Red, White & Royal Blue

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OntheWhiteHouseroof,tuckedintoacornerofthePromenade,there’sabitofloosepanelingrightontheedgeoftheSolarium.Ifyoutapitjustright,youcanpeelitbackenoughtofindamessageetchedunderneath,withthetipofakeyormaybeastolenWestWingletteropener.
InthesecrethistoryofFirstFamilies—aninsulargossipmillsworntoabsolutediscretionaboutmostthingsonpainofdeath—there’snodefiniteanswerforwhowroteit.TheonethingpeopleseemcertainofisthatonlyapresidentialsonordaughterwouldhavebeendaringenoughtodefacetheWhiteHouse.SomeswearitwasJackFord,withhisHendrixrecordsandsplit-levelroomattachedtotheroofforlate-nightsmokebreaks.OtherssayitwasayoungLuciJohnson,thickribboninherhair.Butitdoesn’tmatter.Thewritingstays,aprivatemantraforthoseresourcefulenoughtofindit.
Alexdiscovereditwithinhisfirstweekoflivingthere.He’snevertoldanyonehow.
Itsays:
RULE#1:DON’TGETCAUGHT
TheEastandWestBedroomsonthebsecondflooraregenerallyreservedfortheFirstFamily.TheywerefirstdesignatedasonegiantstatebedroomforvisitsfromtheMarquisdeLafayetteintheMonroeadministration,buteventuallytheyweresplit.AlexhastheEast,acrossfromtheTreatyRoom,andJuneusestheWest,nexttotheelevator.
GrowingupinTexas,theirroomswerearrangedinthesameconfiguration,oneithersideofthehallway.Backthen,youcouldtellJune’sambitionofthemonthbywhatcoveredthewalls.Attwelve,itwaswatercolorpaintings.Atfifteen,lunarcalendarsandchartsofcrystals.Atsixteen,clippingsfromTheAtlantic,aUTAustinpennant,GloriaSteinem,ZoraNealeHurston,andexcerptsfromthepapersofDoloresHuerta.
Hisownroomwasforeverthesame,juststeadilymorestuffedwithlacrossetrophiesandpilesofAPcoursework.It’sallgatheringdustinthehousetheystillkeepbackhome.Onachainaroundhisneck,alwayshiddenfromview,he’swornthekeytothathousesincethedayheleftforDC.
Now,straightacrossthehall,June’sroomisallbrightwhiteandsoftpinkandmintygreen,photographedbyVogueandfamouslyinspiredbyold’60sinteriordesignperiodicalsshefoundinoneoftheWhiteHousesittingrooms.HisownroomwasonceCarolineKennedy’snurseryand,later,warrantingsomesageburningfromJune,NancyReagan’soffice.He’sleftupthenaturefieldillustrationsinaneatsymmetricalgridabovethesofa,butpaintedoverSashaObama’spinkwallswithadeepblue.
Typically,thechildrenofthepresident,atleastforthepastfewdecades,haven’tlivedintheResidencebeyondeighteen,butAlexstartedatGeorgetowntheJanuaryhismomwasswornin,andlogistically,itmadesensenottosplittheirsecurityorcoststowhateverone-bedroomapartmenthe’dbelivingin.Junecamethatfall,freshoutofUT.
Behindhisbedroomdoor,hecansitandputHall&Oatesontherecordplayerinthecorner,andnobodyhearshimhummingalonglikehisdadto“RichGirl.”Hecanwearthereadingglasseshealwaysinsistshedoesn’tneed.Hecanmakeasmanymeticulousstudyguideswithcolor-codedstickynotesashewants.He’snotgoingtobetheyoungestelectedcongressmaninmodernhistorywithoutearningit,butnobodyneedstoknowhowhardhe’skickingunderwater.Hissex-symbolstockwouldplummet.
“Hey,”saysavoiceatthedoor,andhelooksupfromhislaptoptoseeJuneedgingintohisroom,twoiPhonesandastackofmagazinestuckedunderonearm,andaplateinherhand.Sheclosesthedoorbehindherwithherfoot.
“What’dyoustealtoday?”Alexasks,pushingthepileofpapersonhisbedoutofherway.
“Assorteddonuts,”Junesaysassheclimbsup.She’swearingapencilskirtwithpointypinkflats,andhecanalreadyseenextweek’sfashioncolumns:apictureofheroutfittoday,alead-inforsomesponconaboutflatsfortheprofessionalgalonthego.
Hewonderswhatshe’sbeenuptoallday.ShementionedacolumnforWaPo,orwasitaphotoshootforherblog?Orboth?Hecanneverkeepup.
She’sdumpedherstackofmagazinesoutonthebedspreadandisalreadybusyingherselfwiththem.
“DoingyourparttokeepthegreatAmericangossipindustryalive?”
“That’swhatmyjournalismdegree’sfor,”Junesays.
“Anythinggoodthisweek?”Alexasks,reachingforadonut.
“Let’ssee,”Junesays.“InTouchsaysI’m…datingaFrenchmodel?”
“Areyou?”
“Iwish.”Sheflipsafewpages.“Ooh,andthey’resayingyougotyourassholebleached.”
“Thatoneistrue,”Alexsaysthroughamouthfulofchocolatewithsprinkles
“Thoughtso,”Junesayswithoutlookingup.Afterrifflingthroughmostofthemagazine,sheshufflesittothebottomofthestackandmovesontoPeople.Sheflipsthroughabsently—Peopleonlyeverwriteswhattheirpubliciststellittowrite.Boring.“Notmuchonusthisweek…oh,I’macrosswordpuzzleclue.”
Followingtheirtabloidcoverageissomethingofanidlehobbyofhers,onethatinturnsamusesandannoystheirmother,andAlexisnarcissisticenoughtoletJunereadhimthehighlights.They’reusuallyeithercompletefabricationsorlinesfedfromtheirpressteam,butsometimesit’sjustfunny.Giventhechoice,he’dratherreadoneofthehundredsofglowingpiecesoffanfictionabouthimontheinternet,theup-to-elevenversionofhimselfwithdevastatingcharmandunbelievablephysicalstamina,butJuneflat-outrefusestoreadthosealoudtohim,nomatterhowmuchhetriestobribeher.
“DoUsWeekly,”Alexsays.
“Hmm…”Junedigsitoutofthestack.“Oh,look,wemadethecoverthisweek.”
Sheflashestheglossycoverathim,whichhasaphotoofthetwooftheminlaidinonecorner,June’shairpinnedontopofherheadandAlexlookingslightlyover-servedbutstillhandsome,alljawlineanddarkcurls.Belowitinboldyellowletters,theheadlinereads:FIRSTSIBLINGS’WILDNYCNIGHT
“Ohyeah,thatwasawildnight,”Alexsays,recliningbackagainstthetallleatherheadboardandpushinghisglassesuphisnose.“Twowholekeynotespeakers.Nothingsexierthanshrimpcocktailsandanhourandahalfofspeechesoncarbonemissions.”
“Itsayshereyouhadsomekindoftrystwitha‘mysterybrunette,’”Junereads.“‘ThoughtheFirstDaughterwaswhiskedoffbylimousinetoastar-studdedpartyshortlyafterthegala,twenty-one-year-oldheartthrobAlexwassnappedsneakingintotheWHoteltomeetamysterybrunetteinthepresidentialsuiteandleavingaroundfoura.m.Sourcesinsidethehotelreportedhearingamorousnoisesfromtheroomallnight,andrumorsareswirlingthebrunettewasnoneotherthan…NoraHolleran,thetwenty-two-year-oldgranddaughterofVicePresidentMikeHolleranandthirdmemberoftheWhiteHouseTrio.Coulditbethetwoarerekindlingtheirromance?’”
“Yes!”Alexcrows,andJunegroans.“That’slessthanamonth!Youowemefiftydollars,baby.”
“Holdon.WasitNora?”
Alexthinksbacktotheweekbefore,showingupatNora’sroomwithabottleofchampagne.Theirthingonthecampaigntrailamillionyearsagowasbrief,mostlytogettheinevitableoverwith.Theywereseventeenandeighteenanddoomedfromthestart,bothconvincedtheywerethesmartestpersoninanyroom.AlexhassinceconcededNorais100percentsmarterthanhimanddefinitelytoosmarttohaveeverdatedhim.
It’snothisfaultthepresswon’tletitgo,though;thattheylovetheideaofthemtogetherasifthey’remodern-dayKennedys.So,ifheandNoraoccasionallygetdrunkinhotelroomstogetherwatchingTheWestWingandmakingloudmoaningnoisesatthewallforthebenefitofnosytabloids,hecan’tbeblamed,really.They’resimplyturninganundesirablesituationintotheirownpersonalentertainment.
Scamminghissisterisalsoaperk.
“Maybe,”hesays,draggingoutthevowels.
Juneswatshimwiththemagazinelikehe’sanespeciallyobnoxiouscockroach.“That’scheating,youdick!”
“Bet’sabet,”Alextellsher.“Wesaidiftherewasanewrumorinamonth,you’dowemefiftybucks.ItakeVenmo.”
“I’mnotpaying,”Junehuffs.“I’mgonnakillherwhenweseehertomorrow.Whatareyouwearing,bytheway?”
“Forwhat?”
“Thewedding.”
“Whosewedding?”
“Uh,theroyalwedding,”Junesays.“OfEngland.It’sliterallyoneverycoverIjustshowedyou.”
SheholdsUsWeeklyupagain,andthistimeAlexnoticesthemainstoryingiantletters:PRINCEPHILIPSAYSIDO!AlongwithaphotographofanextremelynondescriptBritishheirandhisequallynondescriptblondfiancéesmilingblandly.
Hedropshisdonutinashowofdevastation.“That’sthisweekend?”
“Alex,weleaveinthemorning,”Junetellshim.“We’vegottwoappearancesbeforeweevengototheceremony.Ican’tbelieveZahrahasn’tclimbedupyourassaboutthisalready.”
“Shit,”hegroans.“IknowIhadthatwrittendown.Igotsidetracked.”
“What,byconspiringwithmybestfriendagainstmeinthetabloidsforfiftydollars?”
“No,withmyresearchpaper,smart-ass,”Alexsays,gesturingdramaticallyathispilesofnotes.“I’vebeenworkingonitforRomanPoliticalThoughtallweek.AndIthoughtweagreedNoraisourbestfriend.”
“Thatcan’tpossiblybearealclassyou’retaking,”Junesays.“Isitpossibleyouwillfullyforgotaboutthebiggestinternationaleventoftheyearbecauseyoudon’twanttoseeyourarchnemesis?”
“June,I’mthesonofthePresidentoftheUnitedStates.PrinceHenryisafigureheadoftheBritishEmpire.Youcan’tjustcallhimmy‘archnemesis,’”Alexsays.Hereturnstohisdonut,chewingthoughtfully,andadds,“‘Archnemesis’implieshe’sactuallyarivaltomeonanylevelandnot,youknow,astuck-upproductofinbreedingwhoprobablyjerksofftophotosofhimself.”
“Woof.”
“I’mjustsaying.”
“Well,youdon’thavetolikehim,youjusthavetoputonahappyfaceandnotcauseaninternationalincidentathisbrother’swedding.”
“Bug,whendoIevernotputonahappyface?”Alexsays.Hepullsapainfullyfakegrin,andJunelookssatisfyinglyrepulsed.
“Ugh.Anyway,youknowwhatyou’rewearing,right?”
“Yeah,IpickeditoutandhadZahraapproveitlastmonth.I’mnotananimal.”
“I’mstillnotsureaboutmydress,”Junesays.Sheleansoverandstealshislaptopawayfromhim,ignoringhisnoiseofprotest.“Doyouthinkthemaroonortheonewiththelace?”
“Lace,obviously.It’sEngland.Andwhyareyoutryingtomakemefailthisclass?”hesays,reachingforhislaptoponlytohavehishandswattedaway.“GocurateyourInstagramorsomething.You’retheworst.”
“Shutup,I’mtryingtopicksomethingtowatch.Ew,youhaveGardenStateonyourwatchlist?Wow,how’sfilmschoolin2005going?”
“Ihateyou.”
“Hmm,Iknow.”
Outsidehiswindow,thewindstirsupoverthelawn,rustlingthelindentreesdowninthegarden.Therecordontheturntableinthecornerhasspunoutintofuzzysilence.Herollsoffthebedandflipsit,resettingtheneedle,andthesecondsidepicksupon“LondonLuck,&Love.”
Ifhe’shonest,privateaviationdoesn’treallygetold,noteventhreeyearsintohismother’sterm.
Hedoesn’tgettotravelthiswayalot,butwhenhedoes,it’shardnottoletitgotohishead.HewasborninthehillcountryofTexastothedaughterofasinglemotherandthesonofMexicanimmigrants,allofthemdirtpoor—luxurytravelisstillaluxury.
Fifteenyearsago,whenhismotherfirstranfortheHouse,theAustinnewspapergaveheranickname:theLometaLongshot.She’descapedhertinyhometownintheshadowofFortHood,pullednightshiftsatdinerstoputherselfthroughlawschool,andwasarguingdiscriminationcasesbeforetheSupremeCourtbythirty.ShewasthelastthinganybodyexpectedtoriseupoutofTexasinthemidstoftheIraqWar:astrawberry-blond,whip-smartDemocratwithhighheels,anunapologeticdrawl,andalittlebiracialfamily.
So,it’sstillsurrealthatAlexiscruisingsomewhereovertheAtlantic,snackingonpistachiosinahigh-backedleatherchairwithhisfeetup.NoraisbentovertheNewYorkTimescrosswordoppositehim,browncurlsfallingacrossherforehead.Besideher,thehulkingSecretServiceagentCassius—Cashforshort—holdshisowncopyinonegianthand,racingtofinishitfirst.ThecursoronAlex’sRomanPoliticalThoughtpaperblinksexpectantlyathimfromhislaptop,butsomethinginhimcan’tquitefocusonschoolwhilethey’reflyingtransatlantic.
Amy,hismother’sfavoriteSecretServiceagent,aformerNavySEALwhoisrumoredaroundDCtohavekilledseveralmen,sitsacrosstheaisle.She’sgotabulletprooftitaniumcaseofcraftingsuppliesopenonthecouchnexttoherandisserenelyembroideringflowersontoanapkin.Alexhasseenherstabsomeoneinthekneecapwithaverysimilarembroideryneedle.
WhichleavesJune,nexttohim,leaningononeelbowwithhernoseburiedintheissueofPeopleshe’sinexplicablybroughtwiththem.Shealwayschoosesthemostbizarrereadingmaterialforflights.Lasttime,itwasabatteredoldCantonesephrasebook.Beforethat,DeathComesfortheArchbishop.
“Whatareyoureadingintherenow?”Alexasksher.
Sheflipsthemagazinearoundsohecanseethedouble-pagespreadtitled:ROYALWEDDINGMADNESS!Alexgroans.ThisisdefinitelyworsethanWillaCather.
“What?”shesays.“Iwanttobepreparedformyfirst-everroyalwedding.”
“Youwenttoprom,didn’tyou?”Alexsays.“Justpicturethat,onlyinhell,andyouhavetobereallyniceaboutit.”
“Canyoubelievetheyspent$75,000justonthecake?”
“That’sdepressing.”
“AndapparentlyPrinceHenryisgoingsansdatetotheweddingandeveryoneisfreakingoutaboutit.Itsayshewas,”sheaffectsacomicalEnglishaccent,“‘rumoredtobedatingaBelgianheiresslastmonth,butnowfollowersoftheprince’sdatinglifearen’tsurewhattothink.’”
Alexsnorts.It’sinsanetohimthattherearelegionsofpeoplewhofollowtheintenselydulldatinglivesoftheroyalsiblings.Heunderstandswhypeoplecarewhereheputshisowntongue—atleasthehaspersonality.
“MaybethefemalepopulationofEuropefinallyrealizedhe’sascompellingasawetballofyarn,”Alexsuggests.
Noraputsdownhercrosswordpuzzle,havingfinisheditfirst.Cassiusglancesoverandswears.“Yougonnaaskhimtodance,then?”
Alexrollshiseyes,suddenlyimaginingtwirlingaroundaballroomwhileHenrydronessweetnothingsaboutcroquetandfoxhuntinginhisear.Thethoughtmakeshimwanttogag.
“Inhisdreams.”
“Aw,”Norasays,“you’reblushing.”
“Listen,”Alextellsher,“royalweddingsaretrash,theprinceswhohaveroyalweddingsaretrash,theimperialismthatallowsprincestoexistatallistrash.It’strashturtlesallthewaydown.”
“IsthisyourTEDTalk?”Juneasks.“YoudorealizeAmericaisagenocidalempiretoo,right?”
“Yes,June,butatleastwehavethedecencynottokeepamonarchyaround,”Alexsays,throwingapistachioather.
ThereareafewthingsaboutAlexandJunethatnewWhiteHousehiresarebriefedonbeforetheystart.June’speanutallergy.Alex’sfrequentmiddle-of-the-nightrequestsforcoffee.June’scollegeboyfriend,whobrokeupwithherwhenhemovedtoCaliforniabutisstilltheonlypersonwhoseletterscometoherdirectly.Alex’slong-standinggrudgeagainsttheyoungestprince.
It’snotagrudge,really.It’snotevenarivalry.It’saprickling,unsettlingannoyance.Itmakeshispalmssweat.
Thetabloids—theworld—decidedtocastAlexastheAmericanequivalentofPrinceHenryfromdayone,sincetheWhiteHouseTrioistheclosestthingAmericahastoroyalty.Ithasneverseemedfair.Alex’simageisallcharismaandgeniusandsmirkingwit,thoughtfulinterviewsandthecoverofGQateighteen;Henry’sisplacidsmilesandgentlechivalryandgenericcharityappearances,aperfectlyblankPrinceCharmingcanvas.Henry’srole,Alexthinks,ismucheasiertoplay.
Maybeitistechnicallyarivalry.Whatever.
“Allright,MIT,”hesays,“whatarethenumbersonthisone?”
Noragrins.“Hmm.”Shepretendstothinkhardaboutit.“Riskassessment:FSOTUSfailingtocheckhimselfbeforehewreckshimselfwillresultingreaterthanfivehundredciviliancasualties.Ninety-eightpercentprobabilityofPrinceHenrylookinglikeatotaldreamboat.Seventy-eightpercentprobabilityofAlexgettinghimselfbannedfromtheUnitedKingdomforever.”
“ThosearebetteroddsthanIexpected,”Juneobserves.
Alexlaughs,andtheplanesoarson.
Londonisanabsolutespectacle,crowdscrammingthestreetsoutsideBuckinghamPalaceandallthroughthecity,drapedinUnionJacksandwavingtinyflagsovertheirheads.Therearecommemorativeroyalweddingsouvenirseverywhere;PrincePhilipandhisbride’sfaceplasteredoneverythingfromchocolatebarstounderwear.Alexalmostcan’tbelievethismanypeoplecaresopassionatelyaboutsomethingsocomprehensivelydull.He’ssuretherewon’tbethiskindofturnoutinfrontoftheWhiteHousewhenheorJunegetmarriedoneday,norwouldheevenwantit.
Theceremonyitselfseemstolastforever,butit’satleastsortofnice,inaway.It’snotthatAlexisn’tintoloveorcan’tappreciatemarriage.It’sjustthatMarthaisaperfectlyrespectabledaughterofnobility,andPhilipisaprince.It’sassexyasabusinesstransaction.There’snopassion,nodrama.Alex’skindoflovestoryismuchmoreShakespearean.
Itfeelslikeyearsbeforehe’ssettledatatablebetweenJuneandNorainsideaBuckinghamPalaceballroomforthereceptionbanquet,andhe’sirritatedenoughtobealittlereckless.Norapasseshimafluteofchampagne,andhetakesitgladly.
“Doeitherofy’allknowwhataviscountis?”Juneissaying,halfwaythroughacucumbersandwich.“I’vemet,like,fiveofthem,andIkeepsmilingpolitelyasifIknowwhatitmeanswhentheysayit.Alex,youtookcomparativeinternationalgovernmentalrelationalthings.Whatever.Whatarethey?”
“Ithinkit’sthatthingwhenavampirecreatesanarmyofcrazedsexwaifsandstartshisownrulingbody,”hesays.
“Thatsoundsright,”Norasays.She’sfoldinghernapkinintoacomplicatedshapeonthetable,hershinyblackmanicureglintinginthechandelierlight
“IwishIwereaviscount,”Junesays.“Icouldhavemysexwaifsdealwithmyemails.”
“Aresexwaifsgoodwithprofessionalcorrespondence?”Alexasks.
Nora’snapkinhasbeguntoresembleabird.“Ithinkitcouldbeaninterestingapproach.Theiremailswouldbealltragicandwanton.”Shetriesonabreathless,huskyvoice.“‘Oh,please,Ibegyou,takeme—takemetolunchtodiscussfabricsamples,youbeast!’”
“Couldbeweirdlyeffective,”Alexnotes.
“Somethingiswrongwithbothofyou,”Junesaysgently.
Alexisopeninghismouthtoretortwhenaroyalattendantmaterializesattheirtablelikeadenseanddour-lookingghostinabadhairpiece.
“MissClaremont-Diaz,”saystheman,wholookslikehisnameisprobablyReginaldorBartholomeworsomething.Hebows,andmiraculouslyhishairpiecedoesn’tfalloffintoJune’splate.Alexsharesanincredulousglancewithherbehindhisback.“HisRoyalHighnessPrinceHenrywondersifyouwoulddohimthehonorofaccompanyinghimforadance.”
June’smouthfreezeshalfwayopen,caughtonasoftvowelsound,andNorabreaksoutintoashit-eatinggrin.
“Oh,she’dloveto,”Noravolunteers.“She’sbeenhopinghe’daskallevening.”
“I—”Junestartsandstops,hermouthsmilingevenashereyessliceatNora.“Ofcourse.Thatwouldbelovely.”
“Excellent,”Reginald-Bartholomewsays,andheturnsandgesturesoverhisshoulder.
AndthereHenryis,intheflesh,asclassicallyhandsomeaseverinhistailoredthree-piecesuit,alltousledsandyhairandhighcheekbonesandasoft,friendlymouth.Heholdshimselfwithinnatelyimpeccableposture,asifheemergedfullyformedanduprightoutofsomebeautifulBuckinghamPalaceposygardenoneday.
HiseyeslockonAlex’s,andsomethinglikeannoyanceoradrenalinespikesinAlex’schest.Hehasn’thadaconversationwithHenryinprobablyayear.Hisfaceisstillinfuriatinglysymmetrical.
Henrydeignstogivehimaperfunctorynod,asifhe’sanyotherrandomguest,notthepersonhebeattoaVogueeditorialdebutintheirteens.Alexblinks,seethes,andwatchesHenryanglehisstupidchiseledjawtowardJune.
“Hello,June,”Henrysays,andheextendsagentlemanlyhandtoJune,whoisnowblushing.Norapretendstoswoon.“Doyouknowhowtowaltz?”
“I’m…sureIcouldpickitup,”shesays,andshetakeshishandcautiously,likeshethinkshemightbeprankingher,whichAlexthinksiswaytoogeneroustoHenry’ssenseofhumor.Henryleadsherofftothecrowdoftwirlingnobles.
“Soisthatwhat’shappeningnow?”Alexsays,glaringdownatNora’snapkinbird.“Hashedecidedtofinallyshutmeupbywooingmysister?”
“Aw,littlebuddy,”Norasays.Shereachesoverandpatshishand.“It’scutehowyouthinkeverythingisaboutyou.”
“Itshouldbe,honestly.”
“That’sthespirit.”
Heglancesupintothecrowd,whereJuneisbeingrotatedaroundthefloorbyHenry.She’sgotaneutral,politesmileonherface,andhekeepslookingoverhershoulder,whichisevenmoreannoying.Juneisamazing.TheleastHenrycoulddoispayattentiontoher.
“Doyouthinkheactuallylikesher,though?”
Norashrugs.“Whoknows?Royalsareweird.Mightbeacourtesy,or—oh,thereitis.”
Aroyalphotographerhasswoopedinandissnappingashotofthemdancing,oneAlexknowswillbeleakedtoHellonextweek.So,that’sit,then?UsingtheFirstDaughtertostartsomeidioticdatingrumorforattention?GodforbidPhilipgetstodominatethenewscycleforoneweek.
“He’skindofgoodatthis,”Noraremarks.
Alexflagsdownawaiteranddecidestospendtherestofthereceptiongettingsystematicallydrunk.
Alexhasnevertold—willnevertell—anyone,buthesawHenryforthefirsttimewhenhewastwelveyearsold.Heonlyeverreflectsuponitwhenhe’sdrunk.
He’ssurehesawhisfaceinthenewsbeforethen,butthatwasthefirsttimehereallysawhim.Junehadjustturnedfifteenandusedpartofherbirthdaymoneytobuyanissueofablindinglycolorfulteenmagazine.Herloveoftrashytabloidsstartedearly.Inthecenterofthemagazinewereminiaturepostersyoucouldripoutandstickupinyourlocker.Ifyouwerecarefulandpriedupthestapleswithyourfingernails,youcouldgetthemoutwithouttearingthem.Oneofthem,rightinthemiddle,wasapictureofaboy.
Hehadthick,tawnyhairandbigblueeyes,awarmsmile,andacricketbatoveroneshoulder.Itmusthavebeenacandid,becausetherewasahappy,sun-brightconfidencetohimthatcouldn’tbeposed.Onthebottomcornerofthepageinpinkandblueletters:PRINCEHENRY
Alexstilldoesn’treallyknowwhatkeptdrawinghimback,onlythathewouldsneakintoJune’sroomandfindthepageandtouchhisfingertipstotheboy’shair,asifhecouldsomehowfeelitstextureifheimaginedithardenough.Themorehisparentsclimbedthepoliticalranks,themorehestartedtoreckonwiththefactthatsoontheworldwouldknowwhohewas.Then,sometimes,he’dthinkofthepicture,andtrytoharnessPrinceHenry’seasyconfidence.
(Healsothoughtaboutpryingupthestapleswithhisfingersandtakingthepictureoutandkeepingitinhisroom,butheneverdid.Hisfingernailsweretoostubby;theyweren’tmadeforitlikeJune’s,likeagirl’s.)
ButthencamethefirsttimehemetHenry—thefirstcool,detachedwordsHenrysaidtohim—andAlexguessedhehaditallwrong,thatthepretty,flung-openboyfromthepicturewasn’treal.TherealHenryisbeautiful,distant,boring,andclosed.Thispersonthetabloidskeepcomparinghimto,whomhecompareshimselfto,thinkshe’sbetterthanAlexandeveryonelikehim.Alexcan’tbelieveheeverwantedtobeanythinglikethat.
Alexkeepsdrinking,keepsalternatingbetweenthinkingaboutitandforcinghimselfnottothinkaboutit,disappearsintothecrowdanddanceswithprettyEuropeanheiressesaboutit.
He’spirouettingawayfromonewhenhecatchessightofalonefigurehoveringnearthecakeandthechampagnefountain.It’sPrinceHenryyetagain,glassinhand,watchingPrincePhilipandhisbridespinningontheballroomfloor.Helookspolitelyhalf-interestedinthatobnoxiouswayofhis,likehehassomewhereelsetobe.AndAlexcan’tresisttheurgetocallhisbluff.
Hepickshiswaythroughthecrowd,grabbingaglassofwineoffapassingtrayanddowninghalfofit.
“Whenyouhaveoneofthese,”Alexsays,sidlinguptohim,“youshoulddotwochampagnefountainsinsteadofone.Reallyembarrassingtobeataweddingwithonlyonechampagnefountain.”
“Alex,”Henrysaysinthatmaddeninglyposhaccent.Upclose,thewaistcoatunderhissuitjacketisalushgoldandhasaboutamillionbuttonsonit.It’shorrible.“IwonderedifI’dhavethepleasure.”
“Lookslikeit’syourluckyday,”Alexsays,smiling.
“Trulyamomentousoccasion,”Henryagrees.Hisownsmileisbrightwhiteandimmaculate,madetobeprintedonmoney.
ThemostannoyingthingofallisAlexknowsHenryhateshimtoo—hemust,they’renaturallymutualantagonists—butherefusestooutrightactlikeit.Alexisintimatelyawarepoliticsinvolvesalotofmakingnicewithpeopleyouloathe,buthewishesthatonce,justonce,Henrywouldactlikeanactualhumanandnotsomepolishedlittlewinduptoysoldinapalacegiftshop.
He’stooperfect.Alexwantstopokeit.
“Doyouevergettired,”Alexsays,“ofpretendingyou’reaboveallthis?”
Henryturnsandstaresathim.“I’msureIdon’tknowwhatyoumean.”
“Imean,you’reouthere,gettingthephotographerstochaseyou,swanningaroundlikeyouhatetheattention,whichyouclearlydon’tsinceyou’redancingwithmysister,ofallpeople,”Alexsays.“Youactlikeyou’retooimportanttobeanywhere,ever.Doesn’tthatgetexhausting?”
“I’m…abitmorecomplicatedthanthat,”Henryattempts.
“Ha.”
“Oh,”Henrysays,narrowinghiseyes.“You’redrunk.”
“I’mjustsaying,”Alexsays,restinganoverlyfriendlyelbowonHenry’sshoulder,whichisn’taseasyashe’dlikeittobesinceHenryhasaboutfourinfuriatinginchesofheightonhim.“Youcouldtrytoactlikeyou’rehavingfun.Occasionally.”
Henrylaughsruefully.“Ibelieveperhapsyoushouldconsiderswitchingtowater,Alex.”
“ShouldI?”Alexsays.HepushesasidethethoughtthatmaybethewineiswhatgavehimthenervetostompovertoHenryinthefirstplaceandmakeshiseyesascoyandangelicasheknowshow.“AmIoffendingyou?SorryI’mnotobsessedwithyoulikeeveryoneelse.Iknowthatmustbeconfusingforyou.”
“Doyouknowwhat?”Henrysays.“Ithinkyouare.”
Alex’smouthdropsopen,whilethecornerofHenry’sturnssmugandalmostalittlemean.
“Onlyathought,”Henrysays,tonepolite.“HaveyouevernoticedIhaveneveronceapproachedyouandhavebeenexhaustivelycivileverytimewe’vespoken?Yethereyouare,seekingmeoutagain.”Hetakesasipofhischampagne.“Simplyanobservation.”
“What?I’mnot—”Alexstammers.“You’rethe—”
“Havealovelyevening,Alex,”Henrysaystersely,andturnstowalkoff.
ItdrivesAlexnutsthatHenrythinkshegetstohavethelastword,andwithoutthinking,hereachesoutandpullsHenry’sshoulderback.
AndthenHenryturns,suddenly,andalmostdoespushAlexoffhimthistime,andforabriefsparkofamoment,Alexisimpressedattheglintinhiseyes,theabruptburstofanactualpersonality.
Thenextthingheknows,he’strippingoverhisownfootandstumblingbackwardintothetablenearesthim.Henoticestoolatethatthetableis,tohishorror,theonebearingthemassiveeight-tierweddingcake,andhegrabsforHenry’sarmtocatchhimself,butallitdoesisthrowbothofthemoff-balanceandsendthemcrashingtogetherintothecakestand.
Hewatches,asifinslowmotion,asthecakeleans,teeters,shudders,andfinallytips.There’sabsolutelynothinghecandotostopit.Itcomescrashingdownontothefloorinanavalancheofwhitebuttercream,somekindofsugary$75,000nightmare.
Theroomgoesheart-stoppinglysilentasmomentumcarrieshimandHenrythroughthefallanddown,downontothewreckageofthecakeontheornatecarpet,Henry’ssleevestillclutchedinAlex’sfist.Henry’sglassofchampagnehasspilledalloverbothofthemandshattered,andoutofthecornerofhiseye,AlexcanseeacutacrossthetopofHenry’scheekbonebeginningtobleed
Forasecond,allhecanthinkashestaresupattheceilingwhilecoveredinfrostingandchampagneisthatatleastHenry’sdancewithJunewon’tbethebiggeststorytocomeoutoftheroyalwedding.
Hisnextthoughtisthathismotherisgoingtomurderhimincoldblood.
Besidehim,hehearsHenrymutterslowly,“OhmyfuckingChrist.”
Heregistersdimlythatit’sthefirsttimehe’severheardtheprinceswear,beforetheflashfromsomeone’scameragoesoff.TWO
Witharesoundingsmack,ZahraslapsastackofmagazinesdownontheWestWingbriefingroomtable.
“ThisisjustwhatIsawonthewayherethismorning,”shesays.“Idon’tthinkIneedtoremindyouIlivetwoblocksaway.”
Alexstaresdownattheheadlinesinfrontofhim.
THE$75,000STUMBLE
BATTLEROYAL:PrinceHenryandFSOTUSCometoBlowsatRoyalWedding
CAKEGATE:AlexClaremont-DiazSparksSecondEnglish-AmericanWar
EachoneisaccompaniedbyaphotoofhimselfandHenryflatontheirbacksinapileofcake,Henry’sridiculoussuitallaskewandcoveredinsmashedbuttercreamflowers,hiswristpinnedinAlex’shand,athinsliceofredacrossHenry’scheek.
“Areyousureweshouldn’tbeintheSituationRoomforthismeeting?”Alexattempts.
NeitherZahranorhismother,sittingacrossthetable,seemstofinditfunny.Thepresidentgiveshimawitheringlookoverthetopofherreadingglasses,andheclampshismouthshut.
It’snotexactlythathe’safraidofZahra,hismom’sdeputychiefofstaffandright-handwoman.Shehasaspikyexterior,butAlexswearsthere’ssomethingsoftintheresomewhere.He’smoreafraidofwhathismothermightdo.Theygrewupmadetotalkabouttheirfeelingsalot,andthenhismotherbecamepresident,andlifebecamelessaboutfeelingsandmoreaboutinternationalrelations.He’snotsurewhichoptionspellsaworsefate.
“‘Sourcesinsidetheroyalreceptionreportthetwowereseenarguingminutesbeforethe…cake-tastrophe,’”EllenreadsoutloudwithutterdisdainfromherowncopyofTheSun.Alexdoesn’teventrytoguesshowshegotherhandsontoday’seditionofaBritishtabloid.PresidentMomworksinmysteriousways.“‘ButroyalfamilyinsidersclaimtheFirstSon’sfeudwithHenryhasragedforyears.AsourcetellsTheSunthatHenryandtheFirstSonhavebeenatoddseversincetheirfirstmeetingattheRioOlympics,andtheanimosityhasonlygrown—thesedays,theycan’tevenbeinthesameroomwitheachother.ItseemsitwasonlyamatteroftimebeforeAlextooktheAmericanapproach:aviolentaltercation.’”
“Ireallydon’tthinkyoucancalltrippingoveratablea‘violent’—”
“Alexander,”Ellensays,hertoneeerilycalm.“Shutup.”
Hedoes.
“‘Onecan’thelpbutwonder,’”Ellenreadson,“‘ifthebitternessbetweenthesetwopowerfulsonshascontributedtowhatmanyhavecalledanicyanddistantrelationshipbetweenPresidentEllenClaremont’sadministrationandthemonarchyinrecentyears.’”
Shetossesthemagazineaside,foldingherarmsonthetable.
“Please,tellmeanotherjoke,”Ellensays.“Iwantsobadlyforyoutoexplaintomehowthisisfunny.”
Alexopenshismouthandclosesitacoupleoftimes.
“Hestartedit,”hesaysfinally.“Ibarelytouchedhim—he’stheonewhopushedme,andIonlygrabbedhimtotryandcatchmybalance,and—”
“Sugar,Icannotexpresstoyouhowmuchthepressdoesnotgiveafuckaboutwhostartedwhat,”Ellensays.“Asyourmother,Icanappreciatethatmaybethisisn’tyourfault,butasthepresident,allIwantistohavetheCIAfakeyourdeathandridethedead-kidsympathyintoasecondterm.”
Alexclencheshisjaw.He’susedtodoingthingsthatpisshismother’sstaffoff—inhisteens,hehadapenchantforconfrontinghismother’scolleagueswiththeirvotingdiscrepanciesatfriendlyDCfund-raisers—andhe’sbeeninthetabloidsforthingsmoreembarrassingthanthis.Butneverinquitesuchacataclysmically,internationallyterribleway.
“Idon’thavetimetodealwiththisrightnow,sohere’swhatwe’regonnado,”Ellensays,pullingafolderoutofherpadfolio.It’sfilledwithsomeofficial-lookingdocumentspunctuatedwithdifferentcolorsofstickytabs,andthefirstonesays:AGREEMENTOFTERMS
“Um,”Alexsays.
“You,”shesays,“aregoingtomakenicewithHenry.You’releavingSaturdayandspendingSundayinEngland.”
Alexblinks.“Isittoolatetotakethefaking-my-deathoption?”
“Zahracanbriefyouontherest,”Ellengoeson,ignoringhim.“Ihaveaboutfivehundredmeetingsrightnow.”Shegetsupandheadsforthedoor,stoppingtokissherhandandpressittothetopofhishead.“You’readumbass.Loveyou.”
Thenshe’sgone,heelsclickingbehindherdownthehallway,andZahrasettlesintohervacatedchairwithalookonherfacelikeshe’dpreferarranginghisdeathforreal.She’snottechnicallythemostpowerfulorimportantplayerinhismother’sWhiteHouse,butshe’sbeenworkingbyEllen’ssidesinceAlexwasfiveandZahrawasfreshoutofHoward.She’stheonlyonetrustedtowrangletheFirstFamily.
“Allright,here’sthedeal,”shesays.“IwasupallnightconferencingwithabunchofuptightroyalhandlersandPRpricksandtheprince’sfuckingequerrytomakethishappen,soyouaregoingtofollowthisplantotheletterandnotfuckitup,gotit?”
Alexstillprivatelythinksthiswholethingiscompletelyridiculous,buthenods.Zahralooksdeeplyunconvincedbutpresseson.
“First,theWhiteHouseandthemonarchyaregoingtoreleaseajointstatementsayingwhathappenedattheroyalweddingwasacompleteaccidentandamisunderstanding—”
“Whichitwas.”
“—andthat,despiterarelyhavingtimetoseeeachother,youandPrinceHenryhavebeenclosepersonalfriendsforthepastseveralyears.”
“We’rewhat?”
“Look,”Zahrasays,takingadragfromhermassivestainlesssteelthermosofcoffee.“Bothsidesneedtocomeoutofthislookinggood,andtheonlywaytodothatistomakeitlooklikeyourlittleslap-fightattheweddingwassomehomoeroticfratbromishap,okay?So,youcanhatetheheirtothethroneallyouwant,writemeanpoemsabouthiminyourdiary,buttheminuteyouseeacamera,youactlikethesunshinesoutofhisdick,andyoumakeitconvincing.”
“HaveyoumetHenry?”Alexsays.“HowamIsupposedtodothat?Hehasthepersonalityofacabbage.”
“AreyoureallynotunderstandinghowmuchIdon’tcareatallhowyoufeelaboutthis?”Zahrasays.“Thisiswhat’shappeningsoyourstupidassdoesn’tdistracttheentirecountryfromyourmother’sreelectioncampaign.DoyouwanthertohavetogetuponthedebatestagenextyearandexplaintotheworldwhyhersonistryingtodestabilizeAmerica’sEuropeanrelationships?”
Well,no,hedoesn’t.Andheknows,inthebackofhismind,thathe’sabetterstrategistthanhe’sbeenaboutthis,andthatwithoutthisstupidgrudge,heprobablycouldhavecomeupwiththisplanonhisown.
“SoHenry’syournewbestfriend,”Zahracontinues.“YouwillsmileandnodandnotpissoffanyonewhileyouandHenryspendtheweekenddoingcharityappearancesandtalkingtothepressabouthowmuchyouloveeachother’scompany.Ifsomebodyasksabouthim,Iwanttohearyougushlikehe’syourfuckingpromdate.”
Sheslideshimapageofbulletedlistsandtablesofdatasoelaboratelyorganizedhecouldhavemadeithimself.It’slabeled:HRHPRINCEHENRYFACTSHEET
“You’regoingtomemorizethissoifanybodytriestocatchyouinalie,youknowwhattosay,”shesays.UnderHOBBIES,itlistspoloandcompetitiveyachting.Alexisgoingtosethimselfonfire
“Doeshegetoneoftheseforme?”Alexaskshelplessly.
“Yep.Andfortherecord,makingitwasoneofthemostdepressingmomentsofmycareer.”Sheslidesanotherpageovertohim,thisonedetailingrequirementsfortheweekend.
Minimumtwo(2)socialmediapostsperdayhighlightingEngland/visitthereof.
One(1)on-airinterviewwithITVThisMorning,lastingfive(5)minutes,inaccordancewithdeterminednarrative.
Two(2)jointappearanceswithphotographerspresent:one(1)privatemeeting,one(1)publiccharityappearance.
“WhydoIhavetogooverthere?He’stheonewhopushedmeintothestupidcake—shouldn’thehavetocomehereandgoonSNLwithmeorsomething?”
“Becauseitwastheroyalweddingyouruined,andthey’retheonesoutseventy-fivegrand,”Zahrasays.“Besides,we’rearranginghispresenceatastatedinnerinafewmonths.He’snotanymoreexcitedaboutthisthanyouare.”
Alexpinchesthebridgeofhisnosewhereastressheadacheisalreadypercolating.“Ihaveclass.”
“You’llbebackbySundaynight,DCtime,”Zahratellshim.“Youwon’tmissanything.”
“Sothere’sreallynowayI’mgettingoutofthis?”
“Nope.”
Alexpresseshislipstogether.Heneedsalist.
Whenhewasakid,heusedtohidepagesandpagesoflooseleafpapercoveredinmessy,loopyhandwritingundertheworndenimcushionofthewindowseatinthehouseinAustin.RamblingtreatisesontheroleofgovernmentinAmericawithalltheGswrittenbackward,paragraphstranslatedfromEnglishtoSpanish,tablesofhiselementaryschoolclassmates’strengthsandweaknesses.Andlists.Lotsoflists.Thelistshelp.
So:Reasonsthisisagoodidea.
One.Hismotherneedsgoodpress.
Two.Havingashittyrecordonforeignrelationsdefinitelywon’thelphiscareer.
Three.FreetriptoEurope.
“Okay,”hesays,takingthefile.“I’lldoit.ButIwon’thaveanyfun.”
“God,Ihopenot.”
TheWhiteHouseTriois,officially,thenicknameforAlex,June,andNoracoinedbyPeopleshortlybeforetheinauguration.Inactuality,itwascarefullytestedwithfocusgroupsbytheWhiteHousepressteamandfeddirectlytoPeople.Politics—calculating,eveninhashtags
BeforetheClaremonts,theKennedysandClintonsshieldedtheFirstOffspringfromthepress,givingthemtheprivacytogothroughawkwardphasesandorganicchildhoodexperiencesandeverythingelse.SashaandMaliawerehoundedandpickedapartbythepressbeforetheywereoutofhighschool.TheWhiteHouseTriogotaheadofthenarrativebeforeanyonecoulddothesame.
Itwasaboldnewplan:threeattractive,bright,charismatic,marketablemillennials—AlexandNoraare,technically,justpasttheGenZthreshold,butthepressdoesn’tfindthatnearlyascatchy.Catchinesssells,coolnesssells.Obamawascool.ThewholeFirstFamilycouldbecooltoo;celebritiesintheirownright.It’snotideal,hismotheralwayssays,butitworks.
They’retheWhiteHouseTrio,buthere,inthemusicroomonthethirdflooroftheResidence,they’rejustAlexandJuneandNora,naturallygluedtogethersincetheywereteenagersstuntingtheirgrowthwithespressointheprimaries.Alexpushesthem.Junesteadiesthem.Norakeepsthemhonest.
Theysettleintotheirusualplaces:June,perchedonherheelsattherecordcollection,foragingforsomePatsyCline;Nora,cross-leggedonthefloor,uncorkingabottleofredwine;Alex,sittingupsidedownwithhisfeetonthebackofthecouch,tryingtofigureoutwhathe’sgoingtodonext.
HeflipstheHRHPRINCEHENRYFACTSHEEToverandsquintsatit.Hecanfeelthebloodrushingtohishead.
JuneandNoraareignoringhim,caughtinabubbleofintimacyhecanneverquitepenetrate.Theirrelationshipissomethingenormousandincomprehensibletomostpeople,includingAlexonoccasion.Heknowsthembothdowntotheirsplitendsandnastyhabits,butthere’sastrangegirlbondbetweenthemhecan’t,andknowsheisn’tsupposedto,translate.
“IthoughtyouwerelikingthePostgig?”Norasays.Withadullpop,shepullsthecorkoutofthewineandtakesaswigdirectlyfromthebottle.
“Iwas,”Junesays.“Imean,Iam.But,it’snotmuchofagig.It’s,like,oneop-edamonth,andhalfmypitchesgetshotdownforbeingtooclosetoMom’splatform,andeventhen,thepressteamhastoreadanythingpoliticalbeforeIturnitin.Soit’slike,emailinthesefluffpieces,andknowthatontheothersideofthescreenpeoplearedoingthemostimportantjournalismoftheircareers,andbeokaywiththat.”
“So…youdon’tlikeit,then.”
Junesighs.Shefindstherecordshe’slookingfor,slidesitoutofthesleeve.“Idon’tknowwhatelsetodo,isthething.”
“Theywouldn’tputyouonabeat?”Noraasksher.
“Youkidding?Theywouldn’tevenletmeinthebuilding,”Junesays.Sheputstherecordonandsetstheneedle.“WhatwouldReillyandRebeccasay?”
Noratipsherheadandlaughs.“Myparentswouldsaytodowhattheydid:ditchjournalism,getreallyintoessentialoils,buyacabinintheVermontwilderness,andownsixhundredLLBeanveststhatallsmelllikepatchouli.”
“YouleftouttheinvestinginAppleintheninetiesandgettingstupid-richpart,”Juneremindsher.
“Details.”
JunewalksoverandplacesherpalmonthetopofNora’shead,deepinhernestofcurls,andleansdowntokissthebackofherownfingers.“I’llfiguresomethingout.”
Norahandsoverthebottle,andJunetakesapull.Alexheavesadramaticsigh
“Ican’tbelieveIhavetolearnthisgarbage,”Alexsays.“Ijustfinishedmidterms.”
“Look,you’retheonewhohastofighteverythingthatmoves,”Junesays,wipinghermouthonthebackofherhand,amoveshe’donlydoinfrontofthetwoofthem.“IncludingtheBritishmonarchy.So,Idon’treallyfeelbadforyou.Anyway,hewastotallyfinewhenIdancedwithhim.Idon’tgetwhyyouhatehimsomuch.”
“Ithinkit’samazing,”Norasays.“Swornenemiesforcedtomakepeacetosettletensionsbetweentheircountries?There’ssomethingtotallyShakespeareanaboutit.”
“ShakespeareaninthathopefullyI’llgetstabbedtodeath,”Alexsays.“Thissheetsayshisfavoritefoodismuttonpie.Iliterallycannotthinkofamoreboringfood.He’slikeacardboardcutoutofaperson.”
ThesheetisfilledwiththingsAlexalreadyknew,eitherfromtheroyalsiblingsdominatingthenewscycleorhate-readingHenry’sWikipediapage.HeknowsaboutHenry’sparentage,abouthisoldersiblingsPhilipandBeatrice,thathestudiedEnglishliteratureatOxfordandplaysclassicalpiano.Therestissotrivialhecan’timagineit’llcomeupinaninterview,butthere’snowayhe’llriskHenrybeingmoreprepared.
“Idea,”Norasays.“Let’smakeitadrinkinggame.”
“Ooh,yes,”Juneagrees.“DrinkeverytimeAlexgetsoneright?”
“Drinkeverytimetheanswermakesyouwanttopuke?”Alexsuggests.
“Onedrinkforacorrectanswer,twodrinksforaPrinceHenryfactthatislegitimately,objectivelyawful,”Norasays.Junehasalreadydugtwoglassesoutofthecabinet,andshehandsthemtoNora,whofillsbothandkeepsthebottleforherself.Alexslidesdownfromthecouchtositonthefloorwithher.
“Okay,”shegoeson,takingthesheetoutofAlex’shands.“Let’sstarteasy.Parents.Go.”
Alexpicksuphisownglass,alreadypullingupamentalimageofHenry’sparents,Catherine’sshrewdblueeyesandArthur’smovie-starjaw.
“Mother:PrincessCatherine,oldestdaughterofQueenMary,firstprincesstoobtainadoctorate—Englishliterature,”herattlesoff.“Father:ArthurFox,belovedEnglishfilmandstageactorbestknownforhisturnasJamesBondintheeighties,deceased2015.Y’alldrink.”
Theydo,andNorapassesthelisttoJune.
“Okay,”Junesays,scanningthelist,apparentlylookingforsomethingmorechallenging.“Let’ssee.Dog’sname?”
“David,”Alexsays.“He’sabeagle.Irememberbecause,like,whodoesthat?WhonamesadogDavid?Hesoundslikeataxattorney.Likeadogtaxattorney.Drink.”
“Bestfriend’sname,age,andoccupation?”Noraasks.“Bestfriendotherthanyou,ofcourse.”
Alexcasuallygivesherthefinger.“PercyOkonjo.GoesbyPezorPezza.HeirtoOkonjoIndustries,NigeriancompanyleadingAfricainbiomedicaladvancements.Twenty-two,livesinLondon,metHenryatEton.ManagestheOkonjoFoundation,ahumanitariannonprofit.Drink.”
“Favoritebook?”
“Uh,”Alexsays.“Um.Fuck.Uh.What’stheone—”
“I’msorry,Mr.Claremont-Diaz,thatisincorrect,”Junesays.“Thankyouforplaying,butyoulose.”
“Comeon,what’stheanswer?”
Junepeersdownatthelist.“Thissays…GreatExpectations?”
BothNoraandAlexgroan.
“DoyouseewhatImeannow?”Alexsays.“ThisdudeisreadingCharlesDickens…forpleasure.”
“I’llgiveyouthisone,”Norasays.“Twodrinks!”
“Well,Ithink—”JunesaysasNoraglugsaway.“Guys,it’skindanice!Imean,it’spretentious,butthethemesofGreatExpectationsarealllike,loveismoreimportantthanstatus,anddoingwhat’srightbeatsmoneyandpower.Maybeherelates—”Alexmakesalong,loudfartnoise.“Y’allaresuchassholes!Heseemsreallynice!”
“That’sbecauseyouareanerd,”Alexsays.“Youwanttoprotectthoseofyourownspecies.It’sanaturalinstinct.”
“Iamhelpingyouwiththisoutofthegoodnessofmyheart,”Junesays.“I’mondeadlinerightnow.”
“Hey,whatdoyouthinkZahraputonmyfactsheet?”
“Hmm,”Norasays,suckingherteeth.“FavoritesummerOlympicsport:rhythmicgymnastics—”
“I’mnotashamedofthat.”
“Favoritebrandofkhakis:Gap.”
“Listen,theylookbestonmyass.TheJ.Crewoneswrinkleallweird.Andthey’renotkhakis,they’rechinos.Khakisareforwhitepeople.”
“Allergies:dust,Tidelaundrydetergent,andshuttingthefuckup.”
“Ageoffirstfilibuster:nine,atSeaWorldSanAntonio,tryingtoforceanorcawranglerintoearlyretirementfor,quote,‘inhumanewhalepractices.’”
“Istoodbyitthen,andIstandbyitnow.”
Junethrowsherheadbackandlaughs,loudandunguarded,andNorarollshereyes,andAlexisglad,atleast,thathe’llhavethistocomebacktowhenthenightmareisover.
AlexexpectsHenry’shandlertobesomestoutstorybookEnglishmanwithtailsandatophat,probablyawalrusmustache,definitelyscurryingtoplaceavelvetfootstoolatHenry’scarriagedoor.
Thepersonwhoawaitshimandhissecurityteamonthetarmacisverymuchnotthat.He’satallthirty-somethingIndianmaninanimpeccablytailoredsuit,roguishlyhandsomewithaneatlytrimmedbeard,asteamingcupoftea,andashinyUnionJackonhislapel.Well,okaythen.
“AgentChen,”themansays,extendinghisfreehandtoAmy.“Hopetheflightwassmooth.”
Amynods.“Assmoothasthethirdtransatlanticflightinaweekcanbe.”
Themanhalf-smiles,commiserative.“TheLandRoverisforyouandyourteamfortheduration.”
Amynodsagain,releasinghishand,andthemanturnshisattentiontoAlex.
“Mr.Claremont-Diaz,”hesays.“WelcomebacktoEngland.ShaanSrivastava,PrinceHenry’sequerry.”
Alextakeshishandandshakesit,feelingabitlikehe’sinoneofHenry’sdad’sBondmovies.Behindhim,anattendantunloadshisluggageandcarriesitoffinthedirectionofasleekAstonMartin.
“Nicetomeetyou,Shaan.Notexactlyhowwethoughtwe’dbespendingourweekend,isit?”
“I’mnotassurprisedatthisturnofeventsasI’dliketobe,sir,”Shaansayscoolly,withaninscrutablesmile.
Hepullsasmalltabletfromhisjacketandpivotsonhisheeltowardthewaitingcar.Alexstaresathisback,speechless,beforehastilyrefusingtobeimpressedbyagrownmanwhosejobishandlingtheprince’sschedule,nomatterhowcoolheisorhowlongandsmoothhisstridesare.Heshakeshisheadalittleandjogstocatchup,slidingintothebackseatasShaanchecksthemirrors.
“Right,”Shaansays.“You’llbestayingintheguestquartersatKensingtonPalace.Tomorrowyou’lldotheThisMorninginterviewatnine—we’vearrangedforaphotocallatthestudio.Thenit’schildrenwithcancerallafternoonandoffyougobacktothelandofthefree.”
“Okay,”Alexsays.Heverypolitelydoesnotadd,couldbeworse.
“Fornow,”Shaansays,“you’retocomewithmetochauffeurtheprincefromthestables.Oneofourphotographerswillbetheretophotographtheprincewelcomingyoutothecountry,sodotrytolookpleasedtobehere.”
Ofcourse,therearestablestheprinceneedstobechauffeuredfrom.Hewasbrieflyworriedhe’dbeenwrongaboutwhattheweekendwouldlooklike,butthisfeelsalotmorelikeit.
“Ifyou’llchecktheseatpocketinfrontofyou,”Shaansaysashereverses,“thereareafewpapersforyoutosign.Yourlawyershavealreadyapprovedthem.”Hepassesbackanexpensive-lookingblackfountainpen.
NONDISCLOSUREAGREEMENT,thetopofthefirstpagereads.Alexflipsthroughtothelastpage—thereareatleastfifteenpagesoftext—andalowwhistleescapeshislips.
“Thisis…”Alexsays,“athingyoudooften?”
“Standardprotocol,”Shaansays.“Thereputationoftheroyalfamilyistoovaluabletorisk.”
Thewords“ConfidentialInformation,”asusedinthisAgreement,shallincludethefollowing:
1.SuchinformationasHRHPrinceHenryoranymemberoftheRoyalFamilymaydesignatetotheGuestas“ConfidentialInformation”;
2.AllproprietaryandfinancialinformationregardingHRHPrinceHenry’spersonalwealthandestate;
3.AnyinteriorarchitecturaldetailsofRoyalResidencesincludingBuckinghamPalace,KensingtonPalace,etc.,andpersonaleffectsfoundtherein;
4.AnyinformationregardingorinvolvingHRHPrinceHenry’spersonalorprivatelifenotpreviouslyreleasedbyofficialRoyaldocuments,speeches,orapprovedbiographers,includinganypersonalorprivaterelationshiptheGuestmayhavewithHRHPrinceHenry;
5.AnyinformationfoundonHRHPrinceHenry’spersonalelectronicdevices…
Thisseems…excessive,likethekindofpaperworkyougetfromsomepervertedmillionairewhowantstohuntyouforsport.Hewonderswhatthemostmind-numbinglywholesomepublicfigureonearthcouldpossiblyhavetohide.Hehopesit’snotpeople-hunting.
AlexisnostrangertoNDAs,though,sohesignsandinitials.It’snotlikehewouldhavedivulgedalltheboringdetailsofthistriptoanyoneanyway,exceptmaybeJuneandNora.
Theypulluptothestablesafteranotherfifteenminutes,hissecurityclosebehindthem.Theroyalstablesare,ofcourse,elaborateandwell-keptandaboutamillionmilesfromtheoldrancheshe’sseenoutintheTexaspanhandle.Shaanleadshimouttotheedgeofthepaddock,andAmyandherteamregrouptenpacesbehind.
Alexrestshiselbowsonthelacqueredwhitefenceboards,fightingbackthesudden,absurdfeelinghe’sunderdressedforthis.Onanyotherday,hischinosandbutton-downwouldbefineforacasualphotoop,butforthefirsttimeinalongtime,he’sfeelingdistinctlyoutofhiselement.Doeshishairlookawfulfromtheplane?
It’snotlikeHenryisgoingtolookmuchbetterafterpolopractice.He’llprobablybesweatyanddisgusting.
Asifoncue,Henrycomesgallopingaroundthebendonthebackofapristinewhitehorse.
Heisdefinitelynotsweatyordisgusting.Heis,instead,batheddramaticallyinasweepingandresplendentsunset,wearingacrispblackjacketandridingpantstuckedintotallleatherboots,lookingeveryinchanactualfairy-taleprince.Heunhookshishelmetandtakesitoffwithoneglovedhand,andhishairunderneathisjustattractivelytousledenoughtolooklikeit’ssupposedtobethatway.
“I’mgoingtothrowuponyou,”AlexsaysassoonasHenryiscloseenoughtohearhim.
“Hello,Alex,”Henrysays.AlexreallyresentstheextrafewinchesofheightHenryhasonhimrightnow.“Youlook…sober.”
“Onlyforyou,YourRoyalHighness,”hesayswithanelaboratemock-bow.He’spleasedtohearalittlebitoficeinHenry’svoice,finallydonepretending.
“You’retookind,”Henrysays.Heswingsonelonglegoveranddismountsfromhishorsegracefully,removinghisgloveandextendingahandtoAlex.Awell-dressedstablehandbasicallyspringsupoutofthegroundtowhiskthehorseawaybythereins.Alexhasprobablyneverhatedanythingmore.
“Thisisidiotic,”Alexsays,graspingHenry’shand.Theskinissoft,probablyexfoliatedandmoisturizeddailybysomeroyalmanicurist.There’saroyalphotographerrightontheothersideofthefence,sohesmileswinninglyandsaysthroughhisteeth,“Let’sgetitoverwith.”
“I’dratherbewaterboarded,”Henrysays,smilingback.Thecamerasnapsnearby.Hiseyesarebigandsoftandblue,andhedesperatelyneedstobepunchedinoneofthem.“Yourcountrycouldprobablyarrangethat.”
Alexthrowshisheadbackandlaughshandsomely,loudandfalse.“Gofuckyourself.”
“Hardlyenoughtime,”Henrysays.HereleasesAlex’shandasShaanreturns.
“YourHighness,”ShaangreetsHenrywithanod.Alexmakesaconcentratedeffortnottorollhiseyes.“Thephotographershouldhavewhatheneeds,soifyou’reready,thecariswaiting.”
Henryturnstohimandsmilesagain,eyesunreadable.“Shallwe?”
There’ssomethingvaguelyfamiliarabouttheKensingtonPalaceguestquarters,eventhoughhe’sneverbeenherebefore.
Shaanhadanattendantshowhimtohisroom,wherehisluggageawaitedhimonanornatelycarvedbedwithspungoldbedding.ManyoftheroomsintheWhiteHousehaveasimilarhauntedness,asenseofhistorythathangslikecobwebsnomatterhowpristinetheroomsarekept.He’susedtosleepingalongsideghosts,butthat’snotit.
Itstrikesfurtherbackinhismemory,aroundthetimehisparentssplitup.TheywerethekindofmarriedlawyercouplewhocouldbarelyorderChinesetakeoutwithoutlegallybindingdocuments,soAlexspentthesummerbeforeseventhgradeshuttledbackandforthfromhometotheirdad’snewplaceoutsideofLosAngelesuntiltheycouldstrikealong-termarrangement.
Itwasanicehouseinthevalley,aclearblueswimmingpoolandabackwallofsolidglass.Heneversleptwellthere.He’dsneakoutofhisthrown-togetherbedroominthemiddleofthenight,stealingHeladosfromhisdad’sfreezerandstandingbarefootinthekitcheneatingstraightfromthequart,washedblueinthepoollight.
That’showitfeelshere,somehow—wideawakeatmidnightinastrangeplace,duty-boundtomakeitwork.
Hewandersintothekitchenattachedtohisguestwing,wheretheceilingsarehighandthecountertopsareshinymarble.Hewasallowedtosubmitalisttostockthekitchen,butapparentlyitwastoohardtogetHeladosonshortnotice—allthat’sinthefreezerisUK-brandpackagedicecreamcones.
“What’sitlike?”Nora’svoicesays,tinnyoverhisphone’sspeaker.Onthescreen,herhairisup,andshe’spokingatoneofherdozensofwindowplants.
“Weird,”Alexsays,pushinghisglassesuphisnose.“Everythinglookslikeamuseum.Idon’tthinkI’mallowedtoshowyou,though.”
“Ooh,”Norasays,wigglinghereyebrows.“Sosecretive.Sofancy.”
“Please,”Alexsays.“Ifanything,it’screepy.IhadtosignsuchamassiveNDAthatI’mconvincedI’mgonnadropthroughatrapdoorintoatorturedungeonanyminute.”
“Ibethehasasecretlovechild,”Norasays.“Orhe’sgay.Orhehasasecretgaylovechild.”
“It’sprobablyincaseIseehisequerryputtinghisbatteriesbackin,”Alexsays.“Anyway,thisisboring.What’sgoingonwithyou?Yourlifeissomuchbetterthanminerightnow.”
“Well,”Norasays,“NateSilverwon’tstopblowingupmyphoneforanothercolumn.Boughtsomenewcurtains.Narroweddownthelistofgradschoolconcentrationstostatisticsordatascience.”
“TellmethosearebothatGW,”Alexsays,hoppinguptositononeoftheimmaculatecountertops,feetdangling.“Youcan’tleavemeinDCtogobacktoMIT.”
“Haven’tdecidedyet,butastonishingly,itwillnotbebasedonyou,”Noratellshim.“Rememberhowwesometimestalkaboutthingsthatarenotaboutyou?”
“Yeah,weirdly.SoistheplantodethroneNateSilverasreigningdataczarofDC?”
Noralaughs.“No,whatI’mgonnadoissilentlycompileandprocessenoughdatatoknowexactlywhat’sgonnahappenforthenexttwenty-fiveyears.ThenI’mgonnabuyahouseonthetopofaverytallhillattheedgeofthecityandbecomeaneccentricrecluseandsitonmyveranda.Watchitallunfoldthroughapairofbinoculars.”
Alexstartstolaugh,butcutsoffwhenhehearsrustlingdownthehall.Quietfootstepsapproaching.PrincessBeatricelivesinadifferentsectionofthepalace,andsodoesHenry.ThePPOsandhisownsecuritysleeponthisfloor,though,somaybe—
“Holdon,”Alexsays,coveringthespeaker.
Alightflicksoninthehallway,andthepersonwhocomespaddingintothekitchenisnoneotherthanPrinceHenry.
He’srumpledandhalfawake,shouldersslumpingasheyawns.He’sstandinginfrontofAlexwearingnotasuit,butaheather-grayT-shirtandplaidpajamabottoms.Hehasearbudsin,andhishairisamess.Hisfeetarebare.
Helooks,alarmingly,human.
HefreezeswhenhiseyesfallonAlexperchedonthecountertop.Alexstaresbackathim.Inhishand,Norabeginsamuffled,“Isthat—”beforeAlexdisconnectsthecall.
Henrypullsouthisearbuds,andhisposturehasratchetedbackupstraight,buthisfaceisstillblearyandconfused.
“Hello,”hesays,hoarse.“Sorry.Er.Iwasjust.Cornettos.”
Hegesturesvaguelytowardtherefrigerator,asifhe’ssaidsomethingofanymeaning.
“What?”
Hecrossestothefreezerandextractstheboxoficecreamcones,showingAlexthenameCornettoacrossthefront.“Iwasout.Knewthey’dstockedyouup.”
“Doyouraidthekitchensofallyourguests?”Alexasks.
“OnlywhenIcan’tsleep,”Henrysays.“Whichisalways.Didn’tthinkyou’dbeawake.”HelooksatAlex,deferring,andAlexrealizeshe’swaitingforpermissiontoopentheboxandtakeone.Alexthinksabouttellinghimno,justforthethrillofdenyingaprincesomething,buthe’skindofintrigued.Heusuallycan’tsleepeither.Henods.
HewaitsforHenrytotakeaCornettoandleave,butinsteadhelooksbackupatAlex.
“Haveyoupracticedwhatyou’llsaytomorrow?”
“Yes,”Alexsays,bristlingimmediately.ThisiswhynothingaboutHenryhaseverintriguedhimbefore.“You’renottheonlyprofessionalhere.”
“Ididn’tmean—”Henryfalters.“Ionlymeant,doyouthinkweshould,er,rehearse?”
“Doyouneedto?”
“Ithoughtitmighthelp.”Ofcourse,hethinksthat.EverythingHenry’severdonepubliclyhasprobablybeenprivatelyrehearsedinstuffyroyalquarterslikethisone.
Alexhopsdownoffthecounter,swipinghisphoneunlocked.“Watchthis.”
Helinesupashot:theboxofCornettosonthecounter,Henry’shandbracedonthemarblenexttoit,hisheavysignetringvisiblealongwithaswathofpajamas.HeopensupInstagram,slapsafilteronit.
“‘Nothingcuresjetlag,’”Alexnarratesinamonotoneashetapsoutacaption,“‘likemidnighticecreamwith@PrinceHenry.’GeotagKensingtonPalace,andposted.”HeholdsthephoneforHenrytoseeaslikesandcommentsimmediatelypourin.“Therearealotofthingsworthoverthinking,believeme.Butthisisn’toneofthem.”
Henryfrownsathimoverhisicecream.
“Isuppose,”hesays,lookingdoubtful.
“Areyoudone?”Alexasks.“Iwasonacall.”
Henryblinks,thenfoldshisarmsoverhischest,backonthedefensive.“Ofcourse.Iwon’tkeepyou.”
Asheleavesthekitchen,hepausesinthedoorframe,considering.
“Ididn’tknowyouworeglasses,”hesaysfinally.
HeleavesAlexstandingtherealoneinthekitchen,theboxofCornettossweatingonthecounter.
Theridetothestudiofortheinterviewisbumpybutmercifullyquick.Alexshouldprobablyblamesomeofhisqueasinessonnervesbutchoosestoblameitallonthismorning’sappallingbreakfastspread—whatkindofgarbagecountryeatsblandbeansonwhitetoastforbreakfast?Hecan’tdecideifhisMexicanbloodorhisTexanbloodismoreoffended.
Henrysitsbesidehim,surroundedbyacloudofattendantsandstylists.Oneadjustshishairwithafine-toothedcomb.Oneholdsupanotepadoftalkingpoints.Onetugshiscollarstraight.Fromthepassengerseat,ShaanshakesayellowpilloutofabottleandpassesitbacktoHenry,whoreadilypopsitintohismouthandswallowsitdry.Alexdecideshedoesn’twantorneedtoknow.
Themotorcadepullsupinfrontofthestudio,andwhenthedoorslidesopen,there’sthepromisedphotolineandbarricadedroyalworshippers.Henryturnsandlooksathim,alittlegrimacearoundhismouthandeyes.
“Princegoesfirst,thenyou,”ShaansaystoAlex,leaninginandtouchinghisearpiece.Alextakesonebreath,two,andturnsiton—themegawattsmile,theAll-Americancharm.
“Goahead,YourRoyalHighness,”Alexsays,winkingasheputsonhissunglasses.“Yoursubjectsawait.”
Henryclearshisthroatandunfoldshimself,steppingoutintothemorningandwavinggeniallyatthecrowd.Camerasflash,photographersshout.Ablue-hairedgirlinthecrowdliftsupahomemadeposterthatreadsinbig,glitteryletters,GETINME,PRINCEHENRY!foraboutfivesecondsuntilamemberofthesecurityteamshovesitintoanearbytrashcan.
Alexstepsoutnext,swaggeringupbesideHenryandthrowinganarmoverhisshoulders.
“Actlikeyoulikeme!”Alexsayscheerfully.Henrylooksathimlikehe’stryingtochoosebetweenamillionchoicewords,beforetippinghisheadtothesideandofferingupawell-rehearsedlaugh,puttinghisarmaroundAlextoo.“Therewego.”
ThehostsofThisMorningareagonizinglyBritish—amiddle-agedwomannamedDottieinateadressandamancalledStuwholooksasifhespendsweekendsyellingatmiceinhisgarden.Alexwatchestheintroductionsbackstageasamakeupartistconcealsastresspimpleonhisforehead.So,thisishappening.HetriestoignoreHenryafewfeettohisleft,currentlygettingafinalpreeningfromaroyalstylist.It’sthelastchancehe’llgettoignoreHenryfortherestoftheday.
SoonHenryisleadingthewayoutwithAlexclosebehind.AlexshakesDottie’shandfirst,smilinghisPoliticsSmileather,theonethatmakesalotofcongresswomenandmorethanafewcongressmenwanttotellhimthingstheyshouldn’t.Shegigglesandkisseshimonthecheek.Theaudienceclapsandclapsandclaps.
Henrysitsonthepropcouchnexttohim,perfectposture,andAlexsmilesathim,makingashowoflookingcomfortableinHenry’scompany.Whichisharderthanitshouldbe,becausethestagelightssuddenlymakehimuncomfortablyawareofhowfreshandhandsomeHenrylooksforthecameras.He’swearingabluesweateroverabutton-down,andhishairlookssoft.
Whatever,fine.Henryisannoyinglyattractive.That’salwaysbeenathing,objectively.It’sfine.
Herealizes,almostasecondtoolate,thatDottieisaskinghimaquestion.
“WhatdoyouthinkofjollyoldEngland,then,Alex?”Dottiesays,clearlyribbinghim.Alexforcesasmile.
“Youknow,Dottie,it’sgorgeous,”Alexsays.“I’vebeenhereafewtimessincemymomgotelected,andit’salwaysincredibletoseethehistoryhere,andthebeerselection.”Theaudiencelaughsrightoncue,andAlexshakesouthisshouldersalittle.“Andofcourse,it’salwaysgreattoseethisguy.”
HeturnstoHenry,extendinghisfist.HenryhesitatesbeforestifflybumpinghisownknucklesagainstAlex’swiththeheavyairofanactoftreason.
Alex’swholereasonforwantingtogointopolitics,whenheknowssomanypastpresidentialsonsanddaughtershaverunawayscreamingtheminutetheyturnedeighteen,ishegenuinelycaresaboutpeople.
Thepowerisgreat,theattentionfun,butthepeople—thepeopleareeverything.Hehasabitofacaring-too-muchproblemaboutmostthings,includingwhetherpeoplecanpaytheirmedicalbills,ormarrywhomevertheylove,ornotgetshotatschool.Or,inthiscase,ifkidswithcancerhaveenoughbookstoreadattheRoyalMarsdenNHSFoundationTrust.
HeandHenryandtheircollectivehoardofsecurityhavetakenoverthefloor,flusteringnursesandshakinghands.He’strying—reallytrying—nottolethishandsclenchintofistsathissides,butHenry’ssmilingroboticallywithalittlebaldboypluggedfulloftubesforsomebullshitphotograph,andhewantstoscreamatthiswholestupidcountry.
Buthe’slegallyrequiredtobehere,sohefocusesonthekids,instead.Mostofthemhavenoideawhoheis,butHenrygamelyintroduceshimasthepresident’sson,andsoonthey’reaskinghimabouttheWhiteHouseanddoesheknowArianaGrande,andhelaughsandindulgesthem.Heunpacksbooksfromtheheavyboxesthey’vebrought,climbsupontobedsandreadsoutloud,aphotographertrailingafterhim.
Hedoesn’trealizehe’slosttrackofHenryuntilthepatienthe’svisitingdozesoff,andherecognizesthelowrumbleofHenry’svoiceontheothersideofthecurtain.
Aquickcountoffeetonthefloor—nophotographers.JustHenry.Hmm.
Hestepsquietlyovertothechairagainstthewall,rightattheedgeofthecurtain.Ifhesitsattherightangleandcraneshisheadback,hecanbarelysee.
HenryistalkingtoalittlegirlwithleukemianamedClaudette,accordingtotheboardonherwall.She’sgotdarkskinthat’sturnedsortofapalegrayandabrightorangescarftiedaroundherhead,emblazonedwiththeAllianceStarbird.
InsteadofhoveringawkwardlylikeAlexexpected,Henryissquattingatherside,smilingandholdingherhand.
“…StarWarsfan,areyou?”Henrysaysinalow,warmvoiceAlexhasneverheardfromhimbefore,pointingattheinsigniaonherheadscarf.
“Oh,it’smyabsolutefavorite,”Claudettegushes.“I’dliketobejustlikePrincessLeiawhenI’molderbecauseshe’ssotoughandsmartandstrong,andshegetstokissHanSolo.”
Sheblushesalittleathavingmentionedkissinginfrontoftheprincebutfiercelymaintainseyecontact.Alexfindshimselfcraninghisneckfarther,watchingforHenry’sreaction.HedefinitelydoesnotrecallStarWarsonthefactsheet.
“Youknowwhat,”Henrysays,leaninginconspiratorially,“Ithinkyou’vegottherightidea.”
Claudettegiggles.“Who’syourfavorite?”
“Hmm,”Henrysays,makingashowofthinkinghard.“IalwayslikedLuke.He’sbraveandgood,andhe’sthestrongestJediofthemall.IthinkLukeisproofthatitdoesn’tmatterwhereyoucomefromorwhoyourfamilyis—youcanalwaysbegreatifyou’retruetoyourself.”
“Allright,MissClaudette,”anursesaysbrightlyasshecomesaroundthecurtain.Henryjumps,andAlexalmosttipshischairover,caughtintheact.Heclearshisthroatashestands,pointedlynotlookingatHenry.“Youtwocango,it’stimeforhermeds.”
“MissBeth,Henrysaidwewerematesnow!”Claudettepracticallywails.“Hecanstay!”
“Excuseyou!”Beththenursetuts.“That’snowaytoaddresstheprince.Terriblysorry,YourHighness.”
“Noneedtoapologize,”Henrytellsher.“Rebelcommandersoutrankroyalty.”HeshootsClaudetteawinkandasalute,andshepositivelymelts.
“I’mimpressed,”Alexsaysastheywalkoutintothehallwaytogether.Henrycocksaneyebrow,andAlexadds,“Notimpressed,justsurprised.”
“Atwhat?”
“Thatyouactuallyhave,youknow,feelings.”
Henryisbeginningtosmilewhenthreethingshappeninrapidsuccession.
Thefirst:Ashoutechoesfromtheoppositeendofthehall.
Thesecond:There’saloudpopthatsoundsalarminglylikegunfire.
Thethird:CashgrabsbothHenryandAlexbythearmsandshovesthemthroughthenearestdoor.
“Staydown,”Cashgruntsasheslamsthedoorbehindthem.
Intheabruptdarkness,AlexstumblesoveramopandoneofHenry’slegs,andtheygocrashingdowntogetherintoaclatteringpileoftinbedpans.Henryhitsthefloorfirst,facedown,andAlexlandsinaheapontopofhim.
“OhGod,”Henrysays,muffledandechoingslightly.Alexthinkshopefullythathisfacemightbeinabedpan.
“Youknow,”hesaysintoHenry’shair,“wehavegottostopendinguplikethis.”
“Doyoumind?”
“Thisisyourfault!”
“Howisthispossiblymyfault?”Henryhisses.
“NobodyevertriestoshootmewhenI’mdoingpresidentialappearances,buttheminuteIgooutwithafuckingroyal—”
“Willyoushutupbeforeyougetusbothkilled?”
“Nobody’sgoingtokillus.Cashisblockingthedoor.Besides,it’sprobablynothing.”
“Thenatleastgetoffme.”
“Stoptellingmewhattodo!You’renottheprinceofme!”
“Bloodyhell,”Henrymutters,andhepusheshardoffthegroundandrolls,knockingAlexontothefloor.AlexfindshimselfwedgedbetweenHenry’ssideandashelfofwhatsmellslikeindustrial-strengthfloorcleaner.
“Canyoumoveover,YourHighness?”Alexwhispers,shovinghisshoulderagainstHenry’s.“I’drathernotbethelittlespoon.”
“Believeme,I’mtrying,”Henryreplies.“There’snoroom.”
Outside,therearevoices,hurriedfootsteps—nosignsofanall-clear.
“Well,”Alexsays.“Guesswebettermakeourselvescomfortable.”
Henryexhalestightly.“Fantastic.”
Alexfeelshimshiftingagainsthisside,armscrossedoverhischestinanattemptathistypicalclosed-offstancewhilelyingonthefloorwithhisfeetinamopbucket.
“Fortherecord,”Henrysays,“nobody’severmadeanattemptonmylifeeither.”
“Well,congratulations,”Alexsays.“You’veofficiallymadeit.”
“Yes,thisisexactlyhowIalwaysdreameditwouldbe.Lockedinacupboardwithyourelbowinsidemyribcage,”Henrysnipes.HesoundslikehewantstopunchAlex,whichisprobablythemostAlexhaseverlikedhim,sohefollowsanimpulseanddriveshiselbowintoHenry’sside,hard.
Henryletsoutamuffledyelp,andthenextthingAlexknows,he’sbeenyankedsidewaysbyhisshirtandHenryishalfwayontopofhim,pinninghimdownwithonethigh.Hisheadthrobswherehe’sclockeditagainstthelinoleumfloor,buthecanfeelhislipssplitintoasmile.
“Soyoudohavesomefightinyou,”Alexsays.Hebuckshiships,tryingtoshakeHenryoff,buthe’stallerandstrongerandhasafistfulofAlex’scollar.
“Areyouquitefinished?”Henrysays,soundingstrangled.“Canyouperhapsstopputtingyoursoddinglifeindangernow?”
“Aw,youdocare,”Alexsays.“I’mlearningallyourhiddendepthstoday,sweetheart.”
Henryexhalesandslumpsoffhim.“Icannotbelieveevenmortalperilwillnotpreventyoufrombeingthewayyouare.”
Theweirdestpart,Alexthinks,isthatwhathesaidwastrue.
HekeepsgettingtheselittleglimpsesintothingsheneverthoughtHenrywas.Abitofafighter,forone.Intelligent,interestedinotherpeople.It’shonestlydisconcerting.HeknowsexactlywhattosaytoeachDemocraticsenatortomakethemdishaboutbills,exactlywhenZahra’srunninglowonnicotinegum,exactlywhichlooktogiveNorafortherumormill.Readingpeopleiswhathedoes.
Hereallydoesn’tappreciatesomeinbredroyalbabyupendinghissystem.Buthedidratherenjoythatfight.
Heliesthere,waits.Listenstotheshufflingoffeetoutsidethedoor.Letsminutesgoby.
“So,uh,”hetries.“StarWars?”
Hemeansitinanonthreatening,offhandedway,buthabitwinsanditcomesoutaccusatory.
“Yes,Alex,”Henrysaysarchly,“believeitornot,thechildrenofthecrowndon’tonlyspendtheirchildhoodgoingtoteaparties.”
“Iassumeditwasmostlyposturecoachingandjuniorpololeague.”
Henrytakesadeeplyunhappypause.“That…mayhavebeenpartofit.”
“Soyou’reintopopculture,butyouactlikeyou’renot,”Alexsays.“Eitheryou’renotallowedtotalkaboutitbecauseit’sunseemlyforthecrown,oryouchoosenottotalkaboutitbecauseyouwantpeopletothinkyou’recultured.Whichone?”
“Areyoupsychoanalyzingme?”Henryasks.“Idon’tthinkroyalguestsareallowedtodothat.”
“I’mtryingtounderstandwhyyou’resocommittedtoactinglikesomeoneyou’renot,consideringyoujusttoldthatlittlegirlintherethatgreatnessmeansbeingtruetoyourself.”
“Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout,andifIdid,I’mnotsurethat’sanyofyourconcern,”Henrysays,hisvoicestrainedattheedges.
“Really?BecauseI’mprettysureI’mlegallyboundtopretendtobeyourbestfriend,andIdon’tknowifyou’vethoughtthisthroughyet,butthat’snotgoingtostopwiththisweekend,”Alextellshim.Henry’sfingersgotenseagainsthisforearm.“Ifwedothisandwe’reneverseentogetheragain,peoplearegonnaknowwe’refullofshit.We’restuckwitheachother,likeitornot,soIhavearighttobecluedinaboutwhatyourdealisbeforeitsneaksuponmeandbitesmeintheass.”
“Whydon’twestart…”Henrysays,turninghisheadtosquintathim.ThiscloseAlexcanjustmakeoutthesilhouetteofHenry’sstrongroyalnose.“…withyoutellingmewhyexactlyyouhatemesomuch?”
“Doyoureallywanttohavethatconversation?”
“MaybeIdo.”
Alexcrosseshisarms,recognizesitasamirrortoHenry’stic,anduncrossesthem.
“DoyoureallynotrememberbeingapricktomeattheOlympics?”
Alexremembersitinvividdetail:himselfateighteen,dispatchedtoRiowithJuneandNora,thecampaign’sdelegationtothesummergames,oneweekendofphotoopsandsellingthe“nextgenerationofglobalcooperation”image.AlexspentmostofitdrinkingcaipirinhasandsubsequentlythrowingcaipirinhasupbehindOlympicvenues.Andheremembers,downtotheUnionJackonHenry’sanorak,thefirsttimetheymet.
Henrysighs.“IsthatthetimeyouthreatenedtopushmeintotheThames?”
“No,”Alexsays.“Itwasthetimeyouwereacondescendingprickatthedivingfinals.Youreallydon’tremember?”
“Remindme?”
Alexglares.“Iwalkeduptoyoutointroducemyself,andyoustaredatmelikeIwasthemostoffensivethingyouhadeverseen.Rightafteryoushookmyhand,youturnedtoShaanandsaid,‘Canyougetridofhim?’”
Apause.
“Ah,”Henrysays.Heclearshisthroat.“Ididn’trealizeyou’dheardthat.”
“Ifeellikeyou’remissingthepoint,”Alexsays,“whichisthatit’sadoucheythingtosayeitherway.”
“That’s…fair.”
“Yeah,so.”
“That’sall?”Henryasks.“OnlytheOlympics?”
“Imean,thatwasthestart.”
Henrypausesagain.“I’msensinganellipsis.”
“It’sjust…”Alexsays,andashe’sonthefloorofasupplycloset,waitingoutasecuritythreatwithaPrinceofEnglandattheendofaweekendthathasfeltlikesomeveryspecificongoingnightmare,censoringhimselftakestoomucheffort.“Idon’tknow.Doingwhatwedoisfuckinghard.Butit’sharderforme.I’mthesonofthefirstfemalepresident.AndI’mnotwhitelikesheis,can’tevenpassforit.Peoplewillalwayscomedownharderonme.Andyou’re,youknow,you,andyouwerebornintoallofthis,andeveryonethinksyou’rePrincefuckingCharming.You’rebasicallyalivingreminderI’llalwaysbecomparedtosomeoneelse,nomatterwhatIdo,evenifIworktwiceashard.”
Henryisquietforalongwhile.
“Well,”Henrysayswhenhespeaksatlast.“Ican’tverywelldomuchabouttherest.ButIcantellyouIwas,infact,aprickthatday.Notthatit’sanyexcuse,butmyfatherhaddiedfourteenmonthsbefore,andIwasstillkindofaprickeverydayofmylifeatthetime.AndIamsorry.”
Henrytwitchesonehandathisside,andAlexfallsmomentarilysilent.
Thecancerward.Ofcourse,Henrychoseacancerward—itwasrightthereonthefactsheet.Father:FamedfilmstarArthurFox,deceased2015,pancreaticcancer.Thefuneralwastelevised.Hegoesbackoverthelasttwenty-fourhoursinhishead:thesleeplessness,thepills,thetenselittlegrimaceHenrydoesinpublicthatAlexhasalwaysreadasaloofness.
Heknowsafewthingsaboutthisstuff.It’snotlikehisparents’divorcewasapleasanttimeforhim,orlikeherunshimselfraggedaboutgradesforfun.He’sbeenawarefortoolongthatmostpeopledon’tnavigatethoughtsofwhetherthey’lleverbegoodenoughorifthey’redisappointingtheentireworld.He’sneverconsideredHenrymightfeelanyofthesamethings.
Henryclearshisthroatagain,andsomethinglikepaniccatchesAlex.Heopenshismouthandsays,“Well,goodtoknowyou’renotperfect.”
HecanalmosthearHenryrollhiseyes,andhe’sthankfulforit,thefamiliarcomfortofantagonism.
They’resilentagain,thedustoftheconversationsettling.Alexcan’thearanythingoutsidethedoororanysirensonthestreet,butnobodyhascometogetthemyet.
Then,unprompted,Henrysaysintothestretchingstillness,“ReturnoftheJedi.”
Abeat.“What?”
“Toansweryourquestion,”Henrysays.“Yes,IdolikeStarWars,andmyfavoriteisReturnoftheJedi.”
“Oh,”Alexsays.“Wow,you’rewrong.”
Henryhuffsoutthetiniest,mostposhlyindignantpuffofair.Itsmellsminty.Alexresiststheurgetothrowanotherelbow.“HowcanIbewrongaboutmyownfavorite?It’sapersonaltruth.”
“It’sapersonaltruththatiswrongandbad.”
“Whichdoyouprefer,then?Pleaseshowmetheerrorofmyways.”
“Okay,Empire.”
Henrysniffs.“Sodark,though.”
“Yeah,whichiswhatmakesitgood,”Alexsays.“It’sthemostthematicallycomplex.It’sgottheHanandLeiakissinit,youmeetYoda,Hanisatthetopofhisgame,fuckingLandoCalrissian,andthebesttwistincinematichistory.WhatdoesJedihave?Fuckin’Ewoks.”
“Ewoksareiconic.”
“Ewoksarestupid.”
“ButEndor.”
“ButHoth.There’sareasonpeoplealwayscallthebest,grittiestinstallmentofatrilogytheEmpireoftheseries.”
“AndIcanappreciatethat.Butisn’ttheresomethingtobevaluedinahappyendingaswell?”
“SpokenlikeatruePrinceCharming.”
“I’monlysaying,IliketheresolutionofJedi.Ittieseverythingupnicely.Andtheoverallthemeyou’reintendedtotakeawayfromthefilmsishopeandloveand…er,youknow,allthat.WhichiswhatJedileavesyouwithasenseofmostofall.”
Henrycoughs,andAlexisturningtolookathimagainwhenthedooropensandCash’sgiantsilhouettereappears.
“Falsealarm,”hesays,breathingheavily.“Somedumbasskidsbroughtfireworksfortheirfriend.”Helooksdownatthem,flatontheirbacksandblinkingupinthesudden,harshlightofthehallway.“Thislookscozy.”
“Yep,we’rereallybonding,”Alexsays.HereachesahandoutandletsCashhaulhimtohisfeet.
OutsideKensingtonPalace,AlextakesHenry’sphoneoutofhishandandswiftlyopensablankcontactpagebeforehecanprotestorsicaPPOonhimforviolatingroyalproperty.Thecariswaitingtotakehimbacktotheroyals’privateairstrip.
“Here,”Alexsays.“That’smynumber.Ifwe’regonnakeepthisup,it’sgoingtogetannoyingtokeepgoingthroughhandlers.Justtextme.We’llfigureitout.”
Henrystaresathim,expressionblanklybewildered,andAlexwondershowthisguyhasanyfriends.
“Right,”Henrysaysfinally.“Thankyou.”
“Nobootycalls,”Alextellshim,andHenrychokesonalaugh.THREE
FROMAMERICA,WITHLOVE:HenryandAlexFlauntFriendship
NEWBROMANCEALERT?PicsofFSOTUSandPrinceHenry
PHOTOS:Alex’sWeekendinLondon
Forthefirsttimeinaweek,Alexisn’tpissedoffscrollingthroughhisGooglealerts.Ithelpsthey’vegivenPeopleanexclusive—afewgenericquotesabouthowmuchAlex“cherishes”hisfriendshipwithHenryandtheir“sharedlifeexperience”assonsofworldleaders.Alexthinkstheirmainsharedlifeexperienceisprobablywishingtheycouldsetthatquoteadriftontheoceanbetweenthemandwatchitdrown.
Hismotherdoesn’twanthimfake-deadanymore,though,andhe’sstoppedgettingathousandvitriolictweetsanhour,sohecountsitasawin.
Hedodgesastarstruckfreshmangawkingathimandexitsthehallontotheeastsideofcampus,drainingthelastcoldsipofhiscoffee.Firstclasstodaywasanelectivehe’stakingoutofacombinationofmorbidfascinationandacademiccuriosity:ThePressandthePresidency.He’scurrentlyjet-laggedtoallhellfromtryingtokeepthepressfromruiningthepresidency,andtheironyisn’tlostonhim.
Today’slecturewasonpresidentialsexscandalsthroughhistory,andhetextsNora:numbersononeofusgettinginvolvedinasexscandalbeforetheendofsecondterm?
Herresponsecomeswithinseconds:94%probabilityofyourdickbecomingarecurringpersonalityonfacethenation.btw,haveyouseenthis?
There’salinkattached:ablogpostfullofimages,animatedGIFsofhimselfandHenryonThisMorning.Thefistbump.Sharedsmilesthatpassforgenuine.Conspiratorialglances.Underneatharehundredsofcommentsabouthowhandsometheyare,hownicetheylooktogether.
omfg,onecommenterwrites,makeoutalready.
Alexlaughssohardhealmostfallsinafountain.
Asusual,thedayguardattheDirksenBuildingglaresathimasheslidesthroughsecurity.She’scertainhewastheonewhovandalizedthesignoutsideoneparticularsenator’sofficetoreadBITCHMCCONNELL,butshe’llneverproveit.
CashtagsalongforsomeofAlex’sSenatereconmissionssonobodypanicswhenhedisappearsforafewhours.Today,Cashhangsbackonabench,catchinguponhispodcasts.He’salwaysbeenthemostindulgentofAlex’santics.
AlexhashadthelayoutofthebuildingmemorizedsincehisdadfirstgotelectedtotheSenate.It’swherehe’spickeduphisencyclopedicknowledgeofpolicyandprocedure,andwherehespendsmoreafternoonsthanhe’ssupposedto,charmingaidesandtrawlingforgossip.Hismompretendstobeannoyedbutslylyasksforintellater.
SinceSenatorOscarDiazisinCaliforniaspeakingatarallyforguncontroltoday,Alexpunchesthebuttonforthefifthfloorinstead.
HisfavoritesenatorisRafaelLuna,anIndependentfromColoradoandthenewestkidontheblockatonlythirty-nine.Alex’sdadtookhimunderhiswingbackwhenhewasmerelyapromisingattorney,andnowhe’sthedarlingofnationalpoliticsfor(A)winningaspecialelectionandageneralinconsecutiveupsetsforhisSenateseat,and(B)dominatingTheHill’s50MostBeautiful.
Alexspentsummer2018inDenveronLuna’scampaign,sotheyhavetheirowndysfunctionalrelationshipbuiltontropical-flavoredSkittlesfromgasstationsandall-nightersdraftingpressreleases.Hesometimesfeelstheghostofcarpaltunnelcreepingback,afondache.
HefindsLunainhisoffice,horn-rimmedreadingglassesdoingnothingtodetractfromhisusualappearanceofamoviestarwhotrippedandfellsidewaysintopolitics.AlexhasalwayssuspectedthesoulfulbrowneyesandperfectlygroomedstubbleanddramaticcheekboneswonbackanyvotesLunalostbybeingbothLatinoandopenlygay.
ThealbumplayinglowintheroomisanoldfavoriteAlexremembersfromDenver:MuddyWaters.WhenLunalooksupandseesAlexinhisdoorway,hedropshispenonahaphazardpileofpapersandleansbackinhischair.
“Fuckyoudoinghere,kid?”hesays,watchinghimlikeacat.
AlexreachesintohispocketandpullsoutapacketofSkittles,andLuna’sfaceimmediatelysoftensintoasmile.
“Attaboy,”hesays,scoopingthebagupassoonasAlexdropsitonhisblotter.Hekicksthechairinfrontofthedeskoutforhim.
Alexsits,watchingLunaripopenthepacketwithhisteeth.“Whatchaworkingontoday?”
“Youalreadyknowmorethanyou’resupposedtoabouteverythingonthisdesk.”Alexdoesknow—thesamehealthcarereformaslastyear,theonestalledoutsincetheylosttheSenateinmidterms.“Whyareyoureallyhere?”
“Hmm.”Alexhooksalegoveronearmrestofthechair.“IresenttheideaIcan’tcomevisitadearfamilyfriendwithoutulteriormotives.”
“Bullshit.”
Heclutcheshischest.“Youwoundme.”
“Youexhaustme.”
“Ienchantyou.”
“I’llcallsecurity.”
“Fairenough.”
“Instead,let’stalkaboutyourlittleEuropeanvacation,”Lunasays.HefixesAlexwithshrewdeyes.“CanIexpectajointChristmaspresentfromyouandtheprincethisyear?”
“Actually,”Alexswerves,“sinceI’mhere,Idohaveaquestionforyou.”
Lunalaughs,leaningbackandlacinghishandstogetherbehindhishead.Alexfeelshisfaceflashhotforhalfasecond,azipofgood-banteradrenalinethatmeanshe’sgettingsomewhere.“Ofcourseyoudo.”
“IwonderedifyouhadheardanythingaboutConnor,”Alexasks.“WecouldreallyuseanendorsementfromanotherIndependentsenator.Doyouthinkhe’sclosetomakingone?”
Hekickshisfootinnocentlywhereit’sdanglingoverthearmrest,likehe’saskingsomethingasinnocuousastheweather.StanleyConnor,Delaware’skookyandbelovedoldIndependentwithasocialmediateamstackedwithmillennials,wouldbeabiggetdownthelineinaraceprojectedtobethisclose,andtheybothknowit.
LunasucksonaSkittle.“Areyouaskingifhe’sclosetoendorsing,orifIknowwhatstringsneedtobepulledtogethimtoendorse?”
“Raf.Pal.Buddy.YouknowI’dneveraskyouanythingsounseemly.”
Lunasighs,swivelsinhischair.“He’safreeagent.Socialissueswouldpushhimyourwayusually,butyouknowhowhefeelsaboutyourmom’seconomicplatform.YouprobablyknowhisvotingrecordbetterthanIdo,kid.Hedoesn’tfallononesideoftheaisle.Hemightgoforsomethingradicallydifferentontaxes.”
“AndasforsomethingyouknowthatIdon’t?”
Hesmirks.“IknowRichardsispromisingIndependentsacentristplatformwithbigshake-upsonnon-socialissues.AndIknowpartofthatplatformmightnotlineupwithConnor’spositiononhealthcare.Somewheretostart,perhaps.Hypothetically,ifIweregoingtoengagewithyourscheming.”
“Andyoudon’tthinkthere’sanypointinchasingdownleadsonRepublicancandidateswhoaren’tRichards?”
“Shit,”Lunasays,thesetofhismouthturninggrim.“Chancesofyourmotherfacingoffagainstacandidatewho’snotthefuckinganointedmessiahofright-wingpopulismandheirtotheRichardsfamilylegacy?Highlyfuckingunlikely.”
Alexsmiles.“Youcompleteme,Raf.”
Lunarollshiseyesagain.“Let’scirclebacktoyou,”hesays.“Don’tthinkIdidn’tnoticeyouchangingthesubject.Fortherecord,Iwontheofficepoolonhowlongit’dtakeyoutocauseaninternationalincident.”
“Wow,IthoughtIcouldtrustyou.”Alexgasps,mock-betrayed.
“What’sthedealthere?”
“There’snodeal,”Alexsays.“Henryis…apersonIknow.Andwedidsomethingstupid.Ihadtofixit.It’sfine.”
“Okay,okay,”Lunasays,holdingupbothhands.“He’salooker,huh?”
Alexpullsaface.“Yeah,Imean,ifyou’reinto,like,fairy-taleprinces.”
“Isanyonenot?”
“I’mnot,”Alexsays.
Lunaarchesaneyebrow.“Right.”
“What?”
“Justthinkingaboutlastsummer,”hesays.“IhavethisreallyvividmemoryofyoubasicallymakingaPrinceHenryvoodoodollonyourdesk.”
“Ididnot.”
“Orwasitadartboardwithaphotoofhisfaceonit?”
Alexswingshisfootbackoverthearmrestsohecanplantbothfeetonthefloorandfoldhisarmsindignantly.“Ihadamagazinewithhisfaceonitatmydesk,once,becauseIwasinitandhehappenedtobeonthecover.”
“Youstaredatitforanhour.”
“Lies,”Alexsays.“Slander.”
“Itwaslikeyouweretryingtosethimonfirewithyourmind.”
“Whatisyourpoint?”
“Ithinkit’sinteresting,”hesays.“Howfastthetimestheyarea-changin’.”
“Comeon,”Alexsays.“It’s…politics.”
“Uh-huh.”
Alexshakeshishead,doglike,asifit’sgoingtodispersethetopicfromtheroom.“Besides,Icameheretotalkaboutendorsements,notmyembarrassingpublicrelationsnightmares.”
“Ah,”Lunasaysslyly,“butIthoughtyouwereheretopayafamilyfriendavisit?”
“Ofcourse.That’swhatImeant.”
“Alex,don’tyouhavesomethingelsetodoonaFridayafternoon?You’retwenty-one.Youshouldbeplayingbeerpongorgettingreadyforapartyorsomething.”
“Idoallofthosethings,”helies.“Ijustalsodothis.”
“Comeon.I’mtryingtogiveyousomeadvice,fromoneoldmantoamuchyoungerversionofhimself.”
“You’rethirty-nine.”
“Myliverisninety-three.”
“That’snotmyfault.”
“SomelatenightsinDenverwouldbegtodiffer.”
Alexlaughs.“See,thisiswhywe’refriends.”
“Alex,youneedotherfriends,”Lunatellshim.“Friendswhoaren’tinCongress.”
“Ihavefriends!IhaveJuneandNora.”
“Yes,yoursisterandagirlwhoisalsoasupercomputer,”Lunadeadpans.“Youneedtotakesometimeforyourselfbeforeyouburnout,kid.Youneedabiggersupportsystem.”
“Stopcallingme‘kid,’”Alexsays.
“Ay.”Lunasighs.“Areyoudone?Idohavesomeactualworktodo.”
“Yeah,yeah,”Alexsays,gatheringhimselfupfromhischair.“Hey,isMaxineintown?”
“Waters?”Lunaasks,crookinghishead.“Shit,youreallyhaveadeathwish,huh?”
Aspoliticallegaciesgo,theRichardsfamilyisoneofthemostcomplexbitsofhistoryAlexhastriedtounravel.
OnoneofthePost-itnotesstucktohislaptophe’swritten:KENNEDYS+BUSHES+BIZARROMAFIAOLDMONEYSITHPOWERS=RICHARDSES?It’sprettymuchthethesisofwhathe’sdugupsofar.JeffreyRichards,thecurrentandsupposedlyonlyfrontrunnertobehismother’sopponentinthegeneral,hasbeenasenatorforUtahnearlytwentyyears,whichmeansplentyofvotinghistoryandlegislationthathismother’steamhasalreadygoneover.Alexismoreinterestedinthethingshardertosniffout.TherearesomanygenerationsofAttorneyGeneralRichardsandFederalJudgeRichards,they’dbeabletoburyanything.
Hisphonebuzzesunderastackoffilesonhisdesk.AtextfromJune:Dinner?Imissyourface.HelovesJune—truly,morethananythingintheworld—buthe’skindofinthezone.He’llrespondwhenhehitsastoppingpointinlikethirtyminutes.
HeglancesatthevideoofaRichardsinterviewpulledupinatab,checkingtheman’sfacefornonverbalcues.Grayhair—natural,notapiece.Shinywhiteteeth,likeashark’s.HeavyUncleSamjaw.Greatsalesman,consideringhe’sblatantlylyingaboutabillintheclip.Alextakesanote.
It’sanhourandahalflaterbeforeanotherbuzzpullshimoutofadeepdiveintoRichards’suncle’ssuspicious1986taxes.Atextfromhismotherinthefamilygroupchat,apizzaemoji.Hebookmarkshispageandheadsupstairs.
Familydinnersarerarebutlessover-the-topthaneverythingelsethathappensintheWhiteHouse.Hismothersendssomeonetopickuppizzas,andtheytakeoverthegameroomonthethirdfloorwithpaperplatesandbottlesofShinershippedinfromTexas.It’salwaysamusingtocatchoneoftheburlysuitsspeakingincodeovertheirearpieces:“BlackBearhasrequestedextrabananapeppers.”
June’salreadyonthechaiseandsippingabeer.Astabofguiltimmediatelyhitswhenheremembershertext.
“Shit,I’manasshole,”hesays.
“Mm-hmm,youare.”
“But,technically…Iamhavingdinnerwithyou?”
“Justbringmemypizza,”shesayswithasigh.AfterSecretServicemisreadanolive-basedshoutingmatchin2017andalmostputtheResidenceonlockdown,theynoweachgettheirownpizzas.
“Surething,Bug.”HefindsJune’s—margherita—andhis—pepperoniandmushroom.
“Hi,Alex,”saysavoicefromsomewherebehindthetelevisionashesettlesinwithhispizza.
“Hey,Leo,”heanswers.Hisstepdadisfiddlingwiththewiring,probablyrewiringittodosomethingthat’dmakemoresenseinanIronMancomic,likehedoeswithmostelectronics—eccentricmillionaireinventorhabitsdiehard.He’sabouttoaskforadumbed-downexplanationwhenhismothercomesblazingin.
“Whydidy’allletmerunforpresident?”shesays,tappingtooforcefullyatherphone’skeyboardinlittlestaccatostabs.Shekicksoffherheelsintothecorner,throwingherphoneafterthem.
“Becauseweallknewbetterthantotrytostopyou,”Leo’svoicesays.Hepeekshisbearded,bespectacledheadoutandadds,“Andbecausetheworldwouldfallapartwithoutyou,myradiantorchid.”
Hismotherrollshereyesbutsmiles.It’salwaysbeenlikethatwiththem,eversincetheyfirstmetatacharityeventwhenAlexwasfourteen.ShewastheSpeakeroftheHouse,andhewasageniuswithadozenpatentsandmoneytoburnonwomen’shealthinitiatives.Now,she’sthepresident,andhe’ssoldhiscompaniestospendhistimefulfillingFirstGentlemanduties.
Ellenreleasestwoinchesofzipperonthebackofherskirt,thesignshe’sofficiallydonefortheday,andscoopsupaslice.
“Allright,”shesays.Shedoesascrubbinggestureintheairinfrontofherface—presidentfaceoff,momfaceon.“Hi,babies.”
“’Lo,”AlexandJunemumbleinunisonthroughmouthfulsoffood.
EllensighsandlooksoveratLeo.“Ididthat,didn’tI?Nogoddamnmanners.Likeacoupleoflittleopossums.Thisiswhytheysaywomencan’thaveitall.”
“Theyaremasterpieces,”Leosays.
“Onegoodthing,onebadthing,”shesays.“Let’sdothis.”
It’sherlifelongsystemforcatchingupontheirdayswhenshe’satherbusiest.Alexgrewupwithamotherwhowasasometimesbafflingcombinationofintenselyorganizedandcommittedtolinesofemotionalcommunication,likeanoverlyinvestedlifecoach.Whenhegothisfirstgirlfriend,shemadeaPowerPointpresentation.
“Mmm.”Juneswallowsabite.“Goodthing.Oh!OhmyGod.RonanFarrowtweetedaboutmyessayforNewYorkmagazine,andwetotallyengagedinwittyTwitterrepartee.Partoneofmylonggametoforcehimtobemyfriendisunderway.”
“Don’tactlikethisisn’tallpartofyourextra-longgameofabusingyourpositiontomurderWoodyAllenandmakeitlooklikeanaccident,”Alexsays
“He’sjustsofrail;it’donlytakeonegoodpush—”
“HowmanytimesdoIhavetotelly’allnottodiscussyourmurderplotsinfrontofasittingpresident?”theirmotherinterrupts.“Plausibledeniability.Comeon.”
“Anyway,”Junesays.“Onebadthingwouldbe,uh…well,WoodyAllen’sstillalive.Yourturn,Alex.”
“Goodthing,”Alexsays,“IfilibusteredoneofmyprofessorsintoagreeingaquestiononourlastexamwasmisleadingsoIwouldgetfullcreditformyanswer,whichwascorrect.”Hetakesaswigofbeer.“Badthing—Mom,Isawthenewartinthehallonthesecondfloor,andIneedtoknowwhyyouallowedaGeorgeW.Bushterrierpaintinginourhome.”
“It’sabipartisangesture,”Ellensays.“Peoplefindthemendearing.”
“IhavetowalkpastitwheneverIgotomyroom,”Alexsays.“Itsbeadylittleeyesfollowmeeverywhere.”
“It’sstaying.”
Alexsighs.“Fine.”
Leogoesnext—asusual,hisbadthingissomehowalsoagoodthing—andthenEllen’sup.
“Well,myUNambassadorfuckeduphisonejobandsaidsomethingidioticaboutIsrael,andnowIhavetocallNetanyahuandpersonallyapologize.Butthegoodthingisit’stwointhemorninginTelAviv,soIcanputitoffuntiltomorrowandhavedinnerwithyoutwoinstead.”
Alexsmilesather.He’sstillinawe,sometimes,ofhearinghertalkaboutpresidentialpainsintheass,eventhreeyearsin.Theylapseintoidleconversation,littlebarbsandinsidejokes,andthesenightsmayberare,butthey’restillnice.
“So,”Ellensays,startingonanotherslicecrust-first.“IevertellyouIusedtohustlepoolatmymom’sbar?”
Junestopsshort,herbeerhalfwaytohermouth.“Youdidwhatnow?”
“Yep,”shetellsthem.AlexexchangesanincredulouslookwithJune.“MommamanagedthisshittybarwhenIwassixteen.TheTipsyGrackle.She’dletmecomeinafterschoolanddomyhomeworkatthebar,hadabouncerfriendmakesurenoneoftheolddrunkshitonme.IgotprettygoodatpoolafterafewmonthsandstartedbettingtheregularsIcouldbeatthem,exceptI’dplaydumb.Holdthestickthewrongway,pretendtoforgetifIwasstripesorsolid.I’dloseonegame,thentakethemdoubleornothingandgettwicethepayout.”
“You’vegottobekiddingme,”Alexsays,excepthecantotallypictureit.Shehasalwaysbeenscary-goodatpoolandevenbetteratstrategy.
“Alltrue,”Leosays.“Howdoyouthinkshelearnedtogetwhatshewantsfromstrung-outoldwhitemen?Themostimportantskillofaneffectivepolitician.”
Alex’smotheracceptsakisstothesideofhersquarejawfromLeoasshepassesby,likeaqueenglidingthroughacrowdofadmirers.Shesetsherhalf-eatenslicedownonapapertowelandselectsacuestickfromtherack.
“Anyway,”shesays.“Thepointis,you’renevertooyoungtofigureoutyourskillsandusethemtogetshitaccomplished.”
“Okay,”Alexsays.Hemeetshereyes,andtheyswapappraisinglooks.
“Including…”shesaysthoughtfully,“ajobonapresidentialreelectioncampaign,maybe.”
Juneputsdownherslice.“Mom,he’snotevenoutofcollegeyet.”
“Uh,yeah,that’sthepoint,”Alexsaysimpatiently.He’sbeenwaitingforthisoffer.“Nogapsintheresume.”
“It’snotonlyforAlex,”theirmothersays.“It’sforbothofyou.”
June’sexpressionchangesfrompinchedapprehensiontopincheddread.AlexmakesashooingmotioninJune’sdirection.Amushroomfliesoffhispizzaandhitsthesideofhernose.“Tellme,tellme,tellme.”
“I’vebeenthinking,”Ellensays,“thistimearound,y’all—the‘WhiteHouseTrio.’”Sheputsitinairquotes,asifshedidn’tsignoffonthenameherself.“Y’allshouldn’tonlybefaces.Y’allaremorethanthat.Youhaveskills.You’resmart.You’retalented.Wecouldusey’allnotonlyassurrogates,butasstaffers.”
“Mom…”Junestarts.
“Whatpositions?”Alexinterjects.
Shepauses,driftsbackovertohersliceofpizza.“Alex,you’rethefamilywonk,”shesays,takingabite.“Wecouldhaveyourunningpointonpolicy.Thismeansalotofresearchandalotofwriting.”
“Fuckyes,”Alexsays.“Lemmeromancethehelloutofsomefocusgroups.I’min.”
“Alex—”Junestartsagain,buttheirmomcutsheroff.
“June,I’mthinkingcommunications,”shegoeson.“Sinceyourdegreeismasscomm,Iwasthinkingyoucancomehandlesomeoftheday-to-dayliaisingwithmediaoutlets,workingonmessaging,analyzingtheaudience—”
“Mom,Ihaveajob,”shesays.
“Oh,yeah.Imean,ofcourse,sugar.Butthiscouldbefull-time.Connections,upwardmobility,realexperienceinthefielddoingsomeamazingwork.”
“I,um…”Juneripsapieceofcrustoffherpizza.“Don’tremembereversayingIwantedtodoanythinglikethat.That’s,uh,kindofabigassumptiontomake,Mom.AndyourealizeifIgointocampaigncommunicationsnow,I’mbasicallyshuttingdownmychancesofeverbeingajournalist,because,like,journalisticneutralityandeverything.Icanbarelygetanyonetoletmewriteacolumnasitis.”
“Babygirl,”theirmomsays.She’sgotthatlookonherfaceshegetswhenshe’ssayingsomethingwithafifty-fiftychanceofpissingyouoff.“You’resotalented,andIknowyouworkhard,butatsomepoint,youhavetoberealistic.”
“What’sthatsupposedtomean?”
“Ijustmean…Idon’tknowifyou’rehappy,”shesays,“andmaybeit’stimetotrysomethingdifferent.That’sall.”
“I’mnoty’all,”Junetellsher.“Thisisn’tmything.”
“Juuuuune,”Alexsays,tiltinghisheadbacktolookatherupsidedownoverthearmofhischair.“Justthinkaboutit?I’mdoingit.”Helooksbackattheirmom.“AreyouofferingajobtoNoratoo?”
Shenods.“Mikeistalkingtohertomorrowaboutapositioninanalytics.Ifshetakesit,she’llstartASAP.You,mister,arenotstartinguntilaftergraduation.”
“Ohman,theWhiteHouseTrio,ridingintobattle.Thisisawesome.”HelooksoveratLeo,whohasabandonedhisprojectwiththeTVandisnowhappilyeatingasliceofcheesybread.“Theyofferyouajobtoo,Leo?”
“No,”hesays.“Asusual,mydutiesasFirstGentlemanaretoworkonmytablescapesandlookpretty.”
“Yourtablescapesarereallycomingalong,baby,”Ellensays,givinghimasarcasticlittlekiss.“Ireallylikedtheburlapplacemats.”
“Canyoubelievethedecoratorthoughtvelvetlookedbetter?”
“Blessherheart.”
“Idon’tlikethis,”JunesaystoAlexwhiletheirmotherisdistractedtalkingaboutdecorativepears.“Areyousureyouwantthisjob?”
“It’sgonnabefine,June,”hetellsher.“Hey,ifyouwannakeepaneyeonme,youcanalwaystaketheoffertoo.”
Sheshakeshimoff,returningtoherpizzawithanunreadableexpression.ThenextdaytherearethreematchingstickynotesonthewhiteboardinZahra’soffice.CAMPAIGNJOBS:ALEX-NORA-JUNE,theboardreads.ThestickynotesunderhisandNora’snamesreadYES.UnderJune’s,inwhatisunmistakablyherownhandwriting,NO
Alexistakingnotesinapolicylecturewhenhegetsthefirsttext.
Thisblokelookslikeyou.
There’sapictureattached,animageofalaptopscreenpausedonChiefChirpafromReturnoftheJedi:tiny,commanding,adorable,pissedoff.
ThisisHenry,bytheway.
Herollshiseyes,butaddsthenewcontacttohisphone:HRHPrinceDickhead.Poopemoji.
He’shonestlynotplanningtorespond,butaweeklaterheseesaheadlineonthecoverofPeople—PRINCEHENRYFLIESSOUTHFORWINTER—completewithaphotoofHenryartisticallyposedonanAustralianbeachinapairofsensibleyetminisculenavyswimtrunks,andhecan’tstophimself.
youhavealotofmoles,hetexts,alongwithasnapofthespread.isthataresultoftheinbreeding?
Henry’sretortcomestwodayslaterbywayofascreenshotofaDailyMailtweetthatreads,IsAlexClaremont-Diazgoingtobeafather?Theattachedmessagesays,Butwewereeversocareful,dear,whichsurprisesabigenoughlaughoutofAlexthatZahraejectshimfromherweeklydebriefingwithhimandJune.
So,itturnsoutHenrycanbefunny.Alexaddsthattohismentalfile.
ItalsoturnsoutHenryisfondoftextingwhenhe’strappedinmomentsofroyalmonotony,likebeingshuttledtoandfromappearances,orsittingthroughmeanderingbriefingsonhisfamily’slandholdings,or,once,begrudginglyandhilariouslyreceivingaspraytan.
Alexwouldn’tsayhelikesHenry,buthedoesenjoythequickrhythmofargumentstheyfallinto.Heknowshetalkstoomuch,hopelessatmoderatinghisfeelings,whichheusuallyhidesundertenlayersofcharm,butheultimatelydoesn’tcarewhatHenrythinksofhim,sohedoesn’tbother.Instead,he’sasweirdandmanicashewantstobe,andHenryjabsbackinsharpflashesofstartlingwit.
So,whenhe’sboredorstressedorbetweencoffeerefills,he’llcheckforatextbubblepoppingup.Henrywithadigatsomeweirdquotefromhislatestinterview,HenrywitharandomthoughtaboutEnglishbeerversusAmericanbeer,apictureofHenry’sdogwearingaSlytherinscarf.(idon’tknowWHOyouthinkyou’rekidding,youhufflepuff-assbitch,Alextextsback,beforeHenryclarifieshisdog,nothim,isaSlytherin.)
HelearnsaboutHenry’slifethroughaweirdosmosisoftextmessagesandsocialmedia.It’smeticulouslyscheduledbyShaan,withwhomAlexisslightlyobsessed,especiallywhenHenrytextshimthingslike,DidItellyouShaanhasamotorbike?orShaanisonthephonewithPortugal.
It’squicklybecomingapparenttheHRHPrinceHenryFactSheeteitheromittedthemostinterestingstufforwasoutrightfabricated.Henry’sfavoritefoodisn’tmuttonpiebutacheapfalafelstandtenminutesfromthepalace,andhe’sspentmostofhisgapyearthusfarworkingoncharitiesaroundtheworld,halfofthemownedbyhisbestfriend,Pez.
AlexlearnsHenry’ssuperintoclassicalmythologyandcanrattleofftheconfigurationsofafewdozenconstellationsifyoulethimgetgoing.Alexhearsmoreaboutthetediousdetailsofoperatingasailboatthanhewouldevercaretoknowandsendsbacknothingbut:cool.Eighthourslater.Henryhardlyeverswears,butatleasthedoesn’tseemtomindAlex’sfilthyfuckingmouth.
Henry’ssister,Beatrice—shegoesbyBea,Alexfindsout—popsupoften,sinceshelivesinKensingtonPalaceaswell.Fromwhathegathers,thetwoofthemarecloserthaneitheraretotheirbrother.Theycomparenotesonthetrialsandtribulationsofhavingoldersisters.
didbeaforceyouintodressesasachildtoo?
HasJunealsogotafondnessforsneakingyourleftovercurryoutoftherefrigeratorinthedeadofnightlikeaDickensianstreeturchin?
MorecommonarecameosbyPez,amanwhocutssuchanintriguingandbizarrefigurethatAlexwondershowsomeonelikehimeverbecamebestfriendswithsomeonelikeHenry,whocandroneonaboutLordByronuntilyouthreatentoblockhisnumber.He’salwayseitherdoingsomethinginsane—BASEjumpinginMalaysia,eatingplantainswithsomeonewhomightbeJay-Z,showinguptolunchwearingastudded,hot-pinkGuccijacket—orlaunchinganewnonprofit.It’skindofincredible.
Herealizesthathe’ssharedJuneandNoratoo,whenHenryremembersJune’sSecretServicecodenameisBluebonnetorjokesabouthoweerieNora’sphotographicmemoryis.It’sweird,consideringhowfiercelyprotectiveAlexisofthem,thatheneverevennoticeduntilHenry’sTwitterexchangewithJuneabouttheirmutualloveofthe2005Pride&Prejudicemoviegoesviral.
“That’snotyouremails-from-Zahraface,”Norasays,nosingherwayoverhisshoulder.Heelbowsheraway.“Youkeepdoingthatstupidsmileeverytimeyoulookatyourphone.Whoareyoutexting?”
“Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout,andliterallynoone,”Alextellsher.Fromthescreeninhishand,Henry’smessagereads,Inworld’smostboringmeetingwithPhilip.Don’tletthepapersprintliesaboutmeafterI’vegarrotedmyselfwithmytie.
“Wait,”shesays,reachingforhisphoneagain,“areyouwatchingvideosofJustinTrudeauspeakingFrenchagain?”
“That’snotathingIdo!”
“ThatisathingIhavecaughtyoudoingatleasttwicesinceyoumethimatthestatedinnerlastyear,soyeah,itis,”shesays.Alexflipsheroff.“Wait,ohmyGod,isitfanfictionaboutyourself?Andyoudidn’tinviteme?Whodotheyhaveyouboningnow?DidyoureadtheoneIsentyouwithMacron?Idied.”
“Ifyoudon’tstop,I’mgonnacallTaylorSwiftandtellheryouchangedyourmindandwanttogotoherFourthofJulypartyafterall.”
“Thatisnotaproportionalresponse.”
Laterthatnight,oncehe’saloneathisdesk,hereplies:wasitameetingaboutwhichofyourcousinshavetomarryeachothertotakebackcasterlyrock?
Ha.Itwasaboutroyalfinances.I’llbehearingPhilip’svoicesayingthewords“returnoninvestment”inmynightmaresfortherestoftime.
Alexrollshiseyesandsendsback,theharrowingstruggleofmanagingtheempire’sbloodmoney.
Henry’sresponsecomesaminutelater.
Thatwasactuallythecruxofthemeeting—I’vetriedtorefusemyshareofthecrown’smoney.Dadleftuseachmorethanenough,andI’drathercovermyexpenseswiththatthanthespoilsof,youknow,centuriesofgenocide.PhilipthinksI’mbeingridiculous.
Alexscansthemessagetwicetomakesurehe’sreaditcorrectly.
iamlow-keyimpressed.
Hestaresatthescreen,athisownmessage,forafewsecondstoolong,suddenlyafraiditwasastupidthingtosay.Heshakeshishead,putsthephonedown.Locksit.Changeshismind,picksitupagain.Unlocksit.SeesthelittletypingbubbleonHenry’ssideoftheconversation.Putsthephonedown.Looksaway.Looksback.
OnedoesnotfosteralifelongloveofStarWarswithoutknowingan“empire”isn’tagoodthing.
HewouldreallyappreciateitifHenrywouldstopprovinghimwrong.
HRHPrinceDickhead
Oct30,2019,1:07PM
ihatethattie
HRHPrinceDickhead
Whattie?
theoneinthatinstagramyoujustposted
HRHPrinceDickhead
What’swrongwithit?It’sonlygrey.
exactly.trypatternssometime,andstopfrowningatyourphonelikeiknowyou’redoingrn
HRHPrinceDickhead
Patternsareconsidereda“statement.”Royalsaren’tsupposedtomakestatementswithwhatwewear.
doitforthegram
HRHPrinceDickhead
Youarethethistleinthetenderandsensitivearsecrackofmylife.
thanks!
Nov17,2019,11:04AM
HRHPrinceDickhead
I’vejustreceiveda5-kiloparcelofEllenClaremontcampaignbuttonswithyourfaceonthem.Isthisyourideaofaprank?
justtryingtobrightenupthatwardrobe,sunshine
HRHPrinceDickhead
Ihopethisgrossmiscarriageofcampaignfundsisworthittoyou.Mysecuritythoughtitwasabomb.Shaanalmostcalledinthesnifferdogs.
oh,definitelyworthit.evenmoreworthitnow.tellshaanisayhiandimissthatsweetsweetassxoxoxo
HRHPrinceDickhead
Iwillnot.FOUR
“It’spublicknowledge.It’snotmyproblemyoujustfoundout,”hismotherissaying,pacingdouble-timedownaWestWingcorridor.
“Youmeantotellme,”Alexhalfshouts,joggingtokeepup,“everyThanksgiving,thosestupidturkeyshavebeenstayinginaluxurysuiteattheWillardonthetaxpayers’dime?”
“Yes,Alex,theydo—”
“Grossgovernmentwaste!”
“—andtherearetwoforty-poundturkeysnamedCornbreadandStuffinginamotorcadeonPennsylvaniaAvenuerightnow.Thereisnotimetoreallocatetheturkeys.”
Withoutmissingabeat,heblurtsout,“Bringthemtothehouse.”
“Where?Areyouhidingaturkeyhabitatupyourass,son?Where,inourhistoricallyprotectedhouse,amIgoingtoputacoupleofturkeysuntilIpardonthemtomorrow?”
“Puttheminmyroom.Idon’tcare.”
Sheoutrightlaughs.“No.”
“Howisitdifferentfromahotelroom?Puttheturkeysinmyroom,Mom.”
“I’mnotputtingtheturkeysinyourroom.”
“Puttheturkeysinmyroom.”
“No.”
“Puttheminmyroom,puttheminmyroom,puttheminmyroom—”
Thatnight,asAlexstaresintothecold,pitilesseyesofaprehistoricbeastofprey,hehasafewregrets.
THEYKNOW,hetextsHenry.THEYKNOWIHAVEROBBEDTHEMOFFIVE-STARACCOMMODATIONSTOSITINACAGEINMYROOM,ANDTHEMINUTEITURNMYBACKTHEYAREGOINGTOFEASTONMYFLESH.
CornbreadstaresemptilybackathimfrominsideahugecratenexttoAlex’scouch.Afarmvetcomesbyonceeveryfewhourstocheckonthem.Alexkeepsaskingifshecandetectalustforblood.
Fromtheensuite,Stuffingreleasesanotherominousgobble.
Alexwasgoingtogetthingsaccomplishedtonight.Hereallywas.BeforehelearnedofexorbitantturkeyexpendituresfromCNN,hewaswatchingthehighlightsoflastnight’sRepublicanprimarydebate.Hewasgoingtofinishanoutlineforanexam,thenstudythedemographicengagementbinderheconvincedhismothertogivehimforthecampaignjob
Instead,heisinaprisonofhisowncreation,sworntobabysittheseturkeysuntilthepardoningceremony,andisjustnowrealizinghisdeep-seatedfearoflargebirds.Heconsidersfindingacouchtosleepon,butwhatifthesedemonsfromhellbreakoutoftheircagesandmurdereachotherduringthenightwhenhe’ssupposedtobewatchingthem?BREAKING:BOTHTURKEYSFOUNDDEADINBEDROOMOFFSOTUS,TURKEYPARDONCANCELEDINDISGRACE,FSOTUSASATANICTURKEYRITUALKILLER.
Pleasesendphotos,isHenry’sideaofacomfortingresponse.
Hedropsontotheedgeofhisbed.He’sgrownaccustomedtotextingwithHenryalmosteveryday;thetimedifferencedoesn’tmatter,sincethey’rebothawakeatallungodlyhoursofthedayandnight.Henrywillsendasnapfromasevena.m.polopracticeandpromptlyreceiveoneofAlexattwoa.m.,glassesonandcoffeeinhand,inbedwithapileofnotes.Alexdoesn’tknowwhyHenryneverrespondstohisselfiesfrombed.Hisselfiesfrombedarealwayshilarious.
HesnapsashotofCornbreadandpressessend,flinchingwhenthebirdflapsathimthreateningly.
Ithinkhe’scute,Henryresponds.
that’sbecauseyoucan’thearallthemenacinggobbling
Yes,famouslythemostsinisterofallanimalsounds,thegobble.
“Youknowwhat,youlittleshit,”Alexsaysthesecondthecallconnects,“youcanhearitforyourselfandthentellmehowyouwouldhandlethis—”
“Alex?”Henry’svoicesoundsscratchyandbewilderedacrosstheline.“Haveyoureallyrungmeatthreeo’clockinthemorningtomakemelistentoaturkey?”
“Yes,obviously,”Alexsays.HeglancesatCornbreadandcringes.“JesusChrist,it’sliketheycanseeintoyoursoul.Cornbreadknowsmysins,Henry.CornbreadknowswhatIhavedone,andheisheretomakemeatone.”
Hehearsarustlingoverthephone,andhepicturesHenryinhisheather-graypajamashirt,rollingoverinbedandmaybeswitchingonalamp.“Let’shearthecursedgobble,then.”
“Okay,braceyourself,”hesays,andheswitchestospeakerandgravelyholdsoutthephone.
Nothing.Tenlongsecondsofnothing.
“Trulyharrowing,”Henry’svoicesaystinnilyoverthespeaker.
“It—okay,thisisnotrepresentative,”Alexsayshotly.“They’vebeengobblingallfuckingnight,Iswear.”
“Suretheywere,”Henrysays,mock-gently.
“No,hangon,”Alexsays.“I’mgonna…I’mgonnagetonetogobble.”
HehopsoffthebedandedgesuptoCornbread’scage,feelingverymuchlikeheistakinghislifeintohisownhandsandalsoverymuchlikehehasapointtoprove,whichisanintersectionatwhichhefindshimselfoften.
“Um,”hesays.“Howdoyougetaturkeytogobble?”
“Trygobbling,”Henrysays,“andseeifhegobblesback.”
Alexblinks.“Areyouserious?”
“Wehuntloadsofwildturkeysinthespring,”Henrysayssagely.“Thetrickistogetintothemindoftheturkey.”
“HowthehelldoIdothat?”
“So,”Henryinstructs.“DoasIsay.Youhavetogetquiteclosetotheturkey,like,physically.”
Carefully,stillcradlingthephoneclose,Alexleanstowardthewirebars.“Okay.”
“Makeeyecontactwiththeturkey.Doyouhaveit?”
AlexfollowsHenry’sinstructionsinhisear,plantinghisfeetandbendinghiskneessohe’satCornbread’seyelevel,achillrunningdownhisspinewhenhisowneyeslockonthebeady,blacklittlemurdereyes.“Yeah.”
“Right,nowholdit,”Henrysays.“Connectwiththeturkey,earntheturkey’strust…befriendtheturkey…”
“Okay…”
“BuyasummerhomeinMajorcawiththeturkey…”
“Oh,Ifuckinghateyou!”AlexshoutsasHenrylaughsathisownidioticprank,andhisindignantflailingstartlesaloudgobbleoutofCornbread,whichinturnstartlesaveryunmanlyscreamoutofAlex.“Goddammit!Didyouhearthat?”
“Sorry,what?”Henrysays.“I’vebeenstrickendeaf.”
“You’resuchadick,”Alexsays.“Haveyoueverevenbeenturkeyhunting?”
“Alex,youcan’tevenhunttheminBritain.”
Alexreturnstohisbedandface-plantsintoapillow.“IhopeCornbreaddoeskillme.”
“No,allright,Ididhearit,anditwas…properfrightening,”Henrysays.“So,Iunderstand.Where’sJuneforallthis?”
“She’shavingsomekindofgirls’nightwithNora,andwhenItextedthemforbackup,theysentback,”hereadsoutinamonotone,“‘hahahahahahahahagoodluckwiththat,’andthenaturkeyemojiandapoopemoji.”
“That’sfair,”Henrysays.Alexcanpicturehimnoddingsolemnly.“Sowhatareyougoingtodonow?Areyougoingtostayupallnightwiththem?”
“Idon’tknow!Iguess!Idon’tknowwhatelsetodo!”
“Youcouldn’tjustgosleepsomewhereelse?Aren’tthereathousandroomsinthathouse?”
“Okay,but,uh,whatiftheyescape?I’veseenJurassicPark.Didyouknowbirdsaredirectlydescendedfromraptors?That’sascientificfact.Raptorsinmybedroom,Henry.Andyouwantmetogotosleeplikethey’renotgonnabustoutoftheirenclosuresandtakeovertheislandtheminuteIclosemyeyes?Okay.Maybeyourwhiteass.”
“I’mreallygoingtohaveyouoffed,”Henrytellshim.“You’llneverseeitcoming.Ourassassinsaretrainedindiscretion.Theywillcomeinthenight,anditwilllooklikeahumiliatingaccident.”
“Autoeroticasphyxiation?”
“Toiletheartattack.”
“Jesus.”
“You’vebeenwarned.”
“Ithoughtyou’dkillmeinamorepersonalway.Silkpillowovermyface,slowandgentlesuffocation.Justyouandme.Sensual.”
“Ha.Well.”Henrycoughs.
“Anyway,”Alexsays,climbingfullyupontothebednow.“Itdoesn’tmatterbecauseoneofthesegoddamnturkeysisgonnakillmefirst.”
“Ireallydon’tthink—Oh,hellothere.”There’srustlingoverthephone,thecrinklingofawrapper,andsomeheavysnufflingthatsoundsdistinctlydoglike.“Who’zagoodlad,then?Davidsayshello.”
“Hi,David.”
“He—Oi!Notforyou,Mr.Wobbles!Thosearemine!”Morerustling,adistant,offendedmeow.“No,Mr.Wobbles,youbastard!”
“WhatinthefuckisaMr.Wobbles?”
“Mysister’sidiotcat,”Henrytellshim.“ThethingweighsatonandisstilltryingtostealmyJaffaCakes.HeandDavidaremates.”
“Whatareyouevendoingrightnow?”
“WhatamIdoing?Iwastryingtosleep.”
“Okay,butyou’reeatingJabbaCakes,so.”
“JaffaCakes,myGod,”Henrysays.“I’mhavingmyentirelifehauntedbyaderangedAmericanNeanderthalandapairofturkeys,apparently.”
“And?”
Henryheavesanotheralmightysigh.He’salwayssighingwhenAlexisinvolved.It’samazinghehasanyairleft.“And…don’tlaugh.”
“Oh,yay,”Alexsaysreadily.
“IwaswatchingGreatBritishBakeOff.”
“Cute.Notembarrassing,though.Whatelse?”
“I,er,mightbe…wearingoneofthosepeelyfacemasks,”hesaysinarush.
“OhmyGod,Iknewit!”
“Instantregret.”
“IknewyouhadoneofthosecrazyexpensiveScandinavianskincareregimens.Doyouhavethat,like,eyecreamwithdiamondsinit?”
“No!”Henrypouts,andAlexhastopressthebackofhishandagainsthislipstostiflehislaugh.“Look,Ihaveanappearancetomorrow,allright?Ididn’tknowI’dbescrutinized.”
“I’mnotscrutinizing.Weallgottakeepthoseporesincheck,”Alexsays.“SoyoulikeBakeOff,huh?”
“It’sjustsosoothing,”Henrysays.“Everything’sallpastel-coloredandthemusicissorelaxingandeveryone’ssolovelytooneanother.Andyoulearnsomuchaboutdifferenttypesofbiscuits,Alex.Somuch.Whentheworldseemsawful,suchaswhenyou’retrappedinaGreatTurkeyCalamity,youcanputitonandvanishintobiscuitland.”
“Americancookingcompetitionshowsarenothinglikethat.They’reallsweatyand,like,dramaticdeathmusicandintensecameracuts,”Alexsays.“BakeOffmakesChoppedlooklikethefuckingMansontapes.”
“Ifeellikethisexplainsloadsaboutourdifferences,”Henrysays,andAlexgivesasmalllaugh.
“Youknow,”Alexsays.“You’rekindofsurprising.”
Henrypauses.“Inwhatway?”
“Inthatyou’renotatotallyboringasshole.”
“Wow,”Henrysayswithalaugh.“I’mhonored.”
“Iguessyouhaveyourdepths.”
“YouthoughtIwasadumbblond,didn’tyou?”
“Notexactly,just,boring,”Alexsays.“Imean,yourdogisnamedDavid,whichisprettyboring.”
“AfterBowie.”
“I—”Alex’sheadspins,recalibrating.“Areyouserious?Whatthehell?WhynotcallhimBowie,then?”
“Bitonthenose,isn’tit?”Henrysays.“Amanshouldhavesomeelementofmystery.”
“Iguess,”Alexsays.Then,becausehecan’tstopitintime,letsoutatremendousyawn.He’sbeenupsincesevenforarunbeforeclass.Iftheseturkeysdon’tendhim,exhaustionwill.
“Alex,”Henrysaysfirmly.
“What?”
“TheturkeysarenotgoingtoJurassicParkyou,”hesays.“You’renottheblokefromSeinfeld.You’reJeffGoldblum.Gotosleep.”
Alexbitesdownasmilethatfeelsbiggerthanthesentencehastrulyearned.“Yougotosleep.”
“Iwill,”Henrysays,andAlexthinkshehearstheweirdsmilereturnedinHenry’svoice,andhonestly,thiswholenightisreally,reallyweird,“assoonasyougetoffthephone,won’tI?”
“Okay,”Alexsays,“but,like,whatiftheygobbleagain?”
“GosleepinJune’sroom,younumpty.”
“Okay,”Alexsays.
“Okay,”Henryagrees.
“Okay,”Alexsaysagain.He’ssuddenlyveryawarethey’veneverspokenonthephonebefore,andsohe’sneverhadtofigureouthowtohangupthephonewithHenrybefore.He’sataloss.Buthe’sstillsmiling.Cornbreadisstaringathimlikehedoesn’tgetit.Mefuckin’too,buddy.
“Okay,”Henryrepeats.“So.Goodnight.”
“Cool,”Alexsayslamely.“Goodnight.”
Hehangsupandstaresatthephoneinhishand,asifitshouldexplainthestaticelectricityintheairaroundhim
Heshakesitoff,gathersuphispillowandabundleofclothes,andcrossesthehalltoJune’sroom,climbingupintohertallbed.Buthecan’tstopthinkingthere’ssomeendleftloose.
Hetakeshisphonebackout.isentpicsofturkeyssoideservepicsofyouranimalstoo.
Aminuteandahalflater:Henry,inamassive,palatial,hideousbedofwhiteandgoldlinens,hisfacelookingslightlypinkandrecentlyscrubbed,withabeagle’sheadononesideofhispillowandanobeseSiamesecatcurledupontheotheraroundaJaffaCakewrapper.He’sgotfaintcirclesunderhiseyes,buthisfaceissoftandamused,one
ThisiswhatImustendure,hesays,followedby,Goodnight,honestly.
HRHPrinceDickhead
Dec8,2019,8:53PM
yothere’sabondmarathononanddidyouknowyourdadwasatotalbabe
HRHPrinceDickhead
IBEGYOUTONOT
EvenbeforeAlex’sparentssplit,theybothhadahabitofcallinghimbytheother’slastnamewhenheexhibitedparticulartraits.Theystilldo.Whenherunshismouthofftothepress,hismomcallshimintoherofficeandsays,“Getyourshittogether,Diaz.”Whenhishard-headednessgetshimstuck,hisdadtextshim,“Letitgo,Claremont.”
Alex’smothersighsasshesetshercopyofthePostdownonherdesk,opentoaninsidepagearticle:SENATOROSCARDIAZRETURNSTODCFORHOLIDAYSWITHEX-WIFEPRESIDENTCLAREMONT.It’salmostweirdhowmuchitisn’tweirdanymore.HisdadisflyinginfromCaliforniaforChristmas,andit’sfine,butit’salsointhePost.
She’sdoingthethingshealwaysdoeswhenshe’sabouttospendtimewithhisfather:pursingherlipsandtwitchingtwofingersofherrighthand.
“Youknow,”Alexsaysfromwherehe’skickedbackonanOvalOfficecouchwithabook,“somebodycangogetyouacigarette.”
“Hush,Diaz.”
She’shadtheLincolnBedroompreparedforhisdad,andshekeepschanginghermind,havinghousekeepingundecorateandredecorate.Leo,forhispart,isunfazedandmollifiesherwithcomplimentsbetweenfitsoftinsel.Alexdoesn’tthinkanyonebutLeocouldeverstaymarriedtohismother.Hisfathercertainlycouldn’t.
Juneisinastate,theperpetualmediator.HisfamilyisprettymuchtheonlysituationwhereAlexpreferstositbackandletitallunfold,occasionallypokingwhenit’snecessaryorinteresting,butJunetakespersonalresponsibilityformakingsurenobodybreaksanymorepricelessWhiteHouseantiqueslikelastyear.
HisdadfinallyarrivesinaflurryofSecretServiceagents,hisbeardimpeccablygroomedandhissuitimpeccablytailored.ForallJune’sanxiouspreparations,shealmostbreaksanantiquevaseherselfcatapultingintohisarms.Theydisappearimmediatelytothechocolateshoponthegroundfloor,thesoundofOscarravingaboutJune’slatestblogpostforTheAtlanticfadingaroundthecorner.Alexandhismothersharealook.Theirfamilyissopredictablesometimes.
Thenextday,OscargivesAlexthefollow-me-and-don’t-tell-your-motherlookandpullshimouttotheTrumanBalcony
“Merryfuckin’Christmas,mijo,”hisdadsays,grinning,andAlexlaughsandletshimselfbehauledintoaone-armedhug.Hesmellsthesameasever,saltyandsmokyandlikewell-treatedleather.Hismomusedtocomplainthatshefeltlikeshelivedinacigarbar.
“MerryChristmas,Pa,”Alexsaysback
Hedragsachairclosetotherailing,puttinghisshinybootsup.OscarDiazlovesaview.
Alexconsidersthesprawling,snowylawninfrontofthem,thesurelineoftheWashingtonMonumentstretchingup,thejaggedFrenchmansardroofsoftheEisenhowerBuildingtothewest,thesameoneTrumanhated.Hisdadpullsacigarfromhispocket,clippingitandlightingupinthecarefulritualhe’sdoneforyears.Hetakesapuffandpassesitover.
“Itevermakeyoulaughtothinkhowmuchthispissesassholesoff?”hesays,gesturingtoencompassthewholescene:twoMexicanmenputtingtheirfeetupontherailingwhereheadsofstateeatcroissants.
“Constantly.”
Oscardoeslaugh,then,enjoyinghisbrazenness.Heisanadrenalinejunkie—mountainclimbing,cavediving,pissingoffAlex’smother.Flirtingwithdeath,basically.It’stheflipsideofthewayheapproacheswork,whichismethodicalandprecise,orthewayheapproachesparenting,whichislaid-backandindulgent.
It’snice,now,toseehimmorethanheeverdidinhighschool,sinceOscarspendsmostofhisyearinDC.Duringthebusiestcongressionalsessions,they’llconveneLosBastardos—weeklybeersinOscar’sofficeafterhours,justhim,Alex,andRafaelLuna,talkingshit.Andit’snicethatproximityhasforcedhisparentsthroughtheeraofmutuallyassureddestructiontonow,wheretheyhaveoneChristmasinsteadoftwo
Asthedaysgoby,Alexcatcheshimselfrememberingsometimes,justforasecond,howmuchhemisseshavingeveryoneunderoneroof.
Hisdadwasalwaysthecookofthefamily.Alex’schildhoodwasperfumedwithsimmeringpeppersandonionsandstewmeatinacastironpotforcaldillo,freshmasawaitingonthebutcherblock.Heremembershismomswearingandlaughingwhensheopenedtheovenforherguilty-pleasurepizzabagelsonlytofindallthepotsandpansstoredthere,orwhenshe’dgoforthetubofbutterinthefridgeandfinditfilledwithhomemadesalsaverde.Thereusedtobealotoflaughterinthatkitchen,alotofgoodfoodandloudmusicandparadesofcousinsandhomeworkdoneatthetable.
Excepteventuallytherewasalotofyelling,followedbyalotofquiet,andsoonAlexandJunewereteenagersandboththeirparentswereinCongress,andAlexwasstudentbodypresidentandlacrossecocaptainandpromkingandvaledictorian,and,veryintentionally,itstoppedbeingathinghehadtimetothinkabout.
Still,hisdad’sbeenintheResidenceforthreedayswithoutincident,andonedayAlexcatcheshiminthekitchenswithtwoofthecooks,laughinganddumpingpeppersintoapot.It’sjust,youknow,sometimeshethinksitmightbeniceifitcouldbelikethismoreoften.
Zahra’sheadingtoNewOrleanstoseeherfamilyforChristmas,onlyatthepresident’sinsistence,andonlybecausehersisterhadababyandAmythreatenedtostabherifshedidn’tdelivertheonesiesheknitted.WhichmeansChristmasdinnerishappeningonChristmasEvesoZahrawon’tmissit.Forallherlatenightscursingtheirnames,Zahraisfamily.
“MerryChristmas,Z!”Alextellshercheerfullyinthehalloutsidethefamilydiningroom.Forholidayflare,she’swearingasensibleredturtleneck;Alexiswearingasweatercoveredinbrightgreentinsel.Hesmilesandpressesabuttonontheinsideofthesleeve,and“OChristmasTree”playsfromaspeakernearhisarmpit.
“Ican’twaittonotseeyoufortwodays,”shesays,butthere’srealaffectioninhervoice.
Thisyear’sdinnerissmall,sincehisdad’sparentsareonvacation,sothetableissetforsixinglitteringwhiteandgold.TheconversationispleasantenoughthatAlexalmostforgetsit’snotalwayslikethis.
Untilitshiftstotheelection.
“Iwasthinking,”Oscarsays,carefullycuttinghisfilet,“thistime,Icancampaignwithyou.”
Attheotherendofthetable,Ellenputsherforkdown.“Youcanwhat?”
“Youknow.”Heshrugs,chewing.“Hitthetrail,dosomespeeches.Beasurrogate.”
“Youcan’tbeserious.”
Oscarputsdownhisownforkandknifenowonthecloth-coveredtable,asoftthumpofoh,shit.AlexglancesacrossthetableatJune.
“Youreallythinkit’ssuchabadidea?”Oscarsays.
“Oscar,wewentthroughallofthislasttime,”Ellentellshim.Hertoneisinstantlyclipped.“Peopledon’tlikewomen,buttheylikemothersandwives.Theylikefamilies.ThelastthingweneedtodoisremindthemthatI’mdivorcedbyparadingmyex-husbandaround.”
Helaughsalittlegrimly.“So,you’llpretendhe’stheirdadthen,eh?”
“Oscar,”Leospeaksup,“youknowI’dnever—”
“You’remissingthepoint,”Elleninterrupts.
“Itcouldhelpyourapprovalratings,”hesays.“Minearequitehigh,El.HigherthanyourseverwereintheHouse.”
“Herewego,”AlexsaystoLeonexttohim,whosefaceremainspleasantlyneutral.
“We’vedonestudies,Oscar!Okay?”Ellen’svoicehasriseninvolumeandpitch,herpalmsplantedflatonthetable.“Thedatashows,Itrackworsewithundecidedvoterswhenthey’reremindedofthedivorce!”
“Peopleknowyou’redivorced!”
“Alex’snumbersarehigh!”sheshouts,andAlexandJunebothwince.“June’snumbersarehigh!”
“They’renotnumbers!”
“Fuckoff,Iknowthat,”shespits,“Ineversaidtheywere!”
“Youthinksometimesyouusethemliketheyare?”
“Howdareyou,whenyoudon’tseemtohaveanyproblemtrottingthemouteverytimeyou’reupforreelection!”shesays,slicingonehandthroughtheairbesideher.“MaybeiftheywerejustClaremonts,youwouldn’thavesomuchluck.It’dsureashellbelessconfusing—it’sthenameeverybodyknowsthembyanyway!”
“Nobody’stakinganyofournames!”Junejumpsin,hervoicehigh.
“June,”Ellensays.
Theirdadpusheson.“I’mtryingtohelpyou,Ellen!”
“Idon’tneedyourhelptowinanelection,Oscar!”shesays,hittingthetablesohardwithheropenpalmthatthedishesrattle.“Ididn’tneeditwhenIwasinCongress,andIdidn’tneedittobecomepresidentthefirsttime,andIdon’tneeditnow!”
“Youneedtogetseriousaboutwhatyou’reupagainst!Youthinktheothersideisgoingtoplayfairthistime?EightyearsofObama,andnowyou?They’reangry,Ellen,andRichardsisoutforblood!Youneedtobeready!”
“Iwillbe!YouthinkIdon’thaveateamonallthisshitalready?I’mthePresidentoftheUnitedfuckingStates!Idon’tneedyoutocomehereand—and—”
“Mansplain?”Zahraoffers.
“Mansplain!”Ellenshouts,jabbingafingeracrossthetableatOscar,eyeswide.“Thispresidentialracetome!”
Oscarthrowshisnapkindown.“You’restillsofuckingstubborn!”
“Fuckyou!”
“Mom!”Junesayssharply.
“JesusChrist,areyoukiddingme?”Alexhearshimselfshoutbeforeheevenconsciouslydecidestosayit.“Canwenotbecivilforonefuckingmeal?It’sChristmas,forfuck’ssake.Aren’ty’allsupposedtoberunningthecountry?Getyourshittogether.”
Hepusheshischairbackandstalksoutofthediningroom,knowinghe’sbeingadramaticassholeandnotreallycaring.Heslamshisbedroomdoorbehindhim,andhisstupidsweaterplaysafewdepressinglyoff-keynoteswhenheyanksitoffandthrowsitatthewall.
It’snotthathedoesn’tlosehistemperoften,it’sjust…hedoesn’tusuallyloseitwithhisfamily.Mostlybecausehedoesn’tusuallydealwithhisfamily.
HedigsanoldlacrosseT-shirtoutofhisdresser,andwhenheturnsandcatcheshisreflectioninthemirrorbythecloset,he’srightbackinhisteens,caringtoomuchabouthisparentsandhelplesstochangehissituation.Exceptnowhedoesn’thaveanyAPclassestoenrollinasadistraction.
Hishandtwitchesforhisphone.Hisbrainisatwo-passengerminimumrideasfarashe’sconcerned—aloneandbusyorthinkingwithcompany.
ButNora’sdoingHanukkahinVermont,andhedoesn’twanttoannoyher,andhisbestfriendfromhighschool,Liam,hasbarelyspokentohimsincehemovedtoDC.
Whichleaves…
“WhatcouldIpossiblyhavedonetohavebroughtthisuponmyselfnow?”saysHenry’svoice,lowandsleepy.Itsoundslike“GoodKingWenceslas”isplayinginthebackground
“Hey,um,sorry.Iknowit’slate,andit’sChristmasEveandeverything.Youprobablyhave,like,familystuff,I’mjustrealizing.Idon’tknowwhyIdidn’tthinkofitbefore.Wow,thisiswhyIdon’thavefriends.I’madick.Sorry,man.I’ll,uh,I’lljust—”
“Alex,Christ,”Henryinterrupts.“It’sfine.It’shalftwohere,everyone’sgonetobed.ExceptBea.Sayhi,Bea.”
“Hi,Alex!”saysaclear,gigglyvoiceontheotherendoftheline.“Henry’sgothiscandy-canejim-jamson—”
“That’squiteenough,”Henry’svoicecomesbackthrough,andthere’samuffledsoundlikemaybeapillowhasbeenshovedinBea’sdirection.“What’shappening,then?”
“Sorry,”Alexblurtsout,“Iknowthisisweird,andyou’rewithyoursisterandeverything,and,like,argh.Ikindofdidn’thaveanyoneelsetocallwhowouldbeawake?AndIknowwe’re,uh,notreallyfriends,andwedon’treallytalkaboutthisstuff,butmydadcameinforChristmas,andheandmymomarelikefuckingtigersharksfightingoverababysealwhenyouputtheminthesameroomtogetherformorethananhour,andtheygotinthishugefight,anditshouldn’tmatter,becausethey’realreadydivorcedandeverything,andIdon’tknowwhyIlostmyshit,butIwishtheycouldgiveitarestforoncesowecouldhaveonesinglenormalholiday,youknow?”
There’salongpausebeforeHenrysays,“Hangon.Bea,canIhaveaminute?Hush.Yes,youcantakethebiscuits.Allright,I’mlistening.”
Alexexhales,wonderingfaintlywhatthehellhe’sdoing,butplowsonward.
TellingHenryaboutthedivorce—thoseweird,tumultuousyears,thedayhecamehomefromaBoyScoutcamp-outtodiscoverhisdad’sthingsmovedout,thenightsofHeladosicecream—doesn’tfeelasuncomfortableasitprobablyshould.He’sneverbotheredtofilterhimselfwithHenry,atfirstbecausehehonestlydidn’tcarewhatHenrythought,andnowbecauseit’showtheyare.Maybeitshouldbedifferent,bitchingabouthiscourseloadversusspillinghisgutsaboutthis.Itisn’t.
Hedoesn’trealizehe’sbeentalkingforanhouruntilhefinishesretellingwhathappenedatdinnerandHenrysays,“Itsoundslikeyoudidyourbest.”
Alexforgetswhathewasgoingtosaynext.
Hejust…Well,hegetstoldhe’sgreatalot.Hejustdoesn’toftengettoldhe’sgoodenough.
Beforehecanthinkofaresponse,there’sasofttripleknockonthedoor—June.
“Ah—okay,thanks,man,Igottago,”Alexsays,hisvoicelowasJuneeasesthedooropen.
“Alex—”
“Seriously,um.Thankyou,”Alexsays.HereallydoesnotwanttoexplainthistoJune.“MerryChristmas.Night.”
HehangsupandtossesthephoneasideasJunesettlesdownonthebed.She’swearingherpinkbathrobe,andherhairiswetfromtheshower.
“Hey,”shesays.“Youokay?”
“Yeah,I’mfine,”hesays.“Sorry,Idon’tknowwhat’supwithme.Ididn’tmeantoloseit.I’vebeen…Idon’tknow.I’vebeenkindof…off…lately.”
“It’sokay,”shesays.Shetossesherhairoverhershoulder,flickingdropletsofwaterontohim.“Iwasatotalbasketcaseforthelastsixmonthsofcollege.Iwouldloseitatanybody.Youknow,youdon’thavetodoeverythingallthetime.”
“It’sfine.I’mfine,”hetellsherautomatically.Junetiltsanunconvincedlookathim,andhekicksatoneofherkneeswithhisbarefoot.“So,howdidthingsgoafterIleft?Didtheyfinishcleaningupthebloodyet?”
Junesighs,kickinghimback.“Somehowitshiftedtothetopicofhowtheywereapoliticalpowercouplebeforethedivorceandhowgoodthosetimeswere,Momapologized,anditwaswhiskeyandnostalgiahouruntileverybodywenttobed.”Shesniffs.“Anyway,youwereright.”
“Youdon’tthinkIwasoutofline?”
“Nah.Though…IkindofagreewithwhatDadwassaying.Momcanbe…youknow…Mom.”
“Well,that’swhatgotherwheresheisnow.”
“Youdon’tthinkit’severaproblem?”
Alexshrugs.“Ithinkshe’sagoodmom.”
“Yeah,toyou,”Junesays.There’snoaccusationbehindit,justobservation.“Theeffectivenessofhernurturingkindofdependsonwhatyouneedfromher.Orwhatyoucandoforher.”
“Imean,Igetwhatshe’ssaying,though,”Alexhedges.“SometimesitstillsucksthatDaddecidedtopackupandmovejusttorunfortheseatinCalifornia.”
“Yeah,but,Imean,howisthatdifferentfromthestuffMom’sdone?It’sallpolitics.I’mjustsaying,hehasapointabouthowMompushesuswithoutalwaysgivingustheotherMomstuff.”
AlexisopeninghismouthtoanswerwhenJune’sphonebuzzesfromherrobepocket.“Oh.Hmm,”shesayswhensheslidesitouttoeyethescreen.
“What?”
“Nothing,uh.”Shethumbsopenthemessage.“MerryChristmastext.FromEvan.”
“Evan…asinex-boyfriendEvan,inCalifornia?Y’allstilltext?”
June’sbitingherlipnow,herexpressionalittledistantasshetypesoutaresponse.“Yeah,sometimes.”
“Cool,”Alexsays.“Ialwayslikedhim.”
“Yeah.Metoo,”Junesayssoftly.Shelocksherphoneanddropsitonthebed,blinkingacoupletimesasiftoreset.“Anyway,what’dNorasaywhenyoutoldher?”
“Hmm?”
“Onthephone?”sheaskshim.“Ifigureditwasher,younevertalktoanyoneelseaboutthiscrap.”
“Oh,”Alexsays.Hefeelsinexplicable,traitorouswarmthflashupthebackofhisneck.“Oh,um,no.Actually,thisisgonnasoundweird,butIwastalkingtoHenry?”
June’seyebrowsshootup,andAlexinstinctivelyscanstheroomforcover.“Really.”
“Listen,Iknow,butwekindofweirdlyhavestuffincommonand,Iguess,similarweirdemotionalbaggageandneuroses,andforsomereasonIfeltlikehewouldgetit.”
“OhmyGod,Alex,”shesays,lungingathimtoyankhimintoaroughhug,“youmadeafriend!”
“Ihavefriends!Getoffme!”
“Youmadeafriend!”Sheisliterallygivinghimanoogie.“I’msoproudofyou!”
“I’mgonnamurderyou,stopit,”hesays,alligator-rollingoutofherclutches.Helandsonthefloor.“He’snotmyfriend.He’ssomeoneIliketoantagonizeallthetime,andonetimeItalkedtohimaboutsomethingreal.”
“That’safriend,Alex.”
Alex’smouthstartsandstopsseveralsilentsentencesbeforehepointstothedoor.“Youcanleave,June!Gotobed!”
“Nope.Tellmeeverythingaboutyournewbestfriend,whoisaroyal.Thatissobougieofyou.Whowouldhaveguessedit?”shesays,peeringovertheedgeofthebedathim.“OhmyGod,thisislikeallthoseromanticcomedieswherethegirlhiresamaleescorttopretendtobeherweddingdateandthenfallsinlovewithhimforreal.”
“Thatisnotatallwhatthisislike.”
ThestaffhasbarelyfinishedpackinguptheChristmastreeswhenitstarts.
There’sthedancefloortosetup,menutofinalize,Snapchatfiltertoapprove.Alexspendstheentire26thholedupintheSocialSecretary’sofficewithJune,goingoverthewaiversthey’vegottenforeveryonetosignafteradaughterofaRealHousewifefelldowntherotundastairslastyear;Alexremainsimpressedthatshedidn’tspillhermargarita.
It’stimeoncemorefortheLegendaryBalls-OutBananasWhiteHouseTrioNewYear’sEveParty.
Technically,thetitleistheYoungAmericaNewYear’sEveGala,orasatleastonelate-nighthostcallsit,theMillennialCorrespondents’Dinner.Everyyear,Alex,June,andNorafilluptheEastRoomonthefirstfloorwiththreehundredorsooftheirfriends,vaguecelebrityacquaintances,formerhookups,potentialpoliticalconnections,and
“Um,excuseme,”Alexissayingfromafirst-floorconferencetable,onehandfullofconfettisamples—dotheywantametalliccolorpaletteoramoresubduednavyandgold?—whilestaringatacopyofthefinalizedguestlist.JuneandNoraarestuffingtheirfaceswithcakesamples.“WhoputHenryonhere?”
Norasaysthroughamouthfulofchocolatecake,“Wasn’tme.”
“June?”
“Look,youshouldhaveinvitedhimyourself!”Junesays,bywayofadmission.“It’sreallyniceyou’remakingfriendswhoaren’tus.Sometimeswhenyougettooisolated,youstarttogoalittlecrazy.RememberlastyearwhenNoraandIwerebothoutofthecountryforaweek,andyoualmostgotatattoo?”
“Istillthinkweshouldhavelethimgetatrampstamp.”
“Itwasn’tgoingtobeatrampstamp,”Alexsayshotly.“Youwereinonthis,weren’tyou?”
“YouknowIlovechaos,”Noratellshimserenely.
“Ihavefriendswhoaren’ty’all,”Alexsays.
“Who,Alex?”Junesays.“Literallywho?”
“People!”hesaysdefensively.“Peoplefromclass!Liam!”
“Please.Weallknowyouhaven’ttalkedtoLiaminayear,”Junesays.“Youneedfriends.AndIknowyoulikeHenry.”
“Shutup,”Alexsays.Hebrushesafingerunderhiscollarandfindshisskindamp.Dotheyalwayshavetocranktheheatupthishighwhenit’ssnowingoutside?
“Thisisinteresting,”Noraobserves.
“No,it’snot,”Alexsnaps.“Fine,hecancome.Butifhedoesn’tknowanybodyelse,I’mnotbabysittinghimallnight.”
“Igavehimaplus-one,”Junesays.
“Whoishebringing?”Alexasksimmediately,reflexively.Involuntarily.“Justwondering.”
“Pez,”shesays.She’sgivinghimaweirdlookhecan’tparse,andhedecidestochalkituptoJunebeingconfusingandstrange.Sheoftenworksinmysteriousways,organizesandorchestratesthingsheneverseescominguntilallthethreadscometogether.
So,Henryiscoming,heguesses,confirmedwhenhechecksInstagramthedayofthepartyandseesapostfromPezofhimandHenryonaprivatejet.Pez’shairhasbeendyedpastelpinkfortheoccasion,andbesidehim,Henryissmilinginasoft-lookinggraysweatshirt,hissockedfeetuponthewindowsill.Heactuallylookswell-restedforonce.
USAbound!#YoungAmericaGala2019Pez’scaptionreads.
AlexsmilesdespitehimselfandtextsHenry.
ATTN:willbewearingaburgundyvelvetsuittonight.pleasedonotattempttostealmyshine.youwillfailandiwillbeembarrassedforyou.
Henrytextsbacksecondslater.
Wouldn’tdreamofit.
Fromthereeverythingspeedsup,andahairstylistiswranglinghimintotheCosmetologyRoom,andhegetstowatchthegirlstransformintotheircamera-readyselves.Nora’sshortcurlsareswepttoonesidewithasilverpinshapedtomatchthesharpgeometriclinesonthebodiceofherblackdress;June’sgownisaplungingZacPosennumberinashadeofmidnightbluethatperfectlycomplementsthenavy-and-goldcolorpalettetheychose.
Theguestsstartarrivingaroundeight,andtheliquorstartsflowing,andAlexordersamiddle-shelfwhiskeytogetthingsgoing.There’slivemusic,apopactthatowedJuneapersonalfavor,andthey’recovering“AmericanGirl”rightnow,soAlexgrabsJune’shandandspinsherontothedancefloor.
Firstarrivalsarealwaysthefirst-timepoliticaltypes:asmallgaggleofWhiteHouseinterns,aneventplannerforCenterforAmericanProgress,thedaughterofafirst-termsenatorwithapunkrock–lookinggirlfriendwhoAlexmakesamentalnotetointroducehimselftolater.Then,thewaveofpoliticallystrategicinviteschosenbythepressteam,andlastly,thefashionablylate—minortomid-rangepopstars,teensoapactors,childrenofmajorcelebrities.
He’sjustwonderingwhenHenry’sgoingtomakehisappearance,whenJuneappearsathissideandyells,“Incoming!”
Alex’sgazeismetbyabrightburstofcolorthatturnsouttobePez’sbomberjacket,whichisashinysilkthinginsuchanelaborate,colorfulfloralprintthatAlexalmosthastosquint.Thecolorsfadeslightly,though,whenhiseyesslidetotheright.
It’sthefirsttimeAlexhasseenHenryinpersonsincetheweekendinLondonandthehundredsoftextsandweirdin-jokesandlate-nightphonecallsthatcameafter,anditalmostfeelslikemeetinganewperson.HeknowsmoreaboutHenry,understandshimbetter,andhecanappreciatetherarityofagenuinesmileonthesamefamouslybeautifulface.
It’saweirdcognitivedissonance,HenrypresentandHenrypast.Thatmustbewhysomethingfeelssorestlessandhotsomewherebeneathhissternum.Thatandthewhiskey.
Henry’swearingasimpledarkbluesuit,buthe’soptedforabrightcoppery-mustardtieinanarrowcut.HespotsAlex,andhissmilebroadens,givingPez’sarmatug.
“Nicetie,”AlexsaysassoonasHenryiscloseenoughtohearoverthecrowd.
“ThoughtImightbeescortedoffthepremisesforanythinglessexciting,”Henrysays,andhisvoiceissomehowdifferentthanAlexremembers.Likeveryexpensivevelvet,somethingmoneyedandlushandfluidallatonce.
“Andwhoisthis?”JuneasksfromAlex’sside,interruptinghistrainofthought.
“Ahyes,you’venotofficiallymet,haveyou?”Henrysays.“June,Alex,thisismybestmate,PercyOkonjo.”
“Pez,likethesweets,”Pezsayscheerfully,extendinghishandtoAlex.Severalofhisfingernailsarepaintedblue.WhenheredirectshisattentiontoJune,hiseyesgrowbrighter,hisgrinspreading.“Pleasedosmackmeifthisisoutofline,butyouarethemostexquisitewomanIhaveeverseeninmylife,andIwouldliketoprocureforyouthemostlavishdrinkinthisestablishmentifyouwillletme.”
“Uh,”Alexsays.
“You’reacharmer,”Junesays,smilingindulgently.
“Andyouareagoddess.”
Hewatchesthemdisappearintothecrowd,Pezablazingstreakofcolor,alreadyspinningJuneinapirouetteastheygo.Henry’ssmilehasgonesheepishandreserved,andAlexunderstandstheirfriendshipatlast.Henrydoesn’twantthespotlight,andPeznaturallyabsorbswhatHenrydeflects.
“Thatmanhasbeenbeggingmetointroducehimtoyoursistersincethewedding,”Henrysays.
“Seriously?”
“We’veprobablyjustsavedhimatremendousamountofmoney.Hewasgoingtostartpricingskywriterssoon.”
Alextosseshisheadbackandlaughs,andHenrywatches,stillgrinning.JuneandNorahadapoint.Hedoes,againstallodds,reallylikethisperson.
“Well,comeon,”Alexsays.“I’malreadytwowhiskeysin.You’vegotsomecatchinguptodo.”
MorethanoneconversationdropsoutasAlexandHenrypass,mouthshangingopenoverentremets.Alextriestoimaginewhattheymustlooklike:theprinceandtheFirstSon,thetwoleadingheartthrobsoftheirrespectivecountries,shouldertoshoulderontheirwaytothebar.It’sintimidatingandthrilling,livinguptothatkindofrich,untouchablefantasy.That’swhatpeoplesee,butnoneofthemknowabouttheGreatTurkeyCalamity.OnlyAlexandHenrydo.
Hescoresthefirstroundandthecrowdswallowsthemup.AlexissurprisedhowpleasedheisbythephysicalpresenceofHenrynexttohim.Hedoesn’tevenmindhavingtolookupathimanymore.HeintroducesHenrytosomeWhiteHouseinternsandlaughsastheyblushandstutter,andHenry’sfacegoespleasantlyneutral,anexpressionAlexusedtomistakeasunimpressedbutcannowreadforwhatitis:carefullyconcealedbemusement.
There’sdancing,andmingling,andaspeechbyJuneabouttheimmigrationfundthey’resupportingwiththeirdonationstonight,andAlexducksoutofanaggressivecome-onbyagirlfromthenewSpider-Manmoviesandintoahaphazardcongaline,andHenryactuallyseemstohavefun.JunefindsthematsomepointandstealsHenryawaytogabatthe
Afterawhile,thebandbreaksandaDJtakesoverwithamixofearly2000ship-hop,allthegreatesthitsthatcameoutwhenAlexwasachildandweresomehowstillinrotationatdancesinhisteens.That’swhenHenryfindshim,likeamanlostatsea.
“Youdon’tdance?”hesays,watchingHenry,whoisveryvisiblytryingtofigureoutwhattodowithtodowithhishands.It’sendearing.Wow,Alexisdrunk.
“No,Ido,”Henrysays.“It’sjust,thefamily-mandatedballroomdancinglessonsdidn’texactlycoverthis?”
“C’mon,it’s,like,inthehips.Youhavetoloosenup.”HereachesdownandputsbothhandsonHenry’ships,andHenryinstantlytensesunderthetouch.“That’stheoppositeofwhatIsaid.”
“Alex,Idon’t—”
“Here,”Alexsays,movinghisownhips,“watchme.”
Withagravegulpofchampagne,Henrysays,“Iam.”
Thesongcrossfadesintoanotherbuh-duhdum-dum-dum,dum-duh-dumduh-duh-dum—
“Shutup,”Alexyells,cuttingoffwhateverelseHenrywassaying,“shutyourdumbface,thisismyshit!”HethrowshishandsupintheairasHenrystaresathimblankly,andaroundthem,peoplestartcheeringtoo,hundredsofshouldersshimmyingtotheshouty,LilJon–flavorednostalgiaof“GetLow.”
“Didyouseriouslynevergotoanawkwardmiddleschooldanceandwatchabunchofteenagersdryhumptothissong?”
Henryisholdingontohischampagnefordearlife.“YouabsolutelymustknowIdidnot.”
AlexflailsonearmoutandsnatchesNorafromanearbyhuddle,whereshe’sbeenflirtingwithSpider-Mangirl.“Nora!Nora!Henryhasneverwatchedabunchofteenagersdryhumptothissong!”
“What?”
“Pleasetellmenobodyisgoingtodryhumpme,”Henrysays.
“OhmyGod,Henry,”Alexyells,seizingHenrybyonelapelasthemusicpoundson,“youhavetodance.Youhavetodance.YouneedtounderstandthisformativeAmericancoming-of-ageexperience.”
NoragrabsAlex,pullinghimawayfromHenryandspinninghimaround,herhandsonhiswaist,andstartsgrindingwithabandon.AlexwhoopsandNoracacklesandthecrowdjumpsaroundandHenryjustgawksatthem.
“Didthatmanjustsay‘sweatdropdownmyballs’?”
It’sfun—Noraagainsthisback,sweatonhisbrow,bodiespushinginaroundhim.Tooneside,apodcastproducerandthatguyfromStrangerThingsarehittingtheKid’nPlay,andtotheother,Pezisliterallybendingovertothefrontandtouchinghistoesasinstructed.Henry’sfaceisshockedandconfused,andit’shilarious.AlexacceptsashotoffapassingtrayanddrinkstothestrangesparkinhisgutatthewayHenrywatchesthem.Alexpoutshislipsandshakeshisass,andwithextremetrepidation,Henrystartsboppinghisheadalittle.
“Fuckitup,vato!”Alexyells,andHenrylaughsdespitehimself.Heevengiveshishipsalittleshake.
“Ithoughtyouweren’tgoingtobabysithimallnight,”Junestage-whispersinhisearasshetwirlsby.
“Ithoughtyouweretoobusyforguys,”Alexreplies,noddingsignificantlyatPezintheperiphery.Shewinksathimanddisappears.
Fromthere,it’saseriesofcrowd-pleasersuntilmidnight,thelightsandmusicblastingatfullcapacity.Confetti,somehowblastingintotheair.Didtheyarrangeforconfetticannons?Moredrinks—HenrystartsdrinkingdirectlyfromabottleofMo?t&Chandon.AlexlikesthelookonHenry’sface,thesurecurlofhishandaroundtheneckofthebottle,thewayhislipswraparoundthemouthofit.Henry’swillingnesstodanceisdirectlyproportionatetohisproximitytoAlex’shands,andtheamountofgiddywarmthbubblingunderAlex’sskinisdirectlyproportionatetothecutofHenry’smouthwhenhewatcheshimwithNora.It’sanequationheisnotnearlysoberenoughtoparse.
Theyallhuddleupat11:59forthecountdown,eyesblurryandarmsaroundoneanother.Norascreams“three,two,one”rightinhisearandslingsherarmaroundhisneckasheyellshisapprovalandkisseshersloppily,laughingthroughit.They’vedonethiseveryyear,bothofthemperpetuallysingleandaffectionatelydrunkandhappytomakeeveryoneelseintriguedandjealous.Nora’smouthiswarmandtasteshorrifying,likepeachschnapps,andshebiteshislipandmessesuphishairforgoodmeasure.
Whenheopenshiseyes,Henry’slookingbackathim,expressionunreadable.
Hefeelshisownsmilegrowwider,andHenryturnsawayandtowardthebottleofchampagneclutchedinhisfist,fromwhichhetakesaheartyswigbeforedisappearingintothecrowd.
Alexlosestrackofthingsafterthat,becausehe’svery,verydrunkandthemusicisvery,veryloudandtherearevery,verymanyhandsonhim,carryinghimthroughthetangleofdancingbodiesandpassinghimmoredrinks.NorabobsbyonthebackofsomehotrookieNFLrunningback.
It’sloudandmessyandwonderful.Alexhasalwayslovedtheseparties,thesparklingjoyofitall,thewaychampagnebubblesonhistongueandconfettistickstohisshoes.It’sareminderthateventhoughhestressesandstewsinprivaterooms,therewillalwaysbeaseaofpeoplehecandisappearinto,thattheworldcanbewarmandwelcomingandfillupthewallsofthisbigoldhousehelivesinwithsomethingbrightandinfectiouslyalive.
Butsomewhere,beneaththeliquorandthemusic,hecan’tstopnoticingthatHenryhasdisappeared.
Hechecksthebathrooms,thebuffet,thequietcornersoftheballroom,buthe’snowhere.HetriesaskingPez,shoutingHenry’snameathimoverthenoise,butPezjustsmilesandshrugsandstealsasnapbackoffapassingyachtkid
He’s…worriedisn’texactlytheword.Bothered.Curious.HewashavingfunwatchingeverythinghedidplayoutonHenry’sface.Hekeepslooking,untilhetripsoverhisownfeetbyoneofthebigwindowsinthehallway.He’spullinghimselfupwhenheglancesoutside,downintothegarden.
There,underatreeinthesnow,exhalinglittlepuffsofsteam,isatall,lean,broad-shoulderedfigurethatcanonlybeHenry.
Heslipsoutontotheporticowithoutreallythinkingaboutit,andtheinstantthedoorclosesbehindhim,themusicsnuffsoutintosilence,andit’sjusthimandHenryandthegarden.He’sgotthehazytunnelvisionofadrunkpersonwhentheylockeyesonagoal.Hefollowsitdownthestairsandontothesnowylawn.
Henrystandsquietly,handsinhispockets,contemplatingthesky,andhe’dalmostlooksoberifnotforthewobblyleantothelefthe’sdoing.StupidEnglishdignity,eveninthefaceofchampagne.Alexwantstopushhisroyalfaceintoashrub.
Alextripsoverabench,andthesoundcatchesHenry’sattention.Whenheturns,themoonlightcatchesonhim,andhisfacelookssoftenedinhalfshadows,invitinginawayAlexcan’tquiteworkout.
“What’reyoudoingouthere?”Alexsays,trudginguptostandnexttohimunderthetree.
Henrysquints.Upclose,hiseyesgoalittlecrossed,focusedsomewherebetweenhimselfandAlex’snose.Notsodignifiedafterall.
“LookingforOrion,”Henrysays.
Alexhuffsalaugh,lookinguptothesky.Nothingbutfatwinterclouds.“Youmustbereallyboredwiththecommonerstocomeouthereandstareattheclouds.”
“’mnotbored,”Henrymumbles.“Whatareyoudoingouthere?Doesn’tAmerica’sgoldenboyhavesomeswooningcrowdstobeguile?”
“SaysPrincefuckingCharming,”Alexanswers,smirking.
Henrypullsaveryunprincelyfaceupattheclouds.“Hardly.”
HisknucklebrushesthebackofAlex’shandattheirsides,alittlezipofwarmthinthecoldnight.Alexconsidershisfaceinprofile,blinkingthroughthebooze,followingthesmoothlineofhisnoseandthegentledipatthecenterofhislowerlip,eachtouchedbymoonlight.It’sfreezingandAlexisonlywearinghissuitjacket,buthischestfeelswarmedfromtheinsidewithliquorandsomethingheadyhisbrainkeepsstumblingover,tryingtoname.Thegardenisquietexceptforthebloodrushinginhisears.
“Youdidn’treallyanswermyquestion,though,”Alexnotes.
Henrygroans,rubbingahandacrosshisface.“Youcan’teverleavewellenoughalone,canyou?”Heleanshisheadback.Itthumpsgentlyagainstthetrunkofthetree.“Sometimesitgetsabit…much.”
Alexkeepslookingathim.Usually,there’ssomethingaboutthesetofHenry’smouththatbetraysabitoffriendliness,butsometimes,likerightnow,hismouthpinchesinthecornerinstead,pinshisguardresolutelyinplace.
Alexshifts,almostinvoluntarily,leaningbackagainstthetreetoo.HenudgestheirshoulderstogetherandcatchesthatcornerofHenry’smouthtwitching,seessomethingmovefeatherlightacrosshisface.Thesethings—bigevents,lettingotherpeoplefeedonhisownenergy—arerarelytoomuchforAlex.He’snotsurehowHenryfeels,butsomepartofhisbrainthatislikelysoakedintequilathinksmaybeitwouldbehelpfulifHenrycouldtakewhathecanhandle,andAlexcouldhandletherest.Maybehecanabsorbsomeofthe“much”fromtheplacewheretheirshouldersarepressedtogether.
AmuscleinHenry’sjawmoves,andsomethingsoft,almostlikeasmile,tugsathislips.“D’youeverwonder,”hesaysslowly,“whatit’sliketobesomeanonymouspersonoutintheworld?”
Alexfrowns.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Just,youknow,”Henrysays.“Ifyourmumweren’tthepresidentandyouwerejustanormalblokelivinganormallife,whatthingsmightbelike?Whatyou’dbedoinginstead?”
“Ah,”Alexsays,considering.Hestretchesonearmoutinfrontofhim,makesadismissivegesturewithaflickofhiswrist.“Well,Imean,obviouslyI’dbeamodel.I’vebeenonthecoverofTeenVoguetwice.Thesegeneticstranscendallcircumstance.”Henryrollshiseyesagain.“Whataboutyou?”
Henryshakeshisheadruefully.“I’dbeawriter.”
Alexgivesalittlelaugh.HethinkshealreadyknewthisaboutHenry,somehow,butit’sstillkindofdisarming.“Can’tyoudothat?”
“Notexactlyseenasaworthwhilepursuitforamaninlineforthethrone,scribblingversesaboutquarter-lifeangst,”Henrysaysdryly.“Besides,thetraditionalfamilycareertrackismilitary,sothat’saboutit,isn’tit?”
Henrybiteshislip,waitsabeat,andopenshismouthagain.“I’ddatemore,probably,aswell.”
Alexcan’thelplaughingagain.“Right,becauseit’ssohardtogetadatewhenyou’reaprince.”
HenrycutshiseyesbackdowntoAlex.“You’dbesurprised.”
“How?You’renotexactlylackingforoptions.”
Henrykeepslookingathim,holdinghisgazefortwosecondstoolong.“TheoptionsI’dlike…”hesays,draggingthewordsout.“Theydon’tquiteseemtobeoptionsatall.”
Alexblinks.“What?”
“I’msayingthatIhave…people…whointerestme,”Henrysays,turninghisbodytowardAlexnow,speakingwithafumblingpointedness,asifitmeanssomething.“ButIshouldn’tpursuethem.Atleastnotinmyposition.”
AretheytoodrunktocommunicateinEnglish?HewondersdistantlyifHenryknowsanySpanish.
“Idon’tknowwhatthehellyou’retalkingabout,”Alexsays.
“Youdon’t?”
“No.”
“Youreallydon’t?”
“Ireally,reallydon’t.”
Henry’swholefacegrimacesinfrustration,hiseyescastingskywardlikethey’researchingforhelpfromanuncaringuniverse.“Christ,youareasthickasitgets,”hesays,andhegrabsAlex’sfaceinbothhandsandkisseshim
Alexisfrozen,registeringthepressofHenry’slipsandthewoolcuffsofhiscoatgrazinghisjaw.Theworldfuzzesoutintostatic,andhisbrainisswimminghardtokeepup,addinguptheequationofteenagegrudgesandweddingcakesandtwoa.m.textsandnotunderstandingthevariablethatgothimhere,exceptit’s…well,surprisingly,hereallydoesn’tmind.Like,atall.
Inhishead,hetriestocobblealisttogetherinapanic,getsasfaras,One,Henry’slipsaresoft,andshort-circuits.
HetestsleaningintothekissandisrewardedbyHenry’smouthslidingandopeningagainsthis,Henry’stonguebrushingagainsthis,whichis,wow.It’snothinglikekissingNoraearlier—nothinglikekissinganyonehe’severkissedinhislife.Itfeelsassteadyandhugeasthegroundundertheirfeet,asencompassingofeverypartofhim,aslikelytoknockthewindoutofhislungs.OneofHenry’shandspushesintohishairandgrabsitattherootsatthebackofhishead,andhehearshimselfmakeasoundthatbreaksthebreathlesssilence,and—
Justassuddenly,Henryreleaseshimroughlyenoughthathestaggersbackward,andHenry’smumblingacurseandanapology,eyeswide,andhe’sspinningonhisheel,crunchingoffthroughthesnowatdoubletime.BeforeAlexcansayordoanything,he’sdisappearedaroundthecorner.
“Oh,”Alexsaysfinally,faintly,touchingonehandtohislips.Then:“Shit.”FIVE
So,thethingaboutthekissis,Alexabsolutelycannotstopthinkingaboutit
He’stried.HenryandPezandtheirbodyguardswerelonggonebythetimeAlexmadeitbackinside.Notevenadrunkenstupororthenextmorning’spoundinghangovercanscrubtheimagefromhisbrain.
Hetrieslisteninginonhismom’smeetings,buttheycan’tholdhisattention,andZahrabanshimfromtheWestWing.HestudieseverybilltricklingthroughCongressandconsidersmakingroundstosweet-talksenators,butcan’tmustertheenthusiasm.NotevenstartingarumorwithNorasoundsenticing.
Hestartshislastsemester,goestoclass,sitswiththesocialsecretarytoplanhisgraduationdinner,burieshimselfinhighlightedannotationsandsupplementalreadings.
Butbeneathitall,there’sthePrinceofEnglandkissinghimunderalindentreeinthegarden,moonlightinhishair,andAlex’sinsidesfeelpositivelymolten,andhewantstothrowhimselfdownthepresidentialstairs.
Hehasn’ttoldanyone,notevenNoraorJune.Hehasnoideawhathe’devensayifhedid.Isheeventechnicallyallowedtotellanyone,sincehesignedanNDA?Wasthiswhyhehadtosignit?IsthissomethingHenryalwayshadinmind?DoesthatmeanHenryhasfeelingsforhim?WhywouldHenryhaveactedlikeatediousprickforsolongifhelikedhim?
Henry’snotofferinganyinsights,oranythingatall.Hehasn’tansweredasingleoneofAlex’stextsorcalls.
“Okay,that’sit,”JunesaysonaWednesdayafternoon,stompingoutofherroomandintothesittingroombytheirsharedhallway.She’sinherworkoutclotheswithherhairtiedup.Alexhastilyshoveshisphonebackintohispocket.“Idon’tknowwhatyourproblemis,butIhavebeentryingtowritefortwohoursandIcan’tdoitwhenIcanhearyoupacing.”Shethrowsabaseballcapathim.“I’mgoingforarun,andyou’recomingwithme.”
CashaccompaniesthemtotheReflectingPool,whereJunekicksthebackofAlex’skneetogethimgoing,andAlexgruntsandswearsandpicksupthepace.Hefeelslikeadogthathastobetakenonwalkstogethisenergyout.EspeciallywhenJunesays,“You’relikeadogthathastobetakenonwalkstogethisenergyout.”
“Ihateyousometimes,”hetellsher,andheshoveshisearbudsinandcranksupKidCudi.
Hethinks,asherunsandrunsandruns,thestupidestthingofallisthathe’sstraight.
Like,he’sprettysurehe’sstraight.
Hecanpinpointmomentsthroughouthislifewhenhethoughttohimself,See,thismeansIcan’tpossiblybeintoguys.Likewhenhewasinmiddleschoolandhekissedagirlforthefirsttime,andhedidn’tthinkaboutaguywhenitwashappening,justthatherhairwassoftanditfeltnice.Orwhenhewasasophomoreinhighschoolandoneofhisfriendscameoutasgay,andhecouldn’timagineeverdoinganythinglikethat.
Orhissenioryear,whenhegotdrunkandmadeoutwithLiaminhistwinbedforanhour,andhedidn’thaveasexualcrisisaboutit—thathadtomeanhewasstraight,right?Becauseifhewereintoguys,itwouldhavefeltscarytobewithone,butitwasn’t.Thatwasjusthowhornyteenagebestfriendsweresometimes,likewhentheywouldgetoffatthesametimewatchingporninLiam’sbedroom…orthatonetimeLiamreachedover,andAlexdidn’tstophim.
HeglancesoveratJune,atthesuspiciousquirkofherlips.Canshehearwhathe’sthinking?Doessheknow,somehow?Junealwaysknowsthings.Hedoubleshispace,ifonlytogettheexpressiononhermouthoutofhisperiphery.
Ontheirfifthlap,hethinksbackoverhishormonalteensandremembersthinkingaboutgirlsintheshower,buthealsoremembersfantasizingaboutaboy’shandsonhim,abouthardjawlinesandbroadshoulders.Herememberspullinghiseyesoffateammateinthelockerroomacoupletimes,butthatwas,like,anobjectivething.Howwashesupposedtoknowbackthenifhewantedtolooklikeotherguys,orifhewantedotherguys?Orifhishornyteenageurgesactuallyevenmeantanything?
He’sasonofDemocrats.It’ssomethinghe’salwaysbeenaround.So,healwaysassumedifheweren’tstraight,hewouldjustknow,likehowheknowsthathelovescajetaonhisicecreamorthatheneedsatediouslyorganizedcalendartogetanythingdone.Hethoughthewassmartenoughabouthisownidentitythatthereweren’tanyquestionsleft.
They’reroundingthecornerfortheireighthlapnow,andhe’sstartingtoseesomeflawsinhislogic.Straightpeople,hethinks,probablydon’tspendthismuchtimeconvincingthemselvesthey’restraight.
There’sanotherreasonhenevercaredtoexaminethingsbeyondthebasicbenchmarkofbeingattractedtowomen.He’sbeeninthepubliceyesincehismombecamethefavored2016nominee,theWhiteHouseTriotheadministration’sdoortotheteenandtwenty-somethingdemographicalmostaslong.Allthreeofthem—himself,June,andNora—havetheirroles.
Noraisthecoolbrainyone,theonewhomakesinappropriatejokesonTwitteraboutwhateversci-fishoweveryone’swatching,abartriviateamringer.She’snotstraight—she’sneverbeenstraight—buttoher,it’sanincidentalpartofwhosheis.Shedoesn’tworryaboutgoingpublicwithit;feelingsdon’tconsumeherthewayhisdo.
HelooksatJune—aheadofhimnow,caramelhighlightsinherswingingponytailcatchingthemiddaysun—andheknowsherplacetoo.TheintrepidWashingtonPostcolumnist,thefashiontrendsettereveryonewantstohaveattheirwine-and-cheesenight.
ButAlexisthegoldenboy.Theheartthrob,thehandsomeroguewithaheartofgold.Theguywhomovesthroughlifeeffortlessly,whomakeseveryonelaugh.HighestapprovalratingsoftheentireFirstFamily.Thewholepointofhimisthathisappealisasuniversalaspossible.
Being…whateverhe’sstartingtosuspecthemightbe,isdefinitelynotuniversallyappealingtovoters.Hehasahardenoughtimebeinghalf-Mexican.
Hewantshismomtokeepherapprovalratingsupwithouthavingtomanageacomplicationfromherownfamily.HewantstobetheyoungestcongressmaninUShistory.He’sabsolutelysurethatguyswhokissedaPrinceofEnglandandlikeditdon’tgetelectedtorepresentTexas.
ButhethinksaboutHenry,and,oh.
HethinksaboutHenry,andsomethingtwistsinhischest,likeastretchhe’sbeenavoidingfortoolong.
HethinksaboutHenry’svoicelowinhisearoverthephoneatthreeinthemorning,andsuddenlyhehasanameforwhatignitesinthepitofhisstomach.Henry’shandsonhim,histhumbsbracedagainsthistemplesbackinthegarden,Henry’shandsotherplaces,Henry’smouth,whathemightdowithitifAlexlethim.Henry’sbroadshouldersandlonglegsandnarrowwaist,theplacehisjawmeetshisneckandtheplacehisneckmeetshisshoulderandthetendonthatstretchesthelengthbetweenthem,andthewayitlookswhenHenryturnshisheadtoshoothimachallengingglare,andhisimpossiblyblueeyes—
Hetripsonacrackinthepavementandgoestumblingdown,skinninghiskneeandrippinghisearbudsout.
“Dude,whatthehell?”June’svoicecutsthroughtheringinginhisears.She’sstandingoverhim,handsonherknees,browfurrowed,panting.“Yourbraincouldnotbemoreclearlyinanothersolarsystem.Areyougonnatellmeorwhat?”
Hetakesherhandandletsherpullhimandhisbloodykneeup.“It’sfine.I’mfine.”
Junesighs,shootinghimanotherlookbeforefinallydroppingit.Oncehe’slimpedbackhomebehindher,shedisappearstoshowerandhestemsthebleedingwithaCaptainAmericaBand-Aidfromhisbathroomcabinet.
Heneedsalist.So:Thingsheknowsrightnow.
One.He’sattractedtoHenry.
Two.HewantstokissHenryagain.
Three.HehasmaybewantedtokissHenryforawhile.Asin,probablythiswholetime.
Heticksoffanotherlistinhishead.Henry.Shaan.Liam.HanSolo.RafaelLunaandhisloosecollars.
Sidlinguptohisdesk,hepullsoutthebinderhismothergavehim:DEMOGRAPHICENGAGEMENT:WHOTHEYAREANDHOWTOREACHTHEM.HedragshisfingerdowntotheLGBTQ+tabandturnstothepagehe’slookingfor,titledwithmother’stypicalflair:THEBISN’TSILENT:ACRASHCOURSEONBISEXUALAMERICANS
“Iwannastartnow,”AlexsaysasheslamsintotheTreatyRoom.
Hismotherlowersherglassestothetipofhernose,eyeinghimoverapileofpapers.“Startwhat?GettingyourassbeatforbarginginherewhileI’mworking?”
“Thejob,”hesays.“Thecampaignjob.Idon’twannawaituntilIgraduate.Ialreadyreadallthematerialsyougaveme.Twice.Ihavetime.Icanstartnow.”
Shenarrowshereyesathim.“Yougotabugupyourbutt?”
“No,Ijust…”Oneofhiskneesisbouncingimpatiently.Heforcesittostop.“I’mready.I’vegotlessthanonesemesterleft.HowmuchmorecouldIpossiblyneedtoknowtodothis?Putmein,Coach.”
WhichishowhefindshimselfoutofbreathonaMondayafternoonafterclass,followingastafferwho’smanagedtosurpassevenhiminthecaffeinationdepartment,onabreaknecktourofthecampaignoffices.Hegetsabadgewithhisnameandphotoonit,adeskinasharedcubicle,andaWASPycubiclematefromBostonnamedHunterwithanextremelypunchableface.
Alexishandedafolderofdatafromthelatestfocusgroupsandtoldtostartdraftingpolicyideasfortheendofthefollowingweek,andWASPyHunteraskshimfivehundredquestionsabouthismom.Alexveryprofessionallydoesnotpunchhim.Hejustgetstowork.
He’sdefinitelynotthinkingaboutHenry.
He’snotthinkingaboutHenrywhenheputsintwenty-threehoursinhisfirstweekofwork,orwhenhe’sfillingtherestofhishourswithclassandpapersandgoingforlongrunsanddrinkingtriple-shotcoffeesandpokingaroundtheSenateoffices.He’snotthinkingaboutHenryintheshoweroratnight,aloneandwideawakeinhisbed.
Exceptforwhenheis.Whichisalways.
Thisusuallyworks.Hedoesn’tunderstandwhyit’snotworking.
Whenhe’sinthecampaignoffices,hekeepsgravitatingovertothebig,busywhiteboardsofthepollingsection,whereNorasitseverydayenshrinedingraphsandspreadsheets.She’smadeeasyfriendswithhercoworkers,sincecompetencetranslatesdirectlytopopularityinthecampaignsocialculture,andnobody’sbetteratnumbersthanher.
He’snotjealous,exactly.He’spopularinhisowndepartment,constantlycorneredattheKeurigforsecondopinionsonpeople’sdraftsandinvitedtoafter-workdrinksheneverhastimefor.Atleastfourstaffersofvariousgendershavehitonhim,andWASPyHunterwon’tstoptryingtoconvincehimtocometohisimprovshows.HesmileshandsomelyoverhiscoffeeandmakessarcasticjokesandtheAlexClaremont-DiazCharmInitiativeisaseffectiveasever.
ButNoramakesfriends,andAlexendsupwithacquaintanceswhothinktheyknowhimbecausethey’vereadhisprofileinNewYorkmagazine,andperfectlyfinepeoplewithperfectlyfinebodieswhowanttotakehimhomefromthebar.Noneofitissatisfying—itneverhasbeen,notreally,butitnevermatteredasmuchasitdoesnowthatthere’sthesharpcounterpointofHenry,whoknowshim.Henrywho’sseenhiminglassesandtolerateshimathismostannoyingandstillkissedhimlikehewantedhim,singularly,nottheideaofhim.
Soitgoes,andHenryisthere,inhisheadandhislecturenotesandhiscubicle,everysinglestupidday,nomatterhowmanyshotsofespressoheputsinhiscoffee.
Norawouldbetheobviouschoiceforhelp,ifnotforthefactthatshe’sneckdeepinpollingnumbers.Whenshegetsintoherworklikethis,it’sliketryingtohaveameaningfulconversationwithahigh-speedcomputerthatlovesChipotleandmakesfunofwhatyou’rewearing.
Butshe’shisbestfriend,andshe’ssortofvaguelybisexual.Sheneverdates—notimeordesire—butifshedid,shesaysit’dbeanevendistributionoftheinternpool.She’sasknowledgeableaboutthetopicassheisabouteverythingelse.
“Hello,”shesaysfromthefloorashedropsabagofburritosandasecondbagofchipswithguacamoleonthecoffeetable.“YoumighthavetoputguacamoledirectlyintomymouthwithaspoonbecauseIneedbothhandsforthenextforty-eighthours.”
Nora’sgrandparents,theVeepandSecondLady,liveattheNavalObservatory,andherparentslivejustoutsideofMontpelier,butshe’shadthesameairyone-bedroominColumbiaHeightssinceshetransferredfromMITtoGW.It’sfullofbooksandplantsshetendstowithcomplexspreadsheetsofwateringschedules.Tonight,she’ssittingonherlivingroomfloorinaglowingcircleofscreenslikesomekindofCapitolHillséance.
Toherleft,hercampaignlaptopisopentoanindecipherablepageofdataandbargraphs.Toherright,herpersonalcomputerisrunningthreenewsaggregatorsatthesametime.Infrontofher,theTVisbroadcastingCNN’sRepublicanprimarycoverage,whilethetabletinherlapisplayinganoldepisodeofDragRace.She’sholdingheriPhoneinherhand,andAlexhearsthelittlewhooshofanemailsendingbeforeshelooksupathim.
“Barbacoa?”shesayshopefullyasAlexdropsontothecouch.
“I’vemetyoubeforetoday,so,obviously.”
“There’smyfuturehusband.”Sheleansovertopullaburritooutofthebag,ripsoffthefoil,andshovesitintohermouth.
“I’mnotgoingtohaveamarriageofconveniencewithyouifyou’realwaysembarrassingmewiththewayyoueatburritos,”Alexsays,watchingherchew.Ablackbeanfallsoutofhermouthandlandsononeofherkeyboards.
“Aren’tyoufromTexas?”shesaysthroughhermouthful.“I’veseenyoushotgunabottleofbarbecuesauce.WatchyourselforI’mgonnamarryJuneinstead.”
Thismightbehisopeninginto“theconversation.”Hey,youknowhowyou’realwaysjokingaboutdatingJune?Well,like,whatifIdatedaguy?NotthathewantstodateHenry.Atall.Ever.Butjust,like,hypothetically.
NoragoesoffonadatanerdtangentforthenexttwentyminutesaboutherupdatedtakeonwhateverthefucktheBoyer–Mooremajorityvotealgorithmisandvariablesandhowitcanbeusedinwhateverworkshe’sdoingforthecampaign,orsomething.Honestly,Alex’sconcentrationisdriftinginandout.He’sjustworkingonsummoningupcourageuntilshetalksherselfintosubmission
“Hey,so,uh,”Alexattemptsasshetakesaburritobreak.“Rememberwhenwedated?”
Noraswallowsamassivebiteandgrins.“Whyyes,Ido,Alejandro.”
Alexforcesalaugh.“So,knowingmeaswellasyoudo—”
“Inthebiblicalsense.”
“Numbersonmebeingintodudes?”
ThatpullsNoraupshort,beforeshecocksherheadtothesideandsays,“Seventy-eightpercentprobabilityoflatentbisexualtendencies.Onehundredpercentprobabilitythisisnotahypotheticalquestion.”
“Yeah.So.”Hecoughs.“Weirdthinghappened.YouknowhowHenrycametoNewYear’s?Hekinda…kissedme?”
“Oh,noshit?”Norasays,noddingappreciatively.“Nice.”
Alexstaresather.“You’renotsurprised?”
“Imean.”Sheshrugs.“He’sgay,andyou’rehot,so.”
Hesitsupsoquicklyhealmostdropshisburritoonthefloor.“Wait,wait—whatmakesyouthinkhe’sgay?Didhetellyouhewas?”
“No,Ijust…like,youknow.”Shegesticulatesasiftodescribeherusualthoughtprocess.It’sasincomprehensibleasherbrain.“Iobservepatternsanddata,andtheyformlogicalconclusions,andhe’sjustgay.He’salwaysbeengay.”
“I…what?”
“Dude.Haveyoumethim?Isn’thesupposedtobeyourbestfriendorwhatever?He’sgay.Like,Fire-Island-on-the-Fourth-of-Julygay.Didyoureallynotknow?”
Alexliftshishandshelplessly.“No?”
“Alex,Ithoughtyouweresupposedtobesmart.”
“Metoo!Howcanhe—howcanhespringakissonmewithouteventellingmehe’sgayfirst?”
“Imean,like,”sheattempts,“isitpossibleheassumedyouknew?”
“Buthegoesondateswithgirlsallthetime.”
“Yeah,becauseprincesaren’tallowedtobegay,”Norasaysasifit’sthemostobviousthingintheworld.“Whydoyouthinkthey’realwaysphotographed?”
Alexletsthatsinkinforhalfasecondandremembersthisissupposedtobeabouthisgaypanic,notHenry’s.“Okay,so.Wait.Jesus.Canwegobacktothepartwherehekissedme?”
“Ooh,yes,”Norasays.Shelicksaglobofguacamoleoffthescreenofherphone.“Happily.Washeagoodkisser?Wastheretongue?Didyoulikeit?”
“Nevermind,”Alexsaysinstantly.“ForgetIasked.”
“Sincewhenareyouaprude?”Norademands.“LastyearyoumademelistentoeverynastydetailaboutgoingdownonAmberForresterfromJune’sinternship.”
“Donot,”hesays,hidinghisfacebehindthecrookofhiselbow.
“Thenspill.”
“Iseriouslyhopeyoudie,”hesays.“Yes,hewasagoodkisser,andtherewastongue.”
“Ifuckingknewit,”shesays.“Stillwaters,deepdicking.”
“Stop,”hegroans.
“PrinceHenryisabiscuit,”Norasays,“lethimsopyouup.”
“I’mleaving.”
Shethrowsherheadbackandcackles,andseriously,Alexhasgottogetmorefriends.“Didyoulikeit,though?”
Apause.
“What,um,”hestarts.“Whatdoyouthinkitwouldmean…ifIdid?”
“Well.Babe.You’vebeenwantinghimtodickyoudownforever,right?”
Alexalmostchokesonhistongue.“What?”
Noralooksathim.“Oh,shit.Didyounotknowthateither?Shit.Ididn’tmeanto,like,tellyou.Isittimeforthisconversation?”
“I…maybe?”hesays.“Um.What?”
Sheputsherburritodownonthecoffeetableandshakesherfingersoutlikeshedoeswhenshe’sabouttowriteacomplicatedcode.Alexsuddenlyfeelsintimidatedathavingherundividedattention.
“Letmelayoutsomeobservationsforyou,”shesays.“Youextrapolate.First,you’vebeen,like,DracoMalfoy–levelobsessedwithHenryforyears—donotinterruptme—andsincetheroyalwedding,you’vegottenhisphonenumberanduseditnottosetupanyappearancesbutinsteadtolong-distanceflirtwithhimalldayeveryday.You’reconstantlymakingbigcoweyesatyourphone,andifsomebodyasksyouwhoyou’retexting,youactlikeyougotcaughtwatchingporn.Youknowhissleepschedule,heknowsyoursleepschedule,andyou’reinanoticeablyworsemoodifyougoadaywithouttalkingtohim.YouspenttheentireNewYear’spartystraight-upignoringthewho’swhoofhotpeoplewhowanttofuckAmerica’smosteligiblebachelortoliterallywatchHenrystandnexttothecroquembouche.Andhekissedyou—withtongue!—andyoulikedit.So,objectively.Whatdoyouthinkitmeans?”
Alexstares.“Imean,”hesaysslowly.“Idon’t…know.”
Norafrowns,visiblygivingup,resumeseatingherburrito,andreturnsherattentiontothenewsfeedonherlaptop.“Okay.”
“No,okay,look,”Alexsays.“Iknow,like,objectively,onafuckinggraphingcalculator,itsoundslikeahugeembarrassingcrush.But,ugh.Idon’tknow!Hewasmyswornenemyuntilacouplemonthsago,andthenwewerefriends,Iguess,andnowhe’skissedme,andIdon’tknowwhatwe…are.”
“Uh-huh,”Norasays,verymuchnotlistening.“Yep.”
“And,still,”hebarrelson.“Intermsof,like,sexuality,whatdoesthatmakeme?”
Nora’seyessnapbackuptohim.“Oh,like,Ithoughtwewerealreadytherewithyoubeingbiandeverything,”shesays.“Sorry,arewenot?DidIskipaheadagain?Mybad.Hello,wouldyouliketocomeouttome?I’mlistening.Hi.”
“Idon’tknow!”hehalfyells,miserably.“AmI?DoyouthinkI’mbi?”
“Ican’ttellyouthat,Alex!”shesays.“That’sthewholepoint!”
“Shit,”hesays,droppinghisheadbackonthecushions.“Ineedsomeonetojusttellme.Howdidyouknowyouwere?”
“Idon’tknow,man.Iwasinmyjunioryearofhighschool,andItouchedaboob.Itwasn’tveryprofound.Nobody’sgonnawriteanOff-Broadwayplayaboutit.”
“Reallyhelpful.”
“Yup,”shesays,chewingthoughtfullyonachip.“So,whatareyougonnado?”
“Ihavenoidea,”Alexsays.“He’stotallyghostedme,soIguessitwasawfulorastupiddrunkmistakeheregretsor—”
“Alex,”shesays.“Helikesyou.He’sfreakingout.You’regonnahavetodecidehowyoufeelabouthimanddosomethingaboutit.He’snotinapositiontodoanythingelse.”
Alexhasnoideawhatelsetosayaboutanyofit.Nora’seyesdriftbacktooneofherscreens,whereAndersonCooperisunpackingthelatestcoverageoftheRepublicanpresidentialhopefuls.
“AnychancesomeoneotherthanRichardsgetsthenomination?”
Alexsighs.“Nope.NotaccordingtoanybodyI’vetalkedto.”
“It’salmostcutehowhardtheothersarestilltrying,”shesays,andtheylapseintosilence.
Alexislate,again.
Hisclassisreviewingforthefirstexamtoday,andhe’slatebecausehelosttrackoftimegoingoverhisspeechforthecampaigneventhe’sdoinginfuckingNebraskathisweekend,ofallgodforsakenplaces.It’sThursday,andhe’shaulingassstraightfromworktothelecturehall,andhisexamisnextTuesday,andhe’sgoingtofailbecausehe’smissingthereview.
TheclassisEthicalIssuesinInternationalRelations.Hereallyhasgottostoptakingclassessopainfullyrelevanttohislife.
Hegetsthroughthereviewinahazeofhalf-distractedshorthandandbooksitbacktowardtheResidence.He’spissed,honestly.Pissedateverything;acrawling,directionlessbadmoodthat’scarryinghimupthestairstowardtheEastandWestBedrooms.
Hethrowshisbagdownatthedoorofhisroomandkickshisshoesintothehallway,watchingthembouncecrookedlyacrosstheuglyantiquerug.
“Well,goodafternoontoyoutoo,honeybiscuit,”June’svoicesays.WhenAlexglancesup,she’sinherroomacrossthehall,perchedonapastel-pinkwingbackchair.“Youlooklikeshit.”
“Thanks,asshole.”
Herecognizesthestackofmagazinesinherlapasherweeklytabloidroundup,andhe’sjustdecidedhedoesn’twanttoknowwhenshechucksoneathim.
“NewPeopleforyou,”shesays.“You’reonpagefifteen.Oh,andyourBFF’sonpagethirty-one.”
Hecasuallyextendsherthefingeroverhisshoulderandretreatsintohisroom,slumpingdownontothecouchbythedoorwiththemagazine.Sincehehasit,hemightaswell.
Pagefifteenisapictureofhimthepressteamtooktwoweeksago,anice,neatlittlepackageonhimhelpingtheSmithsonianwithanexhibitabouthismom’shistoricpresidentialcampaign.He’sexplainingthestorybehindaCLAREMONTFORCONGRESS’04yardsign,andthere’sabriefwrite-upalongsideitabouthowdedicatedheistothefamilylegacy,blahblahblah.
Heturnstopagethirty-oneandalmostswearsoutloud.
Theheadline:WHOISPRINCEHENRY’SMYSTERYBLONDE?
Threephotos:thefirst,HenryoutatacafeinLondon,smilingovercoffeesatsomeanonymouslyprettyblondwoman;thesecond,Henry,slightlyoutoffocus,holdingherhandastheyduckbehindthecafe;thethird,Henry,halfwayobscuredbyashrub,kissingthecornerofhermouth.
“Whatthefuck?”
There’sashortarticleaccompanyingthephotosthatgivesthegirl’sname,Emilysomething,anactress,andAlexwasgenerallypissedbefore,butnowhe’sverysingularlypissed,hisentireshittymoodfunneleddowntothepointonthepagewhereHenry’slipstouchsomebody’sskinthat’snothis.
WhothefuckdoesHenrythinkheis?Howfucking—howentitled,howaloof,howselfishdoyouhavetobe,tospendmonthsbecomingsomeone’sfriend,letthemshowyoualltheirweirdgrossweakparts,kissthem,makethemquestioneverything,ignorethemforweeks,andgooutwithsomeoneelseandputitinthepress?Everyonewho’severhadapublicistknowstheonlywayanythinggetsintoPeopleisifyouwanttheworldtoknow.
Hethrowsthemagazinedownandlungestohisfeet,pacing.FuckHenry.Heshouldneverhavetrustedthesilver-spoonlittleshit.Heshouldhavelistenedtohisgut.
Heinhales,exhales.
Thethingis.Thething.Is.Hedoesn’tknowif,beyondtheinitialrushofanger,heactuallybelievesHenrywoulddothis.IfhetakestheHenryhesawinateenmagazinewhenhewastwelve,theHenrywhowassocoldtohimattheOlympics,theHenrywhoslowlycameunraveledtohimovermonths,andtheHenrywhokissedhimintheshadowoftheWhiteHouse,andheaddsthemup,hedoesn’tgetthis.
Alexhasatacticalbrain.Apolitician’sbrain.Itworksfast,anditworksinmany,manydirectionsatonce.Andrightnow,he’sthinkingthroughapuzzle.He’snotalwaysgoodatthinking:Whatifyouwerehim?Howwouldyourlifebe?Whatwouldyouhavetodo?Instead,he’sthinking:Howdothesepiecesslottogether?
HethinksaboutwhatNorasaid:“Whydoyouthinkthey’realwaysphotographed?”
AndhethinksaboutHenry’sguardedness,thewayhecarrieshimselfwithacarefulseparationfromtheworldaroundhim,thetensionatthecornerofhismouth.Thenhethinks:Iftherewasaprince,andhewasgay,andhekissedsomeone,andmaybeitmattered,thatprincemighthavetorunalittlebitofinterference.
Andinonegreatmercurialswing,Alexisnotjustangryanymore.He’ssadtoo.
Hepacesbackovertothedoorandslideshisphoneoutofhismessengerbag,thumbsopenhismessages.Hedoesn’tknowwhichimpulsetofollowandwrestleintowordsthathecansaytosomeoneandmakesomething,anything,happen.
Faintly,underitall,itoccurstohim:Thisisallaverynot-straightwaytoreacttoseeingyourmalefrenemykissingsomeoneelseinamagazine.
Alittlelaughstartlesoutofhim,andhewalksovertohisbedandsitsontheedgeofit,considering.HeconsiderstextingNora,askingherifhecancomeovertofinallyhavesomebigepiphany.HeconsiderscallingRafaelLunaandmeetinghimforbeersandaskingtohearallabouthisfirstgaysexualexploitsasanREI-wearingteenageantifascist.AndheconsidersgoingdownstairsandaskingAmyabouthertransitionandherwifeandhowsheknewshewasdifferent.
Butinthemoment,itfeelsrighttogobacktothesource,toasksomeonewho’sseenwhateverisinhiseyeswhenaboytoucheshim.
Henry’soutofthequestion.Whichleavesoneperson.
“Hello?”saysthevoiceoverthephone.It’sbeenatleastayearsincetheylasttalked,butLiam’sTexasdrawlisunmistakableandwarminAlex’seardrum.
Heclearshisthroat.“Uh,hey,Liam.It’sAlex.”
“Iknow,”Liamsays,desert-dry.
“How,um,howhaveyoubeen?”
Apause.Thesoundofquiettalkinginthebackground,dishes.“Youwannatellmewhyyou’rereallycalling,Alex?”
“Oh,”hestartsandstops,triesagain.“Thismightsoundweird.But,um.Backinhighschool,didwehave,like,athing?DidImissthat?”
There’saclatteringsoundontheothersideofthephone,likeaforkbeingdroppedonaplate.“Areyouseriouslycallingmerightnowtotalkaboutthis?I’matlunchwithmyboyfriend.”
“Oh.”Hedidn’tknowLiamhadaboyfriend.“Sorry.”
Thesoundgoesmuffled,andwhenLiamspeaksagain,it’stosomeoneelse.“It’sAlex.Yeah,him.Idon’tknow,babe.”Hisvoicecomesbackclearagain.“Whatexactlyareyouaskingme?”
“Imean,like,wemessedaround,butdidit,like,meansomething?”
“Idon’tthinkIcananswerthatquestionforyou,”Liamtellshim.Ifhe’sstillanythinglikeAlexremembers,he’srubbingonehandontheundersideofhisjaw,rakingthroughthestubble.Hewondersfaintlyif,perhaps,hisclear-as-daymemoryofLiam’sstubblehasjustansweredhisownquestionforhim.
“Right,”hesays.“You’reright.”
“Look,man,”Liamsays.“Idon’tknowwhatkindofsexualcrisisyou’rehavingrightnow,like,fouryearsafteritwouldhavebeenuseful,but,well.I’mnotsayingwhatwedidinhighschoolmakesyougayorbiorwhatever,butIcantellyouI’mgay,andthateventhoughIactedlikewhatweweredoingwasn’tgaybackthen,itsuperwas.”Hesighs.“Doesthathelp,Alex?MyBloodyMaryishereandIneedtotalktoitaboutthisphonecall.”
“Um,yeah,”Alexsays.“Ithinkso.Thanks.”
“You’rewelcome.”
Liamsoundssolong-sufferingandtiredthatAlexthinksaboutallthosetimesbackinhighschool,thewayLiamusedtolookathim,thesilencebetweenthemsince,andfeelsobligatedtoadd,“And,um.I’msorry?”
“JesusChrist,”Liamgroans,andhangsup.SIX
Henrycan’tavoidhimforever.
There’sonepartofthepost-royalweddingarrangementlefttofulfill:Henry’spresenceatastatedinnerattheendofJanuary.Englandhasarelativelynewprimeminister,andEllenwantstomeethim.Henry’scomingtoo,stayingintheResidenceasacourtesy.
AlexsmoothsoutthelapelsonhistuxandhoversclosetoJuneandNoraastheguestsrollin,waitingatthenorthentrancenearthephotoline.He’sawarethathe’srockinganxiouslyonhisheelsbutcan’tseemtostop.Norasmirksbutsaysnothing.She’skeepingitquiet.He’sstillnotreadytotellJune.Tellinghissisterisirreversible,andhecan’tdothatuntilhe’sfiguredoutwhatexactlythisis.
Henryentersstageright.
Hissuitisblack,smooth,elegant.Perfect.Alexwantstoripitoff.
Hisfaceisreserved,thendownrightashenwhenheseesAlexintheentrancehall.Hisfootstepsstutter,asifhe’sthinkingofmakingarunforit.Alexisnotaboveaflyingtackle.
Instead,hekeepswalkingupthesteps,and—
“Allright,photos,”ZahrahissesoverAlex’sshoulder.
“Oh,”Henrysays,likeanidiot.Alexhateshowmuchhelikesthewaythatonestupidvowelcurlsinhisaccent.He’snotevenintoBritishaccents.He’sintoHenry’sBritishaccent.
“Hey,”Alexsaysunderhisbreath.Fakesmile,handshake,camerasflashing.“Cooltoseeyou’renotdeadoranything.”
“Er,”Henrysays,addingtothelistofvowelsoundshehastoshowforhimself.Itis,unfortunately,alsosexy.Afteralltheseweeks,thebarislow.
“Weneedtotalk,”Alexsays,butZahraisphysicallyshovingthemintoafriendlyformation,andtherearemorephotosuntilAlexisbeingshepherdedoffwiththegirlstotheStateDiningRoomwhileHenryishauledintophotoopswiththeprimeminister.
TheentertainmentforthenightisaBritishindierockerwholookslikearootvegetableandispopularwithpeopleinAlex’sdemographicforreasonshecan’tevenbegintounderstand.Henryisseatedwiththeprimeminister,andAlexsitsandchewshisfoodlikeit’spersonallywrongedhimandwatchesHenryfromacrosstheroom,seething.Everysooften,Henrywilllookup,catchAlex’seye,gopinkaroundtheears,andreturntohisricepilafasifit’sthemostfascinatingdishontheplanet.
HowdareHenrycomeintoAlex’shouselookinglikethegoddamnJamesBondoffspringthatheis,drinkredwinewiththeprimeminister,andactlikehedidn’tslipAlexthetongueandghosthimforamonth.
“Nora,”hesays,leaningovertoherwhileJuneisoffchattingwithanactressfromDoctorWho.Thenightisstartingtowinddown,andAlexisoverit.“CanyougetHenryawayfromhistable?”
Sheslantsalookathim.“Isthisadiabolicalschemeofseduction?”sheasks.“Ifso,yes.”
“Sure,yes,that,”hesays,andhegetsupandheadsforthebackwalloftheroom,wheretheSecretServiceisstationed.
“Amy,”hehisses,grabbingherbythewrist.Shemakesaquick,abortedmovement,clearlyfightingahardwiredtakedownreflex.“Ineedyourhelp.”
“Where’sthethreat?”shesaysimmediately.
“No,no,Jesus.”Alexswallows.“Notlikethat.IneedtogetPrinceHenryalone.”
Sheblinks.“Idon’tfollow.”
“Ineedtotalktohiminprivate.”
“Icanaccompanyyououtsideifyouneedtospeakwithhim,butI’llhavetogetitapprovedwithhissecurityfirst.”
“No,”Alexsays.Hescrubsahandacrosshisface,glancingbackoverhisshouldertoconfirmHenry’swherehelefthim,beingaggressivelytalkedatbyNora.“Ineedhimalone.”
TheslightestofexpressionscrossesoverAmy’sface.“ThebestIcandoistheRedRoom.Youtakehimanyfartherandit’sano-go.”
HelooksoverhisshoulderagainatthetalldoorsacrosstheStateDiningRoom.TheRedRoomisemptyontheotherside,awaitingtheafter-dinnercocktails.
“HowlongcanIhave?”hesays.
“Fivemin—”
“Icanmakethatwork.”
Heturnsonhisheelandstalksovertotheornamentaldisplayofchocolates,whereNorahasapparentlyluredHenrywiththepromiseofprofiteroles.Heplantshimselfbetweenthem.
“Hi,”hesays.Norasmiles.Henry’smouthdropsopen.“Sorrytointerrupt.Important,um.International.Relations.Stuff.”AndheseizesHenrybytheelbowandyankshimbodilyaway.
“Doyoumind?”Henryhasthenervetosay.
“Shutyourface,”Alexsays,brisklyleadinghimawayfromthetables,wherepeoplearetoobusyminglingandlisteningtothemusictonoticeAlexfrog-marchinganheirtothethroneoutofthediningroom.
Theyreachthedoors,andAmyisthere.Shehesitates,handontheknob.
“You’renotgoingtokillhim,areyou?”shesays.
“Probablynot,”Alextellsher.
Sheopensthedoorjustenoughtoletthemthrough,andAlexhaulsHenryintotheRedRoomwithhim.
“WhatonGod’searthareyoudoing?”Henrydemands.
“Shutup,shutallthewayup,ohmyGod,”Alexhisses,andifheweren’talreadyhell-bentondestroyingHenry’sinfuriatingidiotfacewithhismouthrightnow,hewouldconsiderdoingitwithhisfist.He’sfocusedontheburstofadrenalinecarryinghisfeetovertheantiquerug,Henry’stiewrappedaroundhisfist,theflashinHenry’seyes.Hereachesthenearestwall,shovesHenryagainstit,andcrushestheirmouthstogether.
Henry’stooshockedtorespond,mouthfallingopenslacklyinawaythat’smoresurprisethaninvitation,andforahorrifiedmomentAlexthinkshecalculatedallwrong,butthenHenry’skissinghimback,andit’severything.Itfeelsasgoodas—betterthan—heremembered,andhecan’trecallwhytheyhaven’tbeendoingthisthewholetime,whythey’vebeenrunningbelligerentcirclesaroundeachotherforsolongwithoutdoinganythingaboutit.
“Wait,”Henrysays,breakingoff.HepullsbacktolookatAlex,wild-eyed,mouthavividred,andAlexcouldfuckingscreamifheweren’tworrieddignitariesinthenextroommighthearhim.“Shouldwe—”
“What?”
“Imean,er,shouldwe,Idunno,slowdown?”Henrysays,cringingsohardathimselfthatoneeyecloses.“Gofordinnerfirst,or—”
Alexisactuallygoingtokillhim.
“Wejusthaddinner.”
“Right.Imeant—Ijustthought—”
“Stopthinking.”
“Yes.Gladly.”
Inonefranticmotion,AlexknocksthecandelabraoffthetablenexttothemandpushesHenryontoitsohe’ssittingwithhisbackagainst—Alexlooksupandalmostbreaksintoderangedlaughter—aportraitofAlexanderHamilton.Henry’slegsfallopenreadilyandAlexcrowdsupbetweenthem,wrenchingHenry’sheadbackintoanothersearingkiss
They’rereallymovingnow,wreckingeachother’ssuits,Henry’slipcaughtbetweenAlex’steeth,theportrait’sframerattlingagainstthewallwhenHenry’sheaddropsbackandbangsintoit.Alexisathisthroat,andhe’ssomewherebetweenangryandgiddy,caughtupinthespacebetweenyearsofswornhateandsomethingelsehe’sbeguntosuspecthasalwaysbeenthere.It’swhite-hot,andhefeelscrazywithit,litupfromtheinside.
Henrygivesasgoodashegets,hookingonekneearoundthebackofAlex’sthighforleverage,delicateroyalsensibilitiesnowhereinthecutofhisteeth.AlexhasbeenlearningforawhileHenryisn’twhathethought,butit’ssomethingelsetofeelitthiscloseup,thequietburninhim,thepent-uppersonundertheperfectveneerwhotriesandpushesandwants.
HedropsahandontoHenry’sthigh,feelingtheelectricalpulsethere,thesmoothfabricoverhardmuscle.Hepushesup,up,andHenry’shandslamsdownoverhis,digginghisnailsin.
“Time’sup!”comesAmy’svoicethroughacrackinthedoors.
Theyfreeze,Alexfallingbackontohisheels.Theycanbothhearitnow,thesoundsofbodiesmovingtoocloseforcomfort,wrappingupthenight.Henry’shipsgiveonetinypushupintohim,involuntary,surprised,andAlexswears.
“I’mgoingtodie,”Henrysayshelplessly.
“I’mgoingtokillyou,”Alextellshim.
“Yes,youare,”Henryagrees.
Alextakesanunsteadystepbackward.
“Peoplearegonnabecominginheresoon,”Alexsays,reachingdownandtryingnottofallonhisfaceashescoopsupthecandelabraandshovesitbackontothetable.Henryisstandingnow,lookingwobbly,hisshirtuntuckedandhishairamess.Alexreachesupinapanicandstartspattingitbackintoplace.“Fuck,youlook—fuck.”
Henryfumbleswithhisshirttail,eyeswide,andstartshumming“GodSavetheQueen”underhisbreath.
“Whatareyoudoing?”
“Christ,I’mtryingtomakeit”—hegesturesinelegantlyatthefrontofhispants—“goaway.”
Alexverypointedlydoesnotlookdown.
“Okay,so,”Alexsays.“Yeah.Sohere’swhatwe’regonnado.Youaregonnagobe,like,fivehundredfeetawayfrommefortherestofthenight,orelseIamgoingtodosomethingthatIwilldeeplyregretinfrontofalotofveryimportantpeople.”
“Allright…”
“Andthen,”Alexsays,andhegrabsHenry’stieagain,closetotheknot,anddrawshismouthuptoabreathawayfromHenry’s.HehearsHenryswallow.Hewantstofollowthesounddownhisthroat.“AndthenyouaregoingtocometotheEastBedroomonthesecondfloorateleveno’clocktonight,andIamgoingtodoverybadthingstoyou,andifyoufuckingghostmeagain,I’mgoingtogetyouputonafuckingno-flylist.Gotit?”
Henrybitesdownonasoundthattriestoescapehismouth,andrasps,“Perfectly.”
Alexis.Well,Alexisprobablylosinghismind.
It’s10:48.He’spacing.
Hethrewhisjacketandtieoverthebackofthechairassoonashereturnedtohisroom,andhe’sgotthefirsttwobuttonsofhisdressshirtundone.Hishandsaretwistedupinhishair.
Thisisfine.It’sfine.
It’sdefinitelyaterribleidea.Butit’sfine.
He’snotsureifheshouldtakeanythingelseoff.He’sunsureofthedresscodeforinvitingyoursworn-enemy-turned-fake-best-friendtoyourroomtohavesexwithyou,especiallywhenthatroomisintheWhiteHouse,andespeciallywhenthatpersonisaguy,andespeciallywhenthatguyisaprinceofEngland.
Theroomisdimlylit—asinglelamp,inthecornerbythecouch,washingthedeepbluesofthewallsneutral.He’smovedallhiscampaignfilesfromthebedtothedeskandstraightenedoutthebedspread.Helooksattheancientfireplace,thecarveddetailsofthemantelalmostasoldasthecountryitself,anditmaynotbeKensingtonPalace,butitlooksallright
God,ifanyghostsofFoundingFathersarehangingaroundtheWhiteHousetonight,theymustreallybesuffering.
He’stryingnottothinktoohardaboutwhatcomesnext.Hemaynothaveexperienceinpracticalapplication,buthe’sdoneresearch.Hehasdiagrams.Hecandothis.
Hereally,reallywantstodothis.Thatmuchhe’ssureabout.
Hecloseshiseyes,groundshimselfwithhisfingertipsonthecoolsurfaceofhisdesk,thefeatherylittleedgesofpapersthere.HismindflashestoHenry,thesmoothlinesofhissuit,thewayhisbreathbrushedAlex’scheekwhenhekissedhim.Hisstomachdoessomeembarrassingacrobaticsheplanstonevertellanyoneabout,ever.
Henry,theprince.Henry,theboyinthegarden.Henry,theboyinhisbed.
Hedoesn’t,heremindshimself,evenhavefeelingsfortheguy.Really.
There’saknockonthedoor.Alexcheckshisphone:10:54.
Heopensthedoor.
Alexstandsthereandexhalesslowly,eyesonHenry.He’snotsurehe’severlethimselfjustlook.
Henryistallandgorgeous,halfroyalty,halfmoviestar,redwinelingeringonhislips.He’slefthisjacketandtiebehind,andthesleevesofhisshirtarepusheduptohiselbows.Helooksnervousaroundthecornersofhiseyes,buthesmilesatAlexwithonesideofhispinkmouthandsays,“SorryI’mearly.”
Alexbiteshislip.“Findyourwayhereokay?”
“TherewasaveryhelpfulSecretServiceagent,”Henrysays.“IthinkhernamewasAmy?”
Alexsmilesfullynow.“Getinhere.”
Henry’sgrintakesoverhisentireface,nothisphotographgrin,butonethatiscrinklyandunguardedandinfectious.HehookshisfingertipsbehindAlex’selbow,andAlexfollowshislead,barefeetnudgingbetweenHenry’sdressshoes.Henry’sbreathghostsoverAlex’slips,theirnosesbrushing,andwhenhefinallyconnects,he’ssmilingintoit.
Henryshutsandlocksthedoorbehindthem,slidingonehandupthenapeofAlex’sneck,cradlingit.There’ssomethingdifferentaboutthewayhe’skissingnow—it’smeasured,deliberate.Soft.Alexisn’tsurewhy,orwhattodowithit.
HesettlesforpullingHenryinbytheswayofhiswaist,pressingtheirbodiesflush.Hekissesback,butletshimselfbekissedhoweverHenrywantstokisshim,whichrightnowisexactlyhowhewouldhaveexpectedPrinceCharmingtokissinthefirstplace:sweetanddeepandlikethey’restandingatsunriseinthefuckingmoors.Hecanpracticallyfeelthewindinhishair.It’sridiculous.
Henrybreaksoffandsays,“Howdoyouwanttodothis?”
AndAlexremembers,suddenly,thisisnotasunrise-in-the-moorstypeofsituation.HegrabsHenrybyhisloosenedcollar,pushesalittle,andsays,“Getonthecouch.”
Henry’sbreathhitchesandhecomplies.Alexmovestostandoverhim,lookingdownatthatsoftpinkmouth.Hefeelshimselfstandingataverytall,verydangerousprecipice,withnointentionofbackingaway.Henrylooksupathim,expectant,hungry.
“You’vebeendodgingmeforweeks,”Alexsays,wideninghisstancesohiskneesbracketHenry’s.Heleansdownandbracesonehandagainstthebackofthecouch,theothergrazingoverthevulnerabledipofHenry’sthroat.“Youwentoutwithagirl.”
“I’mgay,”Henrytellshimflatly.OneofhisbroadpalmsflattensoverAlex’ship,andAlexinhalessharply,eitheratthetouchorathearingHenryfinallysayitoutloud.“Notsomethingwisetopursueasamemberoftheroyalfamily.AndIwasn’tsureyouweren’tgoingtomurdermeforkissingyou.”
“Thenwhy’dyoudoit?”Alexaskshim.HeleansintoHenry’sneck,dragginghislipsoverthesensitiveskinjustbehindhisear.HethinksHenrymightbeholdinghisbreath.
“BecauseI—Ihopedyouwouldn’t.Murderme.Ihad…suspicionsyoumightwantmetoo,”Henrysays.HehissesalittlewhenAlexbitesdownlightlyonthesideofhisneck.“OrIthought,untilIsawyouwithNora,andthenIwas…jealous…andIwasdrunkandanidiotwhogotsickofwaitingfortheanswertopresentitself.”
“Youwerejealous,”Alexsays.“Youwantme.”
Henrymovesabruptly,heavingAlexoffbalancewithbothhandsanddownintohislap,eyesblazing,andhesaysinalowanddeadlyvoiceAlexhasneverheardfromhimbefore,“Yes,youpreeningarse,I’vewantedyoulongenoughthatIwon’thaveyouteasemeforanotherfuckingsecond.”
TurnsoutbeingonthereceivingendofHenry’sroyalauthorityisanextremefuckingturn-on.Hethinks,ashe’shauledintoabruisingkiss,thathe’llneverforgivehimselfforit.So,like,fuckthemoors.
HenrygetsagriponAlex’shipsandpullshimclose,soAlexisproperlystraddlinghislap,andhekisseshardnow,morelikehehadintheRedRoom,withteeth.Itshouldn’tworksoperfectly—itmakesabsolutelynosense—butitdoes.There’ssomethingaboutthetwoofthem,thewaytheyigniteatdifferenttemperatures,Alex’sfreneticenergyandHenry’sachingsureness.
HegrindsdownintoHenry’slap,gruntingashe’smetwithHenryalreadyhalf-hardunderhim,andHenry’scurseinresponseisburiedinAlex’smouth.Thekissesturnmessy,then,urgentandgraceless,andAlexgetslostinthedragandslideandpressofHenry’slips,thesweetliquorofit.HepusheshishandsintoHenry’shair,andit’sassoftashealwaysimaginedwhenhewouldtracethephotoofHenryinJune’smagazine,lushandthickunderhisfingers.Henrymeltsatthetouch,wrapshisarmsaroundAlex’swaistandholdshimthere.Alexisn’tgoinganywhere.
HekissesHenryuntilitfeelslikehecan’tbreathe,untilitfeelslikehe’sgoingtoforgetbothoftheirnamesandtitles,untilthey’reonlytwopeopletangledupinadarkroommakingabrilliant,epic,unstoppablemistake.
HemanagestogetthenexttwobuttonsonhisshirtundonebeforeHenrygrabsitbythetailsandpullsitoffoverhisheadandmakesquickworkofhisown.Alextriesnottobeinaweofthesimpleagilityofhishands,triesnottothinkaboutclassicalpianoorhowswiftandsmoothyearsofpolohavetrainedHenrytobe.
“Hangon,”Henrysays,andAlexisalreadygroaninginprotest,butHenrypullsbackandrestshisfingertipsonAlex’slipstoshushhim.“Iwant—”Hisvoicestartsandstops,andhe’slookinglikehe’sresolvingnottocringeathimselfagain.Hegathershimself,strokingafingeruptoAlex’scheekbeforejuttinghischinoutdefiantly.“Iwantyouonthebed.”
Alexgoesfullysilentandstill,lookingintoHenry’seyesandthequestionthere:Areyougoingtostopthisnowthatit’sreal?
“Well,comeon,YourHighness,”Alexsays,shiftinghisweighttogiveHenryalastteasebeforehestands.
“You’readick,”Henrysays,buthefollows,smiling.
Alexclimbsontothebed,slidingbacktoprophimselfuponhiselbowsbythepillows,watchingasHenrykicksoffhisshoesandregainshisbearings.Helookstransformedinthelamplight,likeagodofdebauchery,paintedgoldwithhishairallmussedupandhiseyesheavy-lidded.Alexletshimselfstare;thewhipcordmuscleunderhisskin,leanandlongandlithe.Thespotrightatthedipofhiswaistbelowhisribslooksimpossiblysoft,andAlexmightdieifhecan’tfithishandintothatlittlecurveinthenextfiveseconds.
Inaninstantofsudden,vividclarity,hecan’tbelieveheeverthoughthewasstraight.
“Quitstalling,”Alexsays,pointedlyinterruptingthemoment.
“Bossy,”Henrysays,andhecomplies.
Henry’sbodysettlesoverhimwithawarm,steadyweight,oneofhisthighsslidingbetweenAlex’slegsandhishandsbracingonthepillows,andAlexfeelsthepointsofcontactlikeastaticshockathisshoulders,hiships,thecenterofhischest.
OneofHenry’shandsslidesuphisstomachandstops,havingencounteredtheoldsilverkeyonthechainrestingoverhissternum.
“What’sthis?”
Alexhuffsimpatiently.“Thekeytomymom’shouseinTexas,”hesays,windingahandbackintoHenry’shair.“IstartedwearingitwhenImovedhere.IguessIthoughtitwouldremindmeofwhereIcamefromorsomething—didIordidInottellyoutoquitstalling?”
Henrylooksupintohiseyes,speechless,andAlextugshimdownintoanotherall-consumingkiss,andHenrybearsdownonhimfully,pressinghimintothebed.Alex’sotherhandfindsthatdipofHenry’swaist,andheswallowsasoundathowdevastatingitfeelsunderhispalm.He’sneverbeenkissedlikethis,asifthefeelingcouldswallowhimupwhole,Henry’sbodygrindingdownandcoveringeveryinchofhis.HemoveshismouthfromHenry’stothesideofhisneck,thespotbelowhisear,kissesandkissesit,andbareshisteeth.Alexknowsit’llprobablyleaveamark,whichisagainstrulenumberoneofclandestinehookupsforpoliticaloffspring—andprobablyroyalstoo.Hedoesn’tcare.
HefeelsHenryfindthewaistbandofhispants,thebutton,thezipper,theelasticofhisunderwear,andtheneverythinggoesveryhazy,veryquickly.
HeopenshiseyestoseeHenrybringinghishanddemurelyuptohiselegantroyalmouthtospitonit.
“OhmyfuckingGod,”Alexsays,andHenrygrinscrookedlyashegetsbacktowork.“Fuck.”Hisbodyismoving,hismouthspillingwords.“Ican’tbelieve—God,youarethemostinsufferablegoddamnbastardonthefaceoftheplanet,doyouknowthat—fuck—you’reinfuriating,you’retheworst—you’re—”
“Doyoueverstoptalking?”Henrysays.“Suchamouthonyou.”AndwhenAlexlooksagain,hefindsHenrywatchinghimraptly,eyesbrightandsmiling.Hekeepseyecontactandhisrhythmatthesametime,andAlexwaswrongbefore,Henry’sgoingtobetheonetokillhim,nottheotherwayaround.
“Wait,”Alexsays,clenchinghisfistinthebedspread,andHenryimmediatelystills.“Imean,yes,obviously,ohmyGod,but,like,ifyoukeepdoingthatI’mgonna”—Alex’sbreathcatches—“it’s,that’sjust—that’snotallowedbeforeIgettoseeyounaked.”
Henrytiltshisheadandsmirks.“Allright.”
Alexflipsthemover,kickingoffhispantsuntilonlyhisunderwearisleftslunglowonhiships,andheclimbsupthelengthofHenry’sbody,watchinghisfacegrowanxious,eager.
“Hi,”hesays,whenhereachesHenry’seyelevel.
“Hello,”Henrysaysback.
“I’mgonnatakeyourpantsoffnow,”Alextellshim.
“Yes,good,carryon.”
Alexdoes,andoneofHenry’shandsslidesdown,leveragingoneofAlex’sthighsupsotheirbodiesmeetagainrightatthehardcruxbetweenthem,andtheybothgroan.Alexthinks,dizzily,thatit’sbeennearlyfiveyearsofforeplay,andenoughisenough.
HemoveshislipsdowntoHenry’schest,andhefeelsunderhismouththebeatHenry’sheartskipsattherealizationofwhatAlexintends.Hisownheartbeatisprobablyfallingoutofrhythmtoo.He’sinsofaroverhishead,butthat’sgood—that’sprettymuchhiscomfortzone.HekissesHenry’ssolarplexus,hisstomach,thestretchofskinabovehiswaistband.
“I’ve,uh,”Alexbegins.“I’veneveractuallydonethisbefore.”
“Alex,”Henrysays,reachingdowntostrokeatAlex’shair,“youdon’thaveto,I’m—”
“No,Iwantto,”Alexsays,tuggingatHenry’swaistband.“Ijustneedyoutotellmeifit’sawful.”
Henryisspeechlessagain,lookingasifhecan’tbelievehisfuckingluck.“Okay.Ofcourse.”
AlexpicturesHenrybarefootinaKensingtonPalacekitchenandthelittlesliverofvulnerabilityhegottoseesoearlyon,andhethrillsatHenrynow,inhisbed,spreadoutandnakedandwanting.Thiscan’tbereallyhappeningaftereverything,butmiraculously,itis.
Ifhe’sgoingbythewayHenry’sbodyresponds,bythewayHenry’shandsweepsupintohishairandclutchesafistfulofcurls,heguesseshedoesokayforafirsttry.HelooksupthelengthofHenry’sbodyandismetwithburningeyecontact,aredlipcaughtbetweenwhiteteeth.Henrydropshisheadbackonthepillowandgroanssomethingthatsoundslike“fuckingeyelashes.”He’smaybealittlebitinaweofhowHenryarchesupoffthemattress,athearinghissweet,poshvoicerecitingalitanyofprofanitiestotheceiling.Alexislivingforit,watchingHenrycomeundone,lettinghimbewhateverheneedstobewhilealonewithAlexbehindalockeddoor.
He’ssurprisedtofindhimselfhauleduptoHenry’smouthandkissedhungrily.He’sbeenwithgirlswhodidn’tliketobekissedafterwardandgirlswhodidn’tmindit,butHenryrevelsinit,basedonthedeepandcomprehensivewayhe’skissinghim.Itoccurstohimtomakeacommentaboutnarcissism,butinstead—
“Notawful?”Alexsaysbetweenkisses,restinghisheadonthepillownexttoHenry’stocatchhisbreath.
“Definitelyadequate,”Henryanswers,grinning,andhescoopsAlexupagainsthischestgreedilyasifhe’stryingtotouchallofhimatonce.Henry’shandsarehugeonhisback,hisjawsharpandroughwithalongday’sstubble,hisshouldersbroadenoughtoeclipseAlexwhenherollsthemoverandpinsAlextothemattress.Noneofitfeelsanythinglikeanythinghe’sfeltbefore,butit’sjustasgood,maybebetter
Henry’skissinghimaggressivelyoncemore,confidentinawaythat’srarefromHenry.Messyearnestnessandroughfocus,notadutifulprincebutanyothertwenty-somethingboyenjoyinghimselfdoingsomethinghelikes,somethinghe’sgoodat.Andheisgoodatit.AlexmakesamentalnotetofigureoutwhichshadowygaynobletaughtHenryallthisandsendthemanafruitbasket.
Henryreturnsthefavorhappily,hungrily,andAlexdoesn’tknoworcarewhatsoundsorwordscomeoutofhismouth.Hethinksoneofthemis“sweetheart”andanotheris“motherfucker.”Henryisonetalentedbastard,amanofmanyhiddengifts,Alexmuseshalf-hysterically.Atrueprodigy.GodSavetheQueen.
Whenhe’sdone,hepressesastickykissinthecreaseofAlex’slegwherehe’dslungitoverhisshoulder,managingtocomeoffpolite,andAlexwantstodragHenryupbythehair,buthisbodyisbonelessandwrecked.He’sblissedout,dead.Ascendedtothenextplane,merelyapairofeyesfloatingthroughadopaminehaze.
Themattressshifts,andHenrymovesuptothepillows,nuzzlinghisfaceintothehollowofAlex’sthroat.Alexmakesavaguenoiseofapproval,andhisarmsfumblearoundHenry’swaist,buthe’shelplesstodomuchelse.He’ssureheusedtoknowquitealotofwords,inmorethanonelanguage,infact,buthecan’tseemtorecallanyofthem
“Hmm,”Henryhums,thetipofhisnosecatchingonAlex’s.“IfIhadknownthiswasallittooktoshutyouup,I’dhavedoneitagesago.”
WithafeatofHerculeanstrength,hesummonsuptwowholewords:“Fuckyou.”
Distantly,throughaslowlyclearingfog,throughamessykiss,Alexcan’thelpmarvelingattheknowledgethathe’scrossedsomekindofRubicon,hereinthisroomthat’salmostasoldasthecountryit’sin,likeWashingtoncrossingtheDelaware.HelaughsintoHenry’smouth,instantlycaughtupinhisowndramaticmentalportraitofthetwothempaintedinoils,youngiconsoftheirnations,nakedandshiningwetinthelamplight.HewishesHenrycouldseeit,wondersifhe’dfindtheimageasfunny.
Henryrollsoverontohisback.Alex’sbodywantstofollowandtuckintohisside,buthestayswhereheis,watchingfromafewsafeinchesaway.HecanseeamuscleinHenry’sjawflexing.
“Hey,”hesays.HepokesHenryinthearm.“Don’tfreakout.”
“I’mnotfreakingout,”hesays,enunciatingthewords.
Alexwrigglesaninchcloserinthesheets.“Itwasfun,”Alexsays.“Ihadfun.Youhadfun,right?”
“Definitely,”hesays,inatonethatsendsalazysparkupAlex’sspine.
“Okay,cool.So,wecandothisagain,anytimeyouwant,”Alexsays,draggingthebackofhisknucklesdownHenry’sshoulder.“Andyouknowthisdoesn’t,like,changeanythingbetweenus,right?We’restill…whateverwewerebefore,just,youknow.Withblowjobs.”
Henrycovershiseyeswithonehand.“Right.”
“So,”Alexsays,changingtracksbystretchinglanguidly,“IguessIshouldtellyou,I’mbisexual.”
“Goodtoknow,”Henrysays.HiseyesflickerdowntoAlex’ship,whereit’sbaredabovethesheet,andhesaysasmuchtohimselfastoAlex,“Iamvery,verygay.”
Alexwatcheshissmallsmile,thewayitwrinklesthecornersofhiseyes,andverydeliberatelydoesnotkissit.
Partofhisbrainkeepsgettingstuckonhowstrange,andstrangelywonderful,itistoseeHenrylikethis,openandbareineveryway.HenryleansacrossthepillowtoAlexandpressesasoftkisstohismouth,andAlexfeelsfingertipsbrushoverhisjaw.Thetouchissogentlehehastoonceagainremindhimselfnottocaretoomuch.
“Hey,”Alextellshim,slidinghismouthclosertoHenry’sear,“you’rewelcometostayaslongasyouwant,butIshouldwarnyouit’sprobablyinbothofourbestinterestsifyougobacktoyourroombeforemorning.UnlessyouwantthePPOstolocktheResidencedownandcomerequisitionyoufrommyboudoir.”
“Ah,”Henrysays.HepullsawayfromAlexandrollsbackover,lookinguptotheceilingagainlikeamanseekingpenancefromawrathfulgod.“You’reright.”
“Youcanstayforanotherround,ifyouwantto,”Alexoffers.
Henrycoughs,scrubsahandthroughhishair.“IratherthinkI’d—I’dbettergetbacktomyroom.”
Alexwatcheshimfishhisboxersfromthefootofthebedandstartpullingthembackon,sittingupandshakingouthisshoulders.
It’sforthebestthisway,hetellshimself;nobodywillgetanywrongideasaboutwhatexactlythisarrangementis.They’renotgoingtospoonallnightorwakeupineachother’sarmsoreatbreakfasttogether.Mutuallysatisfyingsexualexperiencesdonotarelationshipmake.
Evenifhedidwantthat,thereareamillionreasonswhythiswillnever,everbepossible.
Alexfollowshimtothedoor,watchinghimturntohoverthereawkwardly.
“Well,er…”Henryattempts,lookingdownathisfeet.
Alexrollshiseyes.“Forfuck’ssake,man,youjusthadmydickinyourmouth,youcankissmegood-night.”
Henrylooksbackupathim,hismouthopenandincredulous,andhethrowshisheadbackandlaughs,andit’sonlyhim,thenerdy,neurotic,sweet,insomniacrichguywhoconstantlysendsAlexphotosofhisdog,andsomethingslotsintoplace.Heleansdownandkisseshimfiercely,andthenhe’sgrinningandgone
“You’redoingwhat?”
It’ssoonerthaneitherofthemexpected—onlytwoweekssincethestatedinner,twoweeksofwantingHenrybackunderhimassoonaspossibleandsayingeverythingshortofthatintheirtexts.Junekeepslookingathimlikeshe’sgoingtothrowhisphoneinthePotomac
“Aninvitation-onlycharitypolomatchthisweekend,”Henrysaysoverthephone.“It’sin…”Hepauses,probablyreferringbacktowhateveritineraryShaanhasgivenhim.“Greenwich,Connecticut?It’s$10,000aseat,butIcanhaveyouaddedtothelist.”
Alexalmostfumbleshiscoffeealloverthesouthentryway.Amyglaresathim.“Jesusfuck.Thatisobscene,whatareyouraisingmoneyfor,monoclesforbabies?”Hecoversthemouthpieceofthephonewithhishand.“Where’sZahra?Ineedtoclearmyscheduleforthisweekend.”Heuncoversthephone.“Look,IguessI’lltrytomakeit,butI’mreallybusyrightnow.”
“I’msorry,Zahrasaidyou’rebailingonthefund-raiserthisweekendbecauseyou’regoingtoapolomatchinConnecticut?”Juneasksfromhisbedroomdoorwaythatnight,almoststartlinganothercupofcoffeeoutofhishands.
“Listen,”Alextellsher,“I’mtryingtokeepupageopoliticalpublicrelationsrusehere.”
“Dude,peoplearewritingfanfictionabouty’all—”
“Yeah,Norasentmethat.”
“—Ithinkyoucangiveitarest.”
“Thecrownwantsmetobethere!”heliesquickly.Sheseemsunconvincedandleaveshimwithapartinglookhe’dprobablybeconcernedaboutifhecaredmoreaboutthingsthataren’tHenry’smouthrightnow.
WhichishowheendsupinhisJ.CrewbestonaSaturdayattheGreenwichPoloClub,wonderingwhatthehellhe’sgottenhimselfinto.Thewomaninfrontofhimiswearingahatwithanentiretaxidermiedpigeononit.Highschoollacrossedidnotpreparehimforthiskindofsportingevent.
Henryonhorsebackisnothingnew.Henryinfullpologear—thehelmet,thepolosleevescappedrightatthebulgeofhisbiceps,thesnugwhitepantstuckedintotallleatherboots,theintricatelybuckledleatherkneepadding,theleathergloves—isfamiliar.Hehasseenitbefore.Categorically,itshouldbeboring.Itshouldnotprovokeanything
ButHenryurginghishorseacrossthefieldwiththepowerofhisthighs,hisassbouncinghardinthesaddle,thewaythemusclesinhisarmsstretchandflexwhenheswings,lookingthewayhedoesandwearingthethingshe’swearing—it’salot.
He’ssweating.It’sFebruaryinConnecticut,andAlexissweatingunderhiscoat.
Worstofall,Henryisgood.Alexdoesn’tpretendtocareabouttherulesofthegame,buthisprimaryturn-onhasalwaysbeencompetence.It’stooeasytolookatHenry’sbootsdiggingintothestirrupsforleverageandconjureupamemoryofbarecalvesunderneath,barefeetplantedjustasfirmlyonthemattress.Henry’sthighsopenthesameway,butwithAlexbetweenthem.SweatdrippingdownHenry’sbrowontohisthroat.Just,uh…well,justlikethat.
Hewants—God,afterallthistimeignoringit,hewantsitagain,now,rightnow.
Thematchendsafteracircle-of-hellamountoftime,andAlexfeelslikehe’llpassoutorscreamifhedoesn’tgethishandsonHenrysoon,liketheonlythoughtpossibleintheuniverseisHenry’sbodyandHenry’sflushedfaceandeveryothermoleculeinexistenceisjustaninconvenience.
“Idon’tlikethatlook,”Amysayswhentheyreachthebottomofthestands,peeringintohiseyes.“Youlook…sweaty.”
“I’mgonnago,uh,”Alexsays.“SayhitoHenry.”
Amy’smouthsettlesintoagrimline.“Pleasedon’telaborate.”
“Yeah,Iknow,”Alexsays.“Plausibledeniability.”
“Idon’tknowwhatyoucouldpossiblymean.”
“Sure.”Herakesahandthroughhishair.“Yep.”
“EnjoyyoursummitwiththeEnglishdelegation,”shetellshimflatly,andAlexsendsupavagueprayerofthanksforstaffNDAs.
Helegsittowardthestables,limbsalreadybuzzingwiththesteadyknowledgeofHenry’sbodygettingincrementallyclosertohis.Long,leanlegs,grassstainsonpristine,tightpants,whydoesthissporthavetobesocompletelyrepulsivewhileHenrylookssodamngooddoingit—
“Ohshit—”
HebarelystopshimselffromrunningheadfirstintoHenryintheflesh,whohasroundedthecornerofthestables.
“Oh,hello.”
Theystandtherestaringateachother,fifteendaysremovedfromHenryswearingattheceilingofAlex’sbedroomandunsurehowtoproceed.Henryisstillinhisfullpoloregalia,glovesandall,andAlexcan’tdecideifheispleasedorwantstobrainhimwithapolostick.Polobat?Poloclub?Polo…mallet?Thissportisatravesty.
Henrybreaksthesilencebyadding,“Iwascomingtofindyou,actually.”
“Yeah,hi,hereIam.”
“Hereyouare.”
Alexglancesoverhisshoulder.“There’s,uh.Cameras.Threeo’clock.”
“Right,”Henrysays,straighteninghisshoulders.Hishairismessyandslightlydamp,colorstillhighinhischeeksfromexertion.He’sgoingtolooklikegoddamnApollointhephotoswhentheygotopress.Alexsmiles,knowingthey’llsell.
“Hey,isn’tthere,uh,athing?”Alexsays.“Youneededto.Uh.Showme?”
Henrylooksathim,glancesatthedozensofmillionairesandsocialitesmillingaround,andbackathim.“Now?”
“Itwasafour-and-a-half-hourcarrideuphere,andIhavetogobacktoDCinanhour,soIdon’tknowwhenelseyou’reexpectingtoshowittome.”
Henrytakesabeat,hiseyesflickeringtothecamerasagainbeforeheswitchesonastagesmileandalaugh,cuffingAlexontheshoulder.“Ah,yes.Right.Thisway.”
Heturnsonhisbootheelandleadsthewayaroundthebackofthestables,veeringrightintoadoorway,andAlexfollows.It’sasmall,windowlessroomattachedtothestables,fragrantwithleatherpolishandstainedwoodfromfloortoceiling,thewallslinedwithheavysaddles,ridingcrops,bridles,andreins.
“Whatintherich-white-people-sex-dungeonhell?”AlexwondersaloudasHenrycrossesbehindhim.Hewhipsathickleatherstrapoffahookonthewall,andAlexalmostblacksout.
“What?”Henrysaysoffhandedly,bypassinghimtobindthedoorsshut.Heturnsaround,sweet-facedandunbelievable.“It’scalledatackroom.”
Alexdropshiscoatandtakesthreeswiftstepstowardhim.“Idon’tactuallycare,”hesays,andgrabsHenrybythestupidcollarofhisstupidpoloandkisseshisstupidmouth.
It’sagoodkiss,solidandhot,andAlexcan’tdecidewheretoputhishandsbecausehewantstoputthemeverywhereatonce.
“Ugh,”hegroansinexasperation,shovingHenrybackwardbytheshouldersandmakingadisgustedshowoflookinghimupanddown.“Youlookridiculous.”
“ShouldI—”Hestepsbackandputsafootuponanearbybench,movingtoundohiskneepads.
“What?No,ofcoursenot,keepthemon,”Alexsays.Henryfreezes,standingthereallartisticallyposedwithhisthighsapartandonekneeup,thefabricstraining.“OhmyGod,whatareyoudoing?Ican’tevenlookatyou.”Henryfrowns.“No,Jesus,Ijustmeant—I’msomadatyou.”Henrygingerlyputshisbootbackonthefloor.Alexwantstodie.“Just,comehere.Fuck.”
“I’mquiteconfused.”
“Mefuckingtoo,”Alexsays,profoundlysufferingforsomethinghemusthavedoneinapreviouslife.“Listen,Idon’tknowwhy,butthiswholething”—hegesturesatHenry’sentirephysicalpresence—“is…reallydoingitforme,so,Ijustneedto.”Withoutanyfurtherceremony,hedropstohiskneesandstartsundoingHenry’sbelt,tuggingatthefasteningsofhispants.
“Oh,God,”Henrysays.
“Yeah,”Alexagrees,andhegetsHenry’sboxersdown.
“Oh,God,”Henryrepeats,thistimewithfeeling.
It’sallstillsonewtoAlex,butit’snotdifficulttofollowthroughonwhat’sbeenplayingoutinelaboratedetailinhisheadforthepasthour.Whenhelooksup,Henry’sfaceisflushedandtransfixed,hislipsparted.Italmosthurtstolookathim—theathlete’sfocus,allthedressingsofaristocracylaidwideopenforhim.He’swatchingAlex,eyesblowndarkandhazy,andAlexiswatchinghimrightback,everynerveinbothbodiesnarroweddowntoasinglepoint.
It’sfastanddirtyandHenryisswearingupastorm,whichisstilldisarminglysexy,butthistimeit’spunctuatedbytheoccasionalwordofpraise,andsomehowthat’sevenhotter.Alexisn’tpreparedfortheway“that’sgood”soundsinHenry’sroundedBuckinghamvowels,orforhowluxuryleatherfeelswhenitstrokesapprovinglydownhischeek,aglovedthumbbrushingthecornerofhismouth.
AssoonasHenry’sfinished,he’sgotAlexonthebenchandisputtinghiskneepadstouse.
“I’mstillfuckingmadatyou,”Alexsays,destroyed,slumpedforwardwithhisforeheadrestingonHenry’sshoulder.
“Ofcourseyouare,”Henrysaysvaguely.
AlexcompletelyundermineshispointbypullingHenryintoadeepandlingeringkiss,andanother,andtheykissforanamountoftimehedecidesnottocountorthinkabout.
Theysneakoutquietly,andHenrytouchesAlex’sshoulderatthegatenearwherehisSUVwaits,presseshispalmintothewoolofhiscoatandtheknotofmuscle.
“Idon’tsupposeyou’llbeanywherenearKensingtonanytimesoon?”
“Thatshithole?”hesayswithawink.“NotifIcanhelpit.”
“Oi,”Henrysays.He’sgrinningnow.“That’sdisrespectofthecrown,thatis.Insubordination.I’vethrownmeninthedungeonsforless.”
Alexturns,walkingbackwardtowardthecar,handsintheair.“Hey,don’tthreatenmewithagoodtime.”
Paris?
A<agcd@eclare45.com>????????????????3/3/207:32PM
toHenry
HisRoyalHighnessPrinceHenryofWhatever,
Don’tmakemelearnyouractualtitle.
AreyougoingtobeattheParisfund-raiserforrainforestconservationthisweekend?
Alex
FirstSonofYourFormerColony
Re:Paris?
Henry<hwales@kensingtonemail.com>????????????????3/4/202:14AM
toA
Alex,FirstSonofOff-BrandEngland:
First,youshouldknowhowterriblyinappropriateitisforyoutointentionallybotchmytitle.Icouldhaveyoumadeintoaroyalsetteecushionforthatkindoflèse-majesté.Fortunatelyforyou,Idonotthinkyouwouldcomplementmysittingroomdecor.
Secondly,no,IwillnotbeattendingtheParisfund-raiser;Ihaveapreviousengagement.Youshallhavetofindsomeoneelsetoaccostinacloakroom.
Regards,
HisRoyalHighnessPrinceHenryofWales
Re:Paris?
A<agcd@eclare45.com>????????????????3/4/202:27AM
toHenry
HugeRagingHeadachePrinceHenryofWhoCares,
Itisamazingyoucansitdowntowriteemailswiththatgiganticroyalstickupyourass.Iseemtorememberyoureallyenjoyingbeing“accosted.”
Everyonethereisgoingtobeboringanyway.Whatareyoudoing?
Alex
FirstSonofHatingFund-raisers
Re:Paris?
Henry<hwales@kensingtonemail.com>????????????????3/4/202:32AM
toA
Alex,FirstSonofShirkingResponsibilities:
Aroyalstickisformallyknownasa“scepter.”
I’vebeensenttoasummitinGermanytoactasifIknowanythingaboutwindpower.Primarily,I’llbegettinglecturedbyoldmeninlederhosenandposingforphotoswithwindmills.Themonarchyhasdecidedwecareaboutsustainableenergy,apparently—oratleastthatwewanttoappearto.Anutterromp.
Re:fund-raiserguests,IthoughtyousaidIwasboring?
Regards,
HaranguedRoyalHighness
Re:Paris?
A<agcd@eclare45.com>????????????????3/4/202:34AM
toHenry
HorribleRevoltingHeir,
It’srecentlycometomyattentionyou’renotquiteasboringasIthought.Sometimes.Namelywhenyou’redoingthethingwithyourtongue.
Alex
FirstSonofQuestionableLateNightEmails
Re:Paris?
Henry<hwales@kensingtonemail.com>????????????????3/4/202:37AM
toA
Alex,FirstSonofInappropriatelyTimedEmailsWhenI’minEarlyMorningMeetings:
Areyoutryingtogetfreshwithme?
Regards,
HandsomeRoyalHeretic
Re:Paris?
A<agcd@eclare45.com>????????????????3/4/202:41AM
toHenry
HisRoyalHorniness,
IfIweretryingtogetfreshwithyou,youwouldknowit.
Forexample:I’vebeenthinkingaboutyourmouthonmeallweek,andIwashopingI’dseeyouinParissoIcouldputittouse.
IwasalsothinkingyoumightknowhowtopickFrenchcheeses.Notmyareaofexpertise.
Alex
FirstSonofCheeseShoppingandBlowjobs
Re:Paris?
Henry<hwales@kensingtonemail.com>????????????????3/4/202:43AM
toA
Alex,FirstSonofMakingMeSpillMyTeainSaidEarlyMorningMeeting:
Hateyou.WilltrytogetoutofGermany.
xSEVEN
HenrydoesgetoutofGermany,andhemeetsAlexnearaherdofcrêpe-eatingtouristsbyPlaceduTertre,wearingasharpblueblazerandawickedsmile.Theystumblebacktohishotelaftertwobottlesofwine,andHenrysinkstohiskneesonthewhitemarbleandlooksupatAlexwithbig,blue,bottomlesseyes,andAlexdoesn’tknowawordinanylanguagetodescribeit.
He’ssodrunk,andHenry’smouthissosoft,andit’sallsofuckingFrenchthatheforgetstosendHenrybacktohisownhotel.Heforgetstheydon’tspendthenight.So,theydo.
HediscoversHenrysleepscurleduponhisside,hisspinepokingoutinlittlesharppointsthatareactuallysoftifyoureachoutandtouchthem,verycarefullysoasnottowakehimbecausehe’sactuallysleepingforonce.Inthemorning,roomservicebringsupcrustybaguettesandstickytartsfilledwithfatapricotsandacopyofLeMondethatAlexmakesHenrytranslateoutloud.
Hevaguelyrememberstellinghimselftheyweren’tgoingtodothingslikethis.It’sallalittlehazyrightnow.
WhenHenry’sgone,Alexfindsthestationerybythebed:FromagerieNicoleBarthélémy.LeavingyourclandestinehookupdirectionstoaParisiancheeseshop.Alexhastoadmit:Henryreallyhasasolidhandleonhispersonalbrand.
Later,ZahratextshimascreencapofaBuzzFeedarticleabouthis“bestbromanceever”withHenry.It’samixofphotos:thestatedinner,acoupleofshotsofthemgrinningoutsidethestablesinGreenwich,onepickedupfromaFrenchgirl’sTwitterofAlexleaningbackinhischairatatinycafetablewhileHenryfinishesoffthebottleofredbetweenthem.
Beneathit,Zahrahasbegrudginglywritten:Goodwork,youlittleshit.
Heguessesthisishowthey’regoingtodothis—theworldisgoingtokeepthinkingthey’rebestfriends,andthey’regoingtokeepplayingthepart.
Heknows,objectively,heshouldpacehimself.It’sonlyphysical.ButPerfectStoicPrinceCharminglaughswhenhecomes,andtextsAlexatweirdhoursofthenight:You’reamad,spiteful,unmitigateddemon,andI’mgoingtokissyouuntilyouforgethowtotalk.AndAlexiskindofobsessedwithit.
Alexdecidesnottothinktoohard.Normallythey’donlycrosspathsafewtimesayear;ittakescreativeschedulewranglingandalittlesweet-talkingoftheirrespectiveteamstoseeeachotherasoftenastheirbodiesdemand.Atleastthey’vegotaruseofinternationalpublicrelations.
Theirbirthdays,itturnsout,arelessthanthreeweeksapart,whichmeans,formostofMarch,Henryistwenty-threeandAlexistwenty-one.(“IknewhewasagoddamnPisces,”Junesays).AlexhappenstohaveavoterregistrationdriveatNYUattheendofMarch,andwhenhetextsHenryaboutit,hegetsabriskresponsefifteenminuteslater:HaverescheduledvisittoNewYorkfornonprofitbusinesstothisweekend.Willbeinthecityreadytocarryoutbirthdayfloggings&c.
ThephotographersarereadilyvisiblewhentheymeetinfrontoftheMet,sotheyclaspeachother’shandsandAlexsaysthroughhisbigon-camerasmile,“Iwantyoualone,now.”
They’remorecarefulintheStates,andtheygouptothehotelroomoneatatime—HenrythroughthebackflankedbytwotallPPOs,andlater,AlexwithCash,whogrinsandknowsandsaysnothing.
There’salotofchampagneandkissingandbuttercreamfromabirthdaycupcakeHenry’sinexplicablyprocuredsmearedaroundAlex’smouth,Henry’schest,Alex’sthroat,betweenHenry’ships.Henrypinshiswriststothemattressandswallowshimdown,andAlexisdrunkandfuckingtransported,feelingeverymomentoftwenty-twoyearsandnotasingledayolder,somekindofhedonisticyouthofhistory.Birthdayheadfromanothercountry’sprincewilldothat
It’sthelasttimetheyseeeachotherforweeks,andafteralotofteasingandmaybesomebegging,heconvincesHenrytodownloadSnapchat.Henrymostlysendstame,fullyclothedthirsttrapsthatmakeAlexsweatinhislectures:amirrorshot,mud-stainedwhitepolopants,asharpsuit.OnaSaturday,theC-SPANstreamonhisphonegetsinterruptedbyHenryonasailboat,smilingintothecamerawiththesunbrightonhisbareshoulders,andAlex’sheartgoessofuckingweirdthathehastoputhisheadinhishandsforafullminute.
(But,like.It’sfine.It’snotawholething.)
Betweenitall,theytalkaboutAlex’scampaignjob,Henry’snonprofitprojects,bothoftheirappearances.TheytalkabouthowPezisnowproclaiminghimselffullyinlovewithJuneandspendshalfhistimewithHenryrhapsodizingaboutherorbegginghimtoaskAlexifshelikesflowers(yes)orexoticbirds(tolookat,nottoown)orjewelryintheshapeofherownface(no).
TherearealotofdayswhenHenryishappytohearfromhimandquicktorespond,afast,cuttingsenseofhumor,hungryforAlex’scompanyandthetangleofthoughtsinAlex’shead.Butsometimes,he’stakenoverbyadarkmood,anunusuallyacerbicwit,strangeandvitrified.He’llwithdrawforhoursordays,andAlexcomestounderstandthisasgrieftime,littleboutsofdepression,ortimesof“toomuch.”Henryhatesthosedayscompletely.Alexwisheshecouldhelp,buthedoesn’tparticularlymind.He’sjustasattractedtoHenry’scloudytempers,thewayhecomesbackfromthem,andthemillionsofshadesinbetween.
He’salsolearnedthatHenry’splaciddemeanorisshatteredwiththerightpoking.HelikestobringupthingsheknowswillgetHenrygoing,including:
“Listen,”Henryissaying,heated,overthephoneonaThursdaynight.“Idon’tgiveadamnwhatJoannehastosay,RemusJohnLupinisgayasthedayislong,andIwon’thearawordagainstit.”
“Okay,”Alexsays.“Fortherecord,Iagreewithyou,butalso,tellmemore.”
Helaunchesintoalong-windedtirade,andAlexlistens,amusedandalittleawed,asHenryworkshiswaytohispoint:“Ijustthink,astheprinceofthisbloodycountry,thatwhenitcomestoBritain’spositiveculturallandmarks,itwouldbeniceifwecouldnotthrowourownmarginalizedpeopleundertheproverbialbus.PeoplesanitizeFreddieMercuryorEltonJohnorBowie,whowasshaggingJaggerupanddownOakleyStreetintheseventies,Imightadd.It’sjustnotthetruth.”
It’sanotherthingHenrydoes—whippingouttheseanalysesofwhathereadsorwatchesorlistenstothatconfrontsAlexwiththefactthathehasbothadegreeinEnglishliteratureandavestedinterestinthegayhistoryofhisfamily’scountry.AlexhasalwaysknownhisgayAmericanhistory—afterall,hisparents’politicshavebeenpartofit—butitwasn’tuntilhefiguredhimselfoutthathestartedtoengagewithitlikeHenry.
He’sstartingtounderstandwhatswelledinhischestthefirsttimehereadaboutStonewall,whyheachedovertheSCOTUSdecisionin2015.Hestartscatchingupvoraciouslyinhissparetime:WaltWhitman,theLawsofIllinois1961,TheWhiteNightRiot,ParisIsBurning.He’spinnedaphotooverhisdeskatwork,amanatarallyinthe’80sinajacketthatsaysacrosstheback:IFIDIEOFAIDS—FORGETBURIAL—JUSTDROPMYBODYONTHESTEPSOFTHEF.D.A.
June’seyesstickonitonedaywhenshedropsbytheofficetohavelunchwithhim,givinghimthesamestrangelookshegavehimovercoffeethemorningafterHenrysnuckintohisroom.Butshedoesn’tsayanything,carriesonthroughsushiaboutherlatestproject,pullingallherjournalstogetherintoamemoir.Alexwondersifanyofthisstuffwouldmakeitintothere.Maybe,ifhetellshersoon.Heshouldtellhersoon.
It’sweirdthatthethingwithHenrycouldmakehimunderstandthishugepartofhimself,butitdoes.WhenhesinksintothoughtsofHenry’shands,squareknucklesandelegantfingers,hewondershowheneverrealizeditbefore.WhenheseesHenrynextatagalainBerlin,andhefeelsthatgravitationalpull,chasesitdowninthebackofalimo,andbindsHenry’swriststoahotelbedpostwithhisownnecktie,heknowshimselfbetter.
Whenheshowsupforaweeklybriefingtwodayslater,Zahragrabshisjawwithonehandandturnshishead,peeringcloseratthesideofhisneck.“Isthatahickey?”
Alexfreezes.“I…um,no?”
“DoIlookstupidtoyou,Alex?”Zahrasays.“Whoisgivingyouhickeys,andwhyhaveyounotgottenthemtosignanNDA?”
“OhmyGod,”hesays,becausereally,thelastpersonZahraneedstobeconcernedaboutleakingsordiddetailsisHenry.“IfIneededanNDA,youwouldknow.Chill.”
Zahradoesnotappreciatebeingtoldtochill.
“Lookatme,”shesays.“Ihaveknownyousinceyouwerestillleavingskidmarksinyourdrawers.YouthinkIdon’tknowwhenyou’relyingtome?”Shejabsapointy,polishednailintohischest.“Howeveryougotthat,itbetterbesomebodyofftheapprovedlistofgirlsyouareallowedtobeseenwithduringtheelectioncycle,whichIwillemailtoyouagainassoonasyougetoutofmysightincaseyouhavemisplacedit.”
“Jesus,okay.”
“Andtoremindyou,”shegoeson,“IwillchopmyowntitoffbeforeIletyoupullsomeidioticstunttocauseyourmother,ourfirstfemalepresident,tobethefirstpresidenttolosereelectionsinceHfuckingW.Doyouunderstandme?IwilllockyouinyourroomforthenextyearifIhaveto,andyoucantakeyourfinalsbyfuckingsmokesignal.Iwillstapleyourdicktotheinsideofyourlegifthatkeepsitinyourfuckingpants.”
Shereturnstohernoteswithsmoothprofessionalism,asifshehasnotjustthreatenedhislife.Behindher,hecanseeJuneatherplaceatthetable,veryclearlyawarethathe’slyingtoo.
“Doyouhavealastname?”
AlexhasneveractuallyofferedagreetingwhencallingHenry.
“What?”Theusualbemused,elongated,one-syllableresponse.
“Alastname,”Alexrepeats.It’slateafternoonandstormyoutsidetheResidence,andhe’sonhisbackinthemiddleoftheSolarium,catchingupondraftsforwork.“ThatthingIhavetwoof.Doyouuseyourdad’s?HenryFox?Thatsoundsfuckingdope.Ordoesroyaltyoutrank?Doyouuseyourmom’sname,then?”
HehearssomeshufflingoverthephoneandwondersifHenry’sinbed.Theyhaven’tbeenabletoseeeachotherinacoupleweeks,sohismindisquicktosupplytheimage.
“TheofficialfamilynameisMountchristen-Windsor,”Henrysays.“Hyphenate,likeyours.Somyfullnameis…HenryGeorgeEdwardJamesFox-Mountchristen-Windsor.”
Alexgapesupattheceiling.“Oh…myGod.”
“Truly.”
“IthoughtAlexanderGabrielClaremont-Diazwasbad.”
“Isthataftersomeone?”
“Alexanderafterthefoundingfather,Gabrielafterthepatronsaintofdiplomats.”
“That’sabitonthenose.”
“Yeah,Ididn’thaveachance.MysistergotCatalinaJuneaftertheplaceandtheCarterCash,butIgotalltheself-fulfillingprophecies.”
“Ididgetbothofthegaykings,”Henrypointsout.“There’saprophecyforyou.”
Alexlaughsandkickshisfilesforthecampaignaway.He’snotcomingbacktothemtonight.“Threelastnamesisjustmean.”
Henrysighs.“Inschool,weallwentbyWales.PhilipisLieutenantWindsorintheRAFnow,though.”
“HenryWales,then?That’snottoobad.”
“No,it’snot.Isthisthereasonyouphoned?”
“Maybe,”Alexsays.“Callithistoricalcuriosity.”ExceptthetruthisclosertotheslightdraginHenry’svoiceandthehalfstepofhesitationbeforehespeaksthat’sbeenthereallweek.“Speakingofhistoricalcuriosity,here’safunfact:I’msittingintheroomNancyReaganwasinwhenshefoundoutRonaldReagangotshot.”
“GoodLord.”
“Andit’salsowhereol’TrickyDicktoldhisfamilyhewasgonnaresign.”
“I’msorry—whoorwhatisaTrickyDick?”
“Nixon!Listen,you’reundoingeverythingthiscountry’scrustyforefathersfoughtforanddefloweringthedarlingoftherepublic.YouatleastneedtoknowbasicAmericanhistory.”
“Ihardlythinkdefloweringistheword,”Henrydeadpans.“Thesearrangementsaresupposedtobewithvirginbrides,youknow.Thatcertainlydidn’tseemtobethecase.”
“Uh-huh,andI’msureyoupickedupallthoseskillsfrombooks.”
“Well,Ididgotouni.Itjustwasn’tnecessarilythereadingthatdidit.”
Alexhumsinsuggestiveagreementandletstherhythmofbanterfallout.Helooksacrosstheroom—thewindowsthatwereonceonlygauzycurtainsonasleepingroomforTaft’sfamilyonhotnights,thecornernowstackedwithLeo’soldcomicbookcollectibleswhereEisenhowerusedtoplaycards.Thestuffunderneaththesurface.Alexhasalwayssoughtthosethingsout.
“Hey,”hesays.“Yousoundweird.Yougood?”
Henry’sbreathcatchesandheclearshisthroat.“I’mfine.”
Alexdoesn’tsayanything,lettingthesilencestretchinathinthreadbetweenthembeforehecutsit.“Youknow,thiswholearrangementwehave…youcantellmestuff.Itellyoustuffallthetime.Politicsstuffandschoolstuffandnutsofamilystuff.IknowI’m,like,nottheparagonofnormalhumancommunication,but.Youknow.”
Anotherpause.
“I’mnot…historicallygreatattalkingaboutthings,”Henrysays.
“Well,Iwasn’thistoricallygreatatblowjobs,butweallgottalearnandgrow,sweetheart.”
“Wasn’t?”
“Hey,”Alexhuffs.“AreyoutryingtosayI’mstillnotgoodatthem?”
“No,no,Iwouldn’tdreamofit,”Henrysays,andAlexcanhearthesmallsmileinhisvoice.“Itwasjustthefirstonethatwas…Well.Itwasenthusiastic,atleast.”
“Idon’trememberyoucomplaining.”
“Yes,well,I’donlybeenfantasizingaboutitforages.”
“See,there’sathing,”Alexpointsout.“Youjusttoldmethat.Youcantellmeotherstuff.”
“It’shardlythesame.”
Herollsoverontohisstomach,considers,andverydeliberatelysays,“Baby.”
It’sbecomeathing:baby.Heknowsit’sbecomeathing.He’sslippedupandaccidentallysaiditafewtimes,andeachtime,HenrypositivelymeltsandAlexpretendsnottonotice,buthe’snotaboveplayingdirtyhere
There’saslowhissofanexhaleacrosstheline,likeairescapingthroughacrackinawindow.
“It’s,ah.It’snotthebesttime,”hesays.“Howdidyouputit?Nutsofamilystuff.”
Alexpurseshislips,bitesdownonhischeek.Thereitis.
He’swonderedwhenHenrywouldfinallystarttalkingabouttheroyalfamily.HemakesobliquereferencestoPhilipbeingwoundsotightastodoubleasanatomicclock,ortohisgrandmother’sdisapproval,andhementionsBeaasoftenasAlexmentionsJune,butAlexknowsthere’smoretoitthanthat.Hecouldn’ttellyouwhenhestartednoticing,though,justlikehedoesn’tknowwhenhestartedtickingoffthedaysofHenry’smoods.
“Ah,”hesays.“Isee.”
“Idon’tsupposeyoukeepupwithanyBritishtabloids,doyou?”
“NotifIcanhelpit.”
Henryoffersthebitterestoflaughs.“Well,theDailyMailhasalwayshadabitofanaffinityforairingourdirtylaundry.They,er,theygavemysisterthisnicknameyearsago.‘ThePowderPrincess.’”
Adingofrecognition.“Becauseofthe…”
“Yes,thecocaine,Alex.”
“Okay,thatdoessoundfamiliar.”
Henrysighs.“Well,someone’smanagedtobypasssecuritytospraypaint‘PowderPrincess’onthesideofhercar.”
“Shit,”Alexsays.“Andshe’snottakingitwell?”
“Bea?”Henrylaughs,alittlemoregenuinelythistime.“No,shedoesn’tusuallycareaboutthosethings.She’sfine.Moreshakenupthatsomeonegotpastsecuritythananything.GranhadanentirePPOteamsacked.But…Idunno.”
Hetrailsoff,andAlexcanguess.
“Butyoucare.Becauseyouwanttoprotecthereventhoughyou’rethelittlebrother.”
“I…yes.”
“Iknowthefeeling.LastsummerIalmostpunchedaguyatLollapaloozabecausehetriedtograbJune’sass.”
“Butyoudidn’t?”
“Junehadalreadydumpedhermilkshakeonhim,”Alexexplains.Heshrugsalittle,knowingHenrycan’tseeit.“AndthenAmyTasedhim.Thesmellofburntstrawberrymilkshakeonasweatyfratguyisreallysomething.”
Henrylaughsfullyatthat.“Theyneverdoneedus,dothey?”
“Nope,”Alexagrees.“Soyou’reupsetbecausetherumorsaren’ttrue.”
“Well…theyaretrue,actually,”Henrysays.
Oh,Alexthinks.
“Oh,”Alexsays.He’snotsurehowelsetorespond,reachingintohismentalstoreofpoliticalplatitudesandfindingthemallclinicalandintolerable.
Henry,withalittletrepidation,presseson.“Youknow,Beahasonlyeverwantedtoplaymusic,”hestarts.“MumandDadplayedtoomuchJoniMitchellforhergrowingup,Ithink.Shewantedguitarlessons;Granwantedviolinsinceitwasmoreproper.Beawasallowedtolearnboth,butshewenttouniforclassicalviolin.Anyway,herlastyearofuni,Daddied.Ithappenedso…quickly.Hejustwent.”
Alexshutshiseyes.“Fuck.”
“Yeah,”Henrysays,voicerough.“Weallwentroundthebendabit.Philipjusthadtobethemanofthefamily,andIwasanarsehole,andMumdidn’tleaveherrooms.Beajuststoppedseeingthepointinanything.Iwasstartinguniwhenshefinished,andPhilipwasdeployedhalfwayroundtheglobe,andshewasouteverysinglenightwithalltheposhLondonhipsters,sneakingouttoplayguitaratsecretshowsanddoingmountainsofcocaine.Thepaperslovedit.”
“Jesus,”Alexhisses.“I’msorry.”
“It’sfine,”Henrysays,steadinessrisinginhisvoiceasifhe’sstuckouthischininthatstubbornwayhedoessometimes.Alexwisheshecouldseeit.“Inanyevent,thespeculationandpaparazziphotosandthegoddamnnicknamegottobetoomuch,andPhilipcamehomeforaweek,andheandGranliterallyputherinacarandhadherdriventorehabandcalleditawellnessretreattothepress.”
“Wait—sorry,”Alexsaysbeforehecanstophimself.“Just.Wherewasyourmom?”
“Mumhasn’tbeeninvolvedinmuchsinceDaddied,”Henrysaysonanexhale,thenstopsshort.“Sorry.That’snotfair.It’s…thegriefhasbeentotalforher.Itwasparalyzing.Itisparalyzing.Shewassuchaspitfire.Idunno.Shestilllistens,andshetries,andshewantsustobehappy.ButIdon’tknowifshehasitinheranymoretobeapartofanyone’shappiness.”
“That’s…horrible.”
Apause,heavy.
“Anyway,Beawent,”Henrygoeson,“againstherwill,anddidn’tthinkshehadaproblematall,eventhoughyoucouldseeherbloodyribsandshe’dbarelyspokentomeinmonths,whenwegrewupinseparable.Checkedherselfoutaftersixhours.Irememberhercallingmethatnightfromaclub,andIlostit.Iwas,what,eighteen?Idrovethereandshewassittingonthebacksteps,highasakite,andIsatdownnexttoherandcriedandtoldhershewasn’tallowedtokillherselfbecauseDadwasgoneandIwasgayandIdidn’tknowwhatthehelltodo,andthatwashowIcameouttoher.
“Thenextday,shewentback,andshe’sbeencleaneversince,andneitherofushasevertoldanyoneaboutthatnight.Untilnow,Isuppose.AndI’mnotsurewhyI’vesaidallthis,Ijust,I’veneverreallysaidanyofit.Imean,Pezwasthereformostofit,so,andI—Idon’tknow.”Heclearshisthroat.“Anyway,Idon’tthinkI’veeversaidthismanywordsoutloudinarowinmyentirelife,sopleasefeelfreetoputmeoutofmymiseryanytimenow.”
“No,no,”Alexsays,stumblingoverhisowntongueinarush.“I’mgladyoutoldme.Doesitfeelbetteratalltohavesaidit?”
Henrygoessilent,andAlexwantssobadlytoseetheshadowsofexpressionsmovingacrosshisface,tobeabletotouchthemwithhisfingertips.Alexhearsaswallowacrosstheline,andHenrysays,“Isupposeso.Thankyou.Forlistening.”
“Yeah,ofcourse,”Alextellshim.“Imean,it’sgoodtohavetimeswhenit’snotallaboutme,astediousandexhaustingasitmaybe.”
Thatearnshimagroan,andhebitesbackasmilewhenHenrysays,“Youareawanker.”
“Yeah,yeah,”Alexsays,andhetakestheopportunitytoaskaquestionhe’sbeenwantingtoaskformonths.“So,um.Doesanybodyelseknow?Aboutyou?”
“Bea’stheonlyoneinthefamilyI’vetold,thoughI’msuretheresthavesuspected.Iwasalwaysabitdifferent,neverquitehadthestiffupperlip.IthinkDadknewandnevercared.ButGransatmedownthedayIfinishedmyAlevelsandmadeitabundantlyclearIwasnottoletanyoneknowaboutanydeviantdesiresImightbebeginningtoharborthatmightreflectpoorlyuponthecrown,andtherewereappropriatechannelstomaintainappearancesifnecessary.So.”
Alex’sstomachturnsover.HepicturesHenry,ateenager,back-brokenwithgriefandtoldtokeepitandtherestofhimshutuptight.
“Whatthefuck.Seriously?”
“Thewondersofthemonarchy,”Henrysaysloftily.
“God.”Alexscrubsahandacrosshisface.“I’vehadtofakesomeshitformymom,butnobody’severoutrighttoldmetolieaboutwhoIam.”
“Idon’tthinksheseesitaslying.Sheseesitasdoingwhatmustbedone.”
“Soundslikebullshit.”
Henrysighs.“Hardlyanyotheroptions,arethere?”
There’salongpause,andAlexisthinkingaboutHenryinhispalace,Henryandtheyearsbehindhim,howhegothere.Hebiteshislip.
“Hey,”Alexsays.“Tellmeaboutyourdad.”
Anotherpause.
“Sorry?”
“Imean,ifyoudon’t—ifyouwantto.IwasjustthinkingIdon’tknowmuchabouthimexceptthathewasJamesBond.Whatwashelike?”
AlexpacestheSolariumandlistenstoHenrytalk,storiesaboutamanwithHenry’ssamesandyhairandstrong,straightnose,someoneAlexhasmetinshadowsthatpassthroughthewayHenryspeaksandmovesandlaughs.Hehearsaboutsneakingoutofthepalaceandjoyridingaroundthecountryside,learningtosail,beingproppedupindirector’schairs.ThemanHenryremembersisbothsuperhumanandheartbreakinglyfleshandblood,amanwhoencompassedHenry’sentirechildhoodandcharmedtheworldbutwasalsosimplyaman
ThewayHenrytalksabouthimisaphysicalfeat,driftingupinthecornerswithfondnessbutsagginginthemiddleundertheweight.HetellsAlexinalowvoicehowhisparentsmet—PrincessCatherine,deadsetonbeingthefirstprincesswithadoctorate,mid-twentiesandwadingthroughShakespeare.HowshewenttoseeHenryVattheRSCandArthurwasstarring,howshepushedherwaybackstageandshookoffhersecuritytodisappearintoLondonwithhimanddanceallnight.HowtheQueenforbidit,butshemarriedhimanyway.
HetellsAlexaboutgrowingupinKensington,howBeasangandPhilipclungtohisgrandmother,buttheywerehappy,buttonedupincashmereandkneesocksandwhiskedthroughforeigncountriesinhelicoptersandshinycars.Abrasstelescopefromhisfatherforhisseventhbirthday.Howherealizedbythetimehewasfourthateverypersoninthecountryknewhisname,andhowhetoldhismotherhedidn’tknowifhewantedthemto,andhowshekneltdownandtoldhimshe’dletnothingtouchhim,notever.
Alexstartstalkingtoo.HenryalreadyhearsnearlyeverythingaboutAlex’scurrentlife,buttalkingabouthowtheygrewuphasalwaysbeensomeinvisiblelineofdemarcation.HetalksaboutTravisCounty,makingcampaignposterswithconstructionpaperforfifth-gradestudentcouncil,familytripstoSurfside,runningheadlongintothewaves.Hetalksaboutthebigbaywindowinthehousewherehegrewup,andHenrydoesn’ttellhimhe’scrazyforallthethingsheusedtowriteandhideunderthere.
Itstartstogrowdarkoutside,adullandsoggyeveningaroundtheResidence,andAlexmakeshiswaydowntohisroomandhisbed.HehearsabouttheassortmentofguysfromHenry’suniversitydays,allofthemenamoredwiththeideaofsleepingwithaprince,almostallofthemimmediatelyalienatedbythepaperworkandsecrecyand,occasionally,Henry’sdarkmoodsaboutthepaperworkandsecrecy.
“Butofcourse,er,”Henrysays,“nobodysince…well,sinceyouandI—”
“No,”Alexsays,fasterthanheexpects,“meneither.Nobodyelse.”
Hehearswordscomingoutofhismouth,oneshecan’tbelievehe’ssayingoutloud.AboutLiam,aboutthosenights,butalsohowhe’dsneakpillsoutofLiam’sAdderallbottlewhenhisgradeswereslippingandstayawakefortwo,threedaysatatime.AboutJune,theunspokenknowledgethatsheonlylivesheretowatchoutforhim,thequietsenseofguilthecarrieswhenhecan’ttearhimselfaway.Abouthowmuchsomeoftheliespeopletellabouthismotherhurt,thefearshe’lllose.
TheytalkforsolongAlexhastoplughisphoneintokeepthebatteryfromdying.Herollsontohissideandlistens,trailsthebackofhishandacrossthepillownexttohimandimaginesHenrylyingoppositeinhisownbed,twoparenthesesenclosing3,700miles.Helooksathischewed-upcuticlesandimaginesHenrythereunderhisfingers,speakingintoonlyinchesofdistance.HeimaginesthewayHenry’sfacewouldlookinthebluish-graydark.Maybehewouldhaveafaintshadowofstubbleonhisjaw,waitingforamorningshave,ormaybethecirclesunderhiseyeswouldwashoutinthelowlight.
Somehow,thisisthesamepersonwhohadAlexsoconvincedhedidn’tcareaboutanything,whostillhastherestoftheworldconvincedhe’samild,unfetteredPrinceCharming.It’stakenmonthstogethere:thefullrealizationofjusthowwronghewas.
“Imissyou,”Alexsaysbeforehecanstophimself.
Heinstantlyregretsit,butHenrysays,“Imissyoutoo.”
“Hey,wait.”
Alexrollshischairbackoutofhiscubicle.Thewomanfromtheafter-hourscleaningcrewstops,herhandonthehandleofthecoffeepot.“Iknowitlooksdisgusting,butwouldyoumindleavingthat?Iwasgonnafinishit.”
Shegiveshimadubiouslookbutleavesthelastburnt,sludgyvestigesofcoffeewheretheyareandrollsoffwithhercart.
HepeersdownintohisCLAREMONTFORAMERICAmugandfrownsatthealmondmilkthat’spooledinthemiddle.Whydoesn’tthisofficekeepnormalmilkaround?ThisiswhypeoplefromTexashateWashingtonelites.Ruiningthegoddamndairyindustry.
Onhisdesk,therearethreestacksofpapers.Hekeepsstaringatthem,hopingifherecitesthemenoughtimesinhishead,he’llfigureouthowtofeellikehe’sdoingenough.
One.TheGunFile.AdetailedindexofeverykindofinsanegunAmericanscanownandstate-by-stateregulations,whichhehastocombthroughforresearchonanewsetoffederalassaultriflepolicies.It’sgotagiantsmudgeofpizzasauceonitbecauseitmakeshimstress-eat.
Two.TheTrans-PacificPartnershipFile,whichheknowsheneedstoworkonbuthasbarelytouchedbecauseit’smind-numbinglyboring.
Three.TheTexasFile.
He’snotsupposedtohavethisfile.Itwasn’tgiventohimbythepolicychiefofstafforanyoneonthecampaign.It’snotevenaboutpolicy.It’salsomoreofabinderthanafile.Heguessesheshouldcallit:TheTexasBinder
TheTexasBinderishisbaby.Heguardsitjealously,stuffingitintohismessengerbagtotakehomewithhimwhenheleavestheofficeandhidingitfromWASPyHunter.ItcontainsacountymapofTexaswithcomplexvoterdemographicbreakdowns,matchedupwiththepopulationsofchildrenofundocumentedimmigrants,unregisteredvoterswhoarelegalresidents,votingpatternsoverthelasttwentyyears.He’sstuffeditwithspreadsheetsofdata,votingrecords,projectionshehadNoracalculateforhim.
Backin2016,whenhismothersqueezedoutavictoryinthegeneralelection,thebittereststingwaslosingTexas.ShewasthefirstpresidentsinceNixontowinthepresidencybutloseherownstateofresidence.Itwasn’texactlyasurprise,consideringTexashadbeenpollingred,buttheywereallsecretlyholdingoutfortheLometaLongshottotakeitintheend.Shedidn’t.
Alexkeepscomingbacktothenumbersfrom2016and2018precinctbyprecinct,andhecan’tshakethisnaggingfeelingofhope.There’ssomethingthere,somethingshifting,heswearsit.
Hedoesn’tmeantobeungratefulforthepolicyjob,it’sjust…notwhathethoughtitwasgoingtobe.It’sfrustratingandslow-moving.Heshouldstayfocused,giveitmoretime,butinstead,hekeepscomingbacktothebinder
HeplucksapenciloutofWASPyHunter’sHarvardpencilcupandstartssketchinglinesonthemapofTexasforthemillionthtime,redrawingthedistrictsoldwhitemendrewyearsagotoforcevotestheirway.
Alexhasthissparkatthebaseofhisspinetodothemostgoodhecan,andwhenhesitshereinhiscubicleforhoursadayandfidgetsunderalltheminutiae,hedoesn’tknowifheis.ButifhecouldonlyfigureoutawaytomakeTexas’votereflectitssoul…he’snowherenearqualifiedtosingle-handedlydismantleTexas’ironcurtainsofgerrymandering,butwhatifhe—
Anincessantbuzzingsnapshimpresent,andhedigsouthisphonefromthebottomofhisbag.
“Whereareyou?”June’svoicedemandsovertheline.
Fuck.Hechecksthetime:9:44.HewassupposedtomeetJunefordinneroveranhourago.
“Shit,June,I’msosorry,”hesays,jumpingupfromhisdeskandshovinghisthingsintohisbag.“Igotcaughtupatwork—I,Icompletelyforgot.”
“Isentyoulikeamilliontexts,”shesays.Shesoundslikeshe’svision-boardinghisfuneral.
“Myphonewasonsilent,”hesayshelplessly,bookingitfortheelevator.“I’mseriouslysosorry.I’macompletejackass.I’mleavingnow.”
“Don’tworryaboutit,”shesays.“Igotminetogo.I’llseeyouathome.”
“Bug.”
“I’mgonnaneedyoutonotcallmethatrightnow.”
“June—”
Thecalldrops.
WhenhegetsbacktotheResidence,she’ssittingonherbed,eatingpastaoutofaplasticcontainer,withParks&Recreationplayingonhertablet.Shepointedlyignoreshimwhenhecomestoherdoorway.
He’sremindedofwhentheywerekids—aroundeightandelevenyearsold.Herecallsstandingnexttoheratthebathroommirror,lookingatthesimilaritiesbetweentheirfaces:thesameroundtipsoftheirnoses,thesamethick,unrulybrows,thesamesquarejawinheritedfromtheirmother.Heremembersstudyingherexpressioninthereflectionas
Herecognizesthesameexpressiononherfacenow:carefullytucked-awaydisappointment.
“I’msorry,”hetriesagain.“Ihonestlyfeellikecompleteandtotalshit.Pleasedon’tbemadatme.”
Junekeepschewing,lookingsteadfastlyatLeslieKnopechirpingaway.
“Wecandolunchtomorrow,”Alexsaysdesperately.“I’llpay.”
“Idon’tcareaboutastupidmeal,Alex.”
Alexsighs.“Thenwhatdoyouwantmetodo?”
“IwantyounottobeMom,”Junesays,finallylookingupathim.Sheclosesherfoodcontainerandgetsupoffherbed,pacingacrosstheroom.
“Okay,”Alexsays,raisingbothhands,“isthatwhat’shappeningrightnow?”
“I—”Shetakesadeepbreath.“No.Ishouldn’thavesaidthat.”
“No,youobviouslymeantit,”Alexsays.Hedropshismessengerbagandstepsintotheroom.“Whydon’tyousaywhateveritisyouneedtosay?”
Sheturnstofacehim,armsfolded,herspinebracedagainstherdresser.“Youreallydon’tseeit?Youneversleep,you’realwaysthrowingyourselfintosomething,you’rewillingtoletMomuseyouforwhatevershewants,thetabloidsarealwaysafteryou—”
“June,I’vealwaysbeenthisway,”heinterruptsgently.“I’mgonnabeapolitician.Youalwaysknewthat.I’mstartingassoonasIgraduate…inamonth.Thisishowmylifeisgonnabe,okay?I’mchoosingit.”
“Well,maybeit’sthewrongchoice,”Junesays,bitingherlip.
Herocksbackonhisheels.“Wherethehellisthiscomingfrom?”
“Alex,”shesays,“comeon.”
Hedoesn’tknowwhatthehellshe’sgettingat.“You’vealwaysbackedmeupuntilnow.”
Sheflingsonearmoutemphaticallyenoughtoupsetanentirepottedcactusonherdresserandsays,“Becauseuntilnowyouweren’tfuckingthePrinceofEngland!”
ThateffectivelysnapsAlex’smouthshut.Hecrossestothesittingareainfrontofthefireplace,sinkingdownintoanarmchair.Junewatcheshim,cheeksbrightscarlet.
“Noratoldyou.”
“What?”shesays.“No.Shewouldn’tdothat.Althoughitkindasucksyoutoldherandnotme.”Shefoldsherarmsagain.“I’msorry,Iwastryingtowaitforyoutotellmeyourself,but,Jesus,Alex.HowmanytimeswasIsupposedtobelieveyouwerevolunteeringtotakethoseinternationalappearanceswealwaysfoundexcusestogetoutof?And,like,didyouforgetI’velivedacrossthehallfromyouforalmostmyentirelife?”
Alexlooksdownathisshoes,June’sperfectlycuratedmidcenturyrug.“Soyou’remadatmebecauseofHenry?”
Junemakesastranglednoise,andwhenhelooksbackup,she’sdiggingthroughthetopdrawerofherdresser.“OhmyGod,howareyousosmartandsodumbatthesametime?”shesays,pullingamagazineoutfromunderneathherunderwear.He’sabouttotellherhe’snotinthemoodtolookathertabloidswhenshethrowsitathim.
AnancientissueofJ14,openedtoacenterpage.ThephotographofHenry,agethirteen.
Heglancesup.“Youknew?”
“OfcourseIknew!”shesays,floppingdramaticallyintothechairoppositehim.“Youwerealwaysleavingyourgreasylittlefingerprintsalloverit!Whydoyoualwaysassumeyoucangetawaywiththings?”Shereleasesalong-sufferingsigh.“Ineverreally…gotwhathewastoyou,untilIgotit.Ithoughtyouhadacrushorsomething,orthatIcouldhelpyoumakeafriend,but,Alex.Wemeetsomanypeople.Imean,thousandsandthousandsofpeople,andalotofthemaremorons,andalotofthemareincredible,uniquepeople,butIalmostnevermeetsomebodywho’samatchforyou.Doyouknowthat?”Sheleansforwardandtoucheshis
Alexstaresather,tryingtoprocesswhatshe’ssaid.
“Ifeellikethisisyourstarry-eyedromanticthingprojectingontome,”iswhathedecidestosay,andsheimmediatelywithdrawsherhandfromhislegandreturnstoglaringathim.
“YouknowEvandidn’tbreakupwithme?”shesays.“Ibrokeupwithhim.IwasgonnagotoCaliforniawithhim,liveinthesametimezoneasDad,getajobatthefuckingSacramentoBeeorsomething.ButIgaveallthatuptocomehere,becauseitwastherightthingtodo.IdidwhatDaddid—IwentwhereIwasmostneeded,becauseitwasmyresponsibility.”
“Andyouregretit?”
“No,”shesays.“Idon’tknow.Idon’tthinkso.ButI—Iwonder.Dadwonders,sometimes.Alex,youdon’thavetowonder.Youdon’thavetobeourparents.YoucankeepHenry,andfiguretherestout.”Nowshe’slookingathimevenly,steadily.“Sometimesyouhaveafireunderyourassfornogoodgoddamnreason.You’regonnaburnoutlikethis.”
Alexleansback,thumbingthestitchingonthearmrestofthechair.
“So,what?”heasks.“Youwantmetoquitpoliticsandgobecomeaprincess?That’snotveryfeministofyou.”
“That’snothowfeminismworks,”shesays,rollinghereyes.“Andthat’snotwhatImean.Imean…Idon’tknow.Haveyoueverconsideredtheremightbemorethanonepathtousewhatyouhave?Ortogetwhereyouwanttobetomakethemostdifferenceintheworld?”
“I’mnotsureI’mfollowing.”
“Well.”Shelooksdownathercuticles.“It’slikethewholeSacBeething—itneveractuallywouldhaveworkedout.ItwasadreamIhadbeforeMomwaspresident.ThekindofjournalismIwantedtodoisthekindofjournalismthatbeingaFirstDaughterprettymuchdisqualifiesyoufrom.Buttheworldisbetterwithherwheresheis,andrightnowI’mlookingforanewdreamthat’sbettertoo.”HerbigbrownDiazeyesblinkupathim.“So,Idon’tknow.Maybethere’smorethanonedreamforyou,ormorethanonewaytogetthere.”
Shegivesacrookedshrug,tiltingherheadtolookathimopenly.Juneisoftenamystery,abigballofcomplexemotionsandmotivations,butherheartishonestandtrue.She’sverymuchwhatAlexholdsinhismemoryasthesanctifiedideaofSouthernessatitsbest:alwaysgenerousandwarmandsincere,work-strongandreliable,alightlefton.Shewantsthebestforhim,plainly,inanunselfishanduncalculatingway.She’sbeentryingtotalktohimforawhile,herealizes.
Helooksdownatthemagazineandfeelsthecornerofhismouthtugupward.Hecan’tbelieveJunekeptitalltheseyears.
“Helookssodifferent,”hesaysafteralongminute,gazingdownatthebabyHenryonthepageandhiseasy,unfledgedsureness.“Imean,like,obviously.Butthewayhecarrieshimself.”Hisfingertipsbrushthepageinthesameplacetheydidwhenhewasyoung,overthesun-goldhair,exceptnowheknowsitsexacttexture.It’sthefirsttimehe’sseenitsincehelearnedwherethisversionofHenrywent.“Itpissesmeoffsometimes,thinkingabouteverythinghe’sbeenthrough.He’sagoodperson.Hereallycares,andhetries.Heneverdeservedanyofit.”
Juneleansforward,lookingatthepicturetoo.“Haveyouevertoldhimthat?”
“Wedon’treally…”Alexcoughs.“Idon’tknow.Talklikethat?”
Juneinhalesdeeplyandmakesanenormousfartnoisewithhermouth,shatteringtheseriousmood,andAlexissogratefulforitthathemeltsontothefloorinafitofhystericallaughter.
“Ugh!Men!”shegroans.“Noemotionalvocabulary.Ican’tbelieveourancestorssurvivedcenturiesofwarsandplaguesandgenocidejusttowindupwithyoursorryass.”Shethrowsapillowathim,andAlexscream-laughsasithitshimintheface.“Youshouldtrysayingsomeofthatstufftohim.”
“StoptryingtoJaneAustenmylife!”heyellsback.
“Listen,it’snotmyfaulthe’samysteriousandretiringyoungroyalandyou’rethetempestuousingénuethatcaughthiseye,okay?”
Helaughsandtriestocrawlaway,evenassheclawsathisankleandwallopsanotherpillowathishead.Hestillfeelsguiltyforblowingheroff,buthethinksthey’reokaynow.He’lldobetter.Theyfightforaspotonherbigcanopybed,andshemakeshimspillwhatit’sliketobesecretlyhookingupwithareal-lifeprince.AndsoJuneknows;sheknowsabouthimandshehugshimanddoesn’tcare.Hedidn’trealizehowterrifiedhewasofherknowinguntilthefearisgone.
SheputsParksbackonandhasthekitchensendupicecream,andAlexthinksabouthowshesaid,“Youdon’thavetobeourparents”—she’snevermentionedtheirdadinthesamecontextastheirmomlikethatbefore.He’salwaysknownpartofherresentstheirmomforthepositiontheyoccupyintheworld,fornothavinganormallife,fortakingherselfawayfromthem.Butheneverreallyrealizedshefeltthesamesenseoflosshedoesdeepdownabouttheirdad,thatit’ssomethingshedealtwithandmovedpast.Thatthestuffwiththeirmomissomethingshe’sstillgoingthrough.
Hethinksshe’swrongabouthim,mostly—hedoesn’tnecessarilybelievehehastochoosebetweenpoliticsandthisthingwithHenryyet,orthathe’smovingtoofastinhiscareer.But…there’stheTexasBinder,andtheknowledgeofotherstateslikeTexasandmillionsofotherpeoplewhoneedsomeonetofightforthem,andthefeelingatthebaseofhisspine,likethere’salotoffightinhimthatcouldbehoneddowntoamoreproductivepoint.
There’slawschool.
EverytimehelooksattheTexasBinder,heknowsit’sabigfatcaseforhimtogotakethedamnLSATlikeheknowsbothhisparentswishhewouldinsteadofdivingheadfirstintopolitics.He’salways,alwayssaidno.Hedoesn’twaitforthings.Doesn’tputinthetimelikethat,dowhathe’stold.
He’snevergivenmuchthoughttooptionsotherthanacrow’spathaheadofhim.Maybeheshould.
“IsnowagoodtimetopointoutHenry’sveryhot,veryrichbestfriendisbasicallyinlovewithyou?”AlexsaystoJune.“He’slikesomekindofbillionaire,genius,manic-pixie-dreamphilanthropist.Ifeellikeyouwouldbeintothat.”
“Pleaseshutup,”shesays,andshestealstheicecreamback.
OnceJuneknows,theircircleof“knowing”isuptoatightseven.
BeforeHenry,mostofhisromanticentanglementsasFSOTUSwereone-offincidentsthatinvolvedCashorAmyconfiscatingphonesbeforetheactandpointingatthedottedlineontheNDAonthewayout—Amywithmechanicalprofessionalism,Cashwiththeairofacruiseshipdirector.Itwasinevitabletheybeloopedin.
Andthere’sShaan,theonlymemberoftheroyalstaffwhoknowsHenryisgay,excludinghistherapist.Shaanultimatelydoesn’tcareaboutHenry’ssexualpreferencesaslongasthey’renotgettinghimintotrouble.He’saconsummateprofessionalparceledinimmaculatelytailoredTomFord,ruffledbyabsolutelynothing,whoseaffectionforhischargeshowsinthewayhetendstohimlikeafavoritehouseplant.ShaanknowsforthesamereasonAmyandCashknow:absolutenecessity.
ThenNora,whostilllookssmugeverytimethesubjectarises.AndBea,whofoundoutwhenshewalkedinononeoftheirafter-darkFaceTimesessions,leavingHenrycapableofnothingbutflusteredBritishstammeringandthousand-yardstaresforthenextdayandahalf.
Pezseemstohavebeeninonthesecretallalong.AleximagineshedemandedanexplanationwhenHenryliterallymadethemfleethecountryunderthecoverofnightafterputtinghistongueinAlex’smouthintheKennedyGarden.
It’sPezwhoanswerswhenAlexFaceTimesHenryatfoura.m.DCtime,expectingtocatchHenryoverhismorningtea.Henryisholidayinginoneofthefamily’scountryhomeswhileAlexsuffocatesunderhislastweekofcollege.Hedoesn’treflectonwhyhismigrainedemandssoothingimagesofHenrylookingcozyandpicturesque,sippingteabyalushgreenhillside.Hejusthitsthebuttonsonthephone.
“Alexander,babes,”Pezsayswhenhepicksup.“HowlovelyforyoutogiveyourauntiePezzaaringonthismagnificentSundaymorning.”He’ssmilingfromwhatlookslikethepassengerseatofaluxurycar,wearingacartoonishlylargesunhatandastripedpashmina.
“Hi,Pez,”Alexsays,grinningback.“Wherearey’all?”
“Weareoutforadrive,takinginthesceneryofCarmarthenshire,”Peztellshim.Hetiltsthephoneovertowardthedriver’sseat.“Saygoodmorningtoyourstrumpet,Henry.”
“Goodmorning,strumpet,”Henrysays,glancingawayfromtheroadtowinkatthecamera.He’slookingfresh-facedandrelaxed,allrolled-upsleevesandsoftgraylinen,andAlexfeelscalmerknowingsomewhereinWales,Henrygotadecentnight’ssleep.“What’sgotyouupatfourinthemorningthistime?”
“Myfuckingeconomicsfinal,”Alexsays,rollingoverontohissidetosquintatthescreen.“Mybrainisn’tworkinganymore.”
“Can’tyougetoneofthoseSecretServiceearpieceswithNoraontheotherend?”
“Icantakeitforyou,”Pezinterjects,turningthecamerabacktohimself.“I’maceswithmoney.”
“Yes,yes,Pez,weknowthere’snothingyoucan’tdo,”saysHenry’svoiceoff-camera.“Noneedtorubitin.”
Alexlaughsunderhisbreath.FromtheanglePezisholdingthephone,hecanseeWalesrollingbythoughthecarwindow,dramaticandplunging.“Hey,Henry,saythenameofthehouseyou’restayingatagain.”
PezturnsthecameratocatchHenryinahalfsmile.“Llwynywermod.”
“Onemoretime.”
“Llwynywermod.”
Alexgroans.“Jesus.”
“Iwashopingyoutwowouldstarttalkingdirty,”Pezsays.“Please,dogoon.”
“Idon’tthinkyoucouldkeepup,Pez,”Alextellshim.
“Ohreally?”ThepicturereturnstoPez.“WhatifIputmyco—”
“Pez,”comesthesoundofHenry’svoice,andahandwithasignetringonthesmallestfingercoversPez’smouth.“Ibegofyou.Alex,whatpartof‘nothinghecannotdo’didyouthinkwasworthtesting?Honestly,youaregoingtogetusallkilled.”
“That’sthegoal,”Alexsayshappily.“Sowhatarey’allgonnadotoday?”
PezfreeshimselfbylickingHenry’spalmandcontinuestalking.“Frolicnakedinthehills,frightenthesheep,returntothehousefortheusual:tea,biscuits,castingourselvesupontheThighmasteroflovetomoanaboutClaremont-Diazsiblings,whichhasbecometragicallyone-sidedsinceHenrytookupwithyou.Itusedtobeallbottlesofcognacandsharedmalaiseand‘Whenwilltheynoticeus’—”
“Don’ttellhimthat!”
“—andnowIjustaskHenry,‘Whatisyoursecret?’Andhesays,‘IinsultAlexallthetimeandthatseemstowork.’”
“Iwillturnthiscararound.”
“Thatwon’tworkonJune,”Alexsays
“Letmegetapen—”
Itturnsoutthey’respendingtheirholidayworkshoppingphilanthropyprojects.Henry’sbeentellingAlexformonthsabouttheirplanstogointernational,andnowthey’retalkingthreerefugeeprogramsaroundWesternEurope,HIVclinicsinNairobiandLosAngeles,LGBTyouthsheltersinfourdifferentcountries.It’sambitious,butsinceHenrystillstaunchlycoversallhisownexpenseswithhisinheritancefromhisfather,hisroyalaccountsareuntouched.He’sdeterminedtousethemfornothingbutthis.
AlexcurlsaroundhisphoneandhispillowasthesuncomesupoverDC.He’salwayswantedtobeapersonwithalegacyinthisworld.Henryisundoubtedly,determinedlythat.It’salittleintoxicating.Butit’sfine.He’sjustalittlesleep-deprived.
Allinall,finalscomeandgowithmuchlessfanfarethanAleximagined.It’saweekofcrammingandpresentationsandtheusualamountofall-nighters,andit’sover.
Thewholecollegethingingeneralwentbylikethat.Hedidn’treallyhavetheexperienceseveryoneelsehas,alwaysisolatedbyfameorharanguedbysecurity.Henevergotastamponhisforeheadonhistwenty-firstbirthdayatTheTombs,neverjumpedinDalhgrenFountain.Sometimesit’slikehebarelywenttoGeorgetown,merelypoweredthroughaseriesoflecturesthathappenedtobeinthesamegeographicalarea.
Anyway,hegraduates,andthewholeauditoriumgiveshimastandingovation,whichisweirdbutkindofcool.Adozenofhisclassmateswanttotakeaphotowithhimafterward.Theyallknowhimbyname.He’sneverspokentoanyofthembefore.Hesmilesfortheirparents’iPhonesandwondersifheshouldhavetried.
AlexClaremont-DiazgraduatessummacumlaudefromGeorgetownUniversitywithabachelor’sdegreeinGovernment,hisGooglealertsreadwhenhechecksthemfromthebackseatofthelimo,beforehe’seventakenhiscapandgownoff.
There’sahugegardenpartyattheWhiteHouse,andNoraisthereinadressandblazerandaslysmile,pressingakisstothesideofAlex’sjaw.
“ThelastoftheWhiteHouseTriofinallygraduates,”shesays,grinning.“Andhedidn’tevenhavetobribeanyprofessorswithpoliticalorsexualfavorstodoit.”
“Ithinksomeofthemmightfinallymanagetopurgemefromtheirnightmaressoon,”Alexsays.
“Y’alldoschoolweird,”Junesays,cryingalittle.
There’samixedbagofpoliticalpowerplayersandfamilyfriendsinattendance—includingRafaelLuna,whofallsundertheheadingofboth.Alexspotshimlookingtiredbuthandsomebytheceviche,involvedinanimatedconversationwithNora’sgrandfather,theVeep.HisdadisinfromCalifornia,freshlytannedfromarecenttrekthroughYosemite,grinningandproud.Zahrahandshimacardthatsays,Goodjobdoingwhatwasexpectedofyou,andnearlyshoveshimintothepunchbowlwhenhetriestohugher.
Anhourin,hisphonebuzzesinhispocket,andJunegiveshimamildglarewhenhedivertshisattentionmid-sentencetocheckit.He’sreadytobrushitoff,butallaroundhimiPhonesandBlackberriesarecomingoutinaflurryofmovement.
It’sWASPyHunter:Jacintojustcalledapresser,wordishe’sdroppingoutoftheprimarya.k.a.officiallyClaremontvs.Richards2020.
“Shit,”Alexsays,turninghisphonearoundtoshowJunethemessage.
“Somuchfortheparty.”
She’sright—inamatterofseconds,halfthetablesareemptyascampaignstaffersandcongresspeopleleavetheirseatstohuddletogetherovertheirphones.
“Thisisabitdramatic,”Noraobserves,suckinganoliveofftheendofatoothpick.“WeallknewhewasgonnagiveRichardsthenominationeventually.TheyprobablygotJacintoinawindowlessroomandbench-clampedhisdicktothetableuntilhesaidhe’dconcede.”
Alexdoesn’thearwhateverNorasaysnextbecausearushofmovementatthedoorsofthePalmRoomneartheedgeofthegardencatcheshiseye.It’shisdad,pullingLunabythearm.Theydisappearintoasidedoor,towardthehousekeeper’soffice.
HeleaveshischampagnewiththegirlsandweavesacircuitouspathtowardthePalmRoom,pretendingtocheckhisphone.Then,afterconsideringwhetherthescoldinghe’llgetfromthedry-cleaningcrewwillbeworthit,heducksintotheshrubbery.
There’saloosewindowpaneinthebottomofthethirdfixtureofthesouth-facingwallofthehousekeeper’soffice.It’spoppedoutofitsframeslightly,enoughthatitsbulletproof,soundproofsealisn’ttotallyintact.It’soneofthreewindowpaneslikethisintheResidence.HefoundthemduringhisfirstsixmonthsattheWhiteHouse,beforeJunegraduatedandNoratransferred,whenhewasalone,withnothingbettertodothantheselittleinvestigativeprojectsaroundthegrounds.
He’snevertoldanyoneabouttheloosepanes;healwayssuspectedtheymightcomeinhandyoneday.
Hecrouchesdownandcreepsuptowardthewindow,soilrollingintohisloafers,hopingheguessedtheirdestinationright,untilhefindsthepanehe’slookingfor.Heleansin,triestogethisearasclosetoitashecan.Overthesoundofthewindrustlingthebushesaroundhim,hecanheartwolow,tensevoices.
“…hell,Oscar,”saysonevoice,inSpanish.Luna.“Didyoutellher?Doessheknowyou’reaskingmetodothis?”
“She’stoocareful,”hisfather’svoicesays.He’sspeakingSpanishtoo—aprecautionthetwoofthemoccasionallytakewhenthey’reconcernedaboutbeingoverheard.“Sometimesit’sbestthatshedoesn’tknow.”
There’sthesoundofahissingexhale,weightshifting.“I’mnotgoingbehindherbacktodosomethingIdon’tevenwanttodo.”
“Youmeantotellme,afterwhatRichardsdidtoyou,there’snotapartofyouthatwantstoburnallhisshittotheground?”
“Ofcoursethereis,Oscar,Jesus,”Lunasays.“ButyouandIbothknowit’snotthatfuckingsimple.Itneveris.”
“Listen,Raf.Iknowyoukeptthefilesoneverything.Youdon’tevenhavetomakeastatement.Youcouldleakittothepress.Howmanyotherkidsdoyouthinksince—”
“Don’t.”
“—andhowmanymore—”
“Youdon’tthinkshecanwinonherown,doyou?”Lunacutsacrosshim.“Youstilldon’thavefaithinher,aftereverything.”
“It’snotaboutthat.Thistimeisdifferent.”
“Whydon’tyouleavemeandsomethingthathappenedtwentyfuckingyearsagooutofyourunresolvedfeelingsforyourex-wifeandfocusonwinningthisgoddamnelection,Oscar?Idon’t—”
Lunacutshimselfoffbecausethere’sthesoundofthedoorknobturning,someoneenteringtheoffices.
OscarswitchestoclippedEnglish,makinganexcuseaboutdiscussingabill,thensaystoLuna,inSpanish,“Justthinkaboutit.”
TherearemuffledsoundsofOscarandLunaclearingoutoftheoffice,andAlexsinksdownontohisassinthemulch,wonderingwhatthehellhe’smissing.
Itstartswithafund-raiser,asilksuitandabigcheck,anicewhite-tableclothevent.Itstarts,asitalwaysdoes,withatext:Fund-raiserinLAnextweekend.Pezsayshe’sgoingtogetusallmatchingembroideredkimonos.Putyoudownforaplus-two?
Hegrabslunchwithhisdad,whoflat-outchangesthesubjecteverytimeAlexbringsupLuna,andafterwardheadstothegala,whereAlexgetstoproperlymeetBeaforthefirsttime.She’smuchshorterthanHenry,shortereventhanJune,withHenry’sclevermouthbuttheirmom’sbrownhairandheart-shapedface.She’swearingamotorcyclejacketoverhercocktaildressandhasaslightpostureherecognizesfromhisownmotherasareformedchainsmoker.ShesmilesatAlex,wideandmischievous,andhegetsherimmediately:anotherrebelkid.
It’salotofchampagneandtoomanyhandshakesandaspeechbyPez,charmingasalways,andassoonasit’sover,theircollectivesecurityconvenesattheexitandthey’reoff.
Pezhas,aspromised,sixmatchingsilkkimonoswaitinginthelimo,eachoneembroideredacrossthebackwithadifferentriffonanamefromamovie.Alex’sisaluridtealandsaysHOEDAMERON.Henry’slime-greenonereadsPRINCEBUTTERCUP
TheyendupsomewhereinWestHollywoodatashitty,sparklingkaraokebarPezsomehowknowsabout,neonbrightenoughthatitfeelsspontaneouseventhoughCashandtherestoftheirsecurityhavebeencheckingitandwarningpeopleagainsttakingphotosforhalfanhourbeforetheyarrive.Thebartenderhasimmaculatepinklipstickandstubblepokingthroughthickfoundation,andtheyrapidlylineupfiveshotsandasodawithlime.
“Oh,dear,”Henrysays,peeringdownintohisemptyshotglass.“What’sinthese?Vodka?”
“Yep,”Noraconfirms,towhichbothPezandBeabreakoutintofitsofgiggles.
“What?”Alexsays.
“Oh,Ihaven’thadvodkasinceuni,”Henrysays.“Ittendstomakeme,erm.Well—”
“Flamboyant?”Pezoffers.“Uninhibited?Randy?”
“Fun?”Beasuggests.
“Excuseyou,Iamloadsoffunallthetime!Iamadelight!”
“Hello,excuseme,canwegetanotherroundoftheseplease?”Alexcallsdownthebar.
Beascreams,HenrylaughsandthrowsupaV,anditallgoeshazyandwarminthewayAlexloves.Theyalltumbleintoaroundbooth,andthelightsarelow,andheandHenryarekeepingasafedistance,butAlexcan’tstopstaringathowthespecial-effectbeamskeephittingHenry’scheekbones,hollowinghisfaceoutinbluesandgreens.He’ssomethingelse—half-drunkandgrinningina$2,000suitandakimono,andAlexcan’ttearhiseyesaway.Hewavesoverabeer.
Oncethingsgetgoing,it’simpossibletotellhowBeaistheonepersuadeduptothestagefirst,butsheunearthsaplasticcrownfromthepropchestonstageandripsthroughacoverof“CallMe”byBlondie.Theyallwolfwhistleandcheer,andthebarcrowdfinallyrealizesthey’vegottwomembersoftheroyalfamily,amillionairephilanthropist,andtheWhiteHouseTriocrammedintooneofthestickyboothsinarainbowofvividsilk.Threeroundsofshotsappear—onefromadrunkbacheloretteparty,onefromaherdofsurlybutchchicksatthebar,andonefromatableofdragqueens.Theyraiseatoast,andAlexfeelsmorewelcomedthanheeverhasbefore,evenathisfamily’svictoryrallies.
Pezgetsupandlaunchesinto“SoEmotional”byWhitneyHoustoninashockinglyflawlessfalsettothathasthewholeclubontheirfeetinamatterofmoments,shoutingtheirapprovalashebeltsouttheglorynotes.AlexlooksoveringiddyaweatHenry,wholaughsandshrugs.
“Itoldyou,there’snothinghecan’tdo,”heshoutsoverthenoise.
Juneiswatchingthewholeperformancewithherhandsclappedtoherface,hermouthhangingopen,andsheleansovertoNoraanddrunkenlyyells,“Oh,no…he’s…so…hot…”
“Iknow,babe,”Norayellsback.
“Iwantto…putmyfingersinhismouth…”shemoans,soundinghorrified.
Noracacklesandnodsappreciativelyandsays,“CanIhelp?”
Bea,whohasgonethroughfivedifferentlimeandsodassofar,politelypassesoverashotthat’sbeenhandedtoherasPezpullsJuneuponstage,andAlexthrowsitback.Theburnmakeshissmileandhislegsspreadalittlewider,andhisphoneisinhishandbeforeheregistersslidingitoutofhispocket.HetextsHenryunderthetable:wannadosomethingstupid?
HewatchesHenrypullhisownphoneout,grin,andarchabrowoverathim.
Whatcouldbestupiderthanthis?
Henry’smouthfallsopenintoaveryunflatteringexpressionofdrunken,bewilderedarousal,likeahothalibut,athisreplyseveralbeatslater.Alexsmilesandleansbackintothebooth,makingashowofwrappingwetlipsaroundthebottleofhisbeer.Henrylookslikehisentirelifemightbeflashingbeforehiseyes,andhesays,anoctavetoohigh,“Right,well,I’lljust—niptotheloo!”
Andhe’soffwhiletherestofthegroupisstillcaughtupPezandJune’sperformance.AlexgivesittothecountoftenbeforeslippingpastNoraandfollowing.HeswapsaglancewithCash,who’sstandingagainstonewall,gamelywearingabrightpinkfeatherboa.Herollshiseyesbutpeelsofftowatchthedoor.
AlexfindsHenryleaningagainstthesink,armsfolded.
“HaveImentionedlatelythatyou’reademon?”
“Yeah,yeah,”Alexsays,double-checkingthecoastisclearbeforegrabbingHenrybythebeltandbackingintoastall.“Tellmeagainlater.”
“You—youknowthisisstillnotconvincingmetosing,don’tyou?”HenrychokesoutasAlexmouthsalonghisthroat.
“Youreallythinkit’sagoodideatopresentmewithachallenge,sweetheart?”
Whichishow,thirtyminutesandtwomoreroundslater,Henryisinfrontofascreamingcrowd,absolutelybutchering“Don’tStopMeNow”byQueenwhileNorasingsbackupandBeathrowsglitterygoldrosesathisfeet.HiskimonoisdanglingoffoneshouldersotheembroideryacrossthebackreadsPRINCEBUTT.Alexdoesnotknowwheretherosescamefrom,andhecan’timagineaskingwouldgethimanywhere.Healsowouldn’tbeabletoheartheanswerbecausehe’sbeenscreamingatthetopofhislungsfortwominutesstraight.
“Iwannamakeasupersonicwomanofyouuu!”Henryshouts,lungingviolentlysideways,catchingNorabybotharms.“Don’tstopme!Don’tstopme!Don’tstopme!”
“Hey,hey,hey!”theentirebaryellsback.Pezispracticallyontopofthetablenow,poundingthebackoftheboothwithonehandandhelpingJuneupontoachairwiththeother.
“Don’tstopme!Don’tstopme!”
Alexcupshishandsaroundhismouth.“Ooh,ooh,ooh!”
Inacacophonyofshoutingandkickingandpelvic-thrustingandflashinglights,thesongblastsintotheguitarsolo,andthere’snotasinglepersoninthebarintheirseat,notwhenaPrinceofEnglandisknee-slidingacrossthestage,playingpassionateandsomewhateroticairguitar.
NorahasproducedabottleofchampagneandstartssprayingHenrywithit,andAlexloseshismindlaughing,climbsontopofhisseatandwolfwhistles.Beaisabsolutelybesideherself,tearsstreamingdownherface,andPezactuallyisontopofthetablenow,Junedancingbesidehim,withabrightfuschiasmearoflipstickinhisplatinumhair.
Alexfeelsatugonhisarm—Bea,dragginghimdowntothestage.Shegrabshishandandspinshiminaballerinatwirl,andheputsoneofherrosesbetweenhisteeth,andtheywatchHenryandgrinateachotherthroughthenoise.Alexfeelssomewhere,underthefiftylayersofbooze,somethingcrystalclearradiatingoffher,asharedknowledgeofhowrareandwonderfulthisversionofHenryis.
Henryisyellingintothemicrophoneagain,stumblingtohisfeet,hissuitandkimonostucktohimwithchampagneandsweatinaconfusinglysexymess.Hiseyesflickupward,hazyandhot,andunmistakablylockwithAlex’sattheedgeofthestage,smilingbroadandmessy.“Iwannamakeasupersonicmanouttayouuuuu!”
Bytheend,there’sastandingovationawaitinghim,andBea,withasteadyhandandadevilishsmile,rufflinghischampagne-stickyhair.ShesteershimintotheboothandAlex’sside,andhepullsherinafterhim,andthesixofthemfalltogetherinatangleofhoarselaughterandexpensiveshoes.
Helooksatallofthem.Pez,hisbroadsmileandglowingjoy,thewayhiswhite-blondhairflashesagainstsmooth,darkskin.ThecurveofBea’swaistandhipandherpunk-rockgrinasshesucksontherindofalime.Nora’slonglegs,oneofwhichisproppeduponthetableandtheothercrossedoveroneofBea’s,herthighbarewhereherdresshasriddenup.AndHenry,flushedandcallowandlean,elegantandthrownwideopen,hisfacealwaysturnedtowardAlex,hismouthunguardedaroundalaugh,willing.
HeturnstoJuneandslurs,“Bisexualityistrulyarichandcomplextapestry,”andshescreamswithlaughterandshovesanapkininhismouth.
Alexdoesn’tcatchmuchofthenexthour—thebackofthelimo,NoraandHenryjostlingforaspotinhislap,anIn-N-Outdrive-thruandJunescreamingnexttohisear,“AnimalStyle,didyouhearmesayAnimalStyle?Stopfuckinglaughing,Pez.”There’sthehotel,threesuitesbookedforthemontheverytopfloor,ridingthroughthelobbyonCash’simpossiblybroadback.
Junekeepsshushingthemastheystumbletotheirroomswithhandsfullofgrease-soakedburgerbags,butshe’slouderthananyofthem,soit’sazero-sumgame.Bea,perpetuallythelonesobervoiceofthegroup,picksoneofthesuitesatrandomanddepositsJuneandNoraintheking-sizebedandPezintheemptybathtub.
“Itrustyoutwocanhandleyourselves?”shesaystoAlexandHenryinthehallway,aglimmerofmischiefinhereyesasshehandsthemthethirdkey.“Ifullyintendtoputonarobeandinvestigatethisfrench-fries-dipped-in-milkshakethingNoratoldmeabout.”
“Yes,Beatrice,weshallbehaveinamannerbefittingthecrown,”Henrysays.Hiseyesareslightlycrossed.
“Don’tbeatosser,”shesays,andquicklykissesthembothonthecheekbeforevanishingaroundthecorner.
Henry’slaughingintothecurlsatthenapeofAlex’sneckbythetimeAlexisfumblingthedooropen,andtheystumbletogetherintothewall,andthentowardthebed,clothesdroppingintheirwake.HenrysmellslikeexpensivecologneandchampagneandadistinctlyHenrysmellthatnevergoesaway,cleanandgrassy,andhischestencompassesAlex’sbackwhenhecrowdsupbehindhimattheedgeofthebed,splayinghishandsoverhiships.
“Supersonicmanoutofyouuuu,”Alexmumbleslow,craninghisheadbackintoHenry’sear,andHenrylaughsandkickshiskneesoutfromunderhim.
It’saclumsy,sidewaystumbleintobed,bothofthemgrabbinggreedyhandfulsoftheother,Henry’spantsstilldanglingfromoneankle,butitdoesn’tmatterbecauseHenry’seyesareflutteredshutandAlexisfinallykissinghimagain.
Hishandsstarttravelingsouthoninstinct,sweetmusclememoryofHenry’sbodyagainsthis,untilHenryreachesdowntostophim.
“Holdon,holdon,”Henrysays.“I’mjustrealizing.Allthatearlier,andyouhaven’tgottenoffyettonight,haveyou?”Hedropshisheadbackonthepillow,regardshimwithnarrowedeyes.“Well.Thatjustshallnotdo.”
“Hmm,yeah?”Alexsays.HetakesadvantageofthemomenttokissthecolumnofHenry’sthroat,thehollowathiscollarbone,theknotofhisAdam’sapple.“Whatareyougonnadoaboutit?”
Henrypushesahandintohishairandgivesitalittlepull.“Ishalljusthavetomakeitthebestorgasmofyourlife.WhatcanIdotomakeitgoodforyou?TalkaboutAmericantaxreformduringtheact?Haveyougottalkingpoints?”
Alexlooksup,andHenryisgrinningathim.“Ihateyou.”
“Maybesomelightlacrosserole-play?”He’slaughingnow,armscominguparoundAlex’sshoulderstosqueezehimtohischest.“Ocaptain,mycaptain.”
“You’reliterallytheworst,”Alexsays,andundercutsitbyleaninguptokisshimoncemore,gently,thendeeply,longandslowandheated.HefeelsHenry’sbodyshiftingbeneathhis,openingup.
“Hangon,”Henrysays,breakingoffbreathlessly.“Wait.”Alexopenshiseyes,andwhenhelooksdown,theexpressiononHenry’sfaceisamorefamiliarone:nervous,unsure.“Idoactually.Er.Haveanidea.”
HeslidesahandupHenry’schesttothesideofhisjaw,ghostingoverhischeekwithonefinger.“Hey,”hesays,seriousnow.“I’mlistening.Forreal.”
Henrybiteshislip,visiblysearchingfortherightwords,andapparentlycomestoadecision.
“C’mere,”hesays,surginguptokissAlex,andhe’sputtinghiswholebodyintoitnow,slidinghishandsdowntopalmatAlex’sassashekisseshim.Alexfeelsasoundtearitselffromhisthroat,andhe’sfollowingHenry’sleadblindlynow,kissinghimdeepintothemattress,ridingacontinuouswaveofHenry’sbody.
HefeelsHenry’sthighs—thosegoddamnhorseback-riding,polo-playingthighs—movingaroundhim,soft,warmskinwrappingaroundhiswaist,heelspressingintohisback.WhenAlexbreaksofftolookathim,theintentiononHenry’sfaceisasplainasanythinghe’severreadthere.
“Yousure?”
“Iknowwehaven’t,”Henrysaysquietly.“But,er.Ihave,before,so,Icanshowyou.”
“Imean,I’mfamiliarwiththemechanics,”Alexsays,smirkingalittle,andheseesacornerofHenry’smouthquirkuptomirrorhim.“Butyouwantmeto?”
“Yeah,”hesays.Hepusheshishipsup,andtheybothmakesomeunflattering,involuntarynoises.“Yes.Absolutely.”
Henry’sshavingkitisonthenightstand,andhereachesoverandfumblesblindlythroughitbeforefindingwhathe’slookingfor—acondomandatinybottleoflube.
Alexalmostlaughsatthesight.Travel-sizelube.He’shadsomeexperimentalsexinhislifetime,butitneveroccurredtohimtoconsiderifsuchathingexisted,muchlessifHenrywasjettingaroundwithitalongsidehisdentalfloss.
“Thisisnew.”
“Yes,well,”Henrysays,andhetakesoneofAlex’shandsinhisandbringsittohisownmouth,kissinghisfingertips.“Weallmustlearnandgrow,mustn’twe?”
Alexrollshiseyes,readytosnark,exceptHenrysuckstwofingersintohismouth,veryeffectivelyshuttinghimthehellup.It’sincredibleandbaffling,thewayHenry’sconfidencecomesinwaveslikethis,howhestrugglessomuchtogetthroughtheaskingforwhathewantsandthenreadilytakesitthemomenthe’sgivenpermission,likeatthebar,howtherightpushhadhimdancingandshoutingasifhe’dbeenwaitingforsomeonetotellhimhewasallowedtodoit.
They’renotasdrunkastheywere,butthere’senoughalcoholintheirsystems,anditdoesn’tfeelasdauntingasitwouldotherwise,thefirsttime,evenashisfingersstarttofindtheirway.Henry’sheadfallsbackontothepillows,andhecloseshiseyesandletsAlextakeover.
ThethingaboutsexwithHenryis,it’sneverthesametwice.Sometimeshemoveseasily,caughtupintherush,andothertimeshe’stenseandtautandwantsAlextoworkhimlooseandtakehimapart.Sometimesnothinggetshimofffasterthanbeingtalkedbackto,butothertimestheybothwanthimtouseeveryinchofauthorityinhisblood,not
It’sunpredictableandit’sintoxicatingandit’sfun,becauseAlexhasnevermetachallengehedidn’tlove,andhe—well,Henryisachallenge,headtotoe,beginningtoend.
Tonight,Henry’ssillyandwarmandready,hisbodyquickandsmoothtogiveAlexwhathe’slookingfor,laughingandincredulousathisownresponsivenesstotouch.Alexleansdowntokisshim,andHenrymurmursintothecornerofhismouth,“Readywhenyouare,love.”
Alextakesabreath,holdsit.He’sready.Hethinkshe’sready.
Henry’shandcomesuptostrokealonghisjaw,hissweatyhairline,andAlexsettleshimselfbetweenhislegs,letsHenrylacethefingersofhisrighthandwithAlex’sleft.
He’swatchingHenry’sface—hecan’timaginelookingatanythingotherthanHenry’sfacerightnow—andhisexpressiongoessosoftandhismouthsohappyandastonishedthatAlex’svoicespeakswithouthispermission,ahoarse“baby.”Henrynods,sosmallthatsomeonewhodidn’tknowallhisticsmightmissit,butAlexknowsexactlywhatitmeans,soheleansdownandsucksHenry’searlobebetweenhislipsandcallshimbabyagain,andHenrysays,“Yes,”and,“Please,”andtugshishairattheroot
AlexnipsatHenry’sthroatandpalmsathishipsandsinksintothewhite-outblissofbeingthatimpossiblyclosetohim,ofgettingtosharehisbody.Somehowitstillamazeshimthatallthisseemstobeasunbelievably,singularlygoodforHenryasitisforhim.Henry’sfaceshouldbeillegal,thewayit’sturneduptowardhim,flushedandundone.Alexfeelshisownlipsspreadingintoapleasedsmile,awedandproud.
Afterward,hecomesbackintohisownbodyinincrements—hisknees,stilldugintothemattressandshaking;hisstomach,slickandsticky;hishands,twistedupinHenry’shair,strokingitgently.
Hefeelslikehe’ssteppedoutsideofhimselfandreturnedtofindeverythingslightlyrearranged.WhenhepullshisfacebacktolookatHenry,thefeelingcomesbackintohischest:anacheinanswertothecurveofHenry’stoplipoverwhiteteeth.
“JesusChrist,”Alexsaysatlast,andwhenhelooksoveratHenryagain,he’ssquintingathimimpishlyoutofoneeye,smirking.
“Wouldyoudescribeitassupersonic?”hesays,andAlexgroansandslapshimacrossthechest,andtheybothdissolveintomessylaughter.
Theyslideapartandmakeoutandargueoverwhohastosleepinthewetspotuntiltheypassoutaroundfourinthemorning.HenryrollsAlexontohissideandburrowsbehindhimuntilhe’scoveringhimcompletely,hisshouldersabraceforAlex’sshoulders,oneofhisthighspressedontopofAlex’sthighs,hisarmsoverAlex’sarmsandhishandsoverAlex’shands,nowhereleftuntouched.It’sthebestAlexhassleptinyears.
Theiralarmsgooffthreehourslaterfortheirflightshome.
Theyshowertogether.Henry’smoodturnsdarkandsourovermorningcoffeeattheharshrealityofreturningtoLondonsosoon,andAlexkisseshimdumblyandpromisestocallandwishestherewasmorehecoulddo.
HewatchesHenrylatherupandshave,putpomadeinhishair,putonhisBurberryfortheday,andhecatcheshimselfwishinghecouldwatchiteveryday.HelikestakingHenryapart,butthere’ssomethingincrediblyintimateaboutsittingonthebedtheywreckedthenightbefore,theonlyonewhowatcheshimcreatePrinceHenryofWalesfortheday.
Throughhisthrobbinghangover,he’sgotasuspicionallthesefeelingsarewhyheheldoffonfuckingHenryforsolong.
Also,hemightpuke.It’sprobablyunrelated.
Theymeettheothersinthehallway,Henrypassingforhungoverbuthandsome,andAlexjustdoinghisbest.Beaislookingwell-rested,fresh,andverysmugaboutit.June,Nora,andPezallemergedisheveledfromtheirsuitelookinglikethecatsthatcaughtthecanaries,butit’simpossibletotellwhoisacatandwhoisacanary.Norahasasmudgeoflipstickonthebackofherneck.Alexdoesn’task.
Cashchucklesunderhisbreathwhenhemeetsthemattheelevators,atrayofsixcoffeesbalancedononehand.Hangovertendingisn’tpartofhisjobdescription,buthe’samotherhen.
“Sothisisthegangnow,huh?”
Andthroughitall,Alexrealizeswithastart:Hehasfriendsnow.EIGHT
Youareadarksorcerer
Henry<hwales@kensingtonemail.com>????????????????6/8/203:23PM
toA
Alex,
Ican’tthinkofasingleotherwaytostartthisemailexcepttosay,andIdohopeyouwillforgivebothmylanguageandmyutterlackofrestraint:Youaresofuckingbeautiful.
I’vebeenuselessforaweek,drivenaroundforappearancesandmeetings,luckyifI’vemadeasinglemeaningfulcontributiontoanyofthem.HowisamantogetanythingdoneknowingAlexClaremont-Diazisoutthereontheloose?Iamdriventodistraction.
It’sallbloodyuselessbecausewhenI’mnotthinkingaboutyourface,I’mthinkingaboutyourarseoryourhandsoryoursmartmouth.Isuspectthelatteriswhatgotmeintothispredicamentinthefirstplace.Nobody’severgotthenervetobecheekytoaprince,exceptyou.Themomentyoufirstcalledmeaprick,myfatewassealed.O,fathersofmybloodline!O,yekingsofolde!Takethiscrownfromme,burymeinmyancestralsoil.IfonlyyouhadknownthemightyworkofthineloinswouldbeundonebyagayheirwholikesitwhenAmericanboyswithchindimplesaremeantohim.
Actually,rememberthosegaykingsImentioned?IfeelthatJamesI,whofellmadlyinlovewithaveryfitandexceptionallydimknightatatiltingmatchandimmediatelymadehimagentlemanofthebedchamber(arealtitle),wouldtakemercyuponmyparticularplight.
I’llbedamnedbutImissyou.
x
Henry
Re:Youareadarksorcerer
A<agcd@eclare45.com>????????????????6/8/205:02PM
toHenry
H,
Areyouimplyingthatyou’reJamesIandI’msomehot,dumbjock?I’mmorethanfantasticbonestructureandanassyoucanbounceaquarteron,Henry!!!!
Don’tapologizeforcallingmepretty.Becausethenyou’reputtingmeinapositionwhereIhavetoapologizeforsayingyoublewmyfuckingmindinLAandI’mgonnadieifitdoesn’thappenagainsoon.How’sthatforlackofrestraint,huh?Youreallywannaplaythatgamewithme?
Listen:I’llflytoLondonrightnowandpullyououtofwhateverpointlessmeetingyou’reinandmakeyouadmithowmuchyouloveitwhenIcallyou“baby.”I’lltakeyouapartwithmyteeth,sweetheart.
xoxo
A
Re:Youareadarksorcerer
Henry<hwales@kensingtonemail.com>????????????????6/8/207:21PM
toA
Alex,
Youknow,whenyougotoOxfordtogetadegreeinEnglishliterature,asIhave,peoplealwayswanttoknowwhoyourfavoriteEnglishauthoris.
Thepressteamcompiledalistofacceptableanswers.Theywantedarealist,soIsuggestedGeorgeEliot—no,EliotwasactuallyMaryAnneEvansunderapenname,notastrongmaleauthor.TheywantedoneoftheinventorsoftheEnglishnovel,soIsuggestedDanielDefoe—no,hewasadissenterfromtheChurchofEngland.Atonepoint,IthrewoutJonathanSwiftjusttowatchthecollectivecoronarytheyhadatthethoughtofanIrishpoliticalsatirist.
IntheendtheypickedDickens,whichishilarious.Theywantedsomethinglessfruitythanthetruth,buttruly,whatisgayerthanawomanwholanguishesawayinacrumblingmansionwearingherweddinggowneverydayofherlife,forthedrama?
Thefruitytruth:MyfavoriteEnglishauthorisJaneAusten.
So,toborrowapassagefromSenseandSensibility:“Youwantnothingbutpatience—orgiveitamorefascinatingname,callithope.”Toparaphrase:IhopetoseeyouputyourgreenAmericanmoneywhereyourfilthymouthissoon.
Yoursinsexualfrustration,
Henry
Alexfeelslikesomebodyhasprobablywarnedhimaboutprivateemailserversbefore,buthe’salittlefuzzyonthedetails.Itdoesn’tfeelimportant.
Atfirst,likemostthingsthatrequiretimewheninstantgratificationispossible,hedoesn’tseethepointofHenry’semails.
ButwhenRichardstellsSeanHannitythathismotherhasn’taccomplishedanythingaspresident,Alexscreamsintohiselbowandgoesbackto:Thewayyouspeaksometimesislikesugarspillingoutofabagwithaholeinthebottom.WhenWASPyHunterbringsuptheHarvardrowingteamforthefifthtimeinoneworkday:Yourarseinthosetrousersisacrime.Whenhe’stiredofbeingtouchedbystrangers:Comebacktomewhenyou’redonebeingflungthroughthefirmament,youlostPleiad.
Nowhegetsit.
Hisdadwasn’twrongabouthowuglythingswouldgetwithRichardsleadingtheticket.Utahugly,Christianugly,uglinesscouchedindogwhistlesandtoothywhitesmiles.Right-wingthinkpiecesaboutentitlementthrowninhisandJune’sdirection,reekingof:MexicansstoletheFirstFamilyjobstoo.
Hecan’tallowthefearoflosingin.Hedrinkscoffeeandbringshispolicyworkonthecampaigntrailanddrinksmorecoffee,readsemailsfromHenry,anddrinksevenmorecoffee.
ThefirstDCPridesincehis“bisexualawakening”happenswhileAlexisinNevada,andhespendsthedayjealouslycheckingTwitter—confettirainingdownontheMall,grandmarshalRafaelLunawitharainbowbandanaaroundhishead.Hegoesbacktohishotelandtalkstohisminibaraboutit.
Thebiggestbrightspotinallthechaosisthathislobbyingwithoneofthecampaignchairs(andhisownmother)hasfinallypaidoff:They’redoingamassiverallyatMinuteMaidParkinHouston.Pollsareshiftingindirectionsthey’veneverseenbefore.Politico’stopstoryoftheweek:IS2020THEYEARTEXASBECOMESATRUEBATTLEGROUNDSTATE?
“Yes,IwillmakesureeveryoneknowstheHoustonrallywasyouridea,”hismothersays,barelypayingattention,asshegoesoverherspeechontheplanetoTexas.
“Youshouldsay‘grit,’not‘fortitude’there,”Junesays,readingthespeechoverhershoulder.“Texanslikegrit.”
“Cany’allbothgositsomewhereelse?”shesays,butsheaddsanote.
Alexknowsalotofthecampaignisskeptical,evenwhenthey’veseenthenumbers.SowhentheypulluptoMinuteMaidandthelinewrapsaroundtheblocktwice,hefeelsbeyondgratified.Hefeelssmug.Hismomgetsuptomakeherspeechtothousands,andAlexthinks,Hellyeah,Texas.Provethebastardswrong.
He’sstillridingthehighwhenheswipeshisbadgeatthedoorofthecampaignofficethefollowingMonday.He’sbeengettingtiredofsittingatadeskandgoingthroughfocusgroupsagainandagainandagain,buthe’sreadytopickthefightbackup.
ThefactthatheroundsthecornerintohiscubicletofindWASPyHunterholdingtheTexasBinderbringshimrightthefuckbackdown.
“Oh,youleftthisonyourdesk,”WASPyHuntersayscasually.“Ithoughtmaybeitwasanewprojecttheywereputtinguson.”
“DoIgoonyoursideofthecubicleandturnoffyourDropkickMurphysSpotifystation,nomatterhowmuchIwantto?”Alexdemands.“No,Hunter,Idon’t.”
“Well,youdokindofstealmypencilsalot—”
Alexsnatchesthebinderawaybeforehecanfinish.“It’sprivate.”
“Whatisit?”WASPyHunterasksasAlexshovesitbackintohisbag.Hecan’tbelieveheleftitout.“Allthatdata,andthedistrictlines—whatareyoudoingwithallthat?”
“Nothing.”
“IsitabouttheHoustonrallyyoupushedfor?”
“Houstonwasagoodidea,”hesays,instantlydefensive.
“Dude…youdon’thonestlythinkTexascangoblue,doyou?It’soneofthemostbackwardstatesinthecountry.”
“You’refromBoston,Hunter.Youreallywanttotalkaboutalltheplacesbigotrycomesfrom?”
“Look,man,I’mjustsaying.”
“Youknowwhat?”Alexsays.“Youthinky’allareoffthehookforinstitutionalbigotrybecauseyoucomefromabluestate.Noteverywhitesupremacistisameth-headinBumfuck,Mississippi—thereareplentyofthematDukeorUPennonDaddy’smoney.”
WASPyHunterlooksstartledbutnotconvinced.“Noneofthatchangesthatredstateshavebeenredforever,”hesays,laughing,likeit’ssomethingtojokeabout,“andnoneofthosepopulationsseemtocareenoughaboutwhat’sgoodforthemtovote.”
“Maybethosepopulationsmightbemoremotivatedtovoteifwemadeanactualefforttocampaigntothemandshowedthemthatwecare,andhowourplatformisdesignedtohelpthem,notleavethembehind,”Alexsayshotly.“Imagineifnobodywhoclaimstohaveyourinterestsatheartevercametoyourstateandtriedtotalktoyou,man.Orifyouwereafelon,or—fuckingvoterIDlaws,peoplewhocan’taccesspolls,whocan’tleaveworktogettoone?”
“Yeah,Imean,it’dbegreatifwecouldmagicallymobilizeeveryeligiblemarginalizedvoterinredstates,butpoliticalcampaignshaveafiniteamountoftimeandresources,andwehavetoprioritizebasedonprojections,”WASPyHuntersays,asifAlex,theFirstSonoftheUnitedStates,isunfamiliarwithhowcampaignswork.“Therejustaren’tthesamenumberofbigotsinbluestates.Iftheydon’twanttobeleftbehind,maybepeopleinredstatesshoulddosomethingaboutit.”
AndAlexhas,quitefrankly,hadit.
“Didyouforgetthatyou’reworkingonthecampaignofsomeoneTexasfuckingcreated?”hesays,andhisvoicehasofficiallyrisentothepointwherestaffersintheneighboringcubiclesarestaring,buthedoesn’tcare.“Whydon’twetalkabouthowthere’sachapteroftheKlanineverystate?Youthinktherearen’tracistsandhomophobesgrowingupinVermont?Man,Iappreciatethatyou’redoingtheworkhere,butyou’renotspecial.Youdon’tgettosituphereandpretendlikeit’ssomeoneelse’sproblem.Noneofusdo.”
Hetakeshisbagandhisbinderandstormsout.
Theminutehe’soutsidethebuilding,hepullsouthisphoneonimpulse,opensupGoogle.Therearetestdatesthismonth.Heknowsthereare.
LSATwashingtondcareatestcenter,hetypes.
3GeniusesandAlex
June23,2020,12:34PM
juniper
BUG
Notmyname,notanyone’sname,stop
leadingmemberofkoreanpopbandbtskimnam-june
BUG
I’mblockingyournumber
HRHPrinceDickhead
Alex,pleasedon’ttellmePezhasindoctrinatedyouwithK-pop.
wellyouletnoragetyouintodragraceso
irlchaosdemon
[latriceroyaleeatit.gif]
BUG
WhatdidyouwantAlex????
where’smyspeechformilwaukee?iknowyoutookit
HRHPrinceDickhead
Mustyouhavethisconversationinthegroupchat?
BUG
Partofitneededtoberewritten!!!Iputitbackwitheditsintheoutsidepocketofyourmessengerbag
davisisgonnakillyouifyoukeepdoingthis
BUG
DavissawhowwellmytweakstothetalkingpointswentoveronSethMeyerslastweeksoheknowsbetter
whyistherearockinheretoo
BUG
Thatisaclearquartzcrystalforclarityandgoodvibesdonot@me.Weneedallthehelpwecangetrightnow
stopputtingSPELLSonmySTUFF
irlchaosdemon
BURNTHEWITCH
irlchaosdemon
heywhatdowethinkofthis#lookforthecollegevoterthingtomorrow
irlchaosdemon
[AttachedImage]
irlchaosdemon
i’mgoingfor,like,depressedlesbianpoetwhometahotyogainstructorataspeakeasywhogothersuperintomeditationandpottery,andnowshe’sstartinganewlifeasahigh-poweredbusinesswomansellingherownlineofhand-thrownfruitbowls
…
HRHPrinceDickhead
Bitch,youtookmethere.
alskdjfadslfjad
NORAYOUBROKEHIM
irlchaosdemon
lmaoooooo
TheinvitationcomescertifiedairmailstraightfromBuckinghamPalace.Gildededges,spindlycalligraphy:THECHAIRMANANDCOMMITTEEOFMANAGEMENTOFTHECHAMPIONSHIPSREQUESTTHEPLEASUREOFTHECOMPANYOFALEXANDERCLAREMONT-DIAZINTHEROYALBOXONTHE6THOFJULY,2020.
AlextakesapictureandtextsittoHenry.
1.tfisthis?aren’ttherepoorpeopleinyourcountry?
2.i’vealreadybeenintheroyalbox
Henrysendsback,Youareadelinquentandaplague,andthen,Pleasecome?
AndhereAlexis,spendinghisonedayofffromthecampaignatWimbledon,onlytogethisbodynexttoHenry’sagain.
“So,asI’vewarnedyou,”HenrysaysastheyapproachthedoorstotheRoyalBox,“Philipwillbehere.Andassortedothernobilitywithwhomyoumayhavetomakeconversation.PeoplenamedBasil.”
“IthinkI’veproventhatIcanhandleroyals.”
Henrylooksdoubtful.“You’rebrave.Icouldusesomeofthat.”
Thesunis,foronce,brightoverLondonwhentheystepoutside,floodingthestandsaroundthem,whichhavealreadymostlyfilledwithspectators.HenoticesDavidBeckhaminawell-tailoredsuit—onceagain,howhadheconvincedhimselfhewasstraight?—beforeDavidBeckhamturnsawayandAlexseesitwasBeahewastalkingto,herfacebrightwhenshespotsthem.
“Oi,Alex!Henry!”shechirpsoverthemurmuroftheBox.She’savisioninalime-green,drop-waistsilkdress,apairofhuge,roundGuccisunglassesembellishedwithgoldhoneybeesperchedonhernose.
“Youlookgorgeous,”Alexsays,acceptingakissonhischeek.
“Whythankyou,darling,”Beasays.Shetakesoneoftheirarmsineachofhersandwhisksthemoffdownthesteps.“Yoursisterhelpedmepickthedress,actually.It’sMcQueen.She’sagenius,didyouknow?”
“I’vebeenmadeaware.”
“Hereweare,”Beasayswhenthey’vereachedthefrontrow.“Theseareours.”
HenrylooksatthelushgreencushionsoftheseatstoppedwiththickandshinyWIMBLEDON2020programs,rightatthefrontedgeofthebox.
“Frontandcenter?”hesayswithanoteofnervousness.“Really?”
“Yes,Henry,incaseyouhaveforgotten,youarearoyalandthisistheRoyalBox.”Shewavesdowntothephotographersbelow,whoarealreadysnappingphotosofthem,beforeleaningintothemandwhispering,“Don’tworry,Idon’tthinktheycandetectthethickairofhorn-townbetwixtyoutwofromthelawn.”
“Ha-ha,Bea,”Henrymonotones,earspink,anddespitehisapprehension,hetakeshisseatbetweenAlexandBea.HekeepshiselbowscarefullytuckedintohissidesandoutofAlex’sspace.
It’shalfwaythroughthedaywhenPhilipandMarthaarrive,Philiplookingasgenericallyhandsomeasever.AlexwondershowsuchrichgeneticsconspiredtomakeBeaandHenrybothsointerestingtolookat,allmischievoussmilesandswoopingcheekbones,butpuntedsohardonPhilip.Helookslikeastockphoto
“Morning,”PhilipsaysashetakeshisreservedseattothesideofBea.HiseyestrackoverAlextwice,andAlexcansenseskepticismastowhyAlexwasevenallowed.Maybeit’sweirdAlexishere.Hedoesn’tcare.Martha’slookingathimweirdtoo,butmaybeshe’ssimplyholdingagrudgeaboutherweddingcake.
“Afternoon,Pip,”Beasayspolitely.“Martha.”
Besidehim,Henry’sspinestiffens.
“Henry,”Philipsays.Henry’shandistenseontheprograminhislap.“Goodtoseeyou,mate.Beenabitbusy,haveyou?Gapyearandallthat?”
There’sanimplicationunderhistone.Whereexactlyhaveyoubeen?Whatexactlyhaveyoubeendoing?AmuscleflexesinHenry’sjaw.
“Yes,”Henrysays.“LoadsofworkwithPercy.It’sbeenmad.”
“Right,theOkonjoFoundation,isn’tit?”hesays.“Shamehecouldn’tmakeittoday.Supposewe’llhavetomakedowithourAmericanfriend,then?”
Atthat,hetipsadrysmileatAlex.
“Yep,”Alexsays,tooloud.Hegrinsbroadly.
“Though,IdosupposePercywouldlookabitoutofplaceintheBox,wouldn’the?”
“Philip,”Beasays.
“Oh,don’tbesodramatic,Bea,”Philipsaysdismissively.“Ionlymeanhe’sapeculiarsort,isn’the?Thosefrockshewears?AbitmuchforWimbledon.”
Henry’sfaceiscalmandgenial,butoneofhiskneeshasshiftedovertodigintoAlex’s.“They’recalleddashikis,Philip,andheworeoneonce.”
“Right,”Philipsays.“YouknowIdon’tjudge.Ijustthink,youknow,rememberwhenwewereyoungerandyou’dspendtimewithmymatesfromuni?OrLadyAgatha’sson,theonethat’salwaysquailhunting?Youcouldconsidermorematesof…similarstanding.”
Henry’smouthisathinline,buthesaysnothing.
“Wecan’tallbebestmateswiththeCountofMonpezatlikeyou,Philip,”Beamutters.
“Inanyevent,”Philippresseson,ignoringher,“you’reunlikelytofindawifeunlessyou’rerunningintherightcircles,aren’tyou?”Hechucklesalittleandreturnstowatchingthematch.
“Ifyou’llexcuseme,”Henrysays.Hedropshisprograminhisseatandvanishes.
Tenminuteslater,Alexfindshimintheclubhousebyagiganticvaseofluridfuschiaflowers.HiseyesareintentonAlexthemomentheseeshim,hislipchewedthesamefuriousredastheembroideredUnionJackonhispocketsquare
“Hello,Alex,”hesaysplacidly.
Alextakeshistone.“Hi.”
“Hasanyoneshownyouroundtheclubhouseyet?”
“Nope.”
“Well,then.”
Henrytouchestwofingerstothebackofhiselbow,andAlexobeysimmediately
Downaflightofstairs,throughaconcealedsidedoorandasecondhiddencorridor,thereisasmallroomfullofchairsandtableclothsandoneold,abandonedtennisracquet.Assoonasthedoorisclosedbehindthem,Henryslamshimupagainstit.
HegetsrightupinAlex’sspace,buthedoesn’tkisshim.Hehoversthere,abreathaway,hishandsatAlex’shipsandhismouthsplitopeninacrookedsmirk.
“D’youknowwhatIwant?”hesays,hisvoicesolowandhotthatitburnsrightthroughAlex’ssolarplexus,rightintothecoreofhim.
“What?”
“Iwant,”hesays,“todotheabsolutelastthingI’msupposedtobedoingrightnow.”
Alexjutsouthischin,grinninglydefiant.“Thentellmetodoit,sweetheart.”
AndHenry,tonguingthecornerofhisownmouth,tugshardtoundoAlex’sbeltandsays,“Fuckme.”
“Well,”Alexgrunts,“whenatWimbledon.”
Henrylaughshoarselyandleansdowntokisshim,open-mouthedandeager.He’smovingfast,knowingthey’reonborrowedtime,quicktofollowtheleadwhenAlexgroansandpullsathisshoulderstochangetheirpositions.HegetsHenry’sbacktohischest,Henry’spalmsbracedagainstthedoor.
“Justsowe’reclear,”Alexsays,“I’mabouttohavesexwithyouinthisstorageclosettospiteyourfamily.Like,that’swhat’shappening?”
Henry,whohasapparentlybeencarryinghistravel-sizelubewithhimthisentiretimeinhisjacket,says,“Right,”andtossesitoverhisshoulder.
“Awesome,fuckin’lovedoingthingsoutofspite,”hesayswithoutahintofsarcasm,andhekicksHenry’sfeetapart.
Anditshouldbe—itshouldbefunny.Itshouldbehot,stupid,ridiculous,obscene,anotherwildsexualadventuretoaddtothelist.Anditis,but…itshouldn’talsofeellikelasttime,likeAlexmightdieifiteverstops.There’salaughinhismouth,butitwon’tgetpasthistongue,becauseheknowsthisishimhelpingHenrygetthroughsomething.Rebellion
You’rebrave.Icouldusesomeofthat
After,hekissesHenry’smouthfiercely,pusheshisfingersdeepintoHenry’shair,suckstheairoutofhim.Henrysmilesbreathlesslyagainsthisneck,lookingextremelypleasedwithhimself,andsays,“I’mratherfinishedwithtennis,aren’tyou?”
So,theystealawaybehindacrowd,blockedbyPPOsandumbrellas,andbackatKensington,HenrybringsAlexuptohisrooms.
His“apartment”isasprawlingwarrenoftwenty-tworoomsonthenorthwestsideofthepalaceclosesttotheOrangery.HesplitsitwithBea,butthere’snotmuchofeitheroftheminanyofthehighceilingsandheavy,jacquardfurniture.WhatisthereismoreBeathanHenry:aleatherjacketflungoverthebackofachaise,Mr.Wobblespreeninginacorner,aseventeenth-centuryDutchoilpaintingononelandingliterallycalledWomanatherToiletthatonlyBeawouldhaveselectedfromtheroyalcollection.
Henry’sbedroomisascavernousandopulentandinsufferablybeigeasAlexcouldhaveimagined,withagildedbaroquebedandwindowsoverlookingthegardens.HewatchesHenryshrugoutofhissuitandimagineshavingtoliveinit,wonderingifHenrysimplyisn’tallowedtochoosewhathisroomslooklikeorifheneverwantedtoaskforsomethingdifferent.AllthosenightsHenrycan’tsleep,justknockingaroundtheseendless,impersonalrooms,likeabirdtrappedinamuseum.
TheonlyroomthatreallyfeelslikebothHenryandBeaisasmallparloronthesecondfloorconvertedintoamusicstudio.Thecolorsarerichesthere:hand-wovenTurkishrugsindeepredsandviolets,atobacco-coloredsettee.Littlepoufsandtablesofknickknacksspringuplikemushrooms,andthewallsarelinedwithStratocastersandFlyingVs,violins,anassortmentofharps,onestoutcelloproppedupinthecorner.
Inthecenteroftheroomisthegrandpiano,andHenrysitsdownatitandplucksawayidly,toyingwiththemelodyofsomethingthatsoundslikeanoldsongbyTheKillers.Davidthebeaglenapsquietlynearthepedals.
“PlaysomethingIdon’tknow,”Alexsays.
BackinhighschoolinTexas,Alexwasthemostculturedofthejockcrowdbecausehewasabooknerd,apoliticsjunkie,theonlyvarsitylettermandebatingthefinerpointsofDredScottinAPUSHistory.HelistenstoNinaSimoneandOtisRedding,likesexpensivewhiskey.ButHenry’sgotanentirelydifferentcompendiumofknowledge.
SohejustlistensandnodsandsmilesalittlewhileHenryexplainsthatthisiswhatBrahmssoundslike,andthisisWagner,andhowtheywereonthetwoopposingsidesoftheRomanticmovement.“Doyouhearthedifferencethere?”Hishandsarefast,almosteffortless,evenashegoesoffintoatangentabouttheWaroftheRomanticsandhowLiszt’sdaughterleftherhusbandforWagner,quelscandale.
HeswitchestoanAlexanderScriabinsonata,winkingoveratAlexatthecomposer’sfirstname.Theandante—thethirdmovement—ishisfavorite,heexplains,becausehereadoncethatitwaswrittentoevoketheimageofacastleinruins,whichhefounddarklyfunnyatthetime.Hegoesquiet,focused,lostinthepieceforlongminutes.Then,withoutwarning,itchangesagain,turbulentchordscirclingbackintosomethingfamiliar—theEltonJohnsongbook.Henrycloseshiseyes,playingfrommemory.It’s“YourSong.”Oh.
AndAlex’sheartdoesn’tspreaditselfoutinhischest,andhedoesn’thavetogriptheedgeofthesetteetosteadyhimself.Becausethat’swhathewoulddoifhewerehereinthispalacetofallinlovewithHenry,andnotjustcontinuingthisthingwheretheyflyacrosstheworldtotoucheachotheranddon’ttalkaboutit.That’snotwhyhe’shere.It’snot.
Theymakeoutlazilyforwhatcouldbehoursonthesettee—Alexwantstodoitonthepiano,butit’sapricelessantiqueorwhatever—andthentheystaggeruptoHenry’sroom,thepalatialbed.HenryletsAlextakehimapartwithpainstakingpatienceandprecision,moansthenameofGodsomanytimesthattheroomfeelsconsecrated.
ItpushesHenryoversomekindofedge,meltedandoverwhelmedonthelushbedclothes.Alexspendsnearlyanhourafterwardcoaxinglittletremorsoutofhim,inaweofhiselaborateexpressionsofwonderandblissfulagony,ghostingfeatherlightfingertipsoverhiscollarbone,hisankles,theinsidesofhisknees,thesmallbonesofthebacksofhishands,thedipofhislowerlip.HetouchesandtouchesuntilhebringsHenrytoanotherbrinkwithonlyhisfingertips,onlyhisbreathontheinsideofhisthighs,thepromiseofAlex’smouthwherehe’dpressedhisfingersbefore.
HenrysaysthesametwowordsfromthesecretroomatWimbledon,thistimedressedupin,“Please,Ineedyouto.”Hestillcan’tbelieveHenrycantalklikethis,thathegetstobetheonlyonewhohearsit.
Sohedoes.
Whentheycomebackdown,Henrypracticallypassesoutonhischestwithoutanotherword,fucked-outandboneless,andAlexlaughstohimselfandpetshissweatyhairandlistenstothesoftsnoresthatcomealmostimmediately.
Ittakeshimhourstofallasleep,though.
Henrydroolsonhim.Davidfindshiswayontothebedandcurlsupattheirfeet.AlexhastobebackonaplaneforDNCprepinamatterofhours,buthecan’tsleep.It’sjetlag.It’sjustjetlag.
Heremembers,asiffromamillionmilesaway,tellingHenryoncenottooverthinkthis.
“Asyourpresident,”JeffreyRichardsissayingononeoftheflatscreensinthecampaignoffice,“oneofmymanyprioritieswillbeencouragingyoungpeopletogetinvolvedwiththeirgovernment.Ifwe’regoingtoholdourcontroloftheSenateandtakebacktheHouse,weneedthenextgenerationtostandupandjointhefight.”
TheCollegeRepublicansofVanderbiltUniversitycheeronthelivefeed,andAlexpretendstobarfontohislatestpolicydraft.
“Whydon’tyoucomeuphere,Brittany?”AprettyblondstudentjoinsRichardsatthepodium,andheputsanarmaroundher.“Brittanyherewasthemainorganizerweworkedwithforthisevent,andshecouldn’thavedoneabetterjobgettingusthisamazingturnout!”
Morecheers.Amid-levelstafferlobsaballofpaperatthescreen.
“It’syoungpeoplelikeBrittanywhogiveushopeforthefutureofourparty.WhichiswhyI’mpleasedtoannouncethat,aspresident,I’llbelaunchingtheRichardsYouthCongressprogram.Otherpoliticiansdon’twantpeople—especiallydiscerningyoungpeoplelikeyou—togetupcloseinourofficesandseejusthowthesausagegetsmade—”
iwanttoseeacagematchbetweenyourgrandmotherandthisfuckingghoulrunningagainstmymom,AlextextsHenryasheturnsbacktohiscubicle.
It’sthelastdaysbeforetheDNC,andhehasn’tbeenabletocatchthecoffeepotbeforeit’semptyinaweek.Thepolicyinboxesareoverflowingsincetheyreleasedtheofficialplatformtwodaysago,andWASPyHunterhasbeenfiringoffemailslikehislifedependsonit.Hehasn’tsaidanythingelsetoAlexabouthisrantfromlastmonth,buthehasstartedwearingheadphonestospareAlexhismusicalchoices.
Hetypesoutanothertext,thisonetoLuna:canyoupleasegoonandersoncooperorsomethingandexplainthatparagraphyoughostwroteontaxlawfortheplatformsopeoplewillstopasking?ain’tgotthetime,vato.
He’sbeentextingLunaallweek,eversincetheRichardscampaignleakedthatthey’vetappedanIndependentsenatorforhisprospectivecabinet.ThatoldbastardStanleyConnorflat-outdeniedeverylastrequestforanendorsement—bytheend,LunaprivatelytoldAlextheywereluckyConnordidn’ttrytoprimarythem.Nothing’sofficial,buteveryoneknowsConnoristheonejoiningRichards’sticket.ButifLunaknowswhentheannouncement’scoming,he’snotsharing.
It’saweek.Thepollsaren’tgreat,PaulRyanisgettingsanctimoniousabouttheSecondAmendment,andthere’ssomeSalonhottakegoingaround,WOULDELLENCLAREMONTHAVEGOTTENELECTEDIFSHEWEREN’TCONVENTIONALLYBEAUTIFUL?Ifitweren’tforhermorningmeditationsessions,Alexissurehismomwouldhavethrottledanaidebynow.
Forhispart,hemissesHenry’sbed,Henry’sbody,Henryandaplaceafewthousandmilesremovedfromthefactorylineofthecampaign.ThatnightafterWimbledonfromaweekagofeelslikesomethingoutofadreamnow,allthemoretantalizingbecauseHenryisinNewYorkforafewdayswithPeztodopaperworkforanLGBTyouthshelterinBrooklyn.Therearen’tenoughhoursinthedayforAlextofindapretensetogetthere,andnomatterhowmuchtheworldenjoystheirpublicfriendship,they’rerunningoutofplausibleexcusestobeseentogether.
ThistimeisnothingliketheirfirstbreathlesstriptotheDNCin2016.HisdadhadbeenthedelegatetocastthevotesfromCaliforniathatputherover,andtheyallcried.AlexandJuneintroducedtheirmotherbeforeheracceptancespeech,andJune’shandswereshakingbuthisweresteady.Thecrowdroared,andAlex’sheartroaredback.
Thisyear,they’reallfrizzy-hairedandexhaustedfromtryingtorunthecountryandacampaignsimultaneously,andevenonedayoftheDNCisastretch.Onthesecondnightoftheconvention,theypileontoAirForceOnetoNewYork—it’dbeMarineOne,buttheywon’tallfitinonehelicopter.
“Haveyourunacost-benefitanalysisonthis?”Zahraissayingintoherphoneastheytakeoff.“BecauseyouknowI’mright,andtheseassetscanbetransferredatanytimeifyoudisagree.Yes.Yeah,Iknow.Okay.That’swhatIthought.”Alongpause,then,underherbreath,“Loveyoutoo.”
“Um,”Alexsayswhenshe’shungup.“Somethingyou’dliketosharewiththeclass?”
Zahradoesn’tevenlookupfromherphone.“Yes,thatwasmyboyfriend,andno,youmaynotaskmeanyfurtherquestionsabouthim.”
Junehasshutherjournalinsuddeninterest.“Howcouldyoupossiblyhaveaboyfriendwedon’tknowabout?”
“IseeyoumorethanIseecleanunderwear,”Alexsays.
“You’renotchangingyourunderwearoftenenough,sugar,”hismotherinterjectsfromacrossthecabin.
“Igocommandoalot,”Alexsaysdismissively.“Isthislikea‘myCanadiangirlfriend’thing?Doeshe”—hedoesveryanimatedairquotes—“‘gotoadifferentschool’?”
“Youreallyaredeterminedtogetshovedoutofanemergencyhatchoneday,huh?”shesays.“It’slongdistance.Butnotlikethat.Nomorequestions.”
Cashjumpsintoo,insistinghedeservestoknowastheresidentloveguruofthestaff,andthere’sadebateaboutappropriateinformationtosharewithyourcoworkers,whichislaughableconsideringhowmuchCashalreadyknowsaboutAlex’spersonallife.They’recirclingNewYorkwhenJunesuddenlystopstalking,focusedagainonZahra,whohasgonesilent.
“Zahra?”
AlexturnsandseesZahrasittingperfectlystill,suchadeparturefromherusualconstantmotionthateveryoneelsefreezestoo.She’sstaringatherphone,mouthopen.
“Zahra,”hismotherechoesnow,deadlyserious.“What?”
Shelooksupfinally,hergriponherphonetight.“ThePostjustbrokethenameoftheIndependentsenatorjoiningRichards’scabinet,”shesays.“It’snotStanleyConnor.It’sRafaelLuna.”
“No,”Juneissaying.Herheelsaredanglingfromherhand,hereyesbrightinthewarmlightnearthehotelelevatorwherethey’veagreedtomeet.Herhairiscomingoutofitsbraidinangryspikes.“You’redamnluckyIagreedtotalktoyouinthefirstplace,soyougetthisoryougetnothing.”
ThePostreporterblinks,fingersfalteringonhisrecorder.He’sbeenhoundingJuneonherpersonalphonesincetheminutetheylandedinNewYorkforaquoteabouttheconvention,andnowhe’sdemandingsomethingaboutLuna.Juneisnottypicallyanangryperson,butit’sbeenalongday,andshelooksaboutthreesecondsfromusingoneofthoseheelstostabtheguythroughtheeyesocket.
“Whataboutyou?”theguyasksAlex.
“Ifshe’snotgivingittoyou,I’mnotgivingittoyou,”Alexsays.“She’smuchnicerthanme.”
Junesnapsherfingersinfrontoftheguy’shipsterglasses,eyesblazing.“Youdon’tgettospeaktohim,”Junesays.“Hereismyquote:Mymother,thepresident,stillfullyintendstowinthisrace.We’reheretosupportherandtoencouragethepartytostayunitedbehindher.”
“ButaboutSenatorLuna—”
“Thankyou.VoteClaremont,”Junesaystightly,slappingherhandoverAlex’smouth.Shesweepshimoffandintothewaitingelevator,elbowinghimwhenhelicksherpalm.
“Thatgoddamnfuckingtraitor,”Alexsayswhentheyreachtheirfloor.“Duplicitousfuckingbastard!I—Ifuckinghelpedhimgetelected.Icanvassedforhimfortwenty-sevenhoursstraight.Iwenttohissister’swedding.ImemorizedhisgoddamnFiveGuysorder!”
“Ifuckingknow,Alex,”Junesays,shovingherkeycardintotheslot.
“HowdidthatVampireWeekend–lookinglittleshitevenhaveyourpersonalnumber?”
Junethrowshershoesatthebed,andtheybounceoffontothefloorindifferentdirections.“BecauseIsleptwithhimlastyear,Alex,howdoyouthink?You’renottheonlyonewhomakesstupidsexualdecisionswhenyou’restressedout.”Shedropsontothebedandstartstakingoffherearrings.“Ijustdon’tunderstandwhatthepointis.Like,whatisLuna’sendgamehere?Ishesomekindoffuckingsleeperagentsentfromthefuturetogivemeanulcer?”
It’slate—theygotintoNewYorkafternine,hurtlingintocrisismanagementmeetingsforhours.Alexstillfeelswired,butwhenJunelooksupathim,hecanseesomeofthebrightnessinhereyeshasstartedtolooklikefrustratedtears,andhesoftensalittle.
“IfIhadtoguess,Lunathinkswe’regoingtolose,”hetellsherquietly,“andhethinkshecanhelppushRichardsfartherleftbyjoiningtheticket.Like,puttingthefireoutfrominsidethehouse.”
Junelooksathim,eyestired,searchinghisface.Shemaybetheoldest,butpoliticsisAlex’sgame,nothers.Heknowshewouldhavechosenthislifeforhimselfgiventheoption;heknowsshewouldn’thave.
“Ithink…Ineedtosleep.For,like,thenextyear.Atleast.Wakemeupafterthegeneral.”
“Okay,Bug,”Alexsays.Heleansdowntokissthetopofherhead.“Icandothat.”
“Thanks,babybro.”
“Don’tcallmethat.”
“Tiny,miniature,itty-bitty,babybrother.”
“Fuckoff.”
“Gotobed.”
Cashiswaitingforhimoutinthehallway,hissuitabandonedforplainclothes.
“Hanginginthere?”heasksAlex.
“Imean,Ikindofhaveto.”
Cashpatshimontheshoulderwithonegigantichand.“There’sabardownstairs.”
Alexconsiders.“Yeah,okay.”
TheBeekmanisthankfullyquietthislate,andthebarislow-litwithwarm,richshadesofgoldonthewallsanddeep-greenleatheronthehigh-backedbarstools.Alexordersawhiskeyneat.
Helooksathisphone,swallowingdownhisfrustrationwiththewhiskey.HetextedLunathreehoursago,asuccinct:whatthefuck?Anhourago,hegotback:Idon’texpectyoutounderstand.
HewantstocallHenry.Heguessesitmakessense—they’vealwaysbeenfixedpointsineachother’sworlds,littlemagneticpoles.Somelawsofphysicswouldbereassuringrightnow.
God,whiskeymakeshimmaudlin.Heordersanother.
He’scontemplatingtextingHenry,eventhoughhe’sprobablysomewhereovertheAtlantic,whenavoicecurlsaroundhisear,smoothandwarm.He’ssurehemustbeimaginingit.
“I’llhaveaginandtonic,thanks,”itsays,andthere’sHenryintheflesh,sidledupnexttohimatthebar,lookingalittletousledinasoftgraybutton-downandjeans.Alexwondersforaninsanesecondifhisbrainhasconjuredupsomekindofstress-inducedsexmirage,whenHenrysays,voicelowered,“Youlookedrathertragicdrinkingalone.”
DefinitelytherealHenry,then.“You’re—whatareyoudoinghere?”
“Youknow,asafigureheadofoneofthemostpowerfulcountriesintheworld,Idomanagetokeepabreastoninternationalpolitics.”
Alexraisesaneyebrow.
Henryinclineshishead,sheepish.“IsentPezhomewithoutmebecauseIwasworried.”
“Thereitis,”Alexsayswithawink.Hegoesforhisdrinktohidewhathesuspectsisasmall,sadsmile;theiceclacksagainsthisteeth.“Speaknotthebastard’sname.”
“Cheers,”Henrysaysasthebartenderreturnswithhisdrink.
Henrytakesthefirstsip,suckinglimejuiceoffhisthumb,andfuck,helooksgood.There’scolorinhischeeksandlips,theglowofBrooklynsummertimewarmththathisEnglishbloodisn’taccustomedto.HelookslikesomethingsoftanddownyAlexwantstosinkinto,andherealizestheknotofanxietyinhischesthasfinallyslackened.
It’srareanyoneotherthanJunegoesoutoftheirwaytocheckonhim.It’sbyhisowndesign,mostly,abarricadeofcharmandfitfulmonologuesandhard-headedindependence.Henrylooksathimlikehe’snotfooledbyanyofit.
“Getmovingonthatdrink,Wales,”Alexsays.“I’vegotaking-sizebedupstairsthat’scallingmyname.”Heshiftsonhisstool,lettingoneofhiskneesgrazeagainstHenry’sunderthebar,nudgingthemapart.
Henrysquintsathim.“Bossy.”
TheysitthereuntilHenryfinisheshisdrink,AlexlisteningtotheplacatingmurmurofHenrytalkingaboutdifferentbrandsofgin,thankfulthatforonceHenryseemshappytocarrytheconversationalone.Hecloseshiseyes,willsthedisasterofthedayaway,andtriestoforget.HeremembersHenry’swordsinthegardenmonthsago:“D’youeverwonderwhatit’sliketobesomeanonymouspersonoutintheworld?”
Ifhe’ssomeanonymous,normalperson,removedfromhistory,he’stwenty-twoandhe’stipsyandhe’spullingaguyintohishotelroombythebeltloop.He’spullingalipbetweenhisteeth,andhe’sfumblingbehindhisbacktoswitchonalamp,andhe’sthinking,Ilikethisperson.
Theybreakapart,andwhenAlexopenshiseyes,Henryiswatchinghim.
“Areyousureyoudon’twanttotalkaboutit?”
Alexgroans.
Thethingis,hedoes,andHenryknowsthistoo.
“It’s…”Alexstarts.Hepacesbackward,handsonhiships.“Hewassupposedtobemeintwentyyears,youknow?IwasfifteenthefirsttimeImethim,andIwas…inawe.HewaseverythingIwantedtobe.Andhecaredaboutpeople,andaboutdoingtheworkbecauseitwastherightthingtodo,becauseweweremakingpeople’slivesbetter.”
Inthelowlightofthesinglelamp,Alexturnsandsitsdownontheedgeofthebed.
“I’veneverbeenmoresurethatIwantedtogointopoliticsthanwhenIwenttoDenver.Isawthisyoung,queerguywholookedlikeme,sleepingathisdeskbecausehewantskidsatpublicschoolsinhisstatetohavefreelunches,andIwaslike,Icoulddothis.Ihonestlydon’tknowifI’mgoodenoughorsmartenoughtoeverbeeitherofmyparents.ButIcouldbethat.”Hedropshisheaddown.He’sneversaidthelastpartoutloudtoanyonebefore.“AndnowI’msittingherethinking,thatsonofabitchsoldout,somaybeit’sallbullshit,andmaybeIreallyamjustanaivekidwhobelievesinmagicalshitthatdoesn’thappeninreallife.”
HenrycomestostandinfrontofAlex,histhighbrushingagainsttheinsideofAlex’sknee,andhereachesonehanddowntostillAlex’snervousfidgeting.
“Someoneelse’schoicedoesn’tchangewhoyouare.”
“Ifeellikeitdoes,”Alextellshim.“Iwantedtobelieveinsomepeoplebeinggoodanddoingthisjobbecausetheywanttodogood.Doingtherightthingsmostofthetimeandmostthingsfortherightreasons.Iwantedtobethekindofpersonwhobelievesinthat.”
Henry’shandsmove,brushinguptoAlex’sshoulders,thedipofhisthroat,theundersideofhisjaw,andwhenAlexfinallylooksup,Henry’seyesaresoftandsteady.“Youstillare.Becauseyoustillbloodycaresomuch.”HeleansdownandpressesakissintoAlex’shair.“Andyouaregood.Mostthingsareawfulmostofthetime,butyou’regood.”
Alextakesabreath.There’sthiswayHenryhasoflisteningtotheerraticstreamofconsciousnessthatpoursoutofAlex’smouthandansweringwiththeclearest,crystallizedtruththatAlexhasbeentryingtoarriveatallalong.IfAlex’sheadisastorm,Henryistheplacelightninghitsground.Hewantsittobetrue.
HeletsHenrypushhimbackwardonthebedandkisshimuntilhismindisblissfullyblank,letsHenryundresshimcarefully.HepushesintoHenryandfeelsthetightcordsofhisshouldersstarttorelease,likehowHenrydescribesunfurlingasail.
Henrykisseshismouthoverandoveragainandsaysquietly,“Youaregood.”
ThepoundingonhisdoorcomesmuchtooearlyforAlextohandleloudnoises.There’sasharpnesstoitherecognizesinstantlyasZahrabeforesheevenspeaks,andhewonderswhythehellshedidn’tjustcallbeforehereachesforhisphoneandfindsitdead.Shit.Thatwouldexplainthemissedalarm.
“AlexClaremont-Diaz,itisalmostseven,”Zahrashoutsthroughthedoor.“YouhaveastrategymeetinginfifteenminutesandIhaveakey,soIdon’tcarehownakedyouare,ifyoudon’tanswerthisdoorinthenextthirtyseconds,I’mcomingin.”
Heis,herealizesasherubshiseyes,extremelynaked.Acursoryexaminationofthebodypressedupagainsthisback:Henry,verycomprehensivelynakedaswell.
“Ohfuckme,”Alexswears,sittingupsofasthegetstangledinthesheetandflailssidewaysoutofbed.
“Blurgh,”Henrygroans.
“Fuckingshit,”saysAlex,whosevocabularyisapparentlynowonlyexpletives.Heyankshimselffreeandscramblesforhischinos.“Goddammitassfucker.”
“What,”Henrysaysflatlytotheceiling.
“Icanhearyouinthere,Alex,IsweartoGod—”
There’sanothersoundfromthedoor,likeZahrahaskickedit,andHenryfliesoutofbedtoo.Heistrulyapicture,wearinganexpressionofbewilderedpanicandabsolutelynothingelse.Heeyesthecurtainsfurtively,asifconsideringhidinginthem.
“Jesustits,”Alexcontinuesashefumblestopullhispantsup.Hesnatchesashirtandboxersatrandomfromthefloor,shovesthematHenry’schest,andpointshimtowardthecloset.“Getinthere.”
“Quite,”heobserves.
“Yes,wecanunpacktheironicsymbolismlater.Go,”Alexsays,andHenrydoes,andwhenthedoorswingsopen,Zahraisstandingtherewithherthermosandalookonherfacethatsaysshedidnotgetamaster’sdegreetobabysitafullygrownadultwhohappenstoberelatedtothepresident.
“Uh,morning,”hesays.
Zahra’seyesdoaquicksweepoftheroom—thesheetsonthefloor,thetwopillowsthathavebeenslepton,thetwophonesonthenightstand.
“Whoisshe?”shedemands,marchingovertothebathroomandyankingopenthedoorlikeshe’sgoingtofindsomeHollywoodstarletinthebathtub.“Youletherbringaphoneinhere?”
“Nobody,Jesus,”Alexsays,buthisvoicecracksinthemiddle.Zahraarchesaneyebrow.“What?Igotkindadrunklastnight,that’sall.It’schill.”
“Yes,itissovery,verychillthatyou’regoingtobehungoverfortoday,”Zahrasays,roundingonhim.
“I’mfine,”hesays.“It’sfine.”
Asifoncue,there’saseriesofbumpsfromtheothersideoftheclosetdoor,andHenry,halfwayintoAlex’sboxers,comesliterallytumblingoutofthecloset.
Itis,Alexthinkshalf-hysterically,averysolidvisualpun.
“Er,”Henrysaysfromthefloor.HefinishespullingAlex’sboxersuphiships.Blinks.“Hello.”
Thesilencestretches.
“I—”Zahrabegins.“DoIevenwantyoutoexplaintomewhatthefuckishappeninghere?Literallyhowisheevenhere,like,physicallyorgeographically,andwhy—no,nope.Don’tanswerthat.Don’ttellmeanything.”Sheunscrewsthetopofherthermosandtakesapullofcoffee.“OhmyGod,didIdothis?Ineverthought…whenIsetitup…ohmyGod.”
Henryhaspulledhimselfoffthefloorandputonashirt,andhisearsarebrightred.“Ithink,perhaps,ifithelps.Itwas.Er.Ratherinevitable.Atleastforme.Soyoushouldn’tblameyourself.”
Alexlooksathim,tryingtothinkofsomethingtoadd,whenZahrajabsamanicuredfingerintohisshoulder.
“Well,Ihopeitwasfun,becauseifanyoneeverfindsoutaboutthis,we’reallfucked,”Zahrasays.ShepointsatHenry.“Youtoo.CanIassumeIdon’thavetomakeyousignanNDA?”
“I’vealreadysignedoneforhim,”Alexoffersup,whileHenry’searsturnfromredtoanalarmingshadeofpurple.Sixhoursago,hewassinkingdrowsilyintoHenry’schest,andnowhe’sstandingherehalf-naked,talkingaboutthepaperwork.Hefuckinghatespaperwork.“Ithinkthatcoversit.”
“Oh,wonderful,”Zahrasays.“I’msogladyouthoughtthisthrough.Great.Howlonghasthisbeenhappening?”
“Since,um.NewYear’s,”Alexsays.
“NewYear’s?”Zahrarepeats,eyeswide.“Thishasbeengoingonforsevenmonths?That’swhyyou—OhmyGod,Ithoughtyouweregettingintointernationalrelationsorsomething.”
“Imean,technically—”
“Ifyoufinishthatsentence,I’mgonnaspendtonightinjail.”
Alexwinces.“Pleasedon’ttellMom.”
“Seriously?”shehisses.“You’reliterallyputtingyourdickintheleaderofaforeignstate,whoisaman,atthebiggestpoliticaleventbeforetheelection,inahotelfullofreporters,inacityfullofcameras,inaracecloseenoughtofuckinghingeonsomebullshitlikethis,likeamanifestationofmyfuckingstressdreams,andyou’reaskingmenottotellthepresidentaboutit?”
“Um.Yeah?Ihaven’t,um,comeouttoher.Yet.”
Zahrablinks,pressesherlipstogether,andmakesanoiselikeshe’sbeingstrangled.“Listen,”shesays.“Wedon’thavetimetodealwiththis,andyourmotherhasenoughtomanagewithouthavingtoprocessherson’sfuckingquarter-lifeNATOsexualcrisis,so—Iwon’ttellher.Butoncetheconventionisover,youhaveto.”
“Okay,”Alexsaysonanexhale.
“WoulditmakeanydifferenceatallifItoldyounottoseehimagain?”
AlexlooksoveratHenry,lookingrumpledandnauseatedandterrifiedatthecornerofthebed.“No.”
“Godfuckingdammit,”shesays,rubbingtheheelofherhandagainstherforehead.“EverytimeIseeyou,ittakesanotheryearoffmylife.I’mgoingdownstairs,andyoubetterbedressedandthereinfiveminutessowecantrytosavethisgoddamncampaign.Andyou”—sheroundsonHenry—“youneedtogetbacktofuckingEnglandnow,andifanyoneseesyouleave,Iwillpersonallyendyou.AskmeifI’mafraidofthecrown.”
“Dulynoted,”hesaysinafaintvoice.
Zahrafixeshimwithafinalglare,turnsonherheel,andstalksoutoftheroom,slammingthedoorbehindher.NINE
“Okay,”hesays.
Hismothersitsacrossthetable,handsfolded,lookingathimexpectantly.Hispalmsarestartingtosweat.Theroomissmall,oneofthelesserconferenceroomsintheWestWing.Heknowshecouldhaveaskedhertolunchorsomething,but,well,hekindofpanicked.
Heguessesheshouldjustdoit.
“I’vebeen,um,”hestarts.“I’vebeenfiguringsomestuffoutaboutmyself,lately.And…Iwantedtoletyouknow,becauseyou’remymom,andIwantyoutobeapartofmylife,andIdon’twanttohidethingsfromyou.Andalsoit’s,um,relevanttothecampaign,fromanimageperspective.”
“Okay,”Ellensays,hervoiceneutral
“Okay,”herepeats.“Allright.Um.So,I’verealizedI’mnotstraight.I’mactuallybisexual.”
Herexpressionclears,andshelaughs,unclaspingherhands.“Oh,that’sit,sugar?God,Iwasworrieditwasgonnabesomethingworse!”Shereachesacrossthetable,coveringhishandwithhers.“That’sgreat,baby.I’msogladyoutoldme.”
Alexsmilesback,theanxiousbubbleinhischestshrinkingslightly,butthere’sonemorebombtodrop.“Um.There’ssomethingelse.Ikindof…metsomebody.”
Shetiltsherhead.“Youdid?Well,I’mhappyforyou,Ihopeyouhadthemdoallthepaperwork—”
“It’s,uh,”heinterruptsher.“It’sHenry.”
Abeat.Shefrowns,herbrowknittingtogether.“Henry…?”
“Yeah,Henry.”
“Henry,asin…theprince?”
“Yes.”
“OfEngland?”
“Yes.”
“So,notanotherHenry?”
“No,Mom.PrinceHenry.OfWales.”
“Ithoughtyouhatedhim?”shesays.“Or…nowyou’refriendswithhim?”
“Bothtrueatdifferentpoints.Butuh,nowwe’re,like,athing.Havebeen.Athing.For,like,seven-ishmonths?Iguess?”
“I…see.”
Shestaresathimforaverylongminute.Heshiftsuncomfortablyinhischair
Suddenly,herphoneisinherhand,andshe’sstanding,kickingherchairunderthetable.“Okay,I’mclearingmyschedulefortheafternoon,”shesays.“Ineed,uh,timetopreparesomematerials.Areyoufreeinanhour?Wecanreconvenehere.I’llorderfood.Bring,uh,yourpassportandanyreceiptsandrelevantdocumentsyouhave,sugar.”
Shedoesn’twaittohearifhe’sfree,justwalksbackwardoutoftheroomanddisappearsintothecorridor.Thedoorisn’tevenfinishedclosingwhenanotificationpopsuponhisphone.CALENDARREQUESTFROMMOM:2P.M.WESTWINGFIRSTFLOOR,INTERNATIONALETHICS&SEXUALIDENTITYDEBRIEF.
Anhourlater,thereareseveralcartonsofChinesefoodandaPowerPointcuedup.Thefirstslidesays:SEXUALEXPERIMENTATIONWITHFOREIGNMONARCHS:AGRAYAREA.Alexwondersifit’stoolatetoswandiveofftheroof.
“Okay,”shesayswhenhesitsdown,inalmostexactlythesametoneheusedonherearlier.“Beforewestart,I—Iwanttobeclear,Iloveyouandsupportyoualways.Butthisis,quitefrankly,alogisticalandethicalclusterfuck,soweneedtomakesurewehaveourducksinarow.Okay?”
Thenextslideistitled:EXPLORINGYOURSEXUALITY:HEALTHY,BUTDOESITHAVETOBEWITHTHEPRINCEOFENGLAND?Sheapologizesfornothavingtimetocomeupwithbettertitles.Alexactivelywishesforthesweetreleaseofdeath
Theoneafteris:FEDERALFUNDING,TRAVELEXPENSES,BOOTYCALLS,ANDYOU.
She’smostlyconcernedwithmakingsurehehasn’tusedanyfederallyfundedprivatejetstoseeHenryforexclusivelypersonalvisits—hehasn’t—andwithmakinghimfilloutabunchofpaperworktocoverboththeirasses.Itfeelsclinicalandwrong,checkinglittleboxesabouthisrelationship,especiallywhenhalfareaskingthingshehasn’tevendiscussedwithHenryyet.
It’sagonizing,buteventuallyit’sover,andhedoesn’tdie,whichissomething.Hismothertakesthelastformandsealsitupinanenvelopewiththerest.Shesetsitasideandtakesoffherreadingglasses,settingthoseasidetoo.
“So,”shesays.“Here’sthething.IknowIputalotonyou.ButIdoitbecauseItrustyou.You’readumbass,butItrustyou,andItrustyourjudgment.IpromisedyouyearsagoIwouldnevertellyoutobeanythingyou’renot.SoI’mnotgonnabethepresidentorthemotherwhoforbidsyoufromseeinghim.”
Shetakesanotherbreath,waitingforAlextonodthatheunderstands.
“But,”shegoeson,“thisisareally,reallybigfuckingdeal.Thisisnotjustsomepersonfromclassorsomeintern.Youneedtothinkreallylongandhardbecauseyouareputtingyourselfandyourcareerand,aboveall,thiscampaignandthisentireadministration,indangerhere.Iknowyou’reyoung,butthisisaforeverdecision.Evenifyoudon’tstaywithhimforever,ifpeoplefindout,thatstickswithyouforever.Soyouneedtofigureoutifyoufeelforeverabouthim.Andifyoudon’t,youneedtocutitthefuckout.”
Sherestsherhandsonthetableinfrontofher,andthesilencehangsintheairbetweenthem.Alexfeelslikehisheartiscaughtsomewherebetweenhistonsils.
Forever.Itseemslikeanimpossiblyhugeword,somethinghe’ssupposedtogrowintotenyearsfromnow.
“Also,”shesays.“Iamsosorrytodothis,sugar.Butyou’reoffthecampaign.”
Alexsnapsbackintorazorsharpreality,stomachplummeting.
“Wait,no—”
“Thisisnotupfordebate,Alex,”shetellshim,andshedoeslooksorry,butheknowsthesetofherjawtoowell.“Ican’triskthis.You’rewaytooclosetothesun.We’retellingthepressyou’refocusingonothercareeroptions.I’llhaveyourdeskcleanedoutforyouovertheweekend.”
Sheholdsoutonehand,andAlexlooksdownintoherpalm,theworriedlinesthere,untiltherealizationclicks.
Hereachesintohispocket,pullsouthiscampaignbadge.Thefirstartifactofhisentirecareer,acareerhe’smanagedtoderailinamatterofmonths.Andhehandsitover.
“Oh,onelastthing,”shesays,hertonesuddenlybusinesslikeagain,shufflingsomethingfromthebottomofherfiles.“IknowTexaspublicschoolsdon’thavesexedforshit,andwedidn’tgooverthiswhenwehadthetalk—whichisonmeforassuming—soIjustwantedtomakesureyouknowyoustillneedtobeusingcondomsevenifyou’rehavinganalinterc—”
“Okay,thanks,Mom!”Alexhalfyells,nearlyknockingoverhischairinhisrushforthedoor.
“Wait,honey,”shecallsafterhim,“IhadPlannedParenthoodsendoverallthesepamphlets,takeone!Theysentabikemessengerandeverything!”
Amassoffoolsandknaves
A<agcd@eclare45.com>????????????????8/10/201:04AM
toHenry
H,
HaveyoueverreadanyofAlexanderHamilton’sletterstoJohnLaurens?
WhatamIsaying?Ofcourseyouhaven’t.You’dprobablybedisinheritedforrevolutionarysympathies.
Well,sinceIgotthebootfromthecampaign,thereisliterallynothingformetodobutwatchcablenews(diligentlychippingawayatmybraincellsbytheday),rereadHarryPotter,andsortthroughallmyoldshitfromcollege.Justlookingatpapers,thinking:Excellent,yes,I’msogladIstayedupallnightwritingthisfora98intheclass,onlytogetsummarilyfiredfromthefirstjobIeverhadandexiledtomybedroom!Greatjob,Alex!
Isthishowyoufeelinthepalaceallthetime?Itfuckingsucks,man.
Soanyway,I’mgoingthroughmycollegestuff,andIfindthisanalysisIdidofHamilton’swartimecorrespondence,andhearmeout:IthinkHamiltoncouldhavebeenbi.HisletterstoLaurensarealmostasromanticashisletterstohiswife.Halfofthemaresigned“Yours”or“Affectionatelyyrs,”andthelastonebeforeLaurensdiedissigned“Yrsforever.”Ican’tfigureoutwhynobodytalksaboutthepossibilityofaFoundingFatherbeingnotstraight(outsideofChernow’sbiography,whichisgreatbtw,seeattachedbibliography).Imean,Iknowwhy,but.
Anyway,IfoundthispartofaletterhewrotetoLaurens,anditmademethinkofyou.Andme,Iguess:
ThetruthisIamanunluckyhonestman,thatspeakmysentimentstoallandwithemphasis.Isaythistoyoubecauseyouknowitandwillnotchargemewithvanity.IhateCongress—Ihatethearmy—Ihatetheworld—Ihatemyself.Thewholeisamassoffoolsandknaves;Icouldalmostexceptyou…
ThinkingabouthistorymakesmewonderhowI’llfitintoitoneday,Iguess.Andyoutoo.Ikindawishpeoplestillwrotelikethat.
History,huh?Betwecouldmakesome.
Affectionatelyyrs,slowlygoinginsane,
Alex,FirstSonofFoundingFatherSacrilege
Re:Amassoffoolsandknaves
Henry<hwales@kensingtonemail.com>????????????????8/10/204:18AM
toA
Alex,FirstSonofMasturbatoryHistoricalReadings:
Thephrase“seeattachedbibliography”isthesinglesexiestthingyouhaveeverwrittentome.
EverytimeyoumentionyourslowdecayinsidetheWhiteHouse,Ican’thelpbutfeelit’smyfault,andIfeelabsolutelyshitaboutit.I’msorry.Ishouldhaveknownbetterthantoturnupatathinglikethat.Igotcarriedaway;Ididn’tthink.Iknowhowmuchthatjobmeanttoyou.
Ijustwantto…youknow.Extendtheoption.Ifyouwantedlessofme,andmoreofthat—thework,theuncomplicatedthings—Iwouldunderstand.Truly.
Inanyevent…Believeitornot,IhaveactuallydoneabitofreadingonHamilton,foranumberofreasons.First,hewasabrilliantwriter.Second,Iknewyouwerenamedafterhim(thepairofyoushareanalarmingnumberoftraits,bytheby:passionatedetermination,neverknowingwhentoshutup,&c&c).Andthird,somesaucytartoncetriedtoimpugnmyvirtueagainstanoilpaintingofhim,andinthehallsofmemory,somethingsdemandcontext.
Areyouanglingforarevolutionarysoldierrole-playscenario?Imustinformyou,anytraceofKingGeorgeIIIbloodIhavewouldcurdleinmyveryveinsandrendermeuselesstoyou.
Orareyousuggestingyou’dratherexchangepassionatelettersbycandlelight?
ShouldItellyouthatwhenwe’reapart,yourbodycomesbacktomeindreams?ThatwhenIsleep,Iseeyou,thedipofyourwaist,thefreckleaboveyourhip,andwhenIwakeupinthemorning,itfeelslikeI’vejustbeenwithyou,thephantomtouchofyourhandonthebackofmyneckfreshandnotimagined?ThatIcanfeelyourskinagainstmine,anditmakeseveryboneinmybodyache?That,forafewmoments,Icanholdmybreathandbebacktherewithyou,inadream,inathousandrooms,nowhereatall?
IthinkperhapsHamiltonsaiditbetterinalettertoEliza:
Youengrossmythoughtstoointirelytoallowmetothinkofanythingelse—younotonlyemploymymindallday;butyouintrudeuponmysleep.Imeetyouineverydream—andwhenIwakeIcannotclosemyeyesagainforruminatingonyoursweetness.
Ifyoudiddecidetotaketheoptionmentionedatthestartofthisemail,Idohopeyouhaven’treadtherestofthisrubbish.
Regards,
HaplesslyRomanticHereticPrinceHenrytheUtterlyDaft
Re:Amassoffoolsandknaves
A<agcd@eclare45.com>????????????????8/10/205:36AM
toHenry
H,
Pleasedon’tbestupid.Nopartofanyofthiswilleverbeuncomplicated
Anyway,youshouldbeawriter.Youareawriter.
Evenafterallthis,IstillalwaysfeellikeIwanttoknowmoreofyou.Doesthatsoundcrazy?Ijustsithereandwonder,whoisthispersonwhoknowsstuffaboutHamiltonandwriteslikethis?Wheredoessomeonelikethatevencomefrom?HowwasIsowrong?
It’sweirdbecauseIalwaysknowthingsaboutpeople,gutfeelingsthatusuallyleadmeinmoreorlesstherightdirection.IdothinkIgotagutfeelingwithyou,Ijustdidn’thavewhatIneededinmyheadtounderstandit.ButIkindofkeptchasingitanyway,likeIwasjustgoingblindlyinacertaindirectionandhopingforthebest.IguessthatmakesyoutheNorthStar?
Iwannaseeyouagainandsoon.Ikeepreadingthatoneparagraphoverandoveragain.Youknowwhichone.Iwantyoubackherewithme.IwantyourbodyandIwanttherestofyoutoo.AndIwanttogetthefuckoutofthishouse.WatchingJuneandNoraonTVdoingappearanceswithoutmeistorture.
Wehavethisannualthingatmydad’slakehouseinTexas.Wholelongweekendoffthegrid.There’salakewithapier,andmydadalwayscookssomethingfuckingamazing.Youwannacome?Ikindofcan’tstopthinkingaboutyouallsunburnedandprettysittingoutthereinthecountry.It’stheweekendafternext.IfShaancantalktoZahraorsomebodyaboutflyingyouintoAustin,wecanpickyouupfromthere.Sayyes?
Yrs,
Alex
P.S.AllenGinsbergtoPeterOrlovsky—1958:
ThoIlongfortheactualsunlightcontactbetweenusImissyoulikeahome.Shinebackhoney&thinkofme.
Re:Amassoffoolsandknaves
Henry<hwales@kensingtonemail.com>????????????????8/10/208:22PM
toA
Alex,
IfI’mnorth,IshuddertothinkwhereinGod’snamewe’regoing.
I’mruminatingonidentityandyourquestionaboutwhereapersonlikemecomesfrom,andasbestasIcanexplainit,here’sastory:
Once,therewasayoungprincewhowasborninacastle.Hismotherwasaprincessscholar,andhisfatherwasthemosthandsome,fearedknightinalltheland.Asaboy,peoplewouldbringhimeverythinghecouldeverdreamofwanting.Themostbeautifulsilkclothes,ripefruitfromtheorangery.Attimes,hewassohappy,hefelthewouldnevergrowtiredofbeingaprince.
Hecamefromalong,longlineofprinces,butneverbeforehadtherebeenaprincequitelikehim:bornwithhisheartontheoutsideofhisbody.
Whenhewassmall,hisfamilywouldsmileandlaughandsayhewouldgrowoutofitoneday.Butashegrew,itstayedwhereitwas,redandvisibleandalive.Hedidn’tminditverymuch,buteveryday,thefamily’sfeargrewthatthepeopleofthekingdomwouldsoonnoticeandturntheirbacksontheprince.
Hisgrandmother,thequeen,livedinahightower,whereshespokeonlyoftheotherprinces,pastandpresent,whowerebornwhole.
Then,theprince’sfather,theknight,wasstruckdowninbattle.Thelancetoreopenhisarmorandhisbodyandlefthimbleedinginthedust.Andso,whenthequeensentnewclothes,armorfortheprincetoparcelhisheartawaysafe,theprince’smotherdidnotstopher.Forshewasafraid,now:afraidofherson’shearttornopentoo.
Sotheprinceworeit,andformanyyears,hebelieveditwasright.
Untilhemetthemostdevastatinglygorgeouspeasantboyfromanearbyvillagewhosaidabsolutelyghastlythingstohimthatmadehimfeelaliveforthefirsttimeinyearsandwhoturnedouttobethemostmadsortofsorcerer,onewhocouldconjureupthingslikegoldandvodkashotsandapricottartsoutofabsolutelynothing,andtheprince’swholelifewentupinapuffofdazzlingpurplesmoke,andthekingdomsaid,“Ican’tbelievewe’reallsosurprised.”
I’minforthelakehouse.Imustadmit,I’mgladyou’regettingoutofthehouse.Iworryyoumayburnthethingdown.DoesthismeanI’llbemeetingyourfather?
Imissyou.
x
Henry
P.S.Thisismortifyingandmaudlinand,honestly,Ihopeyouforgetitassoonasyou’vereadit.
P.P.S.FromHenryJamestoHendrikC.Andersen,1899:
MaytheterrificU.S.A.bemeanwhilenotabrutetoyou.Ifeelinyouaconfidence,dearBoy–whichtoshowisajoytome.Myhopesanddesiresandsympathiesrightheartilyandmostfirmly,gowithyou.Sokeepupyourheart,andtellme,asitshapesitself,your(inevitably,Iimagine,moreorlessweird)Americanstory.May,atanyrate,tuttaquellagentebegoodtoyou.
“Donot,”Norasays,leaningoverthepassengerseat.“Thereisasystemandyoumustrespectthesystem.”
“Idon’tbelieveinsystemswhenI’monvacation,”Junesays,herbodyfoldedhalfwayoverAlex’s,tryingtoslapNora’shandoutoftheway.
“It’smath,”Norasays.
“Mathhasnoauthorityhere,”Junetellsher.
“Mathiseverywhere,June.”
“Getoffme,”Alexsays,shovingJuneoffhisshoulder.
“You’resupposedtobackmeuponthis!”Juneyelps,pullinghishairandreceivingaveryuglyfaceinresponse.
“I’llletyoulookatoneboob,”Noratellshim.“Thegoodone.”
“They’rebothgood,”Junesays,suddenlydistracted.
“I’veseenbothofthem.Icanpracticallyseebothofthemnow,”Alexsays,gesturingatwhatNoraiswearingfortheday,whichisarattypairofshortoverallsandthemostperfunctoryofbra-likethings.
“Hashtagvacationnips,”shesays.“Pleeeeeease.”
Alexsighs.“Sorry,Bug,butNoradidputmorehoursintoherplaylist,sosheshouldgettheauxcord.”
There’sacombinationofgirlsoundsfromthebackseat,disgustandtriumph,andNoraplugsherphonein,swearingshe’sdevelopedsomekindoffoolproofalgorithmfortheperfectroadtripplaylist.Thefirsttrumpetsof“LocoinAcapulco”bytheFourTopsblast,andAlexfinallypullsoutofthegasstation.
Thejeepisarefurb,aprojecthisdadtookonwhenAlexwasaroundten.ItlivesinCalifornianow,buthedrivesitintoTexasonceayearforthisweekend,leavesitinAustinsoAlexandJunecandriveitin.Alexlearnedtodriveonesummerinthevalleyinthisjeep,andtheacceleratorfeelsjustasgoodunderhisfootnowashefallsintoformationwithtwoblackSecretServiceSUVsandheadsfortheinterstate.Hehardlyevergetstodrivehimselfanywhereanymore.
Theskyiswideopenandbluebonnetblueformiles,thesunlowandheavywithanearlymorningstart,andAlexhashissunglassesonandhisarmsbareandthedoorsandroofoff.Hecranksupthestereoandfeelslikehecouldthrowanythingawayonthewindwhippingthroughhishairanditwouldjustfloatawaylikeitneverwas,asifnothingmattersbuttherushandskipinhischest.
Butit’sallrightbehindthehazeofdopamine:losingthecampaignjob,therestlessdayspacinghisroom,Doyoufeelforeverabouthim?
Hetipshischinuptothewarm,stickyhometownair,catcheshisowneyeintherearviewmirror.Helooksbronzedandsoft-mouthedandyoung,aTexasboy,thesamekidhewaswhenheleftforDC.So,nomorebigthoughtsfortoday.
OutsidethehangarareahandfulofPPOsandHenryinashort-sleevedchambray,shorts,andapairoffashionablesunglasses,Burberryweekenderoveroneshoulder—agoddamnsummerdream.Nora’splaylisthasseguedinto“HereYouComeAgain”byDollyPartonbythetimeAlexswingsoutofthesideofthejeepbyonearm.
“Yes,hello,hello,it’sgoodtoseeyoutoo!”HenryissayingfromsomewhereinsideasmotheringhugfromJuneandNora.AlexbiteshislipandwatchesHenrysqueezetheirwaistsinreturn,andthenAlexhashim,inhalingthecleansmellofhim,laughingintothecrookofhisneck.
“Hi,love,”hehearsHenrysayquietly,privately,rightintothehairabovehisear,andAlex’sbreathforgetshowtodoanythingbutlaughhelplessly.
“Drums,please!”eruptsfromthejeep’sstereoandthebeaton“Summertime”kicksin,andAlexwhoopshisapproval.OnceHenry’ssecurityteamhasfalleninwiththeSecretServicecars,they’reoff.
Henryisgrinningwidebesidehimastheycruisedown45,happilyboppinghisheadalongtothemusic,andAlexcan’thelpglancingoverathim,feelinggiddythatHenry—Henrytheprince—ishere,inTexas,cominghomewithhim.JunepullsfourbottlesofMexicanCokeoutofthecoolerunderherseatandpassesthemaround,andHenrytakesthefirstsipandpracticallymelts.AlexreachesoverandtakesHenry’sfreehandintohisown,lacingtheirfingerstogetherontheconsolebetweenthem.
IttakesanhourandahalftogetouttoLakeLBJfromAustin,andwhentheystartweavingtheirwaytowardthewater,Henryasks,“WhyisitcalledLakeLBJ?”
“Nora?”Alexsays.
“LakeLBJ,”Norasays,“orLakeLyndonB.Johnson,isoneofsixreservoirsformedbydamsontheColoradoRiverknownastheTexasHighlandLakes.MadepossiblebyLBJenactingtheRuralElectrificationActwhenhewaspresident.AndLBJhadaplaceouthere.”
“That’strue,”Alexsays.
“Also,funfact:LBJwasobsessedwithhisowndick,”Noraadds.“HecalleditJumboandwouldwhipitoutallthetime.Like,infrontofcolleagues,reporters,anybody.”
“Alsotrue.”
“Americanpolitics,”Henrysays.“Trulyfascinating.”
“Youwannatalk,HenryVIII?”Alexsays.
“Anyway,”Henrysaysairily,“howlonghaveyoulotcomeouthere?”
“DadboughtitwhenheandMomsplitup,sowhenIwastwelve,”Alextellshim.“Hewantedtohaveaplaceclosetousafterhemoved.Weusedtospendsomuchtimehereinthesummers.”
“Aw,Alex,rememberwhenyougotdrunkforthefirsttimeouthere?”Junesays.
“Strawberrydaiquirisallday.”
“Youthrewupsomuch,”shesaysfondly.
Theypullintoadrivewayflankedbythicktreesanddriveuptothehouseatthetopofthehill,thesameoldvibrantorangeexteriorandsmootharches,tallcactusesandaloeplants.Hismomwasneverintothewholehaciendaschoolofhomedecor,sohisdadwentallinwhenheboughtthelakehouse,talltealdoorsandheavywoodenbeamsandSpanishtileaccentsinpinksandreds.There’sabigwrap-aroundporchandstairsleadingdownthehilltothedock,andallthewindowsfacingthewaterhavebeenflungopen,thecurtainsdriftingoutonawarmbreeze.
Theirteamsfallbacktochecktheperimeter—they’rerentingouttheplacenextdoorforaddedprivacyandtheobligatorysecuritypresence.HenryeffortlesslyliftsJune’scoolerupontooneshoulderandAlexpointedlydoesnotswoonaboutit.
There’stheloudyellofOscarDiazcomingaroundthecorner,drippingandapparentlyfreshfromaswim.He’swearinghisoldbrownhuarachesandapairofswimtrunkswithparrotsonthem,botharmsextendedtothesun,andJuneissummarilyscoopedupintothem.
“CJ!”hesaysashespinsheraroundanddepositsheronthestuccorailing.Noraisnext,andthenabone-crushinghugforAlex.
Henrystepsforward,andOscarlookshimupanddown—theBurberrybag,thecooleronhisshoulder,theelegantsmile,theextendedhand.HisdadhadbeenconfusedbutultimatelywillingtorollwithitwhenAlexaskedifhecouldbringafriendandcasuallymentionedthefriendwouldbethePrinceofWales.He’snotsurehowthiswillgo.
“Hello,”Henrysays.“Goodtomeetyou.I’mHenry.”
OscarslapshishandintoHenry’s.“Hopeyou’rereadytofuckingparty.”
Oscarmaybethecookofthefamily,butAlex’smomwastheonewhogrilled.Itdidn’talwaystrackinPembertonHeights—hisMexicandadinthehousediligentlysoakingatreslecheswhilehisblondmomstoodoutintheyardflippingburgers—butitworked.Alexdeterminedlypickedupthebestfrombothofthem,andnowhe’stheonlyoneherewhocanhandleracksofribswhileOscardoestherest.
Thekitchenofthelakehousefacesthewater,alwayssmellinglikecitrusandsaltandherbs,andhisdadkeepsitstockedwithplumptomatoesandclay-softavocadoswhenthey’revisiting.He’sstandinginfrontofthebigopenwindowsnow,threeracksofribsspreadoutonpansonthecounterinfrontofhim.Hisdadisatthesink,shuckingearsofcornandhummingalongtoanoldChenterecord.
Brownsugar.Smokedpaprika.Onionpowder.Chilipowder.Garlicpowder.Cayennepepper.Salt.Pepper.Morebrownsugar.Alexmeasureseachoneoutwithhishandsanddumpsthemintothebowl.
Downbythedock,JuneandNoraareembroiledinwhatlookslikeanimprovisedjoustingmatch,chargingateachotheronthebacksofinflatableanimalswithpoolnoodles.Henryistipsyandshirtlessandattemptingtoreferee,standingonthedockwithonefootonapilingandwavingabottleofShineraroundlikeamadman.
Alexsmilesalittletohimself,watchingthem.Henryandhisgirls.
“So,youwannatalkaboutit?”sayshisfather’svoice,inSpanish,fromsomewheretohisleft.
Alexjumpsalittle,startled.Hisdadhasrelocatedtothebarafewfeetdownfromhim,mixingupabigbatchofcotijaandcremaandseasoningsforelotes.
“Uh.”Hashebeenthatobviousalready?
“AboutRaf.”
Alexexhales,hisshouldersdropping,andreturnshisattentiontothedryrub
“Ah.Thatmotherfucker,”hesays.They’veonlybroachedthetopicinpassingobscenitiesovertextsincethenewsbroke.There’samutualstingofbetrayal.“Doyouhaveanyideawhathe’sthinking?”
“Idon’thaveanythingkindertosayabouthimthanyoudo.AndIdon’thaveanexplanationeither.But…”Hepausesthoughtfully,stillstirring.Alexcansensehimweighingoutseveralthoughtsatonce,asheoftendoes.“Idon’tknow.Afterallthistime,Iwanttobelievethere’sareasonforhimtoputhimselfinthesameroomasJeffreyRichards.ButIcan’tfigureoutwhat.”
Alexthinksabouttheconversationheoverheardinthehousekeeper’soffice,wonderingifhisdadisevergoingtolethiminonthefullpicture.Hedoesn’tknowhowtoaskwithoutrevealingthatheliterallyclimbedintoabushtoeavesdroponthem.Hisdad’srelationshipwithLunahasalwaysbeenlikethat—grown-uptalk.
Alexwasatthefund-raiserforOscar’sSenaterunwheretheyfirstmetLuna,Alexonlyfifteenandalreadytakingnotes.Lunashowedupwithaprideflagunapologeticallystuckinhislapel;Alexwrotethatdown.
“Why’dyoupickhim?”Alexasks.“Irememberthatcampaign.Wemetalotofpeoplewhowould’vemadegreatpoliticians.Whywouldn’tyoupicksomeoneeasiertoelect?”
“Youmean,why’dIrollthediceonthegayone?”
Alexconcentratesonkeepinghisfaceneutral.
“Iwasn’tgonnaputitlikethat,”hesays,“butyeah.”
“Rafevertellyouhisparentskickedhimoutwhenhewassixteen?”
Alexwinces.“Iknewhehadahardtimebeforecollege,buthedidn’tspecify.”
“Yeah,theydidn’ttakethenewssowell.Hehadaroughcoupleofyears,butitmadehimtough.Thenightwemethim,itwasthefirsttimehe’dbeenbackinCaliforniasincehegotkickedout,buthewasdamnsuregonnacomeintosupportabrotheroutofMexicoCity.ItwaslikewhenZahrashowedupatyourmom’sofficeinAustinandsaidshewantedtoprovethebastardswrong.Youknowafighterwhenyouseeone.”
“Yeah,”Alexsays.
There’sanotherpauseofChentecrooninginthebackgroundwhilehisdadstirs,beforehespeaksagain.
“Youknow…”hesays.“Thatsummer,Isentyoutoworkonhiscampaignbecauseyou’rethebestpointmanIgot.Iknewyoucoulddoit.ButIreallythoughttherewasalotyoucouldlearnfromhimtoo.Yougotalotincommon.”
Alexsaysnothingforalongmoment.
“Igottabehonest,”hisdadsays,andwhenAlexlooksupagain,he’swatchingthewindow.“Ithoughtaprincewouldbemoreofacandy-ass.”
Alexlaughs,glancingbackoutatHenry,theswayofhisbackundertheafternoonsun.“He’stougherthanhelooks.”
“NotbadforaEuropean,”hisdadsays.“BetterthanhalftheidiotsJune’sbroughthome.”Alex’shandsfreeze,andhisheadjerksbacktohisdad,who’sstillstirringwithhisheavywoodenspoon,faceimpartial.“Halfthegirlsyou’vebroughtaroundtoo.NotbetterthanNora,though.She’llalwaysbemyfavorite.”Alexstaresathim,untilhisdadfinallylooksup.“What?You’renotassubtleasyouthink.”
“I—Idon’tknow,”Alexsputters.“Ithoughtyoumightneedto,like,haveaCatholicmomentaboutthisorsomething?”
Hisdadslapshimonthebicepwiththespoon,leavingasplatterofcremaandcheesebehind.“Havealittlemorefaithinyouroldmanthanthat,eh?Alittleappreciationforthepatronsaintofgender-neutralbathroomsinCalifornia?Littleshit.”
“Okay,okay,sorry!”Alexsays,laughing.“Ijustknowit’sdifferentwhenit’syourownkid.”
Hisdadlaughstoo,rubbingahandoverhisgoatee.“It’sreallynot.Nottome,anyway.Iseeyou.”
Alexsmilesagain.“Iknow.”
“Doesyourmaknow?”
“Yeah,Itoldheracoupleweeksago.”
“How’dshetakeit?”
“Imean,shedoesn’tcarethatI’mbi.Shekindoffreakedoutitwashim.TherewasaPowerPoint.”
“Thatsoundsaboutright.”
“Shefiredme.And,uh.ShetoldmeIneedtofigureoutifthewayIfeelabouthimisworththerisk.”
“Well,isit?”
Alexgroans.“Please,fortheloveofGod,donotaskme.I’monvacation.Iwanttogetdrunkandeatbarbecueinpeace.”
Hisdadlaughsruefully.“Youknow,inalotofways,yourmomandmewereastupididea.Ithinkwebothknewitwouldn’tbeforever.We’rebothtoofuckingproud.ButGod,thatwoman.Yourmotheris,withoutquestion,theloveofmylife.I’llneverloveanyoneelselikethat.Itwaswildfire.AndIgotyouandJuneoutofit,bestthingsthateverhappenedtoanoldassholelikeme.Thatkindofloveisrare,evenifitwasacompletedisaster.”Hesuckshisteeth,considering.“Sometimesyoujustjumpandhopeit’snotacliff.”
Alexcloseshiseyes.“Areyoudonewithdadmonologuesfortheday?”
“You’resuchashit,”hesays,throwingakitchentowelathishead.“Goputtheribson.Iwannaeattoday.”HecallsafterAlex’sback,“Youtwobettertakethebunkbedstonight!SantaMariaiswatching!”
Theyeatlaterthatevening,bigpilesofelotes,porktamaleswithsalsaverde,aclaypotoffrijolescharros,ribs.Henrygamelypileshisplatewithsomeofeachandeyeballsitasifwaitingforittorevealitssecretstohim,andAlexrealizesHenryhasnevereatenbarbecuewithhishandsbefore.
AlexdemonstratesandwatcheswithpoorlyconcealedgleeasHenrygingerlypicksuparibwithhisfingertipsandconsidershisapproach,cheeringasHenrydivesinface-firstandripsahunkofmeatoffwithhisteeth.Hechewsproudly,ahugesmearofbarbecuesauceacrosshisupperlipandthetipofhisnose.
Hisdadkeepsanoldguitarinthelivingroom,andJunebringsitoutontheporchsothetwoofthemcanpassitbackandforth.Nora,oneofAlex’schambraysthrownonoverherbikini,floatsbarefootinandout,keepingalltheirglassesfilledfromapitcherofsangriabrimmingwithwhitepeachesandblackberries.
TheysitaroundthefirepitandplayoldJohnnyCashsongs,Selena,FleetwoodMac.Alexsitsandlistenstothecicadasandthewaterandhisdad’sroughrangervoice,andwhenhisdadslumpsofftobed,June’ssongbirdone.Hefeelswrappedupandwarm,turningslowlyunderthemoon.
HeandHenrydrifttoaswingattheedgeoftheporch,andhecurlsintoHenry’sside,burieshisfaceinthecollarofhisshirt.Henryputsanarmaroundhim,touchesthehingeofAlex’sjawwithfingersthatsmelllikesmoke.
Juneplucksawayat“Annie’sSong,”youfillupmysenseslikeanightinaforest,andthebreezekeepsmovingtomeetthehighestbranchesofthetrees,andthewaterkeepsrisingtomeetthebulkheads,andHenryleansdowntomeetAlex’smouth,andAlexis.Well,Alexissoinlovehecoulddie.
Alexfallsoutofbedthefollowingmorningwithalow-gradehangoverandoneofHenry’sswimsuitstangledaroundhiselbow.Theydid,technically,sleepinseparatebunks.Theyjustdidn’tstartthere.
Overthekitchensink,hechugsaglassofwaterandstaresoutthewindow,thesunblindingandbrightonthelake,andthere’sanincandescentlittlestoneofcertaintyatthebottomofhischest.
It’sthisplace—theabsoluteseparationfromDC,thefamiliaroldsmellsofcedartreesanddriedchiledeárbol,thesanityofit.Theroots.Hecouldgooutsideanddighisfingersintothespringygroundandunderstandanythingabouthimself.
Andhedoesunderstand,really.HelovesHenry,andit’snothingnew.He’sbeenfallinginlovewithHenryforyears,probablysincehefirstsawhiminglossyprintonthepagesofJ14,almostdefinitelysinceHenrypinnedAlextothefloorofamedicalsupplyclosetandtoldhimtoshutthehellup.Thatlong.Thatmuch.
Hesmilesashereachesforafryingpan,becauseheknowsit’sexactlythekindofinsaneriskhecan’tresist.
BythetimeHenrycomeswanderingintothekitcheninhispajamas,there’sanentirebreakfastspreadonthelonggreentable,andAlexisatthestove,flippinghisdozenthpancake.
“Isthatanapron?”
Alexflourishestowardthepolka-dottedthinghe’sgotonoverhisboxerswithhisfreehand,asifshowingoffoneofhistailoredsuits.“Morning,sweetheart.”
“Sorry,”Henrysays.“Iwaslookingforsomeoneelse.Handsome,petulant,short,notpleasantuntilaftertena.m.?Haveyouseenhim?”
“Fuckoff,five-nineisaverage.”
Henrycrossestheroomwithalaughandnudgesupbehindhimatthestovetopeckhimonthecheek.“Love,youandIbothknowyou’reroundingup.”
It’sonlyasteponthewaytothecoffeemaker,butAlexreachesbackandgetsahandinHenry’shairbeforehecanmove,pullinghimintoakissonthemouththistime.Henryhuffsalittleinsurprisebutreturnsitfully.
Alexforgets,momentarily,aboutthepancakesandeverythingelse,notbecausehewantstodoabsolutelyfilthythingstoHenry—maybeevenwiththeapronstillon—butbecauseheloveshim,andisn’tthatwild,toknowthatthat’swhatmakesthefilthythingssogood.
“Ididn’trealizethiswasajazzbrunch,”saysNora’svoicesuddenly,andHenryspringsbackwardsofasthealmostputshisassinthebowlofbatter.Shesidlesuptotheforgottencoffeemaker,grinningslylyatthem.
“Thatdoesn’tseemsanitary,”Juneissayingwithayawnasshefoldsherselfintoachairatthetable.
“Sorry,”Henrysayssheepishly.
“Don’tbe,”Noratellshim.
“I’mnot,”Alexsays.
“I’mhungover,”Junesaysasshereachesforthepitcherofmimosas.“Alex,youdidallthis?”
Alexshrugs,andJunesquintsathim,blearybutknowing.
Thatafternoon,overthesoundsoftheboat’sengine,HenrytalkstoAlex’sdadaboutthesailboatsthatjutupfromthehorizon,gettingintoacomplexdiscussiononoutboardmotorsthatAlexcan’thopetofollow.Heleansbackagainstthebowandwatches,andit’ssoeasytoimagineit:afutureHenrywhocomestothelakehousewithhimeverysummer,wholearnshowtomakeelotesandtiesneatcleathitchesandfitsrightintoplaceinhisweirdfamily.
Theygoswimming,yelloveroneanotheraboutpolitics,passtheguitararoundagain.HenrytakesaphotoofhimselfwithJuneandNora,oneundereacharmandbothintheirbikinis.Noraisholdinghischininonehandandlickingthesideofhisface,andJunehasherfingerstangledupinhishairandherheadinthecrookofhisneck,smilingangelicallyatthecamera.HesendsittoPezandreceivesanguishedkeysmashesandcryingemojisinresponse,andtheyallalmostpissthemselveslaughing.
It’sgood.It’sreally,reallygood.
Alexliesawakethatnight,drunkonShinerandwaytoomanycampfiremarshmallows,andhestaresatwhorlsinthewoodpanelsofthetopbunkandthinksaboutcomingofageouthere.Herememberswhenhewasakid,frecklyandunafraid,whentheworldseemedlikeitwasblissfullyendlessbuteverythingstillmadeperfectsense.Heusedtoleavehisclothesinapileonthepieranddiveheadfirstintothelake.Everythingwasinitsrightplace.
Hewearsakeytohischildhoodhomearoundhisneck,buthedoesn’tknowthelasttimeheactuallythoughtabouttheboywhousedtopushitintothelock
Maybelosingthejobisn’ttheworstthingthatcouldhavehappened.
Hethinksaboutroots,aboutfirstandsecondlanguages.Whathewantedwhenhewasakidandwhathewantsnowandwherethosethingsoverlap.Maybethatplace,themeetingofthetwo,isheresomewhere,inthegentleinsistenceofthewateraroundhislegs,crudeletterscarvedwithanoldpocketknife.Thesteadythrumofanotherperson’spulseagainsthis.
“H?”hewhispers.“Youawake?”
Henrysighs.“Always.”
TheysneakthroughthegrassinhushedvoicespastoneofHenry’sPPOsdozingontheporch,racingdownthepier,shovingateachother’sshoulders.Henry’slaughishighandclear,hissunburnedshouldersbrightpinkinthedark,andAlexlooksathimandsomethingsobuoyantfillsuphischestthathefeelslikehecouldswimthelengthofthelakewithoutstoppingforair.HethrowshisT-shirtdownattheendofthepierandstartstoshuckhisboxers,andwhenHenryarchesaneyebrowathim,Alexlaughsandjumps.
“You’reamenace,”HenrysayswhenAlexbreaksbacktothesurface.Butheonlyhesitatesbrieflybeforehe’sstrippingoutofhisclothes.
Hestandsnakedattheedgeofthepier,lookingatAlex’sheadandshouldersbobbinginthewater.Thelinesofhimarelongandlanguidinthemoonlight,justskinandskinandskinlitsoftandblue,andhe’ssobeautifulthatAlexthinksthismoment,thesoftshadowsandpalethighsandcrookedsmile,shouldbetheportraitofHenrythatgoesdowninhistory.Therearefireflieswinkingaroundhishead,landinginhishair.Acrown.
Hisdiveisinfuriatinglygraceful.
“Can’tyoueverjustdoonethingwithouthavingtobesogoddamnextraaboutit?”Alexsays,splashinghimassoonashesurfaces.
“Thatisbloodyrichcomingfromyou,”Henrysays,andhe’sgrinninglikehedoeswhenhe’sdrinkinginachallenge,likenothingintheworldpleaseshimmorethanAlex’santagonizingelbowinhisside.
“Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout,”Alexsays,kickingovertohim.
Theychaseeachotheraroundthepier,racedowntothelake’sshallowbottomandshootbackupinthemoonlight,allelbowsandknees.AlexfinallymanagestocatchHenryaroundthewaist,andhepinshim,slideshiswetmouthoverthethuddingpulseofHenry’sthroat.HewantstostaytangledupinHenry’slegsforever.HewantstomatchthenewfrecklesacrossHenry’snosetothestarsabovethemandmakehimnametheconstellations.
“Hey,”hesays,hismouthrightupinabreath’sspacefromHenry’s.HewatchesadropofwaterrolldownHenry’sperfectnoseanddisappearintohismouth.
“Hi,”Henrysaysback,andAlexthinks,Goddamn,Ilovehim.Itkeepscomingbacktohim,andit’sgettinghardertolookintoHenry’ssoftsmilesandnotsayit.
Hekicksoutalittletoturntheminaslowcircle.“Youlookgoodouthere.”
Henry’sgringoescrookedandalittleshy,dippingdowntobrushagainstAlex’sjaw.“Yeah?”
“Yeah,”Alexsays.HetwistsHenry’swethairaroundhisfingers.“I’mgladyoucamethisweekend,”Alexhearshimselfsay.“It’sbeensointenselately.I…Ireallyneededthis.”
Henry’sfingersgivealittlejabtohisribs,gentlyscolding.“Youcarrytoomuch.”
Hisinstincthasalwaysbeentoshootback,No,Idon’t,or,Iwantto,buthebitesitbackandsays,“Iknow,”andherealizesit’sthetruth.“YouknowwhatI’mthinkingrightnow?”
“What?”
“I’mthinkingabout,afterinauguration,likenextyear,takingyoubackouthere,justthetwoofus.Andwecansitunderthemoonandnotstressaboutanything.”
“Oh,”Henrysays.“Thatsoundsnice,ifunlikely.”
“Comeon,thinkaboutit,babe.Nextyear.Mymom’llbeinofficeagain,andwewon’thavetoworryaboutwinninganymoreelections.I’llfinallybeabletobreathe.Ugh,it’llbeamazing.I’llcookmigasinthemornings,andwe’llswimalldayandneverputclothesonandmakeoutonthepier,anditwon’tevenmatteriftheneighborssee.”
“Well.Itwillmatter,youknow.Itwillalwaysmatter.”
HepullsbacktofindHenry’sfaceindecipherable.
“YouknowwhatImean.”
Henry’slookingathimandlookingathim,andAlexcan’tshakethefeelingHenry’sreallyseeinghimforthefirsttime.Herealizesit’sprobablytheonlytimehe’severinvitedloveintoaconversationwithHenryonpurpose,anditmustbelyingwideopenonhisface.
SomethingmovesbehindHenry’seyes.“Whereareyougoingwithallthis?”
AlextriestofigureouthowthehelltofunneleverythingheneedstotellHenryintowords.
“JunesaysIhaveafireundermyassfornogoodreason,”hesays.“Idon’tknow.Youknowhowtheyalwayssaytotakeitonedayatatime?IthinkItakeittenyearsinthefuture.LikewhenIwasinhighschool,itwasall:Well,myparentshateeachother,andmysisterisleavingforcollege,andsometimesIlookatotherguysintheshower,butifIkeeplookingdirectlyahead,thatstuffcan’tcatchuptome.OrifItakethisclass,orthisinternship,orthisjob.Iusedtothink,ifIpicturedthepersonIwantedtobeandtookallthecrazyanxietyinmybrainandnarroweditdowntothatpoint,Icouldrewireit.Useittopowersomethingelse.It’slikeIneverlearnedhowtojustbewhereIam.”Alextakesabreath.“AndwhereIamishere.Withyou.AndI’mthinkingmaybeIshouldstarttryingtotakeitdaybyday.Andjust…feelwhatIfeel.”
Henrydoesn’tsayanything.
“Sweetheart.”ThewaterripplesquietlyaroundhimasheslideshishandsuptoholdHenry’sfaceinbothpalms,tracinghischeekboneswiththewetpadsofhisthumbs.
Thecicadasandthewindandthelakeareprobablystillmakingsounds,somewhere,butit’sallfadedintosilence.Alexcan’thearanythingbuthisheartbeatinhisears.
“Henry,I—”
AbruptlyHenryshifts,duckingbeneaththesurfaceandoutofhisarmsbeforehecansayanythingelse.
Hepopsbackupnearthepier,hairstickingtohisforehead,andAlexturnsaroundandstaresathim,breathlessattheloss.Henryspitsoutlakewaterandsendsasplashinhisdirection,andAlexforcesalaugh.
“Christ,”Henrysays,slappingatabugthat’slandedonhim,“whataretheseinfernalcreatures?”
“Mosquitos,”Alexsupplies.
“They’reawful,”Henrysaysloftily.“I’mgoingtocatchanexoticplague.”
“I’m…sorry?”
“Ijustmeantosay,youknow,PhilipistheheirandI’mthespare,andifthatnervybastardhasaheartattackatthirty-fiveandI’vegotmalaria,whitherthespare?”
Alexlaughsweaklyagain,buthe’sgotadistinctfeelingofsomethingbeingpulledoutofhishandsrightbeforehecouldgraspit.Henry’stonehasgonelight,clipped,superficial.Hispressvoice.
“Atanyrate,I’mknackered,”Henryissayingnow.AndAlexwatcheshelplesslyasheturnsandstartshaulinghimselfoutofthewaterandontothedock,pullinghisshortsbackupshiveringlegs.“Ifit’sallthesametoyou,IthinkI’llgotobed.”
Alexdoesn’tknowwhattosay,sohewatchesHenrywalkthelonglineofthedock,disappearingintothedarkness.
Aringing,scooped-outsensationstartsbehindhismolarsandrollsdownhisthroat,intohischest,downtothepitofhisstomach.Something’swrong,andheknowsit,buthe’stooafraidtopushbackorask.That,herealizessuddenly,isthedangerofallowingloveintothis—theacknowledgmentthatifsomethinggoeswrong,hedoesn’tknowhowhewillstandit.
ForthefirsttimesinceHenrygrabbedhimandkissedhimwithsomuchcertaintyinthegarden,thethoughtentersAlex’smind:Whatifitwasneverhisdecisiontomake?WhatifhegotsowrappedupineverythingHenryis—thewordshewrites,theearnestheartsicknessofhim—heforgottotakeintoaccountthatit’sjusthowheis,allthetime,witheveryone?
Whatifhe’sdonethethinghesworehewouldneverdo,thethinghehates,andfalleninlovewithaprincebecauseitwasafantasy?
Whenhegetsbacktotheirroom,Henry’salreadyinhisbunkandsilent,hisbackturned.
Inthemorning,Henryisgone.
Alexwakesuptofindhisbunkemptyandmadeup,thepillowtuckedneatlybeneaththeblanket.Hepracticallythrowsthedooroffitshingesrunningoutontothepatio,onlytofinditemptyaswell.Theyardisempty,thepierisempty.It’slikehewasnevereventhere.
Hefindsthenoteinthekitchen:
Alex,
Hadtogoearlyforafamilymatter.LeftwiththePPOs.Didn’twanttowakeyou.
Thankyouforeverything.
X
It’sthelastmessageHenrysendshim.TEN
HesendsHenryfivetextsthefirstday.Twothesecond.Bydaythree,none.He’sspenttoomuchofhislifetalking,talking,talkingnottoknowthesignswhensomeonedoesn’twanttohearhimanymore.
Hestartsforcinghimselftoonlycheckhisphoneonceeverytwohoursinsteadofonceanhour,makeshimselfhangonbyhisfingernailsuntiltheminutestickdown.Afewtimes,hegetswrappedupinobsessivelyreadingpresscoverageofthecampaignandrealizeshehasn’tcheckedinhours,andeverytimehe’shitwithahiccupping,desperatehopethattherewillbesomething.Thereneveris.
Hethoughthewasrecklessbefore,butheunderstandsnow—holdingloveoffwastheonlythingkeepinghimfromlosinghimselfinthiscompletely,andhe’sgone,stupid,lovesick,afuckingdisaster.Noworktodistracthim.Thetripwireof“ThingsOnlyPeopleinLoveSayandDo”setoff.
So,instead:
ATuesdaynight,hidingontheroofoftheResidence,pacingsomanyfuriouslapsthattheskinonthebacksofhisheelssplitsopenandbloodsoaksintohisloafers.
HisCLAREMONTFORAMERICAmug,returnedinacarefullymarkedboxfromhisdeskatthecampaignoffice,aconcretereminderofwhatthisalreadycosthimsmashedinhisbathroomsink
ThesmellofEarlGreycurlingupfromthekitchens,andhisthroatgoingpainfullytight.
Twoandahalfdifferentdreamsaboutsandyhairwrappedaroundhisfingers.
Athree-lineemail,anexcerptdugupfromanarchivedletter,HamiltontoLaurens,Youshouldnothavetakenadvantageofmysensibilitytostealintomyaffectionswithoutmyconsent,draftedanddeleted.
Ondayfive,RafaelLunamakeshisfifthcampaignstopasasurrogate,theRichardscampaign’stokentwoferminority.Alexhitsamomentaryemotionalimpasse:eitherdestroysomethingordestroyhimself.HeendsupsmashinghisphoneonthepavementoutsidetheCapitol.Thescreenisreplacedbytheendoftheday.Itdoesn’tmakeanymessagesfromHenrymagicallyappear.
Onthemorningofdayseven,he’sdigginginthebackofhisclosetwhenhestumblesuponabundleoftealsilk—thestupidkimonoPezhadmadeforhim.Hehasn’ttakenitoutsinceLA.
He’sabouttoshoveitbackintothecornerwhenhefeelssomethinginthepocket.Hefindsasmallfoldedsquareofpaper.It’sstationeryfromtheirhotelthatnight,thenighteverythinginsideAlexrearranged.Henry’scursive.
DearThisbe,
Iwishthereweren’tawall.
Love,Pyramus
Hefumbleshisphoneoutsofasthealmostdropsitonthefloorandsmashesitagain.ThesearchtellshimPyramusandThisbewereloversinaGreekmyth,childrenofrivalfamilies,forbiddentobetogether.Theironlywaytospeaktoeachotherwasthroughathincrackinthewallbuiltbetweenthem.
Andthatis,officially,toofuckingmuch.
Whathedoesnext,he’ssurehe’llhavenomemoryofdoing,simplyawhite-noisegapoftimethatgothimfrompointAtopointB.HetextsCash,whatareyoudoingforthenext24hours?Thenheunearthstheemergencycreditcardfromhiswalletandbuystwoplanetickets,firstclass,nonstop.Boardingintwohours.DullesInternationaltoHeathrow.
ZahranearlyrefusestosecureacarafterAlex“hadthegoddamnnerve”tocallherfromtherunwayatDulles.It’sdarkandpissingdownrainwhentheylandinLondonaroundnineintheevening,andheandCasharebothsoakedthesecondtheyclimboutofthecarinsidethebackgatesofKensington.
Clearly,someonehasradioedforShaan,becausehe’sstandingthereatthedoortoHenry’sapartmentsinanimpeccablegraypeacoat,dryandunmovedunderablackumbrella.
“Mr.Claremont-Diaz,”hesays.“Whatatreat.”
Alexhasnotgotthedamntime.“Move,Shaan.”
“Ms.Bankstoncalledaheadtowarnmethatyouwereontheway,”hesays.“Asyoumighthaveguessedbytheeasewithwhichyouwereabletogetthroughourgates.Wethoughtitbesttoletyoukickupafusssomewheremoreprivate.”
“Move.”
Shaansmiles,lookingasifhemightbegenuinelyenjoyingwatchingtwohaplessAmericansbecomeslowlywaterlogged.“You’reawareit’squitelate,andit’swellwithinmypowertohavesecurityremoveyou.Nomemberoftheroyalfamilyhasinvitedyouintothepalace.”
“Bullshit,”Alexbitesout.“IneedtoseeHenry.”
“I’mafraidIcan’tdothat.Theprincedoesnotwishtobedisturbed.”
“Goddammit—Henry!”HesidestepsShaanandstartsshoutingupatHenry’sbedroomwindows,wherethere’salighton.Fatraindropsarepeltinghiseyeballs.“Henry,youmotherfucker!”
“Alex—”saysCash’snervousvoicebehindhim.
“Henry,youpieceofshit,getyourassdownhere!”
“Youaremakingascene,”Shaansaysplacidly.
“Yeah?”Alexsays,stillyelling.“How’boutIjustkeepyellingandweseewhichofthepapersshowupfirst!”Heturnsbacktothewindowandstartsflailinghisarmstoo.“Henry!YourRoyalfuckingHighness!”
Shaantouchesafingertohisearpiece.“TeamBravo,we’vegotasitua—”
“ForChrist’ssake,Alex,whatareyoudoing?”
Alexfreezes,hismouthopenaroundanothershout,andthere’sHenrystandingbehindShaaninthedoorway,barefootinworn-insweats.Alex’sheartisgoingtofalloutofhisass.Henrylooksunimpressed.
Hedropshisarms.“Tellhimtoletmein.”
Henrysighs,pinchingthebridgeofhisnose.“It’sfine.Hecancomein.”
“Thankyou,”hesays,pointedlylookingatShaan,whodoesnotseemtocareatallifhediesofhypothermia.Hesloshesintothepalace,ditchinghissoakedshoesasCashandShaandisappearbehindthedoor.
Henry,wholedthewayin,hasn’tevenstoppedtospeaktohim,andallAlexcandoisfollowhimupthegrandstaircasetowardhisrooms.
“Reallynice,”Alexyellsafterhim,drippingasaggressivelyashecanmanagealongtheway.Hehopesheruinsarug.“Fuckin’ghostmeforaweek,makemestandintherainlikeabrownJohnCusack,andnowyouwon’teventalktome.I’mreallyjusthavingagreattimehere.Icanseewhyally’allhadtomarryyourfuckingcousins.”
“I’drathernotdothiswherewemightbeoverheard,”Henrysays,takingaleftonthelanding.
Alexstompsupafterhim,followinghimintohisbedroom.“Dowhat?”hesaysasHenryshutsthedoorbehindthem.“Whatareyougonnado,Henry?”
Henryturnstofacehimatlast,andnowthatAlex’seyesaren’tfullofrainwater,hecanseetheskinunderhiseyesispaperyandpurple,rimmedpinkathiseyelashes.There’satensesettohisshouldersAlexhasn’tseeninmonths,notdirectedathimatleast.
“I’mgoingtoletyousaywhatyouneedtosay,”Henrysaysflatly,“soyoucanleave.”
Alexstares.“What,andthenwe’reover?”
Henrydoesn’tanswerhim.
SomethingrisesinAlex’sthroat—anger,confusion,hurt,bile.Unforgivably,hefeelslikehemightcry.
“Seriously?”hesays,helplessandindignant.He’sstilldripping.“Whatthefuckisgoingon?Aweekagoitwasemailsabouthowmuchyoumissedmeandmeetingmyfuckingdad,andthat’sit?Youthoughtyoucouldfuckingghostme?Ican’tshutthisofflikeyoudo,Henry.”
Henrypacesovertotheelaboratelycarvedfireplaceacrosstheroomandleansonthemantelpiece.“YouthinkIdon’tcareasmuchasyou?”
“You’resureashellactinglikeit.”
“Ihonestlyhaven’tgotthetimetoexplaintoyouallthewaysyou’rewrong—”
“Jesus,couldyoustopbeinganobtusefuckingassholefor,like,twentyseconds?”
“Sogladyouflewheretoinsultme—”
“Ifuckingloveyou,okay?”Alexhalfyells,finally,irreversibly.Henrygoesverystillagainstthemantelpiece.Alexwatcheshimswallow,watchesthemusclethatkeepstwitchinginhisjaw,andfeelslikehemightshakeoutofhisskin.“Fuck,Iswear.Youdon’tmakeitfuckingeasy.ButI’minlovewithyou.”
Asmallclickcutsthesilence:Henryhastakenhissignetringoffandsetitdownonthemantel.Heholdshisnakedhandtohischest,kneadingthepalm,theflickeringlightfromthefirepaintinghisfaceindramaticshadows.“Doyouhaveanyideawhatthatmeans?”
“OfcourseIdo—”
“Alex,please,”Henrysays,andwhenhefinallyturnstolookathim,helookswretched,miserable.“Don’t.Thisistheentiregoddamnedreason.Ican’tdothis,andyouknowwhyIcan’tdothis,sopleasedon’tmakemesayit.”
Alexswallowshard.“You’renotevengonnatrytobehappy?”
“ForChrist’ssake,”Henrysays,“I’vebeentryingtobehappymyentireidiotlife.Mybirthrightisacountry,nothappiness.”
Alexyanksthesoggynoteoutofhispocket,Iwishtherewasn’tawall,andthrowsitatHenryviciously,watcheshimpickitup.“Thenwhatisthatsupposedtomean,ifyoudon’twantthis?”
Henrystaresdownathiswordsfrommonthsago.“Alex,ThisbeandPyramusbothdieattheend.”
“OhmyGod,”Alexgroans.“So,what,wasthisallnevergoingtobeanythingrealtoyou?”
AndHenrysnaps.
“Youreallyareacompleteidiotifyoubelievethat,”Henryhisses,thenoteballedinhisfist.“WhenhaveIever,sincethefirstinstantItouchedyou,pretendedtobeanythinglessthaninlovewithyou?Areyousofuckingself-absorbedastothinkthisisaboutyouandwhetherornotIloveyou,ratherthanthefactI’manheirtothefuckingthrone?Youatleasthavetheoptiontonotchooseapubliclifeeventually,butIwillliveanddieinthesepalacesandinthisfamily,sodon’tyoudarecometomeandquestionifIloveyouwhenit’sthethingthatcouldbloodywellruineverything.”
Alexdoesn’tspeak,doesn’tmove,doesn’tbreathe,hisfeetrootedtothespot.Henryisn’tlookingathim,butstaringatapointonthemantelsomewhere,tuggingathisownhairinexasperation.
“Itwasneversupposedtobeanissue,”hegoeson,hisvoicehoarse.“IthoughtIcouldhavesomepartofyou,andjustneversayit,andyou’dneverhavetoknow,andonedayyou’dgettiredofmeandleave,becauseI’m—”Hestopsshort,andoneshakinghandmovesthroughtheairinfrontofhiminahelplesssortofgestureateverythingabouthimself.“IneverthoughtI’dbestoodherefacedwithachoiceIcan’tmake,becauseInever…Ineverimaginedyouwouldlovemeback.”
“Well,”Alexsays.“Ido.Andyoucanchoose.”
“YouknowbloodywellIcan’t.”
“Youcantry,”Alextellshim,feelingasifitshouldbethesimplestfuckingtruthintheworld.“Whatdoyouwant?”
“Iwantyou—”
“Thenfuckinghaveme.”
“—butIdon’twantthis.”
AlexwantstograbHenryandshakehim,wantstoscreaminhisface,wantstosmasheverypricelessantiqueintheroom.“Whatdoesthatevenmean?”
“Idon’twantit!”Henrypracticallyshouts.Hiseyesareflashing,wetandangryandafraid.“Don’tyoubloodysee?I’mnotlikeyou.Ican’taffordtobereckless.Idon’thaveafamilywhowillsupportme.Idon’tgoaboutshovingwhoIamineveryone’sfacesanddreamingaboutacareerinfuckingpolitics,soIcanbemorescrutinizedandpickedapartbytheentiregodforsakenworld.Icanloveyouandwantyouandstillnotwantthatlife.I’mallowed,allright,anditdoesn’tmakemealiar;itmakesmeamanwithsomeinfinitesimalshredofself-preservation,unlikeyou,andyoudon’tgettocomehereandcallmeacowardforit.”
Alextakesabreath.“Ineversaidyouwereacoward.”
“I.”Henryblinks.“Well.Thepointstands.”
“YouthinkIwantyourlife?YouthinkIwantMartha’s?Gildedfuckingcage?Barelyallowedtospeakinpublic,orhaveagoddamnopinion—”
“Thenwhatareweevendoinghere?Whyarewefighting,then,iftheliveswehavetoleadaresoincompatible?”
“Becauseyoudon’twantthateither!”Alexinsists.“Youdon’twantanyofthisbullshit.Youhateit.”
“Don’ttellmewhatIwant,”Henrysays.“Youhaven’tacluehowitfeels.”
“Look,Imightnotbeafuckingroyal,”Alexsays,crossesthehorriblerug,movesintoHenry’sspace,“butIknowwhatit’slikeforyourwholelifetobedeterminedbythefamilyyouwereborninto,okay?Theliveswewant—they’renotthatdifferent.Notinthewaysthatmatter.Youwanttotakewhatyouweregivenandleavetheworldbetterthanyoufoundit.SodoI.Wecan—wecanfigureoutawaytodothattogether.”
Henrystaresathimsilently,andAlexcanseethescalesbalancinginhishead.
“Idon’tthinkIcan.”
Alexturnsawayfromhim,fallingbackonhisheelslikehe’sbeenslapped.“Fine,”hefinallysays.“Youknowwhat?Fuckingfine.I’llleave.”
“Good.”
“I’llleave,”hesays,andheturnsbackandleansin,“assoonasyoutellmetoleave.”
“Alex.”
He’sinHenry’sfacenow.Ifhe’sgettinghisheartbrokentonight,he’ssureashellgoingtomakeHenryhavethegutstodoitright.“Tellmeyou’redonewithme.I’llgetbackontheplane.That’sit.Andyoucanlivehereinyourtowerandbemiserableforever,writeawholebookofsadfuckingpoemsaboutit.Whatever.Justsayit.”
“Fuckyou,”Henrysays,hisvoicebreaking,andhegetsahandfulofAlex’sshirtcollar,andAlexknowshe’sgoingtolovethisstubbornshitheadforever.
“Tellme,”hesays,aghostofasmilearoundhislips,“toleave.”
Hefeelsbeforeheregistersbeingshovedbackwardintoawall,andHenry’smouthisonhis,desperateandwild.Thefainttasteofbloodbloomsonhistongue,andhesmilesasheopensuptoit,pushesitintoHenry’smouth,tugsathishairwithbothhands.Henrygroans,andAlexfeelsitinhisspine.
TheygrapplealongthewalluntilHenryphysicallypickshimupoffthefloorandstaggersbackward,towardthebed.Alexbounceswhenhisbackhitsthemattress,andHenrystandsoverhimforseveralbreaths,staring.Alexwouldgiveanythingtoknowwhat’sgoingthroughthatfuckingheadofhis.
Herealizes,suddenly,Henry’scrying.
Heswallows.
That’sthething:hedoesn’tknow.Hedoesn’tknowifthisissupposedtobesomekindofconsummation,orifit’sonelasttime.Hedoesn’tthinkhecouldgothroughwithitifheknewitwasthelatter.Buthedoesn’twanttogohomewithouthavingthis.
“C’mere.”
HefucksHenryslowanddeep,andifit’sthelasttime,theygodownshiveringandgaspingandepic,allwetmouthsandweteyelashes,andAlexisaclichéonanivorybedspread,andhehateshimselfbuthe’ssoinlove.He’sinstupid,unbearablelove,andHenryloveshimtoo,andatleastforonenightitmatters,eveniftheybothhavetopretendtoforgetinthemorning.
HenrycomeswithhisfaceturnedintoAlex’sopenpalm,hisbottomlipcatchingontheknobofhiswrist,andAlextriestomemorizeeverydetaildowntohowhislashesfanacrosshischeeksandthepinkflushthatspreadsallthewayuptohisears.Hetellshistoo-fastbrain:Don’tmissitthistime.He’stooimportant.
It’spitch-blackoutsidewhenHenry’sbodyfinallysubsides,andtheroomisimpossiblyquiet,thefiregoneout.Alexrollsoverontohissideandtouchestwofingerstohischest,rightnexttowherethekeyonthechainrests.Hisheartisbeatingthesameaseverunderhisskin.Hedoesn’tknowhowthatcanbetrue.
It’salongstretchofsilencebeforeHenryshiftsinthebedbesidehimandrollsontohisback,pullingasheetoverthem.Alexreachesforsomethingtosay,butthere’snothing.
Alexwakesupalone.
Ittakesamomentforeverythingtoreorientaroundthefixedpointinhischestwherelastnightsettled.Theelaborategildedheadboard,theheavyembroideredduvet,thesofttwillblanketbeneaththat’stheonlythingintheroomHenryactuallychose.Heslideshishandacrossthesheet,overtoHenry’ssideofthebed.It’scooltothetouch.
KensingtonPalaceisgrayanddullintheearlymorning.Theclockonthemantelpiecesaysit’snotevenseven,andthere’saviolentrainlashingagainstthebigpicturewindow,half-revealedbypartedcurtains.
Henry’sroomhasneverfeltmuchlikeHenry,butinthequietofmorning,heshowsupinpieces.Apileofjournalsonthedesk,thetopmostsplotchedwithinkfromapenexplodinginhisbagonaplane.Anoversizedcardigan,wornthroughandpatchedattheelbows,slungoveranantiquewingbackchairnearthewindow.David’sleashhangingfromthedoorknob.
Andbesidehim,there’sacopyofLeMondeonthenightstand,tuckedunderagiganticleather-boundvolumeofWilde’scompleteworks.Herecognizesthedate:Paris.Thefirsttimetheywokeupnexttoeachother.
Hesqueezeshiseyesshut,feelingforonceinhislifethatheshouldstopbeingsodamnnosy.It’stime,herealizes,tostartacceptingonlywhatHenrycangivehim.
ThesheetssmelllikeHenry.Heknows:
One.Henryisn’there.
Two.Henryneversaidyestoanykindoffuturelastnight.
Three.ThiscouldverywellbethelasttimehegetstoinhaleHenry’sscentonanything.
But,four.Nexttotheclockonthemantel,Henry’sringstillsits.
Thedoorknobturns,andAlexopenshiseyestofindHenry,holdingtwomugsandsmilingawan,unreadablesmile.He’sinsoftsweatsagain,brushedwithmorningmist.
“Yourhairinthemorningsistrulyawondertobehold,”ishowhebreaksthesilence.Hecrossesandkneelsontheedgeofthemattress,offeringAlexamug.It’scoffee,onesugar,cinnamon.Hedoesn’twanttofeelanythingaboutHenryknowinghowhelikeshiscoffee,notwhenhe’sabouttobedumped,buthedoes.
Except,whenHenrylooksathimagain,watcheshimtakethefirstblessedsipofcoffee,thesmilecomesbackinearnest.HereachesdownandpalmsoneofAlex’sfeetthroughtheduvet.
“Hi,”Alexsayscarefully,squintingoverhiscoffee.“Youseem…lesspissy.”
Henryhuffsalaugh.“You’reonetotalk.Iwasn’ttheonewhostormedthepalaceinafitofpiquetocallmean‘obtusefuckingasshole.’”
“Inmydefense,”Alexsays,“youwereanobtusefuckingasshole.”
Henrypauses,takesasipofhistea,andplacesitonthenightstand.“Iwas,”heagrees,andheleansforwardandpresseshismouthtoAlex’s,onehandsteadyinghismugsoitdoesn’tspill.HetastesliketoothpasteandEarlGrey,andmaybeAlexisn’tgettingdumpedafterall.
“Hey,”hesayswhenHenrypullsback.“Wherewereyou?”
Henrydoesn’tanswer,andAlexwatcheshimkickhiswetsneakersontothefloorbeforeclimbinguptositbetweenAlex’sopenlegs.HeplaceshishandsonAlex’sthighs,bracketinghimwithhisfullattention,andwhenhelooksupintoAlex’seyes,hisareclearblueandfocused.
“Ineededarun,”hesays.“Toclearmyheadabit,figureout…what’snext.VeryMr.DarcybroodingatPemberley.AndIranintoPhilip.Ihadn’tmentionedit,butheandMarthaareherefortheweekwhilethey’redoingrenovationsonAnmerHall.Hewasupearlyforsomeappearanceorother,eatingtoast.Plaintoast.Haveyoueverseensomeoneeattoastwithoutanythingonit?Harrowing,truly.”
Alexchewshislip.“Where’sthisgoing,babe?”
“Wechattedforabit.Hedidn’tseemtoknowaboutyour…visitation…lastnight,thankfully.ButhewasonaboutMartha,andlandholdings,andthehypotheticalheirstheyhavetostartworkingon,eventhoughPhiliphateschildren,andsuddenlyitwasasif…asifeverythingyousaidlastnightcamebacktome.Ithought,God,that’sit,isn’tit?Justfollowingtheplan.Andit’snotthathe’sunhappy.He’sfine.It’sallverydeeplyfine.Awholelifetimeoffine.”He’sbeenpullingatathreadontheduvet,buthelooksbackup,squarelyintoAlex’seyes,andsays,“That’snotgoodenoughforme.”
There’sadesperatestutterinAlex’sheartbeat.“It’snot?”
HereachesupandtouchesathumbtoAlex’scheekbone.“I’mnot…goodatsayingthesethingslikeyouare,but.I’vealwaysthought…eversinceIknewaboutme,andevenbefore,whenIcouldsenseIwasdifferent—and,aftereverythingthepastfewyears,allthemadthingsmyheaddoes—I’vealwaysthoughtofmyselfasaproblemthatdeservedtostayhidden.Neverquitetrustedmyself,orwhatIwanted.Beforeyou,Iwasallrightlettingeverythinghappentome.IhonestlyhaveneverthoughtIdeservedtochoose.”Hishandmoves,fingertipsbrushingacurlbehindAlex’sear.“ButyoutreatmelikeIdo.”
There’ssomethingpainfullyhardinAlex’sthroat,buthepushespastit.HereachesoverandsetshismugdownnexttoHenry’sonthenightstand.
“Youdo,”hesays.
“IthinkI’mactuallybeginningtobelievethat,”Henrysays.“AndIdon’tknowhowlongitwouldhavetakenifIdidn’thaveyoutobelieveforme.”
“Andthere’snothingwrongwithyou,”Alextellshim.“Imean,asidefromthefactthatyou’reoccasionallyanobtusefuckingasshole.”
Henrylaughsagain,wetly,hiseyescrinklingupinthecorners,andAlexfeelshisheartliftintohisthroat,uptotheembellishedceilings,pushingouttofillthewholeroomallthewaytotheglintinggoldringstillsittingabovethefireplace.
“Iamsorryaboutthat,”Henrysays.“I—Iwasn’treadytohearit.Thatnight,atthelake…itwasthefirsttimeIletmyselfthinkyoumightactuallysayit.Ipanicked,anditwasdaftandunfair,andIwon’tdoitagain.”
“Youbetternot,”Alextellshim.“So,you’resaying…you’rein?”
“I’msaying,”Henrybegins,andtheknitofhisbrowisnervousbuthismouthkeepsspeaking,“I’mterrified,andmywholelifeiscompletelymad,buttryingtogiveyouupthisweeknearlykilledme.AndwhenIwokeupthismorningandlookedatyou…there’snotryingtogetbyformeanymore.Idon’tknowifI’lleverbeallowedtotelltheworld,butI…Iwantto.Oneday.Ifthere’sanylegacyformeonthisbloodyearth,Iwantittobetrue.SoIcanofferyouallofme,inwhateverwayyou’llhaveme,andIcanofferyouthechanceofalife.Ifyoucanwait,Iwantyoutohelpmetry.”
Alexlooksathim,takinginthewholeparcelofhim,thecenturiesofroyalbloodsittingunderanantiqueKensingtonchandelier,andhereachesouttotouchhisfaceandlooksathisfingersandthinksaboutholdingtheBibleathismother’sinaugurationwiththesamehand.
Ithitshim,fully:theweightofthis.Howcompletelyneitherofthemwilleverbeabletoundoit.
“Okay,”hesays.“I’mintomakinghistory.”
Henryrollshiseyesandsealsitwithasmilingkiss,andtheyfallbackintothepillowstogether,Henry’swethairandsweatpantsandAlex’snakedlimbsalltangledupinthelavishbedclothes.
WhenAlexwasakid,beforeanyoneknewhisname,hedreamedoflovelikeitwasafairytale,asifitwouldcomesweepingintohislifeonthebackofadragononeday.Whenhegotolder,helearnedaboutloveasastrangethingthatcouldfallapartnomatterhowbadlyyouwantedit,achoiceyoumakeanyway.Heneverimaginedit’dturnouthewasrightbothtimes.
Henry’shandsonhimareunhurriedandsoft,andtheymakeoutlazilyforhoursordays,baskingintherareluxuryofit.Theytakebreakstofinishtheirlukewarmcoffeeandtea,andHenryhassconesandblackcurrantjamsentup.Theywasteawaythemorninginbed,watchingMelandSuesquawkoverteacakesonHenry’slaptop,listeningtotherainslowtoadrizzle.
Atsomepoint,Alexdisentangleshisjeansfromthefootofthebedandfishesouthisphone.He’sgotthreemissedcallsfromZahra,oneominousvoicemailfromhismother,andforty-sevenunreadmessagesinhisgrouptextwithJuneandNora.
ALEX,ZJUSTTOLDMEYOU’REINLONDON???????
Alexohmygod
Isweartogodifyoudosomethingstupidandgetyourselfcaught,I’mgonnakillyoumyself
Butyouwentafterhim!!!That’sSOJaneAusten
I’mgonnapunchyouinthefacewhenyougetback.Ican’tbelieveyoudidn’ttellme
Howdiditgo???AreyouwithHenrynow?????
GONNAPUNCHYOU
Itturnsoutforty-sixoutofforty-seventextsareJuneandtheforty-seventhisNoraaskingifeitherofthemknowwheresheleftherwhiteChuckTaylors.Alextextsback:yourchucksareundermybedandhenrysayshi.
ThemessagehasbarelydeliveredbeforehisphoneeruptswithacallfromJune,whodemandstobeputonspeakerandtoldeverything.After,ratherthanfacingZahra’swrathhimself,heconvincesHenrytocallShaan.
“D’youthinkyoucould,er,phoneMs.BankstonandletherknowAlexissafeandwithme?”
“Yes,sir,”Shaansays.“AndshallIarrangeacarforhisdeparture?”
“Er,”Henrysays,andhelooksatAlexandmouths,Stay?Alexnods.“Tomorrow?”
There’saverylongpauseoverthelinebeforeShaansays,“I’llletherknow,”inavoicelikehe’dratherdoliterallyanythingelse.
AlexlaughsasHenryhangsup,buthereturnstohisphoneagain,tothevoicemailwaitingfromhismother.Henryseeshisthumbhoveringovertheplaybuttonandnudgeshisribs.
“Isupposewedohavetofacetheconsequencesatsomepoint,”hesays.
Alexsighs.“Idon’tthinkItoldyou,butshe,uh.Well,whenshefiredme,shetoldmethatifIwasn’tathousandpercentseriousaboutyou,Ineededtobreakthingsoff.”
HenrynuzzleshisnosebehindAlex’sear.“Athousandpercent?”
“Yeah,don’tletitgotoyourhead.”
Henryelbowshimagain,andAlexlaughsandgrabshisheadandaggressivelykisseshischeek,smashinghisfaceintothepillow.WhenAlexfinallyrelents,Henryispink-facedandmussedanddefinitelypleased.
“Iwasthinkingaboutthat,though,”Henrysays,“thechancebeingwithmeisgoingtokeepruiningyourcareer.Congressbythirty,wasn’tit?”
“Comeon.Lookatthisface.Peoplelovethisface.I’llfigureouttherest.”Henrylooksdeeplyskeptical,andAlexsighsagain.“Look,Idon’tknow.Idon’tevenexactlyknow,like,howbeingalegislatorwouldworkifI’mwithaprinceofanothercountry.So,youknow.There’sstufftofigureout.Butwayworsepeoplewithwaybiggerproblemsthanmegetelectedallthetime.”
Henry’slookingathiminthepiercingwayhehassometimesthatmakesAlexfeellikeabugstuckunderashadowboxwithapushpin.“You’rereallynotfrightenedofwhatmighthappen?”
“No,Imean,ofcourseIam,”hesays.“Itdefinitelystayssecretuntilaftertheelection.AndIknowit’llbemessy.Butifwecangetaheadofthenarrative,waitfortherighttimeanddoitonourownterms,Ithinkitcouldbeokay.”
“Howlonghaveyoubeenthinkingaboutthis?”
“Consciously?Since,like,theDNC.Subconsciously,intotaldenial?Along-asstime.Atleastsinceyoukissedme.”
Henrystaresathimfromthepillow.“That’s…kindofincredible.”
“Whataboutyou?”
“Whataboutme?”Henrysays.“Christ,Alex.Thewholebloodytime.”
“Thewholetime?”
“SincetheOlympics.”
“TheOlympics?”AlexyanksHenry’spillowoutfromunderhim.“Butthat’s,that’slike—”
“Yes,Alex,thedaywemet,nothinggetspastyou,doesit?”Henrysays,reachingtostealthepillowback.“‘Whataboutyou,’hesays,asifhedoesn’tknow—”
“Shutyourmouth,”Alexsays,grinninglikeanidiot,andhestopsfightingHenryforthepillowandinsteadstraddleshimandkisseshimintothemattress.Hepullstheblanketsupandtheydisappearintothepile,alaughingmessofmouthsandhands,untilHenryrollsontohisphoneandhisasspressesthebuttononthevoicemail.
“Diaz,youinsane,hopelessromanticlittleshit,”saysthevoiceofthePresidentoftheUnitedStates,muffledinthebed.“Ithadbetterbeforever.Besafe.”
Sneakingoutofthepalacewithoutsecurityattwointhemorningwas,surprisingly,Henry’sidea.Hepulledhoodiesandhatsoutforbothofthem—theincognitouniformoftheinternationallyrecognizable—andBeastagedanoisyexitfromtheoppositeendofthepalacewhiletheysprintedthroughthegardens.Nowthey’reonthedeserted,wetpavementofSouthKensington,flankedbytall,redbrickbuildingsandasignfor—
“Stop,areyoukiddingme?”Alexsays.“PrinceConsortRoad?OhmyGod,takeapictureofmewiththesign.”
“Notthereyet!”Henrysaysoverhisshoulder.HegivesAlex’sarmanotherpulltokeephimrunning.“Keepmoving,youwastrel.”
TheycrosstoanotherstreetandduckintoanalcovebetweentwopillarswhileHenryfishesakeyringwithdozensofkeysoutofhishoodie.“Funnythingaboutbeingaprince—peoplewillgiveyoukeystojustaboutanythingifyouasknicely.”
Alexgawks,watchingHenryfeelaroundtheedgeofaseeminglyplainwall.“Allthistime,IthoughtIwastheFerrisBuellerofthisrelationship.”
“What,didyouthinkIwasSloane?”Henrysays,pushingthepanelopenacrackandyankingAlexintoawide,darkplaza.
Thegroundsaresloping,whitetilescarryingthesoundsoftheirfeetastheyrun.SturdyVictorianbrickstowerintothenight,framingthecourtyard,andAlexthinks,Oh.TheVictoriaandAlbertMuseum.HenryhasakeytotheV&A.
There’sastoutoldsecurityguardwaitingatthedoors.
“Can’tthankyouenough,Gavin,”Henrysays,andAlexnoticesthethickwadofcashHenryslipsintotheirhandshake.
“RenaissanceCitytonight,yeah?”Gavinsays.
“Ifyouwouldbesokind,”Henrytellshim.
Andthey’reoffagain,hustlingthroughroomsofChineseartandFrenchsculptures.Henrymovesfluidlyfromroomtoroom,pastablackstonesculptureofaseatedBuddhaandJohntheBaptistnudeandinbronze,withoutasinglefalsestep.
“Youdothisalot?”
Henrylaughs.“It’s,ah,sortofmylittlesecret.WhenIwasyoung,mymumanddadwouldtakeusearlyinthemorning,beforeopening.Theywantedustohaveasenseofthearts,Isuppose,butmostlyhistory.”Heslowsandpointstoamassivepiece,awoodentigermaulingamandressedasaEuropeansoldier,thesigndeclaring:TIPU’STIGER.“Mumwouldtakeustolookatthisoneandwhispertome,‘Seehowthetigeriseatinghimup?That’sbecausemygreat-great-great-greatgrandadstolethisfromIndia.Ithinkweshouldgiveitback,butyourgransaysno.’”
AlexwatchesHenry’sfaceinquarterprofile,theslightpainthatmovesunderhisskin,butheshakesitoffquicklyandtakesAlex’shandbackup.They’rerunningagain.
“Now,Iliketocomeatnight,”hesays.“Afewofthehigher-upsecurityguardsknowme.SometimesIthinkIkeepcomingbecause,nomatterhowmanyplacesI’vebeenorpeopleI’vemetorbooksIread,thisplaceisproofI’llneverlearnitall.It’slikeWestminster:Youcanlookateveryindividualcarvingorpaneofstainedglassandknowthere’sthiswealthofstoriesthere,thateverythingwasputinaspecificplaceforareason.Everythinghasameaning,anintention.Therearepiecesinhere—TheGreatBedofWare,it’smentionedinTwelfthNight,Epicoene,DonJuan,andit’shere.Everythingisastory,neverfinished.Isn’titincredible?Andthearchives,God,Icouldspendhoursinthearchives,they—mmph.”
He’scutoffmid-sentencebecauseAlexhasstoppedinthemiddleofthecorridorandyankedhimbackwardintoakiss
“Hello,”Henrysayswhentheybreakapart.“Whatwasthatfor?”
“Ijust,like.”Alexshrugs.“Reallyloveyou.”
Thecorridordumpsthemoutintoacavernousatrium,roomssprawlingoutineachdirection.Onlysomeoftheoverheadlightinghasbeenlefton,andAlexcanseeanenormouschandelierloominghighintherotunda,tendrilsandbubblesofglassinbluesandgreensandyellows.Behindit,there’sanelaborateironchoirscreenstandingbroadandgorgeousonthelandingabove.
“Thisisit,”Henrysays,pullingAlexbythehandtotheleft,wherelightspillsoutofanimmensearchway.“IcalledaheadtoGavintomakesuretheyleftalighton.It’smyfavoriteroom.”
AlexhaspersonallyhelpedwithexhibitionsattheSmithsonianandsleepsinaroomonceoccupiedbyUlyssesS.Grant’sfather-in-law,buthestillloseshisbreathwhenHenrypullshimthroughthemarblepillars.
Inthehalflight,theroomisalive.ThevaultedroofseemstostretchupforeverintotheinkyLondonsky,andbeneathittheroomisarrangedlikeacitysquaresomewhereinFlorence,climbingcolumnsandtoweringaltarsandarchways.Deepbasinsoffountainsareplantedinthefloorbetweenstatuesonheavypedestals,andeffigiesliebehindblackdoorwayswiththeResurrectioncarvedintotheirslate.Dominatingtheentirebackwallisacolossal,Gothicchoirscreencarvedfrommarbleandadornedwithornatestatuesofsaints,blackandgoldandimposing,holy.
WhenHenryspeaksagain,it’ssoft,asifhe’stryingnottobreakthespell
“Inhere,atnight,it’salmostlikewalkingthrougharealpiazza,”Henrysays.“Butthere’snobodyelsearoundtotouchyouorgawkatyouortrytostealaphotoofyou.Youcanjustbe.”
AlexlooksovertofindHenry’sexpressioncareful,waiting,andherealizesthisisthesameaswhenAlextookHenrytothelakehouse—themostsacredplacehehas.
HesqueezesHenry’shandandsays,“Tellmeeverything.”
Henrydoes,leadinghimaroundtoeachpieceinturn.There’salife-sizesculptureofZephyr,theGreekgodofthewestwindbroughttolifebyFrancavilla,acrownonhisheadandonefootonacloud.Narcissusonhisknees,mesmerizedbyhisownreflectioninthepool,oncethoughttobeMichelangelo’slostCupidbutactuallycarvedbyCioli—“Doyouseehere,wheretheyhadtorepairhisknuckleswithstucco?”—PlutostealingProserpinaawaytotheunderworld,andJasonwithhisgoldenfleece.
Theywindupbackatthefirststatue,SamsonSlayingaPhilistine,theonethatknockedthewindoutofAlexwhentheywalkedin.He’sneverseenanythinglikeit—thesmoothmuscles,theindentationsofflesh,thebreathing,bleedinglifeofit,allcarvedbyGiambolognaoutofmarble.Ifhecouldtouchit,heswearstheskinwouldbewarm.
“It’sabitironic,youknow,”Henrysays,gazingupatit.“Me,thecursedgayheir,standinghereinVictoria’smuseum,consideringhowmuchshelovedthosesodomylaws.”Hesmirks.“Actually…yourememberhowItoldyouaboutthegayking,JamesI?”
“Theonewiththedumbjockboyfriend?”
“Yes,thatone.Well,hismostbelovedfavoritewasamannamedGeorgeVilliers.‘Thehandsomest-bodiedmaninallofEngland,’theycalledhim.Jameswascompletelybesotted.Everyoneknew.ThisFrenchpoet,deViau,wroteapoemaboutit.”Heclearshisthroatandstartstorecite:“‘OnemanfucksMonsieurleGrand,anotherfuckstheComtedeTonnerre,anditiswellknownthattheKingofEngland,fuckstheDukeofBuckingham.’”Alexmustbestaring,becauseheadds,“Well,itrhymesinFrench.Anyway.DidyouknowthereasontheKingJamestranslationoftheBibleexistsisbecausetheChurchofEnglandwassodispleasedwithJamesforflauntinghisrelationshipwithVilliersthathehadthetranslationcommissionedtoappeasethem?”
“You’rekidding.”
“HestoodinfrontofthePrivyCouncilandsaid,‘ChristhadJohn,andIhaveGeorge.’”
“Jesus.”
“Precisely.”Henry’sstilllookingupatthestatue,butAlexcan’tstoplookingathimandtheslysmileonhisface,lostinhisownthoughts.“AndJames’sson,CharlesI,isthereasonwehavedearSamson.It’stheonlyGiambolognathateverleftFlorence.HewasagifttoCharlesfromtheKingofSpain,andCharlesgaveit,thismassive,absolutelypricelessmasterpieceofasculpture,toVilliers.Andafewcenturieslater,hereheis.Oneofthemostbeautifulpiecesweown,andwedidn’tevenstealit.WeonlyneededVilliersandhistrollopingwayswiththequeermonarchs.Tome,iftherewerearegistryofnationalgaylandmarksinBritain,Samsonwouldbeonit.”
Henry’sbeaminglikeaproudparent,likeSamsonishis,andAlexishitwithawaveofprideinkind.
Hetakeshisphoneoutandlinesupashot,Henrystandingthereallsoftandrumpledandsmilingnexttooneofthemostexquisiteworksofartintheworld.
“Whatareyoudoing?”
“I’mtakingapictureofanationalgaylandmark,”Alextellshim.“Andalsoastatue.”
Henrylaughsindulgently,andAlexclosesthespacebetweenthem,takesHenry’sbaseballcapoffandstandsonhistoestokisstheridgeofhisbrow.
“It’sfunny,”Henrysays.“Ialwaysthoughtofthewholethingasthemostunforgivablethingaboutme,butyouactlikeit’soneofthebest.”
“Oh,yeah,”Alexsays.“Thetoplistofreasonstoloveyougoesbrain,thendick,thenimminentstatusasarevolutionarygayicon.”
“YouarequiteliterallyQueenVictoria’sworstnightmare.”
“Andthat’swhyyouloveme.”
“MyGod,you’reright.Allthistime,Iwasjustaftertheblokewho’dmostinfuriatemyhomophobicforebears.”
“Ah,andwecan’tforgettheywerealsoracist.”
“Certainlynot.”Henrynodsseriously.“NexttimeweshallvisitsomeoftheGeorgeIIIpiecesandseeiftheyburstintoflame.”
Throughthemarblechoirscreenatthebackoftheroomisasecond,deeperchamber,thisonefilledwithchurchrelics.Paststainedglassandstatuesofsaints,attheveryendoftheroom,isanentirehighaltarchapelremovedfromitschurch.ThesignexplainsitsoriginalsettingwastheapseoftheconventchurchofSantaChiarainFlorenceinthefifteenthcentury,andit’sstunning,setdeepintoanalcovetocreatearealchapel,withstatuesofSantaChiaraandSaintFrancisofAssisi.
“WhenIwasyounger,”Henrysays,“IhadthisveryelaborateideaoftakingsomebodyIlovedhereandstandinginsidethechapel,thathe’dloveitasmuchasIdid,andwe’dslowdancerightinfrontoftheBlessedMother.Justa…daftpubescentfantasy.”
Henryhesitates,beforefinallyslidinghisphoneoutofhispocket.HepressesafewbuttonsandextendsahandtoAlex,and,quietly,“YourSong”startstoplayfromthetinyspeaker.
Alexexhalesalaugh.“Aren’tyougonnaaskifIknowhowtowaltz?”
“Nowaltzing,”Henrysays.“Nevercaredforit.”
Alextakeshishand,andHenryturnstofacethechapellikeanervouspostulant,hischeekshollowedoutinthelowlight,beforepullingAlexintoit.
Whentheykiss,Alexcanhearahalf-rememberedoldproverbfromcatechism,mixedupbetweentranslationsofthebook:“Come,hijomío,delamiel,porqueesbuena,andthehoneycomb,sweettothytaste.”HewonderswhatSantaChiarawouldthinkofthem,alostDavidandJonathan,turningslowlyonthespot.
HebringsHenry’shandtohismouthandkissesthelittleknobofhisknuckle,theskinovertheblueveinthere,bloodlines,pulses,theoldbloodkeptinperpetuitywithinthesewalls,andhethinks,Father,Son,andHolySpirit,amen.
Henrychartersaprivateplanetogethimbackhome,andAlexisdreadingthedressing-downhe’sgoingtogettheminutehe’sstateside,buthe’stryingnottothinkaboutit.Attheairstrip,thewindwhippinghishairacrosshisforehead,Henryfishesinsidehisjacketforsomething.
“Listen,”hesays,pullingacurledfistoutofhispocket.HetakesoneofAlex’shandsandturnsittopresssomethingsmallandheavyintohispalm.“Iwantyoutoknow,I’msure.Athousandpercent.”
Heremoveshishandandthere,sittinginthecenterofAlex’scallusedpalm,isthesignetring.
“What?”Alex’seyesflashuptosearchHenry’sfaceandfindhimsmilingsoftly.“Ican’t—”
“Keepit,”Henrytellshim.“I’msickofwearingit.”
It’saprivateairstrip,butit’sstillrisky,sohefoldsHenryinahugandwhispersfiercely,“Icompletelyfuckingloveyou.”
Atcruisingaltitude,hetakesthechainoffhisneckandslidestheringonnexttotheoldhousekey.Theyclinktogethergentlyashetucksthembothunderhisshirt,twohomessidebyside.ELEVEN
Hometownstuff
A<agcd@eclare45.com>????????????????????????????????9/2/205:12PM
toHenry
H,
Havebeenhomeforthreehours.Alreadymissyou.Thisissomebullshit.
Hey,haveItoldyoulatelythatyou’rebrave?IstillrememberwhatyousaidtothatlittlegirlinthehospitalaboutLukeSkywalker:“He’sproofthatitdoesn’tmatterwhereyoucomefromorwhoyourfamilyis.”Sweetheart,you’reprooftoo.
(Bytheway,inthisrelationship,IamabsolutelytheHanandyouareabsolutelytheLeia.Don’ttrytoarguebecauseyou’llbewrong.)
IwasalsothinkingaboutTexasagain,whichIguessIdoalotwhenI’mstressedaboutelectionstuff.There’ssomuchstuffIhaven’tshownyouyet.Wehaven’tevendoneAustin!IwannatakeyoutoFranklinBarbecue.Youhavetowaitinlineforhours,butthat’spartoftheexperience.Ireallywannaseeamemberoftheroyalfamilywaitinlineforhourstoeatcowparts.
HaveyouthoughtanymoreaboutwhatyousaidbeforeIleft?Aboutcomingouttoyourfamily?Obviously,you’renotobligated.Youjustseemedkindofhopefulwhenyoutalkedaboutit.
I’llbeoverhere,stillquarantinedintheWhiteHouse(atleastMomdidn’tkillmeforLondon),rootingforyou.
Loveyou.
xoxoxoxoxo
A
P.S.VitaSackville-WesttoVirginiaWoolf—1927:
Withmeitisquitestark:ImissyouevenmorethanIcouldhavebelieved;andIwaspreparedtomissyouagooddeal.
Re:Hometownstuff
Henry<hwales@kensingtonemail.com>????????????????9/3/202:49AM
toA
Alex,
Itis,indeed,bullshit.It’sallIcandonottopackabagandbegoneforever.PerhapsIcouldliveinyourroomlikearecluse.Youcouldhavefoodsentupforme,andI’llbelurkingindisguiseinashadowycornerwhenyouanswerthedoor.It’llallbeverydreadfullyJaneEyre.
TheMailwillwritemadspeculationsaboutwhereI’vegone,ifI’veoffedmyselforvanishedtoSt.Kilda,butonlyyouandIwillknowthatI’mjustsprawledinyourbed,readingbooksandfeedingmyselfprofiterolesandmakinglovetoyouendlesslyuntilwebothexpireinahazeofchocolatesauce.It’showI’dwanttogo.
I’mafraid,though,I’mstuckhere.GrankeepsaskingMumwhenI’mgoingtoenlist,anddidIknowPhiliphadalreadyservedayearbythetimehewasmyage.IdoneedtofigureoutwhatI’mgoingtodo,becauseI’mcertainlyclosinginontheendofwhat’sanacceptableamountoftimeforagapyear.Pleasedokeepmeinyour—whatisitAmericanpoliticianssay?—thoughtsandprayers.
Austinsoundsbrilliant.Maybeinafewmonths,afterthingssettledownabit?Icouldtakealongweekend.Canwevisityourmum’shouse?Yourroom?Doyoustillhaveyourlacrossetrophies?Tellmeyoustillhavepostersup.Letmeguess:HanSolo,BarackObama,and…RuthBaderGinsburg.
(I’llagreewithyourassessmentthatyou’retheHantomyLeiainthatyouare,withoutdoubt,ascruffy-lookingnerfherderwhowouldpilotusintoanasteroidfield.Ihappentolikenicemen.)
Ihavethoughtmoreaboutcomingouttomyfamily,whichispartofwhyI’mstayingherefornow.BeahasofferedtobetherewhenItellPhilipifIwant,soIthinkIwill.Again,thoughtsandprayers.
Iloveyouterribly,andIwantyoubackheresoon.Ineedyourhelppickinganewbedformyroom;I’vedecidedtogetridofthatgoldmonstrosity.
Yours,
Henry
P.S.FromRadclyffeHalltoEvgueniaSouline,1934:
Darling—IwonderifyourealizehowmuchIamcountingonyourcomingtoEngland,howmuchitmeanstome—itmeansalltheworld,andindeedmybodyshallbeall,allyours,asyourswillbeall,allmine,beloved.…Andnothingwillmatterbutjustwetwo,wetwolonginglovesatlastcometogether.
Re:Hometownstuff
A<agcd@eclare45.com>????????????????9/3/206:20AM
toHenry
H,
Shit.Doyouthinkyou’regoingtoenlist?Ihaven’tdoneanyresearchonityet.I’mgonnaaskZahratohaveoneofourpeopleputtogetherabinderonit.Whatwouldthatmean?Wouldyouhavetobegonealot?Woulditbedangerous???Orisitjustlike,weartheuniformandsitatadesk?HowdidwenottalkaboutthiswhenIwasthere?????
Sorry.I’mpanicking.Isomehowforgotthiswasathingloomingonthehorizon.I’mthereforwhateveryoudecideyouwanttodo,just,like,letmeknowifIneedtostartpracticinggazingwistfullyoutthewindow,waitingformylovetoreturnfromthewar.
Itdrivesmenutssometimesthatyoudon’tgettohavemoresayinyourlife.WhenIpictureyouhappy,Iseeyouwithyourownapartmentsomewhereoutsideofthepalaceandadeskwhereyoucanwriteanthologiesofqueerhistory.AndI’mthere,usingupyourshampooandmakingyoucometothegrocerystorewithmeandwakingupinthesamedamntimezonewithyoueverymorning.
Whentheelectionisover,wecanfigureoutwhatwe’lldonext.Iwouldlovetobeinthesameplaceforabit,butIknowyouhavetodowhatyouhavetodo.Justknow,Ibelieveinyou.
Re:tellingPhilip,soundslikeagreatplan.Ifallelsefails,justdowhatIdidandactlikeahugejackassuntilmostofyourfamilyfiguresitoutontheirown.
Loveyou.TellBeahi.
A
P.S.EleanorRoosevelttoLorenaHickock—1933:
Imissyougreatlydear.ThenicesttimeofthedayiswhenIwritetoyou.YouhaveastormiertimethanIdobutImissyouasmuch,Ithink.…PleasekeepmostofyourheartinWashingtonaslongasI’mhereformostofmineiswithyou!
Re:Hometownstuff
Henry<hwales@kensingtonemail.com>????????????????9/4/207:58PM
toA
Alex,
Haveyoueverhadsomethinggosohorribly,horribly,unbelievablybadlythatyou’dliketobeloadedintoacannonandjettisonedintothemercilessblackmawofouterspace?
Iwondersometimeswhatisthepointofme,oranything.IshouldhavejustpackedabaglikeIsaid.Icouldbeinyourbed,languishingawayuntilIperish,fatandsexuallyconquered,snuffedoutinthespringofmyyouth.HereliesPrinceHenryofWales.Hediedashelived:avoidingplansandsuckingcock.
ItoldPhilip.Notaboutyou,precisely—aboutme.
Specifically,wewerediscussingenlistment,PhilipandShaanandI,andItoldPhilipI’drathernotfollowthetraditionalpathandthatIhardlythinkI’dbeusefultoanyoneinthemilitary.HeaskedwhyIwassointentondisrespectingthetraditionsofthemenofthisfamily,andItrulythinkIdissociatedstraight(ha)outoftheconversation,becauseIopenedmyblastedmouthandsaid,“BecauseI’mnotliketherestofthemenofthisfamily,beginningwiththefactthatIamverydeeplygay,Philip.”
OnceShaanmanagedtodislodgehimfromthechandelier,Philiphadquiteafewwordsforme,someofwhichwere“confusedormisguided”and“ensuringtheperpetuityofthebloodline”and“respectingthelegacy.”Honestly,Idon’trecallmuchofit.Essentially,IgatheredthathewasnotsurprisedtodiscoverIamnottheheterosexualheirI’msupposedtobe,butrathersurprisedthatIdonotintendtokeeppretendingtobetheheterosexualheirI’msupposedtobe.
So,yes,Iknowwediscussedandhopedthatcomingouttomyfamilywouldbeagoodfirststep.Icannotsaythiswasanencouragingsignre:ouroddsofgoingpublic.Idon’tknow.I’veeatenatremendousamountofJaffaCakesaboutit,tobefrank.
SometimesIimaginemovingtoNewYorktotakeoverlaunchingPez’syouthshelterthere.Justleaving.Notcomingback.Maybeburningsomethingdownonthewayout.Itwouldbenice.
Here’sanidea:Doyouknow,I’verealisedI’veneveractuallytoldyouwhatIthoughtthefirsttimewemet?
Yousee,forme,memoriesaredifficult.Veryoften,theyhurt.Acuriousthingaboutgriefisthewayittakesyourentirelife,allthosefoundationalyearsthatmadeyouwhoyouare,andmakesthemsopainfultolookbackuponbecauseoftheabsencethere,thatsuddenlythey’reinaccessible.Youmustinventanentirelynewsystem.
Istartedtothinkofmyselfandmylifeandmywholelifetimeworthofmemoriesasallthedark,dustyroomsofBuckinghamPalace.ItookthenightBealeftrehabandIbeggedhertotakeitseriously,andIputitinaroomwithpinkpeoniesonthewallpaperandagoldenharpinthecenterofthefloor.Itookmyfirsttime,withoneofmybrother’smatesfromuniwhenIwasseventeen,andIfoundthesmallest,mostcrampedlittlebroomcupboardIcouldmuster,andIshoveditin.Itookmyfather’slastnight,thewayhisfacewentslack,thesmellofhishands,thefever,thewaitingandwaitingandterriblewaitingandtheevenworsenot-waitinganymore,andIfoundthebiggestroom,aballroom,wideopenanddark,windowsdrawnandcovered.Lockedthedoors.
ButthefirsttimeIsawyou.Rio.Itookthatdowntothegardens.IpresseditintotheleavesofasilvermapleandrecitedittotheWaterlooVase.Itdidn’tfitinanyrooms.
YouweretalkingwithNoraandJune,happyandanimatedandfullyalive,apersonlivingindimensionsIcouldn’taccess,andsobeautiful.Yourhairwaslongerthen.Youweren’tevenapresident’ssonyet,butyouweren’tafraid.Youhadayellowipê-amareloinyourpocket.
Ithought,thisisthemostincrediblethingIhaveeverseen,andIhadbetterkeepitasafedistanceawayfromme.Ithought,ifsomeonelikethateverlovedme,itwouldsetmeonfire.
AndthenIwasacarelessfool,andIfellinlovewithyouanyway.Whenyourangmeattrulyshockinghoursofthenight,Ilovedyou.Whenyoukissedmeindisgustingpublictoiletsandpoutedinhotelbarsandmademehappyinwaysinwhichithadneverevenoccurredtomethatamangled-up,locked-uppersonlikemecouldbehappy,Ilovedyou.
Andthen,inexplicably,youhadtheabsoluteaudacitytolovemeback.Canyoubelieveit?
Sometimes,evennow,Istillcan’t.
I’msorrythingsdidn’tgobetterwithPhilip.IwishIcouldsendhope.
Yours,
Henry
P.S.FromMichelangelotoTommasoCavalieri,1533:
Iknowwellthat,atthishour,IcouldaseasilyforgetyournameasthefoodbywhichIlive;nay,itwereeasiertoforgetthefood,whichonlynourishesmybodymiserably,thanyourname,whichnourishesbothbodyandsoul,fillingtheoneandtheotherwithsuchsweetnessthatneitherwearinessnorfearofdeathisfeltbymewhilememorypreservesyoutomymind.Think,iftheeyescouldalsoenjoytheirportion,inwhatconditionIshouldfindmyself.
Re:Hometownstuff
A<agcd@eclare45.com>????????????????9/4/208:31PM
toHenry
H,
Fuck.
I’msosorry.Idon’tknowwhatelsetosay.I’msosorry.JuneandNorasendtheirlove.Notasmuchloveasme.Obviously.
Pleasedon’tworryaboutme.We’llfigureitout.Itjustmighttaketime.I’vebeenworkingonpatience.I’vepickedupallkindsofthingsfromyou.
God,whatcanIpossiblywritetomakethisbetter?
Here:Ican’tdecideifyouremailsmakememissyoumoreorless.SometimesIfeellikeafunny-lookingrockinthemiddleofthemostbeautifulclearoceanwhenIreadthekindsofthingsyouwritetome.Youlovesomuchbiggerthanyourself,biggerthaneverything.Ican’tbelievehowluckyIamtoevenwitnessit—tobetheonewhogetstohaveit,andsomuchofit,isbeyondluckandfeelslikefate.CatholicGodmademetobethepersonyouwritethosethingsabout.I’llsayfiveHailMarys.Muchasgracias,SantaMaria.
Ican’tmatchyouforprose,butwhatIcandoiswriteyoualist.
ANINCOMPLETELIST:THINGSILOVEABOUTHRHPRINCEHENRYOFWALES
1.ThesoundofyourlaughwhenIpissyouoff.
2.Thewayyousmellunderneathyourfancycologne,likecleanlinensbutsomehowalsofreshgrass(whatkindofmagicisthis?).
3.Thatthingyoudowhereyoustickoutyourchintotrytolooktough.
4.Howyourhandslookwhenyouplaypiano.
5.AllthethingsIunderstandaboutmyselfnowbecauseofyou.
6.HowyouthinkReturnoftheJediisthebestStarWars(wrong)becausedeepdownyou’reagigantic,sappy,embarrassingromanticwhojustwantsthehappilyeverafter.
7.YourabilitytoreciteKeats.
8.YourabilitytoreciteBernadette’s“Don’tletitdragyoudown”monologuefromPriscilla,QueenoftheDesert.
9.Howhardyoutry.
10.Howhardyou’vealwaystried.
11.Howdeterminedyouaretokeeptrying.
12.Thatwhenyourshoulderscovermine,nothingelseintheentirestupidworldmatters.
13.ThegoddamnissueofLeMondeyoubroughtbacktoLondonwithyouandkeptandhaveonyournightstand(yes,Isawit).
14.Thewayyoulookwhenyoufirstwakeup.
15.Yourshoulder-to-waistratio.
16.Yourhuge,generous,ridiculous,indestructibleheart.
17.Yourequallyhugedick.
18.Thefaceyoujustmadewhenyoureadthatlastone.
19.Thewayyoulookwhenyoufirstwakeup(IknowIalreadysaidthis,butIreally,reallyloveit).
20.Thefactthatyoulovedmeallalong.
Ikeepthinkingaboutthatlastoneeversinceyoutoldme,andwhatanidiotIwas.It’ssohardformetogetoutofmyownheadsometimes,butnowI’mcomingbacktowhatIsaidtoyouthenightinmyroomwhenitallstarted,andhowIbrushedyouoffwhenyouofferedtoletmegoaftertheDNC,howIusedtotrytoactlikeitwasnothingsometimes.Ididn’tevenknowwhatyouwereofferingtodotoyourself.God,Iwanttofighteveryonewho’severhurtyou,butitwasmetoo,wasn’tit?Allthattime.I’msosorry.
Pleasestaygorgeousandstrongandunbelievable.ImissyouImissyouImissyouIloveyou.I’mcallingyouassoonasIsendthis,butIknowyouliketohavethesethingswrittendown.
A
P.S.RichardWagnertoElizaWille,re:LudwigII–1864(RememberwhenyouplayedWagnerforme?He’sanasshole,butthisissomething.)
ItistruethatIhavemyyoungkingwhogenuinelyadoresme.Youcannotformanideaofourrelations.Irecalloneofthedreamsofmyyouth.IoncedreamedthatShakespearewasalive:thatIreallysawandspoketohim:Icanneverforgettheimpressionthatdreammadeonme.ThenIwouldhavewishedtoseeBeethoven,thoughhewasalreadydead.Somethingofthesamekindmustpassinthemindofthislovablemanwhenwithme.Hesayshecanhardlybelievethathereallypossessesme.Nonecanreadwithoutastonishment,withoutenchantment,thelettershewritestome.TWELVE
There’sadiamondringonZahra’sfingerwhensheshowsupwithhercoffeethermosandathickstackoffiles.They’reinJune’sroom,scarfingdownbreakfastbeforeZahraandJuneleaveforarallyinPittsburgh,andJunedropsherwaffleonthebedspread.
“OhmyGod,Z,whatisthat?Didyougetengaged?”
Zahralooksdownattheringandshrugs.“Ihadtheweekendoff.”
Junegapesather.
“Whenareyougoingtotelluswhoyou’redating?”Alexasks.“Also,how?”
“Uh-uh,nope,”shesays.“Youdon’tgettosayshittomeaboutsecretrelationshipsinandaroundthiscampaign,princess.”
“Point,”Alexconcedes.
ShebrushespastthetopicasJunestartswipingsyrupoffthebedwithherpajamapants.“We’vegotalotofgroundtocoverthismorning,sofocusup,littleClaremonts.”
She’sgotdetailedagendasforeachofthem,bullet-pointedanddouble-sided,andshedivesrightin.They’realreadyonThursday’svoterregistrationdriveinCedarRapids(Alexispointedlynotinvited)whenherphonepingswithanotification.Shepicksitup,scrollingthroughthescreenoffhandedly.
“SoIneedbothofyoutobedressedandready…by…”She’slookingmorecloselyatthescreen,distracted.“By,uh…”Herfaceistakenoverwithahorrifiedgasp.“Oh,fuckmyass.”
“What—?”Alexstarts,buthisownphonebuzzesinhislap,andhelooksdowntofindapushnotificationfromCNN:LEAKEDSURVEILLANCEFOOTAGESHOWSPRINCEHENRYATDNCHOTEL.
“Oh,shit,”Alexsays.
Junereadsoverhisshoulder;somehow,some“anonymoussource”gotthesecuritycamerafootagefromthelobbyoftheBeekmanthatnightoftheDNC.
It’snot…explicitlydamning,butitveryclearlydoesshowthetwoofthemwalkingoutofthebartogether,shouldertoshoulder,flankedbyCash,anditcutstofootagefromtheelevator,Henry’sarmaroundAlex’swaistwhiletheytalkwithCash.Itendswiththethreeofthemgettingofftogetheratthetopfloor.
Zahralooksupathim,practicallymurderous.“Canyouexplaintomewhythisonedayofourliveswillnotstophauntingme?”
“Idon’tknow,”Alexsaysmiserably.“Ican’tbelievethisistheonethat’s—Imean,we’vedoneriskierthingsthanthis—”
“That’ssupposedtomakemefeelbetterhow?”
“Ijustmean,like,whoisleakingfuckingelevatortapes?Who’scheckingforthat?It’snotlikeSolangewasinthere—”
AchirpfromJune’sphoneinterruptshim,andsheswearswhenshelooksatit.“Jesus,thatPostreporterjusttextedtoaskforacommentonthespeculationsurroundingyourrelationshipwithHenryandwhetherit—whetherithastodowithyouleavingthecampaignaftertheDNC.”ShelooksbetweenAlexandZahra,eyeswide.“Thisisreallybad,isn’tit?”
“Itain’tgreat,”Zahrasays.She’sgothernoseburiedinherphone,furiouslytypingoutwhatareprobablyverystronglywordedemailstothepressteam.“Whatweneedisafuckingdiversion.Wehaveto—tosendyouonadateorsomething.”
“Whatifwe—”Juneattempts.
“Or,fuck,sendhimonadate,”Zahrasays.“Sendyoubothondates.”
“Icould—”Junetriesagain.
“WhothefuckdoIcall?Whatgirlisgonnawanttowadeintothisshitstormtofakedateeitherofyouatthispoint?”Zahragrindstheheelsofbothhandsagainsthereyes.“Jesus,beagaybeard.”
“Ihaveanidea!”Junefinallyhalfshouts.Whentheybothlookather,she’sbitingherlip,lookingatAlex.“ButIdon’tknowifyou’regonnalikeit.”
Sheturnsherphonearoundtoshowthemthescreen.It’saphotoherecognizesasoneoftheonestheytookforPezinTexas,JuneandHenryloungingonthedocktogether.She’scroppedNoraoutsoit’sjustthetwoofthem,Henrysportingawide,teasinggrinunderhissunglassesandJuneplantingakissonhischeek.
“Iwasonthatfloortoo,”shesays.“Wedon’thaveto,like,confirmordenyanything.Butwecanimplysomething.Justtotaketheheatoff.”
Alexswallows.
He’salwaysknownJunewasoneinchfromtakingabulletforhim,butthis?Hewouldneveraskhertodothis.
Butthethingis…itwouldwork.Theirsocialmediafriendshipiswelldocumented,evenifhalfofitisGIFsofColinFirth.Outofcontext,thephotolooksascouple-yasanything,likeanice,gorgeous,heterosexualcoupleonvacationtogether.HelooksovertoZahra
“It’snotabadidea,”Zahrasays.“We’dhavetogetHenryonboard.Canyoudothat?”
Alexreleasesabreath.Heabsolutelydoesn’twantthis,buthe’salsonotsurewhatotherchoicehehas.“Um.Yeah,I.Yeah,Ithinkso.”
“Thisiskindofexactlywhatwesaidwedidn’twanttodo,”Alexsaysintohisphone.
“Iknow,”Henrytellshimacrosstheline.Hisvoiceisshaky.PhilipiswaitingonHenry’sotherline.“But.”
“Yeah,”Alexsays.“But.”
JunepoststhepicturefromTexas,anditimmediatelyburnsthroughherstatstobecomehernewmost-likedpost.
Withinhours,it’severywhere.BuzzFeedputsupacomprehensiveguidetoHenryandJune’srelationship,leadingoffwiththatgoddamnphotoofthemdancingattheroyalwedding.TheydigupphotosfromthenightinLA,analyzeTwitterinteractions.“JustwhenyouthoughtJuneClaremont-Diazcouldn’tgetanymore#goals,”onearticlewrites,“hasshesecretlyhadherownPrinceCharmingallalong?”Anotheronespeculates,“DidHRH’sbestfriendAlexintroducethem?”
June’srelieved,onlybecauseshemanagedtofindawaytoprotecthim,eventhoughitmeanstheworldisdiggingthroughherlifeforanswersandevidence,whichmakesAlexwanttomurdereveryone.HealsowantstograbpeoplebytheshouldersandshakethemandtellthemHenryishis,youidiots,eventhoughthewholepointofthiswasforittobebelievable.Heshouldn’tfeelwrongeddeepinhisgut.Butthateveryoneseemsenamored,whentheonlydifferencebetweenthelieandthetruththatwouldburnupFoxNewsisthegenderinvolved…well,itfuckingstings.
Henryisquiet.HesaysenoughforAlextogleanthatPhilipisapoplecticandHerMajestyisannoyedbutpleasedHenryhasfinallyfoundhimselfagirlfriend.Alexfeelshorribleaboutit.Thestiflingorders,pretendingtobesomeonehe’snot—AlexhasalwaystriedtobearefugeforHenryfromitall.Itwasneversupposedtocomefromhissidetoo.
It’sbad.It’sstomach-cramps,walls-closing-in,no-plan-B-if-this-failsbad.HewasinLondonbarelytwoweeksago,kissingHenryinfrontofaGiambologna.Now,this.
There’sanotherpieceintheirbackpocketthat’llsellit.Theonlyrelationshipinhislifethatcangetmoremileagethananyofthis.NoracomestohimattheResidencewearingbrightredlipstickandpressescool,patientfingersagainsthistemplesandsays,“Takemeonadate.”
Theychooseacollegeneighborhoodfullofpeoplewho’llsneakshotsontheirphonesandpostthemeverywhere.Noraslidesherhandintohisbackpocket,andhetriestofocusonthecomfortofherphysicalpresenceagainsthisside,thefamiliarfrizzofhercurlsagainsthischeek.
Forhalfasecond,heallowsasmallpartofhimtothinkabouthowmucheasierthingswouldbeifthiswerethetruth:slidingbackintocomfortable,easyharmonywithhisbestfriend,leavinggreasyfingerprintsalongherwaistlineoutsideJumboSlice,laughingathercrassjokes.Ifhecouldloveherlikepeoplewantedhimto,andshelovedhim,andtherewasn’tanymoretoitthanthat.
Butshedoesn’t,andhecan’t,andhisheartisonaplaneovertheAtlanticrightnow,comingtoDCtosealthedealoverawell-photographedlunchwithJunethenextday.ZahrasendshimanemailfullofTwitterthreadsabouthimandNorathatnightwhenhe’sinbed,andhefeelssick.
Henrylandsinthemiddleofthenightandisn’tevenallowedtocomeneartheResidence,insteadsequesteredinahotelacrosstown.Hesoundsexhaustedwhenhecallsinthemorning,andAlexholdsthephonecloseandpromiseshe’lltrytofindawaytoseehimbeforehefliesbackout.
“Please,”Henrysays,paper-thin.
Hismother,therestoftheadministration,andhalfofthepressatthispointarecaughtupforthedaydealingwithnewsofaNorthKoreanmissiletest;nobodynoticeswhenJuneletshimclimbintoherSUVwithherthatmorning.Juneholdsontohiselbowandmakeshalf-heartedjokes,andwhentheypullupablockfromthecafe,sheoffershimanapologeticsmile.
“I’lltellhimyou’rehere,”shesays.“Ifnothingelse,maybethat’llmakeitalittleeasierforhim.”
“Thanks,”hesays.Beforesheopensthedoortoleave,hecatchesherbythewristandsays,“Seriously.Thankyou.”
Shegiveshishandasqueeze,andsheandAmyaregone,andhe’saloneinatiny,secludedalleywaywiththesecondcarofbackupsecurityandatwisted-upfeelinginhisstomach.
IttakesallofanhourbeforeJunetextshim,Alldone,followedby,Bringinghimtoyou.
Theyworkeditoutbeforetheyleft:AmybringsJuneandHenrybacktothealley,theyhavehimswapcarslikeapoliticalprisoner.Alexleansforwardtothetwoagentssittingsilentlyinthefrontseats.Hedoesn’tknowifthey’vefiguredoutwhatthisreallyisyet,andhehonestlydoesn’tcare.
“Hey,canIhaveaminute?”
Theyexchangealookbutgetout,andaminutelater,there’sanothercaralongsidehimandthedoorisopening,andhe’sthere.Henry,lookingtenseandunhappy,butwithinarm’sreach.
Alexpullshiminbytheshoulderoninstinct,thedoorshuttingbehindhim.Heholdshimthere,andthisclosehecanseethefaintgraytingetoHenry’scomplexion,thewayhiseyesaren’tconnecting.It’stheworsthe’severseenhim,worsethanaviolentfitorthevergeoftears.Helookshollowed-out,vacant.
“Hey,”Alexsays.Henry’sgazeisstillunfocused,andAlexshiftstowardthemiddleoftheseatandintohislineofvision.“Hey.Lookatme.Hey.I’mrighthere.”
Henry’shandsareshaking,hisbreathscomingshallow,andAlexknowsthesigns,thelowhumofanimpendingpanicattack.HereachesdownandwrapshishandsaroundoneofHenry’swrists,feelingtheracingpulseunderhisthumbs.
Henryfinallymeetshiseyes.“Ihateit,”hesays.“Ihatethis.”
“Iknow,”Alexsays.
“Itwas…tolerablebefore,somehow,”Henrysays.“Whentherewasnever—neverthepossibilityofanythingelse.But,Christ,thisis—it’svile.It’sabloodyfarce.AndJuneandNora,what,theyjustgettobeused?Granwantedmetobringmyownphotographersforthis.Didyouknowthat?”Heinhales,anditgetscaughtinhisthroatandshuddersviolentlyonthewaybackout.“Alex.Idon’twanttodothis.”
“Iknow,”Alextellshimagain,reachinguptosmoothoutHenry’sbrowwiththepadofhisthumb.“Iknow.Ihateittoo.”
“It’snotfuckingfair!”hegoeson,hisvoicenearlybreaking.“Myshitancestorswalkedarounddoingathousandtimesworsethananyofthis,andnobodycared!”
“Baby,”Alexsays,movinghishandtoHenry’schintobringhimbackdown.“Iknow.I’msosorry,babe.Butitwon’tbelikethisforever,okay?Ipromise.”
Henrycloseshiseyesandexhalesthroughhisnose.“Iwanttobelieveyou.Ido.ButI’msoafraidI’llneverbeallowed.”
Alexwantstogotowarforthisman,wantstogethishandsoneverythingandeveryonethateverhurthim,butforonce,he’stryingtobethesteadyone.SoherubsthesideofHenry’sneckgentlyuntilhiseyesdriftbackopen,andhesmilessoftly,tippingtheirforeheadstogether.
“Hey,”hesays.“I’mnotgonnaletthathappen.Listen,I’mtellingyourightnow,IwillphysicallyfightyourgrandmothermyselfifIhaveto,okay?And,like,she’sold.IknowIcantakeher.”
“Iwouldn’tbesococky,”Henrysayswithasmalllaugh.“She’sfullofdarksurprises.”
Alexlaughs,cuffinghimontheshoulder.
“Seriously,”hesays.Henry’slookingbackathim,beautifulandvitalandheartsickandstill,always,thepersonAlexiswillingtoriskruininghislifefor.“Ihatethissomuch.Iknow.Butwe’regonnadoittogether.Andwe’regonnamakeitwork.Youandmeandhistory,remember?We’rejustgonnafuckingfight.Becauseyou’reit,okay?I’mnevergonnaloveanybodyintheworldlikeIloveyou.So,Ipromiseyou,onedaywe’llbeabletojustbe,andfuckeveryoneelse.”
HepullsHenryinbythenapeofhisneckandkisseshimhard,Henry’skneeknockingagainstthecenterconsoleashishandsmoveuptoAlex’sface.Eventhoughthewindowsaretintedblack,it’stheclosestthey’veevercometokissinginpublic,andAlexknowsit’sreckless,butallhecanthinkisasupercutofotherpeople’slettersthey’vequietlysenttoeachother.Wordsthatwentdowninhistory.“Meetyouineverydream…KeepmostofyourheartinWashington…Missyoulikeahome…Wetwolongingloves…Myyoungking.”
Oneday,hetellshimself.Oneday,ustoo.
Theanxietyfeelslikebuzzinglittlewingsinhisearinthesilence,likeapetulantwasp.Itcatcheshimwhenhetriestosleepandstartleshimawake,followshimonlapspacedupanddownthefloorsoftheResidence.It’sgettinghardertobrushoffthefeelinghe’sbeingwatched.
Theworstpartisthatthere’snoendinsight.They’lldefinitelyhavetokeepitupatleastuntiltheelectionisover,andeventhen,there’sthealwaysloomingpossibilityofthequeenoutrightforbiddingit.Hisidealisticstreakwon’tlethimfullyacceptit,butthatdoesn’tmeanitisn’tthere.
HekeepswakingupinDC,andHenrykeepswakingupinLondon,andthewholeworldkeepswakinguptotalkaboutthetwooftheminlovewithotherpeople.PicturesofNora’shandinhis.SpeculationaboutwhetherJunewillgetanofficialannouncementofroyalcourtship.Andthetwoofthem,HenryandAlex,liketheworld’sworstillustrationoftheSymposium:splitdownthemiddleandsentbleedingintoseparatelives.
EventhatthoughtdepresseshimbecauseHenry’stheonlyreasonhe’sbecomeapersonwhocitesPlato.Henryandhisclassics.Henryinhispalace,inlove,inmisery,nottalkingmuchanymore.
Evenwithbothofthemtryingashardastheyare,it’simpossibletofeellikeit’snotpullingthemapart.Thewholecharadetakesandtakesfromthem,takesdaysthatweresacred—thenightinLA,theweekendatthelake,themissedchanceinRio—andrecordsoverthetapewithsomethingmorepalatable.Thenarrative:twofresh-facedyoungmenwholovetwobeautifulyoungwomenanddefinitelynotevereachother.
Hedoesn’twantHenrytoknow.Henryhasahardenoughtimeasitis,lookedatsidewaysbyhiswholefamily,Philipwhoknowsandhasnotbeenkind.Hetriestosoundcalmandwholeoverthephonewhentheytalk,buthedoesn’tthinkit’sconvincing.
Whenhewasyoungerandtheanxietygotthisbad,whenthestakesinhislifeweremuch,muchlower,thiswouldbethepointofself-destruction.IfhewereinCalifornia,he’dsneakthejeepoutanddrivewaytoofastdownthe101,doorsoff,blastingN.W.A.,inchesfrombeingpaintedonthepavement.InTexas,he’dstealabottleofMaker’sfromtheliquorcabinetandgetwastedwithhalfthelacrosseteamandmaybe,afterward,climbthroughLiam’swindowandhopetoforgetbymorning.
Thefirstdebateisinamatterofweeks.Hedoesn’tevenhaveworktokeephimbusy,sohestewsandstressesandgoesforlong,punishingrunsuntilhehasthesatisfactionofblisters.Hewantstosethimselfonfire,buthecan’taffordforanyonetoseehimburn.
He’sreturningaboxofborrowedfilestohisdad’sofficeintheDirksenBuildingafterhourswhenhehearsthefaintsoundofMuddyWatersfromthefloorabove,andithitshim.There’sonepersonhecanburndowninstead.
HefindsRafaelLunahunchedathisoffice’sopenwindow,suckingdownacigarette.Therearetwoempty,crumpledpacksofMarlborosnexttoalighterandanoverflowingashtrayonthesill.Whenheturnsaroundattheslamofthedoor,hecoughsoutastartledcloudofsmoke.
“Thosethingsaregonnafuckingkillyou,”Alexsays.HesaidthesamethingaboutfivehundredtimesthatsummerinDenver,butnowhemeans,Ikindawishtheywould.
“Kid—”
“Don’tcallmethat.”
Lunaturns,stubbingouthiscigaretteintheashtray,andAlexcanseeamuscleclenchinginhisjaw.Ashandsomeashealwaysis,helookslikeshit.“Youshouldn’tbehere.”
“Noshit,”Alexsays.“Ijustwantedtoseeifyouwouldhavetheballstoactuallytalktome.”
“Youdorealizeyou’retalkingtoaUnitedStatessenator,”hesaysplacidly.
“Yeah,bigfuckingman,”Alexsays.He’sadvancingonLunanow,kickingachairoutoftheway.“Importantfuckingjob.Hey,how’boutyoutellmehowyou’reservingthepeoplewhovotedforyoubybeingJeffreyRichards’schickenshitlittlesellout?”
“Whatthehelldidyoucomeherefor,Alex,eh?”Lunaaskshim,unmoved.“Yougonnafightme?”
“Iwantyoutotellmewhy.”
Hisjawclenchesagain.“Youwouldn’tunderstand.You’re—”
“IsweartoGod,ifyousayI’mtooyoung,I’mgonnalosemyshit.”
“Thisisn’tyoulosingyourshit?”Lunaasksmildly,andthelookthatcrossesAlex’sfacemustbemurderousbecauseheimmediatelyputsahandup.“Okay,badtiming.Look,Iknow.Iknowitseemsshitty,butthere’s—therearemovingpartsatworkherethatyoucan’tevenimagine.YouknowI’llalwaysbeindebtedtoyourfamilyforwhatyouallhavedoneforme,but—”
“Idon’tgiveashitaboutwhatyouoweus.Itrustedyou,”hesays.“Don’tcondescendtome.YouknowasmuchasanyonewhatI’mcapableof,whatI’veseen.Ifyoutoldme,Iwouldgetit.”
He’ssoclosehe’spracticallybreathingLuna’sreekingcigarettesmoke,andwhenhelooksintohisface,there’saflickerofrecognitionatthebloodshot,blackenedeyesandthegauntcheekbones.ItremindshimofhowHenrylookedinthebackoftheSecretServicecar.
“DoesRichardshavesomethingonyou?”heasks.“Ishemakingyoudothis?”
Lunahesitates.“I’mdoingthisbecauseit’swhatneedstobedone,Alex.Itwasmychoice.Nobodyelse’s.”
“Thentellmewhy.”
Lunatakesadeepbreathandsays,“No.”
AleximagineshisfistinLuna’sfaceandremoveshimselfbytwosteps,outofrange.
“YourememberthatnightinDenver,”hesays,measured,hisvoicequavering,“whenweorderedpizzaandyoushowedmepicturesofallthekidsyoufoughtforincourt?AndwedrankthatnicebottleofscotchfromthemayorofBoulder?Irememberlyingonthefloorofyouroffice,ontheugly-asscarpet,drunkoffmyass,thinking,‘God,IhopeIcanbelikehim.’Becauseyouwerebrave.Becauseyoustoodupforthings.AndIcouldn’tstopwonderinghowyouhadthenervetogetupanddowhatyoudoeverydaywitheveryoneknowingwhattheyknowaboutyou.”
Briefly,Alexthinkshe’sgottenthroughtoLuna,fromthewayhecloseshiseyesandbraceshimselfagainstthesill.ButwhenhefacesAlexagain,hisstareishard.
“Peopledon’tknowadamnthingaboutme.Theydon’tknowthehalfofit.Andneitherdoyou,”hesays.“Jesus,Alex,please,don’tbelikeme.Findanotherfuckingrolemodel.”
Alex,finallyathislimit,liftshischinandspitsout,“Ialreadyamlikeyou.”
Ithangsintheairbetweenthem,asphysicalasthekicked-overchair.Lunablinks.“Whatareyousaying?”
“YouknowwhatI’msaying.Ithinkyoualwaysknew,beforeIevendid.”
“Youdon’t—”hesays,stammering,tryingtoputitoff.“You’renotlikeme.”
Alexlevelshisstare.“Closeenough.AndyouknowwhatImean.”
“Okay,fine,kid,”Lunafinallysnaps,“youwantmetobeyourfuckingsherpa?Here’smyadvice:Don’ttellanyone.Gofindanicegirlandmarryher.You’reluckierthanme—youcandothat,anditwouldn’tevenbealie.”
AndwhatcomesoutofAlex’smouth,comessofasthehasnochancetostopit,onlydivertitoutofEnglishatthelastsecondincaseit’soverheard:“Seríaunamentira,porquenoseríaél.”Itwouldbealie,becauseitwouldn’tbehim.
HeknowsimmediatelyRafhascaughthismeaning,becausehetakesasharpstepbackward,hisbackhittingthesillagain.
“Youcan’ttellmethisshit,Alex!”hesays,clawinginsidehisjacketuntilhefindsandremovesanotherpackofcigarettes.Heshakesoneoutandfumbleswiththelighter.“Whatareyoueventhinking?I’montheopponent’sfuckingcampaign!Ican’thearthis!Howcanyoupossiblythinkyoucanbeapoliticianlikethis?”
“Whofuckingdecidedthatpoliticshadtobeaboutlyingandhidingandbeingsomethingyou’renot?”
“It’salwaysbeenthat,Alex!”
“Sincewhendidyoubuyintoit?”Alexspits.“You,me,myfamily,thepeoplewerunwith—weweregonnabethehonestones!Ihaveabsolutelyzerointerestinbeingapoliticianwithsomeperfectveneerandtwo-point-fivekids.Didn’twedecideitwassupposedtobeabouthelpingpeople?Aboutthefight?WhatpartofthatissofuckingirreconcilablewithlettingpeopleseewhoIreallyam?Whoyouare,Raf?”
“Alex,please.Please.JesusChrist.Youhavetoleave.Ican’tknowthis.Youcan’ttellmethis.Youhavetobemorecarefulthanthis.”
“God,”Alexsays,voicebitter,hishandsonhiships.“Youknow,it’sworsethantrust.Ibelievedinyou.”
“Iknowyoudid,”Lunasays.He’snotevenlookingatAlexanymore.“Iwishyouhadn’t.Now,Ineedyoutogetout.”
“Raf—”
“Alex.Get.Out.”
Hegoes,slammingthedoorbehindhim.
BackattheResidence,hetriestocallHenry.Hedoesn’tpickup,buthetexts:Sorry.MeetingwithPhilip.Loveyou.
Hereachesunderthebedandgropesinthedarkuntilhefindsit:abottleofMaker’s.Theemergencystash.
“Salud,”hemuttersunderhisbreath,andheunscrewsthetop.
badmetaphorsaboutmaps
A<agcd@eclare45.com>????????????????9/25/203:21AM
toHenry
h,
ihavehadwhiskey.bearwithme.
there’sthisthingyoudo.thisthing.itdrivesmecrazy.ithinkaboutitallthetime.
there’sacornerofyourmouth,andaplacethatitgoes.pinchedandworriedlikeyou’reafraidyou’reforgettingsomething.iusedtohateit.usedtothinkitwasyourlittleticofdisapproval.
buti’vekissedyourmouth,thatcorner,thatplaceitgoes,somanytimesnow.i’vememorizedit.topographyonthemapofyou,aworldi’mstillcharting.iknowit.iaddedittothekey.here:inchestomiles.icanmultiplyitout,readyourlatitudeandlongitude.reciteyourcoordinateslikelarosaria.
thisthing,yourmouth,itsplace.it’swhatyoudowhenyou’retryingnottogiveyourselfaway.notinthewaythatyoudoallthetime,thoseempty,greedygrabsforyou.imeanthetruthofyou.theweird,perfectshapeofyourheart.theoneontheoutsideofyourchest.
onthemapofyou,myfingerscanalwaysfindthegreenhills,wales.coolwatersandashoreofwhitechalk.theancientpartofyoucarvedoutofstoneinaprayerfulcircle,sacrosanct.yourspine’saridgei’ddieclimbing.
ificouldspreaditoutonmydesk,i’dfindthecornerofyourmouthwhereitpincheswithmyfingers,andi’dsmoothitawayandyou’dbemarkedwiththenamesofsaintslikealltheoldmaps.igetthenomenclaturenow—saints’namesbelongtomiracles.
giveyourselfawaysometimes,sweetheart.there’ssomuchofyou.
fuckingyrs,
a
p.s.wilfredowentosiegfriedsassoon—1917:
AndyouhavefixedmyLife—howevershort.Youdidnotlightme:Iwasalwaysamadcomet;butyouhavefixedme.Ispunroundyouasatelliteforamonth,butshallswingoutsoon,adarkstarintheorbitwhereyouwillblaze.
Re:Badmetaphorsaboutmaps
Henry<hwales@kensingtonemail.com>????????????????9/25/206:07AM
toA
FromJeanCocteautoJeanMarais,1939:
Thankyoufromthebottomofmyheartforhavingsavedme.Iwasdrowningandyouthrewyourselfintothewaterwithouthesitation,withoutabackwardlook.
ThesoundofAlex’sphonebuzzingonhisnightstandstartleshimoutofadeadsleep.Hefallshalfwayoutofbed,fumblingtoanswerit.
“Hello?”
“Whatdidyoudo?”Zahra’svoicenearlyshouts.Bytheclickingofheelsinthebackgroundandmutteredswearing,she’srunningsomewhere.
“Um,”Alexsays.Herubshiseyes,tryingtogethisbrainbackonline.Whatdidhedo?“Bemorespecific?”
“Checkthefuckingnews,youhornylittlemiscreant—howcouldyoupossiblybestupidenoughtogetphotographed?IsweartoGod—”
Alexdoesn’tevenhearthelastpartofwhatshesays,becausehisstomachhasjustdroppedallthewaydownthroughthefloorandintothefuckingbasementstwofloorsbelow.
“Fuck.”
Handsshaking,heswitchesZahratospeaker,opensupGoogle,andtypeshisownname.
BREAKING:PhotosRevealRomanticRelationshipBetweenPrinceHenryandAlexClaremont-Diaz
OMFG:FSOTUSandPrinceHenry—TotallyDoingIt
THEORALOFFICE:READFSOTUS’SSTEAMYEMAILSTOPRINCEHENRY
RoyalFamilyDeclinestoCommentonReportsofPrinceHenry’sRelationshipwithFirstSon
25GIFsThatPerfectlyDescribeOurReactionWhenWeHeardAboutPrinceHenry&FSOTUS
DON’TLETFIRSTSONGODOWNONME
Abubbleofhystericallaughteremergesfromhisthroat.
Hisbedroomdoorfliesopen,andZahraslamsonthelight,asteelyexpressionofragebarelyconcealingthesheerterroronherface.Alex’sbrainflashestothepanicbuttonbehindhisheadboardandwondersiftheSecretServicewillbeabletofindhimbeforehebleedsout.
“You’reoncommunicationslockdown,”shesays,andinsteadofpunchinghim,shesnatcheshisphoneoutofhishandandshovesitdownthefrontofherblouse,whichhasbeenbuttonedwronginherrush.Shedoesn’tevenblinkathisstateofhalf-nakedness,justdumpsanarmloadofnewspapersontohisbedspread.
QUEENHENRY!twentycopiesoftheDailyMailproclaimingiganticletters.INSIDETHEPRINCE’SGAYAFFAIRWITHTHEFIRSTSONOFTHEUNITEDSTATES!
Thecoverissplashedwithablown-upphotoofwhatisundeniablyhimselfandHenrykissinginthebackseatofthecarbehindthecafe,apparentlyshotwithalong-rangelensthroughthewindshield.Tintedwindows,butheforgotaboutthefuckingwindshield.
Twosmallerphotosareinsetonthebottomofthepage:oneoftheshotsofthemontheBeekman’selevatorandaphotoofthemsidebysideatWimbledon,himwhisperingsomethinginHenry’searwhileHenrysmilesasoft,privatesmile.
Fuckingshittinghell.Heissofucked.Henryissofucked.And,JesusChrist,hismother’scampaignisfucked,andhispoliticalcareerisfucked,andhisearsareringing,andhe’sgoingtothrowup.
“Fuck,”Alexsaysagain.“Ineedmyphone.IhavetocallHenry—”
“No,youdofuckingnot,”Zahrasays.“Wedon’tknowyethowtheemailsgotout,soit’sradiosilenceuntilwefindtheleak.”
“The—what?IsHenryokay?”God,Henry.AllhecanthinkaboutisHenry’sbigblueeyeslookingterrified,Henry’sbreathingcomingshallowandquick,lockedinhisbedroominKensingtonPalaceanddesperatelyalone,andhisjawlocksup,somethingburninginthebackofhisthroat.
“ThepresidentissittingdownrightnowwithasmanymembersoftheOfficeofCommunicationsaswecoulddragoutofbedatthreeinthemorning,”Zahratellshim,ignoringhisquestion.Herphoneisbuzzingnonstopinherhand.“It’sabouttobegayDEFCONfiveinthisadministration.ForGod’ssake,putsomeclotheson.”
ZahradisappearsintoAlex’scloset,andheflipsthenewspaperopentothestory,hisheartpounding.Thereareevenmorephotosinside.Heglancesoverthecopy,butthere’stoomuchtoevenbegintoprocess
Onthesecondpage,heseesthem:printedandannotatedexcerptsoftheiremails.Oneislabeled:PRINCEHENRY:SECRETPOET?Itbeginswithalinehe’sreadaboutathousandtimesbynow.
ShouldItellyouthatwhenwe’reapart,yourbodycomesbacktomeindreams…
“Fuck!”hesaysathirdtime,spikingthenewspaperatthefloor.Thatonewashis.Itfeelsobscenetoseeitthere.“Howthefuckdidtheygetthese?”
“Yep,”Zahraagrees.“Youdirtydidit.”Shethrowsawhitebutton-downandapairofjeansathim,andhepitcheshimselfoutofbed.Zahragamelyholdsoutanarmforhimtosteadyhimselfwhilehepullshispantsup,anddespiteitall,he’sstruckwithoverwhelminggratitudeforher.
“Listen,IneedtotalktoHenryassoonaspossible.Ican’tevenimagine—God,Ineedtotalktohim.”
“Getsomeshoes,we’rerunning,”Zahratellshim.“Priorityoneisdamagecontrol,notfeelings.”
Hegrabsapairofsneakers,andtheytakeoffwhilehe’sstillpullingthemon,runningwest.Hisbrainisstrugglingtokeepup,runningthroughaboutfivethousandpossiblewaysthiscouldgo,imagininghimselftenyearsdowntheroadbeingfrozenoutofCongress,plummetingapprovalratings,Henry’snamescratchedoffthelineofsuccession,hismotherlosingreelectiononaswingstate’sdisapprovalofhim.He’ssoscrewed,andhecan’tevendecidewhotobetheangriestwith,himselfortheMailorthemonarchyorthewholestupidcountry.
HenearlycrashesintoZahra’sbackassheskidstoastopinfrontofadoor
Hepushesthedooropen,andthewholeroomgoessilent.
Hismotherstaresathimfromtheheadofthetableandsaysflatly,“Out.”
Atfirsthethinksshe’stalkingtohim,butshecutshereyesdowntothepeoplearoundthetablewithher.
“WasInotclear?Everyone,out,now,”shesays.“Ineedtotalktomyson.”THIRTEEN
“Sitdown,”hismothertellshim,andAlexfeelsdreadcoildeepinhisstomach.Hehasnocluewhattoexpect—knowingyourparentasthepersonwhoraisedyouisn’tthesameasbeingabletoguesstheirmovesasaworldleader.
Hesits,andthesilencehoversoverthem,hismother’shandsfoldedinaconsideringposeagainstherlips.Shelooksexhausted.
“Areyouokay?”shesaysfinally.Whenhelooksupinsurprise,there’snoangerinhereyes.
Thepresidentstandsontheedgeofacareer-endingscandal,measuresherbreathsevenly,andwaitsforhersontoanswer.
Oh.
Ithitshimwithsuddenclaritythathehasn’tatallstoppedtoconsiderhisownfeelings.Theresimplyhasn’tbeenthetime.Whenhereachesforanemotiontoname,hefindshecan’tpinonedown,andsomethingshuddersinsidehimandshutsdowncompletely.
Hedoesn’toftenwishawayhispositioninlife,butinthismoment,hedoes.Hewantstobehavingthisconversationinadifferentlife,justhismothersittingacrossfromhimatthedinnertable,askinghimhowhefeelsabouthisnice,respectableboyfriend,ifhe’sdoingokaywithfiguringhisidentityout.Notlikethis,inaWestWingbriefingroom,hisdirtyemailsspreadoutbetweenthemonthetable.
“I’m…”hebegins.Tohishorror,hehearssomethingshakeinhisvoice,whichhequicklyswallowsdown.“Idon’tknow.Thisisn’thowIwantedtotellpeople.Ithoughtwe’dgetachancetodothisright.”
Somethingsoftensandresolvesinherface,andhesuspectshe’sansweredaquestionforherbeyondtheonesheasked.
Shereachesoverandcoversoneofhishandswithherown.
“Youlistentome,”shesays.Herjawisset,ironclad.It’sthegamefacehe’sseenherusetostaredownCongress,tocowautocrats.Hergriponhishandissteadyandstrong.Hewonders,half-hysterically,ifthisishowitfelttochargeintowarunderWashington.“Iamyourmother.IwasyourmotherbeforeIwaseverthepresident,andI’llbeyourmotherlongafter,tothedaytheyputmeinthegroundandbeyondthisearth.Youaremychild.So,ifyou’reseriousaboutthis,I’llbackyourplay.”
Alexissilent.
Butthedebates,hethinks.Butthegeneral.
Hergazeishard.Heknowsbetterthantosayeitherofthosethings.She’llhandleit.
“So,”shesays.“Doyoufeelforeverabouthim?”
Andthere’snoroomlefttoagonizeoverit,nothinglefttodobutsaythethinghe’sknownallalong.
“Yeah,”hesays,“Ido.”
EllenClaremontexhalesslowly,andshegrinsasmall,secretgrin,thecrooked,unflatteringonesheneverusesinpublic,theoneheknowsbestfromwhenhewasakidaroundherkneesinasmallkitcheninTravisCounty.
“Then,fuckit.”
TheWashingtonPost
AsdetailsemergeaboutAlexClaremont-Diaz’saffairwithPrinceHenry,WhiteHousegoessilent
September27,2020
“ThinkingabouthistorymakesmewonderhowI’llfitintoitoneday,Iguess,”FirstSonAlexClaremont-DiazwritesinoneofthemanyemailstoPrinceHenrypublishedbytheDailyMailthismorning.“Andyoutoo.”
ItseemstheanswertothatquestionmayhavecomesoonerthananyanticipatedwiththesuddenexposureoftheFirstSon’sromanticrelationshipwithPrinceHenry,anarrangementwithmajorrepercussionsfortwooftheworld’smostpowerfulnations,lessthantwomonthsbeforetheUnitedStatescastsitsvoteonPresidentClaremont’ssecondterm.
AssecurityexpertswithintheFBIandtheClaremontadministrationscrambletofindthesourcesthatprovidedtheBritishtabloidwithevidenceoftheaffair,theusuallyhigh-profileFirstFamilyhasshuttered,withnoofficialstatementfromtheFirstSon.
“TheFirstFamilyhasalwaysandcontinuestokeeptheirpersonallivesseparatefromthepoliticalanddiplomaticdealingsofthepresidency,”WhiteHousePressSecretaryDavisSutherlandsaidinabriefpreparedstatementthismorning.“TheyaskforpatienceandunderstandingfromtheAmericanpeopleastheyhandlethisveryprivatematter.”
TheDailyMail’sreportthismorningrevealedthatFirstSonAlexClaremont-DiazhasbeeninvolvedromanticallyandsexuallywithPrinceHenrysinceatleastFebruaryofthisyear,accordingtoemailsandphotographsobtainedbythepaper.
ThefullemailtranscriptshavebeenuploadedtoWikiLeaksunderthemoniker“TheWaterlooLetters,”seeminglynamedforareferencetotheWaterlooVaseintheBuckinghamPalaceGardensinoneemailcomposedbyPrinceHenry.ThecorrespondencecontinuesregularlyuptoSundaynightandappearstohavebeenliftedfromaprivateemailserverusedbyresidentsoftheWhiteHouse.
“SettingasidetheramificationsforPresidentClaremont’sabilitytobeimpartialonissuesofbothinternationalrelationsandtraditionalfamilyvalues,”RepublicanpresidentialcandidateSenatorJeffreyRichardssaidatapressconferenceearliertoday,“I’mextremelyconcernedaboutthisprivateemailserver.Whatkindofinformationwasbeingdisseminatedonthisserver?”
RichardsaddedthathebelievestheAmericanvotershavearighttoknoweverythingelseforwhichPresidentClaremont’sservermayhavebeenused.
SourcesclosetotheClaremontadministrationinsisttheprivateserverissimilartotheonesetupduringPresidentGeorgeW.Bush’sadministrationandusedonlyforcommunicationwithintheWhiteHouseaboutday-to-dayoperationsandpersonalcorrespondencefortheFirstFamilyandcoreWhiteHousepersonnel.
Firstroundsofexaminationof“TheWaterlooLetters”byexpertshaveyettorevealanyevidenceofclassifiedinformationorotherwisecompromisingcontentoutsideofthenatureoftheFirstSon’srelationshipwithPrinceHenry.
Forfiveendless,unbearablehours,AlexisshuffledfromroomtoroomintheWestWing,meetingwithwhatseemstobeeverystrategist,pressstaffer,andcrisismanagerhismother’sadministrationhastooffer.
Theonlymomentherecallswithanyclarityispullinghismotherintoanalcovetosay,“ItoldRaf.”
Shestaresathim.“YoutoldRafaelLunathatyou’rebisexual?”
“ItoldRafaelLunaaboutHenry,”hesaysflatly.“Twodaysago.”
Shedoesn’taskwhy,justsighsgrimly,andtheybothhoverovertheimplicationbeforeshesays,“No.No,thosepicturesweretakenbeforethat.Itcouldn’thavebeenhim.”
Herunsthroughproandconlists,modelsofdifferentoutcomes,fuckingchartsandgraphsandmoredatathanhehaseverwantedtoseeabouthisownrelationshipanditsramificationsfortheworldaroundhim.Thisisthedamageyoucause,Alex,itallseemstosay,rightthereinhardfactsandfigures.Thisiswhoyouhurt.
Hehateshimself,buthedoesn’tregretanything,andmaybethatmakeshimabadpersonandaworsepolitician,buthedoesn’tregretHenry.
Forfiveendless,unbearablehours,he’snotallowedtoeventrytocontactHenry.Thepresssecdraftsastatement.Itlookslikeanyothermemo.
Forfivehours,hedoesn’tshowerorchangehisclothesorlaughorsmileorcry.It’seightinthemorningwhenhe’sfinallyreleasedandtoldtostayintheResidenceandstandbyforfurtherinstructions.
He’shandedhisphone,atlast,butthere’snoanswerwhenhecallsHenry,andnoresponsewhenhetexts.Nothingatall.
Amywalkshimthroughthecolonnadeandupthestairs,sayingnothing,andwhentheyreachthehallwaybetweentheEastandWestBedrooms,heseesthem.
June,herhairinahaphazardknotonthetopofherheadandinapinkbathrobe,hereyesred-rimmed.Hismom,inasharp,no-nonsenseblackdressandpointedheels,jawset.Leo,barefootinhispajamas.Andhisdad,aleatherduffelstillhangingoffoneshoulder,lookingharriedandexhausted.
Theyallturntolookathim,andAlexfeelsawaveofsomethingsomuchbiggerthanhimselfsweepoverhim,likewhenhewasachildstandingbowleggedintheGulfofMexico,riptidesuckingathisfeet.Asoundescapeshisthroatuninvited,somethingthathebarelyevenrecognizes,andJunehashimfirst,thentherestofthem,armsandarmsandhandsandhands,pullinghimcloseandtouchinghisfaceandmovinghimuntilhe’sonthefloor,thegoddamnterriblehideousantiquerugthathehates,sittingonthefloorandstaringattherugandthethreadsoftherugandhearingtheGulfrushinginhisearsandthinkingdistantlythathe’shavingapanicattack,andthat’swhyhecan’tbreathe,buthe’sjuststaringattherugandhe’shavingapanicattackandknowingwhyhislungswon’tworkdoesn’tmakethemworkagain.
He’sfaintlyawareofbeingshiftedintohisroom,tohisbed,whichisstillcoveredinthegodforsakenfuckingnewspapers,andsomeoneguideshimontoit,andhesitsdownandtriesvery,veryhardtomakealistinhishead.
One.
One.
One.
Hesleepsinfitsandstarts,wakesupsweating,wakesupshivering.Hedreamsinshort,fracturedscenesthatswellandfadeerratically.Hedreamsofhimselfatwar,inamuddytrench,lovelettersoakingredinhischestpocket.HedreamsofahouseinTravisCounty,doorslocked,unwillingtolethiminagain.Hedreamsofacrown.
Hedreamsonce,briefly,ofthelakehouse,anorangebeaconunderthemoon.Heseeshimselfthere,standinginwateruptohisneck.HeseesHenry,sittingnakedonthepier.HeseesJuneandNora,handsclaspedtogether,andPezonthegrassbetweenthem,andBea,diggingpinkfingertipsintothewetsoil.
Inthetreesnexttothem,hehearsthesnap,snap,snapofbranches.
“Look,”Henrysays,pointingupatthestars.
AndAlextriestosay,Don’tyouhearit?Triestosay,Something’scoming.Heopenshismouth:aspilloffireflies,andnothing.
Whenheopenshiseyes,Juneissittingupagainstthepillowsnexttohim,bittennailspressedagainstherbottomlip,stillinherbathrobeandkeepingwatch.Shereachesdownandsqueezeshishand.Hesqueezesback.
Betweendreamshecatchesthesoundofmuffledvoicesinthehallway.
“Nothing,”Zahra’svoiceissaying.“Notathing.Nobodyistakingourcalls.”
“Howcantheynotbetakingourcalls?I’mthegoddamnpresident.”
“Permissiontodoathing,ma’am,slightlyoutsidediplomaticprotocol.”
Acomment:TheFirstFamilyHasBeenLyingToUs,TheAmericanPeople!!1WHATELSEAreTheyLyingAbout??!?!
Atweet:IKNEWITIKNEWALEXWASGAYITOLDYOUBITCHES
Acomment:My12y/odaughterhasbeencryingallday.She’sdreamtofmarryingPrinceHenrysinceshewasalittlegirl.Sheisheartbroken.
Acomment:Arewereallysupposedtobelievethatnofederalfundswereusedtocoverthisup?
Atweet:lmaoooowaitlookatpage22oftheemailsalexissuchahoe
Atweet:OMFGDIDYOUSEEsomebodywhowenttouniwithHenrypostedsomephotosofhimatapartyandheisjustlikeProfoundlyGayinthemi’mscreaming
Atweet:READ—Mycolumnwith@WSJonwhatthe#WaterlooLetterssayabouttheinnerworkingsoftheClaremontWhiteHouse.
Morecomments.Slurs.Lies.
Junetakeshisphoneawayandshovesitunderacouchcushion.Hedoesn’tbotherprotesting.Henry’snotgoingtocall.
Atoneintheafternoon,forthesecondtimeintwelvehours,Zahraburststhroughhisbedroomdoor.
“Packabag,”shesays.“We’regoingtoLondon.”
Junehelpshimstuffabackpackwithjeansandapairofshoesandabroken-incopyofPrisonerofAzkaban,andhestumblesintoacleanshirtandoutofhisroom.ZahraiswaitinginthehallwithherownbagandafreshlypressedsuitofAlex’s,asensiblenavyonethatshehasapparentlydecidedisappropriateformeetingthequeen.
She’stoldhimverylittle,exceptthatBuckinghamPalacehasshutdowncommunicationchannelsinandout,andthey’rejustgoingtoshowupanddemandameeting.SheseemsconfidentShaanwillagreetoitandwillingtophysicallyoverpowerhimifnot.
Thefeelingrollingaroundinhisgutisbizarre.Hismomhassignedoffonthemgoingpublicwiththetruth,whichisincredible,butthere’snoreasontoexpectthatfromthecrown.Hecouldgetmarchingorderstodenyeverything.HethinkshemightgrabHenryandrunifitcomesdowntothat.
He’salmostcompletelysureHenrywouldn’tgoalongwithpretendingitwasallfake.HetrustsHenry,andhebelievesinhim.
Buttheywerealsosupposedtohavemoretime.
There’sasecludedsideentranceoftheResidencethatAlexcansneakoutofwithoutbeingseen,andJuneandhisparentsmeethimthere.
“Iknowthisisscary,”hismomsays,“butyoucanhandleit.”
“Give’emhell,”hisdadadds.
Junehugshim,andheshovesonhissunglassesandahatandjogsoutthedoorandtowardwhateverwaythisisallgoingtoend.
CashandAmyarewaitingontheplane.Alexwondersbrieflyiftheyvolunteeredfortheassignment,buthe’stryingtogethisemotionsbackundercontrol,andthat’snotgoingtohelp.HebumpshisfistagainstCash’sashepasses,andAmynodsupfromthedenimjacketshe’sneedlingyellowflowersinto.
It’sallhappenedsoquicklythatnow,kneescurleduptohischinastheyleavetheground,isthefirsttimeAlexisabletoactuallythinkabouteverything.
He’snot,hethinks,upsetpeopleknow.He’salwaysbeenprettyunapologeticwhenitcametothingslikewhohedatesandwhathe’sinto,althoughthosewereneveranythinglikethis.Still,thecockyshitheadpartofhimisslightlypleasedtofinallyhaveaclaimonHenry.Yep,theprince?Mosteligiblebachelorintheworld?Britishaccent,facelikeaGreekgod,legsfordays?Mine.
Butthat’sonlyatiny,tinyfractionofit.Therestisaknotoffear,anger,violation,humiliation,uncertainty,panic.Therearetheflawseveryone’sallowedtosee—hisbigmouth,hismercurialtemper,hissearingimpulses—andthenthere’sthis.It’slikehowheonlywearshisglasseswhennobody’saround:Nobody’ssupposedtoseehowmuchheneeds.
Hedoesn’tcarethatpeoplethinkabouthisbodyandwriteabouthissexlife,realorimagined.Hecaresthattheyknow,inhisownprivatewords,what’spumpingoutofhisheart.
AndHenry.God,Henry.Thoseemails—thoseletters—weretheoneplaceHenrycouldsaywhathewasreallythinking.There’snothingthatwasn’tlaidoutinthere:Henrybeinggay,Beagoingtorehab,thequeentacitlykeepingHenryinthecloset.Alexhasn’tbeenagoodCatholicinalongtime,butheknowsconfessionisasacrament.Theyweresupposedtostaysafe.
Fuck.
Hecan’tsitstill.HetossesPrisonerofAzkabanasideafterfourpages.HeencountersathinkpieceonhisownrelationshiponTwitterandhastoshutdownthewholeapp.Hepacesupanddowntheaisleofthejet,kickingatthebottomsoftheseats.
“Canyoupleasesitdown?”Zahrasaysaftertwentyminutesofwatchinghimtwitcharoundthecabin.“You’regivingmyulceranulcer.”
“Areyousurethey’regonnaletusinwhenwegetthere?”Alexasksher.“Like,whatiftheydon’t?Whatifthey,like,calltheRoyalGuardonusandhaveusarrested?Cantheydothat?Amycouldprobablyfightthem.Willshegetarrestedifshetriestofightthem?”
“Forfuck’ssake,”Zahragroans,andshepullsoutherphoneandstartsdialing.
“Whoareyoucalling?”
Shesighs,holdingthephoneuptoherearasitrings.“Srivastava.”
“Whatmakesyouthinkhe’llanswer?”
“It’shispersonalline.”
Alexstaresather.“Youhavehispersonallineandyouhaven’tusedituntilnow?”
“Shaan,”Zahrasnaps.“Listenup,youfuck.Weareintheairrightnow.FSOTUSiswithme.ETAsixhours.Youwillhaveacarwaiting.Wewillmeetthequeenandwhoeverthefuckelsewehavetomeettohashthisshitout,orsohelpmeGodIwillpersonallymakeyourballsintofuckingearrings.Iwillscorched-earthyourentiremotherfuckinglife.”Shepauses,presumablytolistentohimagreebecauseAlexcan’timaginehimdoinganythingelse.“Now,putHenryonthephone,anddonottrytotellmehe’snotthere,becauseIknowyouhaven’tlethimoutofyoursight.”
AndsheshovesherphoneatAlex’sface.
Hetakesituncertainlyandliftsittohisear.There’srustling,aconfusednoise.
“Hello?”
It’sHenry’svoice,sweetandposhandshakyandconfused,andreliefknocksthewindoutofhim.
“Sweetheart.”
HehearsHenry’sexhaleovertheline.“Hi,love.Areyouokay?”
Helaughswetly,amazed.“Fuck,areyoukiddingme?I’mfine,I’mfine,areyouokay?”
“I’m…managing.”
Alexwinces.“Howbadisit?”
“PhilipbrokeavasethatbelongedtoAnneBoleyn,Granorderedacommunicationslockdown,andMumhasn’tspokentoanyone,”Henrytellshim.“But,er,otherthanthat.Allthingsconsidered.It’s,er.”
“Iknow,”Alexsays.“I’llbetheresoon.”
There’sanotherpause,Henry’sbreathshakyoverthereceiver.“I’mnotsorry,”hesays.“Thatpeopleknow.”
Alexfeelshisheartclimbupintohisthroat.
“Henry,”heattempts,“I…”
“Maybe—”
“Italkedtomymom—”
“Iknowthetimingisn’tideal—”
“Wouldyou—”
“Iwant—”
“Hangon,”Alexsays.“Arewe.Um.Arewebothaskingthesamething?”
“Thatdepends.WereyougoingtoaskmeifIwanttotellthetruth?”
“Yeah,”Alexsays,andhethinkshisknucklesmustbewhitearoundthephone.“Yeah,Iwas.”
“Then,yes.”
Abreath,barely.“Youwantthat?”
Henrytakesamomenttorespond,buthisvoiceislevel.“Idon’tknowifIwouldhavechosenityet,butit’souttherenow,and…Iwon’tlie.Notaboutthis.Notaboutyou.”
Alex’seyelashesarewet.
“Ifuckingloveyou.”
“Iloveyoutoo.”
“JustholdonuntilIgetthere;we’regonnafigurethisout.”
“Iwill.”
“I’mcoming.I’llbetheresoon.”
Henryexhalesawet,brokenlaugh.“Please,dohurry.”
Theyhangup,andhepassesthephonebacktoZahra,whotakesitwordlesslyandtucksitbackintoherbag.
“Thankyou,Zahra,I—”
Sheholdsuponehand,eyesclosed.“Don’t.”
“Seriously,youdidn’thavetodothat.”
“Look,I’monlygoingtosaythisonce,andifyoueverrepeatit,I’llhaveyoukneecapped.”Shedropsherhand,fixinghimwithaglarethatmanagestobebothchillyandfond.“I’mrootingforyou,okay?”
“Wait.Zahra.OhmyGod.Ijustrealized.You’re…myfriend.”
“No,I’mnot.”
“Zahra,you’remymeanfriend.”
“Amnot.”Sheyanksablanketfromherpileofbelongings,turningherbacktoAlexandwrappingitaroundher.“Don’tspeaktomeforthenextsixhours.Ideserveafuckingnap.”
“Wait,wait,okay,wait,”Alexsays.“Ihaveonequestion.”
Shesighsheavily.“What?”
“Why’dyouwaittouseShaan’spersonalnumber?”
“Becausehe’smyfiancé,asshole,butsomeofusunderstandthemeaningofdiscretion,soyouwouldn’tknowaboutit,”shetellshimwithoutevensomuchaslookingathim,curledupagainstthewindowoftheplane.“Weagreedwe’dneveruseourpersonalnumbersforworkcontact.Nowshutupandletmegetsomesleepbeforewehavetodealwiththerestofthis.I’mrunningonnothingbutblackcoffee,aWetzel’sPretzel,andafistfulofB12.Donotevenbreatheinmydirection.”
It’snotHenrybutBeawhoanswerswhenAlexknocksonthecloseddoorofthemusicroomonthesecondfloorofKensington.
“Itoldyoutostayaway—”Beaissayingassoonasthedoorisopen,brandishingaguitaroverhershoulder.Shedropsitassoonassheseeshim.“Oh,Alex,I’msosorry,IthoughtyouwerePhilip.”Shescoopshimupwithherfreehandintoasurprisinglybone-crushinghug.“ThankGodyou’rehere,Iwasabouttocomegetyoumyself.”
Whenshereleaseshim,he’sfinallyabletoseeHenrybehindher,slumpedonthesetteewithabottleofbrandy.HesmilesatAlex,weakly,andsays,“Bitshortforastormtrooper.”
Alex’slaughcomesouthalfsob,andit’simpossibletoknowifhemovesfirstorifHenrydoes,buttheymeetinthemiddleoftheroom,Henry’sarmsaroundAlex’sneck,swallowinghimup.IfHenry’svoiceonthephonewasatether,hisbodyisthegravitythatmakesitpossible,hishandgrippingthebackofAlex’sneckamagneticforce,apermanentcompassnorth.
“I’msorry,”iswhatcomesoutofAlex’smouth,miserably,earnestly,muffledagainstHenry’sthroat.“It’smyfault.I’msosorry.I’msosorry.”
Henryreleaseshim,handsonhisshoulders,jawset.“Don’tyoudare.I’mnotsorryforathing.”
Alexlaughsagain,incredulous,lookingintotheheavycirclesunderHenry’seyesandthechewed-upbottomlipand,forthefirsttime,seeingamanborntoleadanation.
“You’reunbelievable,”Alexsays.Heleansupandkissestheundersideofhisjaw,findingitroughfromafull,fitfuldaywithoutashave.Hepusheshisnose,hischeekintoit,feelssomeofthetensionsapoutofHenryatthetouch.“Youknowthat?”
TheyfindtheirwayontothelushpurplesandredsofthePersianrugsonthefloor,Henry’sheadinAlex’slapandBeaonapouf,pluckingawayataweirdlittleinstrumentshetellsAlexiscalledanautoharp.Beapullsoveratinytableandsetsoutcrackersandalittlechunkofsoftcheeseandtakesawaythebrandybottle.
Fromthesoundofit,thequeenisabsolutelylivid—notjusttofinallyhaveconfirmationaboutHenry,butbecauseit’sviasomethingasundignifiedasatabloidscandal.PhilipdroveinfromAnmerHalltheminutethenewsbrokeandhasbeenrebuffedbyBeaeverytimehetriestogetnearHenryforwhathesays“willsimplybeasterndiscussionabouttheconsequencesofhisactions.”Catherinehasbeenby,once,threehoursago,stone-facedandsad,totellHenrythatsheloveshimandhecouldhavetoldhersooner.
“AndIsaid,‘That’sgreat,Mum,butaslongasyou’relettingGrankeepmetrapped,itdoesn’tmeanafuckingthing,’”Henrysays.Alexstaresdownathim,shockedandalittleimpressed.Henryrestsanarmoverhisface.“Ifeelawful.Iwas—Idunno.Allthetimessheshouldhavebeentherethepastfewyears,itcaughtuptome.”
Beasighs.“Maybeitwasthekickinthearsesheneeds.We’vebeentryingtogethertodoanythingforyearssinceDad.”
“Still,”Henrysays.“ThewayGranis—Mumisn’ttoblameforthat.Andshedidmanagetoprotectus,before.It’snotfair.”
“H,”Beasaysfirmly.“It’shard,butsheneededtohearit.”Shelooksdownatthelittlebuttonsoftheautoharp.“Wedeservetohaveoneparent,atleast.”
Thecornerofhermouthpinches,somuchlikeHenry’s.
“Areyouokay?”Alexasksher.“IknowI—Isawacouplearticles…”Hedoesn’tfinishthesentence.“ThePowderPrincess”wasthefourth-highestTwittertrendtenhoursago.
Herfrowntwitchesintoahalf-smile.“Me?Honestly,it’salmostarelief.I’vealwayssaidthatthemostcomfortableIcouldbeiseveryoneknowingmystoryupfront,soIdon’thavehearthespeculationsorlietocoverthetruth—orexplainit.I’dratherit,youknow,hadn’tbeenthisway.Buthereweare.AtleastnowIcanstopactingasifit’ssomethingtobeashamedof.”
“Iknowthefeeling,”Henrysayssoftly.
Thequietebbsandflowsafterawhile,theLondonnightblackandpressinginagainstthewindowpanes.DavidthebeaglecurlsupprotectivelyatHenry’sside,andBeapicksaBowiesongtoplay.Shesingsunderherbreath,“I,Iwillbeking,andyou,youwillbequeen,”andAlexalmostlaughs.ItfeelslikehowZahrahasdescribedhurricanedaystohim:stucktogether,hopingthesandbagswillhold.
Henrydriftsasleepatsomepoint,andAlexisthankfulforit,buthecanstillfeeltensionineverypartofHenry’sbodyagainsthim.
“Hehasn’tsleptsincethenews,”Beatellshimquietly.
Alexnodsslightly,searchingherface.“CanIaskyousomething?”
“Always.”
“Ifeellikehe’snottellingmesomething,”Alexwhispers.“Ibelievehimwhenhesayshe’sin,andhewantstotelleveryonethetruth.Butthere’ssomethingelsehe’snotsaying,andit’sfreakingmeoutthatIcan’tfigureoutwhatitis.”
Bealooksup,herfingersstilling.“Oh,love,”shesayssimply.“HemissesDad.”
Oh.
Hesighs,puttinghisheadinhishands.Ofcourse.
“Canyouexplain?”heattemptslamely.“Whatthat’slike?WhatIcando?”
Sheshiftsonherpouf,repositioningtheharpontothefloor,andreachesintohersweater.Shewithdrawsasilvercoinonachain:hersobrietychip.
“D’youmindifIgoabitsponsor?”sheaskswithasmirk.Heoffersheraweakhalfsmile,andshecontinues.
“So,imaginewe’reallbornwithasetoffeelings.Somearebroaderordeeperthanothers,butforeveryone,there’sthatgroundfloor,abottomcrustofthepie.That’sthemaximumdepthoffeelingyou’veeverexperienced.Andthen,theworstthinghappenstoyou.Theveryworstthingthatcouldhavehappened.Thethingyouhadnightmaresaboutasachild,andyouthought,it’sallrightbecausethatthingwillhappentomewhenI’molderandwiser,andI’llhavefeltsomanyfeelingsbythenthatthisoneworstfeeling,theworstpossiblefeeling,won’tseemsoterrible.
“Butithappenstoyouwhenyou’reyoung.Ithappenswhenyourbrainisn’tevenfullydonecooking—whenyou’vebarelyexperiencedanything,really.Theworstthingisoneofthefirstbigthingsthateverhappenstoyouinyourlife.Ithappenstoyou,anditgoesallthewaydowntothebottomofwhatyouknowhowtofeel,anditripsitopenandcarvesoutthischasmdownbelowtomakeroom.Andbecauseyouweresoyoung,andbecauseitwasoneofthefirstbigthingstohappeninyourlife,you’llalwayscarryitinsideyou.Everytimesomethingterriblehappenstoyoufromthenon,itdoesn’tjuststopatthebottom—itgoesallthewaydown.”
ShereachesacrossthetinyteatableandthesadlittlepileofwatercrackersandtouchesthebackofAlex’shand.
“Doyouunderstand?”sheaskshim,lookingrightintohiseyes.“YouneedtounderstandthistobewithHenry.Heisthemostloving,nurturing,selflesspersonyoucouldhopetomeet,butthereisasadnessandahurtinhimthatistremendous,andyoumayverywellnevertrulyunderstandit,butyouneedtoloveitasmuchasyoulovetherestofhim,becausethat’shim.Thatishim,partandparcel.Andheispreparedtogiveitalltoyou,whichisfarmorethanIever,inathousandyears,thoughtIwouldseehimdo.”
Alexsits,tryingforalongmomenttoabsorbit,andsays,“I’venever…Ihaven’tbeenthroughanythinglikethat,”hesays,voicerough.“ButI’vealwaysfeltit,inhim.There’sthissideofhimthat’s…unknowable.”Hetakesabreath.“Butthethingis,jumpingoffcliffsiskindamything.That’sthechoice.Ilovehim,withallthat,becauseofallthat.Onpurpose.Ilovehimonpurpose.”
Beasmilesgently.“Thenyou’lldofine.”
Sometimearoundfourinthemorning,heclimbsintobedbehindHenry,Henrywhosespinepokesoutinsoftpoints,Henrywhohasbeenthroughtheworstthingandnowthenextworstthingandisstillalive.HereachesoutahandandtouchestheridgeofHenry’sshoulderblade,theskinwherethesheethasslidoffhim,wherehislungsstubbornlyrefusetostoppullingair.Sixfeetofboycurledaroundkicked-inribsandarecalcitrantheart.
Carefully,hischesttoHenry’sback,heslotshimselfintoplace.
“It’sfoolishness,Henry,”Philipissaying.“You’retooyoungtounderstand.”
Alex’searsareringing.
TheysatdowninHenry’skitchenthismorningwithsconesandanotefromBeathatshe’dgonetomeetwithCatherine.Andthensuddenly,Philipwasburstingthroughthedoor,suitaskew,hairuncombed,shoutingatHenryaboutthenervetobreakthecommunicationsembargo,tobringAlexherewhilethepalaceisbeingwatched,tokeepembarrassingthefamily.
Presently,Alexisthinkingaboutbreakinghisnosewiththecoffeepercolator
“I’mtwenty-three,Philip,”Henrysays,audiblystrugglingtokeephisvoiceeven.“MumwasbarelymorethanthatwhenshemetDad.”
“Yes,andyouthinkthatwasawisedecision?”Philipsaysnastily.“Marryingamanwhospenthalfourchildhoodsmakingfilms,whoneverservedhiscountry,whogotsickandleftusandMum—”
“Don’t,Philip,”Henrysays.“IsweartoGod.Justbecauseyourobsessionwithfamilylegacydidn’timpresshim—”
“Youclearlydon’tknowthefirstfuckingthingaboutwhatalegacymeansifyoucanletsomethinglikethishappen,”Philipsnaps.“Theonlythingtodonowisburyitandhopethatsomehowpeoplewillbelievethatnoneofitwasreal.That’syourduty,Henry.It’stheleastyoucando.”
“I’msorry,”Henrysays,soundingwretched,butthere’sabitterdefiancerisinginhimtoo.“I’msorrythatI’msuchadisgraceforbeingthewayIam.”
“Idon’tcareifyou’regay,”Philipsays,droppingthatbigfatiflikeHenryhasn’talreadyspecificallytoldhim.“Icarethatyou’vemadethischoice,withhim”—hecutshiseyessharplytoAlexasifhefinallyexistsinthesameroomasthisconversation—“someonewithafuckingtargetonhisback,tobesostupidandnaiveandselfishastothinkitwouldn’tcompletelyfuckusall.”
“Iknew,Philip.Christ,”Henrysays.“Iknewitcouldruineverything.Iwasterrifiedofexactlythis.ButhowcouldIhavepredicted?How?”
“AsIsaid,naive,”Philiptellshim.“Thisisthelifewelive,Henry.You’vealwaysknownit.I’vetriedtotellyou.Iwantedtobeagoodbrothertoyou,butyoudon’tbloodylisten.It’stimetorememberyourplaceinthisfamily.Beaman.Standupandtakeresponsibility.Fixthis.Foronceinyourlife,don’tbeacoward.”
Henryflincheslikehe’sbeenphysicallyslapped.Alexcanseeitnow—thisishowhewasbrokendownovertheyears.Maybenotalwaysasexplicitly,butalwaysthere,alwaysimplied.Rememberyourplace.
AndhedoesthethingAlexlovessomuch:Hestickshischinout,steelinghimselfup.“I’mnotacoward,”hesays.“AndIdon’twanttofixit.”
Philipslantsaharsh,humorlesslaughathim.“Youdon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.Youcan’tpossiblyknow.”
“Fuckoff,Philip,Ilovehim,”Henrysays.
“Oh,youlovehim,doyou?”It’ssopatronizingthatAlex’shandtwitchesintoafistunderthetable.“Whatexactlydoyouintendtodo,then,Henry?Hmm?Marryhim?MakehimtheDuchessofCambridge?TheFirstSonoftheUnitedbloodyStates,fourthinlinetobeQueenofEngland?”
“I’llfuckingabdicate!”Henrysays,voicerising.“Idon’tcare!”
“Youwouldn’tdare,”Philipspitsback.
“WehaveagreatunclewhoabdicatedbecausehewasafuckingNazi,soit’dhardlybetheworstreasonanyone’sdoneit,wouldit?”Henry’syellingnow,andhe’soutofhischair,handsshaking,toweringoverPhilip,andAlexnoticesthathe’sactuallytaller.“Whatareweevendefendinghere,Philip?Whatkindoflegacy?Whatkindoffamily,thatsays,we’lltakethemurder,we’lltaketherapingandpillagingandthecolonizing,we’llscrubitupniceandneatinamuseum,butohno,you’reabloodypoof?That’sbeyondoursenseofdecorum!I’vebloodywellhadit.I’vesataboutlongenoughlettingyouandGranandtheweightofthedamnedworldkeepmepinned,andI’mfinishedIdon’tcare.Youcantakeyourlegacyandyourdecorumandyoucanshoveitupyourfuckingarse,Philip.I’mdone.”
Hehuffsoutanalmightybreath,turnsonhisheel,andstalksoutofthekitchen.
Alex,mouthhangingopen,remainsfrozeninhisseatforafewseconds.Acrossfromhim,Philipislookingred-facedandqueasy.Alexclearshisthroat,stands,andbuttonshisjacket.
“Forwhatit’sworth,”hesaystoPhilip,“thatisthebravestsonofabitchI’veevermet.”
Andheleavestoo.
Shaanlookslikehehasn’tsleptinthirty-sixhours.Well,helooksperfectlycomposedandgroomed,butthetagisstickingoutofhissweaterandthestrongsmellofwhiskeyisemanatingfromhistea.
Nexttohim,inthebackoftheincognitovanthey’retakingtoBuckinghamPalace,Zahrahasherarmsfoldedresolutely.TheengagementringonherlefthandglintsinthemutedLondonmorning.
“So,uh,”Alexattempts.“Areyoutwoinafightnow?”
Zahralooksathim.“No.Whywouldyouthinkthat?”
“Oh.Ijustthoughtbecause—”
“It’sfine,”Shaansays,stilltypingonhisiPhone.“Thisiswhywesetrulesaboutthepersonal-slash-professionallinesattheoutsetoftherelationship.Itworksforus.”
“Ifyouwantafight,youshouldhaveseenitwhenIfoundouthehadknownaboutyoutwoallalong,”Zahrasays.“WhydoyouthinkIgotarockthisbig?”
“Itusuallyworksforus,”Shaanamends.
“Yep,”Zahraagrees.“Plus,webangeditoutlastnight.”
Withoutlookingup,Shaanmeetsherhandinahighfive.
ShaanandZahra’sforcescombinedhavemanagedtosecurethemameetingwiththequeenatBuckinghamPalace,butthey’vebeentoldtotakeawinding,circumspectroutetoavoidthepaparazzi.AlexcanfeelabuzzingstaticelectricityinLondonthismorning,millionsofvoicesmurmuringabouthimandHenryandwhatmighthappennext.ButHenry’sbesidehim,holdinghishand,andhe’sholdingHenry’shandback,soatleastthat’ssomething.
There’sasmall,olderwomanwithBea’supturnednoseandHenry’sblueeyeswaitingoutsidetheconferenceroomwhentheyapproachit.She’swearingthickglasses,aworn-inmaroonsweater,andapairofcuffedjeans,lookingdecidedlyoutofplaceinthehallsofBuckinghamPalace.Shehasapaperbacktuckedintoherbackpocket.
Henry’smotherturnstofacethem,andAlexwatchesherexpressionflutterthroughsomethingpainedtoreservedtogentlewhenshelayseyesonthem.
“Hi,mybaby,”shesaysasHenrydrawsupevenwithher.
Henry’sjawistight,butit’snotanger,onlyfear.Alexcanseeonhisfaceanexpressionherecognizes:Henrywonderingifit’ssafetoaccepttheloveofferedtohim,andwantingdesperatelytotakeitregardless.Heputshisarmaroundher,letsherkisshischeek.
“Mum,thisisAlex,”Henrysays,andadds,asifit’snotobvious,“myboyfriend.”
SheturnstoAlex,andhe’shonestlynotsurewhattoexpect,butshepullshimtowardherandkisseshischeektoo.
“MyBeahastoldmewhatyou’vedoneformyson,”shesays,hergazepiercing.“Thankyou.”
Beaisbehindher,lookingtiredbutfocused,andAlexcanonlyimaginethecome-to-Jesustalkshemusthavegivenhermotherbeforetheygottothepalace.ShelockseyeswithZahraastheirlittlepartyassemblesinthehall,andAlexfeelsliketheycouldn’tpossiblybeinmorecapablehands.HewondersifCatherineisuptojoiningtheranks.
“Whatareyougoingtosaytoher?”Henryaskshismother.
Shesighs,touchingtheedgeofherglasses.“Well,theoldbirdisn’tmuchmovedbyemotion,soIsupposeI’lltrytoappealtoherwithpoliticalstrategy.”
Henryblinks.“Sorry—whatareyousaying?”
“I’msayingthatI’vecometofight,”shesays,straightforwardandplain.“Youwanttotellthetruth,don’tyou?”
“I—yeah,Mum.”Alightofhopehasswitchedonbehindhiseyes.“Yes,Ido.”
“Thenwecantry.”
Theytaketheirseatsaroundthelong,ornatelycarvedtableinthemeetingroom,awaitingthequeen’sarrivalinnervoussilence.Philipisthere,lookinglikehe’sabouttochewthroughhistongue,andHenrycan’tstopfidgetingwithhistie.
QueenMaryglidesinwearingslate-grayseparatesandastonyexpression,hergraybobarrangedwithrazorprecisionaroundtheedgesofherface.Alexisstruckbyhowtallsheis,straight-backedandfine-jawedeveninherearlyeighties.She’snotexactlybeautiful,butthere’sadefinitestoryinhershrewdblueeyesandangularfeatures,theheavycreasesoffrownsaroundhermouth.
Thetemperatureintheroomdropsasshetakesherseatattheheadofthetable.Aroyalattendantfetchestheteapotfromthecenterofthetableandpoursintothepristinechina,andthequiethangsasshefixesherteaataglacialpace,makingthemwait.Themilk,pouredwithonegentlytremoring,ancienthand.Onecubeofsugar,pickedupwithdeliberatecarewiththetinysilvertongs.Asecondcube.
Alexcoughs.Shaanshootshimalook.Beapressesherlipstogether.
“Ihadavisitearlierthisyear,”thequeensaysatlast.Shetakesupherteaspoonandbeginstostirslowly.“ThePresidentofChina.You’llforgivemeifthenameescapesme.Buthetoldmethemostfascinatingstoryabouthowtechnologyhasadvancedindifferentpartsoftheworldforthesemoderntimes.Didyouknow,onecanmanipulateaphotographtomakeitappearasifthemostoutlandishthingsarereal?Justasimple…program,isit?Acomputer.Andanymannerofunbelievablefalsehoodcouldbemadeactual.One’seyescouldhardlydetectadifference.”
Thesilenceintheroomistotal,exceptforthesoundofthequeen’steaspoonscrapingcircularmotionsinthebottomofherteacup.
“I’mafraidIamtoooldtounderstandhowthingsarefiledawayinspace,”shegoeson,“butIhavebeentoldanynumberofliescanbemanufacturedanddisseminated.Onecould…createfilesthatneverexistedandplantthemsomewhereeasytofind.Noneofitreal.Themostflagrantofevidencecanbediscreditedanddismissed,justlikethat.”
Withthedelicatetinklingofsilveronporcelain,sherestsherspoononthesaucerandfinallylooksatHenry.
“Iwonder,Henry.Iwonderifyouthinkanyofthishadtodowiththeseunseemlyreports.”
It’srightonthetablebetweenthem:anoffer.Keepignoringit.Pretenditwasalie.Makeitallgoaway.
Henrygritshisteeth.
“It’sreal,”hesays.“Allofit.”
Thequeen’sfacemovesthroughaseriesofexpressions,settlingonatersefrown,asifshe’sfoundsomethingunsightlyonthebottomofoneofherkittenheels.
“Verywell.Inthatcase.”HergazeshiftstoAlex.“Alexander.HadIknownyouwereinvolvedwithmygrandson,Iwouldhaveinsisteduponamoreformalfirstmeeting.”
“Gran—”
“Dobequiet,Henry,dear.”
Catherinespeaksup,then.“Mum—”
Thequeenholdsuponewizenedhandtosilenceher.“IthoughtwehadbeenhumiliatedenoughinthepaperswhenBeatricehadherlittleproblem.AndImademyselfclear,Henry,yearsago,thatifyouweredrawninunnaturaldirections,appropriatemeasurescouldbetaken.WhyyouhavechosentounderminethehardworkI’vedonetomaintainthecrown’sstandingisbeyondme,andwhyyouseemsetondisruptingmyeffortstorestoreitbydemandingIsummitwithsome…boy”—here,anastylilttoherpolitetone,underwhichAlexcanhearepithetsforeverythingfromhisracetohissexuality—“whenyouweretoldtoawaitorders,istrulyamystery.Clearlyyouhavetakenleaveofyoursenses.Mypositionisunchanged,dear:YourroleinthisfamilyistoperpetuateourbloodlineandmaintaintheappearanceofthemonarchyastheidealofBritishexcellence,andIsimplycannotallowanythingless.”
Henryislookingdown,eyesdistantandcasttowardthegrainofthetable,andAlexcanpracticallyfeeltheenergyroilingupfromCatherineacrossfromhim.Ananswertothefurytightinhisownchest.TheprincesswhoranawaywithJamesBond,whotoldherchildrentogivebackwhattheircountrystole,makingachoice.
“Mum,”shesaysevenly.“Don’tyouthinkweoughttoatleasthaveaconversationaboutotheroptions?”
Thequeen’sheadturnsslowly.“Andwhatoptionsmightthosebe,Catherine?”
“Well,Ithinkthere’ssomethingtobesaidforcomingclean.Itcouldsaveusagreatdealoffacetotreatitnotasascandal,butasanintrusionupontheprivacyofthefamilyandthevictimizationofayoungmaninlove.”
“Whichiswhatitwas,”Beachimesin
“Wecouldintegratethisintoournarrative,”Catherinesays,choosingherwordswithextremeprecision.“Reclaimthedignityofit.MakeAlexanofficialsuitor.”
“Isee.Soyourplanistoallowhimtochoosethislife?”
Here,aslighttell.“It’stheonlylifeforhimthat’shonest,Mum.”
Thequeenpursesherlips.“Henry,”shesays,returningtohim,“wouldn’tyouhaveamorepleasantgoofitwithoutalltheseunnecessarycomplications?Youknowwehavetheresourcestofindawifeforyouandcompensateherhandsomely.Youunderstand,I’monlytryingtoprotectyou.Iknowitseemsimportanttoyouinthismoment,butyoureallymustthinkofthefuture.Youdorealizethiswouldmeanyearsofreportershoundingyou,allsortsofallegations?Ican’timaginepeoplewouldbeaseagertowelcomeyouintochildren’shospitals—”
“Stopit!”Henryburstsout.Alltheeyesintheroomswiveltohim,andhelookspaleandshockedatthesoundofhisownvoice,buthegoeson.“Youcan’t—youcan’tintimidatemeintosubmissionforever!”
Alex’shandgropesacrossthespacebetweenthemunderthetable,andthemomenthisfingertipscatchonthebackofHenry’swrist,Henry’shandisgrippinghis,hard.
“Iknowitwillbedifficult,”Henrysays.“I…It’sterrifying.Andifyou’daskedmeayearago,Iprobablywouldhavesaiditwasfine,thatnobodyneedstoknow.But…I’masmuchapersonandapartofthisfamilyasyou.Ideservetobehappyasmuchasanyofyoudo.AndIdon’tthinkIeverwillbeifIhavetospendmywholelifepretending.”
“Nobody’ssayingyoudon’tdeservetobehappy,”Philipcutsin.“Firstlovemakeseveryonemad—it’sfoolishtothrowawayyourfuturebecauseofonehormonaldecisionbasedonlessthanayearofyourlifewhenyouwerebarelyinyourtwenties.”
HenrylooksPhilipsquareinthefaceandsays,“I’vebeengayasamaypolesincethedayIcameoutofMum,Philip.”
Inthesilencethatfollows,Alexhastobitedownveryhardonhistonguetosuppresstheurgetolaughhysterically
“Well,”thequeeneventuallysays.She’sholdingherteacupdaintilyintheair,eyeingHenryoverit.“Evenifyou’rewillingtosubmittotheflogginginthepapers,itdoesn’terasethestipulationsofyourbirthright:Youaretoproduceheirs.”
AndAlexapparentlyhasn’tbeenbitinghistonguehardenough,becauseheblurtsout,“Wecouldstilldothat.”
EvenHenry’sheadwhipsaroundatthat
“Idon’trecallgivingyoupermissiontospeakinmypresence,”QueenMarysays.
“Mum—”
“Thatraisestheissueofsurrogates,ordonors,”Philipjumpsbackin,“andrightstothethrone—”
“Arethosedetailspertinentrightnow,Philip?”Catherineinterrupts.
“Someonehastobearthestewardshipfortheroyallegacy,Mum.”
“Idon’tcareforthattoneatall.”
“Wecanentertainhypotheticals,butthefactofthematteristhatanythingbutmaintainingtheroyalimageisoutofthequestion,”thequeensays,settingdownherteacup.“Thecountrysimplywillnotacceptaprinceofhisproclivities.Iamsorry,dear,buttothem,it’sperverse.”
“Perversetothemorperversetoyou?”Catherineasksher.
“Thatisn’tfair—”Philipsays.
“It’smylife—”Henryinterjects.
“Wehaven’tevengottenachanceyettoseehowpeoplewillreact.”
“Ihavebeenservingthiscountryforforty-sevenyears,Catherine.IbelieveIknowitsheartbynow.AsIhavetoldyousinceyouwerealittlegirl,youmustremoveyourheadfromtheclouds—”
“Oh,willyouallshutupforasecond?”Beasays.She’sstandingnow,brandishingShaan’stabletinonehand.“Look.”
ShethunksitdownonthetablesoQueenMaryandPhilipcanseeit,andtherestofthemstandtolooktoo.
It’sanewsreportfromtheBBC,andthesoundisoff,butAlexreadsthescrollatthebottomofthescreen:WORLDWIDESUPPORTPOURSINFORPRINCEHENRYANDFIRSTSONOFUS.
Theroomfallssilentattheimagesonthescreen.ArallyinNewYorkoutsidetheBeekman,deckedoutinrainbows,withwavingsignsthatsaythingslike:FIRSTSONOFOURHEARTS.AbanneronthesideofabridgeinParisthatreads:HENRY+ALEXWEREHERE.AhastymuralonawallinMexicoCityofAlex’sfaceinblue,purple,andpink,acrownonhishead.AherdofpeopleinHydeParkwithrainbowUnionJacksandHenry’sfacerippedoutofmagazinesandpastedontoposterboardsreading:FREEHENRY.AyoungwomanwithabuzzcutthrowingtwofingersupatthewindowsoftheDailyMail.AcrowdofteenagersinfrontoftheWhiteHouse,wearinghomemadeT-shirtsthatallsaythesamethingincrookedSharpieletters,aphraseherecognizesfromoneofhisownemails:HISTORY,HUH?
Alextriestoswallow,buthecan’t.Helooksup,andHenryislookingbackathim,mouthopen,eyeswet.
PrincessCatherineturnsandcrossestheroomslowly,towardthetallwindowsontheeastsideoftheroom.
“Catherine,don’t—”thequeensays,butCatherinegrabstheheavycurtainswithbothhandsandthrowsthemopen.
Aburstofsunlightandcolorpushestheairoutoftheroom.DownonthemallinfrontofBuckinghamPalace,there’samassofpeoplewithbanners,signs,Americanflags,UnionJacks,pridepennantsstreamingovertheirheads.It’snotasbigastheroyalweddingcrowd,butit’shuge,fillingupthepavementandpresseduptothegates.AlexandHenryweretoldtocomeinthroughthebackofthepalace—theyneversawit.
Henryhascarefullyapproachedthewindow,andAlexwatchesfromacrosstheroomashereachesoutandgrazeshisfingertipsagainsttheglass.
Catherineturnstohimandsaysonashakysigh,“Oh,mylove,”andpullshimintoherchestsomehow,eventhoughhe’snearlyafoottaller.Alexhastolookaway—evenaftereverything,thisfeelstooprivateforhimtowitness.
Thequeenclearsherthroat.
“Thisis…hardlyrepresentativeofhowthecountryasawholewillrespond,”shesays.
“JesusChrist,Mum,”Catherinesays,releasingHenryandnudginghimbehindheronprotectivereflex.
“ThisispreciselywhyIdidn’twantyoutosee.You’retoosoftheartedtoacceptthetruth,Catherine,givenanyotheroption.Themajorityofthiscountrystillwantsthewaysofold.”
Catherinedrawsherselfup,herpostureramrodstraightassheapproachesthetableagain.It’saproductofroyalbreeding,butitcomesoffmorelikeabowbeingdrawn.“Ofcoursetheydo,Mum.OfcoursethebloodyToriesinKensingtonandtheBrexitfoolsdon’twantit.That’snotthepoint.Areyousodeterminedtobelievenothingcouldchange?Thatnothingshouldchange?Wecanhaveareallegacyhere,ofhope,andlove,andchange.Notthesametepidshiteanddrudgerywe’vebeensellingsinceWorldWarII—”
“Youwillnotspeaktomethisway,”QueenMarysaysicily,onetremulous,ancienthandstillrestingonherteaspoon.
“I’msixtyyearsold,Mum,”Catherinesays.“Can’tweeschewdecorumatthispoint?”
“Norespect.Neveranounceofrespectforthesanctity—”
“Or,perhapsIshouldbringsomeofmyconcernstoParliament?”Catherinesays,leaningintolowerhervoicerightinQueenMary’sface.Alexrecognizestheglintinhereyes.Heneverknew—healwaysassumedHenrygotitfromhisdad.“Youknow,IdothinkLabourisratherfinishedwiththeoldguard.Iwonder,ifIweretomentionthosemeetingsyoukeepforgettingabout,orthenamesofcountriesyoucan’tquitekeepstraight,iftheymightdecidethatforty-sevenisperhapsenoughyearsforthepeopleofBritaintoexpectyoutoserve?”
Thetremorinthequeen’shandhasdoubled,butherjawissteely.Theroomisdeadlysilent.“Youwouldn’tdare.”
“Wouldn’tI,Mum?Wouldyouliketofindout?”
CatherineturnstofaceHenry,andAlexissurprisedtoseetearsonherface.
“I’msorry,Henry,”shesays.“I’vefailedyou.I’vefailedallofyou.Youneededyourmum,andIwasn’tthere.AndIwassofrightenedthatIstartedtothinkmaybeitwasforthebest,toletyouallbekeptbehindglass.”Sheturnsbacktohermother.“Lookatthem,Mum.They’renotpropsofalegacy.They’remychildren.AndIswearonmylife,andArthur’s,IwilltakeyouoffthethronebeforeIwillletthemfeelthethingsyoumademefeel.”
Theroomhangsinsuspenseforafewagonizingseconds,then:
“Istilldon’tthink—”Philipbegins,butBeaseizesthepotofteafromthecenterofthetableanddumpsitintohislap.
“Oh,I’mterriblysorry,Pip!”shesays,grabbinghimbytheshouldersandshovinghim,sputteringandyelping,towardthedoor.“Sodreadfullyclumsy.Youknow,IthinkallthatcocaineIdidmusthavereallydoneajobonmyreflexes!Let’sgogetyoucleanedup,shallwe?”
Sheheaveshimout,throwingHenryathumbs-upoverhershoulder,andshutsthedoorbehindthem.
ThequeenlooksoveratAlexandHenry,andAlexseesitinhereyesatlast:She’safraidofthem.She’safraidofthethreattheyposetotheperfectFabergeveneershe’sspentherwholelifemaintaining.Theyterrifyher.
AndCatherineisn’tbackingdown.
“Well,”QueenMarysays.“Isuppose.Isupposeyoudon’tleavememuchchoice,doyou?”
“Oh,youhaveachoice,Mum,”Catherinesays.“You’vealwayshadachoice.Perhapstodayyou’llmaketherightone.”
InthecorridorofBuckinghamPalace,assoonasthedoorhasshutbehindthem,theyfallsidewaysintoatapestryonawall,breathlessanddeliriousandlaughing,cheekswet.HenrypullsAlexcloseandkisseshim,whispers,“IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou,”anditdoesn’tmatter,itdoesn’tmatterifanyonesees.
He’sonthewaybacktotheairstripwhenheseesit,emblazonedonthesideofabrickbuilding,ashockofcoloragainstagraystreet.
“Wait!”Alexyellsuptothedriver.“Stop!Stopthecar!”
Upclose,it’sbeautiful.Twostoriestall.Hecan’timaginehowsomebodywasabletoputtogethersomethinglikethissofast.
It’samuralofhimselfandHenry,facingeachother,haloedbyabrightyellowsun,depictedasHanandLeia.Henryinallwhite,starlightinhishair.Alexdressedasascruffysmuggler,ablasterathiship.Aroyalandarebel,armsaroundeachother.
Hesnapsaphotoonhisphone,andfingersshaking,typesoutatweet:Nevertellmetheodds.
HecallsJunefromtheairovertheAtlantic.
“Ineedyourhelp,”hesays.
Hehearstheclickofherpencockingontheotherendoftheline.“Whatchagot?”FOURTEEN
Jezebel@Jezebel
WATCH:DCDykesonBikeschaseprotestersfromWestboroBaptistChurchdownPennsylvaniaAvenue,andyes,it’sasamazingasitsounds.bit.ly/2ySPeRj
9:15PM·29Sept2020
TheveryfirsttimeAlexpulleduptoPennsylvaniaAvenueastheFirstSonoftheUnitedStates,healmostfellintoabush.
Hecanrememberitvividly,eventhoughthewholedaywassurreal.Herememberstheinteriorofthelimo,howhewasstillunusedtothewaytheleatherfeltunderhisclammypalms,stillgreenandjitteryandpressedtooclosetothewindowtolookatallthecrowds.
Heremembershismother,herlonghairpulledbackfromherfaceinanelegant,no-nonsensetwistatthebackofherhead.She’dwornitdownforherfirstdayasmayor,herfirstdayintheHouse,herfirstdayasSpeaker,butthatdayitwasup.Shesaidshedidn’twantanydistractions.Hethoughtitmadeherlooktough,likeshewasreadyforabrawlifitcamedowntoit,asifshemighthavearazorinhershoe.Shesatthereacrossfromhim,goingoverthenotesforherspeech,atwenty-four-karatgoldAmericanflagonherlapel,andAlexwassoproudhethoughthe’dthrowup.
Therewasachangeoveratsomepoint—EllenandLeoescortedtothenorthentranceandAlexandJuneshuffledoffinanotherdirection.Heremembers,veryspecifically,ahandfulofthings.Hiscufflinks,customsterlingsilverX-wings.AtinyscuffintheplasteronawesternwalloftheWhiteHouse,whichhewasseeingupcloseforthefirsttime.Hisownshoelace,untied.Andheremembersbendingovertotiehisshoe,losinghisbalancebecauseofnerves,andJunegrabbingthebackofhisjackettokeephimfromplungingface-firstintoathornyrosebushinfrontofseventy-fivecameras.
Thatwasthemomenthedecidedhewasn’tgoingtoallowhimselfnerveseveragain.NotasAlexClaremont-Diaz,FirstSonoftheUnitedStates,andnotasAlexClaremont-Diaz,risingpoliticalstar.
Now,he’sAlexClaremont-Diaz,centerofaninternationalpoliticalsexscandalandboyfriendofaPrinceofEngland,andhe’sbackinalimoonPennsylvaniaAvenue,andthere’sanothercrowd,andtheimminentbarffeelingisback.
Whenthecardooropens,it’sJune,standingthereinabrightyellowT-shirtthatsays:HISTORY,HUH?
“Youlikeit?”shesays.“There’saguysellingthemdowntheblock.Igothiscard.GonnaputitinmynextcolumnforVogue.”
Alexlauncheshimselfather,engulfingherinahugthatliftsherfeetofftheground,andsheyelpsandpullshishair,andtheytopplesidewaysintoashrub,asAlexwasalwaysdestinedtodo
Theirmotherisinadecathlonofmeetings,sotheysneakoutontotheTrumanBalconyandcatcheachotherupoverhotchocolatesandaplateofdonuts.Pezhasbeentryingtoplaytelephonebetweentherespectivecamps,butit’sonlysoeffective.Junecriesfirstwhenshehearsaboutthephonecallontheplane,thenagainatHenrystandinguptoPhilip,andathirdtimeatthecrowdoutsideBuckinghamPalace.AlexwatcheshertextHenryaboutahundredheartemojis,andhesendsherbackashortvideoofhimselfandCatherinedrinkingchampagnewhileBeaplays“GodSavetheQueen”onelectricguitar.
“Okay,here’sthething,”Junesaysafterward.“NobodyhasseenNoraintwodays.”
Alexstaresather.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Imean,I’vecalledher,Zahra’scalledher,Mikeandherparentshaveallcalledher,she’snotansweringanyone.Theguardatherapartmentsaysshehasn’tleftthiswholetime.Apparently,she’s‘finebutbusy.’Itriedjustshowingup,butshe’dtoldthedoormannottoletmein.”
“That’s…concerning.Andalso,uh,kindofshitty.”
“Yeah,Iknow.”
Alexturnsaway,pacingovertotherailing.HereallycouldhaveusedNora’snonplussedapproachinthissituation,or,really,justhisbestfriend’scompany.Hefeelssomewhatbetrayedshe’sabandonedhimwhenheneedshermost—whenheandJunebothneedhermost.Shehasatendencytoburyherselfincomplexcalculationsonpurposewhenespeciallybadthingshappenaroundher.
“Oh,hey,”Junesays.“Andhere’sthefavoryouaskedfor.”
Shereachesintothepocketofherjeansandhandshimafolded-uppieceofpaper.
Heskimsthefirstfewlines.
“OhmyGod,Bug,”hesays.“I—OhmyGod.”
“Doyoulikeit?”Shelooksalittlenervous.“Iwastryingtocapture,like,whoyouare,andyourplaceinhistory,andwhatyourrolemeanstoyou,and—”
She’scutoffbecausehe’sscoopedherupinanotherbearhug,teary-eyed.“It’sperfect,June.”
“Hey,FirstOffspring,”saysavoicesuddenly,andwhenAlexputsJunedown,AmyiswaitinginthedoorwayconnectingthebalconytotheOvalRoom.“MadamPresidentwantstoseeyouinheroffice.”Herattentionshifts,listeningtoherearpiece.“Shesaystobringthedonuts.”
“Howdoesshealwaysknow?”Junemutters,scoopinguptheplate
“IhaveBluebonnetandBarracuda,onthemove,”Amysays,touchingherearpiece.
“Istillcan’tbelieveyoupickedthatforyourstupidcodename,”Junesaystohim.Alextripsheronthewaythroughthedoor.
Thedonutshavebeengonefortwohours
One,onthecouch:June,tyinganduntyingandretyingthelacesonherKeds,forlackofanythingelsetodowithherhands.Two,againstafarwall:Zahra,rapidlytypingoutanemailonherphone,thenanother.Three,attheResoluteDesk:Ellen,buriedinprobabilityprojections.Four,ontheothercouch:Alex,counting.
ThedoorstotheOvalOfficeflyopenandNoracomescareeningin.
She’swearingableach-stainedHOLLERANFORCONGRESS’72sweatshirtandthefrenzied,sun-blindedexpressionofsomeonewhohasemergedfromadoomsdaybunkerforthefirsttimeinadecade.ShenearlycrashesintothebustofAbrahamLincolninherrushtoEllen’sdesk.
Alexisalreadyonhisfeet.“Wherethefuckhaveyoubeen?”
SheslapsathickfolderdownonthedeskandturnshalfwaytofaceAlexandJune,outofbreath.“Okay,Iknowyou’repissed,andyouhaveeveryrighttobe,but”—shebracesherselfagainstthedeskwithbothhands,gesturingtowardthefolderwithherchin—“Ihavebeenholedupinmyapartmentfortwodaysdoingthis,andyouaresupernotgonnabemadanymorewhenyouseewhatitis.”
Alex’smotherblinksather,perturbed.“Nora,honey,we’retryingtofigureout—”
“Ellen,”Norapracticallyyells.Theroomgoessilent,andNorafreezes,realizing.“Uh.Ma’am.Mom-in-law.Please,just.Youneedtoreadthis.”
Alexwatcheshersighandputdownherpenbeforepullingthefoldertowardher.Noralookslikeshe’sabouttopassoutontopofthedesk.HelooksacrosstoJuneontheoppositecouch,whoappearsascluelessashefeels,and—
“Holy…fuckingshit,”hismothersays,adawningmixoffuryandbemusement.“Isthis—?”
“Yup,”Norasays.
“Andthe—?”
“Uh-huh.”
Ellencovershermouthwithonehand.“Howthehelldidyougetthis?Wait,letmerephrase—howthehelldidyougetthis?”
“Okay,so.”Norawithdrawsherselffromthedeskandstepsbackward.Alexhasnoideawhatthefuckishappening,butit’ssomething,somethingbig.Noraispacingnow,bothhandsclutchedtoherforehead.“Thedayoftheleaks,Igetananonymousemail.Obvioussockpuppetaccount,butuntraceable.Itried.TheysentmealinktoafuckingmassivefiledumpandtoldmetheywereahackerandhadobtainedthecontentsoftheRichardscampaign’sprivateemailserverintheirentirety.”
Alexstaresather.“What?”
Noralooksbackathim.“Iknow.”
Zahra,whohasbeenstandingbehindEllen’sdeskwithherarmsfolded,cutsintoask,“Andyoudidn’treportthistoanyoftheproperchannelsbecause?”
“BecauseIwasn’tsureitwasanythingatfirst.Andwhenitwas,Ididn’ttrustanybodyelsetohandleit.TheysaidtheysentitspecificallytomebecausetheyknewIwaspersonallyinvestedinAlex’ssituationandwouldworkasfastaspossibletofindwhattheydidn’thavetimeto.”
“Whichis?”Alexcan’tbelievehestillhastoask.
“Proof,”Norasays.Andhervoiceisshakingnow.“ThatRichardsfuckingsetyouup.”
Hehears,distantly,thesoundofJuneswearingunderherbreathandgettingupfromthecouch,walkingofftoafarcorneroftheroom.Hiskneesgiveout,sohesitsbackdown.
“We…wesuspectedthatmaybetheRNChadsomehowbeeninvolvedwithsomeofwhathappened,”hismothersays.She’scomingaroundthedesknow,kneelingonthefloorinfrontofhiminherstarchedgraydress,thefolderheldagainstherchest.“Ihadpeoplelookingintoit.Ineverimagined…thewholething,straightfromRichards’scampaign.”
Shetakesthefolderandspreadsitopenonthecoffeetableinthemiddleoftheroom.
“Therewere—Imean,just,hundredsofthousandsofemails,”NoraissayingasAlexclimbsdownontotherugandstartsstaringatthepages,“andIswearathirdofthemwerefromdummyaccounts,butIwroteacodethatnarroweditdowntoaboutthreethousand.Iwentthroughtherestmanually.ThisiseverythingaboutAlexandHenry.”
Alexnoticeshisownfacefirst.It’saphoto:blurry,outoffocus,caughtonalong-rangelens,onlybarelyrecognizable.It’shardtoplacewhereheis,untilheseestheelegantivorycurtainsattheedgeoftheframe.Henry’sbedroom.
Helooksabovethephotoandseesit’sattachedtoanemailbetweentwopeople.Negative.Nilsensaysthat’snotnearlyclearenough.YouneedtotellthePwe’renotpayingforBigfootsightingsNilsen.Nilsen,asinRichards’scampaignmanager.
“Richardsoutedyou,Alex,”Norasays.“Assoonasyouleftthecampaign,itstarted.HehiredafirmthathiredthehackerswhogotthesurveillancetapesfromtheBeekman.”
Hismotherisnexttohimwithahighlightercapalreadybetweenherteeth,slashingbrightyellowlinesacrosspages.There’smovementtohisright:Zahraistheretoo,pullingastackofpaperstowardherandstartinginwitharedpen.
“I—Idon’thaveanybankaccountnumbersoranythingbut,ifyoulook,therearepaystubsandinvoicesandrequestsofservice,”Norasays.“Everything,guys.It’sallthroughbackchannelsandgo-betweenfirmsandfakenamesbutit’s—there’sadigitalpapertrailforeverything.Enoughforafederalinvestigation,whichcouldsubpoenathefinancialstuff,Ithink.Basically,RichardshiredafirmthathiredthephotographerswhofollowedAlexandthehackerswhobreachedyourserver,andthenhehiredanotherthirdpartytobuyeverythingandresellittotheDailyMail.Imean,we’retalkingabouthavingprivatecontractorssurveilamemberoftheFirstFamilyandinfiltrateWhiteHousesecuritytotrytoinduceasexscandaltowinapresidentialrace,thatissomefucked-upshi—”
“Nora,canyou—?”Junesayssuddenly,havingreturnedtooneofthecouches.“Just,please.”
“Sorry,”Norasays.Shesitsdownheavily.“IdranklikenineRedBullstogetthroughallofthoseandateaweedgummytolevelbackout,soI’mflyingatfasten-seat-beltsrightnow.”
Alexcloseshiseyes.
There’ssofuckingmuchinfrontofhim,andit’simpossibletoprocessitallrightnow,andhe’spissed,furious,buthecanalsoputanameonit.Hecandosomethingaboutit.Hecangooutside.HecanwalkoutofthisofficeandcallHenryandtellhim:“We’resafe.Theworstisover.”
Heopenshiseyesagain,looksdownatthepagesonthetable.
“Whatdowedowiththisnow?”Juneasks.
“Whatifwejustleakedit?”Alexoffers.“WikiLeaks—”
“I’mnotgivingthemshit,”Ellencutshimoffimmediately,notevenlookingup,“especiallynotafterwhattheydidtoyou.Thisisrealshit.I’mtakingthismotherfuckerdown.Ithastostick.”Shefinallyputsherhighlighterdown.“We’releakingittothepress.”
“NomajorpublicationisgoingtorunthiswithoutverificationfromsomeoneontheRichardscampaignthattheseemailsarereal,”Junepointsout,“andthatkindofthingtakesmonths.”
“Nora,”Ellensays,fixingherwithasteelygaze,“isthereanythingyoucandoatalltotracethepersonwhosentthistoyou?”
“Itried,”Norasays.“Theydideverythingtoobscuretheiridentity.”Shereachesdownintohershirtandproducesherphone.“Icanshowyoutheemailtheysent.”
Sheswipesthroughafewscreensandplacesherphoneface-uponthetable.Theemailisexactlyasshedescribed,withasignatureatthebottomthat’sapparentlyarandomcombinationofnumbersandletters:2021SCB.BACCHZGRONA1.
2021SCB.
Alex’seyesstoponthelastline.Hepicksupthephone.Staresatit.
“Goddammit.”
Hekeepsstaringatthestupidletters.2021SCB.
2021SouthColoradoBoulevard.
TheclosestFiveGuystotheofficewhereheworkedthatsummerinDenver.Hestillrememberstheorderhewassentouttopickupatleastonceaweek.Baconcheeseburger,grilledonions,A1Sauce.AlexmemorizedthegoddamnFiveGuysorder.Hefeelshimselfstarttolaugh.
It’scode,forAlexandAlexonly:You’retheonlyoneItrust.
“Thisisn’tahacker,”Alexsays.“RafaelLunasentthistoyou.That’syourverification.”Helooksathismother.“Ifyoucanprotecthim,he’llconfirmitforyou.”
[MUSICALINTRODUCTION:15SECONDINSTRUMENTALFROMDESTINY’SCHILD’S1999SINGLE“BILLS,BILLS,BILLS”]
VOICEOVER:ThisisaRangeAudiopodcast.
You’relisteningto“Bills,Bills,Bills,”hostedbyOliverWestbrook,ProfessorofConstitutionalLawatNYU.
[ENDMUSICALINTRODUCTION]
WESTBROOK:Hi.I’mOliverWestbrook,andwithme,asalways,ismyexceedinglypatient,talented,merciful,andlovelyproducer,Sufia,withoutwhomIwouldbelost,bereft,floatingonaseaofbadthoughtsanddrinkingmyownpiss.Weloveher.Sayhi,Sufia.
SUFIAJARWAR,PRODUCER,RANGEAUDIO:Hello,pleasesendhelp.
WESTBROOK:AndthisisBills,Bills,Bills,thepodcastwhereIattempteveryweektobreakdownforyou,inlayman’sterms,what’shappeninginCongress,whyyoushouldcare,andwhatyoucandoaboutit.
Well.Igottatellyou,guys,Ihadaverydifferentshowplannedoutafewdaysago,butIdon’treallyseethepointingettingintoanyofit.
Let’sjust,ah.TakeaminutetoreviewthestorytheWashingtonPostbrokethismorning.We’vegotemails,anonymouslyleaked,confirmedbyananonymoussourceontheRichardscampaign,thatclearlyshowJeffreyRichards—oratleasthigh-rankingstaffersathiscampaign—orchestratedthisfuckingdiabolicalplantohaveAlexClaremont-Diazstalked,surveilled,hacked,andoutedbytheDailyMailaspartofanefforttotakedownEllenClaremontinthegeneral.Andthen,about—uh,whatisit,Suf?Fortyminutes?—fortyminutesbeforewestartedrecordingthis,SenatorRafaelLunatweetedhewaspartingwayswiththeRichardscampaign.
So.Wow.
Idon’tthinkthere’sanyneedtodiscussaleakfromthatcampaignotherthanLuna.It’sobviouslyhim.FromwhereIsit,thislookslikethecaseofamanwho—maybehedidn’treallywanttobethereinthefirstplace,maybehewasalreadyhavingsecondthoughts.Maybeheeveninfiltratedthecampaigntodosomethingexactlylikethis—Sufia,amIallowedtosaythat?
JARWAR:Literally,whenhasthateverstoppedyou?
WESTBROOK:Point.Anyway,CasperMattressesispayingmethebigsponsorshipbuckstogiveyouaWashingtonanalysispodcast,soI’mgonnaattempttodothathere,eventhoughwhathashappenedtoAlexClaremont-Diaz—andPrinceHenrytoo—overthepastfewdayshasbeenobscene,anditfeelscheapandgrosstoeventalkaboutitlikethis.Butinmyopinion,herearethethreebigthingstotakeawayfromthenewswe’vegottentoday.
First,theFirstSonoftheUnitedStatesdidn’tactuallydoanythingwrong.
Second,JeffreyRichardscommittedahostileactofconspiracyagainstasittingpresident,andIameagerlyawaitingthefederalinvestigationthatiscomingtohimoncehelosesthiselection.
Third,RafaelLunaisperhapstheunlikeliestheroofthe2020presidentialrace.
Aspeechhastobemade.
Notjustastatement.Aspeech.
“Youwrotethis?”theirmothersays,holdingthefolded-uppageJunehadhandedAlexonthebalcony.“Alextoldyoutoscrapthestatementourpresssecretarydraftedandwritethiswholething?”Junebitesherlipandnods.“Thisis—thisisgood,June.Whythehellaren’tyouwritingallourspeeches?”
ThepressbriefingroomintheWestWingisruledtooimpersonal,sothey’vecalledthepresspooltotheDiplomaticReceptionRoomonthegroundfloor.It’stheroomwhereFDRoncerecordedhisfiresidechats,andAlexisgoingtowalkinthereandmakeaspeechandhopethecountrydoesn’thatehimforthetruth.
They’veflownHenryinfromLondonforthetelecast.He’llbepositionedrightatAlex’sshoulder,steadyandsure,theemblematicpolitician’sspouse.Alex’sbraincan’tstopsprintinglapsaroundit.Hekeepspicturingit:anhourfromnow,millionsandmillionsofTVsacrossAmericasimulcastinghisface,hisvoice,June’swords,Henryathisside.Everyonewillknow.Everyonealreadyknowsnow,buttheydon’tknow,nottherightway.
Inanhour,everypersoninAmericawillbeabletolookatascreenandseetheirFirstSonandhisboyfriend.
And,acrosstheAtlantic,almostasmanywilllookupoverabeeratapubordinnerwiththeirfamilyoraquietnightinandseetheiryoungestprince,themostbeautifulone,PrinceCharming.
Thisisit.October2,2020,andthewholeworldwatched,andhistoryremembered.
AlexwaitsontheSouthLawn,withinviewofthelindentreesoftheKennedyGarden,wheretheyfirstkissed.MarineOnetouchesdowninacacophonyofnoiseandwindandrotors,andHenryemergesinhead-to-toeBurberrylookingdramaticandwindswept,likeadashingheroheretoripbodicesandmendwar-torncountries,andAlexhastolaugh.
“What?”HenryshoutsoverthenoisewhenheseesthelookonAlex’sface.
“Mylifeiscosmicjokeandyou’renotarealperson,”Alexsays,wheezing.
“What?”Henryyellsagain.
“Isaid,youlookgreat,baby!”
TheysneakofftomakeoutinastairwelluntilZahrafindsthemanddragsHenryofftogetcamera-ready,andsoonthey’rebeingshuffledtotheDiplomaticReceptionRoom,andit’stime.
It’stime.
It’sbeenonelong,longyearoflearningHenryinsideandout,learninghimself,learninghowmuchhestillhadtolearn,andjustlikethat,it’stimetowalkoutthereandstandatapodiumandconfidentlydeclareitallasfact.
He’snotafraidofanythinghefeels.He’snotafraidofsayingit.He’sonlyafraidofwhathappenswhenhedoes.
Henrytoucheshishand,gently,twofingertipsagainsthispalm.
“Fiveminutesfortherestofourlives,”hesays,laughingagrimlittlelaugh.
Alexreachesforhiminreturn,pressesonethumbintothehollowofhiscollarbone,slippingrightundertheknotofhistie.Thetieispurplesilk,andAlexiscountinghisbreaths.
“Youare,”hesays,“theabsoluteworstideaI’veeverhad.”
Henry’smouthspreadsintoaslowsmile,andAlexkissesit.
FIRSTSONALEXANDERCLAREMONT-DIAZ’SADDRESSFROMTHEWHITEHOUSE,OCTOBER2,2020
Goodmorning.
Iam,andhavebeen—first,last,andalways—achildofAmerica.
Youraisedme.IgrewupinthepasturesandhillsofTexas,butIhadbeentothirty-fourstatesbeforeIlearnedhowtodrive.WhenIcaughtthestomachfluinthefifthgrade,mymothersentanotetoschoolwrittenonthebackofaholidaymemofromVicePresidentBiden.Sorry,sir—wewereinarush,anditwastheonlypapershehadonhand.
IspoketoyouforthefirsttimewhenIwaseighteen,onthestageoftheDemocraticNationalConventioninPhiladelphia,whenIintroducedmymotherasthenomineeforpresident.Youcheeredforme.Iwasyoungandfullofhope,andyouletmeembodytheAmericandream:thataboywhogrewupspeakingtwolanguages,whosefamilywasblendedandbeautifulandenduring,couldmakeahomeforhimselfintheWhiteHouse.
Youpinnedtheflagtomylapelandsaid,“We’rerootingforyou.”AsIstandbeforeyoutoday,myhopeisthatIhavenotletyoudown.
Yearsago,Imetaprince.AndthoughIdidn’trealizeitatthetime,hiscountryhadraisedhimtoo.
Thetruthis,HenryandIhavebeentogethersincethebeginningofthisyear.Thetruthis,asmanyofyouhaveread,wehavebothstruggledeverydaywithwhatthismeansforourfamilies,ourcountries,andourfutures.Thetruthis,wehavebothhadtomakecompromisesthatcostussleepatnightinordertoaffordusenoughtimetoshareourrelationshipwiththeworldonourownterms.
Wewerenotaffordedthatliberty.
Butthetruthis,also,simplythis:loveisindomitable.Americahasalwaysbelievedthis.Andso,IamnotashamedtostandheretodaywherepresidentshavestoodandsaythatIlovehim,thesameasJacklovedJackie,thesameasLyndonlovedLadyBird.Everypersonwhobearsalegacymakesthechoiceofapartnerwithwhomtheywillshareit,whomtheAmericanpeoplewillholdbesidetheminheartsandmemoriesandhistorybooks.America:Heismychoice.
LikecountlessotherAmericans,Iwasafraidtosaythisoutloudbecauseofwhattheconsequencesmightbe.Toyou,specifically,Isay:Iseeyou.Iamoneofyou.AslongasIhaveaplaceinthisWhiteHouse,sowillyou.IamtheFirstSonoftheUnitedStates,andI’mbisexual.Historywillrememberus.
IfIcanaskonlyonethingoftheAmericanpeople,it’sthis:Please,donotletmyactionsinfluenceyourdecisioninNovember.ThedecisionyouwillmakethisyearissomuchbiggerthananythingIcouldeversayordo,anditwilldeterminethefateofthiscountryforyearstocome.Mymother,yourpresident,isthewarriorandthechampionthateachandeveryAmericandeservesforfourmoreyearsofgrowth,progress,andprosperity.Please,don’tletmyactionssendusbackward.IaskthemedianottofocusonmeoronHenry,butonthecampaign,onpolicy,onthelivesandlivelihoodsofmillionsofAmericansatstakeinthiselection.
Andfinally,IhopeAmericawillrememberthatIamstillthesonyouraised.MybloodstillrunsfromLometa,Texas,andSanDiego,California,andMexicoCity.IstillrememberthesoundofyourvoicesfromthatstageinPhiladelphia.Iwakeupeverymorningthinkingofyourhometowns,ofthefamiliesI’vemetatralliesinIdahoandOregonandSouthCarolina.IhaveneverhopedtobeanythingotherthanwhatIwastoyouthen,andwhatIamtoyounow—theFirstSon,yoursinactionsandwords.AndIhopewhenInaugurationDaycomesagaininJanuary,Iwillcontinuetobe.
Thefirsttwenty-fourhoursafterthespeechareablur,butafewsnapshotswillstaywithhimfortherestofhislife.
Apicture:themorningafter,anewcrowdgatheredontheMall,thebiggestyet.HestaysintheResidenceforsafety,butheandHenryandJuneandNoraandallthreeofhisparentssitinthelivingroomonthesecondfloorandwatchthelivestreamonCNN.Inthemiddleofthebroadcast:AmyatthefrontofthecheeringcrowdwearingJune’syellowHISTORY,HUH?T-shirtandatransflagpin.Nexttoher:Cash,withAmy’swifeonhisshouldersinwhatAlexcannowtellisthejeanjacketAmywasembroideringontheplaneinthecolorsofthepansexualflag.HewhoopssohardhespillshiscoffeeonGeorgeBush’sfavoriterug.
Apicture:SenatorJeffreyRichards’sstupidSamtheEaglefaceonCNN,talkingabouthisgraveconcernforPresidentClaremont’sabilitytoremainimpartialonmattersoftraditionalfamilyvaluesduetotheactshersonengagesinonthesacredgroundsofthehouseourforefathersbuilt.Followedby:SenatorOscarDiaz,respondingviasatellite,thatPresidentClaremont’sprimaryvalueisupholdingtheConstitution,andthattheWhiteHousewasbuiltbyslaves,
Apicture:theexpressiononRafaelLuna’sfacewhenhelooksupfromhispaperworktoseeAlexstandinginthedoorwayofhisoffice.
“Whydoyouevenhaveastaff?”Alexsays.“Nobodyhasevertriedtostopmefromwalkingstraightinhere.”
Lunahashisreadingglasseson,andhelookslikehehasn’tshavedinweeks.Hesmiles,alittleapprehensive.
AfterAlexdecodedthemessageintheemail,hismothercalledLunadirectlyandtoldhim,noquestionsasked,shewouldgranthimfullprotectionfromcriminalchargesifhehelpedhertakeRichardsdown.Heknowshisdadhasbeenintouchtoo.Lunaknowsneitherofhisparentsareholdingagrudge.Butthisisthefirsttimethey’vespoken.
“IfyouthinkIdon’ttelleveryhireontheirfirstdaythatyouhaveafreepass,”hesays,“youdonothaveanaccuratesenseofyourself.”
Alexgrins,andhereachesintohispocketandproducesapacketofSkittles,lobbingthemunderhandontoLuna’sdesk.
Lunalooksdownatthem.
Thechairisnexttohisdeskthesedays,andhepushesitout.
Alexhasn’tgottenachancetothankhimyet,andhedoesn’tknowwheretostart.Hedoesn’tevenfeellikeit’sthefirstorderofbusiness.HewatchesLunaripopenthepacketanddumpthecandyoutontohispapers.
There’saquestionhangingintheair,andtheycanbothseeit.Alexdoesn’twanttoask.TheyjustgotLunaback.He’safraidoflosinghimagaintotheanswer.Buthehastoknow.
“Didyouknow?”hefinallysays.“Beforeithappened,didyouknowwhathewasgoingtodo?”
Lunatakeshisglassesoffandsetsthemdowngrimlyonhisblotter.
“Alex,IknowI…completelydestroyedyourfaithinme,soIdon’tblameyouforaskingme,”hesays.Heleansforwardonhiselbows,hiseyecontacthardanddeliberate.“ButIneedyoutoknowIwouldnever,everintentionallyletsomethinglikethathappentoyou.Ever.Ihadnoideauntilitcameout.Sameasyou.”
Alexreleasesalongbreath.
“Okay,”hesays.HewatchesLunaleanback,looksatthefinelinesonhisface,slightlyheavierthantheywerebefore.“So,whathappened?”
Lunasighs,ahoarse,tiredsoundinthebackofhisthroat.It’sasoundthatmakesAlexthinkaboutwhathisdadtoldhimatthelake,abouthowmuchofLunaisstillhidden.
“So,”hesays,“youknowIinternedforRichards?”
Alexblinks.“What?”
Lunabarksasmall,humorlesslaugh.“Yeah,youwouldn’thaveheard.Richardsmadeprettydamnsuretogetridoftheevidence.But,yeah,2000.Iwasnineteen.ItwasbackwhenhewasAGinUtah.Oneofmyprofessorscalledinafavor.”
Therewererumors,Lunaexplains,amongthelow-levelstaffers.Usuallythefemaleinterns,butoccasionallyanespeciallyprettyboy—aboylikehim.Promises,fromRichards:mentorship,connections,if“you’djustgetadrinkwithmeafterwork.”Astrongimplicationthat“no”wasunacceptable.
“Ihadnothingbackthen,”Lunasays.“Nomoney,nofamily,noconnections,noexperience.Ithought,‘Thisisyouronlywaytogetyourfootinthedoor.Maybehemeansit.’”
Lunapauses,takingabreath.Alex’sstomachistwistinguncomfortably.
“Hesentacar,madememeethimatahotel,gotmedrunk.Hewanted—hetriedto—”Lunagrimacesawayfromfinishingthesentence.“Anyway,Igotaway.IrememberIgothomethatnight,andtheguyIwasrentingaroomwithtookonelookatmeandhandedmeacigarette.That’swhenIstartedsmoking,bytheway.”
He’sbeenlookingdownattheSkittlesonhisdesk,sortingtheredsfromoranges,butherehelooksupatAlexwithabitter,cuttingsmile.
“AndIwentbacktoworkthenextdaylikenothinghappened.Imadesmalltalkwithhiminthebreakroom,becauseIwantedittobeokay,andthat’swhatIhatedmyselfthemostfor.Sothenexttimehesentmeanemail,Iwalkedintohisofficeandtoldhimthatifhedidn’tleavemealone,I’dtakeittothepaper.Andthat’swhenhepulledoutthefile.
“Hecalleditan‘insurancepolicy.’HeknewstuffIdidasateenager,howIgotkickedoutbymyparentsandayouthshelterinSeattle.ThatIhavefamilywhoareundocumented.HetoldmethatifIeversaidawordaboutwhathappened,notonlywouldIneverhaveacareerinpolitics,buthewouldruinmylife.He’druinmyfamily’slives.So,Ishutthefuckup.”
Luna’seyeswhentheymeethisagainareicecold,sharp.Awindowslammedshut.
“ButI’veneverforgotten.I’dseehimintheSenatechamber,andhe’dlookatmelikeIowedhimsomething,becausehehadn’tdestroyedmewhenhecouldhave.AndIknewhewasgoingtodowhatevershadyshitittooktowinthepresidency,andIcouldn’tletafuckingpredatorbethemostpowerfulmaninthecountryifitwaswithinmypowertostopit.”
Heturnsnow,atinyshakeofhisshoulderslikehe’sdustingoffalightsnowfall,pivotinghischairtopluckupafewSkittlesandpopthemintohismouth,andhe’stryingforcasualbuthishandsaren’tsteady.
Heexplainsthatthemomenthedecidedwasthissummer,whenhesawRichardsonTVtalkingabouttheYouthCongressprogram.Thatheknew,withmoreaccess,hecouldfindandleakevidenceofabuse.EvenifhewastoooldforRichardstowanttofuck,hecouldplayhim.Convincehimhedidn’tbelieveEllenwouldwin,thathe’dgettheHispanicand
“Ifuckinghatedmyselfeveryminuteofworkingwiththatcampaign,butIspentthewholetimelookingforevidence.Iwasclose.Iwassofocused,sozeroedinthat,thatI…Inevernoticediftherewerewhispersaboutyou.Ihadnoidea.Butwheneverythingcameout…Iknew.Ijustcouldn’tproveit.ButIhadaccesstotheservers.Idon’tknowmuch,butI’dbeenaroundtheblockenoughinmyteenageanarchistdaystoknowpeoplewhoknowhowtodoafiledump.Don’tlookatmelikethat.I’mnotthatold.”
Alexlaughs,andLunalaughstoo,andit’sarelief,liketheaircomingbackintheroom.
“Anyway,gettingitstraighttoyouandyourmotherwasthefastestwaytoexposehim,andIknewNoracoulddothat.AndI…Iknewyouwouldunderstand.”
Hepauses,suckingonaSkittle,andAlexdecidestoask.
“Didmydadknow?”
“Aboutmegoingtripleagent?No,nobodydoes.Halfmystaffquitbecausetheydidn’tknow.Mysisterhasn’tspokentomeinmonths.”
“No,aboutwhatRichardsdidtoyou?”
“Alex,yourfatheristheonlyotherpersonaliveI’veevertoldanyofthisto,”hesays.“YourfathertookituponhimselftohelpmewhenIwouldn’tletanyoneelse,andI’llneverstopbeinggratefultohim.ButhewantedmetocomeforwardwithwhatRichardsdidtome,andI…couldn’t.IsaiditwasariskIwasn’twillingtotakewithmyowncareer,buttruthfully,Ididn’tthinkwhathappenedtoonegayMexicankidtwentyyearsagowouldmakeadifferencetohisbase.Ididn’tthinkanyonewouldbelieveme.”
“Ibelieveyou,”Alexsaysreadily.“Ijustwishyouwouldhavetoldmewhatyouweredoing.Or,like,anybody.”
“Youwouldhavetriedtostopme,”Lunasays.“Youallwouldhave.”
“Imean…Raf,itwasafuckingcrazyplan.”
“Iknow.AndIdon’tknowifI’lleverbeabletofixthedamageI’vedone,butIhonestlydon’tcare.IdidwhatIhadtodo.TherewasnowayinhellIwasgoingtoletRichardswin.Mywholelifehasbeenaboutfighting.Ifought.”
Alexthinksitover.Hecanrelate—itechoesthesamedeliberationshe’sbeenhavingwithhimself.Hethinksofsomethinghehasn’tallowedhimselftothinkaboutsinceallthisstartedafterLondon:hisLSATresults,unopenedandtuckedawayinsidethedeskinhisbedroom.Howdoyoudoallthegoodyoucando?
“I’msorry,bytheway,”Lunasays.“ForthethingsIsaidtoyou.”Hedoesn’thavetospecifywhichthings.“Iwas…fuckedup.”
“It’scool,”Alextellshim,andhemeansit.HeforgaveLunabeforeheeverwalkedintotheoffice,butheappreciatestheapology.“I’msorrytoo.Butalso,Ihopeyouknowthatifyouevercallme‘kid’againafterallthis,Iamliterallygoingtokickyourass.”
Lunalaughsinearnest.“Listen,you’vehadyourfirstbigsexscandal.Nomoresittingatthekids’table.”
Alexnodsappreciatively,stretchinginhischairandfoldinghishandsbehindhishead.“Man,itfuckingsucksithastobelikethis,withRichards.Evenifyouexposehimnow,straightpeoplealwayswantthehomophobicbastardstobeclosetcasessotheycanwashtheirhandsofit.Asifninety-nineoutofahundredaren’tjustregularoldhatefulbigots.”
“Yeah,especiallysinceIthinkI’mtheonlymaleinternheevertooktoahotel.It’sthesameasanyfuckingpredator—ithasnothingtodowithsexualityandeverythingtodowithpower.”
“Doyouthinkyou’llsayanything?”Alexsays.“Atthispoint?”
“I’vebeenthinkingaboutitalot.”Heleansin.“MostpeoplehavekindofalreadyfiguredoutthatI’mtheleak.AndIthink,soonerorlater,someoneisgoingtocometomewithanallegationthatiswithinthestatuteoflimitations.Thenwecanopenupacongressionalinvestigation.Big-time.Andthatwillmakeadifference.”
“Ihearda‘we’inthere,”Alexsays.
“Well,”Lunasays.“Meandsomeoneelsewithlawexperience.”
“Isthatahint?”
“It’sasuggestion,”Lunasays.“ButI’mnotgonnatellyouwhattodowithyourlife.I’mbusytryingtogetmyownshittogether.Lookatthis.”Heliftshissleeve.“Nicotinepatch,bitch.”
“Noway,”Alexsays.“Areyouactuallyquittingforreal?”
“Iamachangedman,unburdenedbythedemonsofmypast,”Lunasayssolemnly,withajerk-offhandgesture.
“Youfucker,I’mproudofyou.”
“Hola,”saysavoiceatthedooroftheoffice.
It’shisdad,inaT-shirtandjeans,asix-packofbeerinonehand.
“Oscar,”Lunasays,grinning.“WewerejusttalkingabouthowI’vedecimatedmyreputationandkilledmyownpoliticalcareer.”
“Ay,”hesays,dragginganextrachairovertothedeskandpassingoutbeers.“SoundslikeajobforLosBastardos.”
Alexcracksopenhiscan.“WecanalsodiscusshowImightcostMomtheelectionbecauseI’maone-manbisexualwreckingballwhoexposedthevulnerabilityoftheWhiteHouseprivateemailserver.”
“Youthink?”hisdadsays.“Nah.Comeon.Idon’tthinkthiselectionisgonnahingeonanemailserver.”
Alexarchesabrow.“Yousureaboutthat?”
“Listen,maybeifRichardshadmoretimetosowthoseseedsofdoubt,butIdon’tthinkwe’rethere.Maybeifitwere2016.Maybeifthisweren’tanAmericathatalreadyelectedawomantothehighestofficeonce.MaybeifIweren’tsittinginaroomwiththethreeassholesresponsibleforelectingthefirstopenlygaymantotheSenateinUShistory.”AlexwhoopsandLunainclineshisheadandraiseshisbeer.“But,nah.Isitgonnabeapaininyourmom’sassforthesecondterm?Shit,yeah.Butshe’llhandleit.”
“Lookatyou,”Lunasaysoverhisbeer.“Answerforeverything,eh?”
“Listen,”hisdadsays,“somebodyonthisdamncampaignhastokeeptheirfuckingcoolwhileeveryoneelsecatastrophizes.Everything’sgonnabefine.Ibelievethat.”
“Andwhataboutme?”Alexsays.“YouthinkIgotachanceinpoliticsaftergoingsupernovaineverypaperintheworld?”
“Theygotyou,”Oscarsays,shrugging.“Ithappens.Giveittime.Tryagain.”
Alexlaughs,butstill,hereachesinandplucksupsomethingdeepdowninhischest.SomethingshapednotlikeClaremontbutDiaz—nobetter,noworse,justdifferent.
HenrygetshisownroomintheWhiteHousewhilehe’sin.ThecrownsparedhimfortwonightsbeforehereturnstoEnglandforhisowndamagecontroltour.Onceagain,they’reluckytohaveCatherinebackinthegame;Alexdoubtsthequeenwouldhavebeensogenerous.
ThisparticularlyiswhatmakesitalittlefunnythatHenry’sroom—thecustomaryquartersforroyalguests—iscalledtheQueen’sBedroom.
“It’squite…aggressivelypink,innit?”Henrymutterssleepily.
Theroomis,really,aggressivelypink,doneupintheFederalstylewithpinkwallsandrose-coveredrugsandbedding,pinkupholsteryoneverythingfromthechairsandsetteeinthesittingareatothecanopyonthefour-posterbed.
Henry’sagreedtosleepintheroomratherthanAlex’s“becauseIrespectyourmother,”asifeverypersonwhohadahandinraisingAlexhasnotreadingraphicdetailthethingstheygetuptowhentheyshareabed.Alexhasnosuchhang-upsandenjoysHenry’shalf-heartedgrumblingswhenhesneaksinfromtheEastBedroomrightdownthehall
They’vewokenuphalf-nakedandwarm,tuckedintightwhilethefirstautumnchillcreepsinunderthelacycurtains.Humminglowinhischest,AlexpressesthelengthofhisbodyagainstHenry’sundertheblankets,hisbacktoHenry’schest,theswellofhisassagainst—
“Argh,hello,”Henrymumbles,hishipshitchingatthecontact.Henrycan’tseehisface,butAlexsmilesanyway.
“Morning,”Alexsays.Hegiveshisassalittlewiggle.
“Time’sit?”
“Seventhirty-two.”
“Planeintwohours.”
Alexmakesasmallsoundinthebackofhisthroatandturnsover,findingHenry’sfacesoftandclose,eyesonlyhalf-open.“Yousureyoudon’tneedmetocomewithyou?”
Henryshakeshisheadwithoutpickingitupfromthepillow,sohischeeksquishesagainstit.It’scute.“You’renottheonewhoslaggedoffthecrownandyourownfamilyintheemailsthateverybodyintheworldhasread.I’vegottohandlethatonmyownbeforeyoucomebackover.”
“That’sfair,”Alexsays.“Butsoon?”
Henry’smouthtugsintoasmile.“Absolutely.You’vegottheroyalsuitorphotostotake,theChristmascardstosign…Oh,Iwonderifthey’llhaveyoudoalineofskincareproductslikeMartha—”
“Stop,”Alexgroans,pokinghimintheribs.“You’reenjoyingthistoomuch.”
“I’menjoyingittheperfectamount,”Henrysays.“But,inallseriousness,it’s…frighteningbutabitnice.Todothisonmyown.I’venotgottentodothatmuch,well,ever.”
“Yeah,”Alexsays.“I’mproudofyou.”
“Ew,”HenrysaysinaflatAmericanaccent,andhelaughsandAlexthrowsanelbow.
Henry’spullinghimandkissinghim,sandyhaironapinkbedspread,longlashesandlonglegsandblueeyes,eleganthandspinninghiswriststothemattress.It’slikeeverythinghe’severlovedaboutHenryinamoment,inalaugh,inthewayheshivers,intheconfidentrollofhisspine,inhappy,unfetteredsexinthewell-furnishedeyeofastorm.
Today,HenrygoesbacktoLondon.Today,Alexgoesbacktothecampaigntrail.Theyhavetofigureouthowtodothisforrealnow,howtoloveeachotherinplainsight.Alexthinksthey’reupforit.FIFTEEN
nearlyfourweekslater
“Letmejustgetthishair,love.”
“Mum.”
“Soz,amIembarrassingyou?”Catherinesays,herglassesonthetipofhernoseassherearrangesHenry’sthickhair.“You’llthankmewhenyou’venotgotagreatcowlickinyourofficialportrait.”
Alexhastoadmit,theroyalphotographerisbeingexceedinglypatientaboutthewholething,especiallyconsideringtheywaffledthroughthreedifferentlocations—KensingtonGardens,astuffyBuckinghamPalacelibrary,thecourtyardofHamptonCourtPalace—beforetheydecidedtoscrewitallforabenchinalocked-downHydePark.
(“Likeacommonvagrant?”QueenMaryasked.
“Shutup,Mum,”Catherinesaid.)
There’sacertainneedforformalportraitsnowthatAlexisofficiallyin“courtship”withHenry.HetriesnottothinktoohardabouthisfaceonchocolatebarsandthongsinBuckinghamgiftshops.Atleastit’llbenexttoHenry’s.
Somepsychologicalmathalwaysgoesintostylingphotoslikethese.TheWhiteHousestylistshaveAlexinsomethinghe’dwearanyday—brownleatherloafers,slim-fitchinosinasofttan,aloose-collaredRalphLaurenchambray—butinthiscontext,itreadsconfident,roguish,decidedlyAmerican.Henry’sinaBurberrybutton-downtuckedintodarkjeansandanavycardiganthattheroyalshopperssquabbledoverinHarrodsforhours.Theywantapictureofaperfect,dignified,Britishintellectual,aloved-upboyfriendwithabrightfutureasanacademicandphilanthropist.Theyevenstagedalittlepileofbooksonthebenchnexttohim.
AlexlooksoveratHenry,who’sgroaningandrollinghiseyesunderhismother’spreening,andsmilesathowmuchcloserthispackagingistothereal,messy,complicatedHenry.AscloseasanyPRcampaignisevergoingtoget.
Theytakeaboutahundredportraitsjustsittingonthebenchnexttoeachotherandsmiling,andpartofAlexkeepsstumblingoverthedisbeliefhe’sactuallyhere,inthemiddleofHydePark,infrontofGodandeverybody,holdingHenry’shandatophisownkneeforthecamera.
“IfAlexfromthistimelastyearcouldseethis,”Alexsays,leaningintoHenry’sear.
“He’dsay,‘Oh,I’minlovewithHenry?ThatmustbewhyI’msuchaberktohimallthetime,’”Henrysuggests
“Hey!”Alexsquawks,andHenry’schucklingathisownjokeandAlex’sindignation,onearmcominguparoundAlex’sshoulders.Alexgivesintoitandlaughstoo,fullanddeep,andthat’sthelasthopeforaserioustoneforthedaygone.Thephotographerfinallycallsit,andthey’resetloose.
Catherine’sgotabusyday,shesays—threemeetingsbeforeafternoonteatodiscussrelocatingintoaroyalresidencemorecentrallylocatedinLondon,sinceshe’sbeguntakingupmoredutiesthanever.Alexcanseetheglintinhereye—she’llbegunningforthethronesoon.He’schoosingnottosayanythingaboutittoHenryyet,buthe’scurioustoseehowitallplaysout.ShekissesthembothandleavesthemwithHenry’sPPOs.
It’sashortwalkovertheLongWaterbacktoKensington,andtheymeetBeaattheOrangery,whereadozenmembersofherevent-planningteamarescurryingaround,settingupastage.She’strompingupanddownrowsofchairsonthelawninaponytailandrainboots,speakingveryterselyonthephoneaboutsomethingcalled“cullenskink”andwhyonearthwouldsheeverrequestcullenskinkandevenifshehadinfactrequestedcullenskinkinwhatuniversewouldsheeverneedtwentybloodylitersofcullenskinkforanything,ever.
“Whatinthehellisa‘cullenskink’?”Alexasksonceshe’shungup.
“Smokedhaddockchowder,”shesays.“Enjoyyourfirstroyaldogshow,Alex?”
“Itwasn’ttoobad,”Alexsays,smirking.
“Mumisbeyond,”Henrysays.“Sheofferedtoeditmymanuscriptthismorning.It’slikeshe’stryingtomakeupforfiveyearsofabsenteeparentingallatonce.Which,ofcourse,Iloveherverymuch,andIappreciatetheeffort,but,Christ.”
“She’strying,H,”Beasays.“She’sbeenonthebenchforawhile.Letherwarmupabit.”
“Iknow,”Henrysayswithasigh,buthiseyesarefond.“Howarethingsoverhere?”
“Oh,youknow,”shesays,wavingherphoneintheair.“Justthemaidenvoyageofmyverycontroversialfunduponwhichallfutureendeavorswillbejudged,so,nopressureatall.I’monlyslightlycrosswithyoufornotmakingitaHenryFoundation–BeatriceFunddoublefeaturesoIcouldunloadhalfthestressontoyou.Allthisfund-raisingforsobrietyisgoingtodrivemetodrink.”ShepatsAlexonthearm.“That’sdrunkhumorforyou,Alex.”
BeaandHenrybothhadanOctoberasbusyastheirmother’s.Therewerealotofdecisionstobemadeinthatfirstweek:WouldtheyignoretherevelationsaboutBeaintheemails(no),wouldHenrybeforcedtoenlistafterall(afterdaysofdeliberation,no),and,aboveall,howcouldallthisbemadeintoapositive?ThesolutionhadbeenoneBeaandHenrycameupwithtogether,twinphilanthropiceffortsundertheirownnames.Bea’s,acharityfundsupportingaddictionrecoveryprogramsallovertheUK,andHenry’s,anLGBTrightsfoundation.
Totheirright,thelightingtrussesaregoingupquicklyoverthestagewhereBeawillbeplayingan￡8,000-a-ticketconcertwithalivebandandcelebritygueststonight,herfirstsolofund-raiser.
“Man,IwishIcouldstayfortheshow,”Alexsays.
Beabeams.“It’sashameHenryherewastoobusysigningpaperswithAuntiePezzaallweektolearnsomesheetmusicorwecouldhavefiredourpianist.”
“Papers?”Alexsays,cockinganeyebrow.
HenryshootsBeaasilencingglare.“Bea—”
“Fortheyouthshelters,”shesays.
“Beatrice,”Henryadmonishes.“Itwasgoingtobeasurprise.”
“Oh,”Beasays,busyingherselfwithherphone.“Oops.”
AlexlooksatHenry.“What’sgoingon?”
Henrysighs.“Well.Weweregoingtowaittoannounceit—andtotellyou,obviously—untilaftertheelection,soasnottosteponyourmoment.But…”Heputshishandsinhispockets,inthatwayhedoeswhenhe’sfeelingproudofsomethingbuttryingnottoactlikeit.“MumandIagreedthefoundationshouldn’tjustbenational,thattherewasworktobedoneallovertheworld,andIspecificallywantedtofocusonhomelessqueeryouth.So,PezsignedallourOkonjoFoundationyouthsheltersover.”Hebouncesonhisheelsalittle,visiblytampingdownabroadsmile.“You’relookingattheproudfatheroffourworldwidesoon-to-besheltersfordisenfranchisedqueerteenagers.”
“OhmyGod,youbastard,”Alexpracticallyyells,lungingatHenryandthrowinghisarmsaroundhisneck.“That’samazing.Istupidloveyou.Wow.”Heyanksbacksuddenly,stricken.“Wait,ohmyGod,thismeanstheoneinBrooklyntoo?Right?”
“Yes,itdoes.”
“Didn’tyoutellmeyouwantedtobehands-onwiththefoundation?”Alexsays,hispulsejumping.“Don’tyouthinkmaybedirectsupervisionmightbehelpfulwhileitgetsofftheground?”
“Alex,”Henrytellshim,“Ican’tmovetoNewYork.”
Bealooksup.“Whynot?”
“BecauseI’mtheprinceof—”HenrylooksoveratherandgesturesattheOrangery,atKensington,sputtering.“Here!”
Beashrugs,unmoved.“And?Itdoesn’thavetobepermanent.YouspentamonthofyourgapyeartalkingtoyaksinMongolia,H.It’shardlyunprecedented.”
Henrymoveshismouthacoupletimes,evertheskeptic,andswivelsbacktoAlex.“Well,I’dstillhardlyseeyou,wouldI?”hereasons.“Ifyou’reinDCforworkallthetime,beginningyourmeteoricrisetothepoliticalstratosphere?”
Andthis,Alexhastoadmit,isapoint.Apointthataftertheyearhe’shad,aftereverything,afterthefinallyopenedandperfectlypassableLSATscoressittingexpectantlyonhisdeskbackhome,feelslessandlessconcreteeveryday.
Hethinksaboutopeninghismouthtosayasmuch.
“Hello,”saysapolishedvoicefrombehindthem,andtheyallturntoseePhilip,starchedandwellgroomed,stridingacrossthelawn.
AlexfeelstheslightflutterthroughtheairofHenry’sspineautomaticallystraighteningbesidehim.PhilipcametoKensingtontwoweeksagotoapologizetobothHenryandBeafortheyearssincetheirfather’sdeath,theharshwords,thedomineeringness,theintensescrutiny.Forbasicallygrowingfromanuptightpeople-pleaserintoanabusive,
Yet,there’sbloodthatcan’tbeunshed.AlexwantstothrowapuncheverytimeheseesPhilip’sstupidface,butit’sHenry’sfamily,nothis,sohedoesn’tgettomakethatcall.
“Philip,”Beasayscoolly.“Towhatdoweowethepleasure?”
“JusthadameetingatBuckingham,”Philipsays.Themeaninghangsintheairbetweenthem:ameetingwiththequeenbecausehe’stheonlyonestillwilling.“WantedtocomebytoseeifIcouldhelpwithanything.”HelooksdownatBea’sWellingtonbootsnexttohisshinydressshoesinthegrass.“Youknow,youdon’thavetobeouthere—we’vegotplentyofstaffwhocandothegruntworkforyou.”
“Iknow,”Beasayshaughtily,everyinchaprincess.“Iwanttodoit.”
“Right,”Philipsays.“Ofcourse.Well,er.IsthereanythingIcanhelpwith?”
“Notreally,Philip.”
“Allright.”Philipclearshisthroat.“Henry,Alex.Portraitsgoallright?”
Henryblinks,clearlystartledPhilipwouldask.Alexhasenoughdiplomaticinstinctstokeephismouthshut.
“Yeah,”Henrysays.“Er,yes.Itwasallright.Abitawkward,youknow,justhavingtositthereforages.”
“Oh,Iremember,”Philipsays.“WhenMazzyandIdidourfirstones,Ihadthishorriblerashonmyarsefromsomeidioticpoison-oakprankoneofmyunifriendshadplayedonmethatweek,anditwasallIcoulddotoholdstillandnotripmytrousersoffinthemiddleofBuckingham,muchlesstrytotakeanicephoto.Ithoughtshewasgoingtomurderme.Here’shopingyoursturnoutbetter.”
Hechucklesalittleawkwardly,clearlytryingtobondwiththem.Alexscratcheshisnose.
“Well,anyway,goodluck,Bea.”
Philipwalksoff,handsinhispockets,andallthreeofthemwatchhisretreatingbackuntilitstartstodisappearbehindthetallhedges.
Beasighs.“D’youthinkIshouldhavelethimhaveagoatthecullenskinkmanforme?”
“Notyet,”Henrysays.“Givehimanothersixmonths.Hehasn’tearnedityet.”
Blueorgray?Grayorblue?
Alexhasneverbeensotornbetweentwoequallyinnocuousblazersinhisentirelife.
“Thisisstupid,”Norasays.“They’rebothboring.”
“Willyoupleasejusthelpmepick?”Alextellsher.Heholdsupahangerineachhand,ignoringherjudgmentallookfromwhereshe’sperchedatophisdresser.Thepicturesfromelectionnighttomorrow,winorlose,willfollowhimfortherestofhislife.
“Alex,seriously.Ihatethemboth.Youneedsomethingkiller.Thiscouldbeyourfuckingswansong.”
“Okay,let’snot—”
“Yes,okay,you’reright,iftheprojectionshold,we’refine,”shesays,hoppingdown.“So,doyouwanttotalkaboutwhyyou’rechoosingtopuntsohardonthisparticularmomentinyourcareerasarisk-takingfashionplate?”
“Nope,”Alexsays.Hewavesthehangersather.“Blueorgray?”
“Okay,so.”She’signoringhim.“I’llsayit,then.You’renervous.”
Herollshiseyes.“OfcourseI’mnervous,Nora,it’sapresidentialelectionandthepresidentgavebirthtome.”
“Tryagain.”
She’sgivinghimthatlook.The“I’vealreadyanalyzedallthedataonhowmuchshityou’refullof”look.Hereleasesahissofasigh.
“Fine,”hesays.“Fine,yeah,I’mnervousaboutgoingbacktoTexas.”
Hetossesboththeblazersatthebed.Shit.
“IalwaysfeltlikeTexasclaimingmeastheirsonwas,youknow,kindofconditional.”Hepaces,rubbingthebackofhisneck.“Thewholehalf-Mexican,allDemocratthing.There’saveryloudcontingenttherethatdoesnotlikemeanddoesnotwantmetorepresentthem.Andnow,it’sjust.Notbeingstraight.Havingaboyfriend.HavingagaysexscandalwithaEuropeanprince.Idon’tknowanymore.”
HelovesTexas—hebelievesinTexas.Buthedoesn’tknowifTexasstillloveshim.
He’spacedallthewaytotheoppositesideoftheroomfromher,andshewatcheshimandcocksherheadtooneside
“So…you’reafraidofwearinganythingtooflashyforyourfirstpost-coming-outtriphome,onaccountofTexans’delicateheterosensibilities?”
“Basically.”
She’slookingathimnowmorelikehe’saverycomplexproblemset.“HaveyoulookedatourpollingonyouinTexas?SinceSeptember?”
Alexswallows.
“No.I,uh.”Hescrubshisfacewithonehand.“Thethought,like…stressesmeout?Like,Ikeepmeaningtogolookatthenumbers,andthenIjust.Shutdown.”
Nora’sfacesoftens,butshedoesn’tmovecloseryet,givinghimspace.“Alex.Youcouldhaveaskedme.They’re…notbad.”
Hebiteshislip.“They’renot?”
“Alex,ourbaseinTexashasn’tshiftedonyousinceSeptember,atall.Ifanything,theylikeyoumore.AndalotoftheundecidedsarepissedRichardscameafteraTexaskid.You’rereallyfine.”
Oh.
Alexexhalesashakybreath,runningonehandthroughhishair.Hestartstopaceback,awayfromthedoor,whichherealizeshe’sgravitatednearassomefight-or-flightreflex.
“Okay.”
Hesitsdownheavilyonthebed.
Norasitsgingerlynexttohim,andwhenhelooksather,she’sgotthatsharpnesstohereyeslikeshedoeswhenshe’spracticallyreadinghismind.
“Look.YouknowI’mnotgoodatthewhole,like,tactfulemotionalcommunicationthing,but,uh,June’snothere,so.I’mgonna.Fuckin’.Giveitago.”Shepresseson.“Idon’tthinkthisisjustaboutTexas.Youwererecentlyfuckingtraumatizedinabigway,andnowyou’rescaredofdoingorsayingthekindofstuffyouactuallylikeandwanttobecauseyoudon’twanttodrawanymoreattentiontoyourself.”
Alexalmostwantstolaugh.
NoraislikeHenrysometimes,inthatshecancutrightdowntothetruthofthings,butHenrydealsinheartandNoradealsinfacts.Ittakesherrazor’sedge,sometimes,togethimtopullhisheadoutofhisass.
“Uh,well,yeah.That’s.Probablypartofit,”heagrees.“IknowIneedtostartrehabilitatingmyimageifIwantanychanceinpolitics,butpartofmeislike…really?Rightnow?Why?It’sweird.Mywholelife,IwashangingontothisimaginaryfuturepersonIwasgonnabe.Like,theplan—graduation,campaigns,staffer,Congress.Thatwasit.Straightintothegame.Iwasgonnabethepersonwhocoulddothat…whowantedthat.AndnowhereIam,andthepersonI’vebecomeis…notthatperson.”
Noranudgestheirshoulderstogether.“Butdoyoulikehim?”
Alexthinks;he’sdifferent,forsure,maybealittledarker.Moreneurotic,butmorehonest.Sharperhead,wilderheart.Someonewhodoesn’talwayswanttobemarriedtowork,butwhohasmorereasonstofightthanever.
“Yeah,”hesaysfinally.Firmly.“Yeah,Ido.”
“Cool,”shesays,andhelooksovertoseehergrinningathim.“SodoI.You’reAlex.Inallthisstupidshit,that’sallyoueverneededtobe.”Shegrabshisfaceinbothhandsandsquishesit,andhegroansbutdoesn’tpushheroff.“So,like.Youwanttothrowoutsomecontingencyplans?Youwantmetorunsomeprojections?”
“Actually,uh,”Alexsays,slightlymuffledfromhowNora’sstillsquishinghisfacebetweenherhands.“DidItellyouthatIkindof…snuckoffandtooktheLSATthissummer?”
“Oh!Oh…lawschool,”shesays,assimplyasshesaiddickyoudownallthosemonthsago,thesimpleanswertowherehe’sbeenunknowinglyheadedallalong.Shereleaseshisface,shovinghisshouldersinstead,instantlyexcited.“That’sit,Alex.Wait—yes!I’mabouttostartapplyingformymaster’s;wecandoittogether!”
“Yeah?”hesays.“YouthinkIcanhackit?”
“Alex.Yes.Alex.”She’sonherkneesonthebednow,bouncingupanddown.“Alex,thisisgenius.Okay—listen.Yougotolawschool,Igotogradschool,Junebecomesaspeechwriter-slash-authorRebeccaTraister–RoxaneGayvoiceofageneration,Ibecomethedatascientistwhosavestheworld,andyou—”
“—becomeabadasscivilrightsattorneywithanillustriousCaptainAmerica-esquecareerofcurb-stompingdiscriminatorylawsandfightingforthedisenfranchised—”
“—andyouandHenrybecometheworld’sfavoritegeopoliticalpowercouple—”
“—andbythetimeI’mRafaelLuna’sage—”
“—peoplearegoingtobebeggingyoutorunforSenate,”shefinishes,breathless.“Yeah.So,like,alotslowerthanplanned.But.”
“Yeah,”Alexsays,swallowing.“Itsoundsgood.”
Andthereitis.He’sbeenteeteringontheedgeoflettinggoofthisspecificdreamformonthsnow,terrifiedofit,butthereliefisstartling,amountainoffhisback.
Heblinksinthefaceofit,thinksofJune’swords,andhastolaugh.“Fireundermyassfornogoodgoddamnreason.”
Norapullsaface.SherecognizestheJune-ism.“Youare…passionate,toafault.IfJunewerehere,shewouldsaytakingyourtimeisgoingtohelpyoufigureouthowbesttousethat.ButI’mhere,so,I’mgonnasay:Youaregreatathustling,andatpolicy,andatleadingandrallyingpeople.Youaresofuckingsmartthatmostpeoplewanttopunchyou.Thoseareallskillsthatwillonlyimproveovertime.So,like,youaregonnacrushit.”
Shejumpstoherfeetandducksintohiscloset,andhecanhearhangersslidingaround.“Mostimportantly,”shegoeson,“youhavebecomeaniconofsomething,whichis,like,averybigdeal.”
Sheemergeswithahangerinherhand:ajackethe’sneverwornoutbefore,onesheconvincedhimtobuyonlineforanobscenepricethenighttheygotdrunkandwatchedTheWestWinginahotelinNewYorkandletthetabloidsthinktheywerescrewing.It’sfuckingGucci,amidnight-bluebomberjacketwithred,white,andbluestripesatthewaistbandandcuffs.
“Iknowit’salot,but”—sheslapsthejacketagainsthischest—“yougivepeoplehope.So,getbackoutthereandbeAlex.”
Hetakesthejacketfromherandtriesiton,checkshisreflectioninthemirror.It’sperfect.
Themomentissplitwithahalfscreamfromthehallwayoutsideofhisbedroom,andheandNorabothruntothedoor.
It’sJune,tumblingintoAlex’sbedroomwithherphoneinonehand,jumpingupanddown,herhairbouncingonhershoulders.She’sclearlycomestraightfromoneofherrunstothenewsstandbecauseherotherarmisladenwithtabloids,butshedumpsthemunceremoniouslyonthefloor.
“Igotthebookdeal!”sheshrieks,wavingherphoneintheirfaces.“Iwascheckingmyemailand—thememoir—Igotthefuckingdeal!”
AlexandNorabothscreamtoo,andtheyhaulherintoasix-armedhug,whoopingandlaughingandstompingononeanother’sfeetandnotcaring.Theyallendupkickingofftheirshoesandjumpingonthebed,andNoraFaceTimesBea,whofindsHenryandPezinoneofHenry’srooms,andtheyallcelebratetogether.Itfeelscomplete,thegang,asCashoncecalledthem.They’veearnedtheirownmedianicknameinthewakeofeverything:TheSuperSix.Alexdoesn’tmindit.
Hourslater,NoraandJunefallasleepagainstAlex’sheadboard,June’sheadinNora’slapandNora’sfingersinherhair,andAlexsneaksofftotheensuitetobrushhisteeth.Henearlyslipsonsomethingonthewayback,andwhenhelooksdown,hehastodoadoubletake.It’sanissueofHELLO!USfromJune’sabandonedstackofmagazines,andtheimagedominatingthecoverisoneoftheshotsfromhisandHenry’sportraitsession.
Hebendsdowntopickitup.It’snotoneoftheposedshots—it’sonehedidn’tevenrealizehadbeentaken,onehedefinitelydidn’tthinkwouldbereleased.Heshouldhavegiventhephotographermorecredit.HemanagedtocapturethemomentrightwhenHenrycrackedajoke,acandid,genuinephoto,completelycaughtupineachother,Henry’sarmaroundhimandhisownhandreachinguptograspforHenry’sonhisshoulder.
ThewayHenry’slookingathiminthepictureissoaffectionate,soopenlyloving,thatseeingitfromathirdperson’sperspectivealmostmakesAlexwanttolookaway,likehe’sstaringintothesun.HecalledHenrytheNorthStaronce.Thatwasn’tbrightenough.
HethinksagainaboutBrooklyn,aboutHenry’syouthshelterthere.HismomknowssomeoneatNYULaw,right?
Hebrusheshisteethandclimbsintobed.Tomorrowtheyfindout,winorlose.Ayearago—sixmonthsago—itwouldhavemeantnosleeptonight.Buthe’sanewkindoficonnow,someonewholaughsonevenfootingwithhisroyalboyfriendonthecoverofamagazine,someonewillingtoaccepttheyearsstretchingaheadofhim,togivehimselftime.He’stryingnewthings.
HepropsapillowuponJune’sknees,stretcheshisfeetoutoverNora’slegs,andgoestosleep.
Alextugshisbottomlipbetweenhisteeth.Scuffstheheelofhisbootagainstthelinoleumfloor.Looksdownathisballot.
PRESIDENTandVICEPRESIDENToftheUNITEDSTATES
VoteforOne
Hepicksupthestyluschainedtothemachine,hisheartbehindhismolars,andselects:CLAREMONT,ELLENandHOLLERAN,MICHAEL.
Themachinechirpsitsapproval,andtoitsgentlyhummingmechanisms,hecouldbeanybody.Oneofmillions,asingletallymark,worthnomoreorlessthananyoftheothers.Justpressingabutton.
It’sarisk,doingelectionnightintheirhometown.There’snorule,technically,sayingthatthesittingpresidentcan’thosttheirrallyinDC,butitiscustomarytodoitathome.Still,though.
2016wasbittersweet.Austinisblue,deepblue,andEllenwonTravisCountyby76percent,butnoamountoffireworksandchampagnecorksinthestreetschangedthefactthattheylostthestatetheystoodintomakethevictoryspeech.Still,theLometaLongshotwantedtocomehomeagain.
There’sbeenprogressinthepastyear:afewcourtvictoriesAlexhaskepttrackofinhistrustybinder,registrationdrivesforyoungvoters,theHoustonrally,theshiftingpolls.Alexneededadistractionafterthewholetabloidnightmare,sohethrewhimselfintoanafter-hourscommitteewithabunchofthecampaign’sTexasorganizers,SkypingintofigureoutlogisticsofamassiveelectiondayshuttleservicethroughoutTexas.It’s2020,andTexasisabattlegroundstateforthefirsttimeinyears.
Hislastelectionnightwasonthewide-openstretchofZilkerPark,againstthebackdropoftheAustinskyline.Herememberseverything.
Hewaseighteenyearsoldinhisfirstcustom-madesuit,corralledintoahotelaroundthecornerwithhisfamilytowatchtheresultswhilethecrowdswelledoutside,runningwithhisarmsopendownthehallwaywhentheycalled270.Heremembersitfeltlikehismoment,becauseitwashismomandhisfamily,butalsorealizingitwas,inaway,nothismomentatall,whenheturnedaroundandsawZahra’smascararunningdownherface.
HestoodnexttothestagesetintothehillsideofZilkerandlookedintoeyesuponeyesuponeyesofwomenwhowereoldenoughtohavemarchedonCongressfortheVRAin’65andgirlsyoungenoughnevertohaveknownapresidentwhowasawhiteman.AllofthemlookingattheirfirstMadamPresident.AndheturnedandlookedatJuneathisrightsideandNoraathisleft,andhedistinctlyrememberspushingthemoutontothestageaheadofhim,givingthemafullthirtysecondsofsoakingitinbeforefollowingthemintothespotlight.
ThesolesofhisbootshitbrowngrassbehindthePalmerEventsCenterlikehe’scomingdownfromamuchgreateraltitudethanthebackseatofalimo.
“It’searly,”Noraissaying,thumbingthroughherphoneassheclimbsoutbehindhiminaplungingblackjumpsuitandkillerheels.“Like,reallyearlyfortheseexitpolls,butI’mprettysurewehaveIllinois.”
“Cool,thatwasprojected,”Alexsays.“We’reontargetsofar.”
“Iwouldn’tgothatfar,”Noratellshim.“Idon’tlikehowPennsylvanialooks.”
“Hey,”Junesays.Herowndressiscarefullyselected,off-the-rackJ.Crew,whitelace,girl-next-door.Herhairisbraideddownoneshoulder.“Can’twe,like,haveonedrinkbeforey’allstartdoingthis?Iheardtherearemojitos.”
“Yeah,yeah,”Norasays,butshe’sstillstaringdownatherphone,browfurrowed.
HRHPrinceDickhead
Nov3,2020,6:37PM
HRHPrinceDickhead
Pilotsayswe’rehavingvisibilityproblems?Mayhavetorerouteandlandelsewhere.
HRHPrinceDickhead
LandinginDallas?Isthatfar??I’venobloodyclueaboutAmericangeography.
HRHPrinceDickhead
Shaanhasinformedmethisis,infact,far.Landingsoon.Willtrytotakeoffagainoncetheweatherclears.
HRHPrinceDickhead
I’msorry,I’msosorry.Howarethingsonyourend?
thingsareshit
pleasegetyourasshereasapi’mstressingtfout
OliverWestbrook@BillsBillsBills
AnyGOPersstillbackingRichardsafterhisactionstowardamemberoftheFirstFamily—and,now,thisweek’srumorsofsexualpredation—aregoingtohavetoreckonwiththeirProtestantGodtomorrowmorning.
7:32PM·3Nov2020
538politics@538politics
OurprojectionshadMichigan,Ohio,Pennsylvania,andWisconsinallata70%orhigherchanceofgoingblue,butlatestreturnshavethemtooclosetocall.Yeah,we’reconfusedtoo.
8:04PM·3Nov2020
TheNewYorkTimes@nytimes
#Election2020latest:abruisingroundofcallsforPres.Claremontbringstheelectoraltallyupto178forSen.Richards.Claremontlagsbehindat113.
9:15PM·3Nov2020
They’vepartitionedoffthesmallerexhibithallforVIPsonly—campaignstaff,friendsandfamily,congresspeople.Ontheothersideoftheeventcenteristhecrowdofsupporterswiththeirsigns,theirCLAREMONT2020andHISTORY,HUH?T-shirts,overflowingunderthearchitecturalcanopiesandintothesurroundinghills.It’ssupposedtobeaparty.
Alexhasbeentryingnottostress.Heknowshowpresidentialelectionsgo.Whenhewasakid,thiswashisSuperBowl.HeusedtositinfrontofthelivingroomTVandcoloreachstateinwithredandbluemagicmarkersasthenightwenton,allowedtostayuphourspasthisbedtimeforoneblessednightatagetentowatchObamabeatMcCain.Hewatcheshisdad’sjawinprofilenow,tryingtorememberthetriumphinthesetofitthatnight.
Therewasamagic,then.Now,it’spersonal.
Andthey’relosing.
ThesightofLeocominginthroughasidedoorisn’tentirelyunexpected,andJunerisesfromherchairandmeetsthembothinaquietcorneroftheroomonthesameinstinct.He’sholdinghisphoneinonehand.
“Yourmotherwantstotalktoyou,”Leosays,andAlexautomaticallyreachesoutuntilLeoholdsoutahandtostophim.“No,sorry,Alex,notyou.June.”
Juneblinks.“Oh.”Shestepsforward,pushesherhairawayfromherear.“Mom?”
“June,”saysthesoundoftheirmother’svoiceoverthelittlespeaker.Ontheotherend,she’sinoneofthearena’smeetingrooms,amakeshiftofficewithhercoreteam.“Baby.Ineedyouto,uh.Ineedyoutocomeinhere.”
“Okay,Mom,”shesays,hervoicemeasuredandcalm.“What’sgoingon?”
“Ijust.Ineedyoutohelpmerewritethisspeechfor,uh.”There’saconsiderablepause.“Well.Justincaseofconcession.”
June’sfacegoesutterlyblankforasecond,andsuddenly,vividlyfurious.
“No,”shesays,andshegrabsLeobytheforearmsoshecantalkdirectlyintothespeaker.“No,I’mnotgonnadothat,becauseyou’renotgonnalose.Doyouhearme?You’renotlosing.We’regonnafuckingdothisforfourmoreyears,allofus.Iamnotwritingyouagoddamnconcessionspeech,ever.”
There’sanotherpauseacrosstheline,andAlexcanpicturetheirmotherinherlittlemakeshiftSituationRoomupstairs,glasseson,highheelsstillinthesuitcase,staringatthescreens,hopingandtryingandpraying.PresidentMom.
“Okay,”shesaysevenly.“Okay.Alex.Doyouthinkyoucouldgetupandsaysomethingforthecrowd?”
“Yeah,yeah,sure,Mom,”hesays.Heclearshisthroat,anditcomesoutasstrongashersthesecondtime.“Ofcourse.”
Athirdpause,then.“God,Iloveyoubothsomuch.”
Leoleaves,andhe’squicklyreplacedbyZahra,whosesleekreddressandever-presentcoffeethermosarethebiggestcomfortAlexhasseenallnight.Herringflashesathim,andhethinksofShaanandwishesdesperatelyHenrywasherealready.
“Fixyourface,”shesays,straighteninghiscollarassheshepherdshimandJunethroughtothemainexhibithallandintothebackofthestagearea.“Bigsmiles,highenergy,confidence.”
HeturnshelplesslytoJune.“WhatdoIsay?”
“Littlebit,ain’tnotimeformetowriteyouanything,”shetellshim.“You’realeader.Golead.Yougotthis.”
OhGod.
Confidence.Helooksdownatthecuffsofhisjacketagain,thered,white,andblue.BeAlex,Norasaidwhenshehandedittohim.BeAlex.
Alexis—twowordsthattoldafewmillionkidsacrossAmericatheyweren’talone.AlettermanjacketinAPUSH.SecretloosepanelsinWhiteHousewindows.Ruiningsomethingbecauseyouwantedittoobadlyandstillgettingbackupandtryingagain.Notaprince.Somethingbigger,maybe.
“Zahra,”heasks.“DidtheycallTexasyet?”
“No,”shesays.“Stilltooclose.”
“Still?”
Hersmileisknowing.“Still.”
Thespotlightisalmostblindingwhenhewalksout,butheknowssomething.Deepdowninhisheart.Theystillhaven’tcalledTexas.
“Hey,y’all,”hesaystothecrowd.Hishandsqueezesthemicrophone,butit’ssteady.“I’mAlex,yourFirstSon.”Thehometowncrowdgoeswild,andAlexgrinsandmeansit,leansintoit.Whenhesayswhathesaysnext,heintendstobelieveit.
“Youknowwhat’scrazy?Rightnow,AndersonCooperisonCNNsayingTexasistooclosetocall.Tooclosetocall.Y’allmaynotknowthisaboutme,butI’mkindofahistorynerd.SoIcantellyou,thelasttimeTexaswastooclosetocallwasin1976.In1976,wewentblue.ItwasJimmyCarter,inthewakeofWatergate.Hejustbarelysqueezedoutfifty-onepercentofourvote,andwehelpedhimbeatGeraldFordforthepresidency
“Now,I’mstandinghere,andI’mthinkingaboutit…Areliable,hardworking,honest,SouthernDemocratversuscorruption,andmaliciousness,andhate.Andonebigstatefullofhonestpeople,sickashellofbeingliedto.”
Thecrowdabsolutelylosesit,andAlexalmostlaughs.Heraiseshisvoiceintothemicrophone,speaksupoverthesoundofcheersandapplauseandbootsstompingonthefloorofthehall.“Well,itsoundsalittlefamiliartome,isall.So,whatdoy’allthink,Texas??Serepetirálahistoria?Arewegonnamakehistoryrepeatitselftonight?”
Theroarsaysitall,andAlexyellswiththem,letsthesoundcarryhimoffthestage,letsitwraparoundhisheartandsqueezebackinthebloodthat’sdrainedoutofitallnight.Thesecondhestepsbackstage,there’sahandonhisback,theachinglyfamiliargravityofsomeoneelse’sbodyreenteringhisspacebeforeiteventoucheshis,aclean,familiarscentlightintheairbetween.
“Thatwasbrilliant,”Henrysays,smiling,intheflesh,finally.He’sgorgeousinanavy-bluesuitandatiethat,uponcloserinspection,ispatternedwithlittleyellowroses.
“Yourtie—”
“Oh,yes,”hesays,“yellowroseofTexas,isit?Ireadthatwasathing.Thoughtitmightbegoodluck.”
Allatonce,Alexisinlovealloveragain.HewrapsthetieoncearoundthebackofhishandandreelsHenryinandkisseshimlikeheneverhastostop.Which—heremembers,andlaughsintoHenry’smouth—hedoesn’t.
Ifhe’stalkingaboutwhoheis,hewisheshe’dbeensomeonesmartenoughtohavedonethislastyear.Hewouldn’thavemadeHenrybanishhimselftoabunchoffrozenshrubbery,andhewouldn’thavejuststoodtherewhileHenrygavehimthemostimportantkissofhislife.Itwouldhavebeenlikethis.HewouldhavetakenHenry’sfaceinbothhandsandkissedhimhardanddeepandonpurposeandsaid,“Takeanythingyouwantandknowyoudeservetohaveit.”
Hepullsbackandsays,“You’relate,YourHighness.”
Henrylaughs.“Actually,I’mjustintimefortheupswing,itwouldseem.”
He’stalkingaboutthelatestroundofcalls,whichapparentlycameinwhileAlexwasonstage.OutintheirVIParea,everyone’soutoftheirseat,watchingAndersonCooperandWolfBlitzerparsethereturnsonthebigscreens.Virginia:Claremont.Colorado:Claremont.Michigan:Claremont.Pennsylvania:Claremont.Italmostfullymakesupthedifferenceinvotes,withtheWestCoaststilltogo.
Shaanisheretoo,inonecornerwithZahra,huddledwithLunaandAmyandCash,andAlex’sheadalmostspinsatthethoughtofhowmanynationscouldbebroughttotheirkneesbythisparticulargang.HegrabsHenry’shandandpullshimintoitall.
Themagiccomesinanervoustrickle—Henry’stie,hopefulliltsinvoices,afewstraybitsofconfettithatescapethenetslacedthroughtheraftersandgetstuckinNora’shair—andthen,allatonce.
10:30bringsthebigrush:RichardsstealsIowa,yes,andsewsupUtahandMontana,buttheWestCoastcomesstorminginwithCalifornia’sfifty-fivefuckingelectoralvotes.“Bigdamnheroes,”Oscarcrowswhenit’scalledtoraucouscheersandnobody’ssurprise,andheandLunaslaptheirpalmstogether.WestSideBastardos.
Bymidnight,they’vetakenthelead,anditdoes,finally,feellikeaparty,evenifthey’renotoutofthewoodsyet.Drinksareflowing,voicesareloud,thecrowdontheothersideofthepartitioniselectric.GloriaEstefanwailingthroughthesoundsystemfeelsfittingagain,notastabbing,sickironyatafuneral.Acrosstheroom,Henry’swithJune,makingagestureatherhair,andsheturnsandletshimfixapieceofherbraidthatcamelooseearlierinafitofanxiety.
Alexissobusywatchingthem,histwofavoritepeople,hedoesn’tnoticeanotherpersoninhispathuntilhecollideswiththemheadfirst,spillingtheirdrinkandalmostsendingthembothstumblingintothemassivevictorycakeonthebuffettable.
“Jesus,sorry,”hesays,immediatelyreachingforapileofnapkins.
“Ifyouknockoveranotherexpensivecake,”saysanextremelyfamiliarwhiskey-warmdrawl,“I’mprettysureyourmomisgonnadisinherityou.”
HeturnstoseeLiam,almostthesameasheremembers—tall,broad-shouldered,sweet-faced,scruffy.
He’ssomadhehassuchaspecifictypeofdudeandneverevennoticeditforsolong.
“OhmyGod,youcame!”
“OfcourseIdid,”Liamsays,grinning.Besidehim,there’sacuteguygrinningtoo.“Imean,itkindofseemedliketheSecretServiceweregonnacomerequisitionmefrommyapartmentifIdidn’tcome.”
Alexlaughs.“Look,thepresidencyhasn’tchangedmethatmuch.I’mstillasaggressiveapartyinstigatorasIeverwas.”
“I’dbedisappointedifyouweren’t,man.”
Theybothgrin,andGod,ontonightofallnightsit’sgoodtoseehim,goodtocleartheair,goodtostandnexttosomeoneoutsideoffamilywhoknewhimbeforeallthis.
Aweekafterhegotouted,Liamtextedhim:1.Iwishwehadn’tbeensuchdumbassholesbackthensowebothcouldhavehelpedeachotheroutwithstuff.2.Jsyk,areporterfromsomeright-wingwebsitecalledmeyesterdaytoaskmeaboutmyhistorywithyou.Itoldhimtogofuckhimself,butIthoughtyou’dwanttoknow.
Soyeah,ofcoursehegotapersonalinvitation.
“Listen,I,”Alexstarts,“Iwantedtothankyou—”
“Donot,”Liaminterruptshim.“Seriously.Okay?We’recool.We’llalwaysbecool.”Hemakesadismissivegesturewithonehandandnudgesthecute,dark-eyedguyathisside.“Anyway,thisisSpencer,myboyfriend.”
“Alex,”Alexintroduceshimself.Spencer’shandshakeisstrong,allfarmboy.“Goodtomeetyou,man.”
“It’sanhonor,”Spencersaysearnestly.“MymomcanvassedforyourmomwhensheranforCongressbackintheday,solike,wegowayback.She’sthefirstpresidentIevervotedfor.”
“Okay,Spence,becool,”Liamsays,puttinganarmaroundSpencer’sshoulders.AbeamofpridecutsthroughAlex;ifSpencer’sparentswereClaremontvolunteers,they’redefinitelymoreopen-mindedthanheremembersLiam’sbeing.“Thisguyshithispantsonthebusonthewaybackfromtheaquariuminfourthgrade,solike,he’snotthatbigofadeal.”
“Forthelasttime,youdouchebag,”Alexhuffs,“thatwasAdamVillanueva,notme!”
“Yeah,IknowwhatIsaw,”Liamsays.
Alexisjustopeninghismouthtoarguewhensomeoneshoutshisname—aphotooporintervieworsomethingforBuzzFeed.“Shit.Igottago,butLiam,wehave,like,ashitloadtocatchupon.Canwehangthisweekend?Let’shangthisweekend.I’mintownallweekend.Let’shangthisweekend.”
He’salreadywalkingawaybackward,andLiamisrollinghiseyesinanannoyedbutfondway,notinathis-is-why-I-stopped-talking-to-youway,sohekeepsgoing.Theinterviewisquick,cutoffmid-sentence:AndersonCooper’sfaceloomsonthescreenoverheadlikeadisgustinglyhandsomeHungerGamescannon,announcingthey’rereadytocallFlorida.
“Comeon,youbackyard-shooting-rangemotherfuckers,”Zahraismutteringunderherbreathbesidehimwhenhefallsinwithhispeople.
“Didshejustsaybackyardshootingrange?”Henryasks,leaningintoAlex’sear.“Isthatarealthingapersoncanhave?”
“YoureallyhavealottolearnaboutAmerica,mijo,”Oscartellshim,notunkindly.
Thescreenflashesred—RICHARDS—andacollectivegroangrindsthroughtheroom.
“Nora,what’sthemath?”Junesays,roundingonher,aslightlyfranticlookinhereyes.“Imajoredinnouns.”
“Okay,”Norasays,“atthispointwejustneedtogetover270ormakeitimpossibleforRichardstogetover270—”
“Yes,”Junecutsinimpatiently,“Iamfamiliarwithhowtheelectoralcollegeworks—”
“Youasked!”
“Ididn’tmeantoremediateme!”
“You’rekindahotwhenyougetallindignant.”
“Canwefocus?”Alexputsin.
“Okay,”Norasays.Sheshakesoutherhands.“So,rightnowwecangetover270withTexasorNevadaandAlaskacombined.Richardshastogetallthreeofthose.Sonobodyisoutofthegameyet.”
“So,wehavetogetTexasnow?”
“NotunlesstheycallNevada,”Norasays,“whichneverhappensthisearly.”
ShebarelyhastimetofinishbeforeAndersonCooperisbackonscreenwithbreakingnews.Alexwondersbrieflywhatit’sgoingtobeliketohavefutureAndersonCooperstresshallucinations.NEVADA:RICHARDS.
“Areyoufuckingkiddingme?”
“So,nowit’sessentially—”
“WhoeverwinsTexas,”Alexsays,“winsthepresidency.”
There’saheavypause,andJunesays,“I’mgonnagostresseatthecoldpizzathepollingpeoplehave.Soundgood?Cool.”Andshe’sgone.
By12:30,nobodycanbelieveit’sdowntothis.
Texashasneverinhistorygonethislongwithoutbeingcalled.Ifitwereanyotherstate,Richardsprobablywouldhavecalledtoconcedebynow.
Lunaispacing.Alex’sdadissweatingthroughhissuit.Juneisgoingtosmelllikepizzaforaweek.Zahraisonthephone,yellingintosomeone’svoicemail,andwhenshehangsup,sheexplainsthathersisterishavingtroublegettingintoagooddaycareandagreedtoputZahraonthejobasanoutletforherstress.Ellen,tootensetostayupstairs,isstalkingthroughitalllikeahungrylioness.
Andthat’swhenJunecomescharginguptothem,herhandonthearmofagirlAlexrecognizes—hercollegeroommate,hisbrainsupplies.She’sgotonapollvolunteershirtandabroadsmile.
“Y’all—”Junesays,breathless.“Mollyjust—shejustcamefrom—fuck,just,tellthem!”
AndMollyopensherblessedmouthandsays,“Wethinkyouhavethevotes.”
Noradropsherphone.EllenstepsoverittograbMolly’sotherarm.“Youthinkoryouknow?”
“Imean,we’reprettysure—”
“Howsure?”
“Well,theyjustcountedanother10,000ballotsfromHarrisCounty—”
“OhmyGod—”
“Wait,look—”
It’sontheprojectionscreennow.They’recallingit.AndersonCooper,youhandsomebastard.
Texasisgrayforfivemoreseconds,beforefloodingbeautiful,beautiful,unmistakableLakeLBJblue.
Thirty-eightvotesforClaremont,foragrandtotalof301.Andthepresidency
“Fourmoreyears!”Alex’smomoutrightscreams,louderthanhe’sheardherscreaminyears.
Thecheerscomeinahum,inarumble,andfinally,inastorm,pressingfromtheothersideofthepartition,fromthehillssurroundingthearenaandthecitysurroundingthestreets,fromthecountryitself.From,maybe,afewsleepyalliesinLondon.
Fromhisside,Henry,whoseeyesarewet,seizesAlex’sfaceroughlyinbothhandsandkisseshimliketheendofthemovie,whoops,andshoveshimathisfamily.
Thenetsarecutloosefromtheceiling,anddowncometheballoons,andAlexstaggersintoapressofbodiesandhisfather’schest,adelirioushug,intoJune,whoisacryingdisaster,andLeo,whoissomehowcryingmore.Noraissandwichedbetweenbothbeaming,proudparents,screamingatthetopofherlungs,andLunaisthrowingClaremontcampaignpamphletsintheairlikeamafiosowithhundreddollarbills.HeseesCash,severelytestingtheweightlimitsofthevenue’schairsbydancingonone,andAmy,wavingaroundherphonesoherwifecanseeitalloverFaceTime,andZahraandShaan,aggressivelymakingoutagainstagiantstackofCLAREMONT/HOLLERAN2020yardsigns.WASPyHunterhoistinganotherstafferuponhisshoulders,LiamandSpencerraisingtheirbeersinatoast,ahundredcampaignstaffersandvolunteerscryingandshoutingindisbeliefandjoy.Theydidit.Theydidit.TheLometaLongshotandalong-awaitedblueTexas.
ThecrowdpusheshimbackintoHenry’schest,andafterabsolutelyeverything,alltheemailsandtextsandmonthsontheroadandsecretrendezvousandnightsofwanting,thewholeaccidentally-falling-in-love-with-your-sworn-enemy-at-the-absolute-worst-possible-timething,theymadeit.Alexsaidtheywould—hepromised.Henry’ssmilingsowideandbrightthatAlexthinkshisheart’sgoingtobreaktryingtoholdthesizeofthisentiremoment,thecompletenessofit,athousandyearsofhistoryswellinginsidehisribcage.
“Ineedtotellyousomething,”Henrysays,breathless,whenAlexpullsback.“Iboughtabrownstone.InBrooklyn.”
Alex’smouthfallsopen.“Youdidn’t!”
“Idid.”
Andforafractionofasecond,awholecrystallizedlifeflashesintoview,anexttermandnoelectionslefttowin,aschedulepackedwithclassesandHenrysmilingfromthepillownexttohiminthegraylightofaBrooklynmorning.Itdropsrightintothewellofhischestandspreads,likehowhopespreads.It’sagoodthingeveryoneelseisalreadycrying.
“Okay,people,”saysZahra’svoicethroughtherushofbloodandloveandadrenalineandnoiseinhisears.Hermascaraisstreaming,herlipsticksmearedacrossherchin.Besideher,hecanhearhismotheronthephonewithonefingerjammedintoherear,takingRichards’sconcessioncall.“Victoryspeechinfifteen.Places,let’sgo!”
Alexfindshimselfshuffledsideways,throughthecrowdandovertoalittlecorralnearthestage,behindthecurtains,andthenhismother’sonstage,andLeo,andMikeandhiswife,andNoraandherparentsandJuneandtheirdad.Alexstridesoutafterthem,wavingintothewhiteglowofthespotlight,shoutingajumbleoflanguagesintothenoise.He’ssocaughtupthathedoesn’trealizeatfirstHenryisn’tathisside,andheturnsbacktoseehimhoveringinthewings,justbehindacurtain.Alwayshesitanttosteponanyone’smoment.
That’snotgoingtoflyanymore.He’sfamily.He’spartofitallnow,headlinesandoilpaintingsandpagesintheLibraryofCongress,etchedrightalongside.Andhe’spartofthem.Goddamnforever.
“Comeon!”Alexyells,wavinghimover,andHenrysparesasecondtolookpanickedbeforehe’stippinghischinupandbuttoninghissuitjacketandsteppingoutontothestage.HegravitatestoAlex’sside,beaming.AlexthrowsonearmaroundhimandtheotheraroundJune.NorapressesinatJune’sotherside.
AndPresidentEllenClaremontstepsuptothepodium.
EXCERPT:PRESIDENTELLENCLAREMONT’SVICTORYADDRESSFROMAUSTIN,TEXAS,NOVEMBER3,2020
Fouryearsago,in2016,westoodataprecipiceasanation.Therewerethosewhowouldhaveseenusstumblebackwardintohatredandvitriolandprejudice,whowantedtoreigniteoldembersofdivisionwithinourcountry’sverysoul.Youlookedthemsquareintheeyeandsaid,“No.Wewon’t.”
YouvotedinsteadforawomanandafamilywithTexasdirtundertheirshoes,whowouldleadyouintofouryearsofprogress,ofcarryingonalegacyofhopeandchange.Andtonight,youdiditagain.Youchoseme.AndIhumbly,humblythankyou.
Andmyfamily—myfamilythanksyoutoo.Myfamily,madeupofthechildrenofimmigrants,ofpeoplewholoveindefianceofexpectationsorcondemnation,ofwomendeterminednevertobackdownfromwhat’sright,abraidofhistoriesthatstandsforthefutureofAmerica.Myfamily.YourFirstFamily.Weintendtodoeverythingwecan,forthenextfouryearsandtheyearsbeyond,tocontinuemakingyouproud.
ThesecondroundofconfettiisstillfallingwhenAlexgrabsHenrybythehandandsays,“Followme.”
Everyone’stoobusycelebratingordoinginterviewstoseethemslipoutthebackdoor.HetradesLiamandSpencerthepromiseofasix-packfortheirbikes,andHenrydoesn’taskquestions,justkicksthestandoutanddisappearsintothenightbehindhim.
Austinfeelsdifferentsomehow,butithasn’tchanged,notreally.Austinisdriedflowersfromahomecomingcorsageinabowlbythecordlessphone,thewashed-outbricksofthereccenterwherehetutoredkidsafterschool,abeerbummedoffastrangeronthespilloftheBartonCreekGreenbelt.Thenopales,thehipstercoldbrews.It’saweird,
Maybeit’sjustthathe’sdifferent.
Theycrossthebridgeintodowntown,thegraygridsintersectingLavaca,thebarsoverflowingwithpeopleyellinghismother’sname,wearinghisownfaceontheirchests,wavingTexasflags,Americanflags,Mexicanflags,prideflags.There’smusicechoingthroughthestreets,loudestwhentheyreachtheCapitol,wheresomeonehasclimbedupthefrontstepsanderectedasetofloudspeakersblastingStarship’s“Nothing’sGonnaStopUsNow.”Somewhereabove,againstthethickclouds:fireworks.
Alextakeshisfeetoffthepedalsandglidespastthemassive,ItalianRenaissanceRevivalfa?adeoftheCapitol,thebuildingwherehismomwenttoworkeverydaywhenhewasakid.It’stallerthantheonebackinDC.Everything’sbigger,afterall.
IttakestwentyminutestoreachPembertonHeights,andAlexleadsthePrinceofEnglandupontothehighcurbofaneighborhoodinOldWestAustinandshowshimwheretothrowhisbikeintheyard,spokesstillspinninglittleshadowlinesacrossthegrass.ThesoundsofexpensiveleathersolesonthecrackedfrontstepsoftheoldhouseonWestoverdon’tsoundanystrangerthanhisownboots.Likecominghome.
HestepsbackandwatchesHenrytakeitallin—thebutter-yellowsiding,thebigbaywindow,thehandprintsinthesidewalk.Alexhasn’tbeeninsidethishousesincehewastwenty.Theypayafamilyfriendtolookafterit,wrapthepipes,runthewater.Theycan’tbeartoletitgo.Nothing’schangedinside,justbeenboxedup.
Therearenofireworksouthere,nomusic,noconfetti.Justsleeping,single-familyhomes,TVsfinallyswitchedoff.JustahousewhereAlexgrewup,wherehesawHenry’spictureinamagazineandfeltaflickerofsomething,astart.
“Hey,”Alexsays.Henryturnsbacktohim,hiseyessilverinthewashofthestreetlight.“Wewon.”
Henrytakeshishand,onecornerofhismouthtugginggentlyupward.“Yeah.Wewon.”
Alexreachesdownintothefrontofhisdressshirtandfindsthechainwithhisfingers,pullsitoutcarefully.Thering,thekey.
Underwinterclouds,victorious,heunlocksthedoor.ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
IcameupwiththeideaforthisbookonanI-10off-rampinearly2016,andIneverimaginedwhatitwouldturnouttobe.Imean,atthatpointIcouldn’timaginewhat2016itselfwouldturnouttobe.Yikes.FormonthsafterNovember,Igaveuponwritingthisbook.Suddenlywhatwassupposedtobeatongue-in-cheekparalleluniverseneededtobeescapist,trauma-soothing,alternate-but-realisticreality.Notaperfectworld—onestillbelievablyfuckedup,justalittlebetter,alittlemoreoptimistic.Iwasn’tsureIwas
WhatIhopedtodo,andwhatIhopeIhavedonewiththisbookbythetimeyou’vefinishedit,mydearreader,istobeasparkofjoyandhopeyouneeded.
Icouldn’thavedoneanyofthiswithoutthehelpofsomany.Tomyangelofanagent,SaraMegibow,thankyoufordrivingthiscrazybus.IwentintothiswholeexperiencehopingtofindonepersonwhofeltevenhalfofwhatIfeelforthisbook,andyoumatchedmefromthefirstmomentwespoke.Thankyouforbeingthechampionthisbookneededandthereassurancealwaysatmyback.ToVickiLame,myeditor,theTexasgirlwhofoughtforthisbookandalwayssawinitwhatitcouldmeantopeople.Thankyouforgivingthisyourall,forforeverbeingthepersoninthecorneroftheringwiththewaterbottle.YouandtheteamatSt.Martin’sGriffinhaveliterallymadedreamscometrue.Thankyoutomypublicityteam,DJDeSmyterandMeghanHarrington,andtoeveryoneelsewhothrewthemselvesbehindthisbook
Morethanks:ElizabethFreeburg,whotaughtmemorethanIcanevergivebacktoher,withoutwhomI’dbehalfthewriterIamtoday.LenaBarsky,whodoula’dthisentirenovel,whowasthefirsttolovethesecharactersasmuchasIdo.SashaSmith,myliterarysherpawhobelievedinmemost,withoutwhomIwouldhavebeendrowningbeforeIwasevenoutoftheslip.ShanickaAnderson,thebetareaderofmydreams,wholovedthisbookevenwhenitwas40,000wordstoolong.LaurenHeffker,thepersonwhosatwithmeinaTacoBellwhileIuntangledthisplot,whoneverdidn’twanttohearwhatIwasthinking.SeasonVining,whopouredmywineandtoldmethatmydreamwasn’tsounattainable.LeahRomero,mynumber-onefanandpoliticalinspiration,thereaderIwasalwayswritingtoimpress.TiffanyMartinez,whoreadthisbookwithcareandloveandgaveittomestraight.LauraMarquez,whohelpedwithtranslations.CJSR,whoknowsitall,whosesleeplessnightsthisbookhappenedinspiteof.MyFoCofam,mynewhome.
Tomyfamily,whohavedonemoreformeovertheyearsthananypersondeserves:YouhadnoideawhatyouweresigningonforwhenItoldyouIwroteabook,buty’allstillcheeredmeon.ThankyouforlovingmeasIam.Thankyouforlettingmebeyourweirdobaby.ToDad,myoriginalstoryteller:IknowyoualwaysknewIhadthisinme.Thankyouforhelpingmebelieveit.Bigastheuniverse,overtheclouds,forever.Thisismybestworktodate.
TothesourcesthathelpedmewiththemountainsofresearchIdidforthis:WhiteHouseMuseum.org,theRoyalCollectionOnline,MyDearBoybyRictorNorton,theV&A’sextremelyhelpfulwebsite,countlessothers.TothecountryofNorway,literally,fortheweekthatbrokemeoutoftheslumpandmade110,000wordsofthefirstdrafthappen.To“TexasReznikoff”byMitski.
Toeverypersoninsearchofsomewheretobelongwhohappenedtopickupthisbook,Ihopeyoufoundaplaceinhere,evenifjustforafewpages.Youareloved.Iwrotethisforyou.
Keepfighting,keepmakinghistory,keeplookingafteroneanother.
Affectionatelyyrs.HaveaShineronmeABOUTTHEAUTHOR
CASEYMCQUISTONgrewupintheswampsofSouthernLouisiana,whereshecultivatedanabidingloveforhoneybutterbiscuitsandstorieswithbig,beatinghearts.Shestudiedjournalismandworkedinmagazinepublishingforyearsbeforereturningtoherfirstlove:joyous,offbeatromanticcomediesandescapistfiction.ShenowlivesinthemountainsofFortCollins,Colorado,withacollectionofcaftansandherpoodlemix,Pepper.Youcansignupforemailupdateshere
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Foremailupdatesontheauthor,clickhereCONTENTS
TitlePage
CopyrightNotice
Dedication
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen