The Congressman's Whore Page 11

Sloan stared at himself in the mirror, certain if he stared long enough, his face would morph into someone else’s and reveal this was not, in fact, his life now. What was he supposed to do with this? God, he was engaged. To Upton Bennett of all people. Sloan was famous—no, infamous.

  Holy shit.

  “You can do this, kid.” Sloan tried to believe it, to psych himself up enough to return from this bathroom trip.

  Jesus, even their bathrooms were enormous. How was he supposed to live this way? What was Upton’s personal place like? It was in D.C. proper, so it had to be smaller, right?

  Sloan grew up in a trailer park, and this was way beyond him. He’d spent enough time in fancy hotels the past few years to be inured to them, but this... People didn’t invite him back to their mansions often.

  People wouldn’t be inviting him anywhere anymore. That chapter of his life was over. Done. Finito. Just like that.

  Just like that. God. What was he going to do? Sloan left home the minute he finished high school so he could be independent, cast off the shackles of his religious, conservative, homophobic parents, and now...

  He’d just be dependent all over again, relying on a husband. It sat all wrong.

  Not to mention, by now Sloan’s face would be splashed all over Fox News, and his parents would have seen it. Sloan buried his face in damp hands still smelling like expensive basil-blue sage hand soap.

  This was just what he needed. Fuck. Fuck.

  He hadn’t contacted his family this afternoon when he emailed or phoned all his professors and friends to assure them he’d be back in class next week. He didn’t plan to contact them after the press conference announcing the engagement. As far as he was concerned, they need never be involved in his life again.

  Tragic as Upton’s father situation was, Sloan envied Upton’s closeness with his mother. Despite her distaste for the situation, she was fighting hard for her son. She had his back and, for now at least, Sloan’s too. That was more than he could say for his own kin.

  He took a few deep breaths and then stepped out into the hallway, putting on his game face. He couldn’t hide behind Zane now, but he was developing a new persona to survive, just as he had at eighteen when he took up sex work and invented Zane. Eventually, the new Sloan would be as easy to wear as Zane had been.

  He hoped.

  Sloan returned to where he’d left Upton in the living room and smiled at him, projecting confidence and comfort. “Sorry for lollygagging. I just needed a moment. I don’t have to tell you that today’s been intense.”

  “Mom’s back on the phone, though I think she wanted to give us space. Um, tomorrow Mom’s people will be here. Her team, and also the people who take care of the place. They’re all on board, discreet, so don’t feel any pressure when I ask you if you’d like your own room.” Upton winced. “Back at my place it’ll probably be a different story since people drop in, but here, you know, if you need time to adjust, there are guest rooms.”

  Wow. That was... Obviously they’d have to share a room at some point, but somehow Sloan hadn’t realized there’d be staff involved. Shit. Even in Upton’s home, he’d need to be “on” all the time.

  This was a lot more serious than he’d realized, and getting married had already seemed pretty major.

  “So.” Sloan hesitated, searching for the right words even as he forced his expression to stay easy and neutral. “Is keeping my own place till after the ceremony not a possibility? At least...I understand tonight I need to stay here where it’s safe, until the wedding’s announced, but...”

  Upton took a deep breath. “I think tomorrow we’ll have to fly out to New York. We’ll be doing a morning show, get grilled, then be on our merry way. It’s likely to be one room in the hotel, but after that, you’re free to go back to your place. I can probably arrange a driver, or a car if you drive, so you don’t get gawked at on mass transit. Security is available, but the dogs should be called off. If there’s anyone following you, it’s probably just press, which is more of an annoyance than a threat.”

  “You’d arrange a car for me?” Sloan laughed, stunned with how his life was changing. How was this reality? “Guess I really am marrying up, huh? Now if only we weren’t gay, my folks would be so proud.”

  Upton rubbed his eyes. “Should probably figure out what a good day for the ceremony is, but I can’t talk about that anymore right now. I haven’t even eaten. No wonder I’m so out of it.”

  Sloan held out his hand to Upton, drawing him after him toward the kitchen. “We should eat. I’ll make you something. Start practicing for my new role as trophy husband of dubious history and many practical skills.”

  Upton walked with Sloan, his fingers warm. “A car would be easier than me showing up, which would just cause more of a ruckus. Your parents, though, you think they’ll be a problem? Should someone reach out to them?”

  “God, no.” Sloan shook his head, boggling at the implications. He stopped in the kitchen doorway and released Upton’s hand, studying his face in the sharp light pouring in from the kitchen. “Listen, I don’t know if you wanna do that, but if you think the media might hunt them down and talk to them... They’re virulent homophobes. That’s not gonna work out well for anyone.”

  Sloan wasn’t sure anyone reaching out was going to help, but maybe leaving them to find out with the rest of the country was just asking for trouble. He scowled as he pondered the wisest course of action. “Maybe your mom can figure that out. I don’t know what to do about them.” His heart sank as he envisioned it, the liability he was bringing to this fledgling partnership.

  “I’ll let her know. There may be value in letting them disparage you and our relationship, cynical as that sounds. Conservative media isn’t going to be my friend no matter what I do; that’s a lost cause. But if it looks like we’re being bullied, we can use that.” Upton headed into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. “There are a lot of leftovers if you want something warmed up. Lasagna is usually pretty good. Soup. Mom keeps kind of a stocked fridge since her team often works out of here.”

  “I’ll make something. Cooking calms me down.” Sloan came up behind Upton at the fridge and nudged him aside, placing his hand at the small of his back to steer him away.

  Upton moved out of the way and leaned against the kitchen island. “What was it like for you, growing up?”

  Sloan rifled through the ingredients in the fridge, taking stock. He glanced at Upton as he foraged. “Growing up... My folks are religious. I had younger siblings, two brothers and a sister, and my parents were unhappily married but eternally bound by their agreement divorce was ungodly. No one was happy in that house. They cursed in the car on the way to church, put on fake smiles, and pretended to be full of the joy of the Lord, but it wasn’t real. None of it ever was. Guess I got bitter and disillusioned pretty quick, but I had to hide it. It would’ve been worse if I didn’t. The fact I was queer just made it worse, so I hid that too. No one back there really knows me. I stuck it out through high school, pretended to be what they wanted me to be, acted like I wasn’t dating girls because I was waiting for God’s choice for my life, and then got the hell out of Dodge the minute I graduated.”

  “That sounds like a rough way to grow up. What about now? Are you religious at all? I keep my atheism on the downlow. I don’t think anyone expects a lot of church talk from me.”

  “Agnostic, I guess. I’m a little spiritual, in a way I can’t shut off, but I don’t pretend I have any answers or know jackshit about what power might be.” Holding up a package of frozen chicken breast, Sloan said, “Tell me you’re not vegetarian.”

  “I am not, although I do try to eat vegetarian at least one day a week, usually Fridays, to help reduce carbon footprint, support sustainable farming, and stand against animal cruelty.” Upton winced. “Sorry, sometimes that’s difficult to turn off.”

  “Oh, that’s great actually. I do meatless Monday.” Sloan laughed a little and grabbed garlic, peppers, tomato, and spinac
h. He glanced over at Upton as he carried his finds to the counter and then dug in the cupboards until he found pasta.

  Sloan shrugged and started chopping the vegetables, focusing intently on his knifework, perfected from watching YouTube videos on how to cook. “Grab a big pot and set a few quarts of water to boil, will you, please?”

  “Sure.” Upton dug in one of the cabinets and pulled out a large pot, the pristine kind Sloan had only seen on cooking shows. He filled it with water, set it on a burner, and turned it up. “Sometimes I want to believe in something, but there’s so much negativity and shame around religion. If it came from as good a place as people say, it might be worth it. The church, though, they’ve got some seriously shrewd negotiators. They know their power in elections. At this level, it’s hard to see religion as anything other than just another special interest.”

  “Yeah, it’s complicated.” Sloan wasn’t certain what else to say about it. He was marrying someone without even understanding where they were coming from. Without having ever had this kind of discussion before.

  Without even being comfortable having this discussion.

  God, he was so fucked.

  “So, I guess we’re going to need a crash course in each other, if we’re going to get grilled on a morning show. We’ll need to know what each other values, what our similarities and differences are, how we got together, all that. I guess we come up with what fits your mom’s plan, and we stick with it?”

  Sloan put the chicken in the microwave to defrost and then heated a pan with some butter in it. He tossed in the chopped tomato and peppers, watching intently so he didn’t have to look at Upton. This was all so awkward.

  “Yes. We should have some basic plan. How we met is going to be big. I worry that if we say that I met you outside of your job that it may sound as if you were being duplicitous. But if I’m admitting to paying for sex, while I don’t think it’s a big deal…” Upton sighed and peeked at the water in the pot. “That might not play well. I did talk to you about the legislation we were going to work on, so maybe we go with that story.” Upton’s face was red as he stepped back from the pot. “It’s boiling.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” Sloan bit his lip, trying to imagine how the fallout would go. Then he exhaled noisily and gestured Upton out of the way to pour the pasta into the water. He set the timer on the microwave and retrieved the defrosted chicken to dump into the pan with the vegetables. Keeping his hands busy helped him stay relaxed as he played out the scenario in his head, imagining the kind of questions they’d be asked.

  As he poured the garlic into the pan and stirred, he glanced over at Upton. “So, you were looking for a sex worker to talk to about possible legislation, and my name came up. You don’t need to name names for that or explain how. You heard I was a grad student at your alma mater who had an eye on the GLBT lobby and thought I’d be ideal. You were immediately intrigued with the sound of me, a sex worker involved in the same program from which you yourself graduated.”

  Pepper grinder in hand, Sloan seasoned the chicken, not sparing a single look toward Upton, not wanting to complicate his emotions and block his flow of thought. “We started talking online, over Skype, and I was immediately struck with how genuine you seemed, how interested you were in improving the way we treat sex workers in this country. I flirted with you first. I developed a huge crush on this dashing, well-spoken, caring man who I believed could never return my feelings, no matter his politics.”

  Still avoiding Upton’s gaze, Sloan salted the pan and added in the baby spinach to wilt. “Over the course of weeks, you realized I was serious in my interest, not just teasing you. You blushed easily. You were so cute when you got flustered. But when you realized I was serious, you couldn’t help but acknowledge you had developed sincere feelings too. We set up a meeting in person, but you weren’t sure it was smart to be seen with me in public, so we met at hotels, just to be safe. It all seemed so romantic, this glorious whirlwind, both of us hiding from the world as our love blossomed. It overwhelmed us both.”

  Sloan chuckled and finally peeked at Upton, embarrassed despite his amusement. “We give them a Pretty Woman ending, like they expect and want.” He twisted his lips into a wry not-quite-smile and stared at the air just to the right of Upton’s face. “I wanted out, to be just with you, and you wanted me to yourself. You proposed, promising to be there for me and take care of me so I could finish school and pursue my dreams. I accepted and swore to you I’d find another job, that I’d stay independent, live off my savings until I sorted things out. But your love gave me the strength to move forward with my life, not because sex work is bad or I’m ashamed of it, but because I’m twenty-six and almost done with school and I want to spend all my nights with the love of my life.”

  Upton really was blushing, his hands clasped in front of him. “That sounds like a really good story. People love Pretty Woman. I feel kind of bad that I… I mean, that we never got to talk about the legislation. But maybe tomorrow morning we can pivot to what you’d like to see enacted into law if their questions get overwhelming. It’s supposed to be a softball interview with a friendly group, but now and then they’ll throw you a curve.”

  He crossed the kitchen to Sloan and rested a hand on his shoulder. “For my part, I saw this gorgeous man with a brilliant mind, and while I was interested, I didn’t catch on that you were flirting with me. Given my Boy Scout image in the press until now, I’m sure they’d believe that. Also, it happens to be true of how I operate.”

  Upton squeezed his shoulder. “Did I bring you here to propose? Would it seem shady if I proposed in a hotel room? I guess if we got caught up in the moment, and I had been trying to figure out how to tell my mom, that would make sense.” He rubbed his face with his other hand. “The pivot might be the way to go. We’re going to need to show how smart you are so we can thwart the gold-digger angle. How are you feeling? Queasy yet?”

  “Yeah,” Sloan admitted, staring at the food he’d been stirring and realizing his appetite was gone. He looked into Upton’s eyes and forced a smile. “You proposed in the hotel room, while we were swept away in passion. It was two weeks ago, but we’d been trying to figure out how you’d tell your mother. That’s why neither of us has been wearing a ring. You’ve been so busy we’ve barely been able to steal a few minutes together, so we couldn’t talk it through. Then the press outed us, and we lost our chance to present it to her in the way we’d hoped, along with them forcing me into a spotlight that could damage my academic life.”

  Sloan took the pan off the heat just before the timer went off. He drained the pasta, bustling around the kitchen to occupy his mind, and returned to the fridge for parmesan cheese, moving on autopilot. Plates, pasta, chicken and veggies, cheese on top. Forks and knives.

  He carried the plates to the table, trying not to think about just how little he wanted to eat. How from this point on, he’d be living a lie, one he could never reveal.

  “Drinks,” he said absently as he arranged their flatware. “Pour us something to drink, honey, if you don’t mind.”

  Upton looked concerned and frowned, but he went to the cabinets and got out a couple of glasses and poured water for them both and brought it to the table. “Did you want wine or anything? I’m pretty boring. I guess that’s not really how you’d hoped…”

  He set the water down in front of their place settings and took a seat. “You know, the five years thing, it’s… and it’s not like you have to stay by my side all of the time. I travel, and you’ll have school, and you’ll go abroad. It doesn’t have to be, I mean…” Upton stared at his plate, then picked up his fork to move the pasta around on his plate.

  “Yeah. This is fine. That’s fine.” Sloan just wanted to run, to find somewhere no one knew what he was, what he’d done. He didn’t want to be ashamed, but somehow all this had made him feel that way. No matter that he was progressive, no matter that he was proud of the tiny empire he’d built.

  His pare
nts knew now. His Sunday school teacher. The girls who’d flirted with him in middle school.

  They were all judging him, disgusted with him. Sloan didn’t need to consume the media to know they were talking about how gross it was for someone to sell their body, how nasty he must be, what diseases he must have.

  It didn’t matter if those ideas were outdated, old-fashioned, patriarchal, oppressive. It didn’t matter that Sloan knew better.

  Staring down at his plate of pasta, picking at it and wishing to disappear, Sloan felt broken. None of this was supposed to happen this way. He was supposed to keep his sex work private, in the background, to be revealed when it was appropriate, dramatic, and in the distant past. When it could be accepted as part of his story. Not this way, not when it would define who he was in the public eye. Not when “whore” was all anyone could hear, drowning out his voice.

  He looked at Upton, taking in his sweet face and troubled eyes. “I won’t apologize for what I’ve done or where I’ve been.” He sounded so much stronger than he felt. “I won’t have you apologizing for me. We’re on the same page with that, right?”

  Upton set down his fork and offered his hand again. It was nice that he was like that, that he would offer his hand rather than just take Sloan’s. “We are. I will support you on what you want to say. We’re a team now, Sloan. You’re not alone. I may give input into messaging on occasion, just to keep us on track, but we are going out there together with our heads up. People will say what they’re going to say, but I promise you as someone who’s been through these storms, the public is fickle and bore easily. This won’t be forever.”

  Sloan took Upton’s hand and studied him closely. “Maybe the scandal won’t last, but this first impression of me will. The public will remember how they met me.” He managed to smile, though it felt fake as hell, and he turned Upton’s hand over to stroke his palm with one finger, looking at that instead of Upton’s face. “I wanted to build a name first, establish a place as a lobbyist, and then make my reveal. Make people question their assumptions from a place of strength.”