The Outing, page 4
Not really. No. The knowing why was unsaid and inexplicable, but the feeling was, like Lauren had said, of something missing. That even though from the outside it looked like he had everything, it was a lie. Or at least not the truth. There were things about his life, in his life, which made him happy. Yes. There were moments of gratitude. He fostered them. They were his go-to place for when knowing threatened to foment. But there was a hole in his life. And he’d been covering it with planks and patches and stepping carefully over it.
They sat on the couch in the corner of the office, suspended in a timeless silence, and in full view of the inlaid leather topped desk and the shelves of books and ribboned files. Robert’s testamur gazed at them indifferently from above a hefty filing cabinet with brass shell-like handles. Side by side, their thighs and shoulders wordlessly reacquainted and became a touchpoint for when he and Johnny had sat wordlessly together on the edge of the stage after their last performance together before graduation.
“You’re remembering, aren’t you,” Johnny’s voice was quiet.
Robert nodded, “I came after you. To apologise and... And you weren’t there.”
There was silence.
“We should get to work,” Robert stood and bent to pick up the tray.
Johnny went to get up.
“No,” said Robert, “stay there. I'll get rid of this and come back.”
Johnny continued to stand, and seeing Robert's face fall into disappointment, reached for the tray and set it back down, then put his hand on Robert’s shoulder.
Its familiar weight dragged Robert’s eyelids down and he felt the backs of Johnny's fingers brush against his cheek. He was unconsciously leaning into the touch when he opened his eyes and they looked at each other, neither one wanting to move. The perfection of this moment could disintegrate if a breath was taken. And then it was.
“What about the Judge? Harry.”
“What about us?” It wasn't petulant, but Johnny's hand fell.
“I'm married you know.”
“Fuck’s sake Robert,” Johnny's eye travelled to the photograph of three year old Emma and Thomas on Robert's desk with their mother, “Your pigeon pair, they’re twins? They’re more like Lauren than you.”
“Duncan's her dad.”
“Oh? I thought- something Harry said. Doesn't matter. The Judge, Harry, we're… he's… it's been a bit weird lately. I told you. Not only since this happened. Something else. He hasn't said. But he's my best friend. More than that. And I love him. It's hard to explain. Anyway,” Johnny looked pensive, “are we working now, or is this just stuff you want to know.”
“I don't know, I didn't-” Robert's shoulders lifted, but didn't settle into their professional stance. “It's… I…” Johnny's hand was back on his shoulder. Robert looked down as it moved and softly framed his jaw. It didn't feel in the slightest awkward. It felt like it was home. He noticed the heat coming off it and spreading up across his cheeks, and closed his eyes again. It felt like a gentle sun warming his face, and from somewhere the smell of cut grass competing with flowers… where was he? ... a butterfly landed on his outstretched arm, its delicate feet stepping on the soft hairs making his skin shivery.
There it was, again, now, on his cheek. He stayed perfectly still. It lifted and landed again, searching for a place to settle. He ached for it to land on his lips.
Ever so tenderly, it did.
Then a tentative tapping on the door.
Robert’s eyes flew open and Johnny stepped back.
“Hello,” Anna’s voice came through the closed door before the tap-tap-tap repeating.
“Sorry,” she said after Robert opened the door. “I couldn’t get you on the intercom. There’s someone waiting, they said it’s important and-” she stopped. “Are you OK Mr Carson?”
“Who? Never mind. Tell them I’ll be a while longer. Or, could they come back in half an hour.”
“It’s OK,” said Johnny, “I have to go.”
Chapter 7
Robert didn’t recall shaking hands or saying goodbye or making an appointment to follow up before the court appearance, when Johnny left his office. There was a vague idea that somehow he had to get through the day.
“Shall I take the tray?” Anna’s question seemed to be asking more than it was.
Unexpectedly the day turned out highly productive, passing in intense concentration. Whatever was in charge of his actions, also managed to stuff his emotions and his confusion somewhere. Like a switch had been flicked and anything at all that threatened to prise open a gap through which a feeling or a thought might escape was instantly and automatically puttied over.
His exuberance began waning though, on the drive home. Mental inactivity opened the fissure and the automatic puttying of gaps switched off and he had to force it all back himself.
The respite of bedtime story was brief and by the time Emma and Thomas closed their eyes and he’d tilted his face ceilingward searching for the familiar welling of gratitude, he couldn’t hold back the remorse. It flooded in.
He stood up to leave and a searing nasty jab under his ribs made him slump back onto the reading chair, surprised he was still breathing. He turned the book in his hand over and back without seeing it, and the pain jabbed again, holding him cramp-like. It felt like he was drowning.
Thought returned, Float. Don’t struggle. Let the water hold you.
His eyes rested on his sleeping children and the flat water he’d briefly floated in, sucked him into a riptide. It was only a kiss. Not even… Was it? You had your eyes closed fuckwit. Who even cares what it was. They will disappear. Lauren too. All of it will disappear. Including- everything. But Johnny? Was that real? Did I imagine it? You can’t go there. Leave it. What the fuck were you thinking? Hah. You weren’t. Breathe. I can’t.
The air stuck.
He looked up counting and rocking gently, pressing the book against his lap, his fingers curled around its spine. He tried to make it to fifteen but panic clawed at the numbers and the past stole their places, jerking him into doorframes and corridor walls; jeering faces and pointing fingers; fishing his homework from amongst the decaying lunch scraps in smelly rubbish bins; his school jumper muddied in the middle of the rugby field; the wedgies; and the smile you pasted on because everyone was just having a bit of fun. Then Mum’s scolding face, pursed lips and hard eyes, ‘have you got no respect? I’m not made of money,’ when he’d confessed to yet another accident with his belongings. And Terry’s face, pink with shame, ‘you won’t tell my dad will you?’ then slowly turning grey.
He blanked the images and noticed he was still clutching the book. Something more than sadness welled. He didn’t want to contaminate the air with it and rushed out of the room heading unconsciously for the shower.
And now I’m supposed to chat with Lauren about her day. Fuck. Just- Fuck.
He let the warm water mingle with his tears, flushing away the surface angst and welcomed the lethargic calm of emotional letdown. For now, right now, this moment, he could simply do nothing. And then more nothing as the next moment arrived. He could contain this. He was daddy. Nothing had changed for Emma and Thomas. He was Lauren’s husband. Nothing had changed for her. He was Mr Carson, respected lawyer. He could do this. And he could do with a scotch and a diversion.
He toweled and clothed himself in resolve.
Lauren handed him a wineglass, “I didn't wait. Cheers.”
It would do.
They clinked.
“Did you switch off the exhaust in the bathroom?” she said. “It’s started to drone and clunk again.”
“Yeah. I didn’t notice.”
“Not straight away,” she smiled. “But if you leave it on, it really makes a racket. There must be something wearing or loose.”
“Mmmm,” he said, “I’ll have a look on the weekend.”
“Good. Oh, and the new neighbours moved in,” she said, putting the lid back onto a saucepan.
“What? I didn't know-” he stooped to look out the kitchen window.
“Oh, Robert,” she frowned. “At work. I told you. That gay group. CAMP. You've heard of them?”
“Why? Should I?” Robert arranged his face, “Yeah. Yeah. I remember now. You said a couple of doors up. Probably good.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning nothing. But you do get a pretty mixed bag at your office. Some of your lot might be a bit anti.”
“My lot?” Sarcasm and humour vied, “Oh, you mean the disadvantaged, homeless and the down-on-their-luck. Yes, they'd all be somewhat homophobic wouldn't they?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Not really. I don't see it.”
“That's because of your rose-coloured glasses,” he joked.
“Not my gracious personality then?” Her eyes sparkled.
“Same thing. Is it serious activism or a drop-in advisory?” He shrugged, “The Premier’ll have the boys-in-blue checking up on them either way.”
“No idea. But as far as I’m concerned it’s about time things changed, don't you?”
“Of course, I do.” He forced a smile. How was this even a conversation for tonight. “What's that smell. Dinner, I hope.”
“Are you hungry? We can eat now.”
“Yep,” he lied, “starving.”
Chapter 8
“The hearing is next week,” Robert was sitting forward on the chair concentrating on keeping his voice low and even, “and we need to talk before then. I’ve asked Anna to pencil you in last up this afternoon, if you can make it.”
There was nothing.
“Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” said Johnny.
There was another lengthy silence then, Robert spoke, “I could come to your place again if you’d prefer.
“No,” said Johnny, “it’s OK I’ll go up to the shelter before work.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why would I say that if I-” Johnny paused. “Unless you want to come here? Is that it?”
Robert held his words and his breath.
“It would be easier for me,” said Johnny, “if you came here but…”
Robert felt the air he’d been holding in, leave his body.
***
“I don’t think you need any more coaching,” Robert said. They’d gone over Robert’s list of questions and answers and Johnny had delivered them with confidence and poise and humility, “I don’t know why you’re not on TV.”
Johnny looked up nervously, “I don’t really want to go into any of that.” Adding, “You’d think the arts but…”
Robert looked out of the apartment window across the treetops on the edge of the river and on to the city on the other side. He didn’t really want to talk about any of that either. He didn’t know why he even said it.
“Are you worried?” asked Robert. “About the proceedings. What might happen, you know, if…”
“You said Duncan’s opinion is that this will quietly disappear. That we’re going through the motions but with an ulterior purpose.”
“But just so you know, I’ve looked things up. There’s the odd case where people have actually been caught. You know, right in the middle of something. But your case? You’d have to go back decades.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” said Johnny. “But really, I’m trying not to worry. No point. I talked to Dad. He knows a few lawyers. They’ve said the same. From a purely practical point, the police won’t want this going any further.” Johnny’s shoulders did a slow rise and lower. “Harry’s too high profile. The notoriety would hurt him not me. People would be asking questions. And they, the police, don’t want that. And, I didn’t do anything.”
Robert said nothing, but his face was sombre.
“I can almost see what you’re thinking,” said Johnny. “But if they can manufacture evidence to say I’m a notorious gay, then I can manufacture some to say I’m not. Marnie’s got half the women who come to her salon lined up to vouch for me. They’ll all swear I’m the best they ever had.”
Robert couldn’t help smiling.
“And Dad said I should have called him sooner. He’s going to pay you if Harry doesn’t.”
“I don’t want any money, Johnny. That’s not what this is about. Duncan is happy to help free of charge, and I don’t need the billable hours. So no.”
“There is something I do want to talk about though,” said Johnny.
Robert turned away from the window, “The elephant?”
“We need to. Don’t you think?” said Johnny.
“It’s really not necessary. There’s Harry. There’s Lauren. The kids. We sort of talked about this before. A while ago granted, but things haven’t changed. If anything, they’re more complicated. That’s it, as far as I’m concerned. We have to be practical.”
“Obviously. Why do you always jump the gun?” Johnny said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It seems like I’m always saying something like that’s not exactly what I mean.”
“Sorry, I-” Robert stopped talking.
“I meant will I be seeing you after this hearing. Do I disappear? Are we going to be just friends again? You said we could go running together. Is that it? Do I get invited over for dinner? Is that something you want? Is that something I want?”
“I don’t know,” said Robert. “I don’t know. No, yes, I do. Sort of. You said it way back, since you brought it up. You weren’t interested in that. And well, I’m not interested in this,” Robert started to move his arm in a dramatic gesture and lowered it. “There’s never going to be an us. Not in that sense. Even if… Realistically you know that. We both do.”
“And what about the other day, in your office. You felt nothing? Realistically, it didn't feel that way to me.”
“I was confused.”
“Ohhh, that's how you do confused is it? Hah! Good thing you don't get confused very often.”
“Poor choice of words. I wasn't thinking.”
“What? Then? Now?”
“I let my emotions, the past, take over. It was unprofessional. I'm sorry.”
“That's it? You're sorry. Sorry it happened or sorry for me? Or sorry you are lying to yourself. Still lying to yourself. When are you going to get real, Robert?”
“First things first. This,” Robert slapped his briefcase, “is what's real. You and Harry is real. Me and Lauren is real. Emma and Thomas. My job, my family, my responsibilities.” The self-righteous arm-wave rose again and this time it crested his words. “That's what's real. It doesn't go away just because in a haze… I don't know, a momentary lapse of judgment, I let you kiss me.”
“You let me kiss you. You let me kiss you. You had plenty of opportunities to stop me. All you had to do was step back. Put up your hand. Oh! And there's a word. What is it? Yeah, I remember. Two letters, starts with N. N-O. You didn't even hesitate! You wanted me to.”
Johnny half turned and leaned against the wall with his forearm and rested his forehead on it.
Robert searched for a reprieve. He slumped into a waiting armchair, found the corner of the room and closed his eyes. His head and shoulders moved back and forward with the yes Johnny had been waiting for.
“You're right.” Robert opened his eyes, “I did want you to.”
“Well?” Johnny wasn't willing to let this opening seal over. “This- what's between us, what’s always been between us- this is real too. As real as everything, as everyone else. I'm real too.”
Johnny closed his eyes and his fists bunched at his sides. When he opened them, his eyes found Robert’s, “Don't I matter?”
Johnny’s anguish hung in the air.
After a while, a soft sigh from Johnny, “Have you ever put yourself first?”
“I thought I was,” Robert sounded slightly incredulous. “By saying no, to you. I thought I was. What the hell. What am I supposed to do?”
“For a start, at least admit it to yourself. Make me real to you. Even if that's all I get. To know it's real and it matters. That I matter. I deserve that much, don't I?” the waiting tears welled at the edge of Johnny's eyes.
Robert closed the gap between them, “You do. You do matter,” he whispered as his arms encircled Johnny. “You always have. It’s just…” his hand moved to the back of Johnny's head and cradled it, gently reassuring, guiding it onto his shoulder, not possible, too hard, too complicated, too…
He didn’t finish the unspoken excuses, but as Johnny shook with a silent sob, the waiting tears rolled down Robert’s cheek too.
“What happens now?” Johnny eased out of the embrace.
“I suppose we have a bit of a problem,” Robert’s finger brushed the damp from his own cheek.
“Maybe it's a lawyer thing,” said Johnny, “but as far as I can tell, there isn't a problem unless you make it one.”
“A tad patronising?” Robert tried to disperse the tension.
Johnny shrugged, his smile tentatively brightening the tearstains.
“But I get your point,” said Robert. “Let's not try to figure everything out in five minutes. First we have to get past the hearing as client and legal representative.”
“Can you, can we do that?”
“We have to. Ethically-”
“I know. The doctor-patient thing.”
“And I was thinking, on the way over, I should probably call you John. For the hearing. It’s more masculine. I want everything we can working in your favour.”
“Do you think that’s necessary? I probably won’t answer you. That’s my dad’s name when it’s not Jack. I’ve always been Johnny. But hey, I’ll try. Do I need to call you Mister Carson?”
“I don’t know,” said Robert. “That would seem weird too.”
“I think I should stick with Johnny. I can’t be anything else.”
Robert’s half smile faded. “I know Duncan seems to think this is going to go away, but as I said, there’s nothing recent for me to gauge a direction from. And despite everyone’s opinions, we’re kind of flying blind.”
