39. Kurt

The primary's in two days, and I'm looking at projections and data from mail-in ballots, and I don't have a snowball's chance of winning.

"I should concede," I tell Johnny. "I have to. I've been thinking about it, and I should."

I'm a failure. I'm an impostor. I'm never going to help people. I've got no life's work. All I'm ever gonna do is design junk mail.

"Why do you wanna quit now?" Johnny asks. "It's so close to the election."

"Because I'm not going to win, and this is stressing me out, and it's not actually what I want to do."

"I dunno 'bout the first one," he says. "But I don't like to see you stressed, and I definitely don't want you doing something you don't want to do. I'll support you, whatever you decide."

"I'm annoyed. Why isn't this easier?" I huff.

He grabs me and pulls me to him so my face is pressed against his hard collarbone and his big biceps hold me tight. "Because you're doing hard shit. If it were easy, everyone'd be doing it. They aren't. But that don't mean you have to."

"I'm trailing by twenty points. I'm not going to get elected without a miracle."

He leans back and puts a finger under my chin, his face full of concern. "Did I do this? Keep you from being elected? How much of this has been ‘Don't vote for Kurt, because he's fucking a porn star'?"

I don't want to lie to him. "Some of it. But fuck them. Fuck everyone who doesn't want to accept you."

"I dunno," he says. "You don't have to force your preferences down people's throats, either."

"Why do they think I'm doing that by just existing? For fuck's sake, I want to help people!"

"Maybe they don't trust your judgment."

"Ugh! I'm sure they don't trust my judgment, but I know what I'm talking about when it comes to public policy. Don't do bad shit that hurts people. It's pretty simple, really."

"I know, precious. I'm sorry. And I'm sorry if I made you lose the election."

"Don't be," I say fiercely. "I'd never trade these past few months with you. I'm just fucking disappointed that the world isn't the way I want it to be."

"That makes two of us," he says.

"Look." I blow out a breath. "I'm venting. I'm sorry for taking my frustration out on you. I can't change the world, even though I want to. I wish your former profession didn't matter to people, but it does. But that doesn't change how I feel about you."

Johnny nods. "I think, at this point, you might as well get through the election. See what happens. If you don't get elected, you concede like a gentleman and then go back to your graphic design job or go work for Weston Ramirez House. Sound like a plan?"

I shrug. "Yeah, I guess."

"Or you could just do your own art."

I stare at him. "I forgot about that."

He smiles at me and kisses me. "I didn't. Why don't we go for a walk? Get some fresh air."

"Yeah. That sounds good."

We put a leash on Lady and walk her along the beach. I don't feel better, exactly. But I feel heard, and in some ways, that's the same thing.

Two days later, on election night, I'm at a nearby hotel holding a press conference attended by a dozen or so reporters, plus Johnny, Sam, a few other friends, Paige, and some volunteers. My statement is brief: "I congratulate Herb Santangelo on his win tonight and look forward to voting for him in November. I want to thank everyone who voted for me and who supported me in this election. I'm now looking forward to having time to focus on other interests, including campaigning for my mother, Melissa Delmont, as she runs for president. And enjoying my marriage with John Haskell. I'm lucky to have him at my side every day. He's the best person I've ever met."

There's silence at first, which morphs into applause.

More important, I feel like applauding.

In a way, it's a relief that I lost. I talked myself into going into politics, but I never really had the drive to be a politician. I just felt like I had to do something meaningful with my life.

I might be able to give back more, though, in a different way.

And I'm fucking proud to have claimed Johnny publicly. I married a porn star. So what? I adore him.

Sam comes up to me when I step down from the podium. "Noah and August want to offer you the policy director job for Weston Ramirez House. The salary is low, but they'll add you to the office health insurance, and you get great benefits. Are you in? Do you need to do it part time, because of your day job?"

"I'll quit," I say without hesitation. "I'd love to be involved."

I've been getting out of bed for the election, and then to help Johnny.

But now I'm truly looking forward to a new challenge and the next phase in my life.

A few days later, Johnny and I get a video call we've been not-so-patiently waiting for.

"Okay, they're here!" May Ella whispers, her face in the camera as she walks to the front door of the house in Fresno and opens it. On the stoop are my momther and dad, smiling. "Hi! Come on in! So nice to meet you. Mama and I are so happy y'all took the time to come by."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, May, as well," Momther says.

"Kurt and Johnny are here," May says, holding up the phone.

"We didn't want to miss this," I explain.

"Wonderful," Momther says. She follows May Ella into the living room where Sue Ann stands.

The camera gets shaky, but the look on Sue Ann's face is one I'll never forget—a softness combined with an irrepressible smile. Her eyes well with tears, and she holds out her hands. "So you're Melissa."

Momther walks right over and hugs her so tight Sue Ann lets out a little gasp. "You're going to get better," Momther—err Mom—says. "You have a lot of living to do."

May bursts into tears, and even Dad seems to be rubbing at his eyes.

"Thank you," Sue Ann says. "You have no idea how much I will be in your debt."

"No debt," my mom says. "Family takes care of each other."

"Would anyone like some iced tea?" May Ella asks, and they settle in to make plans for the surgery. After a bit, Johnny and I sign off.

I kiss him. "That went well."

He whistles. "It's amazing."

A few weeks later, I'm sitting in the Santa Monica Courthouse with Johnny as the lawyers ask questions of potential jurors. All of us are dressed up in suits, Johnny included. Danny and August look stylish and competent, but there's tension at the edges of their eyes. The stress of prepping for trial is surely getting to them.

I know it's gotten to Johnny. I wish I could do more to help him. He's been waking up with nightmares again, and I don't know if it's from remembering the event or from anticipating the trial. There's just so much uncertainty.

"No matter what happens," I whispered to him last night, "you're getting a chance to tell your truth. It's important that you do this."

"I guess," he said, sounding unconvinced.

"No, it is," I insisted. "And you know it."

It takes an inordinately long time to pick a jury, and when the judge announces a short break, Johnny murmurs, "I don't think I'm imagining the amount of weird looks and open hostility I'm getting."

Unfortunately, I think he's right. "I don't think they like Gary much, either, so at least that's a plus," I say.

"Hmm. Could be."

Gary Pinkerton can't seem to keep his mouth shut, no matter how many times his lawyers shush him. If I want to strangle him, I can't imagine what Johnny wants to do to him.

"Either way, this is going to be hard on them. We're taking them away from their lives so that they can decide your case."

"Now I feel even worse."

"No," I say. "This is how our society works. Jury service isn't fun, but it's an important civic duty."

"I s'pose."

The day gets worse, though, when we hear each side's opening statement describing the case and what the jury is going to hear. Listening to Danny outline what happened to Johnny is awful. It's even worse when the defense gets up and lays into Johnny, portraying him as a greedy porn star who complains about having to do his job.

Regardless, at the end of the day, I gather Johnny up in a hug. "You're doing the right thing. You've got this."

I'm worried about him, though. This is going to be a rough ride.

A little while after we arrive home, there's a knock on the door, and I accept a fragrant bag stamped with the name of Johnny's favorite barbecue place.

"I thought you'd want some comfort food after being in court all day," I say, after the delivery guy leaves.

Johnny looks like he wants to cry. Instead, he grabs me, holding me tight. "Thank you. That's mighty thoughtful of you."

Around two in the morning, Johnny starts thrashing and screaming like he did the first night here.

I don't want to touch him until he wakes up and knows where he is, so I turn on the bedside lamp and gently call his name.

"The system. It's letting me down," he whispers, holding me tight.

"The only way out is through," I whisper back.

"I have all these fucking thoughts," he says. "Like I want to go find the gun."

Panic hits me hard, even though I know the gun is safely locked up. "Thank you for telling me, but I'm not going to let you do that. Can you please promise me you'll stay alive for the next twenty-four hours?"

"Yeah, precious. I promise."

"Do we need to stop the trial and send you to the hospital?"

"No," he whispers.

"Would you tell me if the answer was yes?"

Johnny pauses, then says, "Yeah. I would."

"Thank you. I'm proud of you. And I'm so proud of you for going through with this trial. I'll be with you every step of the way."

The next day, Friday, it's his turn to testify, and whenever his lawyers aren't asking him questions, his eyes are on me. It takes a long time for him to get through the story, with a lot of objections from the other side. But eventually it's done.

When the defense cross-examines him, Johnny's forced to describe his other sexual experience where he was on the bottom—it's been fifteen years, he says. Pinkerton Studios' trial lawyers treat him like he's lying about everything, and every question is delivered with attitude. I guess Johnny's attorneys got the judge to throw out some of Pinkerton's defenses and an entire bullshit lawsuit they brought against Johnny, but even with the defense attorneys reined in, it's still painful to watch.

I sit in the audience and watch, trying to send him strength through the power of my mind. I wish I could leave, because hearing him describe how he felt when he was helpless breaks my heart. But I would never abandon him like that.

Next they play the tape.

"I know it's rough," Danny said to us when we discussed this before the trial. "But it's direct evidence of what was done to Johnny. I think it's what will persuade the jury. If you really don't want us to show it, we won't, but I think you'll have a better chance of winning the case with it. Without it, you're more likely to lose, I'm sorry to say. The choice is yours."

Johnny said yes.

The court closed the courtroom to the public, given the sensitive nature of the video, but as the plaintiff's husband, I was allowed to stay.

Seeing the recording is so much worse than hearing Johnny talk about it. He didn't repeat all the horrible things the men said while they violated him. He didn't say how much blood was running down his legs. He didn't talk about the extent of his humiliation.

I'm so frozen with horror that I only realize I'm crying when tears drip down my neck and wet the collar of my dress shirt.

If Johnny was feeling suicidal last night, I can't imagine how desperate he is now.

I'm not letting him out of my sight.