Mixed Signals Page 4

  Camila regarded him with cool, clinical detachment. “I would in a heartbeat.”

  Nancy made a noise like a kicked squirrel. “No, you wouldn’t!” She turned to Frank. “Anything we give anyone on Paulie will come back to you.”

  “Uh, you realize I’m out and proud, right? That’s a thing that happened. Someone wants to link me to Paulie, I’ll just say I was wearing beer goggles.”

  Nancy waved a hand at him. “Not the point. The point is, it would look like some backdoor collusion—”

  Frank snickered. “Well, there was some backdoor action, I can vouch for that.”

  Nancy whined and Todd slapped his hand over his eyes.

  “I can tell you are Nancy’s brother,” Camila said darkly, slamming her laptop closed. “But she’s right. We can’t link you to Teague; it would just look bad.”

  “My point stands, though. He’s queer, he married a beard, and everyone who’s known him since kindergarten knows it, with the possible exception of our father. Look, I’m not entirely comfortable telling you that the best way to deal with this is to out him against his will. I had a bad experience with that myself. But the flip side here is that he made that bed, and he’s a hypocrite, and I would not cry if his career went down in rainbow flames.”

  Nancy moved a finger over her face in a circular motion. “This? This is the face of someone who agrees with you. But no one in the mainstream news is willing to cross the Teagues these days, and MudzNewz doesn’t deal in hypocrisy, only felonies.”

  “Really? But… Ecker?”

  “Jake was embezzling money out of his campaign funds to pay off his blackmailer. It had nothing to do with his blackmailer being a male stripper.”

  Frank sighed. It seemed like a good idea while it lasted.

  “Our only blessing is that our campaign is clean as a whistle, as is Nancy’s reputation as a state senator. No shady deals whatsoever, and it’s staying that way.” Camila sounded like she would personally castrate anyone who tried anything shady.

  Frank raised his hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m gay, I was dishonorably discharged, I’m still gay, I’m filthy rich, and I enjoy hooking up with other gay men. Also, I fly a helicopter like the gay playboy I am.”

  “Stop trying to portray yourself as a liability in this campaign. You are a media darling. Also, aren’t you bi?” Nancy huffed and finally, finally, sat down. She slipped off her heels with a sigh. “Just don’t hook up with any of the reporters, of any gender. We don’t want accusations that we’re selling your ass off in exchange for favorable coverage.”

  Camila groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Don’t even say something like that.”

  “No reporters, check. I’m assuming no staff and no one who works for the opposition.”

  “You assume correctly. In fact, can you just keep your pants zipped for the next ten months?” She looked over at him, hopeful.

  He thought of Doctor Benjamin Kaplan, and decided, nope, not possible, not if he had even a distant chance with a sweet-faced, cuddly, sarcastic, and smart guy like that.

  Nancy must have read his answer on his face because she whined again and returned to her drink. At least she had downgraded to sipping it.

  Camila put her feet up on an ottoman. “Point is, we have nothing to hide. You sold the Costa Rica property and paid the taxes on it, the kid’s grades are solid, no one on staff has anything to hide, and Frank is single.”

  “You both realize I’m not actually running for office, right?” Frank rolled his eyes. At the prolonged silence from his sister, he twisted to face her directly. “No!”

  She raised her hands in surrender. “It was Father’s idea!”

  “You would think that the fact I save actual lives for my job would count for something!”

  Camila hid behind her drink, and Todd went MIA.

  “It does! Sort of? Look, he doesn’t think that way, okay? Being paid for your labor… that’s not something he understands.”

  Frank growled at her.

  “He tries?” she offered.

  “I’m not becoming a politician. I’m not even helping you out of my own volition! I was blackmailed.”

  “Hmmm. I don’t think emotional blackmail counts.”

  Frank collapsed onto the couch. The three of them sat in silence for a bit, unwinding. Camila had tipped her head back and closed her eyes.

  Nancy was biting her bottom lip, though, which never boded well for him. “What?”

  “Nothing. Just worrying about Mudz.”

  Frank dragged her laptop to him and opened it up. The homepage for the site was splashed across the screen, screamingly loud in primary colors and exclamation marks and a terribly garish logo. Frank swallowed his pride and read the article about how he was helping his sister’s campaign. It was surprisingly evenhanded, despite the clickbait lede.

  Frank whistled softly. “This article isn’t so bad.”

  “Because he obviously has a damn crush on you,” Nancy pointed accusingly.

  Camila laughed without lifting her head. “Well, if that’s the case, Nancy, your brother needs to be more involved than showing up to rallies once a month. It would go a long way to making Mudz agreeable to your campaign over the crucial months.”

  Frank stared at her. “You’re going to punish me because some anonymous news junkie thinks I’m hot?”

  Nancy grinned like a shark. “’Punish’ is such a harsh word!”

  “But accurate!” He grimaced and went back to looking over the site. There was a link to a Bitcoin donation account, probably untraceable, and there was a link for “throwing mud!”, which apparently meant reporting hot tips on politicians misbehaving.

  Yet the site was surprisingly free of good old-fashioned gossip. There were some updates about ongoing cases against a few minor politicians who had been caught for graft, embezzlement, and “luring” minors (which implied so much worse). The latest breaking story was on a town mayor in Alabama who had basically enslaved some undocumented immigrants to work as house servants.

  Despite how on the up-and-up the site was, though, Frank could not say he liked it. His life had been demolished by an anonymous tip that had gotten him caught doing something to someone in a place they should not have been doing anything, and it had become a feeding frenzy of reporters and media hounds making his existence miserable from that point on. His mother had been starting her fight against her breast cancer, and despite living for another seven years, it had only made that whole ordeal worse. Nancy had just gotten elected as a state senator, thank God, but even so, the scandal of it all had impacted her career as a freshman in the State House in negative ways.

  He wondered what kind of asshole would make a living off shit like that.

  Chapter Five

  FRANK WAS back at the salon within six weeks. He usually let his hair go for at least two months, but his father had told him in no uncertain terms that Frank was to show up at his sister’s rallies looking every inch the Wronged American Herotm, and shaggy cowlicks were not that look. Frank suspected he was in for another round with Nancy’s personal makeup assistant as well, and probably a wardrobe call at some point. He was a generally a fashionable guy and the family tailor knew his tastes, but Camila had a very specific idea of what image the family was to convey and “casually shabby-chic metrosexual gay man out to get laid” was not it.

  As the race heated up for Nancy, Frank knew he was going to be yanked around to every exclusive dinner and all-American rally the family could drag him to without being charged with kidnapping. He had made a deal with the devils in his life, and going in for a haircut was the least painful part of the bargain.

  His annoyance at having to come in at all was eased by the sight of one frumpy and harried-looking Dr. Benjamin Kaplan in the waiting area again. His hair was a bit less unruly this time, but he was once again in baggy jeans and his T-shirt said, “What part of binary code don’t you understand?” written partially in binary code. Frank only under
stood it because he had seen the joke before. It was the price he paid for liking the nerdy ones.

  “Mr. Sheldon!” The front desk girl squealed again, and they went through the usual routine before Frank finally got to sit down next to Benjamin.

  “Picking up Rachel again?” Frank asked casually, throwing a winning smile into the mix.

  Benjamin peered at him suspiciously. “She’s my sister.”

  “I know.”

  This only made Benjamin more suspicious. “Well, don’t get any ideas, pretty boy. She’s only twenty-one.”

  Frank waggled his eyebrows. “Old enough.”

  The look of horror that crossed Benjamin’s face was too much for Frank to resist, and he broke down laughing. “I’m not interested in your sister, Kaplan.”

  “I don’t see why not. She’s very attractive.” Benjamin sniffed in outrage, then turned back to his laptop.

  Frank shook his head. “You’re a class act.”

  “I don’t think it’s unreasonable to assume a good-looking man would want hit on my sister. It’s happened before.” Benjamin flapped a hand at him, still focused on the screen.

  Frank let the comment sit for a minute, then threw it all into play. “So, you think I’m good-looking?” he asked, dropping his voice to a level only Benjamin could hear.

  Benjamin blushed and stammered for a second before huffing loudly and staring at his laptop’s screen again. Frank counted that as a point in his favor, since a straight guy would usually argue, or brush it off, but not get flustered. Not the way Benjamin was rattled, red-faced to the roots of his curls. Frank decided he really wanted to run his fingers through those disorganized, catastrophic curls.

  Benjamin looked up and caught him staring, and Frank figured his imaginings about Benjamin’s hair had telegraphed because the younger man sat up straight in his seat, looking downright scandalized. “I… uh… are you hitting on me?” Benjamin hissed at him.

  Frank slid back into a casual sprawl on the bench, waited a beat, then nodded. He knew he had this guy in the bag. Or the sack.

  Benjamin clutched his laptop to his chest. “Well, forget it! I know your type! Believe me, I’ve been the brunt of jock jokes before. If I want to bag a hottie, I’d play it safe and hire a hooker.”

  Frank’s mouth dropped open, and he sat up straight. “A hooker?”

  “Oh my God, Benjamin, did you call Mr. Sheldon a hooker?” Jane stood at the desk, not quite mute with rage.

  “No! He was… I was—”

  “Take your stupid video game and go wait in the storage room!”

  “Hell no! The chloride in there can snuff a cow!”

  “Jane, it was just a misunderstanding.” Frank stood up, hoping to smooth the waters.

  “No, absolutely not. I’ve had it with you out here intimidating the clients. Go!”

  Benjamin tore out for the back of the salon, looking more like a floppy teen than a full-grown man. Frank just stared after him as Jane fluttered around.

  “I’m so sorry, Frank—really, he’s got no social skills.”

  “Forget it. Just forget it, okay? Haircut. Now.” Frank marched over to Jane’s chair with as much military bluster as he could dredge up. Jane followed him, quiet and horrified, and the haircut that followed was done without further conversation for once. When she finally pulled the cape off, Frank brushed himself down and looked straight at her. “Where’s the storage room?”

  She pointed, too surprised to ask him why he wanted to know. He walked over and went into the room, which was piled high with boxes of supplies and did smell overwhelmingly of chloride.

  “Benjamin?”

  “Yeah? Oh, it’s you. Please leave. I don’t want to be attacked by stylists wielding sharp scissors.”

  “Look, I just want to apologize.”

  “You didn’t do anything. Forget it. Go away.” Benjamin rubbed his face, his posture that of a very tired man.

  The laptop was sitting on a box, and something moved on the screen, causing Frank to glance at it.

  “Hey! Proprietary!” Benjamin grabbed at the laptop, slamming it shut.

  “Like I care about video game development.” Frank crossed his arms in frustration. He knew he had a chance with this guy, but he kept getting sabotaged at every turn. His luck was usually much more easily coaxed along in these situations by his looks and his charm, but Doctor Benjamin Kaplan did not seem to be affected by either.

  “Right. Never mind.”

  “Was it your video game?”

  The suspicious look was back, Benjamin glaring at him with narrow eyes.

  “Why don’t you let me buy you lunch, and tell me about it?”

  “You really are hitting on me,” Benjamin said with a flat tone of voice.

  “Yes, I really am. Does that bother you or something?”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “Usually that works in my favor. You’re an outlier, here.”

  “I’m a twenty-nine-year-old pudgy geek who lives at home. You hitting on me is the outlier.”

  “You live with your parents?” Frank frowned.

  “What? No! They… they’re dead. Rachel and I got the house.”

  “Oh, I’m sor—”

  “Same difference, I suppose, but no, I wouldn’t live there if they were still alive, I mean, come on. I’d never get laid. It’s bad enough with Rachel—thank God for her social life, which I can’t believe I’m saying after everything, but it’s not like I really get many offers…. Seriously? You’re hitting on me?”

  “Seriously, I really am. Can we at least do lunch or something?”

  “Hmmm. Well, Rachel does have a while yet before her last client is done. Sure.” Benjamin gathered up his laptop and stopped abruptly. “Something cheap. That sub shop up the road?”

  “Whatever, Kaplan. I’m hitting on you; I’ll wine and dine you at a five-star restaurant if that’s what it takes.”

  “Right. Sub shop it is.”

  After a short walk and ordering their food, mostly done without talking to each other, they sat down and unwrapped their subs in silence. Benjamin was completely uninterested in talking, and Frank was waiting for him to break. Eventually. At some point, surely, the yappy geek would talk.

  He could not take it any longer. “You really think I’m some jock pulling a joke on you?”

  Benjamin rolled his eyes. “Yes, you’re so collegiate.” He took another bite of food and chewed slowly, thoughtfully, before swallowing. Frank had expected him to have bad table manners, but Benjamin ate his food like the adult he was so obviously trying not to be. “You might be.”

  “Wow, some faith in humanity there.”

  “I’ve mentioned the part where I’m a twenty-nine-year-old geek who lives in his dead parents’ house. I left out the ‘flaming queer’ part in the interest of brevity. What do you honestly think my social life was in college?”

  Frank cocked his head and stared. “Not so much with the flaming, Kaplan.”

  “I was a flaming twink, I’ll have you know. It’s what got me beat up in high school and pranked on in college. Queers didn’t want me, I was too geeky; geeks didn’t trust me because I was too queer.” Benjamin shrugged. “I finally got some meat on me about the time it did me no good.” He sighed and looked wistful.

  “So what was your degree in?” Frank decided to move the subject to safer waters.

  “Computer science, programming, mostly. You?”

  “Bachelors in aeronautical engineering. Seemed like a good fit for a pilot.”

  For the first time, Benjamin looked at him dreamily. “Oh. So you’re not just a pilot, you’re an engineer?”

  Frank blinked, blindsided by the sign of actual interest. “Yes.”

  This was the first time Benjamin actually looked impressed, and Frank had a pathetic moment where he considered playing up his military record in order to keep Benjamin’s interest going. But then a thought struck him. “You know I’m a pilot?”

  Benjamin was
obviously pulled up short by that. He cocked his head as if studying a bug. “Frank Sheldon, right? Former USAF pilot and currently with LifeFlight?”

  Frank sighed. So much for glorious anonymity. “Yeah.”

  “Hard not to know, since your sister’s campaign is using your, uh, face a lot.”

  “I give good face.” Frank nodded.

  Benjamin burst out laughing, nearly doubling over with it, and it took years off him, the cloud of grumpiness and wariness that hovered over his interactions dissipating. Frank preened a little, proud of himself for reasons he chose not to examine. When Benjamin recovered they ate quietly for a little while longer, during which time Frank worked hard not to stare at Benjamin’s plump, soft lips.

  “My undergrad major was actually aerospace engineering too,” Benjamin said quietly, plucking at his potato chips and interrupting Frank’s fantasy about his lips.

  “What, really?” Frank smiled. “And the computer science?”

  “Was my minor. But my plans got derailed by my parents’ car accident halfway through undergrad, and I had Rachel to take care of. I had to switch gears, and comp-sci was simple. I got a full ride for a combined masters-doctoral program, which made it easy to stay. I didn’t want to rip Rachel up out of school and our house. She was having a hard enough time.”

  Frank nodded, unwilling to offer trite platitudes to that kind of confession. He imagined it was just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. “So what was the original plan? With the aerospace engineering? Comp-sci was your second choice, obviously.”

  Benjamin looked up at him, surprise clear on his face. “What?”

  “The original plan? What was it?”

  “No one ever asks that.” Benjamin sat back and for the first time looked at Frank like he was a real human being.

  “This is me, asking.” Frank pointed at himself.

  “Unmanned autonomous aircraft. It’s the future, and… I’m missing out on it.” He grimaced.

  Frank grimaced too, but for different reasons. He was a pilot, and he was a pilot because he loved to fly. Intellectually he understood that nearly 80 percent of aircraft accidents were due to pilot error, and that eventually removing human pilots from the equation would reduce crashes and even minor accidents overall. It was the same situation as self-driving cars, which had negligible accidents, when the majority of deadly car accidents were overwhelmingly due to human drivers being inattentive or downright foolish behind the wheel.