Hadrian's Rage (26 page)

“What do you mean ‘nothing’?”

“I mean ‘nothing,’ Sissy. I get nothing.”

Sissy and Jeremy are holding hands across the small wood table that doubles as a kitchen table and coffee table. Her small home is a small one-room cabin. One room serves as a kitchen, living room, and bedroom. Only one other room is attached to the back—the toilet/washroom. Sissy has never wanted more. In fact, she actually found her living quarters quite spacious, even after her lover moved in. Sadly, Quinton had been perceived as strai and beaten to death two years earlier. No charges were ever made, and no attempt on the part of Hadrian’s peace force or quadrant officials to investigate what happened was ever made. Even though this heart-wrenching experience taught her not to expect any fairness from Hadrian’s legal system, Sissy still remains dumbfounded that Jeremy is being cut off without any recompense. “But you worked that ranch for close to thirty years now. You raised two children there. Surely that has to count for something.”

Jeremy’s voice is hollow. “If I fight him on this, he’ll out me as bi and play on the idea of incest.”

“That’s ridiculous; we’re not genetic siblings, and, besides, there are lots of gay couples out there just like we were. They met through their parents just like we did.”

“Irrelevant. They can’t procreate, whereas we can.”

“Ridiculous. Besides, the odds of my getting pregnant at this age are slim to none.”

“But not zero.” With frustration building, Jeremy’s anger bursts out. Letting go of Sissy’s hand, he slams his fist on the table, shouting, “The law’s the law, Sissy. I can’t change that.” Wisely giving her brother time to calm
down, Sissy reaches across the table to rub Jeremy’s hand. “I’m sorry I blew up. It’s just, he’s got me by the balls, and there ain’t nothing I can do about.”

Sissy refuses to give up. “Why not? The law’s not immutable. The Stuttgarts and the Hunters changed it.”

Jeremy harrumphs at that, “We’re not the Stuttgarts or the Hunters.”

“I know, but Mother Stuttgart, she’d support you.”

“Get serious, Sissy. Who am I to go up to Mother Stuttgart and ask for help? Not only is she a national icon, but the woman doesn’t even know me.”

“Haven’t you been watching
Salve!
and
HRN
? Mother Stuttgart’s been on both, and she’s a strong proponent for bi and straight rights. You should voc her.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“START BY CONTACTING MELISSA EAGLETON!”

“Shit, Sissy; you think I know everybody.”

“
HRN
has a contact button on its wave site.”

“I know, but—”

“But nothing; contact
HRN
and ask Melissa Eagleton to connect you with Mother Stuttgart.”

Jeremy shakes his head in defeat. “I might as well fart in the wind.”

“What in Hadrian’s name is that supposed to mean?”

“No one upwind ever smells the likes of me.”

“What?”

“We ain’t nobody, Sissy. Get that through your thick skull. Them folks live upwind of folks like us. They keep themselves sheltered from the wind so they don’t have to smell us. When changes are made, it’s because someone with money’s got a strong arm and other folks are willing to listen. No one listens to the likes of us. Face it, Sissy; it’s just you and me left. We cain’t afford no help. No one gets paid no more.”

Sissy looks dejected. “I guess that means letting go of all our hands?”

A depreciating nod precedes Jeremy’s words. “I’m sorry, baby girl. We got no choice. All we got to make our living by is this small piece of rocky clay and grass we feed our sheep on. We make it based on this.”

“That’s not good enough. You can’t let him win. You’ve got to fight, Jeremy.”

“If he outs me, Teril and May’ll find out.”

“But they’re your kids. They love you.”

“Lots of families turn their backs when someone is outed. ’Member that
Middleton kid? And all them strai kids havin’ to live in the sewers? Damn, I wish there were something we could do to help them.”

“We can.”

Jeremy looks up. Sissy sounds so confident that he can’t help but be swept up. “How?”

“We contact
HRN
.”

Both dejected and angry, Jeremy practically growls, “I ain’t fighting Jake; I done told you that already.”

“I know, but this isn’t about Jake. It’s about them kids. We could hire ’em on. Offer ’em a place to live.”

“Sissy, be real. We just decided to lay off your entire staff and you want to hire these kids? We can’t afford hired help; I told you that already.”

“No, no, no, you don’t understand.” Smiling now, hoping to set Jeremy at his ease, she says, “We could offer ’em food and shelter in exchange for work. Surely living in the sheepherders’ bunkhouse has got to be better than the sewers.”

Flummoxed by the prospect, all Jeremy can sputter out is, “I don’t know.”

“Why not? Least we can do is offer. If they turn us down, they turn us down. But if they accept, well, then with the extra manpower, we could maybe break even.”

“I reckon we could try. Kinda adopt ’em like.”

“Yeah. Now yer thinkin’. We could give ’em a home, food, and clothes, something to work for and help keep this old sheep farm afloat.” After a brief pause she adds, “Not everything’s impossible.”

Jeremy smiles. “That might work, and it sure would be nice helpin’ them poor kids out.”

“I’ll contact
HRN
.”

“No mention of my situation, mind you.”

“I promise, Jeremy; I won’t.” Pausing briefly, Sissy brings up a truly sore spot for Jeremy. “What about Teril and May?” Jeremy’s head sinks into his arms on the table. His sigh shudders with tears. “Don’t let Jake be the one to tell ’em. If you tell ’em, I know they’ll come around. If not right away, eventually. Trust them. Trust all them years you spent raisin’ ’em and lovin’ ’em.” Running her fingers through Jeremy’s hair, she adds, “I know them kids love you. Nothing can change that. I gotta believe that, Jeremy, and so do you.”

Hadrian, it is not very often these days that I am able to offer up some good news, especially news that pertains to our straight and bisexual youth. You may remember last year when I presented a
Salve!
on straight and bisexual youth living in the sewers of Hadrian. Sadly, I was still citing bigoted rhetoric and had even suggested that Hadrian's Peace Force needs to sweep all the sewers clean to bring these children out of hiding.
42
Well, as is evidenced by my
Hadrian's Real News
broadcast, I have come to see the ignorance of my previous ways. Fortunately, I have since gained the trust, unworthy as I am, of these abandoned and desperate children. Look to the right screen and you will witness footage of my recent visit to their underground home.

As you can see, I am being guided blindfolded down into Hadrian's sewer system by a youth whose face and all evidence of gender has been blurred to protect this child's identity. Once inside, with my blindfold removed, I saw before me these youth struggling to eke out an existence in a country that refuses to accept them for who they are. We were not allowed any sound, and the faces of all the youth are blurred out. But here, to my right, is a young heterosexual couple, the girl clearly pregnant. When I asked, she told me her last period was over six months ago. When I inquired into medical attention, her boyfriend sneered. He reminded me that doctors require credit, which none of these youth have, and Hadrian's current propagation laws would require the young girl to have an abortion.

The fact that this child was going to have a child in such horrific conditions encouraged me not to air this episode. All I could think of was how the peace officers would indeed sweep the sewers to find these youth and
impose an abortion on these children. She cried when she was reminded of that prospect and begged me not to let that happen. “Why,” she asked, “can't we make our own baby? Why does everything have to be IVF?” As she was choking on her tears, her boyfriend finished for her. He made sure I understood that they were not interested in having dozens of babies. “We only want this baby. We are each responsible for bringing one child into this world; why can't a heterosexual couple bring two babies into the world the old-fashioned way?” When I inquired whether or not they could stop at two babies, he was adamant in the affirmative. “We'd use birth control if we could access it!”

Maybe Hadrian needs to revisit its birth control laws.

So why am I showing you this footage now? Because there is now hope for these youths. An individual who wishes to remain anonymous has offered food, clothing, and shelter to them in exchange for manual labor. When notified of this proposal, the youth were at first skeptical, but when they met with their benefactor, they accepted the kind offer, and now they are thrilled at the chance to start a new life somewhere where no one knows them as straight or bisexual. The young girl we saw will now be able to raise her child in a clean, loving home environment.

I know many people will want me to expose these youth and the person generous enough to save them from their current circumstances, but I cannot. When I met with the youth from the sewers, I was blindfolded, and no one revealed their real names to me. The individual who is taking these youth also managed to contact me anonymously. I have never seen this person's face, and I cannot even tell you the gender of the generous benefactor. Right now, I believe this is how it has to be. Until Hadrian's laws are more inclusive, the identity of these youth and their benefactor will remain a profound secret. Hopefully, as profoundly kept as the name of the young woman who seduced and later exposed Todd Middleton.

TRUTH!

Dean and Geoffrey reconnect by using late twentieth century psychologist Arthur Aron’s Experimental Generation of Interpersonal Closeness.
44
Dean had found this study on the wave while doing research for one of his psychology classes. When he first reached out to Geoffrey through the voc, he was saddened by how distant Geoffrey had become. Geoffrey’s reticence is both natural and expected; Dean recognizes he must do more than just compromise. He must win Geoffrey’s love. Woo him back. So he asks Geoffrey to start again. To this end, Dean commits to vocing Geoffrey every night. They both agreed that each night their voc convo will begin with one of Arthur Aron’s thirty-six questions for generating closeness. Aron’s study was brilliant and it has proven life-changing for Dean and Geoffrey. Dean started by asking the first question.
“Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?”

Geoffrey fumbles. To hide his discomfort, he picks at a fringe on his housecoat. Geoffrey is seated at his desk in his and Dean’s bedroom. He was getting ready for bed when Dean voc’d in. “Geez, Dean. Can I say you? Are we allowed to say the other person, or are we supposed to pick someone famous?”

Dean’s reply is equally confused. He too stumbles. Like Geoffrey, Dean is in bedclothes. He is wearing the maroon silk pajamas Geoffrey had given him for Hadrian’s birthday a few years ago. Unlike Geoffrey, he is lounging on his bed. He runs his fingers along the buttons, causing the top one accidentally to pop open. Although Dean seems oblivious, Geoffrey notices. “To be honest,” Dean replies, “I’m not sure. If we can pick each other, truth be known, your name popped up first for me, too.”

Geoffrey catches himself smiling. He forces a frown, though, as the fear of being hurt is still prevalent. “Well,” he says quickly to cover up his mixed emotions, “that was easy, then. What’s question two?”

“Would you like to be famous? In what way?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Why not?” Dean was amazed at this sudden, very confident remark. Geoffrey was always the go-getter in their relationship. He ran a huge corporation, Hunter Detritus Fisheries, for close to twenty years, and then after selling majority shares to Hadrian’s government, he became CEO for Hadrian’s National Detritus Fisheries. Whether he likes it or not, he is at least somewhat famous in Hadrian.

“Famous people can’t live human.”

“That sounds strangely bigoted.”

“It’s not. I don’t mean famous people aren’t human. I mean that everywhere they go, they get recognized and can’t just do normal things.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Dean is already learning so much more about his lover than even their twenty years of marriage had revealed.

“What about you?” Geoffrey asks. “I’m guessing yes for you since you’ve been fighting your way into the news so much of late.”

“Yes, you’re right. I do want to be famous, but not wave star famous like Eagleton or Duggin…”

“Especially not Danny Duggin,” Geoffrey agrees. Both men laugh. Neither feels any level of respect for HNN’s new newscaster.

“No,” Dean agrees, “not like Danny Duggin. I don’t mean big money fame, either. I guess, what I mean is, well, I spent the first half of my life hiding who I am, so afraid of being found out that I need to assert who I really am now.” Dean watches Geoffrey’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows back his disappointment. “People need to know that I’m bisexual, and that it’s okay.” Geoffrey’s eyes moisten. “There is nothing wrong with being gay, bi, or straight, and if making myself famous can help me share that with Hadrian, then fame becomes essential for me.”

No longer interested in the topic of fame, Geoffrey mumbles, “You’re bisexual? I thought you…”

Dean picks up where Geoffrey trails off. He knows what Geoffrey has been thinking. “Yes, Geoffrey. I’m bisexual.” Dean sits upright, now cross-legged in the middle of his bed. “My time with you was not phony. I never faked loving you. I know when we separated I said I needed to be true to
myself. I said I was straight, and I had to live a straight lifestyle, but these past two years have taught me something crucial.”

“What’s that?”

“I love you.” Geoffrey breaks down at this point. The tears come freely. He covers his face with his hands and tries to control the emotion, but it is too overwhelming. Dean is also in tears. “I know I’m attracted to women, but there is something more.”

Geoffrey barely manages to mumble, “What?”

“You. I’m attracted to you, too. It’s you, Geoffrey. I love you. I want you. I desire you.” Dean gets up from his chair and walks over to Geoffrey’s voc image. He cradles Geoffrey’s shimmering, holographic head in his hands, and then he rejoices in the electric sensation of kissing the man on the crown of his head. Geoffrey stands up and throws his arms around the shimmering holograph of Dean’s body. The two men sparkle and snap with electrical energy.

Dean laughs. “So, I guess my original idea has fallen by the wayside.”

“What idea was that?”

“That we only answer one question a night.”

“Yeah,” Geoffrey’s laugh, though stunted by tears, is genuine, “that has definitely fallen by the wayside, as do all your forced plans.” Now that his tears have abated, his laughter flows more freely. “You always did like to plan things out so perfectly, and then you’d get frustrated when things didn’t turn out the way you expected them to. It is always best just to play things by ear, Dean. And, as it turns out, going through as many questions as we get through is what is working best for you and me.”

Dean smiles in agreement. He lets go of the holographic image of his husband and makes his way over to his small bed. “Next question, then?”

Dean is almost a little too seductive in the way he lounges back onto his bed. Geoffrey watches Dean make himself comfortable on his bed in Destiny Stuttgart’s home. Wistfully, he imagines Dean is really there in this room, making himself more comfortable on their bed. Geoffrey hardens. Not ready for any sexual play, Geoffrey crosses back to his desk and sits down in his desk chair. He swivels it so he is no longer facing the bed they used to share. Being anywhere near their bed, even just seeing it, feels too awkward for Geoffrey, especially with Dean’s holographic image in the room. For a moment, there is a pause.

Dean’s voice pulls Geoffrey out of his reverie. “Next question?”

“Yes, next question.”

“
Before making a voc
…” Dean paraphrases the question since no one in Hadrian uses phones anymore—all communication is done through the wave; mostly through the vocal contact lens colloquially known as the voc. “…
do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?”

“Only if it’s a business call. I figure if I can’t be real with family or friends, then they’re not family or friends.”

“Good answer.” Dean pauses before giving his response. “Please, don’t judge me, but I rehearsed before this voc.”

“I don’t judge you, Dean, but why would you feel like you had to rehearse?”

“Because I hurt you too much to pretend I could just voc and things would be better, and I didn’t know—I still don’t know—what to say or how to act so I don’t end up hurting you again.”

“Just hearing you say that helps.” Geoffrey sits up in his chair; he smiles at Dean’s voc image. “All right, what question comes next?”

“What would constitute a ‘perfect’ day for you?”
Dean doesn’t even wait for Geoffrey to respond, leaping into his own answer. “For me, that would be a day where I didn’t have to worry about studying.”

Geoffrey isn’t offended at the sudden reversal in turns, nor does it bother him that Dean’s perfect day doesn’t include him. “Yeah, I remember the uni days. Long days and even longer nights.” Both men chuckle. “But,” hoping to show Dean the light at the end of the tunnel, the one that is so dark and distant at this stage it is impossible to believe in, let alone see, Geoffrey adds, “the rewards are worth it in the end.”

“Yeah, but,” Dean counters, “you didn’t have to worry about finding a job when you got out. You had your fathers’ business to inherit.”

“True.” Geoffrey doesn’t feel chastised in any way. “I can certainly understand how a Stuttgart might worry about his future chances in Hadrian.” Dean smiles. Geoffrey successfully pops his “Pity me; I’m the poor student” bubble.

“My perfect day,” Geoffrey offers up without request, “would be to have you, Frank, and Roger seated at the dinner table with me again.” This seems so impossible that both men fall into a state of brief depression. “I’m sorry,” Geoffrey begins…

“No,” Dean insists, “don’t apologize. It would make for a perfect day, and someday, Geoffrey, you mark my word, someday, it will happen.”

Geoffrey’s eyes have misted up again. “You promise?”

“I swear it on Antinous’s grave, even if it has to happen at a barracks, the four of us will sit down for a meal again.”

Geoffrey smiles, then bows his head. “I think I’ve had enough for our first kick at the can. I’m a bit of an emotional wreck.” Wiping tears away, he stands up and motions towards what used to be their bed. “I need to sleep. I’ve a hard day tomorrow.”

“All right, Geoffrey. I understand. May I voc again tomorrow night?”

“Of course, we still have—how many questions do we have left?”

Dean takes a moment to calculate. “Thirty-two.”

“Seriously, we’ve only been through four?”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “They’re pretty intense, aren’t they?”

“Maybe just for us, but it’s good. I’m liking this. Voc me again tomorrow and we’ll have a go at number five.”

“I love you, babe.”

Geoffrey smiles. He’s not ready to say that yet, so he signs off with, “We’ll talk again tomorrow night.”

“When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?”

“Hadrian help me, Dean; I can’t remember. I guess, I think the last time I sang to myself was when I was two.”

“Seriously, Geoffrey? Only two?” Dean smirks. “I seem to remember hearing you belt out a few when showering.”

“I never—” Suddenly, Geoffrey blushes. He remembers. “Funny how the mind blocks out things like that. Especially if the event seems so trivial…”

“Or embarrassing,” Dean finishes for him. “It’s okay, Geoffrey; I always thought you had a beautiful voice. But you’re not finished. When was the last time you sang to someone?”

“You, on your fortieth birthday.” It was the last one the two men had spent together. Dean frowns. He holds back his tongue, though. He wants to ask, “Why not on Roger’s birthdays?” but Dean could feel the same question haunting Geoffrey. Asking him this would only reopen the rift between, creating an even greater chasm. Right now, they are building a bridge, and moments like this prove just how fragile and precarious this building process is for them.

Geoffrey quickly shifts to Dean’s turn. “And you?”

“I sing to myself almost all the time now.”

“Really?” Geoffrey is both startled and amused. He also feels a tinge of regret. To sing to oneself suggests contentment.
Dean is happy now,
he thinks. His eyes grow dark as he mutters to himself, “Something you never were with me.” Hoping to hide his disappointment, he feigns curiosity. “Interesting. Why?”

Apparently oblivious to Geoffrey’s inner concerns, Dean answers, “It’s when I study. I hum more than sing, really. It helps me concentrate. Relaxes me a little.” Geoffrey’s relief is audible. “Why? Did you think something different?” It dawns on Dean why Geoffrey might have been worried. “You don’t need to worry, babe. Honestly, you don’t need to worry. What we had was real. It’s just, in many ways, I wasn’t.” Closing his eyes for a moment, Dean puzzles out his explanation. “I’m finally ready to introduce myself to you, and…” Now it is Dean’s turn to show trepidation. “And, hopefully, you’ll like me, love me, as much as you loved the scared Dean who had only clung to you for protection from the swirling world. I guess, what I mean is, I’m finally ready now to protect myself, and I still want to be with you.” Coughing now, knowing he is being too pushy too soon, Dean leaps into question six: “
If you were able to live to the age of ninety and retain either the mind or body of a thirty year old for the last sixty years of your life, which would you want?”
Both men answer simultaneously. “The mind!” Then, “I knew you’d say that.” Then a collective burst into laughter. Then both chant, “Next question,” leading to more collective jocularity.

“Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?”
Dean answers instantly. “A bullet to the head like Harvey Milk.”

“Hadrian’s Lover, Dean, that’s too fucking depressing. We’re supposed to be connecting, not planning your funeral.”

“Sorry; that’s just the answer that popped into my head.”

“Well, if you really believe that, then I’d have to say stop all this advocating because I don’t like the sound of you dying that way.”

“Well,” Dean says, changing the direction of their conversation, “how do you see yourself dying?”

“With you cradling me. I’m old, weary, and you’re holding my hand, telling me everything’s going to be all right. We smile. We kiss, and I give you my last breath.”

Dean raises his hand to his mouth. His eyes close. Tears stream naturally. “Thank you, Geoffrey; that is so beautiful.”

“Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.”

“Easy,” Geoffrey replies. “We both like horseback riding?”

Dean turns coy, “And sometimes on a horse.” He gives Geoffrey a little wink. Suddenly, Geoffrey shuts down. Dean realizes he has moved too fast again. “I’m sorry, Geoffrey; I didn’t mean to be too pushy; I just, I just, well, it just came out, you know, a blurt.”

Geoffrey’s voice lowers, bordering on a growl, “Do you even mean it?”

“Yes, I do.” Dean’s reply is honest, but Geoffrey is too enclosed right now to ascertain what is real and what is mere desperation on his part. “There were many times I enjoyed being with you, times when I let go of all my insecurities and misconceptions, and those times were beautiful. Like our first time together. I was scared, but you were so gentle, so understanding, so—” Dean just stops. He knows there is nothing he can say right now to right things with Geoffrey. He just waits for Geoffrey to find his voice.