“Don’t tell me you’re too busy. We both know the old man can spare us both for a few days.” Paul stepped closer and lowered his voice. “We genuinely enjoy your company, you know. And to be honest, we worry about you a little. You shouldn’t be spending Christmas alone… unless you really want to, of course.”
Frank fought hard to not let tears fall. He swallowed a few times and looked down, needlessly rearranging his drawings before returning them to the portfolio. He didn’t look up when he spoke. “What if I was….” Jesus, he couldn’t say it. Just couldn’t. “If I wasn’t normal? Would you still want me around?”
A heartbeat or two later, Paul settled a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “I don’t even know what normal is, or whether it’s necessarily all that great. But I do know that you’re a good person, Frank. And you’re our friend. That’s what matters.”
God damn it, now he really was going to cry. He deliberately put some extra weight on his bum leg as a distraction. “What if…. What if someday I showed up with… someone?”
“I’ve told you already. Bring someone. We’ll always have room for you and whoever you want to bring.”
Frank looked up and caught his gaze. “Even if I bring a man?”
Instead of recoiling, Paul smiled. He didn’t even pull his hand away. “Bring whoever’s important to you. Let us judge whether they’re good enough for you.”
“I’m not….” Frank took a shuddering breath. “I don’t think I’m ready. And there’s nobody….” Because surely by now the previous day’s spell had been broken and Carver would have moved on. “I have some things for all of you in my car. Give me a call before you leave today and I’ll walk out and transfer them to yours.”
“Okay. Sure.” Paul patted his shoulder, winked, and left the room.
Alone, Frank briefly sagged against the wall, cane in one hand and portfolio in the other. He’d just admitted a fundamental truth about himself. It was the first time he’d said it—even obliquely—to anyone who wasn’t also queer. And Paul had taken it in stride. Hell, he’d hinted around before, so he likely already knew and was simply waiting for Frank to say something.
It didn’t really change anything, though. Frank’s hopes were as unattainable as ever. But it felt good nonetheless, a burden lightened.
He whistled “I’ve Got a Crush on You” as he walked to the animation building.
CHAPTER 7
Apparently word of the storyboard meeting had already spread, and there was a small commotion as Frank walked to his desk. A few guys whistled or catcalled, and a few tossed wadded paper in his direction. Grinning, Frank struck a pose. He knew this was nothing but harmless ribbing, a common event whenever one of the animators fell into particular favor or scored some minor coup.
His fingers itched to get started, but Sylvia was peering at him through the glass wall of her small office. So he dropped off his portfolio, gave a jaunty salute to the room at large, and knocked on her door.
As soon as he was inside, she pointed at the empty chair. “Sit.”
He suppressed a sigh of relief at taking the weight off his feet. “Thanks again, Sylvia.” He rested the cane across his knees. It was a serviceable walking stick but not fancy, and it was starting to look a little beat-up. Maybe he should retire it and get a nicer one.
“You did a good job in there,” she said. “You kept it short and sweet. The old guy likes that. But you also… your passion for the project showed, and he likes that too.”
“I want it to be a good film.”
“I know.” She stood and walked to the glass wall, where she spent a few moments fussing with the blinds. Frank had been in this office many times, but he looked around again at the drawings that covered the walls, the reference books piled haphazardly on a shelf, the collection of papers and art implements on the desk. It wasn’t orderly, but it had a good lived-in feel, as if Sylvia truly loved the space and enjoyed being there. He wondered whether she’d allow him to draw her in here. He’d ask after the film was complete.
Eventually, Sylvia returned to her seat. “You gave me credit for bringing in Carver,” she said.
“Well, it was your idea. One that I complained about at the time. But you were right and I was wrong.”
“I’m always right. You found Carver inspiring, huh?”
Don’t blush, goddammit. “It’s like you said. Getting to know him meant I could put a lot more of him into his character.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I appreciate you giving me credit. A lot of people wouldn’t have. A lot of men wouldn’t have.”
Frank, who was uncertain what she was getting at, shrugged. “Seemed the decent thing to do,” he mumbled. He liked Sylvia but was uncomfortable with her current sharp attention. She was an animator too; what did she see in him?
After a pause, she made a little snorting sound. “When I was first hired here, women weren’t allowed to be animators. Ink and Paint was our only place, unless we wanted to be secretaries. Back then the animation department was much bigger than it is now, and the studio would place ads looking for young men. If a woman dared to apply, she was rejected outright.”
“Today we have a few, but still not many.” Frank did a quick mental count. “Just five. But we have a woman as our boss.” He smiled at her.
“You do. But I was an ink girl first, because at least it was something, and I had bills to pay. Just like the boys do. I worked damned hard too. And every now and then, I’d send a few of my own drawings to the old man, just so he could see what I could do. And one day he gave in and moved me over here. I’ve done my best to make sure he never regrets that.”
Still unsure where the conversation was going, Frank nodded. “I bet he never has. You’re a hell of a good artist. And you keep us in line pretty well, too.”
