"I'm unfamiliar."
"Of course, you are. It's silly really. It's a song, and my friend, Alec, and I joke about it."
"Friend?"
"Platonic... if that's what you're asking."
Jack grinned, busted. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. OK, I'm in. I'll tell you about me... if you tell me about you."
"Fair enough. You first."
Demarco gave an introductory sigh. "I was born a poor black child. No, wait... that was Steve Martin."
Jack stared patiently, saying nothing.
"You're a tough nut, Jack. OK, I wasn't poor, but I did grow up in Nutbush, Tennessee."
Again nothing. He was smiling and listening attentively, but he was oblivious to Demarco's pop-culture assault.
"Nutbush City Limits... home of Ms. Tina Turner. Never mind, that's a lie anyway, I'm from the neighboring town of Ripley. Nutbush just has more weight to it. Anyway, I was born in Ripley, Tennessee... no, wait... that's a lie too. We moved there when I was a baby. So, technically, I'm from Mississippi. But I feel like a native Tennessean... from a decent middle-class family. But it was still the south... filled with scandals and long haunted."
"Haunted?"
"You know... the south, the Bible Belt... haunted by its corrupt past. There's lingering guilt down there... the civil war... civil rights..." Demarco shook his head. "Civil... now, that's a funny choice of words. Anyway, I grew up BBB... Black, Baptist, and Bi."
Jack raised his eyebrow.
"OK, that's a lie too. But everyone comes out as bi in a small town... if they come out at all. There are some really old queens down there—you know, a generation or two back—that live dual lives... one with their wife and kids... and one with their boys-on-the-side. Most of it is right out in the open... everyone just pretends they don't see it... as long as you're white."
"I can't imagine living like that."
"It's real—the small-town way, Jack... politics, drama, whatever. If we were there right now, I'd show you... point people out and tell you stories that you wouldn't believe."
"I believe you."
It was just three words, but Demarco latched on and stashed them away. Jack was a man of such few words that Demarco was learning the value behind them... even if he had a hard time restraining himself from talking circles around him. But something about those three words had... validity... a solid base that reminded him of chatting with Alec.
"What about you, Mr. Secret?" he asked. "Are yououtat work?"
"Please... call me Jack. And yes, I'm out at work. Obama pretty much put an end to all that sexual blackmail malarkey. But I don't socialize much with my co-workers. It's not really... encouraged. It's not prohibited, but I find it good practice."
"Sounds like you don't have too many friends."
This caught him a little off guard. "I'm a... private person," he said.
Demarco repeated Jack's earlier phrase: "Fair enough... I'm not judging. Just trying to see where it is that you're coming from."
Jack nodded. Demarco continued, "My father died when I was young. He was a cop, shot in a foiled burglary attempt. Teenage kids. Tragic. I was raised with my sister by my mother. My sister, Sophia, isborn againand has nothing to do with me. She lives her pristine little social life in Memphis—or Northern Mississippi, as I like to call it. My mother, Abigail, is a sweet soul though, a true Christian... live, let live, judge not, and love all. I want to get her up here with me, away from that bitch. She comes up once a year as it is. But, it's hard... I don't want her to find out I'm a government hooker."
"So, you're closeted?" Jack grinned.
"In that respect, yes... touché."
"Are you ashamed of what you do?"
"Not at all. It pays the bills, and I know how to discern the biz from the personal... differentiate, if you will, work from sex... and love."
