Chapter Ten
Then
Spring Break, almost twenty-one years prior…
See, here’s the thing about being in the closet and thinking you can somehow work hard enough to earn your extremely conservative and bigoted father’s love and respect—
You can’t.
Ever.
Twenty-one-year-old me hasn’t accepted that fact of life yet, however. I almost believe my lies to my parents about howwell I’m doing socially while in college.
Spoiler alert—I’m not.
The truth is I’m miserable, in the closet, and basically not doing anything that could make its way back to my father and cause me grief. Because for some reason I’m still terrified of my father, even though he’s never physically abused me.
My dad grumbles about me attending college in Florida, but since Mom saved him money byhaving me registered as a resident, he can’t bitch too much.
My academic performance, however, is what earns me that most special of Spring Breaks. I’m graduating next semester. As an early birthday and graduation present, Dad drops an unexpected boon into my bank account and tells me to go have fun, since I’ll be moving to DC to start work immediately after I graduate in an unpaid internshipI landed without my father’s help.
Hence why I’m driving over to Daytona Beach. I reserved a hotel room on the beach, I have money in my bank account, and I’m determined that Iwillget laid this week.
Oh, I’m not a virgin. I’ve slept with a couple of girls, between high school and college, but I haven’t had a steady girlfriend in over a year.
My problem is I’m beginning to realize maybe I’mnot as straight as I pretend to be. Except I’ve never been with another guy before. I’ve never worked up enough nerve to approach a guy. I’m theoretically gay. Based on my reaction to gay porn, I’d say it’s a safe bet.
In the faceless throngs at Daytona I can lose myself, hopefully pop that particular cherry, and maybe finally answer some personal questions about myself.
My long-term goal? I’ma news junkie, especially politics. In my unending quest to find common ground with my father and earn his love, I’ve studied politics and government, a poli sci major with a journalism minor. I want to be an on-air news journalist.
Even better? One of my journalism professors last semester has an in at the fledgling conservative cable news network USNN, at their DC headquarters. She helps mesecure a six-month unpaid internship as a production assistant. Even better? She has a former grad student sharing an apartment with two others and looking for a fourth to help out with rent and expenses.
Dad’s footing the bill for me to do that, too, housing and living expenses. I’m no idiot. I know he’s hoping it’ll pay back in future positive coverage for him, but at least it’s a foot in thedoor for me. I’m reasonably certain Mom twisted Dad’s arm and guilt-tripped him to get him to pay for it.
She’s already had one bout with cancer. In this way, she’s learned to turn guilt against my father to her benefit. Or, rather, tomybenefit. When I told her about the internship opportunity, and that I’d be looking for a couple of part-time jobs to afford to do the internship, my fathercalled less than an hour later to extend the offer to pay my share of rent and living expenses, and give me a stipend for food.
I wasn’t expecting him to do that, but it was another pleasant surprise.
Staying with him wouldn’t have been an option for either of us.Ferrey, Jackson, Smith, and Rawlston, the law firm he works for when he’s not annoying his fellow congressional delegates, has anoffice in DC just blocks from the Capitol. When Congress is in session, he literally lives in his office at the law firm and drives home to West Virginia every weekend. Nearly anywhere else in the country but DC, it’d be close enough to be a daily commute. Navigating DC’s daily traffic, however, would take hours. In his office, though, he’s got a Murphy bed, full bathroom with a shower, and theirbreak room has a kitchen. Doesn’t cost him a cent, even though there’s apparently some numbers shuffling on paper to make it look legit.
After six months at the network, either I’ll be offered a full-time job, or I’ll hopefully have enough industry contacts that, combined with my father’s profession, I can shop my résumé around to the other news networks. I know I should try building my careerat local stations, but comeon. My father’s a freaking congressman. That’s political cachet right out of the gate. If it’ll help me get ahead, I’ll take the advantage.
In my years studying my father and his ways in an attempt to earn his love and affection, I have learned a thing or two from him.
Like ruthlessly exploiting every advantage I can. Except I have ethics and morals my father doesn’tpossess. I want to conduct myself with dignity and decorum. Higher standards.
I’m under no illusion that I’ll be called upon by the network to obtain deep background from GOP sources for stories, or use my father’s name and influence to snag quotes and scoops.
Hands wash hands.
That’s how politics is played. There’s always an ask.
This week, however, is about me taking time off, shutting downmy brain—possibly with copious amounts of alcohol—and enjoying myself.
Exploring myself.
Figuring out where the hell I fit into this universe’s rainbow.
