Page 55 of Cleats and Pumps

“Yeah, I know. I… let me think about it, and I’ll tell you when you call tomorrow. I can’t believe it! They said I got the part?”

She didn’t respond for a moment, then abruptly said, “I just can’t with you right now. Tomorrow… We’ll work this shit out tomorrow.”

I smiled as I put the phone down. “I got the part… How the fuck had I gotten the part?” I asked the empty room.

I’d fucking broken down during the last song. I’d walked out without telling anyone where I was going. My contract had been suspended… Why didn’t that bother me more than the part excited me?

I mean, I’m not a fool. Having me, a disgraced football player, in a Broadway part would be a draw. Of course it would, and the fact that anyone with eyes could see they had suspended mycontract ’cause I was caught out in drag… Well, that just made my being in this role that much more juicy.

I wondered what the hellAlec in Wanderlustwas. It had to be something similar, like with drag queens, or at least gay people, with a name like that.

I knew that’s probably why the producer dude—yeah, I had looked him up—had invited me to try out. But if I didn’t impress them, even if I was an NFL player, even if they got promotion from my leaving one and going to the other… I still had to have some talent, right? If they didn’t like my singing, they wouldn’t have offered me the part.

The question is: Am I ready to throw away my career? Should I throw caution to the wind and try being on Broadway? I mean, I could learn any choreography. My opinion on that was bring it, bitches. I’ll show you what this six-foot-five, two-hundred-forty-pound linebacker could do.

I sang all right, though I’m maybe not ever gonna give the queen, RuPaul, a run for her money, but I could outperform anyone. I could do Lola, or whatever this part was. I knew I could. Just, did I want to? Or did I want to play out the next ten years left in my football career?

I thought about it until my head hurt. Then I called my brother. When he didn’t answer, I called Mom. She didn’t answer either… Owen’s anniversary was tomorrow, and the two lovebirds would be all goo-goo today and tomorrow, so I didn’t even want to disturb them… That left only one person… one human being I could think to talk to about this, Tommy. Damn, he would’ve been my first pick if I was honest, maybe not until recently, but now that we’d hooked up again, I wanted it to be him I told this news to.

But… but he had left. Fuck it… I couldn’t.

I texted Josiah again.

Man, I need you to text me ASAP. I need help figuring something out. Something massive!

I went and crashed on my bed and closed my eyes. My head hurt and I didn’t want to think any more without someone to help me hash things out. Luckily, just as I’d closed my eyes, my phone pinged.

Josiah: Hey, got a work issue, but should be free in about an hour. Can it wait until then?’

Me: Yeah, but don’t ghost me. I need to talk!

Him: No problem. I’ll call as soon as I can.

I closed my eyes again, and just knowing Josiah was gonna call calmed me enough that I fell asleep. My dream of dancing on stage with Tommy, like we’d done in college, mimicking a song from our favorite Broadway show,Rent, came quickly, ’cause when Josiah’s phone call woke me up, I was smiling from ear to ear. God help me, I was such a chump.

39

Tommy

Thecopsshowedmethe video footage of the guy, and my heart dropped into my stomach. “Do you recognize him?” they asked.

I nodded. The man coming out of the house was facing my car’s camera, his face clear as day. “Elliott Godfrey,” I said and sighed. “He used to work with me.”

The cops took down his personal information, but I’d seen what the son of a bitch had in his hand. My fucking laptop. That’s what he’d been looking for.

Elliott had known if I had something, I’d have it on a laptop. My employer had my granny’s address too, since this was where they’d mailed my last paychecks.

I basically told that to the police who wrote it all down. Would they be able to do anything about it? I mean the value of the freaking laptop was less than a couple hundred bucks. Hell, I bought it over ten years ago and only kept it for word processing.

He hadn’t stolen anything of any major value… except the fucking book.

Was it all password protected? Yeah, of course, but that would keep Elliott out for a few minutes at most. Then he’d have access to everything I wrote about Amos and me.

I called Josiah as soon as I left the police station. “Hey, I need to meet with you, do you have time now?” He hesitated and I sighed. “I’m sorry Josiah, but this is something that could kill your brother’s career forever. If you want to help save it, you need to see me sooner rather than later.”

“Um, okay, well then come to the office. I’ll make it work.”

“Thanks,” I said and hung up. I had really screwed up writing that stupid tell-all. I knew better. Or at least I should’ve known better. Now it was in the hands of one of the most unscrupulous journalists I knew. And even though I was sure Elliot knew where I lived from searching my records at the office, my former editor wouldn’t touch this with a ten-foot pole, given the evidence that Elliott had stolen it, but Elliott would have no problem finding someone else who’d pay good money for my story.

---