless. Art took that as a good sign. “That’s just the way it is. Whatever I do here, if anything happens with Jack, it’s not public. Period. And you, as friend and manager, need to get clear on that.”
“You unbelievable moron! What, staying in the closet is such a good message? That’s healthy? Way to be a role model there!”
“Issue is closed, Gavin!” “Yeah, it’s closed alright… until someone opens your fucking closet door! Then what? What will you say to those kids then, when it’s a huge fucking scandal I can’t keep off the internet?”
“Drop it!” Gavin stopped, sucking in a huge breath before speaking again. “I’m the straight guy, here; the privileged white dude, and I get that. But trust me: this is the wrong decision. This will bite you on the ass, and not in a fun way. As your friend and manager, I’ll be here to clean up the mess when this egg breaks, and trust me, Art: it will break.”
Art refused to answer, because Gavin did not get it. It had taken a long time for Art to really understand that he was a role model—a hero—for thousands and thousands of kids out there skating, but once he knew it there was no doubt in his mind that he was going to be the right kind of role model, the kind who kept kids out of trouble and not the “cool rebel” who let them think they could do anything and never suffer the consequences. Skating itself was dangerous enough, and Art was not going to extend that kind of danger into anyone’s life just so he could hold hands with a guy in public. Not after what happened to Phil; not when it was his fault Phil ended up a bloody wreck in the front yard. Never again.
JACK was almost more excited than Diana, although he had a few years more experience at hiding it. He got through finals week with only mildly traumatizing his students, and handed in his first draft of his doctoral thesis project to his main advisor almost-kinda-sorta only a little bit late. Meanwhile the frantic pace of running the circuit, on top of everything else, left him literally falling into bed at night. His high points were in lining up some truly worthy advertisers for the circuit events, hiring an operations manager to take over some of the grunt work of the event planning process, and the almost constant dating-by-phone text messages he and Art sent to each other. Even Diana, queen of the social media instant message, started making fun of how often Jack was checking his phone for messages or sending them.
Now, six weeks after their shotgun trip out to Nevada, Jack and Diana were on their way back as guests of Art Nichols, with plans to stay for a whole week. For Diana, it was going to be a skateboarding master-class intensive with Josh and even Art himself there to coach her, and she was so excited about it she’d stopped talking in full sentences days ago. Jack felt guilty about it at first, feeling that it would give Diana too much of an unfair edge over her competitors. Art did not really argue that point, and instead sent him an e-mail full of links to meets she was eligible to compete in and companies who would be good to lobby for sponsoring her, along with a gentle reminder that she was graduating out of Jack’s circuit events within eight months anyway. It was a brutal notice of how fast she was growing up and how seriously everyone was taking her skating career, and Jack knew that by the same time next year, it was very likely that she would be going pro. He e-mailed Art back with the dates that the semesters ended for both him and Diana, and asked what they should bring.
This time, he did not rent a car, but instead let Gavin arrange for a town car to pick them up at the airport and drive them out to Art’s house. Jack had a pretty good idea of what he and Art would be doing, and it would require Jack being “on site” in more ways than one. He was glad that their last tour of the house showed the guest rooms to be on the opposite side of the house from Art’s bedroom, because Jack had plans that did not include Diana in any way, shape, or sound.
Diana, of course, had figured this out a long time ago. “You could just put me up at the hotel,” she complained as the town car drifted out of the city proper into the ritzier suburbs.
“It’s not like we’ll be making out on the dining room table, okay? I think he’s kind of a prude anyway when it comes to you; I doubt he’ll touch me if you’re within ten yards.”
“Oh hey, don’t put your failure as a lover down to my presence. That’s gross.”
“My ‘failure as a lover’? Did you get that out of a romance book?”
“Yes, yours; that one about the gay horse trainers?” “You are so never allowed in my room ever again, as long as you live. Ever.”
Diana snorted and focused on her phone again. “Just saying. Don’t blame me.”
“You’re convenient. If I can’t blame you, what’s the point of having a younger sister?” Diana snorted again and made a production about putting her earbuds back in to listen to her music, which Jack counted as a success. They were both a little nervous and on edge about this trip, for similar reasons: for both of them, this could determine their future in a way very few things so far had. Jack was not embarrassed about his desire for a solid, long-term relationship, and he had been daydreaming about having one with Art practically since he met the guy. Diana was dreaming big and hoping that this week with Josh would push her skating up to the level she needed to be able to compete in the X-Games. A lot was riding on this visit for the Martinezes, and Jack was more than over the stress of anticipation.
They arrived with very little fanfare. Art was there and smiled broadly at Jack for just one brilliant moment before reining himself back in. Since it was late afternoon, he told them to set up in the guest rooms and change into bathing suits, as he liked to go for a dip in the pool before dinner. Diana shrieked with joy, hugged Art, and slammed the door to her room to get changed, leaving Art and Jack standing awkwardly in the hallway.
“We don’t have a pool or anything. It’s kind of a novelty.” Art nodded slowly. “It is for me too, honestly. Pretty much my biggest luxury, having my own pool. My family was pretty poor; couldn’t even afford the fees at the local Y, you know? So I use my pool. I earned it.” Art blinked when he stopped, seeming surprised at saying so much. It was a look Jack thought he might have to get used to, as often as Art wore it. “So, anyway, this is your room here.” He quickly walked down the hall to the next room and opened the door. It was a lovely room with a great view of Art’s private skate park, and Jack had absolutely no intention of sleeping there. He dropped his duffle on the floor, turned around, and closed the door behind them. Art gave it a startled glance.
“I was not really planning on sleeping alone,” Jack said and pulled him into a deep, wet kiss. Art did not hesitate at all, wrapping his thinner, taller frame around Jack, holding him close as they e
xplored each other’s mouths. There was a slip of tongue, hints at something a lot more intense and sexual, but they managed to keep things fairly low-key until Art broke off for air.
“Your sister… she might be uncomfortable….” “Fuck’s sake, Art, she knows I’m gay. And honestly, with all the texting we’ve been doing, she pretty much knew this was going to happen when I got here.”
Art looked bothered by that, even if he did not let go. Jack felt him tense up in his arms, so he rubbed his back soothingly.
“She’s nearly fourteen. She’s young and naïve, but she’s not stupid.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m just not used to….” Art trailed off, still uncomfortable. “What? Dating? That’s not what I’ve read,” Jack said, smirking at Art in an effort to lighten the mood. It worked; Art relaxed a little and leaned back into his hold.
“Won’t bother her, you staying in my room?”
Jack’s heart beat double time. Excited and happy, he tried not to act like a gushing fanboy. “Nope.”
Art smiled as he let go of Jack. “Grab your bags, then. My room’s in the other wing.” Jack watched Art as they walked across the house; the man was still tense and uncertain, and Jack wondered about the last time Art had someone stay with him for any length of time. Gossip ran like mad around Art Nichols, but on the whole, since his last divorce years ago, he had not been actually linked with anyone. Jack only knew about Art's ex boyfriend because Art had told him, but he did not know anything more than that.
Art said he had a spare set of pool trunks stashed elsewhere and left him to get settled, both of them figuring Diana would not wait long on them. Within fifteen minutes, they were all out by the pool. Apparently, pre-dinner drinks were part of the deal; Maria served up mai tais for the guys and a soda for Diana. It was the kind of upscale, extravagant thing that Jack imagined rich people did, and while Art was more accurately described as wealthy upper-middle class, it was still an experience that Jack wallowed in. Diana, normally a monster in a pool, paddled around lethargically but happily, decompressing from the end of her school year and the stress of travel. Jack empathically related to that.
