Uncovered (Dev and Lee Book 4) (11 page)

Hours later, as we’re landing in Chevali, I’ve gotten through most of the letters and there’s nothing really worth spending much time over. Two kids just getting back into high school or college wrote to ask if he would answer some questions for an interview they wanted to do about famous gay people, and I compose responses to both of them saying that we’ll answer their questions. At least I can do that one for him if it’s just over e-mail.

When I land, I have two messages on my phone. The first voice that hits my ears is Brian’s high, nasal whine. His words are slurred, so I don’t even need to hear him explain, “This is some good wine. I toasted you after the game and had a little left over this afternoon. A lot left over maybe.” He goes right from there into an almost-Shakespearean monologue. “Oh, Tip, fie upon me for a sentimental fool. I had thought my newfound fire for the crusade enough to win you back to the side of light. I have seen sparks in your eyes and the straight, proud rise of your ears, and I thought you could at least give some of yourself to this cause. Alas, alack, I prov’d insufficient to the cause, my earthbound delicate spirit no competition for the angelic and heavenly cock that fills you every night.” He pauses there to chuckle, or perhaps to drink again. “But cry not, sweet prince of foxes. This is not farewell. We may not tread the same roads, but still our paths run parallel…no, damn…I’ll run alongside you and you’ve but to look over and I’ll be there. Hope has not yet fully left me, you see. Our journeys are not yet at an end. There is much we can yet do, together or apart, and by my troth, I’ll see it done.”

I look at the phone and then delete the message. I had hoped that leaving him with the snide remarks I did would bring our journeys to an end, but that was optimistic. Whatever Brian has in him will not be dismissed so easily. I thought he’d changed, too, I really had. I thought he’d found a direction and wasn’t going to let personal issues dictate his life, thought he was going to let go of his little vendetta against me and Dev. I suppose that only lasted as long as he thought I was really going to join his group and he would have something in common with me.

The second message, from an unfamiliar number, is in a female voice. “Mister Farrel, this is Paula from Equality Now. I’m sorry to call you directly, but Mister Dallas gave me this number and said I should call you regarding Mister Miski’s participation in our meeting tomorrow. I assume he can make his own flight arrangements, but I will need to provide him with the time and location, and I would like to talk to him for about an hour tonight to brief him, as well as for half an hour before the meeting tomorrow. Call me back at this number.” She reads off the number that shows on my screen.

So Brian didn’t pass along that Dev’s declining the meeting. Thanks so much. I sigh, standing just outside the airport parking garage, deciding I really should call her back pretty soon, and now is probably the right time. I set my bag down, hit ‘Call’ on the display, and put the phone to my ear.

When she answers, I introduce myself and say, “I’m sorry. I tried to talk him into it, but he just doesn’t want to miss practice during the playoff week. It’s really important.”

She says, “Right. Well, thank you for trying,” in a tone that makes me wonder if her next call is to cancel Christmas in Narnia.

“Is there anything else—”

“I’m very busy,” she says. “Good-bye, Mister Farrel.”

The line goes dead. Well. It doesn’t look like I’ll be doing anything with Equality Now, not while Paula is still there. Not unless I can get Dev’s attention in the off-season, and while that once seemed a sure thing, now I’m less confident about it.

At home, I grab a snack and sit down with the phone. I dial the number, get through to his secretary, and she says he’s free. A moment later, I hear the familiar voice on the phone. “Peter Emmanuel.”

“Hi, Mister Emmanuel. Wiley Farrel. Just calling back to check in and say hi.”

“Farrel. Hello there. It’s nice to talk to someone who’s enjoying the playoffs.”

“Sorry about your finish,” I say. “You played well against us.” It’s one of the first times I’ve said “us” and didn’t immediately think of the Dragons. I guess I’m getting over that breakup, however slowly.

“We caught some lucky breaks. At the end of the day the season was already pretty much blown.” He’s relaxed, casual, just about the opposite of Paula. “I guess you’re calling about next steps on the position.”

The paw not holding the phone plays with my tail, idly. “Right. I like where you’re headed and I would like to know more about being a part of it.”

“Sure,” he says. “I want you to talk to some people, which might be tricky since some of them are taking off on vacation, but we can do it by phone if necessary. Your references came through pretty good, and there’s just one guy you really need to talk to.”

“Is that your boss?” I try to remember what I know of the Whalers’ owner.

He laughs. “Nah. Jocko, director of scouting, he’d be your direct boss. He doesn’t trust anyone who, ah, didn’t play the game.”

There’s that little pause in there, that “ah,” that makes me think it’s not just non-football players Jocko doesn’t trust. But I don’t press it. “Okay. I’m free all week. This number’s fine.”

“Great. And I would like you to come up here to meet the staff before we finalize things. Everyone usually comes back here championship weekend, so if you’re not traveling with your boyfriend… Hey, what does he think of you taking the job?”

I’m in our couch, Dev’s scent all around me. I inhale. “He’s supportive. We’d like to stay close, but we realize that with the careers we’ve chosen, that might not be possible. Football life is a lot of moving around. Even living with him here in Chevali, I don’t see him all that much more than when I was living up north.”

“True enough.” He laughs. “Front office jobs are a little better, but the scouting always takes you all over the place. Glad he’s supportive, though. I never had to deal with an employee’s boyfriend before, but I’ve seen a lot of players’ wives and girlfriends. They run the gamut from easy-going to controlling everything about the player’s career.”

“I’ve met some wives,” I say, though the wife I’m thinking of is my father’s ex. “I know what you mean.”

He laughs. “Right? Okay, Wiley, thanks for calling. I’ll have my secretary get back to you with a time as soon as I have enough info. Should be late this week. If you don’t get a call, call back on Monday.”

“Thanks, Mister Emmanuel.”

“Call me Peter.”

I hang up feeling vaguely positive, but also a little bit like I’m betraying Dev by not pursuing the Chevali job. So rather than going out to celebrate progress, I make myself a simple dinner with stuff we have lying around the apartment: a can of soup, a frozen burrito. And when Dev calls to tell me he got safely into Boliat, I don’t tell him about the call with Yerba, or the calls from Brian or Paula. I just tell him I got back safely and the apartment is still in one piece and I miss him, all of which is true.

The next day, Hal asks me to lunch at a Sonoran taqueria I haven’t been to yet. I’ve got a good parking spot a block from Dev’s and I’m used to taking the bus around Chevali anyway, so I ride over to a sketchy area and walk through old, dirty smells before getting a whiff of delicious meats outside a small, grungy place.

Hal walks up a couple minutes later. “Got to show you all the cool dive spots,” he says when I eye the place and hesitate before going in. “Not that you’re living on a reporter’s salary or anything, but still.”

“I’m not living on anyone’s salary,” I say, following him inside. “But now I don’t feel as bad about getting you this.”

I hold out the alligator-skin tie. It was worth it just to see his expression. He reaches out and takes it between two fingers. “Okay,” he says, “I honestly don’t know if this is a gag gift or if it’s actually fashionable.”

“Anything’s fashionable.” I gesture to my t-shirt and jeans. “You just have to own it.”

He still looks skeptical, so I relent. “It’s mostly a gag. But I think it might look good on you with the right outfit.”

He stuffs it in his pocket and turns with me to the counter, where we order two tacos each. On his recommendation, I get one with carnitas: crisp, juicy, shredded pork that is really delicious. The other has chicken, which is good enough chicken, but doesn’t hold a candle to the carnitas. The salsa has good bite and the taco shells smell strongly of corn.

“Pretty good, all in all,” I say, dabbing along my muzzle with a napkin, catching tomato and cilantro from the salsa.

“Used to come here two, three times a week back when Cim left.” Hal is much more practiced with the tacos and doesn’t have nearly as messy a napkin. “So what’s with the mopes? Your team won and your ears ain’t been up all the way even once.”

“Ah, it’s stupid.” I tap my fingers along the table and don’t look at him. I don’t want to tell him about the incident with Colin, because it’s not that important, really, and I’m still just a little bit wary of the line between ‘friend’ and ‘reporter.’ “It’s just Dev and the Equality thing. And the job at Chevali, and the job at Yerba, and my dad and my mom and…everything.”

“Tough time,” he says, and takes a drink. “How you gonna get back on your feet?”

“I talked to Emmanuel at Yerba. Things are getting more firm. So I might be moving up there.”

“Even though it’s not a hundred percent what you want?”

I trail claws through the fur on the back of my paw, resting it on the table. “What I want is the way things used to be. I want…” I flex my paw. “Even some obstacle I can just charge forward at. A bigoted father, a turncoat ex-best friend.”

“A nosy reporter?”

“Yeah.” I grin at him. “I can’t go after the Vince King thing until the trial moves forward. I can’t yell at my mom any more than I already have. I can’t get Dev to do more for gay rights without screwing up his football career, I guess. And I don’t have a job to fall back on.”

“I told you I’d help you write up an article on the trial. Why don’t you talk to the Equality people about reporting it?”

I flick one ear. “My ear still has frostbite from the last call with Paula there. And Brian drunk-called me after the game to monologue at me.”

He chuckles. “I’ll see if I can find some other outlets. But you do the legwork.”

That perks me up a little. “Sure. I’ll see what I can dig up.” I lift my nose and look back at him. “So how about you? How was the date? Did you get some coyote love?”

His ears flick to the sides: embarrassment. I grin. “That good, huh? Didn’t think about Cim?”

“Oh, I thought about her.” He opens his muzzle and then stops. “I’m not sure I’m ready to get this personal with you.”

“Come on. Gay best friend, remember? Did you think about her while you were in bed with…have you told me your coyote’s name?”

“I don’t know.” He glares at me.

“You don’t know if you’ve told me, or you don’t know if you thought about Cim while you were in bed?”

“Her name’s Polly. She likes to be called Pol.”

“Nice.” I grin at him. “So? She stayed over?”

“Yeah.” He says it grudgingly, and his self-consciousness is pretty adorable. He has trouble looking me in the eyes.

So I tease him. “Come on, you didn’t brag about your conquests in the newsroom?”

“Sure,” he says. “Made up a lot of shit there, too. Never really just talked about it with a friend before.”

“All right, well. This is how we do it.” I lean forward. “How did you do? Did it feel natural?”

He takes a breath. “Felt pretty good. And I didn’t think about Cim while we were doing it.”

“Did she scream?”

He narrows his eyes. “Don’t see how that’s relevant.”

I tap my temple. “I’m building a mental picture.” He flattens his ears, and I hold up a paw. “All right, all right. So you’re in bed and you’re not thinking about Cim. But you did later?”

“Yeah. I felt like calling her—I didn’t, don’t worry,” because he can no doubt see how close I am to telling him what a bad idea that would have been. “But I kinda wanted to rub her nose in it.”

“I’m sure her nose is too deep in her boyfriend’s crotch to care.”

He winces. “Thanks.”

“Look,” I say. “She’s fucking another guy. I thought you came to terms with that.”

“Doesn’t mean I like picturing it.”

I shrug. “You’re moving on, too. You seeing—what’s her name? Paul?”

“Polly.” He shakes his head. “I can tell from guys in dresses now. ’Specially when the dress comes off.”

I grin. “You seeing her again?”

“Yeah. Friday.” He finally grins back at me. “Sent her flowers yesterday.”

“Nice. Are you supposed to do that the first time you sleep with someone?”

He raises his eyebrows. “With girls, yeah. I dunno what you guys do.”

“Usually just say, ‘That was fun, want to do it again sometime?’”

“How romantic. I can see why you want to get married.”

“Hey,” I say. “Just because we’re not so fucking uptight about sex…well. Most of us aren’t.” I brush my whiskers. “Some of us.”

He laughs then, and leans back. I see his tail uncurl. “I dunno. I liked marriage. It’s a pain sometimes, but it feels that much better when you get it right. And I took your advice. I’m just thinking about the good times with Cim. I’m not thinking about her leaving. I mean, this situation is completely different.”

“For one thing, you’re not married to her.”

“That’s a big one. But also, she’s not a fox. It’s a little difference, but…”

“It’s a pretty big difference.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He smirks. “I know how you red foxes feel about other species.”

I just raise an eyebrow. “I mean, you’re not going to be able to have a natural family with her.”

His dusky-brown ears flick, and he nods. “I know.” He lifts his eyes. “But you manage. Ever thought of having a family with Miski?”

I give that question a little less thought than it deserves. “Sometimes. Probably we’d adopt tiger cubs, kids big enough to play football.”

“And raised by a fox, so smart enough not to.”

“Maybe. Your injury thing again?”

He nods. “But anyway, thanks for the advice with Pol. She’s a good gal.”