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Todd Anderson released his first collection of poetry in 1965, and a year after, he realized he was gay. He wasn’t in love with his fiancée, that was evident. He’d known for a while, and frankly, she did too. When he broke off the engagement, neither of them cried. It had to happen.
His mother cried. His mother loved Maggie, and at a point, Todd loved her too. She was proper, poised, destined to be a perfect housewife. Todd thought she could do more than that, but she was set on being a mother and a wife before anything else. But Todd didn’t want children.
But the dreaded sex issue really drove a wedge between the couple. Despite coming from Catholic families, Todd and Maggie would sleep with one another. At first, they managed it at best. It’s supposed to take a long time to finish, right? You’re supposed to be thinking about other people while you’re in bed, right? The pit of dissatisfaction sitting in your stomach after finishing, that happens to everyone, right? But after moving in with each other, they effectively stopped having sex. Their bed was designated for sleeping and the occasional cuddle.
Todd never enjoyed sex with Maggie, and he never enjoyed kissing Maggie, or holding her hand, or having his arm around her waist, or saying he had a girlfriend. Maggie was a great gal, don’t mistake it. He liked her just fine; he just didn’t love her.
So, they broke up. And a month later, Todd met Neil Perry.
Neil Perry moved to New York in 1965, and a year after, he realized he was gay. Sometimes, it takes a passionate love affair to know what it is you want in life. He shared an apartment with this gal called Barbara, and she had a boyfriend called David. A few caught glances, a few odd comments, and a few lingering hugs between Neill and David led to them sleeping together. A light switch turn on in Neil, and it blinded him enough that he couldn’t just turn it off.
He started his career on Broadway when he starred as The Emcee in Cabaret, written by Fred Ebb. Fred mentored Todd during his days at Columbia, and he invited Todd to the second night of the show. Todd, having not gone out of his apartment in weeks, decided he could only enjoy something written by Fred.
So, The Fred Ebb introduced Todd and Neil backstage. Neil looked like a mess; his eyeliner smeared, foundation sweated off, lipstick piled up.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t normally look like this,” Neil said, right in the middle of the hustle and bustle of backstage.
“Perhaps I should stand farther away,” Todd said. “You were really wonderful on stage.”
Neil liked Todd’s long shoulders that he kept back to keep his chest wide. But somehow, Todd always looked at people through his eyelashes. He didn’t keep his chin up, but his sly smirk had nothing to hide.
Todd liked Neil’s smile. He smiled like the sun. And that the world slowed down when Neil would laugh.
They spoke for a bit backstage, about poetry, about theatre, about New York. Eventually, Todd agreed to go back to Neil’s apartment for a drink. The cab ride over consisted of staring out the window and staring at the other man, occasionally looking at his hands.
To make a long story short, they hooked up that night.
And they moved in together a year later.
And a year after, Todd released a new poetry collection. Simply called Out, Todd chronicled a new perspective and experience through prose poetry. The poetry scene sat on the edge of their seats awaiting something new from Todd Anderson, and he knew eyes were on him. He thought, maybe, maybe, he could say that this new experience was Neil. Well, maybe not saying Neil’s name, but a man.
Interviews made Todd shake and sweat, learned from the constant stomachache he had from his first press tour. So, he let his literary agent answer questions, basically keeping the topic of the poems vague. Todd gave his agent, Jill, an idea of what she could say, and let her do the rest of the work.
It confused him when Neil came home with pure panic on his face. “Did you see what Jill said to the Times?” he asked, holding the paper in his hands.
Todd, with his feet up for the first time in a year, immediately felt his heart launch into his throat. He took the paper from Neil’s hand.
“It’s the last question,” Neil said, hands on his hips.
Q: Many readers of Anderson’s previous work believed that some of his poems were homoerotic in nature. And there are rumors that beta readers believe this collection is about a man. Is there any truth to that?
A: Absolutely not! No, Todd Anderson is not gay. I’ve known this young man for years, and I’ve never picked up an inclination from him. I would have never signed him if I knew he was. Besides, his work has never been of his own experience, rather the…
He couldn’t read anymore. That damn stomachache from his first press tour settled in his body. He crumpled the page in his hand and paced around the living room.
“I-I-I…” No words came out. “My work has never been my own…? I didn’t tell her to say any of this!”
“I figured,” Neil said. “You have to call her.”
“And say what?” Todd said, vibrating. His heart rate picked up with every second, and sweat already beaded down his face. “What about me do you think is heterosexual?”
Neil reached his hands out to get ahold of Todd, but he wouldn’t stand still. “Just tell her to rescind the comment. She can say there was a miscommunication—“
“She’ll never take the fall for that,” Todd said in a breath. “If she rescinds it, then people will know…” He voice trailed into an embarrassing whine and he stood still, focusing on not sobbing.
Finally, Neil pulled Todd into a warm hug. “I don’t want to tell you to tell the world you’re gay. And if you don’t want to, then don’t. But at the very least, you’ve got to drop Jill.”
“I can’t,” Todd said into Neil’s shoulder. “It’ll look… suspicious.”
Neil kissed Todd’s forehead, unsure of what else he could say. “Do you want people to know?”
“Know about what?”
“About us.”
Todd picked his head up to look at Neil’s face. He ran his pale, shaky fingers on Neil’s soft cheeks. “I wish I could scream about you from the rooftops of the world. I just… I won’t put you in danger. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you… And I don’t know if I want the world to know because… What we have is so special… I want to hide you because I’m selfish, not because we might get killed if I don’t.”
“Then hide because you’re selfish,” Neil whispered. “Tell the world that you’ve found someone who makes you happy beyond belief, but never let them know the secret.” Neil gave a deep, loving kiss, letting his lips sink into Todd’s. “I’ll support you in any choice you make, my love.”
Todd nuzzled his head into Neil’s shoulder again, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Can I say your name?”
“Sure, I don’t think anyone will be shocked that The Emcee is queer.”
Todd chuckled. Once he let go of Neil, he ripped the newspaper apart. “I was supposed to be on Peter Wood’s show tomorrow night,” he said, staring at the floor. “Think it’s too late to reschedule?”
~
The rumble of the crowd shook Todd’s chest in an unsettling fashion. His suit gripped him uncomfortably and he couldn’t get his tie straight, no matter how hard he tried. His throat swelled with nerves and he couldn’t breathe.
So, the typical stuff.
“Folks, our next guest has just released his second poetry collection, entitled Out, which has topped the bestselling charts. Please welcome, Todd Anderson,” Peter Wood announced.
Todd stepped onto the stage and didn’t look at the crowd. He kept his eyes on Peter, shook his hand politely, and made his way to his armchair. Immediately, he drank the water out of the mug, with his throat and lips drying up suddenly.
He knew Neil was watching the live tape at home right now. God, Neil. Probably curled up on the couch with that knitted blanket from his mom. Glass of wine dangerously close to the edge of their coffee table. In his pajamas, probably half awake. To climb on top of him and nuzzle my head into his chest…
“Todd, how are you doing tonight?” Peter asked, pulling Todd back into the studio.
“I’m great, and you?” Todd answered.
“I’m well, it’s great to have you on. Congratulations on this release.” Peter holds up the book for the camera to focus on. “Now, I gotta tell ya, and I thought this with your last book. I honestly thought poetry was on its way out. So enlighten me a bit. What keeps poetry in the charts?”
“Well, no art form really goes out of style,” Todd said. They rehearsed his part of the interview, so his anxiety subsided for a moment. “Except maybe fashion, but I obviously don’t know anything about that.”
The crowd laughed. These people laughed at every, so easy to please.
“But all art forms will always live. It’ll just come in different forms. I think in the last several years, we’ve seen music take on a more poetic theme. Even The Beatles are writing poetry in their music. They might not call it that, but that’s what it is. And… yeah, poetry will never go out of style. It’s a timeless art that will morph as time goes, and poets will morph along with them.”
“I mean, you speak poetry!” Peter said with a laugh.
Todd shook his head with a smile, trying to look humble. “Whenever people speak passionately about something, they always sound poetic.”
“Well said, well said,” Peter said. “So, can you give me an insight to what writing a poem is like? Because with novels, I get it. You have the story, then you write it. I imagine with poetry it’s different.”
Todd nodded. “Yeah, I envy novelists because they have a lot more patience than I do.”
That got a laugh from the crowd, but Todd didn’t know why.
“With poetry, I just… I have an observation or a topic or something or someone, and I string together words as best as I can to emulate the way I feel about it. I have a dictionary and a thesaurus on my coffee table just in case I need help.”
“Instead of other books, you have a dictionary and a thesaurus on your coffee table?”
“Really copies all over my apartment.”
The audience laughed.
“You never know,” Todd continued. “I might need another word for perfect when I’m in my kitchen.”
“You must get inspiration all over the place,” Peter said, “especially needing a thesaurus in the kitchen. So, I’m gonna ask you a bit of a softball question. What inspires you the most? Besides, sauces and seasonings.”
Todd rubbed the back of his neck. This is not as softball as you think. “I mean, everywhere, everything inspires me.”
Peter tilts his head with a smile.
“Ask a softball question, you get a softball question,” Todd said with a shrug, earning a hefty laugh from the crowd.
“No! Come on, what inspires you? Or may I ask, who inspires you?”
Todd’s eyes fell to the floor, and he couldn’t hold back a smile. “Well, I’ll tell you this much… I find most of my inspiration in love. Because outside of poetry, love is a universal language. So, when I’m in love, it’s easier to write. And it was easy to write this collection, because my love lies with a man.”
Silence. Pure silence swept through the studio.
Todd swallowed hard as he stared right back at Peter Wood. A hard realization hit Todd at that moment that he hadn’t told his mother about Neil.
“Now, I’m hoping this man knows you feel this way,” Peter joked.
“Yeah… well, I hope he does.” Todd smiled. “It would be awkward if my partner didn’t know.”
He and Peter chuckled, as did a few audience members.
“Do we know this man?” Peter asked. “I mean, what kind of person inspires poetry like yours?”
Todd pressed his lips together and nodded. “He’s a… performer.”
“Well, I’m sure he is, but who is he?” Peter quipped.
The crowd laughed, and the interview continued like normal.
~
Todd took a cab home, accompanied by the driver and the crescent moon. He shuffled his feet and shook his legs, looking out at the city lights. His stomach churned when he thought about Neil, what he was doing at home at that moment. Was he upset? Was he panicking? He better not be, because I am right now.
Somehow, Todd’s cab drove alone on the streets and he got home quick, so he couldn’t linger on those thoughts long. The apartment slept, completely dark and silent when Todd unlocked the door and entered. Somehow, the silence invited him behind the wall where his and Neil’s bed was tucked.
The thick comforter rolled around Neil’s shoulder, rising and falling with each deep breath. Todd stared at the peaceful sight for a moment, the perfection shaded from the nightlight. He couldn’t be bothered doing any part of his nighttime routine, so he just undressed down to his boxers and crawled into bed. He wrapped his arm around Neil and kissed the side of his head.
“You’re home,” Neil mumbled, happy and half-awake. He rolled over and clumsily wrapped his arms around Todd’s shoulders. “You were great tonight. You made me tear up a bit.”
“I thought I was gonna stroke out,” Todd laughed, “or have a heart attack, or whatever. I thought I was gonna die.”
Neil yawned. “Well, you didn’t, and we’re all very happy.” He pulled Todd closer so he didn’t have to pick up his head, and kissed him softly. “Are you nervous?”
“Neil, I love you,” Todd said, “I don’t care what news comes to me tomorrow. I have you, and that’s all I need.”
Smiling, Neil pushed Todd onto the bed and positioned himself over him, knees pressed against Todd’s hips. “I love you, dear.” He kissed the corners of Todd’s mouth. “I look forward to waking up next to you.” And he whispered something profane that shall stay private between the two of them.