YOU ARE A DARK SORCERER
HENRY <[email protected]> 6/8/20 3:23 PM
TO A
Alex,
I canโt think of a single other way to
start this email except to say, and I do hope you will forgive both my language and my
utter lack of restraint: You are so fucking beautiful.
Iโve been useless for a week, driven around for appearances and meetings, lucky if Iโve
made a single meaningful contribution to any of them. How is a man to get anything done knowing Alex Claremont-Diaz is out there on the loose? I am driven to distraction.
Itโs all bloody useless because when Iโm not thinking about your face, Iโm thinking about your arse or your hands or your smart mouth. I suspect the latter is what got me into this predicament in the first place.
Nobodyโs ever got the nerve to be cheeky to a prince, except you. The moment you first
called me a prick, my fate was sealed. O,
fathers of my bloodline! O, ye kings of olde!
Take this crown from me, bury me in my
ancestral soil. If only you had known the
mighty work of thine loins would be undone by a gay heir who likes it when American boys
with chin dimples are mean to him.
Actually, remember those gay kings I mentioned? I feel that James I, who fell madly in love with a very fit and
exceptionally dim knight at a titling match and immediately made him a gentleman of the bedchamber (a real title), would take mercy upon my particular plight.
Iโll be damned but I miss you. x
Henry
RE: YOU ARE A DARK SORCERER
A <[email protected]> 6/8/20 5:02 PM TO HENRY
H,
Are you implying that youโre James I and Iโm some hot, dumb jock? Iโm more than
fantastic bone structure and an ass you can bounce a quarter on, Henry!!!!
Donโt apologize for calling me pretty.
Because then youโre putting me in a position where I have to apologize for saying you blew my fucking mind in LA and Iโm gonna die if it doesnโt happen again soon. Howโs that for
lack of restraint, huh? You really wanna play that game with me?
Listen: Iโll fly to London right now and pull you out of whatever pointless meeting youโre in and make you admit how much you
love it when I call you โbaby.โ Iโll take you apart with my teeth, sweetheart.
xoxo A
RE: YOU ARE A DARK SORCERER
HENRY <[email protected]> 6/8/20 7:21 PM
TO A
Alex,
You know, when you go to Oxford to get a degree in English literature, as I have,
people always want to know who your favorite English author is.
The press team compiled a list of
acceptable answers. They wanted a realist, so I suggested George Eliotโno, Eliot was
actually Mary Anne Evans under a pen name, not a strong male author. They wanted one of the inventors of the English novel, so I
suggested Daniel Defoeโno, he was a dissenter from the Church of England. At one point, I threw out Jonathan Swift just to watch the
collective coronary they had at the thought of an Irish political satirist.
In the end they picked Dickens, which is hilarious. They wanted something less fruity
than the truth, but truly, what is gayer than a woman who languishes away in a crumbling
mansion wearing her wedding gown every day of her life, for the drama?
The fruity truth: My favorite English author is Jane Austen.
So, to borrow a passage from Sense and
Sensibility: โYou want nothing but patienceโ or give it a more fascinating name, call it hope.โ To paraphrase: I hope to see you put your green American money where your filthy mouth is soon.
Yours in sexual frustration, Henry
* * *
Alex feels like somebody has probably warned him about private email servers before, but heโs a little fuzzy on the details. It doesnโt feel important.
At first, like most things that require time when instant gratification is possible, he doesnโt see the point of Henryโs emails.
But when Richards tells Sean Hannity that his mother hasnโt accomplished anything as president, Alex screams into his elbow and goes back to:ย The way you speak sometimes is like sugar
spilling out of a bag with a hole in the bottom.ย When WASPy Hunter brings up the Harvard rowing team for the fifth time in one workday:ย Your arse in those trousers is a crime.
When heโs tired of being touched by strangers:ย Come back to me when youโre done being flung through the
firmament, you lost Pleiad.
Now he gets it.
His dad wasnโt wrong about how ugly things would get with Richards leading the ticket. Utah ugly, Christian ugly, ugliness couched in dog whistles and toothy white smiles. Right-wing think pieces about entitlement thrown in his and Juneโs direction, reeking of:ย Mexicans stole the First
Family jobs too.
He canโt allow the fear of losing in. He drinks coffee and brings his policy work on the campaign trail and drinks more coffee, reads emails from Henry, and drinks even more coffee.
The first DC Pride since his โbisexual awakeningโ happens while Alex is in Nevada, and he spends the day jealously checking Twitterโconfetti raining down on the Mall, grand marshal Rafael Luna with a rainbow bandana around his head. He goes back to his hotel and talks to his minibar about it.
The biggest bright spot in all the chaos is that his lobbying with one of the campaign chairs (and his own mother) has finally paid off: Theyโre doing a massive rally at Minute Maid Park in Houston. Polls are shifting in directions theyโve never seen before. Politicoโs top story of the week:ย IS
2020 THE YEAR TEXAS BECOMES A TRUE BATTLEGROUND STATE?
โYes, I will make sure everyone knows the Houston rally was your idea,โ his mother says, barely paying attention, as she goes over her speech on the plane to Texas.
โYou should say โgrit,โ not โfortitudeโ there,โ June says, reading the speech over her shoulder. โTexans like grit.โ
โCan yโall both go sit somewhere else?โ she says, but she adds a note.
Alex knows a lot of the campaign is skeptical, even when theyโve seen the numbers. So when they pull up to Minute Maid and the line wraps around the block twice, he feels beyond gratified. He feelsย smug.ย His mom gets up to make her speech to thousands, and Alex thinks,ย Hell yeah, Texas. Prove the bastards wrong.
Heโs still riding the high when he swipes his badge at the door of campaign office the following Monday. Heโs been getting tired of sitting at a desk and going through focus groups again and again and again, but heโs ready to pick the fight back up.
The fact that he rounds the corner into his cubicle to find WASPy Hunter holding the Texas Binder brings him right the fuck back down.
โOh, you left this on your desk,โ WASPy Hunter says casually. โI thought maybe it was a new project they were putting us on.โ
โDo I go onย yourย side of the cubicle and turn off your Dropkick Murphys Spotify station, no matter how much I want to?โ Alex demands. โNo,ย Hunter,ย I donโt.โ
โWell, you do kind of steal my pencils a lotโโ
Alex snatches the binder away before he can finish. โItโs private.โ โWhat is it?โ WASPy Hunter asks as Alex shoves it back into his bag.
He canโt believe he left it out. โAll that data, and the district linesโwhat are you doing with all that?โ
โNothing.โ
โIs it about the Houston rally you pushed for?โ โHouston was a good idea,โ he says, instantly defensive.
โDude . . . you donโt honestly think Texas can go blue, do you? Itโs one of the most backward states in the country.โ
โYouโre fromย Boston,ย Hunter. You really want to talk about all the places bigotry comes from?โ
โLook, man, Iโm just saying.โ
โYou know what?โ Alex says. โYou think yโall are off the hook for institutional bigotry because you come from a blue state. Not every white supremacist is a meth-head in Bumfuck, Mississippiโthere areย plentyย of them at Duke or UPenn on Daddyโs money.โ
WASPy Hunter looks startled but not convinced. โNone of that changes that red states have been red forever,โ he says, laughing, like itโs something to joke about, โand none of those populations seem to care enough about whatโs good for them to vote.โ
โMaybeย those populationsย might be more motivated to vote if we made an actual effort to campaign to them and showed them that we care, and how our platform is designed to help them, not leave them behind,โ Alex says hotly. โImagine if nobody who claims to have your interests at heart ever came to your state and tried to talk to you, man. Or if you were a felon, orโfucking voter ID laws, people who canโt access polls, who canโt leave work to get to one?โ
โYeah, I mean, itโd be great if we could magically mobilize every eligible marginalized voter in red states, but political campaigns have a finite amount of time and resources, and we have to prioritize based on projections,โ WASPy Hunter says, as if Alex, the First Son of the United States, is unfamiliar with how campaigns work. โThere just arenโt the same number of bigots in blue states. If they donโt want to be left behind, maybe people in red states should do something about it.โ
And Alex has, quite frankly, had it.
โDid you forget that youโre working on the campaign of someone Texas fucking created?โ he says, and his voice has officially risen to the point where staffers in the neighboring cubicles are staring, but he doesnโt care. โWhy donโt we talk about how thereโs a chapter of the Klan in every state? You think there arenโt racists and homophobes growing up in Vermont?
Man, I appreciate that youโre doing the work here, but youโre not special. You donโt get to sit up here and pretend like itโs someone elseโs problem. None of us do.โ
He takes his bag and his binder and storms out.
The minute heโs outside the building, he pulls out his phone on impulse, opens up Google. There are test dates this month. He knows there are.
LSAT washington dc area test center,ย he types.
3 Geniuses and Alex
JU N Eย 23 , 2020 , 12 : 34 PM
juniper BUG
Not my name, not anyoneโs name, stop
leading member of korean pop band bts kim nam-june
BUG
Iโm blocking your number HRH Prince Dickhead
Alex, please donโt tell me Pez has indoctrinated you with K-pop.
well you let nora get you into drag race so irl chaos demon
[latrice royale eat it.gif] BUG
What did you want Alex????
whereโs my speech for milwaukee? i know you took it
HRH Prince Dickhead
Must you have this conversation in the group chat?
BUG
Part of it needed to be rewritten!!! I put it back with edits in the outside pocket of your messenger bag
davis is gonna kill you if you keep doing this
BUG
Davis saw how well my tweaks to the talking points went over on Seth Meyers last week so he knows better
why is there a rock in here too BUG
That is a clear quartz crystal for clarity and good vibes do not @ me. We need all the help we can get right now
stop putting SPELLS on my STUFF irl chaos demon
BURN THE WITCH
irl chaos demon
hey what do we think of this #look for the college voter thing tomorrow
irl chaos demon [Attached Image] irl chaos demon
iโm going for, like, depressed lesbian poet who met a hot yoga instructor at a speakeasy who got her super into meditation and
pottery, and now sheโs starting a new life as a high-powered businesswoman selling her own line of hand-thrown fruit bowls
. . .
HRH Prince Dickhead
Bitch, you took me there. alskdjfadslfjad
NORA YOU BROKE HIM
irl chaos demon lmaoooooo
NO MORE DRAG RACE. THIS FRIENDSHIP IS CANCELED
* * *
The invitation comes certified airmail straight from Buckingham Palace. Gilded edges, spindly calligraphy:ย THE CHAIRMAN AND COMMITTEE OF
MANAGEMENT OF THE CHAMPIONSHIPS REQUEST THE PLEASURE OF THE
COMPANY OF ALEXANDER CLAREMONT-DIAZ IN THE ROYAL BOX ON THE 6TH OF JULY, 2020.
Alex takes a picture and texts it to Henry.
-
tf is this? arenโt there poor people in your country?
-
iโve already been in the royal box
Henry sends back,ย You are a delinquent and a plague,
and then,ย Please come?
And here Alex is, spending his one day off from the campaign at Wimbledon, only to get his body next to Henryโs again.
โSo, as Iโve warned you,โ Henry says as they approach the doors to the Royal Box, โPhilip will be here. And assorted other nobility with whom you may have to make conversation. People named Basil.โโ
โI think Iโve proven that I can handle royals.โ
Henry looks doubtful. โYouโre brave. I could use some of that.โ The sun is, for once, bright over London when they step outside,
flooding the stands around them, which have already mostly filled with spectators. He notices David Beckham in a well-tailored suitโonce again, how had he convinced himself he was straight?โbefore David Beckham turns away and Alex sees it was Bea he was talking to, her face bright when she spots them.
โOi, Alex! Henry!โ she chirps over the murmur of the Box. Sheโs a vision in a lime-green, drop-waist silk dress, a pair of huge, round Gucci sunglasses embellished with gold honeybees perched on her nose.
โYou look gorgeous,โ Alex says, accepting a kiss on his cheek.
โWhyย thankย you, darling,โ Bea says. She takes one of their arms in each of hers and whisks them off down the steps. โYour sister helped me pick the dress, actually. Itโs McQueen. Sheโs a genius, did you know?โ
โIโve been made aware.โ
โHere we are,โ Bea says when theyโve reached the front row. โThese are ours.โ
Henry looks at the lush, green cushions of the seats topped with thick and shinyย WIMBLEDON 2020ย programs, right at the front edge of the box.
โFront and center?โ he says, a note of nervousness. โReally?โ
โYes, Henry, in case you have forgotten, you are a royal and this is the Royal Box.โ She waves down to the photographers below, who are already snapping photos of them, before leaning into them and whispering, โDonโt worry, I donโt think they can detect the thick air of horn-town betwixt you two from the lawn.โ
โHa-ha, Bea,โ Henry monotones, ears pink, and despite his apprehension, he takes his seat between Alex and Bea. He keeps his elbows carefully tucked into his sides and out of Alexโs space.
Itโs halfway through the day when Philip and Martha arrive, Philip looking as generically handsome as ever. Alex wonders how such rich genetics conspired to make Bea and Henry both so interesting to look at, all mischievous smiles and swooping cheekbones, but punted so hard on Philip. He looks like a stock photo.
โMorning,โ Philip says as he takes his reserved seat to the side of Bea. His eyes track over Alex twice, and Alex can sense skepticism as to why Alex was even allowed. Maybe itโs weird Alex is here. He doesnโt care.
Marthaโs looking at him weird too, but maybe sheโs simply holding a grudge about her wedding cake.
โAfternoon, Pip,โ Bea says politely. โMartha.โ Beside him, Henryโs spine stiffens.
โHenry,โ Philip says. Henryโs hand is tense on the program in his lap. โGood to see you, mate. Been a bit busy, have you? Gap year and all that?โ
Thereโs an implication under his tone.ย Where exactly have you been?
What exactly have you been doing?ย A muscle flexes in Henryโs jaw. โYes,โ Henry says. โLoads of work with Percy. Itโs been mad.โ โRight, the Okonjo Foundation, isnโt it?โ he says. โShame he couldnโt
make it today. Suppose weโll have to make do with our American friend, then?โ
At that, he tips a dry smile at Alex.
โYep,โ Alex says, too loud. He grins broadly.
โThough, I do suppose Percy would look a bit out of place in the Box, wouldnโt he?โ
โPhilip,โย Bea says.
โOh, donโt be so dramatic, Bea,โ Philip says dismissively. โI only mean heโs a peculiar sort, isnโt he? Those frocks he wears? A bit much for Wimbledon.โ
Henryโs face is calm and genial, but one of his knees has shifted over to dig into Alexโs. โTheyโre called dashikis, Philip, and he wore oneย once.โ
โRight,โ Philip says. โYou know I donโt judge. I just think, you know, remember when we were younger and youโd spend time with my mates from uni? Or Lady Agathaโs son, the one thatโs always quail hunting? You could consider more mates of . . . similar standing.โ
Henryโs mouth is a thin line, but he says nothing.
โWe canโt all be best mates with the Count of Monpezat like you, Philip,โ Bea mutters.
โIn any event,โ Philip presses on, ignoring her, โyouโre unlikely to find a wife unless youโre running in the right circles, arenโt you?โ He chuckles a little and returns to watching the match.
โIf youโll excuse me,โ Henry says. He drops his program in his seat and vanishes.
Ten minutes later, Alex finds him in the clubhouse by a gigantic vase of lurid fuschia flowers. His eyes are intent on Alex the moment he sees him, his lip chewed the same furious red as the embroidered Union Jack on his pocket square.
โHello, Alex,โ he says placidly. Alex takes his tone. โHi.โ
โHas anyone shown you โround the clubhouse yet?โ โNope.โ
โWell, then.โ
Henry touches two fingers to the back of his elbow, and Alex obeys immediately.
Down a flight of stairs, through a concealed side door and a second hidden corridor, there is a small room full of chairs and tablecloths and one old, abandoned tennis racquet. As soon as the door is closed behind them, Henry slams him up against it.
He gets right up in Alexโs space, but he doesnโt kiss him. He hovers there, a breath away, his hands at Alexโs hips and his mouth split open in a crooked smirk.
โDโyou know what I want?โ he says, his voice so low and hot that it burns right through Alexโs solar plexus, right into the core of him.
โWhat?โ
โI want,โ he says, โto do the absolute last thing Iโm supposed to be doing right now.โ
Alex juts out his chin, grinningly defiant. โThen tell me to do it, sweetheart.โ
And Henry, tonguing the corner of his own mouth, tugs hard to undo Alexโs belt and says, โFuck me.โ
โWell,โ Alex grunts, โwhen at Wimbledon.โ
Henry laughs hoarsely and leans down to kiss him, open-mouthed and eager. Heโs moving fast, knowing theyโre on borrowed time, quick to follow the lead when Alex groans and pulls at his shoulders to change their positions. He gets Henryโs back to his chest, Henryโs palms braced against the door.
โJust so weโre clear,โ Alex says, โIโm about to have sex with you in this storage closet to spite your family. Like, thatโs whatโs happening?โ
Henry, who has apparently been carrying his travel-size lube with him this entire time in his jacket, says, โRight,โ and tosses it over his shoulder.
โAwesome, fuckinโ love doing things out of spite,โ he says without a hint of sarcasm, and he kicks Henryโs feet apart.
And it should beโit should be funny. It should be hot, stupid, ridiculous, obscene, another wild sexual adventure to add to the list. And it is, but . . . it shouldnโt also feel like last time, like Alex might die if it ever stops. Thereโs a laugh in his mouth, but it wonโt get past his tongue, because he knows this is him helping Henry get through something. Rebellion.
Youโre brave. I could use some of that.
After, he kisses Henryโs mouth fiercely, pushes his fingers deep into Henryโs hair, sucks the air out of him. Henry smiles breathlessly against his neck, looking extremely pleased with himself, and says, โIโm rather finished with tennis, arenโt you?โ
So, they steal away behind a crowd, blocked by PPOs and umbrellas, and back at Kensington, Henry brings Alex up to his rooms.
His โapartmentโ is a sprawling warren of twenty-two rooms on the northwest side of the palace closest to the Orangery. He splits it with Bea, but thereโs not much of either of them in any of the high ceilings and heavy, jacquard furniture. What is there is more Bea than Henry: a leather jacket flung over the back of a chaise, Mr. Wobbles preening in a corner, a seventeenth-century Dutch oil painting on one landing literally called
Woman at her Toiletย that only Bea would have selected from the royal collection.
Henryโs bedroom is as cavernous and opulent and insufferably beige as Alex could have imagined, with a gilded baroque bed and windows overlooking the gardens. He watches Henry shrug out of his suit and imagines having to live in it, wondering if Henry simply isnโt allowed to choose what his rooms look like or if he never wanted to ask for something different. All those nights Henry canโt sleep, just knocking around these endless, impersonal rooms, like a bird trapped in a museum.
The only room that really feels like both Henry and Bea is a small parlor on the second floor converted into a music studio. The colors are richest here: hand-woven Turkish rugs in deep reds and violets, a tobacco- colored settee. Little poufs and tables of knickknacks spring up like mushrooms, and the walls are lined with Stratocasters and Flying Vs, violins, an assortment of harps, one stout cello propped up in the corner.
In the center of the room is the grand piano, and Henry sits down at it and plucks away idly, toying with the melody of something that sounds like an old song by The Killers. David the beagle naps quietly near the pedals.
โPlay something I donโt know,โ Alex says.
Back in high school in Texas, Alex was the most cultured of the jock crowd because he was a book nerd, a politics junkie, the only varsity letterman debating the finer points of Dred Scott in AP US History. He listens to Nina Simone and Otis Redding, likes expensive whiskey. But Henryโs got an entirely different compendium of knowledge.
So he just listens and nods and smiles a little while Henry explains thatย thisย is what Brahms sounds like, andย thisย is Wagner, and how they were on the two opposing sides of the Romantic movement. โDo you hear the difference there?โ His hands are fast, almost effortless, even as he goes off into a tangent about the War of the Romantics and how Lisztโs daughter left her husband for Wagner,ย quel scandale.
He switches to an Alexander Scriabin sonata, winking over at Alex at the composerโs first name. The andanteโthe third movementโis his favorite, he explains, because he read once that it was written to evoke the image of a castle in ruins, which he found darkly funny at the time. He goes quiet, focused, lost in the piece for long minutes. Then, without warning, it changes again, turbulent chords circling back into something familiarโthe
Elton John songbook. Henry closes his eyes, playing from memory. Itโs โYour Song.โย Oh.
And Alexโs heart doesnโt spread itself out in his chest, and he doesnโt have to grip the edge of the settee to steady himself. Because thatโs what he would do if he were here in this palace to fall in love with Henry, and not just continuing this thing where they fly across the world to touch each other and donโt talk about it. Thatโs not why heโs here. Itโs not.
They make out lazily for what could be hours on the setteeโAlex wants to do it on the piano, but itโs a priceless antique or whateverโand then they stagger up to Henryโs room, the palatial bed. Henry lets Alex take him apart with painstaking patience and precision, moans the name of God so many times that the room feels consecrated.
It pushes Henry over some kind of edge, melted and overwhelmed on the lush bedclothes. Alex spends nearly an hour afterward coaxing little tremors out of him, in awe of his elaborate expressions of wonder and blissful agony, ghosting featherlight fingertips over his collarbone, his ankles, the insides of his knees, the small bones of the backs of his hands, the dip of his lower lip. He touches and touches until he brings Henry to another brink with only his fingertips, only his breath on the inside of his thighs, the promise of Alexโs mouth where heโd pressed his fingers before.
Henry says the same two words from the secret room at Wimbledon, this time dressed up in, โPlease, I need you to.โ He still canโt believe Henry can talk like this, that he gets to be the only one who hears it.
So he does.
When they come back down, Henry practically passes out on his chest without another word, fucked-out and boneless, and Alex laughs to himself and pets his sweaty hair and listens to the soft snores that come almost immediately.
It takes him hours to fall asleep, though.
Henry drools on him. David finds his way into the bed and curls up at their feet. Alex has to be back on a plane for DNC prep in a matter of hours, but he canโt sleep. Itโs jet lag. Itโs just jet lag.
He remembers, as if from a million miles away, telling Henry once not overthink this.
โAs your president,โ Jeffrey Richards is saying on one of the flat screens in the campaign office, โone of my many priorities will be encouraging young
people to get involved with their government. If weโre going to hold our control of the Senate and take back the House, we need the next generation to stand up and join the fight.โ
The College Republicans of Vanderbilt University cheer on the live feed, and Alex pretends to barf onto his latest policy draft.
โWhy donโt you come up here, Brittany?โ A pretty blond student joins Richards at the podium, and he puts an arm around her. โBrittany here was the main organizer we worked with for this event, and she couldnโt have done a better job getting us this amazing turnout!โ
More cheers. A mid-level staffer lobs a ball of paper at the screen. โItโs young people like Brittany who give us hope for the future of our
party. Which is why Iโm pleased to announce that, as president, Iโll be launching the Richards Youth Congress program. Other politicians donโt want peopleโespecially discerning young people like youโto get up close in our offices and see just how the sausage gets madeโโ
i want to see a cage match between your
grandmother and this fucking ghoul running against my mom,ย Alex texts Henry as he turns back to his cubicle.
Itโs the last days before the DNC, and he hasnโt been able to catch the coffee pot before itโs empty in days. The policy inboxes are overflowing since they released the official platform two days ago, and WASPy Hunter has been firing off emails like his life depends on it. He hasnโt said anything else to Alex about his rant from last month, but he has started wearing headphones to spare Alex his musical choices.
He types out another text, this one to Luna:ย can you please go on anderson cooper or something and explain that paragraph you ghostwrote on tax law for the
platform so people will stop asking? ainโt got the time, vato.
Heโs been texting Luna all week, ever since the Richards campaign
leaked that theyโve tapped an Independent senator for his prospective cabinet. That old bastard Stanley Connor flat out denied every last request for an endorsementโby the end, Luna privately told Alex they were lucky Connor didnโt try to primary them. Nothingโs official, but everyone knows
Connor is the one joining Richardsโs ticket. But if Luna knows when the announcementโs coming, heโs not sharing.
Itโs aย week.ย The polls arenโt great, Paul Ryan is getting sanctimonious about the Second Amendment, and thereโs some Salon hot take going around,ย WOULD ELLEN CLAREMONT HAVE GOTTEN ELECTED IF SHE
WERENโT CONVENTIONALLY BEAUTIFUL?ย If it werenโt for her morning meditation sessions, Alex is sure his mom would have throttled an aide by now.
For his part, he misses Henryโs bed, Henryโs body, Henry and a place a
few thousand miles removed from the factory line of the campaign. That night after Wimbledon from a week ago feels like something out of a dream now, all the more tantalizing because Henry is in New York for a few days with Pez to do paperwork for an LGBT youth shelter in Brooklyn. There arenโt enough hours in the day for Alex to find a pretense to get there, and no matter how much the world enjoys their public friendship, theyโre running out of plausible excuses to be seen together.
This time is nothing like their first breathless trip to the DNC in 2016. His dad had been the delegate to cast the votes from California that put her over, and they all cried. Alex and June introduced their mother before her acceptance speech, and Juneโs hands were shaking but his were steady. The crowd roared, and Alexโs heart roared back.
This year, theyโre all frizzy-haired and exhausted from trying to run the country and a campaign simultaneously, and even one night of the DNC is a stretch. On the second night of the convention, they pile onto Air Force One
โitโd be Marine One, but they wonโt all fit in one helicopter.
โHave you run a cost-benefit analysis on this?โ Zahra is saying into her phone as they take off. โBecause you know Iโm right, and these assets can be transferred at any time if you disagree. Yes. Yeah, I know. Okay. Thatโs what I thought.โ A long pause, then, under her breath, โLove you too.โ
โUm,โ Alex says when sheโs hung up. โSomething youโd like to share with the class?โ
Zahra doesnโt even look up from her phone. โYes, that was my boyfriend, and no, you may not ask me any further questions about him.โ
June has shut her journal in sudden interest. โHow could you possibly have a boyfriend we donโt know about?โ
โI see you more than I see clean underwear,โ Alex says.
โYouโre not changing your underwear often enough, sugar,โ his mother interjects from across the cabin.
โI go commando a lot,โ Alex says dismissively. โIs this like a โmy Canadian girlfriendโ thing? Does heโโhe does very animated air quotes
โโโgo to a different schoolโ?โ
โYou really are determined to get shoved out of an emergency hatch one day, huh?โ she says. โItโs long distance. But not like that. No more questions.โ
Cash jumps in too, insisting he deserves to know as the resident love guru of the staff, and thereโs a debate about appropriate information to share with your coworkers, which is laughable considering how much Cash already knows about Alexโs personal life. Theyโre circling New York when June suddenly stops talking, focused again on Zahra, who has gone silent.
โZahra?โ
Alex turns and sees Zahra sitting perfectly still, such a departure from her usual constant motion that everyone else freezes too. Sheโs staring at her phone, mouth open.
โZahra,โ his mother echoes now, deadly serious. โWhat?โ
She looks up finally, her grip on her phone tight. โTheย Postย just broke the name of the Independent senator joining Richardsโs cabinet,โ she says. โItโs not Stanley Connor. Itโs Rafael Luna.โ
โNo,โย June is saying. Her heels are dangling from her hand, her eyes bright in the warm light near the hotel elevator where theyโve agreed to meet. Her hair is coming out of its braid in angry spikes. โYouโre damn lucky I agreed to talk to you in the first place, so you get this or you get nothing.โ
Theย Postย reporter blinks, fingers faltering on his recorder. Heโs been hounding June on her personal phone since the minute they landed in New York for a quote about the convention, and now heโs demanding something about Luna. June is not typically an angry person, but itโs been a long day, and she looks about three seconds from using one of those heels to stab the guy through the eye socket.
โWhat about you?โ the guy asks Alex.
โIf sheโs not giving it to you, Iโm not giving it to you,โ Alex says. โSheโs much nicer than me.โ
June snaps her fingers in front of the guyโs hipster glasses, eyes blazing. โYou donโt get to speak to him,โ June says. โHere is my quote: My mother, the president, still fully intends to win this race. Weโre here to support her and to encourage the party to stay united behind her.โ
โBut about Senator Lunaโโ
โThank you. Vote Claremont,โ June says tightly, slapping her hand over Alexโs mouth. She sweeps him off and into the waiting elevator, elbowing him when he licks her palm.
โThat goddamn fuckingย traitor,โ Alex says when they reach their floor. โDuplicitous fuckingย bastard! IโI fucking helped him get elected. I canvassed for him for twenty-seven hours straight. I went to his sisterโs wedding. I memorized his goddamnย Five Guys order!โ
โI fucking know, Alex,โ June says, shoving her keycard into the slot. โHow did that Vampire Weekendโlooking little shit even have your
personal number?โ
June throws her shoes at the bed, and they bounce off onto the floor in different directions. โBecause I slept with him last year, Alex, how do you think? Youโre not the only one who makes stupid sexual decisions when youโre stressed out.โ She drops onto the bed and starts taking off her earrings. โI just donโt understand what the point is. Like, what is Lunaโs endgame here? Is he some kind of fucking sleeper agent sent from the future to give me an ulcer?โ
Itโs lateโthey got into New York after nine, hurtling into crisis management meetings for hours. Alex still feels wired, but when June looks up at him, he can see some of the brightness in her eyes has started to look like frustrated tears, and he softens a little.
โIf I had to guess, Luna thinks weโre going to lose,โ he tells her quietly, โand he thinks he can help push Richards farther left by joining the ticket. Like, putting the fire out from inside the house.โ
June looks at him, eyes tired, searching his face. She may be the oldest, but politics is Alexโs game, not hers. He knows he would have chosen this life for himself given the option; he knows she wouldnโt have.
โI think . . . I need to sleep. For like, the next year. At least. Wake me up after the general.โ
โOkay, Bug,โ Alex says. He leans down to kiss the top of her head. โI can do that.โ
โThanks, baby bro.โ โDonโt call me that.โ
โTiny, miniature, itty-bitty, baby brother.โ โFuck off.โ
โGo to bed.โ
Cash is waiting for him out in the hallway, his suit abandoned for plainclothes.
โHanging in there?โ he asks Alex. โI mean, I kind of have to.โ
Cash pats him on the shoulder with one gigantic hand. โThereโs a bar downstairs.โ
Alex considers. โYeah, okay.โ
The Beekman is thankfully quiet this late, and the bar is low-lit with warm, rich shades of gold on the walls and deep-green leather on the high- backed barstools. Alex orders a whiskey neat.
He looks at his phone, swallowing down his frustration with the whiskey. He texted Luna three hours ago, a succinct:ย what the fuck?ย An hour ago, he got back:ย I donโt expect you to understand.
He wants to call Henry. He guesses it makes senseโtheyโve always been fixed points in each otherโs worlds, little magnetic poles. Some laws of physics would be reassuring right now.
God, whiskey makes him maudlin. He orders another.
Heโs contemplating texting Henry, even though heโs probably somewhere over the Atlantic, when a voice curls around his ear, smooth and warm. Heโs sure he must be imagining it.
โIโll have a gin and tonic, thanks,โ it says, and thereโs Henry in the flesh, sidled up next to him at the bar, looking a little tousled in a soft gray button-down and jeans. Alex wonders for an insane second if his brain has conjured up some kind of stress-induced sex mirage, when Henry says, voice lowered, โYou looked rather tragic drinking alone.โ
Definitely the real Henry, then. โYouโreโwhat are you doing here?โ โYou know, as a figurehead of one of the most powerful countries in the
world, I do manage to keep abreast on international politics.โ Alex raises an eyebrow.
Henry inclines his head, sheepish. โI sent Pez home without me because I was worried.โ
โThere it is,โ Alex says with a wink. He goes for his drink to hide what he suspects is a small, sad smile; the ice clacks against his teeth. โSpeak not the bastardโs name.โ
โCheers,โ Henry says as the bartender returns with his drink.
Henry takes the first sip, sucking lime juice off his thumb, and fuck, he looksย good.ย Thereโs color in his cheeks and lips, the glow of Brooklyn summertime warmth that his English blood isnโt accustomed to. He looks like something soft and downy Alex wants to sink into, and he realizes the knot of anxiety in his chest has finally slackened.
Itโs rare anyone other than June goes out of their way to check on him. Itโs by his own design, mostly, a barricade of charm and fitful monologues and hard-headed independence. Henry looks at him like heโs not fooled by any of it.
โGet moving on that drink, Wales,โ Alex says. โI got a king-size bed upstairs thatโs calling my name.โ He shifts on his stool, letting one of his knees graze against Henryโs under the bar, nudging them apart.
Henry squints at him. โBossy.โ
They sit there until Henry finishes his drink, Alex listening to the placating murmur of Henry talking about different brands of gin, thankful that for once Henry seems happy to carry the conversation alone. He closes his eyes, wills the disaster of the day away, and tries to forget. He remembers Henryโs words in the garden months ago: โDโyou ever wonder what itโs like to be some anonymous person out in the world?โ
If heโs some anonymous, normal person, removed from history, heโs twenty-two and heโs tipsy and heโs pulling a guy into his hotel room by the belt loop. Heโs pulling a lip between his teeth, and heโs fumbling behind his back to switch on a lamp, and heโs thinking,ย I like this person.
They break apart, and when Alex opens his eyes, Henry is watching him.
โAre you sure you donโt want to talk about it?โ Alex groans.
The thing is, heย does,ย and Henry knows this too.
โItโs . . .โ Alex starts. He paces backward, hands on his hips. โHe was supposed to be me in twenty years, you know? I was fifteen the first time I
met him, and I was . . . in awe. He was everything I wanted to be. And he cared about people, and about doing the work because it was the right thing to do, because we were making peopleโs lives better.โ
In the low light of the single lamp, Alex turns and sits down on the edge of the bed.
โIโve never been more sure that I wanted to do politics than when I went to Denver. I saw this young, queer guy who looked like me, sleeping at his desk because he wants kids at public schools in his state to have free lunches, and I was like, I could do this. I honestly donโt know if Iโm good enough or smart enough to ever be either of my parents. But I could beย that.โ He drops his head down. Heโs never said the last part out loud to anyone before. โAnd now Iโm sitting here thinking, that son of a bitch sold out, so maybe itโs all bullshit, and maybe I really am just a naive kid who believes in magical shit that doesnโt happen in real life.โ
Henry comes to stand in front of Alex, his thigh brushing against the inside of Alexโs knee, and he reaches one hand down to still Alexโs nervous fidgeting.
โSomeone elseโs choice doesnโt change who you are.โ
โI feel like it does,โ Alex tells him. โI wanted to believe in some people being good and doing this job because they want to do good. Doing the right things most of the time and most things for the right reasons. I wanted to be the kind of person who believes in that.โ
Henryโs hands move, brushing up to Alexโs shoulders, the dip of his throat, the underside of his jaw, and when Alex finally looks up, Henryโs eyes are soft and steady. โYou still are. Because you still bloody care so much.โ He leans down and presses a kiss into Alexโs hair. โAnd you are good. Most things are awful most of the time, but youโre good.โ
Alex takes a breath. Thereโs this way Henry has of listening to the erratic stream of consciousness that pours out of Alexโs mouth and answering with the clearest, crystallized truth that Alex has been trying to arrive at all along. If Alexโs head is a storm, Henry is the place lightning hits ground. He wants it to be true.
He lets Henry push him backward on the bed and kiss him until his mind is blissfully blank, lets Henry undress him carefully. He pushes into Henry and feels the tight cords of his shoulders start to release, like how Henry describes unfurling a sail.
Henry kisses his mouth over and over again and says quietly, โYou are good.โ
The pounding on his door comes much too early for Alex to handle loud noises. Thereโs a sharpness to it he recognizes instantly as Zahra before she even speaks, and he wonders why the hell she didnโt just call before he reaches for his phone and finds it dead. Shit. That would explain the missed alarm.
โAlex Claremont-Diaz, it is almost seven,โ Zahra shouts through the door. โYou have a strategy meeting in fifteen minutes and I have a key, so I donโt care how naked you are, if you donโt answer this door in the next thirty seconds, Iโm coming in.โ
He is, he realizes as he rubs his eyes, extremely naked. A cursory examination of the body pressed up against his back: Henry, very comprehensively naked as well.
โOh fuck me,โ Alex swears, sitting up so fast he gets tangled in the sheet and flails sideways out of bed.
โBlurgh,โ Henry groans.
โFucking shit,โ says Alex, whose vocabulary is apparently now only expletives. He yanks himself free and scrambles for his chinos. โGoddammit ass fucker.โ
โWhat,โ Henry says flatly to the ceiling.
โI can hear you in there, Alex, I swear to Godโโ
Thereโs another sound from the door, like Zahra has kicked it, and Henry flies out of bed too. He is truly a picture, wearing an expression of bewildered panic and absolutely nothing else. He eyes the curtains furtively, as if considering hiding in them.
โJesus tits,โ Alex continues as he fumbles to pull his pants up. He snatches a shirt and boxers at random from the floor, shoves them at Henryโs chest, and points him toward the closet. โGet in there.โ
โQuite,โ he observes.
โYes, we can unpack the ironic symbolism later.ย Go,โ Alex says, and Henry does, and when the door swings open, Zahra is standing there with her thermos and a look on her face that says she did not get a masterโs degree to babysit a fully grown adult who happens to be related to the president.
โUh, morning,โ he says.
Zahraโs eyes do a quick sweep of the roomโthe sheets on the floor, the two pillows that have been slept on, the two phones on the nightstand.
โWho is she?โ she demands, marching over to the bathroom and yanking open the door like sheโs going to find some Hollywood starlet in the bathtub. โYou let her bring aย phoneย in here?โ
โNobody, Jesus,โ Alex says, but his voice cracks in the middle. Zahra arches an eyebrow. โWhat? I got kinda drunk last night, thatโs all. Itโs chill.โ
โYes, it is so very, very chill that youโre going to be hungover for today,โ Zahra says, rounding on him.
โIโm fine,โ he says. โItโs fine.โ
As if on cue, thereโs a series of bumps from the other side of the closet door, and Henry, halfway into Alexโs boxers, comes literally tumbling out of the closet.
It is, Alex thinks half-hysterically, a very solid visual pun.
โEr,โ Henry says from the floor. He finishes pulling Alexโs boxers up his hips. Blinks. โHello.โ
The silence stretches.
โIโโ Zahra begins. โDo I even want you to explain to me what the fuck is happening here? Literally how is he evenย here,ย like, physically or geographically, andย whyโno, nope. Donโt answer that. Donโt tell me anything.โ She takes another pull of coffee. โOh my God, didย Iย do this? I never thought . . . when I set it up . . . oh myย God.โ
Henry has pulled himself off the floor and put on a shirt, and his ears are bright red. โI think, perhaps, if it helps. It was. Er. Rather inevitable. At least for me. So you shouldnโt blame yourself.โ
Alex looks at him, trying to think of something to add, when Zahra jabs a manicured finger into his shoulder.
โWell, I hope it wasย fun,ย because if anyone ever finds out about this, weโre all fucked,โ Zahra says. She points viciously at Henry. โYou too. Can I assume I donโt have to make you sign an NDA?โ
โIโve already signed one for him,โ Alex offers up, while Henryโs ears turn from red to an alarming shade of purple. Six hours ago, he was sinking drowsily into Henryโs chest, and now heโs standing here half-naked, talking about the paperwork. He fucking hates paperwork. โI think that covers it.โ
โOh, wonderful,โ Zahra says. โIโm so glad you thought this through.
Great. How long has this been happening?โ
โSince, um. New Yearโs,โ Alex says.
โNew Yearโs?โย Zahra repeats, eyes wide. โThis has been going on forย seven months? Thatโs why youโOh my God, I thought you were getting into international relations or something.โ
โI mean, technicallyโโ
โIf you finish that sentence, Iโm gonna spend tonight in jail.โ Alex winces. โPlease donโt tell Mom.โ
โSeriously?โ she practically yells. โYouโre literally putting your dick in
the leader of a foreign state,ย who is aย man,ย atย the biggest political event
before the election,ย in a hotel full ofย reporters,ย in a city full ofย cameras,ย in a race close enough to fuckingย hingeย on some bullshit like this, like a manifestation of my fuckingย stress dreams,ย and youโre asking meย notย to tell the president about it?โ
โUm. Yeah? I havenโt, um, come out to her. Yet.โ
Zahra blinks, presses her lips together, and makes a noise like sheโs being strangled. โListen,โ she says. โWe donโt have time to deal with this, and your mother has enough to manage without having to process her sonโs fucking quarter-life NATO sexual crisis, soโI wonโt tell her. But once the convention is over, you have to.โ
โOkay,โ Alex says on an exhale.
โWould it make any difference at all if I told you not to see him again?โ
Alex looks over at Henry, looking rumpled and nauseated and terrified at the corner of the bed. โNo.โ
โGod fucking dammit,โ she says, rubbing the heel of her hand against her forehead. โEvery time I see you, it takes another year off my life. Iโm going downstairs, and you better be dressed and there in five minutes so we can try to save this goddamn campaign. Andย youโโshe rounds on Henry
โโyou need to get back to fucking England now, and if anyone sees you leave, I will personally end you. Ask me if Iโm afraid of the crown.โ
โDuly noted,โ he says in a faint voice.
Zahra fixes him with a final glare, turns on her heel, and stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind her.