Maybe the Moon

Jeff didn’t believe this, he claimed not to care, and for once I believed him.
    Apparently Callum also accused Jeff of mobilizing the GLAAD protest, which Jeff denied both to Callum and to me. There were lots of loose scripts floating around, he said, lots of fed-up queers infiltrating the studios these days.
    I asked him if GLAAD knew that Callum was gay.
    “Of course.”
    “You told them?”
    “Cadence.” He sounded miffed. “I slept with the guy for months. I don’t live in a vacuum, I have friends, I have a life. He’s the one who’s supposed to be invisible, not me.”
    “Does Callum know they know?”
    “He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.”
    “What did he say?”
    “Just that you had blabbed to Leonard about Griffith Park and he’d appreciate it if I’d talk to you nicely and ask you to be more careful in the future.”
    “What did you say?”
    “I told him to talk to you if he had a bone to pick.”
    “He won’t do that.”
    “Why?”
    “Because he has to be nice to me.”
    “Why?”
    I explained about the tribute and how Philip and Callum and Leonard had jerked me around for days and how, ultimately, I’d aborted the return of Mr. Woods. When I was finished, Jeff responded with a dumbfounded silence, and then: “You really aren’t gonna do it?”
    “No.”
    “Are you sure that’s wise?”
    I released a long sigh. “Jesus, Jeff, if you don’t get it, who will?”
    “I know, but Bette Midler and Madonna.”
    “Jeff…”
    “I understand the principles involved. I see what you mean, believe me…”
    “But?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Well, I do.”
    “What if they find somebody else to wear the suit? They’re bound to try that.”
    “As short as me? I don’t think so.”
    “You never can tell.”
    I told him I’d just have to live with it if they did.
    “You’re right,” he said eventually. “Forget it. Fuck the bastards. This is exactly the way to go. It’s the only way you can have any power at all over them.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Unless…”
    “Unless nothing.”
    “No, wait a minute…”
    “Jeff…”
    “What if you didn’t wear the suit?”
    “I just told you…”
    “No. I mean, what if you wore the suit, or agreed to, and went ahead with rehearsals and all that, and then took off the suit…you know, just before you go on.”
    I met this with the stony silence I felt it deserved.
    “They couldn’t stop you then,” Jeff added. “They’d look like monsters.”
    “OK, Einstein. And then what?”
    “You sing. Or whatever.”
    “With no rehearsal, no prior communication with the orchestra, just grab a mike off a five-foot stand and start singing.”
    “Somebody could help with the mike. And forget the orchestra—sing a cappella. It’ll show off your voice even more.”
    “Jeff, read my tiny lips: Philip Blenheim will be standing in front of me, waiting for his award.”
    “So you sing to Philip Blenheim. It’s your tribute to him. The audience will be charmed, and he’ll just have to stand there and smile and take it.” Jeff laughed triumphantly. “This is so brilliant I can’t believe it! This is exactly what you have to do, Cadence!”
    What I felt at that moment was the strangest mixture of irritation and terror and total exhilaration, because I knew instantly that Jeff was right. It was time I started thinking less like a victim in this unholy war and more like a guerrilla. Why skulk off in anger from my best shot yet at the big time? What good would it do to make a point for the sake of honor if the public never even knows I’ve made it?
    “God, Jeff…do you think?”
    “I know .”
    “But they’ll introduce me as Mr. Woods.”
    “And out strolls this stylish little woman, totally herself, totally sure of who she is. I’m telling you, Cadence, I’m getting shivers already.”
    So was I, for different reasons. Like, for instance, what if I couldn’t get out of the suit in time? It’s a bulky and confining lump of latex and wires, not some flimsy veil I can fling off like Salome at a moment’s notice. And what if somebody takes note of this striptease and puts a stop to it before I can escape into the public eye? On the other hand, this was only a live performance in a hotel ballroom, not the rigid and overpopulated environment of a movie set; with a few well-placed diversions and the right accomplice, it might not be that hard to pull off.
    Jeff must have heard my wheels turning over the phone. “I know you can