“And you still have them?” Jack asked. “Jesus, why aren’t you in Texas?”
I put up a hand. “It gets complicated, Jack. Long story short, Malcolm made my life hell. I knew I could never come out in Texas, never live like I wanted to there. So, I made sure the Thayer Ranch stayed in good hands, that his businesses did, were worked by the right people, and I still looked over and ran all of that when I was old enough.”
Jack shook his head. “The family CEO,” he said, quietly and our eyes met. I nodded slightly. I understood more about what Jack’s role was in the family than I had let on.
“Well, in more of an armchair capacity,” I corrected. “My grandfather’s friend, the one who was over the trust, he helped me learn all the things I still needed to know, what I hadn’t picked up from thirteen years of following my grandfather around. He helped me find the right people to run things, because I was in boarding school then. But, he let me be part of the decisions.”
“I knew I would leave Dallas before I was eighteen. I just couldn’t stand it - after boarding school the thought of being under Malcolm’s roof was something I simply couldn’t handle. I had a big blow up with Malcolm when I left. I agreed to go to Boston once I was accepted to school there - undergrad. No one in the press really followed me because I flatly refused to do the society thing with him, and I managed to graduate early at sixteen and get into a good school. So, I told Malcolm I was planning on being out when I was in Boston, and he hit the roof. I was afraid he would leave my mom destitute, so I made an agreement with him.”
Jack
“What kind of agreement?”
Perrin looked down at what was left of his food. “The kind a kid makes. We had a previous arrangement where I agreed to hide my sexuality if I went to boarding school. No dating, or anything the press could ever get a hold of. I agreed and he agreed to let me keep my name as Thayer even though he adopted me. He didn’t want to, but he was afraid of the press finding out and harming his “family values” gig. I was fifteen then.”
“How did you get him to agree to that?” I asked, imagining a fifteen year old Perrin negotiating this deal with Malcolm Stephens.
“It wasn’t me,” he said, shaking his head. “It was the trustee my grandfather had.”
I studied Perrin for a moment. His eyes were out the window, focused on the past, and his fingers stroked mine across the table.
“Perrin, who was the trustee?”
He went quiet, not moving for a moment. Perrin seemed so far away I thought he might not answer me at all. Then, his gaze found mine, looking at me directly in the eye for the first time since we were in the conversation.
“Adali Marsh,” he said.
“Adali. . ..” I trailed off, not quite sure what to say. “Adali Marsh?PresidentAdali Marsh?” I asked.
Perrin nodded. “He wasn’t President then. His two terms were up.”
I breathed out slowly. Malcolm Stephens was one thing for sure, butAdaliMarsh was a former military commander, governor of Texas, Senator and two-term President. I read an article oncethat saidthat Arron Sorkin developed some of Jed Bartlett’s character based on Marsh’s life. I knew he had a ranch in Texas, but the man’s terms in office were well before I could vote or even care about politics. If there was a man with power, it wasAdali Marsh.
Perrin laughed at something in my expression. “He was always UncleAdito me, Jack,” Perrin said. “He was my grandfather’s best friend and he despised Malcolm as much as I did. Maybe more.”
It made sense, Marsh was a fiscal conservative, small government Republican who probably did not fit well in the values-driven identity politics of someone like Malcolm.
“So the second time the agreement was, if he would agree to a post-nuptial agreement regarding my mom’s property, then I would place some significant assets from my grandfather in my mom’s name. He could benefit off of it, like the income or what have you, if they were married, but she would have something to fall back on if he ever divorced her. In exchange, he allowed me to never take his name and to leave. So, I agreed to leave town and never look back, and without his name no one seemed to care.”
I blew out a breath, “That’s awful. Losing your dad and your grandfather like that, then having to disengage from your step-dad. That’s a lot for a queer kid in Texas, Perrin.”
Perrin shrugged. “I was sent to boarding school as soon as my grandfather died, so I was used to being alone to deal with shit. And, since work is pretty good for grief, I managed to graduate at sixteen. I never really lived in Texas after Everett died, and as faras the media knew, I was a step kid who kept his nose clean - nothing to see there. Everyone at school knew I had money, but no one knew the connection thanks to me keeping my name. It drove Malcolm crazy that I wanted to fight changing it, but in the end I think he was relieved it was so easy to set me aside.”
“So, what, you went wild in college?” I teased. I could see the Perrin of his youth that was self-reliant, but I also knew him enough to know at some point a wild streak was there that came out. He was simply too self-assured.
“A bit, yeah, I did,” he admitted. “Honestly, I was too young for that kind of freedom, really. I knew I had to do well to go to anesthesia school, and luckily it was a hard enough program to get my R.N. that I didn’t have a lot of time for too much trouble. And then, anesthesia school happened and I was exhausted for the whole duration of that. But, I knew no one was really keeping tabs on me anymore, that what I did wouldn't hurt my family.”
“So, what did he mean, what he said about your colleagues . . ..”
Perrin raised my hand to his mouth, kissing it lightly, but closing his eyes for a moment over too many old memories, and shaking his head slightly. I wished I could read his eyes, but when he opened them, whatever emotion had passed.
“I, ummmm,” he said, trying to find the words. “So, this transforms into another story, Jack. Another story for another day. But, when I left Texas, Malcolm told me not to come back, but he warned me that I would mess something up, that I would need him sometime down the line. And he told me that I got one chance. One favor to call in, and that was it.”
“And the favor had to do with your colleagues? What about Uncle Adi?”
“Adihad passed. Story for another day, Jack,” he said again, pleading withhiseyes that what he had just shared was surely enough for now. I could already feel the panic he had at his vulnerability, and the impending emotional hangover he would have. I had both of his hands in mine, now, dishes cleared and our late-night meal long over. “Getting out of the states was the favor. Malcolm thought I was running from my problems, and maybe I was.”
Jesus,that was certainly complicated for such a laid-back guy. But, in a way, it didn’t surprise me, there was always more to Perrin than I could ever expect. Always a surprise, another layer.
