Page 63 of Cleats and Pumps

“I love you.”

I could imagine the smile that crossed his face every time I said that. “Yeah, I love you too. Now go away. I want to get this article finished.”

“Yes, boss!” I said and hung up. When I walked down the stairs, I saw lunchmeat spread out for us, and I almost cried with relief. I’d wasted fifteen precious minutes on this. No, I corrected myself, not wasted. Anything I did for Tommy could never be a waste. However, my body needed sustenance if I was to survive the rest of the day.

I scarfed down three large sandwiches and a bag of chips, although normally I’d have avoided the fatty carbs. But, with the cardio I got daily, I knew not even the fat and carbs in chips would stay in my system for long before it was burned away.

By the time we returned to rehearsal, I was ready to go. “Okay, this time we’ll do the routine in heels!”

“Oh my God!” I said out loud, getting chuckles from the room.

“Problem, princess?” the older woman leading the choreography today asked.

“Yes, but show me the stilts. My legs look killer when I dance in those!”

Even the tough old bird, as we all called her, smiled. It couldn’t be denied, the big-ass boots in this show made big girls’ legs pop. I might die before today was over, but I’d look fabulous as they wheeled me to the morgue.

47

Tommy

Iwasn’tsurehowIfelt about the laptop. Amos had told me repeatedly that he wasn’t concerned about the story leaking. He’d say, “I’m on Broadway now. Seriously, who’s going to give a damn about another gay performer shaking his ass on stage?”

We’d been together a month when Amos pulled me out of the apartment and down to a burger place he said the people in the show kept telling him he needed to try. I was happy to go. I had been spending too much time in my head about the laptop, losing my job, well… Even when things were good, I spent too much time up in my head, so the distraction was nice.

“Um… Tommy?” Amos said after he ate two burgers, his fries, and then ate the rest of mine.

“Yeah?” I smiled at him, my heart swirling with love.

“Can… I… well, shit, it’s probably high schoolish and all that, but you know… I just wanna be able to call you my boyfriend. Is that weird?” he asked and, for real, looked like a high school kid asking his prom date the same question.

I chuckled, then lifted his huge hand to my lips and kissed it. “Amos, I love the shit out of you, and you can call me whatever you want… except bitch. Only Owen can call me that.”

Amos smiled, then rushed around the table, swooped me into his arms, and kissed me square on the lips.

When he pulled back, my head was spinning. Then I realized we were in the freaking public, and I glanced around to see if anyone was snapping our picture.

No one was though. I guess it’s true there’s sometimes more anonymity in a big city than in a small town.

Amos was looking at me when I returned eye contact. “I don’t care who knows how much I love you, Tommy. We spent too much time not acknowledging this, and we almost lost it. So, you don’t have to worry about what others are going to think, not anymore.”

I understood he was talking about the book again. Though we both knew it as a lot more complicated than that, I appreciated his effort nonetheless. Regardless, if he could get the damned thing back before it went public, all the better for us.

I tried not to think about all that stuff. It was just too painful. Thinking about Amos made me happy, though, and he was happy as well. Like happier than I think I’ve ever seen him. The practice and rehearsals were kicking his ass hard, and he seemed to be thriving on it.

Me, on the other hand, well, theNew York Pressbought my story about his transition. I didn’t focus on the lawsuit against his former team at all, other than to say there was one. There were plenty of other journalists who would spend their lives trying to sniff out the details of that. Me? No. The Elliott Godfrey bullshit had put a bad taste in my mouth for that kind of journalism.

I wasn’t ever going to be like him. Hell, I never had been. Sure, I’d push hard sometimes, and more often than not, I gotto the answers I was seeking, but I wasn’t willing to break into someone’s house and steal their personal stuff.

That more than anything told me I’d chosen the wrong profession. Not that I’d get a job now anyway. It was clear I’d refused to give up the article I wrote about Amos in college. Some of the news reports named me as the person who’d written it back then and questioned why I’d never exposed the truth until now.

No one had asked me point blank, or I’d have easily told them it was no one’s business whom someone was attracted to. So I was at a crossroads that I wasn’t sure how to navigate.

I was writing daily, submitting articles all across the spectrum, but still focusing on sports, since that’s where my expertise was, but there really wasn’t enough money in freelance. I began scouring the internet for job openings while Amos was away at practice.

More than anything, I was looking for what was next. What would speak to me. Unfortunately, nothing had, not yet, at least. I wasn’t really surprised. It wasn’t like I wanted to write about sports. That had just happened for me because of my following Amos.

“So, Tommy,” I said out loud, “what do you want to do with your life?”

---