“I still want some accountability, Troy! How can you allow this as a gay man?!”
I inhaled sharply. Learning Troy was gay explained a lot, and Bal wasn’t wrong. WhywouldTroy advocate for me? Unless he’d lured me here specifically to make me look bad?
“Try making your points without breaking the fourth wall,” Troy replied coldly.
“Heblew the fucking fourth wall to high hell years ago!”
I felt it coming, and I could only brace myself.
“Arjun Bhaduri killed himself because Luke Griffin outed him to the entire world!”
I’d never actually heard anyone say that sentence aloud, but there it was after all this time. If only they knew I’d done so much worse than out him.
14
2015
SEASON 20, EPISODE 1:
“The Viper Room”
The room exploded, everyone reckoning with the firecracker that had just been launched. My whole body was vibrating as I closed my eyes, ostensibly steadying my breath, but mostly I just couldn’t bear to witness Imogen’s reaction.
“ALL OF YOU SHUT UP!” An unfamiliar voice rang like rolling thunder, and huge hands swept across my chest, lifting me from behind. I revolved to face Fortune, the sleeping giant awake at last. “Get your stuff,” he said.
I was still trembling when he ushered me to the door, where Winston stood woozily with her bags. “Winston’s trading with him,” Fortune decreed as we left, defying any protest. He didn’t even turn around to issue his final edict. “Don’t wake me again.”
We entered the bedroom across the hall, Melange waiting in gray sweats. The makeup was scrubbed away, and her innocent face belied the brassy girl from the Arena. She wordlessly indicated which bunk was mine, biting her lip.
Fortune at last extended a massive paw. “Fortune West.”
I numbly shook his hand; then he retreated to his bunk, resuming his slumber instantly. I sat on the narrow mattress and ripped off my sopping shirt, discarding it on my drenched luggage. Melange knelt beside me, gently extracting the mangled frame I still cradled in my hands. “Your kids are gorgeous,” she said quietly. “Let’s put this somewhere safe.”
I nodded, but one look at their picture sent my head between my knees, trying to keep the dam from breaking. I refused to cry on camera, not so soon. Jesus, why had I come back here?
“Luke, you okay?” I felt a shadow pass over me as Troy bent down. I resented the hell out of him, but I knew I couldn’t say anything. “The PAs are coming to launder your stuff, so maybe let’s pretend that little trip to Margaritaville didn’t happen?” he asked nervously. “Besides, the network won’t air the horseshit Bal said. You could sue to high heaven.”
Why was Troy acting so sympathetic? He knew what I symbolized to the average American gay man. By recruiting me—as aliteralDevil—he’d set me up for as public a crucifixion as possible. I wanted so badly to follow Vanessa’s example and blow it all up. I could exit now and still get my appearance fee, but then I’d never prove I might be more than everything Bal said I was. I couldn’t leave, not yet. Still, only one thing would get me through the night. “Troy, I know it’s late, but can I still call my kids?”
Troy seemed relieved, promising to meet me with a clean outfit in the confessional room so I could have some privacy. This was where they’d generate the narrative stitching required for the edit. I remembered these rooms as compact spaces with green screens, allowing them to add any backdrop during post-production, but thiswasthe monastery’s former confessional. The whole booth had been relocated into this spare room, its doors removed so cast members would address camera directly from the wooden bench. I tried not to touch anything, margarita mix still sticky on my naked torso.
A knock soon came, but it wasn’t Troy. The kid fromBeverly Blondestood awkwardly in the door. He wore only gym shorts, with a light dusting of hair on his chest and a thin metal piercing through his right nipple. I tried not to stare; the last thing I needed was to be accused of leering at some young guy. “Shawn, right?”
“Guilty.” He handed me a wet towel and a double of my jersey. “Troy sent these for you to freshen up. He’s grabbing his laptop to call your kids.”
“Thanks,” I said, starting to clean myself. “I’m Luke. Officially.”
“Yeah, we weren’t formally introduced upstairs.”
“A lot was happening.” I shrugged. “Probably the homecoming I deserved though.”
“Nobody deservesthat,” he said softly. “Bal makes everything political. Even after I blocked him on IG, he still asks me to do these dumb ‘queer activism’ photo shoots with him.”
I inhaled. Gays at every turn apparently. “Right, so… you’re gay too?”
“Last I checked.” Shawn blushed. “Sorry, I assumed you… Never mind. Anyway, if Bal actually cared, he’d be marching. Not painting #saveLGBThomelessyouth on his ass.”
“He fit that whole hashtag on his ass?”
