Chapter 21
“DEC,” I murmured. “Wake up.”
He shifted groggily, trying to figure out where he was for a moment in the haze of sleep.
“Fran and Roger will be home soon,” I told him. “Not exactly the best way to announce our presence.”
Declan sat up. “Oh, shit, this is seedy,” he agreed with a yawn.
“Roger can be a prude sometimes. Fran’s brother made a joke once about his daughter being conceived in this room, and Roger practically called in an exorcist to cleanse the place.” I couldn’t resist cuddling in closer to him, trying to draw his warmth into my own body.
Declan snorted, and I smiled when his arm pulled me in even closer. “Isn’t that what a guest room is for?”
“Conceiving children? No, I think they’re just generally a place for friends and family to sleep in when they’re too drunk to drive home.”
“Come on, we better get up,” Dec said regretfully, and he swung his legs out of the bed, searching for his boxers on the floor.
I threw myself over and hugged him from behind. “Maybe we can ask them if we can stay here. Maybe forever.”
He leaned back and kissed me affectionately. “I think the press will still track us down eventually.” He found my T-shirt next to his pants and threw it over his shoulder, hitting me in the face. “As much as I hate to say this, get dressed.”
I reluctantly pulled my shirt on, reluctantly acknowledging that he wasn’t going to lure me into getting back into bed, and jumped out to begin making it instead.
Dec laughed. “Put on some pants, you flasher.”
“You want me to put my pants on, find them for me.”
They came flying across the room along with my boxers.
“Good look, though,” he said appreciatively.
I put my hands on my hips and slowly wiggled my hips in some bad imitation of sexy dancing. Declan began laughing, which wasn’t exactly the response I was hoping for until he swooped in for a kiss with a gentle tease of tongue.
“Really good look,” he murmured.
Shuffling into my boxers after that was slightly harder, and Declan sat on the bed to pull his sneakers back on.
I smoothed the bed down when he got back up and stood back to survey the room. “Looks reasonable, right?”
“They won’t suspect a thing.”
It was probably a lie, but I pushed him out the door and towards the kitchen. Declan started preparing coffee, and I slid onto the stool at the counter, happy to watch him as he moved comfortably around Fran’s domain.
“They asked me what I wanted to do,” Declan said suddenly.
I had been distracted, watching his hands and wishing they were on me again.
“Who?”
“The bosses. They said they would support me with whatever I decided to do, but I think they were hoping I would agree to cover it up. For the time being, anyway.”
“How could you cover it up?” I asked.
Declan slowly put his hands upon the counter and didn’t look at me. He stared at the fake marble. It was the most interesting thing in the world to him right then, and I knew immediately.
“By blaming me,” I replied, barely a whisper.
He still couldn’t look at me. “Yeah.”
“What, the predatory gay friend taking advantage of you in your hour of need?” My voice was starting to rise a little now.
“Something like that.” His tone, however, was both bitter and flat.
“And what did you say?”
I could tell from his posture that he was feeling both defensive and ashamed.
“You thought about it, right?” I couldn’t believe it. There he was on the phone, only a few hours ago, pledging his love to me, then fucking me; now he was basically admitting that he considered letting me fall on the sword for him.
“Of course I thought about it,” Declan said softly. “I thought about every fucking possibility, every scenario. It’s the way I am, Simon. I think things through. I don’t just wing it like you do.”
I wanted to throw something at him, but I stopped myself. “You think I wing it? Jesus, Declan, ever since I started going out with you I’ve been planning things down to the minutest detail! When to call you, how not to draw suspicion—”
“I know.”
“So how is that winging it?”
“I just meant naturally, you wing things. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be out battling the press and telling them to fuck off.”
“Yeah, and I’m not doing that because when it comes down to it, I want to do everything to protect you.”
He laughed. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem now.”
“What, you think that now, because we’re exposed, I still won’t have to do it? Or won’t want to do it? If anything, the pressure will be worse now because before when I was only paranoid about the possibility of everyone watching us, they’ll actually be doing it!”
“Simon….” He crossed around the counter and came over to me, but my body language warned him to back off slightly.
“I can’t believe you considered it.”
“Not seriously. And only for a minute.”
I stared him down. “It was a minute too long.”
He opened his mouth to defend himself, but closed it as he heard the door opening.
“Do we have visitors?” I heard Fran call out.
“It’s us,” I called back, not taking my eyes off Declan.
“Us who?” asked Roger.
They entered the kitchen, laughing. They tried to exchange greetings with us, but quickly cottoned onto the fact that high drama was unfolding. I excused myself and walked out the back to get some fresh air. I thought if I stayed in there any longer I could be sick.
It wasn’t that long until I heard someone open the door and step up behind me. I was expecting Declan, but it was Roger.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Trying to seek a bit of sanctuary,” I said morosely. “But we just bring all the shit with us.”
“It’s early days yet,” Roger said in an attempt to be comforting. “You have to expect it, really.”
“Really?” I asked. “The bosses asked Dec if they should cover it up by saying I came onto him when he was upset about his dad, and that he wasn’t reciprocating when the photos were taken. And you know what? He thought about it.”
“And?” Roger asked.
I stared at him in complete shock. “You think that’s okay?”
Roger shrugged. “I think it’s human.”
“Great.”
“I think you’d consider everything if you were in his position, as well.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“For fuck’s sake, of course you would!” Roger scoffed. “I bet you any one of us would think about it for a bit. It would be a complete fantasy, this magic pill that could take your problem away, even if it’s practically impossible.” Roger sat down on the top step and pulled me down with him. “And I think that if you were to put yourself in his shoes for just a minute you know you would consider it as well, if you were honest enough to admit it. But what matters is that he didn’t agree to it. Because that’s not him.”
“That’s a lovely speech, Rog.”
“Fuck off.”
“Seriously, does Declan know you have a man crush on him?”
Roger shoved me. “Arsehole.”
We sat in silence for a moment before I finally muttered, “Thank you.”
“Simon, at the moment, you’re going to have to choose your fights. And, of course, you being you, you’re choosing the wrong ones.”
What was it about friends that they could tell you the truth, no matter how painful, and you had to take it? I nodded. “I know. It just hurt, that’s all.”
“Girl.”
I punched him in the shoulder, and we both sagged against each other, laughing.
“It’s times like this I wish I smoked,” I mused. “These moments need cigarettes.”
“You hate the smell of smoke,” came Declan’s voice through the screen door. “You complain if the next door neighbour is in her yard and lights up.”
Roger stood. “I’ll let him take up the reins here and call you out for being a wanker. As usual.” As he opened the door and stepped around Declan he asked, “Are you staying for dinner?”
“Sounds good,” Declan said. “Thanks.”
“Simon?” Roger asked.
I shrugged. “Might as well.”
The two men in the doorway gave each other looks of commiseration, probably a shared feeling of wondering why they put up with me. Declan came out and sat beside me. I continued staring out past the Hills Hoist and to the dilapidated shed that was never used and was beginning to be swallowed up by junglelike grass. Declan reached for my hand, and I squeezed it, rubbing my thumb over the back of his, a silent gesture to let him know I wasn’t really angry anymore.
“You know,” he said, and cleared his throat because it sounded a little rusty, “I’ve always thought about this day and how I would act when it happened. And in my head I was always unbearably noble and accepted coming out with dignity.”
I looked at him and tried to speak, but he cut me off.
“So how do you think I felt when it did happen, and they offer me this option, this way out that could make it all disappear? That could make it stop, for just a little while, all this fear and self-doubt, this worry that I’m not ready for it yet?”
I let him speak and brought my other hand over to rest upon his arm.
“How do you think I felt when I seriously considered, for one brief moment, letting the man I love take the fall for me? Believe me, no matter how angry you are with me, I hate myself even more for it.”
Hearing him put his fears out there made what little remnants of the anger I was holding onto fade away. And Roger was right, Declan was not the kind of guy who would ever have seriously considered that course of action. It just wasn’t him, after all.
“I’m not angry, Dec. You’re right, it’s a natural reaction to think about it. And I can be a fucking prig sometimes, expecting people to act better than they should, when I’m not in that position and would probably do the exact same thing if I were.”
“I’m going to do it,” he said. “I’m going to come out. And deal with whatever happens.”
I nodded.
“Simon, you’re part of this. Because whatever happens when I do this, you’re a part of it. Are you okay with that?”
“Of course I am.”
He sighed, and I knew he was feeling as uncertain about everything as I was. “So what do we do now?”
I stood up and yanked him up with me. I hugged him tight and said, “We go inside and help them with dinner.”
He laughed. “If only everything else would be as easy.”
Yep. If only.
A TRUER sentiment had never been spoken.
When I got home, my yard was empty. I knew it would be short-lived, however, and the reporters would probably be back in the morning. Declan had gone back to his parents’, saying that he would probably be on the phone for the rest of the night in conference calls to his coach and the board as he convinced them of what he wanted to do and they figured out the logistics of it all.
I received a text as I was jumping in to bed later that read
Tomorrow is D-day.
I couldn’t sleep, I felt so sick.
THE faithful pack had returned in the morning, and I resolutely ignored them as I got into my car and made my way into the city. When I walked into the office, Nyssa met me at the door and intoned theatrically, “The bosses are here, boss.”
“What?” I asked. I think the only way to truly describe my expression was aghast. They never came to our office, Nyssa and I always had to drag our arses across town to meet with them. You would normally think that the consensus would be that as we were on our own territory we would have the advantage, but I didn’t think this would be the case. They were showing how utterly serious this was, that they had to leave theirs.
“They’re waiting for you in your office.”
“How could they all fit?”
She shrugged. “Oh, and Alice Provotna has left you at least fifty messages.”
“Alice Provotna is the least of my worries right now,” I told her. “Wish me luck.”
Nyssa crossed her fingers and waved them in front of me as if they could create a shield to protect me against the board members who were probably deciding my fate as we spoke. I took the long walk down the hall—had this hallway always been this long?
Seriously, it was normally three steps. I pushed open the door with as much confidence as I could muster.
As I swept my way grandly through my extremely small and now extremely cramped office, I tried to appear as nonchalant as possible. “Morning, all,” I said casually, thanking them silently none had resorted to taking my chair in a show of superiority.
“Simon,” Brian Emery nodded at me as I sat before him. “Been quite a few days for you, hasn’t it?”
I didn’t want them to start with accusing me of shirking my responsibilities in the workplace. “Well, the great thing about this job is that there’s still a lot you can do from home. Especially when you have as good an assistant as Nyssa.”
Lucie Andersson peered over at me through her thick-rimmed glasses. “So, the work’s been getting done?”
I calmly counted to three in my head. “Of course. We’re up to speed. We’re exactly at the point we should be. Is there a problem?”
“Simon, don’t be so defensive,” Brian said, putting up his hands and warding me off. “We’re not here to lecture about the way things have been handled lately. After all, your private life is your private life.”
I nodded.
“As long as it doesn’t affect the festival,” Lucie made sure to point out as a friendly warning.
Jon Daintry finally spoke up. “Which is why we’re here.”
“I thought you just said you knew the festival hadn’t been affected,” I said.
Brian nodded. “We think, perhaps, we can use this to our advantage.”
Why, hello, sinking feeling, my old friend. “How so?”
“Any publicity is good publicity,” Brian said. “If we can get Declan Tyler to attend opening night and a few of the other festivities—”
“Hold on!” I interrupted. “You—”
“It’s no time to get precious, Simon,” Lucie said.
“Precious?” I asked. “This is my life, his life, you’re talking about. He has enough to deal with without me having to parade him around like the ultimate PR accessory.”
“It’s not like we’re asking you to do anything out of the ordinary,” Lucie said. “I mean, you would normally bring your partner to events, wouldn’t you?”
“I haven’t the past couple of years,” I pointed out.
“Were there any partners to bring?” Jon asked.
Actually, there had been, at least in my years as an assistant, but they were never interested enough to attend. I remained silent.
“You like your job, don’t you, Simon?” Brian asked.
I glared at him. “Is that a threat?”
“Not a threat, no. But you can’t deny that this is a perfect opportunity for you to cement your position with the festival. We took a risk hiring you—”
“And it’s paid off,” I said bitterly. “The past couple of years, promotion, sponsorship, and attendance have all increased.”
“Now you have the opportunity to take it even further,” Lucie suggested, not too gently.
The three of them stared me down, as if their combined presence could break me.
“If Nyssa’s as good as you say she is,” Jon said, “she could easily step into your shoes.”
I guess they were going to break me.
THEY left me to “think about it”, and “asked” me to have my decision ready by the afternoon.
I sat for the longest time in a funk, hating myself for having to mull it over. If it had been a couple of years ago, I would have told them to go fuck themselves. But since then, I had grown comfortable in a job I enjoyed, obtained a mortgage, and settled down into a false sense of security I couldn’t bear to lose.
Nyssa came to the rescue with constant cups of coffee, and to try and cheer me up she supplied a Danish she had grabbed from the café downstairs. At twelve, she told me Declan had called in a rush, unable to get me on my line because I had had it diverted during my meeting with the bosses, and it was busy when he tried again later (I was relating my woes about the job on a conference call to a suitably appalled Roger and Fran). The press conference was going to be in an hour.
“He sounds sexy even on the phone,” she said dreamily.
“You have no idea,” I replied just as dreamily. Then I shook myself out of it and switched on the TV. The news breaks were already announcing that Declan Tyler and the Devils had called a press conference, and it was expected that Tyler would “come clean about his recent controversy.”
They wanted to make it seedy. But I knew Declan would be nothing but classy as he stared them all down. Nyssa kept giving me worried glances until I sent her away, although I promised she could come in at one to watch the press conference. I would need the moral support.
It was like Melbourne Cup day, except it was the confirmation of a sports star’s sexuality that would stop a nation rather than a horse race. Ian Roberts, an NRL player, had come out a couple of decades before, but that was rugby. Nobody had ever come out while playing AFL. This was history, and I was at the centre of it. Hiding under my desk all the way.
Should I have offered to face the press with him? Did he feel he couldn’t ask me to? I felt like everything had been taken out of our hands at the moment; we barely had enough face time together to try and discuss these things, everything was going so fast.
Perhaps this was going to be Declan’s first step at taking control of his own life and dictating the way he wanted things handled.
Nyssa rushed back into my office at five to one, brandishing rolls and drinks from downstairs for our lunch. “The press have left the premises for the moment,” she told me. “They must have all run over to Etihad for the conference.”
I took my roll off her eagerly. You would have thought I should have been too full of nervousness to eat, but I was starving. “Good for me at least, probably not for Declan.”
“How are you feeling?” Nyssa asked, dragging a chair over to sit next to me.
“Hungry,” I said through a mouthful of food.
Nyssa shrugged, accepting my answer readily. She seemed to be as well, the way she tore into her ham and salad baguette.
On the television screen, a reporter was talking to the anchor back in the studio. You could make out the long table set up with microphones to the right of his shoulder and the banners of the Devils unfurling from the ceiling. The hall was packed with possibly every form of the media and the usual interested members of the public who snuck into these events. Passes were hardly ever checked as long as you had some form of camera around your neck. Just ask Roger. But that’s another story, for another time.
A hush fell over the hall as the curtains parted, and the more senior board members of the Devils emerged, followed by the coach, and finally by Declan. The room instantly became an epileptic’s nightmare with constant camera flashes giving it a nightclub-like strobe effect.
“He is so hot,” Nyssa said. Again. “I can’t believe you’re going out with him.”
“Hey, I’m hot,” I protested.
“No, you’re not. Not Declan Tyler hot.” She realised what she said, and in the manner of the best slapstick comedienne, clapped her hand over her mouth. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean,” I sighed.
She gave me an awkward one-armed hug, almost spilling the contents of her roll over me as she continued to watch the television.
Slightly embittered—really, what was it with everybody feeling the need to point out my boyfriend was so much better looking than me?—I tried to focus upon the situation at hand. Declan was standing and making his way over to the lectern, wearing his best serious face but also chewing at the inside of his cheek.
“Hello,” he said, and he leaned back, probably spooked by the loudness of the microphone. “Thanks for coming today. I have a statement to read.” He cleared his throat and scratched his neck nervously. “Ever since I was a kid, all I have wanted to do is play football. It turned out that, injuries aside, I was pretty good at it. I never expected to get into the official league; it was really just a dream. And I didn’t know when it first happened at the age of eighteen just how much of a public figure you can become, and with that, how much interest there can be in your private life. For the most part, I have managed to keep it pretty private, but lately there have been articles and rumours I could ignore and deny, but would not be true to myself.”
It seemed the press was now waiting with bated breath. Declan looked up, gave a hesitant smile, and consulted his notes again. Back in the office, Nyssa’s hand suddenly slipped into mine, and I was grateful for it.
“So I come to you today to tell you my own story directly, rather than letting the misconceptions and rumourmongering of certain members of your otherwise fine profession continue to play out.” He took a deep breath, and I hoped he was doing the right thing for himself, not because circumstances had forced him into it. “While I have always preferred to keep my personal life private, as that is the way I have been raised, right now questions are being asked and I will not hide away from them. I am proud to say I am gay—”
The room erupted in a low hum of excited chatter amongst the reporters, and the blinding flash of cameras desperate to capture the exact moment on film.
“—and I am very happy in my relationship, which has recently been the topic of discussion and pictorial spreads in the papers.”
“Aww,” Nyssa said, resting her head upon my shoulder. “He’s talking about you.”
“Unless he means his other, hotter boyfriend,” I said.
She hit me; I winced.
“Neither my sexuality or my efforts, or lack of effort, on the football field make up the whole sum of me. I just hope by putting an end to this speculation I can continue on in all facets of my life with a respect for my privacy, and also of my partner’s, whose life has been subjected to speculation and curiosity as well. Thank you.”
Declan left the lectern as the press fired questions at him all at once. The coach of the Devils, Scott Frasier, patted him on the back as he passed him to take the microphone.
“I’m sure you can understand that Declan has said all he needs to say for the moment,” Frasier said, looking more like a deer caught in the headlights than Declan had moments before. “I will take relevant questions from the floor. And I mean relevant,” he said, with the glare that made him infamous and intimidating in the coaching box.
“Wow,” Nyssa said. “That was quite a good speech.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” I smiled.
“Oh, listen to you, you sound so proud!”
“Of course I am. This is a huge thing he’s done. I just hope he gets the respect for it he deserves.”
“So, when do I get to meet him?”
My mobile rang, and I leapt out of my chair. “Hold that thought.”
I was relieved to see it was Declan’s number. “Hey.”
“Did you see it?” He sounded excited, scared, and relieved.
“I did.”
“What did you think?”
“You want to know what I think?”
“Of course I bloody do!” he laughed.
“I think…,” I teased. “I love you.”
“Sounds good to me,” he couldn’t resist teasing back. “Are you at work?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m coming over before the media follows me.”
When I hung up, Nyssa was looking at me in shock. “Did I just hear you right?”
“What?”
“You said you loved him!”
“Oh, Nyssa,” I grinned madly. “That’s old news.”
TRUE to his word, Declan managed to beat the press to the office, probably because they were still detained at Etihad, trying unsuccessfully to get more details about his love life from the hapless Frasier.
He burst through the office doors, and Nyssa, who was still on red alert, locked them immediately after him and shyly hung back, suitably awestruck.
Declan crossed over to me; I was leaning against Nyssa’s desk, and he pulled me up to him, taking my face in his hands and kissed me rather passionately. In public. With no fear. Still in front of the glass doors, where anybody passing by could have seen within. I liked it.
“Uh, hey, this is Nyssa,” I said, fighting to gain my breath back.
Nyssa, her eyes wide as she had never seen her boss in any public display of affection, stepped forward and shook Declan’s hand. “Hi, I’m Nyssa. Pleased to meet you. Nyssa. Nyssa Prati.”
“Hi, Nyssa,” Declan said warmly, taking her hand. “Simon has a lot of nice things to say about you.”
“Really?” Nyssa asked suspiciously. “Simon? Saying nice things? That Simon?”
Declan turned back to me. “You really have people fooled with this whole pretend hate-the-world thing, don’t you?”
I shrugged. “It works for me.”
“Would you like a coffee, Declan?” Nyssa asked, all charm.
“Thanks, that would be great.”
“I could even make it Irish.” She smiled, looking rather like Fran and, I suspected, myself whenever any of us talked to Declan.
“Why not?” he winked. “Let’s make it a celebration.”
“Come into my office,” I offered.
He nodded and took the few steps from Nyssa’s desk to my tiny room.
“I have a good view—” I said.
“So do I,” he growled, and before I knew it I was pressed up against the window with my arms full of lusty footballer.
“I’m pretty sure this is against office decorum,” I panted.
His left hand had crept under my shirt and was stroking the skin of my stomach.
“You’re probably right.” Lips were now working against my neck. “And you do have a great view here.”
“Told you.”
We rested against each other, and it seemed that the weight of the past few days suddenly settled upon us. The afternoon sun lulled us into a silent reverie, just standing there and holding each other. Had I ever felt the sun upon us before as we did such a thing? I couldn’t think properly, but I didn’t believe so. It was a great feeling. Nyssa knocked on the door, and she smiled sweetly at the two of us. “Coffee,” she announced, setting them upon my desk and discreetly leaving the room.
True to her word, there was a shot of whiskey in each mug.
“Making out and drinking on the job,” Declan said. “Your bosses better not find out.”
“I think they’d forgive me at the moment, as long as they got their way,” I said, darkly.
Declan took his mug and sat beside me. I decided to beat him to the punch this time and dangled my hand down by the side of my chair to pick his up and hold it tight.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I basically got raked over the coals this morning by the big bosses,” I said.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing. Which is why they’re calling meetings with me.”
“I don’t get you.”
“Don’t tell the press that.”
“Funny. What’s wrong?”
“They want me to exploit our relationship by making sure you come to our premieres and guarantee us some major media attention.” I tried to gauge his expression out of the corner of my eye, but he seemed unperturbed as he sipped at his coffee.
“And what, you were planning to take somebody else as your date?”
“Well—”
“You didn’t think I would want to support my partner at a major work function?”
“No, but—”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Just, I hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to you first and make sure it was okay. Because I don’t like the fact that I’m going out with you is going to be used for other peoples’ nefarious purposes.”
“What does it matter, if we’re doing what we want anyway?”
“I guess?” I didn’t sound so sure, as he could probably tell.
“Are you going to ask me for a date, then?” He grinned and tried to hide it by gulping at his coffee again. “Ask me nicely, and I may accept.”
“Are you asking me to ask you on a date?”
“Yeah. But I would also like to go on a date that isn’t a media event first.”
“Huh. Maybe I’m waiting for you to ask me.”
“I asked you on our first date!”
“Are you keeping score or something?”
“Something,” he admitted.
“Fine. Hey, Declan?”
“Yes, Simon?”
“What are you doing this Friday night?”
“I don’t know, I’ll have to check my diary.”
“Arsehole.” I dropped his hand and cradled my mug like a baby.
“Stop sweet-talking me, you bastard,” he murmured, reaching up to slowly stroke my neck. “What are you asking me?”
He almost had me purring. “Want to go out on Friday?”
“Sure. But my parents will probably chaperone.”
That was it. I set my mug down, grabbed his and set it aside, and pulled him toward me by the collar of his jacket. “Shut up,” I ordered, and I kissed him to ensure that he would.