Chapter Twelve

 

My flight back to New York was mercifully less bumpy, though I couldn’t help feeling at odds knowing Todd was flying away from New York as I was coming in.

As soon as I landed, Theodore’s called.

“Hey, Carmen,” I said, pulling on the Caesar’s Palace cap I’d bought from the gift shop and slotting on my shades.

“Bloody hell, Matthew,” she said in her French accent. “You really know how to drum up business, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?” I strode past a newsstand, trying and failing not to be affected by seeing my face on the front cover of the New York Post. My heart rate rattled up and a flush settled in the base of my neck. It was weird being on the other side of the lens, it was weirder that the shot they’d used was my Facebook profile picture—one Tony had taken when we were in St. Kitts. Not that I’d used my Facebook account for over a year now. I just didn’t like sharing my every move online.

“I’ve had the press on the phone all afternoon. Everyone wants an invite to Saturday night and I’ve had to organize more security for the whole event.”

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry.”

She laughed, a high-pitched giggle. “Don’t apologize, this is great. Everyone will be talking about you and your work being exhibited at Theodore’s.”

“Yeah, that and my love life.” I couldn’t help a groan.

“Of course, but that too is wonderful. Your audience has just multiplied tenfold, probably one thousand-fold. You better get the third wave of pictures planned and sent off as soon as possible. I’ve already been asked for previews and if it’s possible to reserve before the opening.”

“You have?” I strode out the revolving doors into the cold, damp afternoon and grabbed a cab.

“Oui, I have a good feeling about this, Matthew. Where are you now?”

“JFK. Hang on a second.” I gave my address to the driver.

“No, no, don’t go home,” she said, “come straight here, we have things to organize.”

 

*****

 

Forty minutes later, I was standing in Theodore’s. The gallery was closed and big blackout screens hung at the enormous windows.

Carmen was smiling and as she spoke her high chestnut ponytail swung. I could almost feel waves of excitement coming from her.

“So what do you think?” She gestured around the place, her towering heels clicking on the hard tiles as she spun in a circle.

“Great, more than great.” My pictures were even bigger than I’d thought they would be and looked stunning lit with spotlights. Each one had a small plaque by it giving details of the subject and the date it was taken. The one of Joel and Gareth standing on the beach naked caught my attention. I went up close and studied the pixels. “They did a great job at the printers.”

“Yes, we have always been more than happy with them.” She joined me in my study, peering forward and scrutinizing the bottom left-hand corner of the canvas. She smelled of coconut and mango, a fruity perfume that made me think of Caribbean holidays.

“You’ll notice that we’ve sectioned them off.” She straightened and turned around. “Landscapes, people and animals. Though I’ve kept the more risqué ones in this back section. Doesn’t matter too much now but when the second wave comes through you have some that are…” She paused. “Considerably more erotic.”

I nodded. “Good idea. Viewers can choose what interests them that way.”

She smiled. “You did tell me how many personal guests you’re bringing to the opening. Has that changed? Do I need to send more VIP invitations?”

“Er, yeah. There will be five now instead of three. But don’t worry about invitations.”

She made a strange squeaking noise and rubbed her hands together. “Oh, please tell me one of the extra tickets is for Todd Carty. Please, please.”

I smiled at the mention of his name. “Yes.”

“Perfect, I was hoping you would say that. I’ve made some alterations to the timings that will make the evening go with more of a bang. Can you arrive at seven instead of six?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Good, it will be much better. We can let the press check out the photography then shoo them outside. When you and Todd are here, in the gallery, it will just be art world press. They’ll be more interested in your work than your relationship. A much better balance.”

“Good idea.” A wave of relief washed over me that Carmen was so professional.

“Like I said, I’ve organized extra security so once you’re in here you and Todd won’t be hassled more than you want to be. But you have to get here.” Her face fell serious. “I’ll send a limo to your apartment for you and your guests. When it pulls up outside Theodore’s there will be a roped off, red-carpeted walkway leading to the door and plenty of security lurking about.”

I burst into laughter. “Red carpet. Don’t you think that’s a bit over the top?”

She frowned. “No, Matthew. It’s your debut solo exhibition and you’re dating a sports superstar. Red carpet, champagne and press coverage is part of the deal.”

She looked so perturbed by my amusement that I forced my face to straighten and nodded seriously.

“So naturally there will be press waiting for you when you arrive,” she said. “Just look your best, smile and answer questions you want to answer and ignore ones you don’t. You can go into technical detail with the journalists I’ve vetted once you’re in. Out there,” she waved toward the door, “it will be a free-for-all, but only for as long as you and Todd want it to be. Just remember, be nice, these guys could make you a million bucks if you play it right.”

“I’m always nice.”

“You’re an artist, artists get cranky.”

I held out my palms. “And when have I been cranky with you?”

She laughed. “Never, but there is always a first time. Have you seen this?” She walked over to a sleek white desk and dipped into a briefcase. She pulled out a copy of the New York Post.

“No, but Todd told me about it.”

“Do you want this copy? It will save you a funny look at a newsstand.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ve read it. There’s nothing much to it. No dirt, as they say. Just some stuff about your work and your relationship with Tony Harding. Nothing else.”

“There isn’t much else. It’s not as if they’re going to find a load of exes to print quotes from. I’ve haven’t had many relationships.”

She put her hand on my arm. “So this is serious, with Todd?”

I looked down at her. Studied the way she had attached a whole other layer of eyelashes over her real ones. “Yeah, it’s serious.”

“I’m delighted for you. Really I am.” She grinned. “I can’t wait to meet him on Saturday and I really can’t wait to see what people make of your work. Your pictures are sensational.”

 

*****

 

I wore my cap and shades the next afternoon when I walked to Rizzles. Raymond hugged me as soon as I stepped through the door. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yeah, course I am.” I plucked off the shades and took my usual perch at the end of the bar. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“You sure?” He looked disbelieving.

“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not a shock to anyone who knows me that I’m in a gay relationship.”

“I know, but you’re in a relationship with Todd Pretty Carty. That’s big news.”

“For crying out loud, don’t call him that.”

“I won’t to his face.”

I tutted then nodded hello to Joel, who was serving at the other end of the bar.

Gareth appeared. “Hey, I was wondering if you’d be here to watch the game.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said. “Haven’t seen him all week because of the fucking trip to Vegas.”

“How was Vegas?” Raymond asked.

“Shit. I hate the place.”

He sighed as though exasperated with me. “You go to these glamorous locations, Matthew, and you just don’t appreciate it.”

“It’s work. It pays the bills. It wasn’t a holiday.”

“Well you won’t need to work if you stay with Todd. He must be loaded.”

“I’m sure he is, but I’ve always looked after myself financially. I’m not about to change that now, am I?”

Joel plonked a beer in front of me. “What time does it start?”

I glanced at my watch. “Now. Turn it up.”

“Here.” He passed me the controls and I cranked up the volume on the plasma TV hanging on the end wall. There were a dozen or so other patrons, mostly faces I recognized, the usual suspects, and all heads turned to the screen.

The commentator was excitedly reeling off player names as they fired from the tunnel onto the ice.

“Colin is still coming on Saturday,” Raymond said.

I turned to him and smiled, clinked the base of my bottle of beer with his wine, suddenly feeling mean for being short-tempered with him. “Yeah, I got your text and that’s great news. I told Theodore’s there’d be an extra two guests on my list.”

“Two?” He widened his eyes.

“Yeah, Colin and Todd.”

“Todd’s coming. Oh, fan-fucking-tastic.” He did an excited jiggle on his seat. “Finally we get to meet the man who has stolen our Matthew’s heart.”

I grinned as excitement bloomed in my chest. I hoped that when Todd met my friends those last bolts of fear would fall away. I didn’t want to feel scared anymore.

“There he is,” Gareth said, resting his elbows on the bar. “There’s your man.”

I glugged back a mouthful of beer and studied Todd circling the arena. Head down, back stooped, stick at the ready. The crowd was cheering, music was playing. The Penguins logo was flashing over the ice.

“And this is the one we’ve all been waiting for,” the commentator shouted. “The Rangers have been kicking butt lately and will the Penguins be able to hold on to their four-game winning streak?”

I tried to listen to the noise behind the commentary. Hear if there was any reaction to Todd from the crowd. The Rangers fans were going wild in one small section of the stadium. The camera panned over their eager faces and then shot to the opposition fans. A whole heap of yelling and fevered excitement was going on and there also seemed to be some chant coming from the back corner. I couldn’t make out what it was exactly but “Carty” was definitely one of the words.

“They’ll thrash ’em,” Joel said.

“You reckon?” Gareth gave a frown.

“Yeah, they’ve got Carty, don’t they?”

“He’s playing well,” I said. “I just hope all the crap that’s gone down this week in the papers hasn’t distracted him.”

“Do you think it will?” Joel looked genuinely concerned. “The Rangers need him to be on his game.”

“Nah, he’s been more worried about his father and me,” I said. “But he’s spent time with his dad and I’ve done my best to reassure him.”

“So you think he’ll be able to get his head into the zone then?” Joel asked, twiddling his thumbs together. “Even with that chanting going on?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. It’s what he’s trained to do. I’m just glad Gatsby’s not playing. It might have got ugly then.”

“Why?” Gareth asked.

I laughed. “Because I told Todd I fancied him.”

“You idiot,” Raymond said, smacking my shoulder. “You’ve got the hottest athlete on the planet in your bed and you tell him you fancy Sid Gatsby. You need your head checked.”

“Well, that’s not quite how it happened.”

There was a sudden cheer on the screen and a whoop from patrons in the bar. I glanced at the scoreboard. The Rangers had scored in the first minute of the game.

“Was it Todd?” Raymond asked.

“Randall,” one of the other customers answered over his shoulder.

I watched the replay. Randall had scored but Todd had touched the puck three seconds before for the assist, making the unselfish decision to pass when he didn’t have an opening.

“And that is surely going to have the Penguins quaking in their skates,” the commentator shouted. “It just goes to show what a match made in heaven Randall and Carty are.”

“You better watch him then,” Raymond said, shaking his head.

“He’s married,” I said. “To a very pretty doctor called Rachel.”

“Good.”

The first period flew by. No more goals were scored though both teams were trying their hardest. Part of me was bracing for the commentator to make a sleazy remark about Todd and his relationship with a gay New York photographer, but as the game went on I began to hold out hope that he was a professional and only interested in the hockey side of Todd’s life and what he contributed to the game.

Halfway through the second period, Todd was slammed against the Plexi by Hugh Butler, a Penguins defender.

“And that was unnecessary,” shouted the commentator. “Carty didn’t have the puck.”

I set my beer down and leaned forward. A chill went up my spine. Todd had regained his balance and was skating away, but Butler was following him with decidedly evil intent in his eye.

I’d seen that kind of glint before.

The ref gave a warning as the puck went up the ice, Jake in control. Todd started to follow but Butler, undeterred by the ref, hooked his skate from under him. Todd went sprawling, then was up, rounding on Butler. The Rangers’ captain Marco was there, too, as were two linesmen. I saw Butler shouting in Todd’s face.

“And the gloves are off,” bellowed the commentator.

I watched two sets of gloves fly through the air at the same time as sticks went down and helmets skidded across the ice. Before anything had landed or come to a halt, Todd threw a punch at Butler’s jaw.

Butler retaliated instantly, the force of his hit snapping Todd’s head backward.

“Ah, fucking son of a bitch,” I yelled, leaping up.

“And here they go. Carty and Butler are firing punches at center ice,” the commentator jabbered as I watched, helpless and horrified. “Butler got his arm free there and landed another one. Carty can’t quite get one home. No, there he goes, that one’s gotta hurt. Oh, and that one.”

The two players were holding each other with their left hands, twisting and tugging jerseys, their right hands were flying punches, some missing but many making painful impacts.

“Oh my God,” Raymond cried. “I can’t watch.”

The crowd was cheering wildly, the linesmen circling. A loud Nickelback song was being played into the rink.

“And there goes another fight.” The commentator sounded both excited and disbelieving. “This time it’s Marco Paul and Rhet Fell. God only knows what the hell is going on here, but those two guys are just pounding away at one another.”

The camera panned in on Marco and Rhet, jerseys were up around ears, hands and arms flying wildly. Rhet went down onto his knees. Two linesmen quickly grabbed Marco and pulled him backward. I could see fury flashing in Marco’s eyes. There was a streak of blood over his cheek.

“And that was over quickly but Carty and Butler are still going for it. Just look at the beating they’re giving each other.”

I could barely bring myself to watch the man I loved taking such a pounding. But I was also compelled to watch, and actually, I noticed, he was giving as good as he got. Even when he staggered down to one knee he was quickly up again, raining down more blows as he found his balance and forced Butler backward on the ice, toward the edge of the rink.

“Talk about throwing bombs and dynamite,” the commentator shouted. “That’s what these two players are doing. I don’t think they’ll be happy until there’s a knock-out.”

“Jesus, why don’t the refs stop it?” Joel said.

I was going to vomit. I was sure of it. “God, I feel so helpless.”

“He’s taking care of himself,” Gareth said, resting a hand on my arm. “He looks mad as hell. I wonder what sparked it? Has he got a history with that guy?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Is it over?” Raymond wailed, slapping his hands over his face and peeking between his fingers.

“No,” we all said at once.

“And this is going on forever. Number six Todd Carty from the Rangers and number eighteen Hugh Butler for the Penguins. Carty got some good punches in at the start, paid for them, but now he’s thundering them back out again like a man possessed.”

They were both looking tired now. Todd’s hair was wild, his eyes flashing and his teeth gritted. I could see a dark mark on his cheek. They were hanging on to one another as much as they were trying to throw punches. Todd’s jersey was right up his back, his flesh exposed as the material bunched around his shoulders.

Jake skated up, tried to intervene but was blocked by a linesman. Zhirov did the same, shoving to try and get through. It seemed everyone wanted a slice of the action. Though whom Zhirov wanted a piece of I wasn’t sure.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I shouted at the screen. “Call it a day already.”

Suddenly Butler managed a low hit, one that caught Todd right in the side, a slicing rib punch. He followed it with a dirty kidney strike.

Todd went down, crumpled to the ice.

The linesmen were over him instantly.

My head spun. I couldn’t catch my breath.

“It’s over,” Joel said, knocking back his drink then slamming down his glass.

“That Butler is one dirty son of a bitch,” Gareth said.

“It looks like Randall and Marco think the same,” Joel said.

Marco and Jake were both being held back from Butler. I could see them all shouting at one another. Zhirov joined in with the tirade of abuse. Angry faces, sharp words. Refs struggling to contain bloodthirsty Rangers players. All the Rangers on the ice were skating behind their captain, looking menacing. Even Sinclair had come out of the net. Both benches were standing and most of the players had at least one leg over the boards.

“And we’re going to have to come to our own conclusions as to what started this war on ice,” the commentator said. “But I don’t think you have to be a genius to guess that a picture of Todd Carty kissing another man splashed all over the national press has got something to do with it. Whatever the hell Butler said to him, it riled him enough to go for blood and now, one thing’s for sure, there’s going to be some impressive bruises tomorrow. And that’s a game misconduct for each player, and five for Fell for drawing blood.”

“Todd’s not getting up,” I said, rubbing my hand over my head. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Here come medics,” Joel said.

Sure enough, two medics were racing toward Todd.

“And it looks like Carty needs medical attention,” the commentator said. “We’ll hopefully be able to bring you an update when we come back for the third period.”

A commercial for insurance flashed on to the screen. I hit mute.

My hands were shaking and my stomach was clenched as though I’d been struck. I didn’t know whether to stand up or sit down. Whether to knock back my drink or throw up what I’d already swallowed.

“Oh my, that was just awful,” Raymond said, finally taking his hands from his face. “Matthew, shit, what are you going to do? You must feel so terrible.” He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed tight.

I hugged him back and stared over his shoulder at Joel and Gareth.

“I’m sure they’re making it out to be more serious than it is. You know, to be dramatic for the viewers,” Joel said.

I huffed. “Those last few hits must have hurt.”

“Butler looked in a bad way, too,” Gareth said. “He won’t be able to see much for a week. Did you see his eyes?”

Raymond released me, sat and picked up his drink. “This is just awful. This is what happens when you get involved with men who play such a violent game.”

“I’ve followed the NHL all the years I’ve lived here and I’ve never known Todd to get in a fight before, not like that.” I shook my head. “Like the commentator just speculated, something was said that wound him up. Something was said by Hugh Butler and I think we can guess what kind of vile crap it would have been.”

The only thing reported about Todd during the third period was that he was still receiving medical attention. I tried his cell three times but there was no answer. I left a message, telling him I was worried and to call me, but it felt so hollow and inadequate when all I wanted to do was be with him, hold him. Kiss away the pain.

Not wanting to be alone, I stayed at Rizzles until late. Joel cooked us chicken and fries and tried to distract me with a game of basketball on the TV. I couldn’t eat the food and just stared at the game without watching it.

I was just debating whether to head home or back to JFK and get on a flight to Pittsburgh when my cell rang.

Todd’s name flashed on the screen.

“It’s him,” I said to the others, hitting accept. “Todd, Jesus, I’ve been so worried. Are you okay?”

“Is that Matthew?” Not Todd’s voice.

“Er, yes, who is this?”

“It’s Marco Paul, captain of the Rangers. I’m using Todd’s phone so I have your number.”

“Who is it?” Joel mouthed.

“Marco Paul, oh, hi. Yeah, we met, last week.”

“I remember.”

Joel rolled his eyes and lifted his palms to the roof. “I’m the Rangers fan and he gets Marco Paul calling.”

I turned away, fear rattling through me. “How’s Todd? I watched the fight.”

“He’s at the hospital.”

“At the hospital!” Right, now I was definitely going to Pittsburgh.

“They wanted to check him over properly. He was showing signs of concussion. He took some bad hits to the head. Also they’re concerned he might have a couple of broken ribs.”

“I should come to Pittsburgh.”

“No, they said he’ll be out by morning. It’s just a precaution keeping him in. By the time you arrive he’ll be getting ready to head back to New York.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I paused. “Have you called his father?”

“I just spoke to him.”

“And how was he?”

“Understandably anxious but Derek’s an old-timer, he’s seen this kind of thing before on the ice.”

“With Todd?”

“To be honest, no. He’s never known him to go for anyone like that.”

“What happened?” I faced the bar again. Raymond, Joel and Gareth were hanging on every word I said.

Marco hesitated, then, “What the hell, you’ll find out anyway.”

“Find out what?”

He sighed. “Butler called him a fag and then made a particularly derogatory comment about you.”

That sick feeling was back. It was exactly what I’d feared. Homophobes were everywhere, locker rooms were notorious for them. “What did he say about me?”

Marco swallowed noisily but didn’t speak.

“Like you said, I’ll find out sooner or later.” My voice was firm, it had to be, I needed to know what we were up against.

He cleared his throat. “He called you a rope-sucking ass-wrangler and wanted to know why Todd preferred packing fudge to fucking pussy.”

The breath that was in my lungs froze—it had been a long time since I’d heard anything so bigoted and disgusting. I sat heavily on the stool.

“Matthew?” Marco said.

I was aware of Raymond rubbing a circle on my back, right between my shoulder blades. “Breathe,” he said quietly.

I managed to pull in oxygen. Just as well because there were little black spots dancing around in my vision. Though it could have been rage rather than hypoxia causing them. “No wonder Todd went for him,” I said through gritted teeth. “I would have, too.”

“And I don’t think Butler would have fared very well with you either, Matthew.” Marco paused. “But either way the son of a bitch looks a mess and will for a few weeks. Not only that, there’ll be a formal inquiry.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he can’t get away with saying shit like that on the ice. We’re professionals, it’s the game that counts, not what gender you date.”

I paused. “It’s good to hear you say that.”

“This is bigger than you think, Matthew. You and Todd.”

I knew that, but I wanted his angle on it. “What do you mean?”

“There’s not many athletes brave enough to come out the way he has and certainly not in the major sports. I don’t think it’s going to settle down in a few weeks. This is going to be a long haul and it’s bound to get pretty fucking messy.”

“I agree.”

“But it’s a great step forward for the NHL. We need to show that we’re accepting and that there won’t be abuse or discrimination for gay players. I just hope you feel able to stand by him when the going gets tough.”

“Absolutely. This is what he wants, and I just want to make him happy.”

“Good to hear. Now you know where I am if you ever need anything, or if you’re worried about him. I’ll get my cell number sent over to you. Anytime, okay? I want to be here for both of you.”

“Er, yeah, okay. And thanks for letting me know how he is.”

“It’s my job as captain to speak to wives, girlfriends and, I guess, boyfriends, too.”