Chapter Twenty-One #3
So now, Jesse could only wonder if Percy’s remark alone would be enough to break those rose-colored spectacles perched atop Arthur’s nose.
Or if, instead, it would merely cause a crack to form.
How many of these sorts of comments would it take for Arthur Hughes to realize the enormity of the risk they were taking?
Jesse’s mind was swirling with these troublesome worries when Arthur clasped his hands together and responded.
“Not all of them, no. Jesse and I struck up a friendship when I needed him to show me how some of the presses worked. Earlier this year, I had hoped to secure a spot in Machinery Hall here at the fair. But some things aren’t meant to be, I’m afraid. Someone else must have bid higher.”
“Ah, is that how certain businesses were chosen then?”
“Some. Others were chosen because of a contribution they had made to the world. Although, that was more so part of the criteria for individuals. Innovators and inventors. Brilliant people whose creativity had earned them some prestige. Or even only a patent.” Arthur shrugged.
“But I’m not very creative. Nor am I as wealthy as some others in our circle, especially my parents, thanks to .
. . ehm, well, you know the story, I’m sure. ”
“Yes,” Percy said, his voice suddenly tight. “I do.”
Arthur and Percy both looked at their shoes. Jesse hadn’t realized how much Arthur’s previous missteps, especially the big one, really had followed him throughout adulthood. Percy seemed to feel some sort of sympathy toward Arthur for it.
Finally, Percy looked up.
“Well, enjoy the rest of the fair, you two,” he said. “I won’t keep you.”
Arthur met Percy’s eyes and nodded.
“Take care, Percy,” Arthur said before Percy strolled away, pushing past them.
After a moment, Arthur turned toward Jesse.
“Jesse Wolff?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“And Percy?”
“Arthur . . .”
“I hadn’t realized that you knew him, that’s all. Care to tell me—”
“Not now,” Jesse said curtly, looking away.
“But—”
“It’s not private enough to tell you here,” Jesse said, his cheeks heating.
Although, by saying that, Jesse knew that he had likely revealed more than enough for Arthur to work out what the nature of his and Percy’s relationship had been.
“Ah.”
“I’ll tell you more back at my place,” Jesse promised, softening his tone. “I’ve been keeping things from you. Nothing particularly consequential, but things that . . . well, things that I knew wouldn’t be the most pleasant for me to share.”
Slowly, Jesse lifted his chin to meet Arthur’s eyes. He expected to find some trace of hurt there, but instead, there was only warmth in his blues. He could bask in them forever. Jesse thumbed toward the Court of Honor.
“Let’s go.”
Together, they walked toward one of the exits. Passing the perfect, stark-white buildings in the Court of Honor, Jesse couldn’t stop thinking about that tiny crack in Arthur’s smile from before. Or the fear that Arthur must have felt when he’d spotted his father in Machinery Hall.
Our friendship isn’t something that my father would support.
Heading toward the streetcars, Jesse began to wonder if, by revealing the truth about his past relationship with Percy—and, of course, the reason that the relationship had ended—he’d shatter Arthur’s rose-colored spectacles himself.
***
Soon, Jesse and Arthur were seated together on the streetcar to Bridgeport.
Arthur was staring out the window, his hands balled into fists, his face flushed with what looked to be indignation.
Arthur must have been fuming over the fact that Jesse had kept the fact that he knew Percy Verne from him.
And Jesse couldn’t really blame him for it.
Once they exited the streetcar, Jesse and Arthur headed toward Walsh’s Clothing, neither of them saying a word.
It wasn’t long before they reached the storefront, and then they circled around to the back to let themselves inside the entrance to the second-floor stairwell.
Jesse fumbled with his keys. In his mind, he was fumbling for what he should say as well.
As soon as they stepped inside, Arthur placed a hand on the small of Jesse’s back.
“I know I probably looked irate earlier. On the streetcar, I mean. And I realized that I ought to reassure you that I’m not mad at you,” he said.
Jesse’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? I thought you must have been.”
“Sorry.” Arthur rubbed small circles with his hand. “I was letting Percy’s asinine inquiry bother me. ‘Are you friends with all of your employees?’ Oh, who cares what kind of company I like to keep? What kind of thing was that for him to have said?”
Jesse began chewing on his bottom lip. Arthur sighed.
“Anyway, I’m sorry I let myself be so bothered by it. It’s not that I care, exactly, but—”
“Don’t you, though? I mean, how could you not care?”
Jesse continued to worry at his bottom lip. Arthur lifted a hand to Jesse’s face, and then he touched his thumb to Jesse’s mouth, wordlessly coaxing Jesse’s lip back out.
“Percy’s comment bothered me because I knew that it must have bothered you,” Arthur said. “Am I right? Did it bother you?”
“Yes. It did,” Jesse admitted. It had bothered him, but for more reasons than one. “Can we continue this in the bedroom, though?”
“Of course.”
Without further conversation, they began to ascend the stairs. Once they were in the bedroom, Jesse tossed his flat cap onto the floor and raked a hand through his hair. Arthur removed his hat too. He leaned over and set it atop the nearby chair.
“I’m sorry I never told you that I knew someone else in your circle,” Jesse said.
“Were you and Percy . . . together once? I sensed some . . . tension, I think, between the two of you.”
Heat crept up the back of Jesse’s neck, and he nodded. “We were.”
His eyes fell to the floor. He wondered if Arthur hated him.
After a moment, Arthur took Jesse’s hand.
“I’m not mad, Jesse,” he said sweetly. He started toward the bed. “I’m extremely relieved that he somehow missed out on my spring party, but I’m not mad that you never told me about him. Come lie with me.”
Arthur coaxed Jesse up onto the mattress, and the two men lay next to each other. Arthur swept a hand through Jesse’s hair, but otherwise waited for Jesse to initiate the conversation. It took Jesse a few more moments before he could.
Finally, he said, “I never told you why I left school. It was . . . because of Percy.”
Arthur stayed quiet. Jesse took a breath to muster up the courage to continue.
“Let me start at the, uhm, the beginning. So, my name. I should probably tell you about that first. I was born Jesse Wolff. It’s German.
I, uhm, well, I told you before that I’m from Lake Township.
Or, it’s called New City now, I think. But I changed my name once I left home.
Not the, uh, the first time I left. Not when I left for school.
But I changed it after I came back and told my father that I had .
. . failed out.” His cheeks burned with shame.
“Yes, that’s right. I failed out. It’s pathetic, I know. ”
“It’s not pathetic.”
“Well, my father thought it was. I thought it was. Actually, I still think so.”
“It’s not.”
As fervently as Jesse wanted that to be true, he couldn’t make himself believe it.
He continued on. “Anyway, I failed out of school because I was too heartbroken to focus on my studies. And I felt so ashamed of it that I left home. Not before telling my father why I failed out though, which, well, since it was because of a man, meant I wasn’t welcome in my family from that moment forward. And I changed my name because of it.
“I picked O’Connor because I found a place in Bridgeport and I wanted to fit in better.
Before I met Giuseppe, I was worried that the folks in the neighborhood might not want me there if I was German or Italian or some other nationality.
Most people in Bridgeport are Irish. Giuseppe proved me wrong about that, though.
None of them would have minded, it seems. Or, well, not enough of them for it to matter. ”
Jesse found a hole in the sheets and poked it. He paused for a while before continuing.
“I know that I probably shouldn’t have told my father the reason why I couldn’t keep up with my studies,” he finally said.
“But I was so Goddamned tired of feeling like I’d failed him in one way or another over the course of my life.
And I knew that if I stayed there, in my childhood home, I’d only continue to fail him.
Because I knew that I’d never be the son he thought I should be.
I was soft. At least, in his eyes, I was.
And so, I told him what sort of man I was and what kind of inclinations I had, even though I knew that he’d hate me for it.
Or, well, because I knew that he’d hate me for it.
Hell, I wanted him to hate me. And I wanted my mother to hate me, too.
Because I thought that my parents hating me would make leaving easier.
I figured that if they hated me, then I’d know that I couldn’t go back.
” His voice broke, but he pressed on. “I’d know that I’d never have to try to make them love me anymore. ”
Arthur swept a hand through Jesse’s hair.
“Oh, Jesse, that had to have been painful,” he said. “I can only imagine how much.”
Jesse shrugged. “It’s fine.”
“It isn’t.” Arthur lifted Jesse’s chin and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’m so sorry you had to lose your family like that.”
Jesse exhaled a trembling breath.
“Thank you.”
Arthur stroked Jesse’s cheek with his thumb. “So, tell me more about school. How did you choose Illinois Industrial?”
“I, uhm, I learned about it when I visited the library once. Tuition was free back then. It might still be. I’m not sure. But I knew I had to go. I wanted to really become something. Or someone, rather. I wanted to be more than little Jesse Wolff from the neighborhood near the stockyards.”
“Did you live there? At Illinois Industrial?”