Page 134 of Faithful

“I’m gay.”

He says absolutely nothing for the longest time ever. His expression remains cool, though. Finally, “Okay.”

“I want to tell you some things and I want to make a video.”

* * *

Not sure how or why it happens, but Charles Heller is added to the list of guests attending the gala.

I’m also not sure if it’s a good thing or if I should be wary of his presence there.

In any case, the meeting Leigh’s helping me arrange with the guy takes place before the event.

Rich old people aren’t easy to bump into, but their habits are set in stone, and Heller likes to golf at Ruddies. He’s been a member of the club for over twenty years. An article in a magazine, garnished with several informative photos, told me so. His social media account (because even shipping tycoons have Instagram these days) confirmed it.

That’s how my roommate and I end up in front of the most exclusive golf club in Seattle on a Sunday morning in early February, just several weeks before Iodine is scheduled to leave for Europe.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Leigh asks as we pull up to the fancy iron gate.

I’m driving my car since it’s a bit more impressive than hers, but even then my ride doesn’t compare to any of the vehicles already in the parking lot. There’s a couple of Bentleys and Rolls-Royces. A few restored classics too. I would bet my right arm they are collectibles. These old farts like to live stylishly.

We’re basically walking a fine line here, trying to fit in with this crowd.

“Yes, I’m sure I want to do this,” I tell Leigh as my Charger pulls up to the valet, where they check our invitation once more. It’s like we’re entering the fucking Pentagon or Area 51.

We step out of my car and Leigh takes a second to fix the scarf I wrapped around my neck in a hurry when we were leaving the apartment. We decided it wouldn’t hurt to look like a couple in public in case my presence here is questioned by someone. Because let’s be honest, places like these don’t like people like me–people who were involved in a major scandal at some point. But if I’m attached to someone like Leigh, an overachiever from an influential family, I can still claim my rightful place here.

It’s been abnormally warm as of late, which is pretty unusual for this time of the year. The snow began to melt away earlier in the week and the sky is blue and cloudless. It’s possible that this is just a small glitch and the temperatures will drop again, but overall today is one of the better days to golf recently (not that there’s a good day to golf in winter) and I’m not surprised to see a decent number of people when we pass the front nine. Most have sport gloves and winter coats and there are a lot more walkers than those riding carts.

“I always thought they closed down the course during the winter,” I tell Leigh in a low voice as we cruise down a path cutting through the lawn.

“Depends on the place,” she explains. “I know it’s hard to believe but there are some hard-core players out there who’ll come out no matter the weather.”

“People are strange.”

“Indeed they are.”

Look who’s talking, Dylan. You’re pretty much a serial stalker.

I push my insecurities down as Leigh hooks her arm around mine and leads me in the direction of the clubhouse.

Inside, I study everyone’s faces, trying to compare them to the image of Charles Heller I have in my head.

“Let’s go talk to some people.” Leigh pulls me farther into the room, past the small groups of chatting men and women.

I even muster up a smile once or twice because I’m desperate for this to work, and therefore I need to look the part. I need to look like a spoiled Ivy League graduate with too much money to spend and no common sense.

Okay, I can do that. I even have a scarf for that.

Apparently, Leigh sees her friends from college and eventually we’re dragged into a heated debate about global warming and pollution.

Eventually, the people who are done playing begin to fill up the club. And boom! There he is.

Charles Heller in the flesh.

He’s nothing special. He looks his age, mid-to-late fifties. Graying hair. A bit of extra weight. Red cheeks.

The images–the ones Gavin shoved into my face–of him and Kai start swimming through my mind, pressing themselves into my eyeballs, and I have to blink several times to make them go away.

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