“You were hugging that homo? I saw you! You let him hug you! You been messing around with him? Being gay?
He suddenly slapped the steering wheel hard and began yelling. “I won’t have it. No way! No son of mine is going to be gay. No son of mine will hang out with queers. You got that? Huh? You got that? You’re done with that. I knew that band you’re in would be a problem. You’re not gay yet; I know that; I’d be able to tell. But you’re leaning that way, aren’t you? It’s that boy, isn’t it? You two hugging like that! Where anyone could see! What was that all about? Huh?”
James didn’t reply. He couldn’t. If he asked ‘what’, as in ‘what do you mean?’, it would even be worse. Because he knew what the answer would be. His father had seen the hug. Seen Freddie. His imagination and prejudice would supply the rest. His father was the most virulent, intolerant, homophobic person James could imagine ever existed. All his life he’d heard vitriolic outpourings, ugly sermons, caustic denunciations all directed at gay people. James had no idea why the man felt that way; he just knew the hatred was true.
James didn’t argue, not to point out that he hadn’t hugged anyone. If he tried to say that, he could expect to get hit. Mostly for talking back. That hadn’t happened for almost a year now, but James knew the signs. His father was angry enough now. His best thing now was to say as little as he could get away with.
“That kid’s queer as a fruitcake. I could see that from a mile away. You’d better not have been . . . well, I don’t even want to think about what you’d better not have been doing. I’m glad I saw what I did, because now I can do something about this. Band’s over for you. So’s playing that damned horn. You’re going to be going outside instead of spending all that time in your room blowing into that horn. You’re going to play basketball and soccer. You’re not man enough for football, but maybe in a month or so you will be. I don’t think you should wrestle, either. All that rolling around on the mat with another guy? No, that might just turn you around. So, nothing that gay. Not swimming either. With all those mostly naked boys.”
He stopped to catch his breath. Shouting was a lot of work! But he wasn’t finished. “Hey, you know? They shave themselves down there, those swimmers. Talk about how queer they are! I wonder if they do each other. Wouldn’t be surprised. The whole bunch of them are probably homos.
“Not you. You will not be queer. I won’t let that happen. So, to start, you’re quitting band as of today. I’ll go in tomorrow and talk to your band director. No, to the principal. Tell him I’m saving you from being gay. Maybe I can’t get you on the basketball team. You have to be much tougher for that. That’s one thing I can do: talk to the gym coach; tell him you need toughening up.”
He stopped spouting for a moment, then said, “Hey, how much is that horn worth? It’s custom made; I heard you telling your mom that. I can sell it for a good piece of change, huh? Whada ya think? Maybe ten grand? You sure in hell don’t need it any longer.”
James knew he should answer that. But if he did, he’d sound petulant or defensive, and this was a question that was easy to answer as it had nothing to do with anyone being gay. “I don’t know its value. Mrs. Ford never said. But I’ll ask her. I’d get an honest answer out of her, and you might get scammed by anyone you asked.”
“No more with that Ford woman, either. Yeah, find out what it’s worth, but that’s it. She’s probably a lesbo. They all are, those hard women who work for a living. But yeah, find out what it’s worth; I need the money. But then you’re done with her.”
By then they were on their street. When they pulled into the driveway and stopped, James got out and got his horn from the car.
“I’ll take that,” his father said and came and grabbed the case out of James’s hand. “No more horn for you, and this is worth something. I’ll take good care of it.”
> > >
James was numb when he walked into the house. The best day he’d ever had was now the worst, and it was too much too quickly. He went up to his room, shut the door, and lay down on his bed.
He didn’t know how to process what had just happened. He only had one thought: this was too much for him to deal with.
He waited till he heard his father leave the house. The front door was right under his bedroom, and he heard it shut. He got up quickly and looked out his window. He saw his father walking to his car, but he didn’t have the horn case with him. With some relief, James returned to his bed.
He had a quick decision to make; this, right now was when he needed to act. He’d never really stood up for himself before. He’d never felt this desperate before, however. Now, he was. He went downstairs, picked up the phone and called Mrs. Ford.
The phone rang and rang. No one answered. With each ring, his spirits fell more.
He’d try calling again later, but it would have to be when his father wasn’t home. The later it got, though, the more he doubted she’d be able to do anything before his father went to the school the next day and withdrew him from band. And, even worse, changed his gym class and told the coach to toughen him up. He didn’t want to be toughened up, and certainly didn’t want his coach involved in doing it!
> > >
Freddie was still feeling the afterglow of the time he’d spent at Mrs. Ford’s. Never had he enjoyed playing horn as he had then. He hadn’t realized it could transport him the way it had. It was partly the music—well, mostly that—but it was the camaraderie, too, rubbing shoulders with giants in the business and being treated like an equal, like he belonged. Like playing the horn made him special.
Then there was sitting with James on the bed. That too felt just right. Freddie liked James. He wanted to spend more time with him. The kid seemed too serious. Not happy. Too contained. He needed to loosen up. Freddie would have to figure out a way to get that done, see what kind of life there was in him. There had to be more to James than just playing the horn. Was it because he was poor? Or was his father having too heavy an influence on him. James sounded like he was almost afraid of the man. Freddie wanted James to be as alive and happy as he was.
Freddie thought about it. It seemed impossible for a kid his age to change much of anything. Eventually, though, he got an idea. But he was a kid, he knew that, and kids have crazy ideas. Still . . .
> > >
Later that evening, while his father and mother were watching a TV show, James went into the kitchen and tried Mrs. Ford again, praying she was there.
This time she answered.
James explained what had happened and what his father had said. He couldn’t help himself; he had to stop twice because he broke down. Even thinking about giving up the horn, then about being mixed with a rougher group of boys at school, was too much for him. The final blow, having the wondrous horn that had been built just for him taken away from him so his father could make some money from it, was just too much.
Mrs. Ford let him speak till he was done. Then she was very soothing. “James, I’ve just talked to Freddie. Not about this. He doesn’t know. But he and I are already working on something that might make your life a little easier. But it’s about what you’ve just told me. I’ll talk to some people. Don’t get too upset. There’s your father, and then there are other people, and the other people are the ones who have some say about how things work in this town. When your father goes to the school tomorrow, he might not make the progress he’s expecting he will.
“What you need to do is get a good night’s sleep and then go about your business tomorrow with a good attitude and without fear. That’s your job. You can do it. You’re a strong boy, James. Probably stronger than you realize. Calling me was an example of what you can do. Not many boys would have done that. This all will work out. Trust me.
“And James? Today, at my house? You were simply brilliant today. Bravo! Bravo!”
> > >
When they got in the car for the ride to school and to meet with the principal, James was trying his best to take Mrs. Ford’s encouragement to heart. But sitting next to his dad, who was already in a temper, made it very hard to feel anything but desperation. To him, his dad was a force of nature, and no one could stand in his way.
Frank was feeling some excitement. He’d finally put this problem he had with James to rest. His boy, his problem. But he was thrilled at the prospect of putting the principal in his place. No tight-ass school principal would say shit to him. He’d be the one talking shit. And James would be there to see it.
> > >
Frank Madison had a menial job, or at least one he felt was menial and below his talents. He could have had much more. He’d expected to have much more. Life was unfair, especially to him.
He’d qualified for and entered college expecting to be a star. He’d made good grades in high school, and the fact he’d copied other kids’ work and plagiarized from the internet on essays, the fact he’d cheated on exams to get the grades he’d achieved never entered his head as a reason to think he wouldn’t enjoy the same successes in college. He expected to get through college, breeze through, and have his pick of high-paying jobs.
Instead, he’d been seduced by the parties and frats. He’d managed to flunk out of school halfway through his sophomore year.
He’d come home to bitter lectures from his dad about wasting his life and being lazy, about not living up to his potential. He’d heard the tired lectures before about hard work being the key to success. They were easy to ignore again. What wasn’t easy was learning that, if he was going to live at home, he’d have to start paying for that privilege. He had to get a job, and he had one week to find one or he was out the door. His father was pissed and was rigid. Time to grow up, he told his son.
Frank quickly discovered the real world was a cold place. No one cared if he was cute or ugly, if he came from a good background or not, if he had good grades in school or had just edged by. What they cared about was if he could do the job he was given, if he was truthful, if he was punctual, if he was productive. He’d never had to be those things in the past.
He ended up getting fired from three jobs in his first six months by not taking the jobs seriously. Then, with no good references and a six-month gap in his resume, he found it much harder to land another job.
When he did get one, his boss was obviously gay. Why should a gay man be the boss and he be a low-level nothing? He didn’t really care that the guy was gay, just that he was gay and the boss. Frank had always been the one to harass the obviously gay boys in middle and high school. They were obviously below him on the status register. Now, working for one? That just wasn’t right.
He found out that the guy was a persnickety bastard. This was an office job at an accounting firm. He was hired on as an errand boy, helping out where needed, at everyone’s beck and call. He was expected to be there on time, be cheerful and obliging and to help where help was needed. He’d do the scut work, which he felt was beneath him. It wasn’t fair, he having the smarts and talents he was sure were obvious.
He toed the line for his first two months. Then he asked for a raise and a promotion. When his boss asked what promotion he was qualified for, he hemmed and hawed but didn’t have an answer. He just wanted to move up, be someone other than the errand boy, have more status than he had now. Sit at a desk and have a secretary, but what he’d do at that desk, what he was qualified for, he didn’t know.
His boss shook his head and had a sour look on his face when he spoke again following Frank’s silence. “If you want to do any of the many accounting jobs the firm handles, you need to prepare yourself for them. Have you done that in the time you’ve been here? You’ve had an entry-level position so you could see who we are, what we do, and what qualifications you need to move ahead.
“Yet I haven’t seen you do that. You haven’t, have you, Frank? And I’ve noticed you leaving early a few times, and recently you aren’t always here when we open. Someone who cares about his job would come in early and have the coffee made by the time the accountants come in. Have the waste baskets empty. Have the locker room swept and neatened. You’ve never done any of that, not even once. When you make copies someone has asked you to do, you take your time, and sometimes take twice the time it should. You’ve never looked for things to help out; you wait till someone asks. Otherwise, you’re just idle. You’ve shown me zero initiative.”
He paused to allow Frank to give a rebuttal. Frank remained silent.
“We hired you as a favor to your father, Frank. But you’ve shown us nothing, really. I have no reason to keep you on, other than continuing the favor I’m doing your father. We appreciate his business. He’s been a great customer.
“But as for you? Why haven’t you taken advantage of what we’ve given you? Why haven’t you enrolled in a night-school accounting program? Junior colleges have night courses and cost very little. Yet you haven’t done that. You’ve done nothing to make you attractive or even useful to us. Now you want a promotion but you don’t have any idea what you should be promoted to. Frankly, neither do I.”
He paused again. Frank’s heart was beating faster. He wasn’t used to being spoken to like this. Other, that is, from just before being fired from his last three jobs.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. This is for your father, not you. You’ve done nothing to earn a favor from me. But, irrespective of that, I’ll give you three more months here. In that time, turn yourself around. Become an asset instead of just a liability, a drain on our payroll. Take some classes so you have an idea of what we do. Become able to fill in when someone’s sick or on vacation. Find other ways to make yourself useful.”
Frank left that talk angry. To be spoken to like that by a gay man! The guy had no right to speak down to him. None at all! He was the kind of guy he’d made fun of at school, the kind of guy who wouldn’t stand up for himself when challenged physically. Who the hell was he to talk to Frank like that?!
He continued his job there. His boss had effeminate ways. Not much, really, but Frank noticed and would have liked to mock him, but all the other employees seemed to like the man, so he could only mock him in his own mind.
Frank did give a thought to enrolling in night classes, but he felt the criticisms laid at his doorstep were unfounded and grossly unfair, and besides, there was a bar he liked to go to at night, not classes. He was a regular at that place, and his pals there would miss him.
At the end of the three months, his boss called him in and asked for a report on his successes.
Frank had none to report. When asked why he hadn’t taken what he’d been told to heart, he said he’d been busy, and when asked for an explanation, Frank just shook his head. Again, his temper was rising. Then, he was told this would be his last day of work, that he’d get two weeks pay in lieu of notice, and it was his own fault.
He was being fired by a man who had no business being his boss in the first place. Frank had always had a temper, and he let it get the better of him. “No way you’re firing me. I quit! And I may sue you. You have no reason to fire me. I’ll tell the court you made advances, I rejected them, and that’s why you fired me. Everyone in that courtroom will see what a pansy you are and will believe me. Hell, I might even end up with your job!”
The man just shook his head, and then smiled. Smiled! But then Frank found out why. “Thanks, Frank; now I don’t have to give you any severance pay at all. I’m firing you for gross insubordination. Just so you know, this conversation is being recorded. I always record disciplinary conversations. Goodbye, Frank.”
Then he called security, and they walked him out.
Frank realized, standing on the sidewalk, that he now had to tell his father that he was again unemployed. That made heading for his favorite bar an easy choice to make.
The next few months were a struggle. He found a few menial jobs that never lasted long. He had a couple of black bosses. He looked down on them just as he had his effeminate boss. He was superior to them, to all these jerks, and they were bossing him around and finding fault with him. Telling him to work faster and harder. His prejudices were being strengthened. Why should people obviously below him in society have jobs better than he did? Life wasn’t fair, and he felt the sting of that every day.
He finally ended up with another job, one that had lasted. It was at a used-car lot. There was a vacancy for a salesman, and they weren’t all that choosy about applicants’ backgrounds. He talked his way into the job with large and small lies. He claimed graduation from the college he’d flunked out of, figuring the lie wouldn’t be checked. He also claimed he’d taken accountancy courses at night when it turned out his college degree hadn’t led to a job; a degree in European history didn’t amount to much in the working world, he told them. He said he’d had a job as an accountant, but the firm was laying people off as many businesses were doing, and so he was out looking. He said he was good with people and would be a crackerjack salesman.
He was hired. Minimum wage, but bonuses for each car he sold.
He didn’t make much money because his arrogant attitude meant potential customers didn’t take to him. He didn’t engage with his customers and never was one to suck up to anyone; his superior manner was off-putting enough that he made few sales. He was a use-car salesman who thought and acted like he should be sitting behind the owner’s desk. He didn’t know much about the cars he was pushing and wasn’t about to learn. That would have meant work, and that he cared. He didn’t.
He married a woman who was looking for a used car. He felt superior to her, and as she liked to drink as much as he did, it was easy to overlook her faults. She overlooked his, too; she thought being married was the height of womanhood, and the quality of the man wasn’t of great importance. It was a good match.
By the time James came along, Frank was a bitter man. His life wasn’t what he’d thought it would be, and he saw no prospects for it to change. At one point he thought maybe he’d have some joy living vicariously through James, but it was quickly apparent that wouldn’t be happening. James was nothing like he’d been in his youth. He wasn’t athletic, he wasn’t a mover and shaker at school, he seemed to Frank like one of the kids he’d tormented back in the day. And he even had some traits that made Frank wonder if he might turn gay when he hit his teens.
He never did like the boy much, and he also wasn’t that fond of his wishy-washy wife who couldn’t hold a job and wasn’t much of a companion for him. He spent most of his nights at his bar. Sometimes she accompanied him. Mostly she watched TV.
Frank was almost always in debt. He spent too much at the bar. He liked to be thought highly of, and the best way to accomplish that was to be generous with his buddies. Buying drinks brought instant friendships. There were times when cars weren’t selling. During those times he borrowed money to get by. When sales picked up, he paid the loans off. It was an unhappy cycle. He never got far ahead.
> > >
Frank had seethed, seeing James hugging the boy standing in the doorway of his home. No, no, he wouldn’t stand for it. He’d had suspicions his son might be choosing to be gay. It seemed to be a natural progression: no athletic interest, taking music lessons, joining the band. And now he could see the result of this, and it was really no surprise: James had been hugging another boy.
He was pretty sure it wasn’t too late. He didn’t think the die was yet cast. James was probably still salvageable. But he needed to change his ways. All these temptations had to be removed. So, no more music lessons. Even if Frank wasn’t paying for them, they had to stop. Same with the band. End these activities that were filled with temptations; that was sure to help. And while pondering that, something else occurred to him.
Frank was into the loan sharks a little deeper than usual at the moment, and cars weren’t being driven off the lot much at all right then. How could he pay those sharks? Well, he did have something worth quite a bit of bread. James’ horn! It was James’, not Mrs. Ford’s. She’d given it to him. No strings attached. Well, if it was James’, then in fact it belonged to his parents as James was underage! And if James wasn’t taking lessons or in the band, he had no need for the horn! Selling it would more than pay off his loans, and he could then afford a little more generosity at the bar than he’d been able to provide recently. It was a win/win proposition: save James from a life of depravity and make himself whole financially at the same time.
Frank sat back and smiled. He was going to go speak to that school principal tomorrow and straighten him out. And he was going to solve his own problems at the same time. Now, it was time to see if any of his friends at the bar would buy him a beer tonight.
> > >
Frank pulled into the school parking lot a half hour before school started. The school buses hadn’t arrived yet, and there were only a few students hanging together on the campus.
James knew his father’s feelings about homosexuality; the man had no idea that James thought the label might actually fit him. How could he? But the way the man had ranted on the drive home from Freddie’s house made him think this early morning meeting with the principal might touch on that. That would be embarrassing! But he’d just deny it. What else could he do?
“Come on,” Frank said in his no-debate voice, and led the way into the school and to the office.
It was early, and the school’s admin support staff hadn’t arrived yet. Frank was undaunted. He made it to the principal’s office and knocked on the door. He waited a second, then turned the knob.
Principal Harris was just rising from her desk. She looked surprised that anyone would just barge in. Then she saw James being pulled in along with the intruder and knew what this was all about.
“Can I help you?” she asked Frank while still partly behind her desk.
Frank walked to the desk and sat down in front of it without an invitation. He pulled James into a chair next to his. Seeing that, Ms. Harris stepped back behind her desk and also sat. Then she raised her eyebrows at Frank and said nothing.
Frank did. “I’m Frank Madison, and this is James, my son. He’s enrolled in band here. I want his schedule changed immediately. No more band. He’s on the brink; maybe he’s already decided to be gay. Anyway, I’m here to prevent that. There’ll be no gay boys in my household! Likewise, I want him moved into the toughest gym class you have. No more mollycoddling him.
“I insist that this must be done today.”
Ms. Harris didn’t say anything for a moment or two. She stared at Frank, meeting his eyes. When she spoke, her voice was frosty. “Mr. Madison, I have to ask. Just who do you think you are?”
Frank pulled his head back sharply. “What?”
“You barge into my office, sit down without being asked, then start giving orders. So, again, just who do you think you are?”
Frank’s temper, always on edge, rose. Who was this woman to be talking to him like this? Damn! “I’m a parent who has standards. You obviously don’t. You don’t mind that there’s a rampant gay culture in your school, one that allows a naive boy like James to be seduced by its depravity. I won’t have it. You will change his schedule, and you’ll do it today! That’s who I am!”
Ms. Harris again took several moments to stare at him. As the moments passed, Frank’s confidence began waning. He saw that his anger wasn’t affecting her.
Ms. Harris, when she spoke, did so in a softer but no less frosty tone. “And what’s the carrot on the end of the stick? I’ve heard the whip. I haven’t heard what benefit I get from doing as you ask. I also haven’t heard of any action you’re planning to take if I simply call security and have you thrown out of my office. You certainly have something planned to persuade me that doing what you want me to do is in my best interest. Something that explains how I’ll suffer if I demur.”
Frank suddenly felt like he had with his gay boss. He had no answers for this sort of discussion. He was at a loss for words. He’d thought just a confrontation would get him what he wanted. Instead, it was all going against him.
Ms. Harris wasn’t at a similar loss for words. “You came in here hot and bothered and are about to leave with your tail tucked between your legs. I’m not going to do anything like what you want. I don’t change students’ schedules on the whim of some asinine parent. I don’t throw them into gym classes that aren’t suitable to their needs. And I don’t make students who have high future expectations, as James does, suffer for their parents’ foolishness.
“Whether James is gay or not is of no concern of mine or my school. He’s an excellent student and the finest musician in our band. Perhaps the finest that we’ve ever had here. He’s a top and valued member of our student body, and he’ll remain that way in classes that are meant to be beneficial to him, not ones that’ll make you feel better about yourself and salve your injured ego.
“Furthermore, and lastly, now that I know your feelings, I’m worried about how stable your son’s homelife is. I’m going to call Social Services as soon as you leave—which will be in less than two minutes from right now—and encourage them to make frequent visits to your home. And James? I expect you to do the right thing. Report any physical or mental abuse to them. There’s only one more thing I have to add before booting you from my office, Mr. Madison.”
She took a breath, leaned closer to her desk, and looked directly into Frank’s eyes. “I’ll tell Social Services to check that James’ horn is still there and undamaged. Each time they come, they will do this. I can imagine that out of spite or some other reason, something might happen to it. If it does, the police will be calling on you. That’s an instrument worth up to twenty thousand dollars, and it belongs entirely to James. It’s his personal property. The law is very clear on that. I hope I’ve made myself as clear on this. Now, get out of my office.”
James trailed behind as Frank left the office, if not with his tail between his legs, at least with a defeated air about him. James walked as far behind as he could, looking like he had nothing to do with the man in front of him.
When they were gone, Ms. Harris picked up her phone and placed a call.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mr. Sandifer. They’ve come and gone. Thanks so much for the tip. It made the meeting much more fruitful. Now, should you call Social Services, or should I?
The editor replied, “Either would work, but perhaps my position on the school board would ensure their interest in helping. I’ll take care of it.”