Page 29 of Cleats and Pumps

Tommy

“Ugh,”IgroanedasI read the morning paper reporting the latest in Amos’s ongoing drag queen saga. “You really stepped in it this time,” I said to the computer screen like I was talking to him instead.

Over the next few weeks, I watched as Amos fell deeper and deeper into trouble. My stomach clenched each time he stoically refused to deny being a drag queen. I knew, absolutely knew, my article from our university days was going to resurface and would kick both him and me in the ass. I should’ve gotten under it sooner and published the article exposing him myself, but damn, I would sooner have pulled my teeth out than do that to him.

Like Amos, I’d made a name for myself in my career. I was known as being tough, looking under rocks athletes would prefer I didn’t look under. I’d made it my mission to never become some ridiculous reporter who only published dirt. Still, I didn’t veer away from dirt when I found it. So, six months to the day after the cruise line published the picture of Amos doing baddrag, I finally got the phone call asking me to come in to talk to my editor-in-chief.

“Did you know?” he asked when I walked into his office.

“Amos is a friend. I don’t report on friends,” I’d said this time and time again. Which, this time of course, I was basically admitting I had known.

My editor tossed a printed copy of the college article at me before I could even sit down. “You fucking wrote this,” he said.

All I could do was nod. “I did.”

“And yet you said not one Goddamned word about it—not before Amos in drag hit the fan, and not after. You let one of the biggest stories to hit the news cycle blow up without you… without us!” he yelled.

I stood still. The paper had been downsizing since I started there. They’d moved to digital, but it had never taken off as well as their print media had back in the early two thousands. So people came and went constantly. “Don’t pull your weight, and you’re out,” my old mentor, Crusty, had said when I’d first started.

My editor looked like he would explode at any minute. Finally, he took a deep breath. “Were you lovers?” he asked, some of the anger seeping from him. I didn’t answer. I would never answer that. “I see. Fuck me and you too. I can’t have you on my fucking staff, Tommy. You’re a liability, and the moment this old article comes out, which will be fucking tomorrow on our digital feed, by the way, it’s going to be our asses that get stomped.”

I nodded. What could I say? I’d anticipated this worst-case scenario and should’ve exposed Amos from the beginning. Journalists didn’t look the other way when they had something that juicy, even if they still loved the person involved.

Yeah, love. I still loved stupid Amos. I’d never been able to let that go.

“Clear your desk out, Tommy. You’re fired and not because you’re fucking gay, but because you fucking hid this article from us.”

I felt my ire kick up. “I didn’t hide anything from anyone. It was public information. You could’ve looked under that stone at any time. You’re firing me because I refused to rat out a friend.”

“Get the fuck out of my office,” he said through clenched teeth, and I tipped my head.

“Sure, and I’ll see you in court,” I said, stomping off. I wouldn’t see him in court. Suing your boss in our world meant being blacklisted, worse than me hiding an article I wrote years ago. Although that would hurt me too. My only hope was that maybe I could ride it out and find a job editing a small newspaper or something. My career in sports, though, was probably over.

I stomped over to my desk and threw my few belongings in the backpack I kept when I was sent on assignment and needed my laptop. I looked around the office. Most journalists worked from home, so besides a few of the old timers, I didn’t know many people. I sighed and fell into my chair.

I liked my job though. I liked the behind-the-scenes access. I liked analyzing plays. I liked sports reporting. Fuck Amos. Why did he have to fucking do drag on a stupid cruise ship?

I grabbed my backpack and headed toward the elevator. On the ride down to the parking garage, I decided to hightail it back to Texas and spend some time with my grandma. She was in a nursing home now since my grandpa had died. I’d barely had time to spend with her since moving to New York, so maybe this was a good time to remedy that.

Fortunately, she’d modernized and rented their home as an Airbnb. So, I’d have a place to stay, especially since it was hotter than fucking Hades down there, and we didn’t have any bookings that I was aware of. I guess if you’re gonna get fired, this was the time of year for it.

14

Amos

“You’vegottobekidding me.” I looked at Erissa like she’d lost her mind.

She shook her head sadly. “No, they’ve decided to bench you for the season.”

“And their reasoning? I mean, they know benching me is going to kick up a lot of dirt.”

She sighed. “Honey, it’s likely because they wantyouto make a fuss. If you do, they’ll have a reason to suspend you.”

“No. For real? I mean, Carl Nassib did it.”

“And Carl plays for Tampa. You don’t!”

“Fuck me, this can’t be real. I mean, it’s bad enough dealing with this politically, and now I won’t be able to play?”

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