Fifteen Shades of Gay (For Pay) (8 page)

“Hey!” Their eyes met. Andrew grinned as Cormac struggled to smile and chew a mouthful at the same time. “Jeez, don’t they feed senators in California?”

“You Googled me,” Cormac said as soon as he was able.

“Doesn’t everyone Google you? Especially when you start a date this way : ‘Do you know who I am?’” Andrew did a passable imitation of Cormac’s occasionally portentous tones. “I thought you were on the Supreme Court or something.”

“Oh, really? Name the Chief Justice,” Cormac fired back, deadpan.

Andrew considered for a moment, and then felt in his jeans pocket for his phone.

“Nope. Fail. You see?” Cormac grinned. “Politicians aren’t exactly rock stars. I’m safe almost everywhere I go.”

“Not from that, you’re not.” Andrew pointed at the foot-long. “Think about all the nitrates, additives, and fat grams.”

Cormac took another big bite, chewing defiantly.

“Not to mention the chili and onions.” Andrew pretended distress. “You’re not planning to fart all through this date with me, are you?”

As Andrew spoke, a family of four passed, the mother’s head turning on the phrase “date with me.” Eyes widening, Cormac swallowed, swiping at his mouth with a paper napkin.

“Given your situation,” he murmured, “I’m surprised to hear you broadcast what we’re doing.”

“My situation?” Andrew saw no reason to lower his voice. “I don’t care who thinks I’m gay. Well, in the bedroom, that’s a pretty big misunderstanding, but otherwise, what difference does it make?”

“Oh, it makes a difference,” Cormac sighed. “And I’ll try not to fart on you, unless the Rangers choke again, in which case all bets are off. Want some food now, or can you wait?”

“I can wait. Wouldn’t mind a soda, though.”

“Not a beer?” Cormac teased.

“No alcohol will touch these lips until I’m off the clock. This time, you’re getting your money’s worth. Starting with an upright and sober date.”

Cormac insisted on buying Andrew’s soda, which came in a collectible plastic Rangers cup he decided to save for Marie. For himself, Cormac bought a Heineken, frowning as he took the first sip. “German beer in a plastic bottle just isn’t right. But you take what you can get.”

“Where are we sitting?” Andrew didn’t mind the nosebleeds—a live game was a live game—but he half-expected Cormac to coyly present ringside seats.

“Follow me. We’re taking the elevator up.”

Packing himself into an elevator with Cormac and ten other fans, Andrew was surprised to find himself riding all the way to the top, not to the nosebleeds, but to the sky boxes. “Are you kidding me?”

Cormac gave a slight smile. “It’s no big deal.”

Andrew snorted. “It’s a big deal to me. Are you an owner?”

“God, no. Friends invited me. They’re all married. Told me to bring a date. So….” Cormac shrugged. “You did mention you needed the money.”

“You dickwad!” Andrew punched Cormac’s upper arm. “I would have come to a Rangers game with you for free!”

“Come meet my friends.”

The sky box, which seated up to thirty people, hosted the owner, his wife, their teenage sons, and two other married straight couples. It took Andrew less than sixty seconds to realize Cormac was a huge favorite. Not so much by how the owners or the other couple greeted Cormac,
per se
, but by their friendliness toward Andrew. The men practically elbowed one another out of the way to shake his hand; the women were all over him, curious about his background, complimenting his clothes and even his hair. Not since a gaggle of movie fans had wandered into an audition and mistook him for James McAvoy had a group shown Andrew so much interest.

“So let’s hear it. How did you two meet?” the owner’s wife, a pretty blond, asked Andrew.

“At an Irish bar. He bought me a Guinness. Then he took it away and drank it himself when I didn’t like it.”

Laughter all around. “What do you do, Andrew?” one of the other men asked.

“I’m an actor. Which means I do nothing except study for roles, wait in line for hours, and accept rejection,” Andrew said. “It’s okay. Paying my dues. I could have been a weatherman in Wichita, but I decided to go this route instead.”

“Hey, didn’t David Letterman start as a weatherman?” someone asked.

“He did! They fired him because he predicted hail the size of canned hams!” someone else said.

They mingled like that for awhile, helping themselves to a spread catered by Ainsworth Prime: cheeseburgers, hot dogs, popcorn chicken, french fries and chocolate chip cookies. Cormac didn’t say much, mostly nodding and grunting as Andrew did all the conversational heavy lifting. By the time the the game started and everyone took their seats, Cormac was on his second cheeseburger.

“You must have a metabolism like a hummingbird,” Andrew said. He was already full to bursting, sipping a bottled water purely for something to do with his hands. As an actor, he thrived on intense attention, but beyond a certain point it was exhausting.

“No breakfast this morning. No lunch. And probably no breakfast tomorrow,” Cormac said. “Whenever I attend something with ‘green’ in the title, I’m lucky to get an organic granola bar. And sorry, I prefer real food.”

“I can see that. By the way, I like your friends.”

Cormac blinked. Whatever he’d been expecting, that wasn’t it. “They’re nice people.”

“I
did
Google you,” Andrew continued. “You’ve never been married, have you?”

Cormac shook his head.

“Well, then. They’re dying to see you paired up. Do you have a boyfriend back in California?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t be here with you if I did.” Cormac sighed. “I just mean, if I were with someone, I wouldn’t hire escorts, would I?”

“People do all kinds of things, for all kinds of reasons. I looked you up expecting to find out you were married. Not because you’re a jerk,” Andrew added as Cormac’s eyes narrowed. “Because you’re so far in the closet. You said so yourself.”

“Can this discussion wait till after the game?” Cormac muttered, almost inaudibly.

“Yeah. Sure.” Andrew was confused—surely he hadn’t trespassed
that
unforgivably—but Cormac soon perked up, probably because the Rangers were on fire. By the second intermission, Andrew understood the game so well, he no longer needed the TV commentary to follow the action. Besides, Cormac was an expert. During the first intermission he filled Andrew in on the basics: the face-off, the center, wings, d-men and goalies. After the same player scored twice, Cormac spent most of the second intermission discussing hat tricks and the Great One, Wayne Gretzky, whom teenaged Cormac had seen play several times.

“Fifty hat tricks, lifetime,” Cormac told Andrew. “The man was incredible. Makes what we’ve seen so far tonight look like nothing, and tonight’s been amazing. Sure you don’t want a beer?”

“I promised you an upright and sober date,” Andrew said.

“Oh, one Budweiser won’t hurt. It’s just piss in a bottle, anyway.” Snagging one from the ice chest, Cormac twisted off the cap and handed it to Andrew.

Taking a pull on his Budweiser—no matter what beer snobs like Cormac said, Andrew enjoyed the taste—he looked around the sky box. The teens were texting. The owners were cuddling in their seats. One couple was deep in a conversation about parochial schools; the other watched ESPN highlights on the big screen TV, hands clasped, the wife’s head on her husband’s shoulder.

“C’mon, let’s sit.” Andrew led Cormac over to their seats. When Cormac was settled, long legs stretched out as much as possible, Andrew slid his arm around his shoulders. The speed with which the other man shook him off was startling.

“What’s wrong?”

Cormac started to color. “You don’t have to do that. I know you don’t like it.”

“Cormac. You’re paying me to be your date. Why should the other couples have all the fun?”

“But you’re straight,” Cormac said from the corner of his mouth, clearly trying to look otherwise unruffled. It was so perfectly political, Andrew stifled a laugh.

“And most of the guys you hire are gay. So what? Remember when we slow danced? Putting an arm around you is pretty impersonal compared to that.”

“Yeah. But then, I didn’t know you were straight,” Cormac insisted, still from the side of his mouth. If anyone in the sky box looked their way, Andrew and Cormac probably still appeared to be a happy couple, talking softly as they waited for the final period to begin.

“But Wasserman said you asked for me specifically,” Andrew said. “Why would you do that, if you planned to treat me like a stranger?”

“Not a stranger. A friend. A straight friend.
Yeah
,” Cormac cried, clapping as the lights and music flared on the rink far below. “Here we go!”

* * *

After the game, everyone wanted to say good-bye, not just to Cormac, but to Andrew, too. The owner’s wife was especially effusive.

“I expect you to spend a weekend with us in Long Island. Don’t nod at me like that, Cormac, I mean it. No excuses! And bring Andrew. You’ll come, won’t you?”

“I’d love to,” Andrew said. He wasn’t just caught up in his role as Cormac’s date. The genuine approval and interest in the faces of the other couples was irresistible. “If Cormac can find the time, I mean.”

Cormac’s eyes met Andrew’s. Just for a flick, but Andrew thought he saw a glint of pleasure there. “Send Marjorie the details. She’ll put it on my calendar. And I’ll bring Andrew, I promise—if he hasn’t landed a part in a play by then.”

“Long Island sounds fun. I’ve never been there,” Andrew told Cormac when they were back in Penn Station, waiting their turn as a long line of taxis snaked around the terminal. “Are we really going?”

“If you want.”

“Cool. So… what’s next?”

“We can call it a night, if you’re tired.”

“No dancing?”

“We could go dancing. Or.” Cormac turned his cool politician’s smile on Andrew. “We could head to my hotel. Hang out.”

“I’d like that.” Andrew met Cormac’s false smile with a real one. “On one condition.”

Cormac raised his eyebrows.

“I’m off the clock the minute we get there. No more client-to-escort. Just you and me.”

Cormac didn’t seem to know what to say. Andrew touched Cormac’s forearm, the quick can-I-count-on-your-vote moment of human contact the other man had taught him. “I just don’t want any bull about what’s legit and what’s for money. If we’re going to hang out, it should be as equals.”

“Fair enough.” They’d reached the front of the taxi line at last and were soon bound for a Hilton uptown. About a minute into the ride, Cormac broke the silence.

“So. How’s the job?”

“The money’s good. Who am I kidding? The money’s a godsend. But some assignments are easier than others.”

Cormac frowned. “It’s not dangerous for you, is it?”

“No. Not yet, anyway. But it can get a little… compromising. Some of what’s happened, I wouldn’t want my sister to know about. Or my mom.”

Cormac chuckled. “That, I understand.”

“What do you mean?”

“Andrew. I’m a politician. If you’re saying you’re expected to, well. Prostitute yourself in some way. I don’t just mean physically,” he added hastily. “But in some way you find at odds with who you really are, well, there’s no one on Earth who understands that better than me. I already have a track record of political compromises that makes me want to hide my head in the sand.”

“Yeah. Well. I need the money. And you need to climb the ladder, huh?” Andrew meant his last comment last sincerely, but Cormac only looked sad. They passed the rest of the cab ride in silence.

* * *

“This hotel’s even nicer than the last one,” Andrew said truthfully. The room included a kitchenette, a dining room, and a balcony view. City lights glittered through the sheer curtains, winking from the buildings across the street and the traffic below.

“My assistant works it all out. Sometimes she finds a deal,” Cormac said. “Want another Budweiser? The fridge is bound to be stocked with those, if nothing else.”

“One,” Andrew said firmly. He smiled when Cormac opened it for him. “Ever stop being a gentleman?”

“Nope. My mom would haunt me if I did.”

“Can we sit on the balcony?”

“Sure.” Relieving himself of jacket and tie along the way, Cormac drew back the curtains and pushed aside the sliding doors. Going to the railing, Andrew took a deep breath. The breeze was cool but tainted with the smell of exhaust pipes. That was one of the few things he missed about Kansas—fresh air.

“A balcony view of New York is the best. Well, except for a view by air,” Cormac amended, dropping into a wrought iron chair. “From a helicopter is the very best. But this comes second.”

“It’s great.” Andrew took the other chair, placing his beer on the small table between them. “How’d you end up knowing a sky box owner in New York? None of your friends seem very political.”

“They’re not. I’ve been friends with Tommy, the owner, since college. Second person I ever came out to. Not because I had a thing for him, mind you. He just caught me during a bad time, that’s all. When I was all broken up over, well….”

“The college sweetheart who didn’t love you back?”

Cormac smiled. “How’d you know?”

“Mine was Kayla Stratton. She toyed with me for about six months before telling me we should just be friends,” Andrew said. “Hit me so hard, I spent the rest of the semester listening to Radiohead and reading poetry by Baudelaire.”

“Well, if you went for a straight girl, you’re still smarter than me. I fell for my best friend. Mitch. We’d known each other forever. I went to Pepperdine to be close to him, shared a dorm room with him, the whole nine yards. Swear to God, I thought he knew. That he just needed time to get used to the idea of being with another man.”

“And then he fell in love with someone else.” Andrew grinned, remembering how he’d gone to pieces over Kayla.

“Yup. When I finally screwed up the courage to tell Mitch how I felt, he was floored. Kept saying he loved me like a brother, but never guessed I was ‘that way.’ He said ‘that way’ a lot.” Cormac’s tone was light, but he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “Anyway, Tommy found me and asked what the hell was wrong, so I came out to him, too. For a long time they were the only ones who knew.”