‘Oh, that journo was a real piece of work,’ Xander snarls. ‘And homophobic, to boot.’ He ashes his dart. ‘Keeping the smoking quiet is the least of my worries. People come after everything when they decide you’re famous enough to write about in the tabloids. They’ve hounded every boyfriend I’ve ever had, which is why I can never fucking keep one. At least that’s my excuse, ha! And I’ve had friends leak stuff to the press. Hard for me to trust anyone anymore. I trust Brayden because we’ve known each other since before I got famous and he’s always had my back. But some people just see me as something they can use, you know?’
I form a face of faux-concern to mask that I am one of those people. To Xander, we’re two gays smoking in an alley. To me, this is my chance to build rapport with a famous guy.
‘People even show up at my work sometimes – it’s perverse,’ Xander rants.
‘I didn’t even know you had a job,’ I admit, then realise how rude that sounded. ‘Uh, I just mean – I figured being an influencer was like … full time.’
‘Oh, everyone does,’ Xander rolls his eyes, tapping on his phone. ‘Everyone thinks I shit gold nuggets. My family’s got money, and I do okay from being a Famous Gay, but it’s not like people think. Fame is such an illusion. It’s never how it looks from the outside.’
He flicks his cigarette butt to the ground and stomps on it until the glow is extinguished.
‘What do you do for work?’ I ask. I’m struggling to visualise this loud, rhinestone-covered guy rocking up in an office cubicle.
Xander shakes his head. ‘I’d rather not say, actually.’
‘Oh. Shit. Sorry.’
‘It’s not that you’re not nice,’ he says bracingly. ‘But there’s lots of crazy homophobes out there. I’ve learned to shut everything down in public, for my own safety.’
His cigarette is finished; I am back to being the public.
I nod slowly. ‘Fair enough. I guess you being famous gets people worked up.’
‘It’s not because I’m famous, it’s because I’m gay,’ Xander says matter-of-factly.
‘Yeah, but like, I’m gay and the paparazzi doesn’t follow me anywhere cos I’m a nobody,’ I joke. ‘You cop it because of the fame.’
Xander looks me sternly in the eyes. ‘No, it’s because I’m gay,’ he says sharply. ‘Our whole society is homophobic and that’s all it is.’
I flinch. I’m sure his fame is more of a factor in his harassment than his sexuality, and I’m also sure ourwholesociety isn’t homophobic or he wouldn’t have thousands of fans who adore him.
But I can tell saying so will torch any rapport between us.
‘World’s fucked, dude,’ I offer.
‘Terminally,’ Xander states. He taps his phone screen again. ‘My Uber’s here. Nice seeing you, Pomeranian Charlie.’
Xander leans towards me and I think I’m about to get the same air-kiss Brayden copped at the Court, but instead he touches my arm for a second, the skin of his palm warm on my forearm, then he disappears down the alley towards the headlights of his Uber.
As I finish a second cigarette, my Instagram pings with a notification.
Xander’s come through. He’s posted a gushing story to his Insta – the pic of him with Curtis and Ahmed – praising them as ‘local legends’ and saying@thetoolshed is the best new queer hangout in Perth!
We got the result. Hell yeah.
Brayden’s tagged me in our group selfie at the bar, too. My face is weird and hyper in the shot – I look like a chipmunk who overdosed on dexies – but I share it to my own stories, with a caption about how good it was to see Brayden and Xander again. As if we’re all mates.
Xander love-reacts the story immediately.
And then I get the notification:Xander Sullivan followed you back.
I should be rolling my eyes, screenshotting this to Reyna and joking that I’m mates with a Perthonality now. Reyna would sneer back that I’m a tragic wannabe starfucker.
But I’m not my usual self about Xander. At this point, if I thought for a second Xander was a top, I think I might bebending over for him. Him following me back gives me this rush of warmth, like I matter. My first glimmer of hope since ‘Roof’ flopped. Maybe Xander and I really could become mates.
What harm could it do?
9
