Ricky leaned forward into his desk, as if to get physically closer to the ‘scoop’. “You’re autistic? Are you being serious or joking with me?”
“I can think of funnier punchlines.”
Jennifer Arthur’s hand landed on my knee in that moment, clapping it supportively. I understood why, appreciated it even, but it made my skin itch and my lungs freeze and I felt relieved when she took it away.
“I don’t believe you’ve ever told anyone that before, not publicly.”
“Nope.”
“Why not? A platform as big as yours, have you not considered using it to raise awareness?”
I drew in a breath, crossed one leg over the other, thought of Helen…spoke to Helen. “The thing with my platform if that’s what you want to call it, or social media, is most people don’t want your opinion. They want to hear their own views told back to them in your voice. Also, if I’m being honest, I don’t like the word awareness. We need to stop using that word. I don’t think there’s anybody who isn’t aware of autism anymore. At this point, we’re all aware, there are just people who choose to be ignorant fucks. Same with mental health, sexuality, gender. They’re aware, Ricky. They just choose not to care.”
I hadn’t expected a reaction from the audience. The round of clapping took me by surprise. It was loud. Too loud. Still, I looked out to them, offered a single nod in appreciation.
“That must be difficult in your career, I imagine. Being autistic, I mean. I have a friend with a son on the spectrum; doesn’t like loud noises, music, TV. How do you manage things like that when your whole job is music and loud noises?”
Is this guy for real? Drew was fucking lucky I didn’t like physical contact, otherwise, his nose would’ve met my fucking fist the second I stormed off this stage. “If you’ve met one person with autism then you’ve met one person with autism,” I said. “We’re not made on a production line, Ricky.” Laughter erupted from the audience, though I hadn’t intended to be funny. It was then I began to have doubts whether this show would even air at all.
“It’s interesting that you mentioned sexuality just then…”
Here we go. “Is it?” I cut in. The guy was really starting to piss me off. I’d misread him completely in the past, thought of him as fairly decent, if not a little showy.
“Is that something else you’ve chosen not to share publicly? Again…there are rumours.”
“I’m not sure I understand the question.” I did. This wasn’t my autism brain trying to make me look like an idiot. This was me at the end of the fucking line.
“Are you gay, Hugo?”
“Are you, Ricky?”
He laughed, shook his head. “I think my wife can assure you I’m not.”
“I don’t need assurance. I’ve never once wondered what you get up to while you’re naked.”
Another eruption of laughter and applause from the audience. Even Ricky chuckled, but I sensed discomfort behind it.
“So, basically, you’re telling me it’s none of my business?” was his reply. “Or, secretly, do you like the game? Do you enjoy keeping people guessing?”
“Not really. I’m asking why people want to know, I guess.” It genuinely baffled me. “What’s so interesting about it? It’s weird. Did you ask the lovely Jennifer here tonight if she’s gay?” I gestured to my right.
“I know she’s not.”
“How? Because you’ve seen her pictured, fully clothed, with men, strolling down Hollywood Boulevard in a magazine?” I realised then, that I may have been out of line bringing Jennifer into my debate. I did that sometimes, spoke without thinking. I turned to her. “Forgive me, Jennifer.”
She swooshed her tiny hand through the air. “Nah, dude. You tell ‘em. I’m here for it.”
I smiled, grateful. I’d never met her before. I liked her.
“If I’m interested in someone romantically, they’ll know about it. I don’t see why anyone else needs to.”
“So, it’s not that you feel…uncomfortable?”
“Actually, yes, I feel very uncomfortable right now…but not with who I am.” Just sitting here with you. It wasn’t strictly true, I supposed. There was a lot about myself I wished I could change, but sexuality was as far down that list as the soles of my feet. What could possibly be uncomfortable about wanting to share love and affection with another human being? It was the ultimate goal, especially for someone with a brain like mine. To be that close to someone, to feel content with their touch, be accepted despite all your differences. How could there be shame in that?
By that point, I was done. Done with this show and done with Ricky fucking Byrne.
Evidently, my expression conveyed the thoughts in my head because Ricky swivelled to face the audience and yelled, “It’s been a pleasure. Ladies and gentlemen, Hugo Hayes!”
We had to wait for the cameras to capture an appropriate amount of applause before someone shouted, “Cut!” and when they did, I was outta that chair before the word had finished leaving their mouth. I stormed from the set, ripping the mic pack from my back, eyes focused on my target.