Work Text:
They are fourteen when Doug slips into his room in the middle of the night. He sits on the edge of the bed and only says, “TJ, they know.”
The next morning at breakfast, the pictures are spread out on the dining room table. These pictures are grainy with none of the clarity he will get used to years later that will litter the same dining room table. Yet even in the black and white seediness of the pictures, he can see his face clearly in each picture. The faces of the others are blurred and it’s only during the second trip of rehab that he will recall each of their names. Brad. Declan. Chris.
There’s talk of strategy and a statement that he didn't write with words he will never say and he’s waiting, waiting for something. It doesn't come until his grandmother shows up once the dishes are put away. She gives him the biggest hug and says, “It’s okay, baby. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
These are the words he holds on to when his face is on every paper, every TV station and magazine all over the country. He is OUT. They pluck pieces of his carefully worded statement, “my family is supportive,” “I want to be an inspiration for everyone like me,” and frame it around the pictures that were on the dining room table only hours ago. He just wants everything to go back to the way it was.
He does his first line of coke three days later on a shiny glossy magazine. His father is sipping on coffee when someone comes in with a statement against the story highlighted on the cover. “Damn conservatives.” He spits out in his southern drawl but he doesn't say anything to TJ. He only gets up and leaves the room. TJ picks up the magazine. Home and Family. They snapped a picture of him, grim faced and late for class and proclaimed him a scourge on the fabric of the American family. How can a child of the president of the United States be gay? He thought of his mother earlier that week with her red rimmed eyes twisting a handkerchief between her fingers and Dad holding a scotch, face serious and sad at the same time. He remembers thinking how he likes them best this way, unrehearsed, unpolished. It’s strange how he remembers these details when so much of his life is a blur of white powder, brown liquor and rough sex.
It was the first in a long line of hateful stories. He reads them all then does a line of coke on them when he’s done.
TJ is eighteen when they send him to rehab for the first time. It doesn’t stick. The place is more like a spa and he spots the photographers on the outskirts of the ranch. He works on his tan and sobers up. He plays the piano in the evenings and someone snaps a photo that he sends to his mom. She sounds so hopeful that he tries harder to do the exercises and promises not to hang out with his old friends once he leaves. Yet when he stands around giving hugs on the last day, he doesn’t feel any different. He feels clean but this is not his first stretch of time without cocaine. So when the car picks him up, he knows that it won’t last and when he does his first line on the abs of a bathroom attendant in a bar in New York, only three weeks passed since his last day at rehab.
His mother’s run for the Democratic nomination for president is everything he hates about politics. Bud’s second run at presidency was fun and it was the only time he could remember his father talking to him instead of at him. He remembers trying to stay clean and staying away from sordid affairs and harmful interviews. The newspapers are not on his side this time. They pull up every arrest, every picture and every expulsion. They call Elaine, a horrible mother and wife. Her politics are rarely discussed. See what being gay is? It ruins families. It’s hedonistic.
Second round of rehab. He does an eight ball and his father finds him. Bud has none of his mother’s softness towards him. He goes from the hospital directly to rehab. This time in the mountains of Montana and far away from photographers, newspapers and any convenience he’s ever known. During his first session the psychiatrist, Dr. Tim Lindley, doesn’t ask him about his parents’ politics or Doug. He doesn’t mention the affairs, the expulsion from three boarding schools or the failed attempt at rehab.
Instead he says, “It must have been hard being forced out of the closet.”
TJ starts. He was staring outside the window. “I guess.”
“Most people choose when to tell their family or friends. Did your family know before?”
He thinks of his brother sitting on the edge of the bed at 4:30am. They know. “No.” Then he adds. “My twin did.”
“How did they react?”
He laughs but then he remembers that people don’t really know his parents. They didn’t watch his mother cry the entire week the world found out that there was a gay boy in the White House. His father barely spoke to him. He only addressed it years later during his second run, slightly drunk and enjoying the good news of his amazing numbers late in the race. “It was hard in the beginning, son. I still don’t know what to say to you.” He says all of this to Dr. Lindley without much emotion but his heart is racing. He needs a hit. He can’t think about those times without some coke in him.
Dr. Lindley is staring at him. “It was your father who brought you here.”
“Yes.”
“What would you change about your life if you could?”
He thinks about the piano. He spent most of his time during his first stint flexing old muscles, adjusting his posture and relearning old favorites. His parents stopped hiring teachers when the last two ended up in messy affairs that only made the papers during his mother’s run for presidency. He has many regrets but this one is a big one. He waits for the third session to answer that question.
He isn’t ready to leave when the car sends for him 15 days later but his absence is staring to become noticeable. In the car, there’s a staff member waiting for him inside with a statement prepped and ready to go. “Your brother will be waiting for you at the airport in Dallas.”
She doesn’t tell him where he will be speaking and he doesn’t ask. He has most of the speech committed to memory before they reach the airport. The private plane is ready to go and his hesitation must stir something in this staffer he doesn’t know because she comes to him and lays a hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry, TJ.”
“Don’t be.” He says finally moving towards the plane. “I’m used to it.”