William Bernhardt - Capitol Threat

There was no way for Loving to know. The only thing of which he was certain was that he was better off inside than out, so he stepped into the dark auditorium.

He took a cautious step forward, trying to make as little noise as possible. He could hear someone on the stage talking. As he approached, he realized that there was not only someone on the stage, but several rows of people sitting in the audience.

What was this? An underworld crime boss meeting? A perverted sex show? What kind of den of iniquity had he stumbled onto this time?

He took a tiny step closer—and that was when the man on the stage spotted him.

“Ah—here he is!” he said, gesturing offstage toward Loving. The audience burst into applause. “And what kind of poem will you be reading, sir?”

28

Thaddeus Roush waited until he heard the click that told him the door had opened.

“Ray?”

No answer. He set down his gin and tonic and made his way toward the front door.

“Ray.” He held out his arms, but his partner did not accept the embrace. The only thing he gave Roush was a long look. Then he turned away and directed his attention to the winding staircase.

“Ray, how long is this going to continue? You can’t sulk forever.”

Roush could almost see the short hairs on the back of his lover’s neck stand at attention. “Sulking? Sulking ? Do you know what I’ve been doing all day while you’ve been the center of attention on national television, playing mind games with senators? I’ve been in a crappy little hellhole of an interrogation room surrounded by six detectives accusing me of all manner of crimes, while my lawyer sits there instructing me not to answer, and the chief of police threatens to have me thrown in jail. I’m lucky I got to come home tonight! Eventually they’re going to get sick of this tap dance and lock me up. Probably would have done it already if it weren’t for those hearings of yours. So excuse me for sulking. ”

Roush stood at the foot of the stairs clinging to the newel post. “You can’t blame me for this, Ray. I had nothing to do with that woman’s death.”

“I wish to God you did. Until the police figure something out, I’m their best suspect.”

“That’s absurd. You wouldn’t hurt a flea.”

“I know,” Eastwick said, eyes like daggers. “You’re the one with the dangerous past. Maybe I should tell them that.”

“Ray…”

“You’d think they might dig it up on their own, but I guess not. If the FBI didn’t get it, what are the chances that these clods will?”

“Ray, please.” Roush held out his arms, his eyes welling. “Come here.”

“No. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“I need you.”

“Do you? Do you really? Apparently you don’t need me enough to consult with me before you throw our lives out in the open.”

“You knew I was talking to the President.”

“I didn’t know you were planning to out me! On national television! One day you say you’re going to meet the President. The next day I’m on the cover of People !”

Roush looked at him helplessly. “Ray…I didn’t know myself. I didn’t plan it. I just—When I got up there, behind the podium with the big bright presidential seal, and I saw the cameras, I thought—my face is going to be all over America. I don’t want that to be the face of a liar.”

“So you just did it. Without so much as a thought to how it might affect other people. Like me!”

“I’m sorry. I was as surprised as anyone.”

“Really? Were you as surprised as…say, my mother? Who had invited her whole Baptist book club over to see me at the White House? How do you think she felt when all of a sudden her friends realized I wasn’t standing behind you because I was your research aide? How do you think that made my seventy-six-year-old mother feel?”

“Ray…I can only say I’m sorry so many times.”

Eastwick marched down the stairs, then stopped and turned back, as if he were torn between wanting to give Roush another piece of his mind and not wanting to come anywhere near him. “Next thing I know, I have people calling me wanting to know all the intimate details of my lurid homosexual relationship with the great almighty judge. I’m tabloid fodder.”

“We always knew we might be exposed one day.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think my lover would be the one to do it! I didn’t think he’d do it without telling me!”

“Ray—”

“I’m still reeling from that, from the calls, the snickers, the gasps, my mother, and the next day, you’re entertaining guests! In my house! My garden!”

“I had no choice.”

“Don’t you dare try to tell me that! That’s a cop-out and we both know it. You had a choice and you chose. You chose to hang me out to dry!”

“I would never do that, Ray. I love you. You know—”

“Don’t start! Don’t start with that!” His fists clenched till they were white. “You don’t have the right. Not after what you’ve done. Not after what you’ve subjected me to.”

“Ray—I would never intentionally hurt you.”

“You already have!” His voice cracked. He took a deep breath, got himself back under control. “And you know what hurts the most, the very most? All this time I’ve had to deal with police officers and detectives and everything else—where were you? Nowhere near me, that’s for damn sure. You were off playing big-time Supreme Court nominee.”

“We tried to get the hearing delayed. The Republicans refused.”

“You could’ve withdrawn.”

“I—I—”

Eastwick folded his arms across his chest defiantly. “Am I wrong? Was there some cosmic force that prevented you from walking out?”

A long silence ensued. Finally, Roush said, “I didn’t want to.”

“Now at last you’re being honest. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to give up anything for me. Being on the Supreme Court was more important to you than me!”

Roush held up his hands helplessly. “I…wanted both.”

“Well, you screwed that up, didn’t you, buddy? ’Cause you’ve lost me. You’ve lost me forever. And the odds of you getting on the Supreme Court aren’t looking great, either.”

“I understand that you’re mad now. But you’ll get over it. You’ll—”

“I will never get over this.” He paused, catching his breath. “You haven’t even left a seat open for me at the hearings.”

Roush’s head slowly fell. “My advisors didn’t think it would be a good idea. They thought it would be a negative reminder.”

“Reminder of what? That you like to sleep with men? Would that not play so well with Middle America?”

“It would be a reminder that my lover is a murder suspect.” Roush looked at him sadly. “That’s all it ever was. The opposition has already tried to use the murder controversy against me. And they will again. But maybe after you’re cleared—”

“Yeah, maybe after I’m cleared. Maybe after I’m cleared and after I’ve had a sex change operation!”

“Ray, you’re not being fair.”

“Why should I be fair? Who says I have to be fair? I have to be angry! I have a right to be angry!”

“Ray…please.” This time, Roush didn’t wait for permission. He moved swiftly up the stairs, his arms outstretched, but Eastwick turned away long before he got there. A moment later, he heard the bedroom door slam closed.

Roush collapsed on a sofa, his head in his hands. He was destroying his life, the love of his life, seven years together. And for what? A seat on the Supreme Court he didn’t have a ghost of a chance of getting. Nobody wanted him anymore, not even the President who’d nominated him.