“I don’t think you’re stupid.”
“You must if you think you can bullshit your way out of this one.”
I glared at him. “Old people are supposed to be jolly and say things like ‘Do you remember when we went to that sock hop and ate penny candy? Those sure were the days.’”
“I won’t have no problem popping you in the mouth if you sass me,” Charlie said. “You would do well to remember that.”
“My old person is broken,” I mumbled. “I demand a new old person.”
“You like him,” he said again.
I was annoyed. “Okay. Fine. What if I do? Nothing’s going to come of it.”
“And why not?”
“Because I’m not going to be a notch on his bedpost. I’m not some fucking twink he can screw and discard. I think I have a bit more self-respect than that. And there’s also the fact that I might like him, but I still hate him too.”
“Boy, you haven’t hated him in a long time.” Charlie shook his head. “You talk a big game. Queens always do. But in the end, you’re just like the rest of us. The others might not see it. But I’ve been around for a long time, okay? I know how you are. I know how you act, how you move. How you get when you’re nervous or upset. Or happy, even. You may think you hate him, but you don’t.”
“Really?” I asked. “Or maybe I’m just that good. Maybe I’m Meryl Streeping the shit out of this, and you don’t even know.”
“Sometimes I don’t think even you hear the bullshit that flops from your mouth.”
“You don’t know what he did,” I hissed at him, starting to pace back and forth. “You don’t know how he—”
“Made you think you were something to be treasured, then treated you like shit just when you thought you were getting somewhere?” Charlie asked lightly.
I stopped and stared at him. “How the fuck do you know that?” I demanded.
He shrugged. “I know everything that happens here. You think crap like that can happen inside this place without me finding out?”
“You never said anything!”
“Neither did you,” he said. “I waited for it, or at the very least, I expected you to say something to Paul. But you didn’t, so I let it go. But here we are, bringing it up like it matters to you.”
“Because it does!”
“Why now?” It was maddening how calm he was.
“Why not now? People like that don’t change. They’re always going to be assholes.”
“Then why did you agree to this?”
“For the bar,” I said. “I already told you that.”
“The bar,” he said. “That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“And people don’t change, do they?”
“No. They don’t.”
“Well, then. Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a loud and persistent little gay boy who wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was annoying and fearless and an asshole of the highest order. He was a teenager, so it was to be expected, because most teenagers are assholes. But you know what? It worked for him at the time. Because it got his foot in the door and people to take notice of him. And you know what? Maybe he continued to be an asshole for a little while, but eventually he grew up into this person that I could be proud of, this person that I love almost more than anything else in the world. That little boy is not the same person that I see now, so don’t you tell me people can’t change, Sandy. Don’t you tell me that at all, because they can. I was the asshole stuck in a marriage even though I knew I didn’t love her. I was the asshole that agreed to bring kids in this world. I was the asshole that finally told the truth and had it all taken away from me. And you know what? I c
hanged too. And some days, even, I like to think that maybe it was for the better. I know you’re hurt. I know he hurt you. But don’t you tell me that people can’t change. Because you did. Because I did.”
I was in awe of him.