Read Online How Long Has This Been Going On by Ethan Mordden - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ethan Mordden
Tags: Gay
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the third way. She had to go in and out of the hospital for tests and further tests. These the Hubbard family euphemized as "Mother's visits."
Frank and his father talked for a bit, touching upon the usual matters—how glad Frank's parents were to have him with them at such a Difficult Time, how proud they were of this son of theirs, how Frank was happy he could help out. Frank and his father used to have more colorful conversations; the gap in their ages and interests was beginning to separate them.
"Sure there's nothing wrong, Frank?"
Frank shrugged. "Everyone has something wrong, right? I'll work it out."
"If it's something you're uneasy about telling me—"
"Look, it's just not—"
"Because there's nothing you couldn't tell me, you know that."
"How can you say that?" Frank almost shouted. "There's plenty of things I couldn't tell you and we both know it!"
"All right, now, simmer down, Frank."
"Jesus!"
"Don't wake your mother. Let's—"
"Parents... Please stop.... You don't..."
Frank's father got up, sat on the bed next to Frank, and put a hand on his arm. "If you've got to talk about something, son," he said, "talk about it. Straight out, now. Maybe there's someone better than me to tell it to, I don't know. Just let it out and off of you."
Frank was thinking, If I tell him I'm in on a bad arrest and I'm a homo, which would kill him first?
"Talk to me, Frank." "No, Dad."
"You can at least say you're sorry you hauled off on me. Makes me feel funny, having my own kid dressing me down."
Frank's father was smiling, but he was probably serious, too.
"Yeah, I'm sorry."
"Son—"
"You're not supposed to call me that."
"I'd better get back to your mother." At the door, he said, "Maybe think it over about whether there's anything you could throw at me that I couldn't catch. Your old man's done right by you so far, hasn't he?"
Frank nodded.
"Good night, now."
Alone again, Frank kept going over the choices he had, choices of many kinds. He kept wondering what he was, kept rephrasing the answer. But he knew what he was.
He was the bait on the quicksand.
Frank was usually off on Saturdays, but after a few hours of fitful sleep he went in and told Lieutenant Peterson about the arrest. Frank glossed over Jack's blatant disregard of procedure, pretending that his partner misheard the conversation and made the grab too soon. Frank also pretended that he himself had been unsure about what had been said, and naturally had felt inclined to side with his partner. But now, Frank told the Lieutenant, he was certain that the crook had been entrapped, however accidentally, and Frank would be letting the force down if he didn't speak up.
The Lieutenant heard all this in a not abundantly friendly silence. He thought about it awhile, glancing over at the Chiefs office as if considering how he would take it.
"The arrest was made last night?"
"Yes, sir."
"So it won't go to the D.A.'s office till Monday. Where's the crook now?
"Released O.R." On his own recognizance.
The Lieutenant nodded and thought some more.
"You weren't sure what you heard last night?"
"Not entirely, sir."
"But now you're sure, that it?"
"Yes, sir."
The Lieutenant paused, probing this inconsistency simply by looking unconvinced, but Frank held to his story by keeping his expression neutral.
"Where's your partner now, Hubbard?"
"He's probably at home, sir. I haven't... He doesn't know about this."
The Lieutenant stared at Frank for a while, then nodded. "Let's talk to the Captain," he said.
The Kid's sitting backstage, waiting to go on for the early show that same Saturday evening. The Kid's in black and feeling keen. Black slacks, black silk shirt, black string tie; and he's keen because you can learn from your mistakes. It's smart to make little ones, like blowing up at a party, because then you won't make big ones, like blowing up at a producer.
The Kid's okay, he tells himself, checking the view in the mirror. The Kid's superb, oh
Frank and his father talked for a bit, touching upon the usual matters—how glad Frank's parents were to have him with them at such a Difficult Time, how proud they were of this son of theirs, how Frank was happy he could help out. Frank and his father used to have more colorful conversations; the gap in their ages and interests was beginning to separate them.
"Sure there's nothing wrong, Frank?"
Frank shrugged. "Everyone has something wrong, right? I'll work it out."
"If it's something you're uneasy about telling me—"
"Look, it's just not—"
"Because there's nothing you couldn't tell me, you know that."
"How can you say that?" Frank almost shouted. "There's plenty of things I couldn't tell you and we both know it!"
"All right, now, simmer down, Frank."
"Jesus!"
"Don't wake your mother. Let's—"
"Parents... Please stop.... You don't..."
Frank's father got up, sat on the bed next to Frank, and put a hand on his arm. "If you've got to talk about something, son," he said, "talk about it. Straight out, now. Maybe there's someone better than me to tell it to, I don't know. Just let it out and off of you."
Frank was thinking, If I tell him I'm in on a bad arrest and I'm a homo, which would kill him first?
"Talk to me, Frank." "No, Dad."
"You can at least say you're sorry you hauled off on me. Makes me feel funny, having my own kid dressing me down."
Frank's father was smiling, but he was probably serious, too.
"Yeah, I'm sorry."
"Son—"
"You're not supposed to call me that."
"I'd better get back to your mother." At the door, he said, "Maybe think it over about whether there's anything you could throw at me that I couldn't catch. Your old man's done right by you so far, hasn't he?"
Frank nodded.
"Good night, now."
Alone again, Frank kept going over the choices he had, choices of many kinds. He kept wondering what he was, kept rephrasing the answer. But he knew what he was.
He was the bait on the quicksand.
Frank was usually off on Saturdays, but after a few hours of fitful sleep he went in and told Lieutenant Peterson about the arrest. Frank glossed over Jack's blatant disregard of procedure, pretending that his partner misheard the conversation and made the grab too soon. Frank also pretended that he himself had been unsure about what had been said, and naturally had felt inclined to side with his partner. But now, Frank told the Lieutenant, he was certain that the crook had been entrapped, however accidentally, and Frank would be letting the force down if he didn't speak up.
The Lieutenant heard all this in a not abundantly friendly silence. He thought about it awhile, glancing over at the Chiefs office as if considering how he would take it.
"The arrest was made last night?"
"Yes, sir."
"So it won't go to the D.A.'s office till Monday. Where's the crook now?
"Released O.R." On his own recognizance.
The Lieutenant nodded and thought some more.
"You weren't sure what you heard last night?"
"Not entirely, sir."
"But now you're sure, that it?"
"Yes, sir."
The Lieutenant paused, probing this inconsistency simply by looking unconvinced, but Frank held to his story by keeping his expression neutral.
"Where's your partner now, Hubbard?"
"He's probably at home, sir. I haven't... He doesn't know about this."
The Lieutenant stared at Frank for a while, then nodded. "Let's talk to the Captain," he said.
The Kid's sitting backstage, waiting to go on for the early show that same Saturday evening. The Kid's in black and feeling keen. Black slacks, black silk shirt, black string tie; and he's keen because you can learn from your mistakes. It's smart to make little ones, like blowing up at a party, because then you won't make big ones, like blowing up at a producer.
The Kid's okay, he tells himself, checking the view in the mirror. The Kid's superb, oh
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