[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.Too crazy, too confusing.By then, I’d already introduced him to the masseur, Skip Roberts, who’s my best friend.Th atwas a real mistake.”Brian wrote something in his notebook and then turned the page.“Bisexual.I should have guessed.Makes a certain kind of sense.”“Don’t quote me, okay? It would be his word against mine.Doesn’t matter who made the pass in the steam bath.Physically, he’s a beautiful guy.I responded to what he laid out.We had our fi fteen minutes.”“Well, then,” Brian said.“I know you’re not part of any big plot but—”“I’m doing the best I can to keep Wade the athlete and Wade the news story separated from Wade the ex-potential boyfriend.”“And it looks like he’s mixing it all up?”“You’d be the better judge of that.You talked to him last.”“So what’s your reaction?”“Don’t have any.I’m not going to drag Wade out of his closet.He wants to become a bisexual conspiracy theorist, let him do it.”“You’re serious?”“I wish I hadn’t introduced Skip to him.In twenty-twenty hind-sight, I defi nitely regret that.” I laughed and dropped my voice.“Mister Thompson, may I off er you a big helping of guilt trip? No thanks, none for me today.” I picked up the cartoon board of Skip and WadeElliott Mackle190fending off Dom-Dom and Samaranch the Nazi.“Actually, though, I kind of like the way this story is moving.What Wade told you confi rms what I’m reporting.You print it, it’s more of the same poor pitiful Wade.He was in soooo much pain that he told me he hopes I catch AIDS and die.”“Jesus.There’s no excuse for that.”“He was out of his head.Do you think he can still win a medal this week? I mean, even with the shit he’s kicked up, he probably ought to.He’s put in the time.”Brian fl ipped the notebook shut and stood up.“I’d say the judges are still out on that.USOC has to decide whether he competes in individuals.And I still think Sports Illustrated has to go with the quotes he gave me.Any chance you could tell me where to fi nd Skip Roberts?He might have a reaction.”“Sure.No problem.He’s working the women’s side of the Georgia Dome.I have the massage room number right here.”“They’re hiding him in plain sight.I’ll be damned.”“Yes, sir, he’s the masseur that didn’t bark.”Marguerite and Pope McClelland had no objection to the Olympics package so the boards went to Birmingham for printing right on schedule.Outlines hit the streets on Th ursday morning.So did “Tarpley’s Tantrum,” Brian’s piece for Sports Illustrated.By eleven am, the calls coming in told us that people were talking.NBC, always alert for celebrity gossip to spice up midweek coverage, invited Wade to react to the reaction.Unfortunately for Wade, he was paired with Bob Costas, a highly intelligent broadcaster with a puppylike face and a manner so mild he’d probably seem loveable even if caught stomping a whooping crane chick.I watched the telecast over lunch at Mumbo Jumbo, the summer’s new, hot restaurant near Five Points.Ellen Inman had suggested the date days before, saying we ought to declare a truce during the Games, just like they did in ancient Greece.Brian had couriered me a copy of his magazine piece that morning so, when I called to say thanks, I asked him to join us for burgers, salads and what promised to be Tarpley on toast.191Hot off the PressesWe ate at the long bar, up close and personal with a thirty-six-inch screen.Costas opened the interview with cotton-candy questions: How are you feeling after the other night? Are you still disputing the line call? Would you do anything diff erent to keep from blowing up?You’re still a champion so will you compete in the individual fi nals next weekend?Wade gave scripted, evasive answers in a stunned, false-hearty sort of voice.Costas then picked up a copy of SI’s street edition and read a long quote attributed to Wade.It concerned Domnovsko, Jews, Russians and the gay vendetta.He followed with virtually the same quote from my story in Outlines.“Yes!” Ellen shouted.“Our boy Henry’s going national.You, too, ah, Mr.Murphy.”“Call me Brian, m’dear.More chips?”“Ask him about the tit-fondling, Bob.’Scuse me, Ellen.”Wade nodded at Costas and then looked straight at the camera.“They made it up.It’s just the kind of untruthful innuendo that’s been completely blown out of proportion by the media.Sure, I became upset when Bol-Bol and Ms.Gadovskaya barged in by mistake and disturbed my meditation session on Saturday.Far as I’m concerned, you’d have to ask the so-called journalists where those quotes came from.”Costas leaned forward and smiled, a hungry terrier contemplat-ing an injured chipmunk.“Bob’s good,” Ellen said.“A lot better than most of the newsread-ers I have to deal with.”“‘I became upset,’” I said, mimicking Wade.“He doesn’t talk that way in real life.”“The Olympic Games,” Brian said, “are not real life.Pass the mus-tard, will you, Henry?”“Then are none of these quotes accurate?” Costas followed up.“You don’t really hate black people or Polish people or—well, there’s a long list here in today’s Sports Illustrated.And, excuse me for asking.You aren’t gay yourself?”Wade tried to stay on script but the twist of his neck told me he was losing it.“My girlfriend Celeste, the girl that I live with, she wouldElliott Mackle192laugh, she would really laugh, at somebody calling me gay.I’m friends with a few homosexuals, yes, but I’m not that way myself.I have a black teammate, too.Don’t forget that.” Wade leaned back in his chair, as if to separate himself from Costas.The camera moved in, framinghis face.“And, Bob,” he continued, his voice a couple of notes higher, the sweat now visible on his brow, “I just want to say it again, this is the kind of insinuation and over-reaction that got me all unfocussed.And that’s why I screwed up.”“Was that a denial?” Brian muttered.“Didn’t anybody prep this kid?”“He’s digging his own grave with his mouth, dear one,” Ellen agreed.“Do either one of you boys want to try some of this turnip-green pasta salad? It’s delicious.”Costas touched his earphone, nodded sympathetically and returned to Brian’s article.“Your masseur is quoted as saying that you specifi cally asked for a Tantric massage just before you performed on Saturday.Our sources tell me these types of treatments are always done in the nude and I wonder if—”Wade cut him off.“He isn’t my masseur! He’s a goddamn fag volunteer that put one over on the United States Olympic Team.He’s a star-fucker, you know what I mean, Bob? My girlfriend Celeste, she just laughs when they come on to me! But I’m not gay, you know.I don’t have anything against cocksuckers.It’s lies.”“We’re going to a break,” Costas said smoothly as the camera cut away from Wade to a tight shot of the broadcaster’s face—relaxed, contemplative and smiling just ever so sympathetically.“When we come back, we’ll have a taped interview with Harry and Louise Tarpley, Wade’s parents, telling us all about Wade as a boy, and how he’s always been interested in just two things, gymnastics and pretty girls.”“Skip and Wade have been glued together for months,” I said, throwing a wadded-up napkin at the TV screen.“Lying bastard.”“It’s lies, lies!” Ellen drawled, imitating Wade’s barely controlled voice.She looked from Brian to me and back again [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Too crazy, too confusing.By then, I’d already introduced him to the masseur, Skip Roberts, who’s my best friend.Th atwas a real mistake.”Brian wrote something in his notebook and then turned the page.“Bisexual.I should have guessed.Makes a certain kind of sense.”“Don’t quote me, okay? It would be his word against mine.Doesn’t matter who made the pass in the steam bath.Physically, he’s a beautiful guy.I responded to what he laid out.We had our fi fteen minutes.”“Well, then,” Brian said.“I know you’re not part of any big plot but—”“I’m doing the best I can to keep Wade the athlete and Wade the news story separated from Wade the ex-potential boyfriend.”“And it looks like he’s mixing it all up?”“You’d be the better judge of that.You talked to him last.”“So what’s your reaction?”“Don’t have any.I’m not going to drag Wade out of his closet.He wants to become a bisexual conspiracy theorist, let him do it.”“You’re serious?”“I wish I hadn’t introduced Skip to him.In twenty-twenty hind-sight, I defi nitely regret that.” I laughed and dropped my voice.“Mister Thompson, may I off er you a big helping of guilt trip? No thanks, none for me today.” I picked up the cartoon board of Skip and WadeElliott Mackle190fending off Dom-Dom and Samaranch the Nazi.“Actually, though, I kind of like the way this story is moving.What Wade told you confi rms what I’m reporting.You print it, it’s more of the same poor pitiful Wade.He was in soooo much pain that he told me he hopes I catch AIDS and die.”“Jesus.There’s no excuse for that.”“He was out of his head.Do you think he can still win a medal this week? I mean, even with the shit he’s kicked up, he probably ought to.He’s put in the time.”Brian fl ipped the notebook shut and stood up.“I’d say the judges are still out on that.USOC has to decide whether he competes in individuals.And I still think Sports Illustrated has to go with the quotes he gave me.Any chance you could tell me where to fi nd Skip Roberts?He might have a reaction.”“Sure.No problem.He’s working the women’s side of the Georgia Dome.I have the massage room number right here.”“They’re hiding him in plain sight.I’ll be damned.”“Yes, sir, he’s the masseur that didn’t bark.”Marguerite and Pope McClelland had no objection to the Olympics package so the boards went to Birmingham for printing right on schedule.Outlines hit the streets on Th ursday morning.So did “Tarpley’s Tantrum,” Brian’s piece for Sports Illustrated.By eleven am, the calls coming in told us that people were talking.NBC, always alert for celebrity gossip to spice up midweek coverage, invited Wade to react to the reaction.Unfortunately for Wade, he was paired with Bob Costas, a highly intelligent broadcaster with a puppylike face and a manner so mild he’d probably seem loveable even if caught stomping a whooping crane chick.I watched the telecast over lunch at Mumbo Jumbo, the summer’s new, hot restaurant near Five Points.Ellen Inman had suggested the date days before, saying we ought to declare a truce during the Games, just like they did in ancient Greece.Brian had couriered me a copy of his magazine piece that morning so, when I called to say thanks, I asked him to join us for burgers, salads and what promised to be Tarpley on toast.191Hot off the PressesWe ate at the long bar, up close and personal with a thirty-six-inch screen.Costas opened the interview with cotton-candy questions: How are you feeling after the other night? Are you still disputing the line call? Would you do anything diff erent to keep from blowing up?You’re still a champion so will you compete in the individual fi nals next weekend?Wade gave scripted, evasive answers in a stunned, false-hearty sort of voice.Costas then picked up a copy of SI’s street edition and read a long quote attributed to Wade.It concerned Domnovsko, Jews, Russians and the gay vendetta.He followed with virtually the same quote from my story in Outlines.“Yes!” Ellen shouted.“Our boy Henry’s going national.You, too, ah, Mr.Murphy.”“Call me Brian, m’dear.More chips?”“Ask him about the tit-fondling, Bob.’Scuse me, Ellen.”Wade nodded at Costas and then looked straight at the camera.“They made it up.It’s just the kind of untruthful innuendo that’s been completely blown out of proportion by the media.Sure, I became upset when Bol-Bol and Ms.Gadovskaya barged in by mistake and disturbed my meditation session on Saturday.Far as I’m concerned, you’d have to ask the so-called journalists where those quotes came from.”Costas leaned forward and smiled, a hungry terrier contemplat-ing an injured chipmunk.“Bob’s good,” Ellen said.“A lot better than most of the newsread-ers I have to deal with.”“‘I became upset,’” I said, mimicking Wade.“He doesn’t talk that way in real life.”“The Olympic Games,” Brian said, “are not real life.Pass the mus-tard, will you, Henry?”“Then are none of these quotes accurate?” Costas followed up.“You don’t really hate black people or Polish people or—well, there’s a long list here in today’s Sports Illustrated.And, excuse me for asking.You aren’t gay yourself?”Wade tried to stay on script but the twist of his neck told me he was losing it.“My girlfriend Celeste, the girl that I live with, she wouldElliott Mackle192laugh, she would really laugh, at somebody calling me gay.I’m friends with a few homosexuals, yes, but I’m not that way myself.I have a black teammate, too.Don’t forget that.” Wade leaned back in his chair, as if to separate himself from Costas.The camera moved in, framinghis face.“And, Bob,” he continued, his voice a couple of notes higher, the sweat now visible on his brow, “I just want to say it again, this is the kind of insinuation and over-reaction that got me all unfocussed.And that’s why I screwed up.”“Was that a denial?” Brian muttered.“Didn’t anybody prep this kid?”“He’s digging his own grave with his mouth, dear one,” Ellen agreed.“Do either one of you boys want to try some of this turnip-green pasta salad? It’s delicious.”Costas touched his earphone, nodded sympathetically and returned to Brian’s article.“Your masseur is quoted as saying that you specifi cally asked for a Tantric massage just before you performed on Saturday.Our sources tell me these types of treatments are always done in the nude and I wonder if—”Wade cut him off.“He isn’t my masseur! He’s a goddamn fag volunteer that put one over on the United States Olympic Team.He’s a star-fucker, you know what I mean, Bob? My girlfriend Celeste, she just laughs when they come on to me! But I’m not gay, you know.I don’t have anything against cocksuckers.It’s lies.”“We’re going to a break,” Costas said smoothly as the camera cut away from Wade to a tight shot of the broadcaster’s face—relaxed, contemplative and smiling just ever so sympathetically.“When we come back, we’ll have a taped interview with Harry and Louise Tarpley, Wade’s parents, telling us all about Wade as a boy, and how he’s always been interested in just two things, gymnastics and pretty girls.”“Skip and Wade have been glued together for months,” I said, throwing a wadded-up napkin at the TV screen.“Lying bastard.”“It’s lies, lies!” Ellen drawled, imitating Wade’s barely controlled voice.She looked from Brian to me and back again [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]