Chapter 20 #5
I was loving this, because of course, it was a movie.
For a second I saw myself playing Reggie, after I’d undergone a year of CrossFit training, a special diet, and maybe a cycle of steroids.
Stars might covet the role, because they’d be congratulated on their political sensitivity, on their noble effort at portraying an unassailably granite-jawed gay guy in a docudrama.
But here’s what’s so special about Reggie: no one else could ever impersonate him, with his unique mix of adrenaline-fueled high spirits, enviable tactical ingenuity, brawn that isn’t merely for display, and, most surprisingly, a sly and even filthy sense of humor.
The only person who could ever be Reggie is Reggie himself, and he’s too busy with the Tuxes to sell his story.
“When I was sitting across from Dennington, and he was asking me what I wanted, there were these framed photos on the wall behind him, most of them were just official portraits in full uniform, from when he’d gotten a medal or a promotion, but there were a handful of others, of Dennington at embassy receptions, and standing behind whatever president was getting sworn in, and most of the time he was with his wife Caroline, who’s terrific, they’d raised three kids.
But there was this one shot, where Dennington must’ve been barely twenty, on his first tour, on a beach in South Korea, with his shirt off and his arm around the neck of some other sailor.
I’d heard rumors about Dennington, but he was three times my age, so a guy like that wasn’t about to get all weepy and regretful about what staying in the closet had cost him.
Because the navy was everything to him, and he’d done what he had to do.
But I was thinking, Why did he save that picture, and what happened to the other guy, and that day, that memory, was it so special that he kept it close at hand, even if people might ask questions?
Maybe that photo, and Dennington, were speaking to me, like, ‘Pay attention, bozo.’
“So I said, ‘I’ve got an idea.’ Which I came up with on the spot, I just opened my big mouth and began bullshitting because I thought, Call their bluff.
Ask for the moon. I was thinking about not just Dennington but the other gay people I’d met, around the world, in every branch of the armed forces and foreign governments and just by hanging out in clubs and gyms. This was long before anybody was calling themselves queer, and if somebody used that word they’d get my fist in their face.
But I’m talking about men and women, and trans people like Liz and Marcus, it wasn’t like we had so much in common, but there was a recognition that I could use to my advantage.
These were my people, and a lot of them were smart and well connected, and—what if?
It wouldn’t be some league of superheroes, more like a book club with torpedoes, or Homos United.
And at first Dennington thought I was joking or out of my mind, but I started naming names, of people we both knew, people with influence and access.
When I listed them and kept going, Dennington got quiet but I could tell: he’d spent his whole life keeping a lid on things, and not being seen in daylight with whoever he was fucking, so he was, I’d have to say, tickled.
It wouldn’t just be revenge or reparations, but something positive, and proof that we belonged on every bronze plaque and in every roll call.
So he said, ‘What you’re suggesting is impossible, but bring me a proposal, and mark it confidential.
’ And he looked right at me and laughed, and said, ‘What the hell.’
“I’d read about Daniel Narwell, and his lawsuit on behalf of his partner Oliver, who’d been fired from his job at the Library of Congress during McCarthy.
He got Oliver decades of back pay and an apology, even though Oliver died before the verdict came down.
But I contacted Daniel, to help formulate a legal structure for the special ops unit I was yakking about, so we could be completely legitimate and funded, but also top secret and independent.
And during our first meeting, Daniel was on his way to some charity wingding, so he was wearing his tux, I mean, the guy was born in a tux, and he looked so great and I decided that a tuxedo would be my group’s official uniform.
Because it was distinguished and formal but also somehow gay.
It’s like, anyone can look butch in fatigues, but a tux—that’s for Daniel and your buddy Brock and James Bond.
The guys you don’t want to mess with, because they’ll jam a five-thousand-dollar fountain pen into your jugular. ”
“So that’s why you named it the Tuxedo Society?”
“Yup. And because it sounds fancy and sissified, so no one sees us coming.”
Reggie glanced at me, to check if I’d been listening, or if I was humoring him.
When he grinned, I didn’t just blush and get rock hard, I practically fell out of the life raft, just as the lights of the yacht glowed through the fog that had settled in, and Reggie raised an arm as if he was hailing a cab.
The other Tuxes were waiting for us on board, for what I’d thought would be a jubilant reunion, after our success on the Empress Olympia. We had the three jewels. The finish line was in view. But the atmosphere was more somber, if charged. Reggie asked, “What? What do we know?”
“Reata’s been kidnapped,” said Brock.