Undercover and Overwhelmed

The next day Lassiter stood in the lobby of the Pacific Pride Foundation in the Plaza Industria. He perused the bulletin boards, reading the announcements for the Pride BBQ, transgender support group, HIV-positive speaker’s bureau, and a workshop on financial planning for same-sex couples. He took a brochure for an event at the Montecito Country Club called Get Out and Golf. As he read about the event he suddenly became aware that someone was standing very close behind him.

“Hey Lassipants,” Shawn’s voice rang out. “We do keep running into each other, don’t we? It’s like fate!”

Or like stalking.

“So what brings you to this oasis of gayness?” Shawn asked, smiling up at him.

Lassiter sighed. Spencer obviously wanted to talk and wasn’t about to stop following him until they had. He was pretty sure there was a “let’s just be friends” conversation in their future, although he didn’t know if he was supposed to be on the giving or the receiving end of it.

“If you must know,” he said, “I’m here to sign up for GORN.”

“Gorn? Wasn’t that the big lizard guy that Kirk fought on Star Trek? Here’s a tip: that collar they make you wear is really a translator. Gorn hears everything you say. Also, don’t try to make a rocket launcher. Mythbusters already proved that you’d get hurt more than he would.”

“GORN stands for Gay Outdoor Recreation Network. They’re doing a weekend retreat at Casa de Orgullo. I’m joining so I can investigate some thefts. It’s called building a cover. If you were a real detective you’d know that.”

“Are you sure that fighting to the death isn’t one of the activities. Have you asked?”

“Why are you here, Spencer?”

“I was hoping we could talk.”

“Talk.”

“Yes. About this thing,” he moved his hands back and forth, “between us.”

Lassiter furrowed his brow for a moment and thought. Maybe it would be better to get this conversation over now. Otherwise there was no telling where Spencer would show up.
“Okay,” he capitulated. “Let’s talk.”

“Sweet! There’s a bar around the corner,” Shawn said. “Let’s have a few drinks and clear the air.”

The lounge had white stucco walls blending smoothly into molded seating. It was lit by low watt bulbs and candles in glass cubes. It was almost deserted, so early in the day.

“I like this place,” Shawn said. “It’s like someone hollowed out a gigantic Mentos.”

Lassiter bought them two exorbitantly priced cranberry juices. There was no way he was going to be intoxicated around Spencer again any time soon. He led the way to a plush padded bench in a dim corner. Shawn crowded in close to him and put an arm along the bench behind Lassiter’s back. It was one of the car seat seduction moves Lassiter had learned in high school, and it felt strange to be on the other side of it.

“Relax,” Shawn said, seeing the look of alarm on his face. “I’m not going to try to undress you here in the bar.”

“As long as we’re clear on that.” Lassiter let Shawn’s arm stay where it was.

“Hey, for the record, you were the one who kissed me.”

“I was high.” Lassiter whispered it, feeling both ashamed and apologetic.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t.” Shawn took a belt of his cranberry juice, as if to fortify his courage.

“You were the one who wanted to go on a date.” Lassiter thought about Shawn’s suggestion that they go to paintball. As much fun as the idea sounded, it would have been a date. A date-date. With a man. And that opened a whole other can of worms: giant, career-eating worms.

“And how do you think it felt when you didn’t call?” Shawn asked. “If my self esteem wasn’t as healthy as it is I’d have been home all week listening to White Town and crying.” The tone of his voice was light, but he suspected that Shawn wasn’t entirely joking.

“Can’t it just go back to how it was?” Lassiter looked into his drink instead of at Shawn.

“You mean with me coming on to you and your repressed homosexuality responding with violence and threats? I was really hoping we could move forward a little.”

Lassiter couldn’t help but wonder how seriously he should take Shawn’s apparent sexual interest. What if this is this all some kind of a prank on Spencer’s part?

“What’s the deal with you, Spencer?” he asked in his best serious voice. “You date girls. I’ve seen them. Hell, you’ve been all over O’Hara since the day you met. But now you’re acting like I’ve stood you up for the senior prom.”

“I’m pretty sure the richies just pressured you into that,” Shawn said, grinning at him. “You believed in me, you just didn’t believe in you.”

“Be serious here, Spencer.”

“I suppose it could be worse. You could have compared me to Duckie. Although he does get Kristy Swanson at the end. I thought she got a raw deal from the critics over Buffy The Vampire Slayer. That movie wasn’t so bad.”

“Try to stay on topic here, Spencer. What’s the deal with you? Are you gay? Have the women just been some kind of smokescreen?”

“I don’t flirt with people I don’t like, Lassie. I’m not crazy about labels, but if I had to pick one I’d say I’m queer.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.” As far as Lassiter was concerned, there was something extremely queer about Spencer. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not gay.” Although he agreed with the statement he was becoming painfully aware that his definition of ‘not gay’ was getting more and more flexible as time went on, and had begun to include things that he suspected were, if viewed objectively, extremely gay.

“I don’t care if you like boys or girls, Lassie. I only care if you like me. Although if we start dating I’ll probably think of you as gay by proxy.”

“That makes no sense, Spencer.”

“Sure it does.”

“I don’t think you understand what proxy means.”

“Of course I do. It’s how Lori Beth married Ritchie without having to go to Greenland. But enough about that. Let’s talk about us again.”

Shawn shifted on the bench and his leg touched Lassiter’s and stayed there. Even this minimal contact of arm and thigh seemed to fill Lassiter’s brain, blocking out all other thought. He didn’t know if he should pull away or enjoy it while it lasted. Lassiter sighed. When he’d been high, the sexual component of their physical interactions had seemed so obvious. Since the pot had worn off he’d been second-guessing everything. Yet part of him still held a lingering certainty that he and Spencer had been coming on to one another since the beginning.

“What is it you want from me, Shawn? Because if you want us to be dating, it’s not going to happen.”

“Is that why you haven’t been around the station?” Shawn shifted gears.

“How would you know?” Lassiter asked. “You haven’t been there at all.” Even to his ears, it sounded like an accusation.

“See, there’s this little invention called the telephone. I called Jules and she told me that you’d hardly been there all week. She’s working that smash and grab all alone.”

“I’ve been out on cases.” It was true, even if it was a lie.

Lassiter could feel Shawn’s eyes drilling into him, but he fought the urge to meet his gaze. That led to…things. And while his body seemed enthusiastic, his mind wasn’t anywhere near comfortable with it.

“So if I said you’d been avoiding me, you would deny it?”

“I’m not avoiding you,” he lied again.

How can I avoid you? You’re there every time I close my eyes. He couldn’t forget how intimate it had felt, standing naked in his bathroom, just looking at Spencer. There was no denying that Shawn saw him in a way other people didn’t.

“Is it about the brownies? Because I was just kidding about telling Vick.”

“Really?” Lassiter asked. His voice was cold, but his body felt flushed. “Because it seems like just the kind of thing you’d do. You’ve been undermining me at work since I met you.”

“Well to be fair,” Shawn said, “you did try to have me arrested.” He smiled his best carefree grin. “Did you see those guys in holding? They looked ready to practice their prison dating skills. And frankly, I prefer my men in blue rather than orange.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Lassiter said. He stirred his drink with the tiny plastic straw. “I didn’t know you then.”

“And you know me now, but you still think I’d get you fired?” Shawn shifted on the bench so he was facing him. He took another gulp of cranberry.

“No, I guess not.” Lassiter set the glass down on the table and leaned back on the bench. Sitting there now, the idea seemed ridiculous. Spencer had helped him hide the incident from O’Hara and McNabb. He was 99% sure that he wasn’t going to tell anyone. But if he were honest about it, his Spencer-related fears didn’t have much to do with work.

Shawn gently lifted Lassiter’s jaw up so that their eyes met. Lassiter tried to shut him out, but found his resolve melting.

“I would never hurt you, Lassie.”

Shawn’s hand, which had been resting behind Lassiter’s back, came up and ran lightly over the short hairs on the back of his head. Lassiter could smell Shawn’s musky scent, and feel the strength in his arm and the heat from his leg. The invitation to take it further was clear, but Lassiter held back.

We can’t always have what we want, he reminded himself. Especially when what we want would ruin everything we already have.

Shawn, sensing that the other man wasn’t going to meet him half way, pulled back slightly, and his hand dropped from Lassiter’s head. For a brief moment, Lassiter felt overwhelmed with disappointment.

As if he had read his mind, Shawn muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “fuck it,” and surged forward. He grabbed Lassiter’s head in both hands, and kissed him, hard and fast and wet. Shawn’s lips were soft and he tasted like cranberry juice.

Immediately, their kiss in his bathroom returned to Lassiter’s mind with razor sharp detail. He raised a hand and cupped Shawn’s unshaven jaw. He pulled back just enough to look Shawn in the eyes. It was still there, pot or no pot. The arousal, coupled with the intense intimacy, was overwhelming. All his anxieties and fears were being drowned. He could see himself taking this further. Maybe further than Shawn expected.

That can’t happen.

Lassiter pulled back. “This can’t happen,” he said, his voice rough and breaking.

“Sure it can. Look, it’s happening now.” Shawn leaned in again and put a hand on Lassiter’s thigh.

Lassiter turned his head away and tried to catch his breath. Escape! His brain screamed at him. Get far, far away, before it’s too late. And if Shawn’s hand were to move a few more inches to the right it would definitely be too late.

“Look Shawn,” he said. “I’m not going to pretend there isn’t something here.” His voice felt like it was speaking without him as his words over-rode all his feelings for his own good. “But it can’t happen between us. This…it’s not who I am.” He stood, then grabbed his glass and downed the remainder of his drink, trying to wash away the memory of Spencer’s mouth.

“Carlton—” Shawn said his name, and Lassiter could feel a torrent rising in his chest.

“I’ve got to go. I’m really sorry.” He turned to leave.

“Let me give you some advice,” Shawn, smiling, put a hand on his arm.

Lassiter hardened his voice, trying to recapture the emotional distance they’d had before drugged brownies and kisses in bathrooms and dim bars.

“Advice is on the list of things I will not accept from you, Spencer.” He turned and walked across the empty dance floor, toward the exit.

“What about head?” Shawn called out loudly after him. “Is that on the list too?”

***

Shawn and Gus were sitting at their desks in the Psych office, each staring at a computer screen. Gus was reading an article about prescription drug interactions with herbal remedies in transplant patients and Shawn was looking at the webpage for the Casa de Orgullo.

“I am not going to a gay resort,” Gus said. “You can forget about that plan.” He refused to look up from his computer, but he knew that Shawn was making the wistful puppy face.

“Come on! It’ll be fun. Remember how great Camp Tikihama was? It’ll be like that but with better décor, more interesting craft projects and fewer fart-lighting accidents.”

“I never engaged in fart lighting,” Gus said, defensively. “And that fire wasn’t my fault.” He turned back to his computer. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“And I’d rather be solving mysteries with a glamorous fashion model, but we can’t all be Bruce Willis.”

“Bruce Willis? Please. I remember high school. You wanted to wear a white sport coat, live on a sailboat and have a pet alligator. Besides, you know you never watched Moonlighting.”

“I caught a few episodes in Brazil. There they call it A Gata e o Rato.”

“You didn’t miss much. It went downhill after they slept together. And it really jumped the shark when she got pregnant in season four.”

“You’re right. Let’s focus on our trip to Casa de Orrrrrgullo.” He rolled his Rs. “You can’t say no. Jules is going to be there.”

“She is?” Gus looked up from his article.

“Yep. And she’s pretending to be a lesbian. Say it with me. Lezzzzbian. Maybe she’ll have to kiss a girl to keep her cover. Could you really forgive yourself if you missed it? Does your phone have the ability to shoot video? Cause mine just takes pictures.”

“You’re not fooling anybody, Shawn.” Gus turned back to his article. “I’m on to you.”

“No, see, you don’t get it.”

“Oh I get it,” Gus interjected. “This has nothing to do with Juliet. You just want to see Lassiter undercover as a gay guy. It’s not going to happen between you two. The sooner you accept that the sooner we can go back to normal.”

“Things are perfectly normal now.” Perfectly normal, that is, if you didn’t count the kissing and Lassiter’s heterosexual panic attacks. But Shawn was pretty certain that Gus didn’t want to hear those details.

Gus chuckled. “Oh really? Then maybe you can explain why you’ve been avoiding the station for the last two weeks. You’re normally there every couple of days. Instead you’ve been running around town watching Lassiter stake out a jewellery store and go to the gym. It’s not normal, Shawn. This idea about Casa de Orgullo is just the latest step along a path that leads directly to a restraining order. Frankly, I’m surprised he hasn’t got one on you already.”

“He didn’t know I was following him. I’m very stealthy.”

“Whatever. I’m just saying. You should leave it be.”

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I’ll try to forget about it.” He sat still for three seconds, a thoughtful look on his face. “Nope. Not working. So about our trip: I’ve signed us up for the Gay Outdoor Recreation Network retreat and I booked our rooms and facials.”

“I’m not interested. And you better not be paying any membership dues or booking any cabins with my MasterCard.”

“Technically I’m using your MasterCard number, which I memorized while you were sleeping. And speaking of which, I thought Sandra Bullock’s performance was a little flat in that movie, didn’t you?”

“Don’t try to distract me with Ms. Bullock’s filmography. I’m not going to gay camp with you.”

“Don’t make me pull out the big guns, Gus.”

“Big guns?” He looked at Shawn suspiciously.

Shawn began to hum a tune. It took a few moments before the song dawned on Gus.

“No, Shawn. No! Don’t you dare.”

“Wait for it….Are you ready for the summer?”

“No.”

“Are you ready for the good times?”

“Stop it Shawn. You know how that songs repeats in my head.”

“Are you ready for the birds and bees, the apple trees, and a whole lot of foolin’ around?”

Gus sighed and closed his laptop.

“Fine. I’ll go along, but you owe me big time. What’s the case?”

“Mayor Rodriguez’ closeted gay son has an employee with sticky fingers. We have to find the thief and arrest him or her without outing the son or bringing any bad publicity on the resort.”

“That’s some pretty good nutshelling,” Gus said. “What’s been stolen?”

“According to Jules, some jewellery, cash, sporting equipment, and the latest item is a Ryan Phillippe Astronaut watch.”

“I think you mean a Patek Philippe Aquanaut watch.”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

“Shawn, a Patak Philippe Aquanaut watch is water resistant to 120 metres. It has a centre sweep second hand, a sapphire crystal case back and a forty-five hour power reserve. It retails for over $17,000.”

“Really? Who needs that kind of a watch? I mean 120 metres? Are we raising the Titanic? Plus, it’s especially cruel to the watch-wearing monkeys they shot into the ocean to test it.”

“The Titanic is 3821 metres below the surface,” Gus said. “And they don’t test watches on monkeys.”

“That’s not what PETA says. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen the video on their website. Oh! That reminds me. We need to go shopping. We need new clothes for our undercover role.” He looked at Gus critically. “Or at least, I will.”

“My clothes aren’t gay, Shawn. They’re fashion forward.”

“Whatever. You own pink shirts.”

“You own a pink shirt.”

“With a pineapple on it. Besides, it’s a golf shirt. It’s supposed to be gay.”

“Golf isn’t gay,” Gus said defensively. “Except for women’s golf. That’s pretty gay. Besides, are pink shirts really the gayest thing you can think of to wear? How about one that says Mrs. Timberlake, or I’m not gay but my boyfriend is. In fact, I might wear that one myself.”

“Be subtle. If you show up looking like a parade float I’ll have to pretend I broke up with you.”

“I’m not the embarrassing one. I do subtle just fine.”

The two friends were silent for a few minutes as they turned their attention back to their computers. After a few minutes Gus spoke.

“It won’t work, Shawn. I’ve just been doing some research online.”

“Sure it will. And if by ‘research’ you mean surfing for gay porn, you don’t have to worry. We won’t need to go that deep undercover.”

“It’s too much to learn in a few days. I don’t know any gay terminology, customs, or signals. You don’t have to be a cultural anthropologist to know I’d be spotted as a fake in five minutes.”

“Nonsense. Pretend you just came out. You won’t be expected to know anything.”

“Well do you know any of this stuff? This site says there are over 80 hankie codes.”

“Hardly anyone uses hankie codes anymore. It’s all done on Facebook now. Although I do know that the hankie colour for cop fetish is alarmingly similar to the colour for cock and ball torture. Trust me when I say you don’t want to get them mixed up.”

“I’ll go along with it,” Gus said, ignoring Shawn’s diversion, “But I don’t think anyone will believe that I’m gay. So when it’s a spectacular disaster, remember that I told you so.”
“You’re underestimating psychology.”

“What about psychology?” Gus looked at Shawn with suspicion. Shawn’s knowledge was hit and miss, and there was no telling when he would suddenly reveal that he’d studied some subject intensely for the two or three weeks it took him to master it, get bored, and move on.

“Look at you.” Shawn said. “You’re a god among men. You’ve got flawless skin, and a fight club six pack.”

“You know that’s right.”

“They’ll want you to be gay so much they’ll overlook anything that might suggest otherwise, no matter how obvious. They’ll cut you so much slack it’ll be like you’re in freefall.”

“Maybe,” Gus allowed. “But that doesn’t mean I condone this obsession you have with Lassiter. You’re only interested in him because you can’t have him. It’s fifth grade all over again.”

“Fifth grade?”

“Does the Snoopy Sno Cone Machine ring a bell? You only wanted it because your dad wouldn’t get it for you.”

“First of all, there’s no comparison between the snow cone thing and my interest in Lassiter. And second, what child doesn’t want the ability to produce sno cones all year round?”

“Let’s be honest, Shawn. Your interest in Lassiter would plummet if he was actually interested. And moreover, your dad was right. The Sno Cone Machine was too hard to work. Plus, it took like, twenty minutes to make one sno cone.”

“Enough with the sno cones. I’ve got the online registration form open now. Do we want a queen bed or a king? I’m leaning towards a king. I think it implies that I have an acrobatic sexual style but also says I like my sleeping space. And it’s got cute throw pillows.”

“I’ll pretend to be gay,” Gus said, “but I’m not going to pretend to be your boyfriend. You can leave that fantasy right on the shelf.”

“But if we don’t pretend to be a couple then you’ll be pretending to be single and all the guys will hit on you. I’m really only thinking of you. Plus there’s a sweet couples discount.”