Coda 01 - Promises

it’s just like it is for straight guys. You might be able to get laid—well, at a gay club, it’s almost a guarantee that you can get laid, depending on your standards—but you’re never gonna find anything more than that.”
    “Is that what you want? Something more?”
    “Don’t we all?” That came out sounding way too pretentious. We definitely needed to change the subject. “So how’s work?” I could tell right away that was a bad question. His grey eyes darkened—I couldn’t see the green at all right now—and he tensed up a little.
    “Not great,” he said darkly.

    “What’s up? Is there a crime wave in Coda I haven’t heard about?”
    He loosened up a little. “I’ve had to drag Dan Snyder away from Cherie’s house two more times. The first time, he was drunk and throwing bottles at her house. The other time, he was inside, and she looked bad. I don’t get it. She won’t press charges, but it was pretty obvious he had been beating on her again. He’s a real piece of work.”
    “Dan was always a fuckup. Even in high school.”
    “Yeah.” He was quiet for a minute and then started pulling at the label on his beer bottle. “I’m getting a lot of shit from the other guys,” he said quietly. He didn’t look at me, and it took a second for me to figure it out.
    “Because of me?”
A reluctant nod.
    “Then what the hell are we doing here?” I asked incredulously. I had to tell myself to keep my voice down. “You come to my house and bring me out to dinner—of course they’re going to talk.”
    He just shrugged. “It pisses me off.” He didn’t sound pissed though; he sounded sad. “They don’t know what it’s like. They’re all married. The other night when I saw you here—that’s not the first time. They’re always trying to set me up.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I work with them, so I want to get along with them, but at the end of the day, they go home to their families.” And he went home alone to his prison cell of an apartment. He didn’t say that part, but I heard it.
    We ate in silence for a bit, and then a voice said, “Hello, Jared!” I looked up to see Mr. Stevens, the high school band director and the only other gay man in town, as far as I knew. He was in his sixties and well dressed. He seemed to always have on a bow tie.
    “Hey, Mr. Stevens. How’s life?”
    “You haven’t been my student for a long time. You know you can call me Bill.” He always told me this, but it’s hard to call any former teacher by their first name. “And I believe you are our newest police officer?” he said to Matt.
    “Yes, sir. Matt Richards.” He shook Mr. Steven’s slightly limp hand.
    “Mr. Richards, it is very nice to meet you. I’m so glad you’ve joined our tiny community. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you actually out with the department?”
    I was trying not to smile. It was obvious that Mr. Stevens assumed Matt was gay. But it was equally obvious, to me, at least, that Matt had no idea what Mr. Stevens meant. I could tell by the look on his face that he was thinking, “out where?” But he nodded gamely and said, “Yes, sir, I am.” Now I was really having a hard time not laughing.
    “That’s fabulous! I’m glad to hear that our department is so progressive.” Matt’s demeanor barely changed. Mr. Stevens obviously could not tell how confused he was, and I realized that I was becoming quite adept at reading his guarded expressions. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone. I want you to know that it makes me so happy to see you two together.” He winked at me. “It gives an old man hope.”
    “Thanks, Mr. Stevens. You know I wish you luck.” When he was gone, Matt looked at me and said, “What the hell? What was that guy talking about? And what’s so damn funny?” “Don’t you remember me telling you about Mr. Stevens, the band director?”
    I watched him as he thought about it and saw the light come on. Then his eyes shifted from side to side as he replayed the conversation in his head, and a blush crept up his cheeks as the pieces fell into place.
    “Finally figured it out, did you?”

    “Shit.” He didn’t seem mad so much as annoyed at himself. “Sometimes I’m such an idiot.”

    “Well, I wouldn’t worry about it. Mr. Stevens knows all about discretion.”
    “I guess that’s probably true.”
“Does it bother you that he thinks we’re together?” “Does it bother you?”
“Not at