Sunday story – a contemporary slice of life

Here’s this week’s bit of fiction (once again too long for my FB group.)

Dilemmas, No Answers

Vic’s snort made Stephan glance up from the script he was reading alongside his plate of fruit and bites of Nutribar. “What?”

Vic turned his phone toward Stephan. “The headlines.”

Oh. Stephan’s stomach sank but he plastered a grin on his face, not reaching for the phone. “Who am I supposedly fucking this time? Or is it about my drinking habits?”

“Fucking. Some pretty dude with too many very white teeth.”

“Angelo Martelli,” Stephan said automatically, then wished he’d pretended not to know. He quickly added, “He told me about his fitness routine. In detail. Great detail.”

“With offers to demo his technique in private?”

“Well, of course. And sideways looks from under those eyelashes. Pretty sure he was wearing a ton of mascara.”

Vic’s brow furrowed. “So? Gay dudes can wear makeup.”

“I didn’t mean that.” Stephan took a breath. His tongue was tangling him up this morning and it was too-fucking-early o’clock after the party last night, but he’d wanted to catch Vic before he left for morning practice. Between Vic’s away-game schedule, his own location work, and the required schmoozing he did, they had far too little time together. And after smiling for hours last night, aware of every camera angle and every photographer trying to catch pretty people looking ugly, he needed a dose of something real.

“You know I don’t mind guys in makeup,” he clarified quickly. “Hell, I wear enough of it, day by day. I fucking applaud any man secure enough to wear it for fun in public.” And shit, that was another misstep, making Vic’s expression darken, a reminder of the closet he still felt he had to bear. Stephan fumbled for the right words. “He was just trying too hard. You’re the kind of man I like. You’re the only man I want, exactly the way you are.”

“Got a thing for missing front teeth?” Vic fake-grinned, revealing the gap where a high stick had taken out three in the front. “So sexy, right?”

Stephan reached over, gabbed Vic’s chin, and smooshed a kiss to his mouth. “I admit, I look forward to the day you decide to go for the implants, if only because I can stop cutting up your apples for you.”

Vic elbowed him away, though not hard. “Not till after I retire. Bootsie just had to have his redone the second time.”

Stephan winced, though he tried to hide it. He loved hockey as a spectator, reveling in the action and excitement as the players swooped around the ice and thudded and fought for the puck, and sometimes just fought. But since getting together with Vic, he now saw close up the toll it took on the players— the huge bruises, the damaged lips and teeth, the bad knees, the iced elbows, the concussions. Vic said playing the game was worth it all, said he’d play in the AHL for peanuts forever if he couldn’t stay up in the NHL. Although now in his second season, that was looking unlikely, and his new two-million-dollar contract was some compensation.

Hockey players were nuts, but Vic was Stephan’s nut, and he wanted the man secure in that knowledge. “Angelo’s teeth could be fake too, for all I know. They kinda look it.”

Vic chuckled but his eyes drifted back to the phone and the humor faded from his face.

Stephan clasped Vic’s wide wrist and turned the screen toward himself.

“Too Bad They Can’t Make Pretty Babies” the headline screamed, above a picture of himself appearing to gaze at Angelo with admiration. Angelo’s perfect lips were parted and he clasped Stephan’s elbow as he leaned in. The pose looked intimate. Stephan couldn’t even remember what they’d been talking about at that point. The volume of the music had made leaning close a necessity, which had probably been no accident. The article continued, “Stephan Parker spent the evening close to rising star Angelo Martelli, and the couple touched frequently. Is this the day Hollywood’s out gay star who has resolutely claimed to be single will reveal…“

Stephan snorted and shoved the phone away. “That’s the most ridiculous headline I’ve ever seen. Babies? Have they been reading mpreg romances?” He’d stumbled into that minefield following a fanfic and retreated just as quickly.

“To be fair, they say ‘Can’t,'” Vic pointed out. “You do look amazing together. You and dark-and-pretty win the most-photos-from-an-event award for that party.”

Stephan shrugged one shoulder. “It was boring. No one got drunk and puked, no one had a screaming cat–fight, no one’s wardrobe malfunctioned. The poor paps had to settle for pretty.” He’d known Angelo’s dark muscular good looks set off his own blond more-ethereal ones to perfection. Staying close to each other had been calculation on both their parts, not just Angelo’s. “It’s how the game’s played.”

Vic just grunted, set the phone face down, and stared into his half-full coffee tankard. Maybe coffee pitcher. Vic’s mug had been specially made for him by the ceramic-wielding wife of a teammate and held something like a quart of dark brew…

And Stephan was avoiding conversation, staring at that mug. Right now, Vic’s cup lived in Stephan’s kitchen cupboard. Tomorrow? Is this the day being with me becomes too hard for Vic? That thought was a constant rider in the back of his mind. They were so different and hedged about by risks. “I promise, there’s nothing between me and Angelo.”

“I know that.” Vic ran one big hand over his cropped-short hair and scowled.

Then what’s the problem? There were so many minefields in their half-closeted half-out both–famous-ish hidden relationship that he couldn’t guess which was rearing its head. He kept quiet, so his fumbles couldn’t make things worse, and waited.

Vic drank his coffee down to the dregs and pushed aside his plate. The half-eaten food on it made Stephan’s heart sink. Vic had a nutrition plan and he stuck to it as religiously as Stephan stuck to his own. His appetite rarely failed him. He was a big man with a body that needed fuel. Love that body, and the man. Stephan worried at his lower lip with his teeth, a terrible habit for someone whose face was his meal ticket.

With an uninterpretable grunt, Vic flipped his phone over, scrolled, and pushed it Stephan’s way.

He was prepared for some other tabloid headline so he blinked at the sight of, “NHL bans Pride tape.” “What the hell is that?”

“Apparently…” Vic drew the word out. “Being gay is now too controversial for the NHL again, so ‘Hockey is For Everyone‘ goes back to being a theoretical bullshit slogan. Six bigots making a fuss about Pride jerseys and the Neanderthals in the fan base are being catered to. And to hell with the queers afraid to come out in sports.”

“Oh, Vic.” Stephan set a hand on Vic’s shoulder, but Vic shrugged it off.

“Fuck them, you know?” A rough edge turned Vic’s voice hoarse. “Just fuck ‘em. We were making progress, and then the Republicans ran out of things to scare their base with and dug out the queers again. And now, supporting us is more controversial, and the NHL doesn’t have the guts to do it. They want us to stand in front of pucks going ninety miles an hour and deal with post concussion syndrome, but they can’t handle a fucking strip of colored tape.”

“Vic.” Stephan didn’t know what to say. Coming out hadn’t been a walk in the park for him either. A callback for a superhero film had suddenly evaporated, and a role he’d been offered in a romcom had developed “a need for recasting.” But he had company, and tacit support from a lot of the industry, in his strides into the light. The NHL appeared unwilling to give Vic any of that.

“And it’s National Coming Out Day.” Vic put his hands over his face. “I don’t know what to do. I want to fucking come out. I want to stand up and scream at the league execs, tell them they’re cutting the legs out from under like fifty of their players. Except I don’t think they’d care. And the paps sure would. And if no one else came out, it‘d be just me.”

Stephan shoved up out of his chair, bent, and wrapped his arms around Vic from behind. “I support anything you want to do. I love you.”

“I know.” Vic hugged Stephan’s arms to his chest and leaned back, his eyes closed, his head against Stephan’s shoulder. “I’m so chickenshit. But I can’t face it.”

“You’d get a double dose of publicity,” Stephan murmured. They’d talked around the topic a hundred times. “As the out gay player, and as my boyfriend. Assuming you wanted to be seen with me—“

“Of course. That would be the best part of the whole mess, the saving grace. Not having to sneak around. Being the guy standing beside you at parties.”

Stephan tried not to wince. He wanted that, he did, an out life with Vic. But Vic had a mouth and a temper and a craggy scarred face with missing teeth, courtesy of six years in the AHL before his call-up last year. Vic at industry see-and-schmooze events would be a bull in a china shop disaster, and the press would focus on every unguarded look, every moment harsh lights made his boyfriend look older or less attractive. They would be cruel, and so would some of the weasels and users swimming in the industry’s shark-infested waters. And Vic tended to want to reply to cruelty with violence. “You’d hate the parties.”

“Meaning you’d hate having me there.” Vic’s eyes opened. Stephan couldn’t make out his expression well, squinting down and sideways to see him. He could imagine pain, though.

“I’d love to stand up in public with you,” Stephan hedged. “I would adore seeing you get face to face with Angelo.” That he could say with glee. Vic was six inches taller, fifty pounds heavier, and honed his muscles to a pro-athlete’s edge.

“I could take him.” Vic sighed, slumping harder against Stephan. “I don’t know what to do. I want to continue to use Pride tape, hell, every day. Let them fine me. And then use it some more. Let them fine me more. Let it get ridiculous, like ‘Pay fifty-thousand dollars to support the queers.’ And I’d say, ‘Sure, not stopping now.’ See what happens.”

“You could do that,” Stephan suggested, cautious because Vic’s tone was sad, not triumphant or defiant. “I’d chip into the kitty for fines. I made half a mil on the project I just wrapped.”

“Except then what? The paps are going to come looking. I don’t have a convenient gay brother or lesbian mom or whatever. They’re going to want to know why it matters that much to me. If they dig hard enough, they’ll figure out why. They’ll probably find you. It means coming out, just slower and less controlled.”

“Unless a group of you do it. Maybe some of those straight allies.”

“Maybe.”

“Do you know any other gay players?” Stephan had carefully never asked.

“A few. Mostly in the AHL.” Vic cleared his throat. “Slept with a couple, which is another reason I’d probably get outed eventually. I wasn’t celibate. I met you before I was called up, so in the NHL I just have a few suspicions. But they’re guys like me, grinders, third and fourth line players, a backup goalie. Not the kind of stars who can count on management having their backs in a serious way, if shit went down.”

“You need clearly straight top players to back you up, provide cover.”

“Yeah, we would. But I can’t exactly ask. Crosby put out a supportive statement.”

“I always liked him.” Stephan had been a big Sid Crosby fan well before he landed his own hockey player.

“Scott Laughton said he might defy the ban on Pride night.”

“Go Flyers.”

“Bite your tongue.” Vic sat up straighter. “But even though Scott‘s been married to Chloe for over a year, you can bet as soon as he said that, a million people got online to search Scott Laughton gay to prove he must have a queer reason, not just a human reason.”

Stephan wouldn’t take that bet. “What can I do?”

“Just… don’t give up on me.”

“Not ever.” Stephan pressed a kiss to the short soft bristles of Vic’s hair. “As long as you can put up with me and my life, I want you here.”

“I need to think.” Vic got up and took his plate and mug to the sink, scraping his uneaten breakfast into the compost. “I have practice in an hour. I really need to get going.”

“You do that. And babe, I have a Coming Out Day appearance at the youth center, but one of the first things that I always say is ‘Today is not a challenge, it’s not a guilt trip, and it’s not a demand. It’s a celebration of the people who feel safe out, and a community to support the people ready to crack that closet door. If that’s not you, don’t you dare let our celebration push you before you’re ready.'”

Vic nodded a few times. “That’s important. Some of those kids could end up on the street if they come out to their folks.”

“I mean it for you too. Not being ready to come out doesn’t have to be as serious as you’re going to end up homeless, or lose a job, or lose a family. Not ready is not ready. I love you and I’d stand at your back in public any day, but I don’t need you to come out. Not now or ever.”

“You hate all the sneaking around, though, and the fake dates I take to team events, and not being able to meet your family and friends.”

Stephan went to him and hugged him from behind again, laying his face against Vic’s broad shoulders. “Not half as much as I love you.”

“Maybe soon. I don’t know.” Vic’s sigh deflated him, his huge frame seeming smaller in Stephan’s hold. “Not today though. I can’t.”

“So don’t. Go play hockey. Have fun, help your team, earn a bunch of money you can spend on fines. We have time.”

Vic turned. “Some gay kid playing hockey in Peoria may not.”

“You can’t save the world.” Stephan laid a hand on Vic’s face, feeling the roughness of his stubble, the warmth of his skin. “You have to make it through, survive to do more later.” He lightened his tone. “Go ice the pucks, smash the checks, wave the sticks, throw the elbows.”

“You want me to get penalties?”

“Your mad face when they send you to the sin bin is sexy.” Stephan kissed him. “Have fun.”

“You too.” Vic bowed his head to press his forehead to Stephan’s. “I want to say ‘Tell the youth center kids hi for me’ but I can’t.”

“We’re known to be friends. I can, just casually.”

“Yeah, casually.” Vic straightened, his mouth twisted as if the word tasted bitter. “Do that.”

“You need to get going,” Stephan pointed out. Being late to practice was a big no-no and L.A. traffic was always insane. “Will I see you tonight?”

“Absolutely. I need you.”

“You have me.” Don’t make a bigger deal out of it. Stephan turned to the sink, rinsing the dishes and cutting board, putting things in the dishwasher. Behind him, he heard Vic head to the back door, the pause as he put on shoes, the door opening, closing. Vic would be heading through the garage, the greenhouse, out the back, and walking two blocks to where he’d parked his car last night. He’d get in and head off to the Toyota Sports Center for practice. One more twenty-seven-year-old, rough and ready hockey defenseman, to join the throng of them filing into the arena.

He’d nudge elbows and bump fists, call greetings, strip down in the locker room and put on his gear. Stephan had seen videos, had even stood in the crowd in his younger days, watching the players arrive. Vic would grin, maybe sign something for a couple of kids. He had his own fans now, who wore his jersey to games. His teammates ribbed him about having made it at last.

None of them knew Stephan had a #31 jersey he slipped into when he watched a game at home. None of them knew who Vic really was at all. Vic had once said there was an echo of loneliness, even there among his teammates, putting on a limited face for all of them to see.

Stephan pulled out his own phone. The hockey tape bullshit was there, with reactions that were mostly disappointed, or “logical,” not defiant. His alerts pulled up his own stories from the industry party. There were a lot of photos, several totally made-up stories about him and Angelo. “Ducking out of a secluded alcove after a kiss.” “Planning to announce a joint project *wink wink*” One paper went a different route, claiming Angelo was a smokescreen and Stephan was really interested in a very hot stuntman he’d been caught speaking to, heads close together once again.

At least he’s more my type. Then the story dragged out the stuntman’s DUI as a teenager, and a story about a fight in a bar. Ten minutes in my company and they’re airing his dirty laundry. Stephan couldn’t blame Vic for not coming out. He never had.

His phone pinged as he stood there.

Big guy: ~I really fucking love you. Don’t say it enough. You made this morning livable. Couldn’t make it through life without you.

Stephan rubbed at his eyes and texted back, ~You could. Don’t ever have to though. Now don’t text and drive.

No answer came, which was just as well because yeah, don’t text and drive.

Stephan swiped back to the news feed and a closeup of Angelo’s gorgeous face, cut-glass cheekbones and perfect teeth on display. Stephan patted the image’s cheek with a finger. “Too bad, dude. I’ve got a real man. He may not look like you, but he’s worth a hundred smooth actors put together. And we’re going to make it, through thick and thin.”

He believed that. He really did.

Cuing up his texts, he added, ~I love you too. Always.

He didn’t send it though. He’d wait till Vic would be safely at the arena. No distractions on the road.

They might not be walking the smoothest path in life, but when one of them was down, they had each other. Vic’s arms around him kept his demons at bay, and he was there for Vic when the world seemed out to get his man. He’d do everything in his power to make sure that stayed true. Always.

 

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