Bad Boy 5 Page 7

  “What?” Chip said, incredulous, sitting up straight and glowering at his father.

  “You’ll only make things worse for all of you,” his dad said, matter of fact, folding his hands over his closed brief case.

  “Sir, I’m not going anywhere. Peter and I are in this together,” Chip said firmly. His face began to redden and it was clear that he was losing his battle at keeping his temper quickly. Peter appreciated Chip’s steadfast loyalty, but he just wondered if his father was right. Sometimes, separating, at least for now, felt like what was best for Chip and Johnny. Sometimes, he just felt so selfish for hanging onto them, no matter how much he loved them. Sometimes...he wondered thought of giving up Chip seemed just like running away. Was it just pride that kept him there? Shouldn’t he care more for Chip than himself? Peter sat there, unable to say anything. He stared at the table, trying not to tremble.

  “How romantic. Now, the reality of the situation is that you’re making yourself an accessory, if the district attorney plans to make any charges, it’ll look bad. Real bad. Luckily, nothing of the sort has happened and we’re only dealing with a PR issue. A really bad PR issue.” While his father didn’t have a shred of caring warmth in his tone, he did sound like he knew what he was talking about. Peter knew he was good lawyer, maybe the best he’d ever seen. For once, he told himself, he should take his old man’s advice.

  “So, what do you want me to do? Pretend I’m not in relationship with Chip?” Peter asked. He wanted to see what his father had to say. He sighed heavily and wondered if his dad was really trying to help or just trying to end his relationship because he didn’t approve of his sexuality. It was impossible to tell. His dad had the best poker face he’d ever seen. Peter noticed that his father wouldn’t even look at him. He looked everywhere but at Peter’s face. He’s ashamed of me, Peter thought, guilt and shame stabbing at him cruelly. I can see it in his face. I wish, Peter thought, he’d just love me. Just approve. Just once.

  “Exactly,” his father said. “Now, I know some of the best public relations and crisis management firms in the country and this afternoon, you have a meeting with them.”

  He nodded curtly and rose to his feet, brushed off dust that wasn’t there from his pewter gray power suit and eyed Peter over. He didn’t look pleased. He didn’t look...well, anything. His expression was ice cold.

  “But sir,” Peter started to answer, holding up his hands, silently begging his father to wait.

  “Just say ‘thank you.’ I’ve got to get back to my hotel and prepare a few things before we rendezvous this afternoon,” he barked out, snatching up his brief case.

  “Thank you but--” Peter said.

  His father sharply cut him off. “Thank you is sufficient. I will see you alone this afternoon,” his father said, halfway out the door.

  “Nice,” Chip grumbled, rolling his eyes. He leaned back in his seat and ran his hands through his hair, puffing out a huge sigh.

  “I should have warned you about him,” Peter said, wilting. He wanted to apologize, but he was so nervous and jumbled that the words wouldn’t form or properly come out. Finally, Peter just gave up.

  “It’s cool. He’s only trying to be protective of you. He’ll warm up to me,” Chip said, flashing his customary, charming boyish grin.

  “You don’t know my dad,” Peter said, glumly. “But either way, I’m not letting this do anything to us.” It felt good to stand up for something important. It felt empowering. He puffed out his chest and gave Chip a broad grin.

  “Of course not,” Chip said kissing him on the forehead but sounding distracted.

  Peter watched the town car pull away with his dad inside of it. He liked the fact that things looked like had at least a prayer of chance but just the inkling that his father didn’t like Chip, just because they were in a relationship hurt him. Not that he’d hoped that it would be a happy family reunion or anything but he’d hoped the two of them could get along well enough to at least be cordial to each other until they got to know each other. At this pace, it didn’t look like that was going to happen and it was a fantasy to think otherwise. He wished it were different, but wishing had never got him very far in his life.

  Chip must have intuitively felt his angst because he pulled Peter closer and kissed him on the side of the head. Chip’s gentle touch and affection was all Peter needed to feel better. His body had been so tense and now he could feel all the tension leech out of him. It felt so good, so right. There was no way he could give this up.

  “It’ll be cool. Don’t worry,” he told Peter.

  “Yeah,” Peter whispered back. It had to be. He couldn’t take another thing going wrong.

  ***

  The meeting with the PR-rep was draining. She was the type of woman that couldn’t sit still, nor did she listen well. As Peter sat in the fold out chair in front of her, she neurotically paced back and forth and cut him off at every turn. She was high energy, which dealing with an overcrowded classroom full of kindergarteners, he was used to but Peter found it obnoxious and hard to follow.

  “Again,” she barked, staring at the floor drinking another cup of coffee, as if she needed to.

  “I’m sorry for what I did. I never should have-” Peter started, his words dry from reading the lines they had written for him to say. It was not his style but he just wanted someone other than Chip to believe him.

  “Again,” she scolded, wagging a finger at him, “I’m not feeling you.”

  “Maybe it’s because it’s not what I’d like to say,” Peter grumbled.

  “Peter,” his father said, shaking his head as he sat in his hotel room chair shuffling through his papers. “Barbara is one of the nation's leading public relations experts. She knows what she’s doing. Just stick to the talking points.”

  “But it’s all bullshit,” Peter said, leaning back, “I don’t talk like this and no one’s going to believe me.” He threw up his hands in frustration, his voice beginning to rise along with his temper.

  “You will talk like that,” Barbara said squaring off at him, “If you want America to forgive you.”

  “But why does America have to forgive me? Why is it any of their business what I do and what I don’t do? This happened to me, not them.” Peter couldn’t understand. He massaged his temples. The whole conversation had given him a horrible migraine.

  “This is impossible,” Baraba said, throwing her hands up. “I can’t work like this.”

  Peter’s father rose from his chair, “Barbara, I’m sorry. Why don’t you go outside and take some air while I talk to my son?”

  “I don’t know if it’s going to do any good, but fine,” she said, grabbing her cup of coffee and clickety-clacking her way out the hotel door in her high heels.

  His father didn’t begin to speak until they both heard the hotel door close with a click. He took a deep breath and Peter knew from his past, that he was about to hear an ear full.

  “I don’t know if you understand the gravity of this situation, Peter,” his father said, drilling a hole in his forehead with his look. This was just how he sounded when he was about to launch into lecture-mode.

  “Why do you say that?” Peter asked, feeling resentful that he’d even insinuate such a thing.

  “Because you’re not taking this seriously at all. Your future is at stake. Don’t you realize that whatever you thought would be your career is officially over if we don’t get you through this?” Peter’s lagging spirit lifted slightly at his father’s words. He sounded like he cared. He truly did. For a moment, Peter could almost pretend when his dad talked to him that way instead thinking what he knew was partly true, that his father was more concerned about the family name and its reputation.

  “I think, I’m aware of that, father,” Peter said. “It’s my life after all.” He tried not to sound as defensive as he felt, but it was so hard. No one listened to him.

  “And it’s our reputation. It’s our family name,” his dad said.

  Ah, th
ere it is! Peter thought. He finally admitted it. His dad didn’t give a shit about him. It wasn’t about what was happening to Peter, oh no. It was about what was happening to the family. It was about them, not him.

  Peter smiled and shook his head, “That's what it’s really about. Isn’t it? It’s one thing to have a gay son but that’s no big deal, you just change the subject whenever his name comes up. You just act like I don’t exist and then the problem will magically disappear but this … no, this is for all to see, the whole world and you just can’t have that.” He couldn’t help but look smug. He’d figured it out and sure it hurt. It always hurt. But it also felt good to finally stand up for himself.

  “That’s not fair,” his father groused, “I care about you.”

  “No, dad, I don’t think you do. I think you care about yourself, that’s what you care about. You care about what this will do to you, to your firm if you can’t clean up the mess your poor fucking slutty gay son has done this time.” Peter was surprised at how bitter he sounded. How jaded and angry. In that moment, he hated his father. He hated him for never caring, for tossing him away so easily and causing him so much pain.

  “Those are your words, not mine,” his dad said, flatly, turning away and folding his arms across his chest.

  “Are they? Really? As I recall, you said something very similar to that when you kicked me out of your house. Or was it …? That’s right, ‘I don’t want faggots in my house.’ Now, I’m trying to remember, was that before or after you punched me in the nose.” Peter got up from his chair, lifting his chin and squaring off to face his father.

  “That was a long time ago. The past is the past,” his dad snapped, clearly getting defensive now.

  “For you maybe, but I relive that day every day of my life. I hear your voice, calling me a faggot, no son of yours and all that other bullshit you said that day. You did worse than hurt me dad, you scarred me.” Peter placed a hand on his chest, over his heart. Maybe this time, he’d get a reaction out of his dad.

  “Don’t blame me for your choices. Don’t be a victim, that’s not the son I raised. You fucked up and now you’ve got to own up to it.” His father pointed his finger at him, his jaw clenched. Again, his father was launching into another lecture.

  I don’t deserve that, Peter thought. I’m a grown man!

  “Oh, yes, dad. I fucked up. I chose. I made some really bad choices, allowing myself to get so desperate that I couldn’t see straight, so desperate that I was willing to do anything to survive. Made a lot of dumb choices, just like anyone. But being gay wasn’t one of them. I am who I am and I’m sorry that I didn’t turn out the way you wanted me to. But I have someone now who loves me, who accepts me exactly how I am -- no matter what. Something you could never give me,” Peter said, burning with rage and pain. His eyes stung with tears but he refused to let them fall, they just shimmered in his eyes as he clenched his fists.

  His father didn’t respond. He just walked toward the hotel room door and said, “I don’t have to take this. You know, you broke your mother’s heart.”

  His father looked at him once over his shoulder, shaking his head, disgust just radiating off him. It was like a knife in the heart. Peter would always love his mother. He thought of her often and wondered how she was. Just then? He realized that he may never see her again. He wasn’t even sure she wanted to see him.

  And he knew that was the worst thing his dad could leave him with as the door slammed closed, echoing off the walls.

  CHAPTER 12

  Peter spent the next couple of days sitting in the backyard, staring at the concrete fence that surrounded Chip’s home. It was hot outside, beyond hot, actually. Scorching with heat waves that were so thick, Peter couldn’t see straight. But he didn’t care. It was as if he were torturing himself, punishing himself for all that he had done, as if he deserved the hours of unbearable heat. Maybe, he thought sometimes, if he truly suffered enough, people would forgive and forget. He hoped for that, but in truth, he knew it would never end. He could probably move to France and everyone would recognized his face. Then, would come the ‘whispered’, dreaded word. Whore. Slut. Prostitute. It was all so ugly and there was jack shit he could do about it. His chest ached and sweat drenched him. He could feel a stinging sunburn pinking his skin, but he just didn’t care. Not this time. He was so tired and the pain of sitting out in the blazing heat was maybe worth it.

  “You gonna come in, anytime soon?” Chip asked, closing the patio door behind him as he approached Peter with a cold glass of iced lemonade. Peter could hear the crinkling sound of the ice dancing and bobbing in the cold beverage but as desperate as he was for a drink, he couldn’t. It was just a treat he didn’t feel he deserved.

  “Brought you something,” Chip said, setting it on the backyard table in front of him.

  “Um, no thanks,” Peter said clearing his throat, waving off the glass. He wasn’t sure if he could even tolerate Chip being nice to him. Normally, he’d eat it up. Chip spoiled him and who wouldn’t want that? Except that he felt too bad about everything to accept it right now. He almost wished that Chip would get mad at him or yell at him. Something other than being sweet and good which just made him more guilty.

  “Drink before you pass out,” Chip said, sitting down next to him and scooting the chair closer to the table. He glowered at Peter, thrusting the glass towards him. He seemed so insistent and maybe, Peter thought, he was being irrational, but he couldn’t help it. He just felt so damn bad.

  “No, I’m cool,” Peter said, partly wanting to just be alone but grateful for his company. He just felt so mixed up inside. He didn’t know what he really wanted. He wanted things to be better for them as a couple, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Tony wouldn’t let it happen. He would burn away his life like a grassfire in a high wind until there was nothing but ashes left. Until Peter was all alone. And he thought that maybe, just maybe, he deserved that fate after all the pain he’d caused.

  “It’s not an option,” Chip said authoritatively. He held the glass right under Peter’s nose.

  Peter smiled, he liked whenever Chip was like that. It always turned him on and made him feel secure. He was firm when he had to be and gentle when Peter needed it most.

  “Yes, sir,” Peter said taking a sip, then chugging down the rest.

  Chip smiled, “Damn boy.”

  “Sorry, I just … I don’t know been thinking a lot,” Peter said, chewing on some ice.

  “About what?” Chip asked.

  “About everything.” Peter answered. “This press thing my dad wants to be, about the way I talked to him the last time I saw him, about what we’re going to do afterward, about how I fucked up your life.” A hard, aching lump formed in his throat and he lowered his head, not wanting Chip to see how weak he was, how this was fucking him up. Chip was always so strong, so sure. He just wasn’t. Not anymore.

  “Now, not the last thing. Don’t ever say that. Things are tough right now but they’re not always going to be. This too shall pass, as they say. And believe me, been through enough in my life to know that’s true.” Chip shook his head, distant memories like a pale ghost passing over his usually vibrant eyes.

  “Yeah? I hope so…” Peter said, wondering how it could get any worse really. He tried not to think that way. Tried not to be so damn negative. But it was hard.

  Chip took a deep long breath, “He killed himself you know.” This time, it was Chip who looked away. Peter could still see his profile. His jaw was tight and his brow was knotted. It was hard to read his expression, though.

  “Who?” Peter asked.

  “My ex, selfish bastard,” Chip answered. The pain was clear in his voice.

  “Ooh. Wow.” Peter reacted, not sure how to take the information or how to respond. He felt immediately awful for saying what he’d said. But he didn’t know.

  “And that wasn’t the worse of it, he let Johnny find him there dangling from the ceiling fan. It was awful.”

&nb
sp; “What?” Peter said. He was beyond horrified and shocked. Johnny was such a sweet kid. How could someone do that to him? He understood being in pain. He even understood someone thinking of ending it all. He’d be lying if he said it hadn’t occurred to him through all this, but he’d never do that to Johnny. Or Chip for that matter.

  “He must have known that Johnny would come home at that time. Couldn’t he have done it somewhere else, other than the bedroom?”

  “Wow. Chip, I can’t imagine. And Johnny, does he remember it?” Peter asked.

  “I hope not but sometimes, he asks about him. I mean, he knows he’s gone but … one time, Johnny came up to me and asked me if it was his fault, if his daddy had done it cause of him.” Chip shook his head sadly. “Kids have a way of making everything their fault. I told him it wasn’t. Of course, it wasn’t. But I don’t know if he believes me.”

  Peter’s eyes watered at the thought. What an awful thing to do to a child. Tears snaked down his cheeks as he pictured Johnny’s face. How much that kid must hurt, he thought. And here he was, being a coward again. Trying to run from his problems. No, he wouldn’t do that to Johnny. It wouldn’t be right.

  “And the funny thing is, I blame myself. I just think, if I hadn’t been working so late, so much maybe …. Maybe if I had noticed the signs, paid attention to him, maybe if-”

  “It’s not your fault, Chip,” Peter said, reaching for Chip’s hand, cutting him off, unable to stand hearing Chip say such awful things about himself. There was no one more supportive, sensitive and wonderful in all of the world.

  Chip bit his lip and Peter could tell by the way he was trying to cough away the tears that he was fighting from crying.

  “I -- I know,” Chip said, “It’s just … well … I promised myself if I ever … found someone, else, if I ever opened my heart up to someone else, I’d be there, you know? I’d be there no matter what. I wouldn’t abandon him, through thick and thin, through death do us part. When I say that, I mean that. I’ll never leave you, Peter. Do you understand that? Never, ever, ever…”