8. Kurt

Ireach out and take one of Johnny's hands. Fuck, what do I do? Is this all stemming from desperation over his mother, or is there something else wrong? I have no idea.

One thing's for sure: He's going to need help beyond what I can offer, professional help. But I can stay with him until he gets it.

We sit, silent, for long moments, because what the hell do you say to someone with the means and the intent to kill himself, who thinks the world will be better off if he's not here? He's wrong, of course, but I don't know how to convince him of that. I'm a graphic designer and a senatorial candidate, not a therapist.

But. I can't mess this up.

I'm not missing anything this time. I thought I was doing the right thing with Andrei—I thought I cared, thought I was helping. I never believed he'd go through with it.

I learned I can never know what's going on inside someone else's head. They may seem like everything is okay, and it could be the furthest thing from the truth.

Johnny's my responsibility now.

Nausea threatens to swamp me, but I have to get control of the situation and make good decisions.

"Do you think that your mom would want you to stay alive?" I ask.

"I'm worth more dead than alive," he mutters.

If I'm hurting at hearing him say that—and more importantly, believe it about himself—I wonder how much pain he's in?

"Did you see if you could be a donor?" I ask, thinking he could get over the list issue while we deal with insurance.

"Not a match." His voice sounds hollow.

"How far?" I swallow hard. "How far along on this plan were you? Besides getting the pills. Did you do anything else?"

Again, Johnny looks at me for a long time before answering. "I moved out of my apartment. Got rid of my truck, sold all my shit, and put almost all the money in an account for my mama. She'll be set for a long time. I spent most of the last of my own money last night on booze. I recorded a message for my fans and had it ready to go live on Ad/VICE after things were done." He coughs. "Mind, I just deleted it, so at least there won't be a big fuss over me faking my death. I had it all arranged so she'd know what to do. All the information she'd need to collect on my life insurance. So she could finally be healthy. It's all in an email I was going to send after I took the pills. I wrote her a note. And the obituary: ‘John H. Haskell was born in Odessa, Texas. Attended high school in Fresno, California. Became a porn star in the San Fernando Valley. And died in Las Vegas, Nevada, saving his mama.'"

His words make my eyes burn and my insides clench. Johnny has some serious mental health issues that I don't know how to fix.

But I can keep him in my sight at all times until I can get him help.

"I'm so damn sorry you feel that bad," I reply unsteadily, knowing that my words are utter crap but not knowing what else to say. "Have you talked with anyone about it?"

Johnny shakes his head. "Ain't nobody's business."

"Don't you have any friends who'd want to know what's going on?"

He scoffs. "I have a lot of acquaintances, and some friends, but there ain't no one I'd trust telling this to."

Okay, then.

Johnny's health crisis is fucking immediate. And it sounds like he has no support system. I find that hard to believe, but sometimes people who are popular are just as lonely as those on the fringe. Or maybe he's isolated himself.

My phone rings, and I send it to voicemail. I square my shoulders and make a decision. Because of course I still want to be a politician and am going to run my campaign and do all the things I said I was going to do—I'm not giving up on the election—but Johnny's mine. I couldn't bear it if this beautiful man killed himself.

And he's my husband. Whether or not we were in any shape to make that kind of decision last night, whether or not we want it to be true long-term, right now my heart is telling me that means I get to keep him. He's also my responsibility—morally, and likely legally.

"Did you keep a copy of the video on your phone?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"May I see it?"

Silently, Johnny opens his phone, scrolls, and hands me his phone open to a video. I hit play.

Johnny's sitting in this hotel room wearing his white cowboy hat and tuxedo from last night. The vase of pink roses is to his side. He clears his throat.

"Hey, y'all. I wanted to hop on this here social media and let all y'all fans know how much I appreciate you. Tonight I got a lifetime achievement award, and I owe it all to you. You gave me a career, and with that career, you made it possible for me to help my sweet mama." He blinks and looks to the side. "She's real sick, though. She's been sick for a long time, and while my sister and I try to help her, it ain't been enough. I wanted y'all to know how grateful I am for everything you've done. Because of you, I was able to buy a life insurance policy years back, and it has enough on it to pay for my mama to get better. I'm gonna take care of her now. Just … thanks to all y'all for everything. Be good to each other. Goodbye."

My eyes burn, and I feel sick. I hand the phone back to him.

"Can I ask you something?" I say quietly, squeezing his knee.

"Sure." He says it easily, but he wrinkles his nose.

I look into his pretty eyes, and he slumps in his seat and covers his face with his hands. I want to hold him, but I'm afraid it might not be welcome. "Would you come back to California and stay with me for a while?"

Dropping his hands, Johnny stares at me as if I've told him he should be the one running for office. Finally, he says, "Thanks for the invitation. That's mighty kind of you. But no."

My phone rings again. "Fuck," I mutter. "I'm sorry. They aren't going to go away unless I take this." Johnny makes a waving, go-ahead motion, and I feel shitty, because he's more important than my campaign manager. "What?" I hiss. "This better be essential."

Paige hisses back, "What did you do?"

I stay silent, trying to figure out what, exactly, she's referring to.

"The news is all over social media. ‘Senatorial candidate marries porn star.' Really, Kurt? Really?"

Oh, god. But that isn't the most important issue at the moment.

"We'll have to deal with it later," I snap. "I can't talk right now."

"Don't hang up?—"

I hang up.

"I'm sorry," I say to Johnny. "But?—"

"You don't have to apologize for answering the phone," Johnny says. "But I'm not going with you." His jaw is set.

I scoot nearer to him. "I'm afraid I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Too bad, darlin'. It's not your decision."

My hand goes to my hip. "It kind of is my decision, because you're my fucking husband, and apparently that fact is all over social media."

Johnny's face blanches, and he stands, pointing to the door. God, he's glorious—bare chested, in cutoff gray sweats and nothing else. His tone is firm. "I think you should go."

I stand, too, and cross my arms over my chest, feeling ridiculous with no pants on. "No."

"Anyone ever tell you that you're pushy?" he says.

I take a step closer. "All the time."

We stare at each other in a standoff.

He chuckles mirthlessly and turns his head to the side. "Why do you even care what I do?"

"For fuck's sake, I can't let you kill yourself!" With a finger under his chin, I turn his face back to me and give him a weak smile. "Besides, you're my husband now. You're mine to look out for."

"Oh, no," Johnny says. "No, that's not okay?—"

"Babe," I say, the endearment coming out naturally, since he is a babe. Since I like him. Since I want him to feel better. Since I ache for him. "That's not going to cut it. While you're like this, I'm not letting you out of my sight. You're not taking your life on my watch. We'll find another way to get your mom help." My voice is pleading. "I promise you."

Johnny opens his mouth like he wants to argue with me, but he holds his hands out helplessly. "I can't," he whispers.

I want to push him. I'm gonna push him. But I have to do this delicately, because the last thing I want is for him to storm off and shut me out. Or … finish things.

Yes, I barely know him, but it doesn't matter. He's my husband, at least for now. It's my job to keep him alive, at a minimum. And I've never been satisfied with doing the minimum. "You said it yourself: You sold all your possessions, right? And you gave up your lease?"

"Yeah," he says slowly. "It was just an old apartment in the Valley. Nothin' special."

"Then come home with me. I recently moved to the Palisades, and the condo has enough room for both of us. We can find you a place to go where you can get some treatment?—"

"I ain't got medical insurance?—"

"I do. I work at a big graphic design firm. And we're married," I remind him—which reminds me. "My friend was telling me how one of his coworkers married a guy to get him health insurance. The same thing can work here."

He holds up his hands. "I can't take advantage?—"

"And I can't have your death on my conscience, John Huckleberry Haskell," I say fiercely. I squint at him. "Is that really your middle name?"

Johnny shrugs and looks fondly into the distance. "Mama's a character."

"Well, good. Fine. But…" My voice drops. "Will you do it? Will you come stay with me? Just for a little while. We can work out the details of everything else later."

Johnny looks over at the pill bottles on the bed. We're gonna have to get rid of those, stat. And anything else that he could use to self-harm. Shit …

"Where's your gun," I demand.

Johnny doesn't pretend not to know what I'm talking about, and to my relief, he doesn't argue about it. He points to the holster that's under his suit jacket. I take it and hold it on my lap for now. I don't know what the hell I'm going to do with it.

"Was the gun for …" I ask.

"Plan B," he says. "Well, also plan A."

I want to ask, but I think I can guess.

"Why?" Johnny asks again.

"Why what?"

"Why do you care?"

The forlorn note in his voice makes my eyes sting. "Because every human life matters. That's why we send massive search parties to find children who get lost in the woods. We care. Your life has value, Johnny. I'm going to show that to you." I blink. "But this isn't about some human in the abstract. It's you. You matter, Johnny. You've affected so many people you don't even know."

"I'm just porn."

"No one is ‘just' their job. And besides, that's a very judgmental attitude, Mr. Haskell," I say, my tone snippy, though I hope he can hear the teasing in it as well. "Sex has an important place in the lives of most adults. Don't let the haters shame you for providing a service. Don't let them make you doubt your self-worth."

I'm not sure where the soapbox I'm standing on right now came from, but apparently it's what Johnny needed to hear, because he's looking at me with soft eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, but then he closes it and looks around the hotel room, clearly defeated. Moments pass while he bites his lip. I keep my attention focused on him.

"Do you think you're depressed?" I ask.

"I dunno. I've been going about my days just fine." He winces. "Or as fine as I'll ever get. There's no other choice if I'm going to take care of my mama."

"There is a choice. Let me help you. We'll figure out a way to get her the money she needs. I have to fundraise anyway, for my campaign. I'll talk with the promoters and see what we might be able to do." I tilt my head. "How much are we talking about, anyway?"

He tells me, and my chest constricts. "I have that in my bank account. It's yours."

"I'm not gonna let you give my mama your life savings."

"It's family money," I correct. "And even if you won't let me pay for all of it, I can do something. Does she need surgery this very minute? Is she in a lot of pain?"

"It can wait a little. It's more a quality-of-life thing right now. I just want her better."

"Okay," I say. "We'll make that happen. Just come home with me."

Johnny drags his nails down his cheeks and then curls his arms over his face, shaking his head. My heart breaks a bit more for him.

"Let me get you some help. And let me figure out a solution for your mom."

"What are you going to get out of this?"

"Besides the satisfaction of helping a fellow human being?" I say. Besides not wanting you to be another Andrei?

He nods.

A thought crosses my mind, but I don't want to voice it, because it would make it sound like I think this situation is transactional, which it most definitely is not.

But I like Johnny a lot, and I really wouldn't mind banging this beast of a porn star—my all-time favorite.

That's minor, though. It's obviously more important to help him and his family. If I never touch him, because it's not what he needs, I'll fully respect that.

"That satisfaction is enough," I finally say. "And you matter to me."

He gazes at me. I think he's going to nod, but he doesn't.

Then something else dawns on me, and I don't feel guilty using it to manipulate him, because Johnny doesn't seem to be motivated to save himself. Saving me, on the other hand… that might work.

"And there's another thing to consider, husband." I emphasize the word. "It's bad enough for my political career that I drunk-married a porn star. How much worse would it be if said porn star killed himself the next day?"

Johnny's jaw drops, and his hand cups his mouth. "Shit," he mutters.

"Yeah. Shit." I look at him, crossing my arms over my chest. "And my mom's going to run for president. How's it going to look for her?"

He closes his eyes. "Goddamn."

"Right. So come with me for a little bit, at least. I mean, you gotta help me, man. I can't deal with this by myself."

Johnny swallows hard and nods.

The lightness in my chest makes me feel like I won something major. Maybe I did.

"Cool," I say faintly. "So now what do we do?" I shouldn't be asking him. I should be taking care of him. He's at the end of his rope, and I need to not put any additional demands on him right now.

"Um. I'll get dressed, and then we can?—"

There's a knock on the door.

"Breakfast is here," Johnny says. "Maybe we start with that."

As I watch my tall, handsome husband open the door for room service, I question how I'm going to deal with this. I was already overstretched, with work and the campaign.

But this isn't optional. I can take on something else when it's as important as this is.

As he is.