"Mr. Kramer, we've all heard about Callaway's and Nike's endorsement offers. Have you decided which company you're going to take up with?"
The press conference had started. To Chas, they were all like miniature interrogations, for which reason he was glad to have Ferguson sitting there with him. Ferguson may have been as high-strung as a terrier, but he knew how to breeze over the tough questions.
"We've been in negotiations with the two companies," Chas answered the reporter. "But no decision has been reached yet."
Another reporter piped up. "Are you going to have the deal set in time for the Masters?"
"We're hoping to, yes."
"Are you going to train here, at your home course?"
"That's what I'd planned. My tutor is flying out here next week, and bringing his family. It's going to be a vacation for their kids, and they'll get to golf a lot with their father and I," Chas pointed out, and the press seemed to love that. They scratched away on their pads of paper, until another one raised his head to speak.
"How do you feel about William Dextera announcing that he'll be competing in the Masters?"
Chas looked over at Ferguson, who avoided meeting his gaze.
"I, uh…" Chas started weakly. "I wasn't aware that he'd decided to enter. But I wish him the best of luck, just as I would any other player."
Another reporter quickly butted in. "Sources say that you and Kenya Pennington are going to be presenting awards at the film festival next week. Is that true?"
Chas nodded. "Yes. Kenya and I will be presenters at the earthquake relief charity ball tonight, and we'll be presenting awards at the LA Film Festival on Friday."
"Are you going to caddie for her again this year at the celebrity tournament?"
"It's a little soon to say, sir, but I'm hoping to find time to do that."
"Are you two engaged?"
That question, called out from the back, momentarily knocked Chas off his usual rhythm of answering questions. "Excuse me?"
The reporter tapped the notepad in her hand. "I have sources that say that you and Miss Pennington are engaged to be married."
That caused a bustle among the reporters, all of them murmuring amongst themselves, and it took Chas a few moments to regain their attention.
"I can assure you, your sources are completely wrong. Miss Pennington and I have a purely platonic relationship, and no plans to take it any further," he said, loosening his collar a bit and shooting Ferguson a look. Ferguson gave him a helpless shrug, as if to say 'You got into that mess, you get out of it'.
The reporter gave Chas a smirk. "Then what accounts for the hickey on your neck? Or should I say, who?"
Chas felt the blood drain from his face, and he instinctively reached up to tug his collar up. Ferguson, by then, had taken to the reporter like a Doberman to roast beef.
"That question is disrespectful, uncalled for, and certainly none of your business. Mr. Kramer's personal life is just that, personal. I'd appreciate if you kept your questions restrained to the subjects pertinent to this press conference."
The press conference went on as scheduled, and Chas couldn't help but notice when two security guards escorted the intrepid reporter out the back door of the press tent.
"Chas, a hickey?" Ferguson snapped as they walked into the empty locker room of the clubhouse. "For God's sake, this is worse than that damned sweat suit! Do you realize how this is going to look on the evening news?"
"It's going to look like I'm a normal 21 year old, that's how it'll look," Chas muttered. "Come on, Ferguson, just because I don't have a girlfriend doesn't mean I don't have a libido. And why didn't you tell me Dextera was entering in the Masters?"
"That's beside the point. Necking with random strangers is not going to help your image, Chas."
"It wasn't a random stranger!"
"Was it Kenya?"
"No! For God's sake, leave Kenya out of it…"
"Then who?" Ferguson moved around in front of Chas, forcing the young man to look at him. "I can't defend you from these people unless I know the truth before they do!"
"It's my life, Ferguson, I don't have to get approval for who I make out with from you!"
"You're famous, Chas!" Ferguson snapped, poking Chas hard on the chest. "Sometimes I don't think you understand that America is watching your every move, all these kids copying your every movement. You wanted to golf, you're good at it, and some people spend their life trying to ruin people like you!"
Chas fell silent, wringing his golf towel in his hands. Ferguson sighed, and then continued.
"If this is anything bad, Chas, we need to get to it before they do. If you're a nymphomaniac, tell me now. If you're an alcoholic, tell me now. If you don't tell me, they're going to find out first, and then it's all over. Your image is half your career. Without it, you may as well be hitting that ball with a baseball bat."
Chas shook his head. "There's nothing to tell."
Ferguson snorted, his lips pursing, like he always did when Chas was frustrating him.
"Fine. Fine then. But don't blame me if pictures show up in the tabloids tomorrow of you with your tongue down some prostitute's throat!" He snapped, storming out of the locker room.
There's no way you can sugar coat the fact that I'm gay…and dating an exorcist twice my age, Chas thought bitterly, dropping down to sit on a bench and putting his face in his hands.
"I saw your press conference today."
Chas looked up, and was surprised to see Kenya there. She was early, as usual, and she looked stunning, wearing a crimson red strapless cocktail gown that matched his tie perfectly.
"You saw that disaster?"
Kenya laughed, and then stepped forward and began adjusting Chas's tie- he never could knot it right.
"It wasn't a complete disaster, Chas…but it was amusing. Who's the lucky girl?"
Chas grinned and winked. "You'd like to know, wouldn't you?"
"Tease."
"You know it."
Kenya peeked out onto the stage- people were mostly seated. It was almost time to start.
"Well, don't worry about it too much. That reporter was at my press conference an hour ago, asked the same question."
"And?"
"I told her that I didn't feel like repeating what she'd already heard."
Chas chuckled. "I don't know where they get this stuff. You and me? Engaged? That would be…"
"World War 3?"
"Exactly."
Kenya hesitated, the usually painfully outgoing girl momentarily speechless. "Chas…really. You've never kept anything from me, and you rarely keep things from your fans…"
Chas gave Kenya a weak smile. "There's a really good reason for it, Kenya. You know I hate not telling you stuff."
"You know you can always talk to me, right? I won't be mad or anything."
"Of course," Chas said, pulling Kenya into a tight hug, one hand in her soft, curly hair. "You're my best friend, Ken-doll."
"Don't call me that," Kenya said with a laugh.
"Alrighty, Ken-doll."
"Mr. Kramer, Miss Pennington…"
They broke apart to see an attendant standing there, and he gestured toward the stage.
"They're ready for you. As soon as you hear the music, go right ahead."
John got to Chas's apartment before him that night, and when Chas walked up, he was greeted with a magazine getting thrown in his face.
"Wha-" He started, grabbing at the magazine and turning it around. On the front was the picture of Chas and Kenya hugging backstage at the dinner- and below that, huge block letters that said "Engaged?"
"What the hell is that?" John asked, crossing his arms.
"It's not true," Chas said, sticking the magazine under his arm as he unlocked the door to his apartment.
"They have quotes in there, stuff about people who've heard you sayin' you were gonna marry her," John said, pointing to the magazine.
"And you believe them?" Chas asked. "Last time I checked, John, I was into cock. And I won't be the first to tell you Kenya does not have one."
John actually smiled at that; he couldn't help it. "But…"
"Listen, John," Chas said, pulling him into the apartment and shutting the door. "The press is desperate to hook me up with someone. Anyone. And since Kenya happens to be my best friend other than you, that's who they chose. That hug? That was a friend-to-friend thing."
John took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. "Alright, alright," he said, though he was still unsure deep down. He looked around, getting his first good look at the apartment.
"Damn…you live here?" He asked, staring at the widescreen TV, the suede furniture, and the huge picture windows overlooking the city. "…Why have we been having sex at my place?"
"I missed your place," Chas said, tugging playfully on John's tie. "It's cozy."
"I don't have a king sized bed with a pillow top mattress and feather pillows," John pointed out, looking over Chas's shoulder.
"I haven't even tried it out yet," Chas admitted, slipping John's tie off.
John looked down at Chas and smirked. "Sounds to me like we need to break it in." And distract me from the thought of you necking with that bimbo.
Chas returned the smirk, pulling John toward the bedroom. "I won't argue with that."
"Have you ever thought about…coming out? Telling people about me?"
Chas snuggled up closer to John, his head on the older man's chest, tugging the sheet up higher. John's hand slid up and down his back, comforting and gentle.
"As much as I'd love to, John…you realize what that would mean?"
It would mean everyone would stop playing matchmaker with you and these Hollywood whores. It would mean I could stand beside you and defend you at every turn.
"Yeah…I know. Career suicide."
Chas sighed, and leaned up to kiss John lightly on the lips. It had to be gentle- everything was sore from them making good use of Chas's bed.
"I love you. Even if nobody else knows."
John kissed the top of Chas's head, still rubbing the boy's back. Chas was right, and he knew it- admitting to a relationship with John would mean the end. It would mean hatred, loss of endorsements, everything.
He loved Chas too much to put him through that…but that didn't make this any easier to handle.