Ranger - 9. The Photographer

April 2022

Following the Good Morning America appearance, Brad carried his luggage to brunch with Cristina and Carolina. He had requested a train ride home to Washington when the television network flew him to New York, and he hailed a cab to Penn Station after the meal was over. Though Amtrak took a bit longer than flying, comfort and convenience trumped speed. Going through airport security was an ordeal with his prostheses.

Replying to emails, texts, and social media posts would keep him busy during the three-hour trip. When he opened up his phone, he was surprised to find a new message from Clive Jones asking him to call.

CJ Abelló, Owen Liston, and Cristina’s brother, Chipper Pereira, met the fashion photographer in South Beach at the end of summer 2016. Over a year later, in the fall of 2017, the three traveled to New York City for a photoshoot. Clive had wanted to use six members of The Squad of legal age at the time, but not all were available. Brad was in the middle of a mission but at last met the man when CJ and Owen hired Clive as their wedding photographer. An assignment Clive accepted because of the budding friendship with the younger men.

“Bradley! I’m so happy you called.” The deep voice brimmed with good cheer.

“Hey, Clive. I was surprised to hear from you. It’s been a while.”

“Yes it has. And you’ve been a busy man. I caught your interview on Good Morning America this morning. You looked and sounded great. Congrats on the Oscar.”

“Thanks, man. I owe it all to my friends, the residents at Heroes Haven, and the people behind the cameras.”

Clive chuckled. “You know? With most people, I’d say that’s the usual expected bull. With you, I get the feeling you really mean it.”

“I do. For real. Being in a movie, on TV, and winning awards was never part of the plan.” Brad had been unsure of his long-term goals when he enlisted and surprised himself by how things had changed. He had a clear goal in mind at the moment. The documentary had been a catalyst, helping him realize he did not want to be a public figure.

“You’ve adapted well, my friend. You seem to be doing a good job dealing with the changes. I’m not sure if you know, but I’ve talked to CJ about you a few times. I was heartbroken when I heard about your accident.”

It was Brad’s turn to chuckle. “Accident my ass. As someone told me a couple of years ago, that was no accident. Those fuckers were trying to kill me.”

“But it backfired on them. Instead of dying, you survived and thrived.”

“Thanks, Clive.” Brad felt his cheeks warm; compliments always made him blush.

“Where are you right now?”

“On a train headed back to D.C. Not sure if you knew, but I’m going to school now. I have to be in class tomorrow.” Brad dreaded the makeup work he expected after nearly two weeks away. He had carried a couple of textbooks with him and tried to read, but he found himself missing lectures and discussions. Quite a change since his high school days when he could not wait for the end-of-the-day bell to ring.

“Good for you! You’re probably wondering why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Yeah…”

“Well, since you couldn’t make it for the Italian Vogue shoot your friends were in, you owe me. After watching A Home for Warriors, I decided I wanted to photograph you. I approached a client, and they’re interested in using you as a model. How’d you like to be the new face for TMPL underwear?”

Brad was so surprised he remained silent.

“You there, Bradley?”

“Yeah… I… I don’t know what to say.” He smiled when he thought his face was not the body part the underwear company was really interested in.

“Say yes! You’ll get a nice check. It’ll be one day’s work only! They market to the gay community but have no problem using a straight guy as their model. Your picture will be plastered all over the place! Considering your friends, I didn’t think you’d have a problem with it.” Clive punctuated every other sentence with a little emphasis.

“Damn! That’s a hard sale.” Brad was intrigued but had some concerns. His resolution since surviving the IED explosion was to try as many different things as possible. He thought of it as an open-ended bucket list. “The gay thing’s not even on my radar, dude. Who cares about shit like that? I’m interested, but I think I’d like to talk to my dads before I agree.”

“That’s fine. Although we have time, I’d like to nail down the details as soon as possible. If you give me your email address, I can send you a proposal and a draft contract they’ve used before. You can review them and show your parents.”

“Red Ranger DC at The Squad dot org. No spaces. Hey, could you also send it to Ethan Feldman? You met him at CJ’s wedding. He’s an attorney in New York and part of our group.”

“Tall, good-looking guy with a beard? His boyfriend’s a redhead too, right?”

“Yeah, that’s him. I’ll text you his email.”

“What do you think?” Brad’s gaze shifted between his fathers. He was at their house for dinner and had brought up Clive Jones’ proposal.

Running a hand over his shaved head was something Tom Kennedy did whenever thinking; Brad smiled when his father did it before replying.

“I don’t know, Brad. It’s nothing I’ve ever done. JP’s the one with the modeling experience.”

“Pops?” Brad had saddled his stepfather, John Paul Smith, with the nickname the moment they met.

“I loved doing it. Is it something you’d be interested in pursuing?” JP had done fashion print ads and runway shows while at the University of California Berkeley at the turn of the century.

“Don’t think so. I’m not pretty enough. This is just like a stunt because of my legs. But if I can make a little coin…”

“Bullshit!” JP seldom cussed and his exclamation made the Kennedys grin. “Okay, I’ll give you the legs may be part of it. But you’re good-looking—”

“He got that from his mother.”

“Whatever, Tom. We’ll ignore he looks so much like you. The point is, Brad, you’re handsome, the red hair’s distinctive, and you have a great body. Mate, the prostheses just make you look more interesting.”

“How could I forget you’re in marketing, Pops?” Brad liked how JP could make anything or anyone sound appealing. “Still not interested long-term. But I might like to do it once or twice for fun. I missed out when CJ, Ozzie, and Chipper did it.”

“Then there’s your answer, son,” Tom said. “It’ll be an experience, and something your grandchildren can give you crap about.”

“You don’t think it’ll be a problem when I apply for work at a law enforcement agency?” This was the real reason Brad wanted to discuss the issue with his fathers.

“Nope. Haven’t you seen all those calendars with half-naked firefighters in them?”

Considering how employers scour job applicants’ social media accounts, he could imagine having pictures of him wearing so little in the internet might be a problem. Brad looked from one man to the other and smirked. “Ahhh, not really, Dad. The two of you are the ones into half-naked men. Anyway, that’s firefighters, not cops.”

“Cops would do it if they didn’t eat so many donuts.” JP was in rare form.

Tom raised his middle finger in response.

“You’re not getting any tonight, Pops,” a chuckling Brad said. “So you don’t think it’ll be a problem?

“Nope.” Tom leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his torso. “If they’re willing to hire you without legs, a few pictures in underwear won’t be an issue.”

“Great! I’ll call Ethan and have him review the contract. It’ll be cool to see what it’s like.”

“You’re number five.” Ethan Feldman sounded like he was in good spirits. The New York attorney and fellow Squad member had called Brad moments after receiving the text message.

“What do you mean?” Brad was confused. His message had simply said he needed some legal help and to call when possible.

“I’ve already signed Ozzie, CJ, Thiago, and Chipper as clients. You’re number five.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see. Not sure I can afford you.”

“Why don’t you tell me what the issue is, and I’ll tell you how much it’ll cost.”

Brad recounted his conversation with Clive and suggested Ethan check his email for the contract.

“Hang on… Yeah, it went to my spam folder for some reason. Okay, without looking at it, an underwear company wants you to model and strut your stuff and Clive’s the photographer.”

“That’s it.”

“Unusual for the photographer to be the in between man.”

“Maybe because he’s the one who wants to use me?” Too late, Brad realized what he had said to a gay man about a gay photographer.

Thankfully, Ethan did not jump all over it. “Could be. I’ll figure it out. You realize the contract won’t be with him? The company and their advertising agency will be the ones hiring you and Clive.”

“Sounds complicated. And expensive. I don’t want to spend everything they pay me on lawyers.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. We did something similar for Chipper when Versace outbid Armani and signed him as their underwear pitchman. The contract will be a cut and paste job.”

“How much?” Brad had his disability income and barely any expenses since he did not have to pay rent for a place to live in, but he tried to keep spending to a minimum anyway.

“When and where would the shoot take place?”

“New York, in April. Over spring break”

“You gonna be here the whole week? Staying at CJ’s apartment?” Although the Upper East Side unit was actually co-owned by their friend’s fathers and Dr. Matt Calhoun, everyone in their group referred to it as CJ’s.

Brad was frustrated. “Yes and yes. Jesus, Ethan. What’s with the twenty questions?”

“One more and then I’ll explain. What are your plans for that week?”

“I get in Saturday. Sunday I’m spending with Cristina. If we do the photoshoot, that’ll be Monday. My brother gets in that night and on Wednesday, Mom and Mac come in.”

“Perfect. The legal work will be a hundred dollars and a personal appearance.”

“A what?” Brad was definitely confused.

“A personal appearance. Listen, when A Home for Warriors came out, I took Mom and Dad to see it. She was in tears through most of it, and Dad let a sob or two out. They were surprised you and I were friends. I didn’t tell them in advance. Dad said he hoped to meet you one day.

“You were deployed when they came to DC for my graduation, so you’ve never met them. You’re famous, buddy. What I’d like to do is have a little cocktail party in your honor. So my parents can meet you.”

“Another dog and pony show? Fuck!” Brad was ready to put all that behind him.

“Nope, nothing like that. I promise. You, Cristina, your parents, and mine. And if we do it at the office, a few employees and all the partners. We’ll call it a celebration to welcome our newest client. And I can pretty much guarantee Heroes Haven will get a few contributions as a result.”

Brad’s chuckles were loud. “You’re so full of shit. You don’t throw parties when you get new clients.”

“We did for Chipper. But then again, that was ’cause all the women and a half the men in the firm had the hots for him. Okay, I’m exaggerating.”

“I’m not Chipper, Ethan. I’m nobody and he’s already on his way to being a star.”

“Don’t put yourself down, Brad. He can sing like few people can, but you’re a hero. And an Academy Award honoree. You measure up to him and more. So, you gonna accept my deal?”

Not entirely convinced or happy, Brad capitulated. “Fine. Set it up, and I’ll let my family know. Maybe Dad and JP will come up for it.”

“That works. They’ve met my parents already anyway. Don’t forget Owen and I graduated at the same time.” Both men had attended George Mason University’s Antonin Scalia Law School.

Sunday brunch with Cristina and Carolina was becoming a thing. The Standard High Line, a trendy hotel adjacent to the popular park built on a former elevated train line, was the location chosen by Cristina. Their Standard Grill promised the freshest local ingredients in a blend of a traditional steakhouse and Millennial tastes.

“My treat, Bradley,” Cristina said as the server delivered menus. “We’re celebrating your success and my new job.”

“Changing jobs?” This was news to Brad. When Cristina had returned to the workplace, she had joined one of the large investment banks.

“It should be official later this week. A headhunter approached me a couple of months ago and arranged an interview with MK Tyler Equity Funds. I wasn’t looking to change jobs and wasn’t sure one would be offered. Or if I would accept if it was. It’s why I didn’t mention it to anyone. Anyway, they offered me a position subject to the background check being clean.”

“That wasn’t a problem, was it? You don’t have some dark secret I don’t know about, right?” Over the past two years, their relationship had grown to a point Brad considered the woman a good, close friend. He surprised himself when he realized he no longer thought of her as someone he wanted to immediately get in bed with. That had been his previous self. The high school kid who saw most women as pieces of meat.

“Don’t be a jerk. Of course I’m clean.”

“So tell me about the job.”

Cristina gave him an enigmatic look Brad was unable to decipher. “After we eat, okay? Let’s order. I’m starving.”

A couple of hours later, Cristina guided them to Little Island. In a city hungry for green open spaces, the urban park had replaced the remnants of Hudson River Park’s Pier 54, the site where Titanic survivors arrived after the 1912 disaster. Built on 132 tulip-shaped pillars rising from the Hudson River, rolling hills, tree-lined paths, and open lawns provided visitors with expansive views of the Manhattan skyline.

“How come you wanted to wait before telling me about the job?” Brad had Carolina in his arms while Cristina pushed the empty baby carriage. The girl was so enamored with him she insisted he be the one to carry her.

“Because I think you and I have gotten real close in the past two years, and I don’t want you to think I’m running away.”

Fear stabbed at Brad. Was he about to be dismissed again? It had happened once before, on his high school graduation night, and it had taken him months to overcome the worst of the heartache.

“Are you?”

“Nope. I’d like to pursue whatever it is that’s going on between us.” Cristina slowed their pace and appeared lost in thought for a moment. “How would you feel about a long distance relationship?”

There it was. She was moving somewhere far away and this was her way of letting him down easily. “I thought that’s what we had going on. Sounds like you’re running away from me again.”

Cristina stopped, turned to face the tall redhead, and placed a hand on his chest. “I’m not, Bradley. I’m really not. Look, I made a mistake marrying who I did and when I did it. My therapist suggested it was a reaction to my parents divorcing and my Dad being unfaithful to my mother first and Matt afterward. I was looking for stability.”

Cristina’s father had cheated on her mother, come out, and moved to Washington. His relationship with Dr. Matt Calhoun crumbled when the elder Pereira cheated once again.

“Anyway, the job may lead to me moving to different cities. Did you know in the US less than ten percent of financial jobs are held by women? MK’s trying to change that. It’s why they recruited me. She wants me as part of the team in charge of getting companies ready to sell or take public. You know, clean up the clutter, apply a little lipstick, and make them all pretty for buyers. I’d get a salary, a generous expense account, and a piece of the action. The equity portion could make me a very, very rich woman.”

“I’ll never be able to compete with that. Not if I become a cop.”

“It’s not a competition, Bradley.” Cristina’s dark eyes did not waver from Brad’s face; she stared into his without blinking.

“Are you gonna spend the rest of your life moving all over the country?”

“Nope. I have a five-year plan, which sort of coincides with you being in college. I have a window of opportunity before Carolina’s in school, and I want to take advantage of it.”

“So you’ll be gone for five years… Any idea where?”

“No, and I may not go far. It depends on which property the bosses think I would be good at. Hell, I may end up staying in New York for all I know. Or somewhere close on the East Coast.

“I think you and I could have something. Carolina’s definitely hooked on you, so half the battle’s won.”

Her daughter reacted to her name being used by giggling and kissing Brad’s nose. “I like Brad.”

“See?” Cristina chuckled and ran a hand down her daughter’s back. The same hand grasped one of Brad’s and interlaced their fingers. “I like you too, Bradley. I’m not running away. And if things work out the way I think they will, I’ll be ready to hang up the business suits and become a mother and housewife when my stint’s done.”

“Five years? We would be in our thirties.” It sounded like a very long time to Brad.

“That’s right. We would still be young. And hopefully money would not be a concern by then.” She seemed to have all the right answers, but Brad struggled with the possibility she would meet somebody else. “And it doesn’t mean we couldn’t keep seeing each other. Part of the compensation package is I’ll be able to fly home at least once a month and for special occasions. Or my significant other could come visit me wherever I’m at.”

The photoshoot was a blur. If Brad thought there was an army of people behind the scenes during the documentary’s filming, he considered the group on Monday a battalion. Distracted by his conversation with Cristina, he went through the motions in a daze. He realized she had an incredible opportunity to advance her career but dreaded the inevitable separation. Washington and New York were close enough they could visit each other easily. What would happen if she moved to the West Coast? Or even worse, overseas?

So lost in thought, he didn’t mind his make-up and hair being constantly refreshed, being maneuvered into positions Clive said made him look great, or having to change underwear every fifteen minutes or so. At the end of the day, he was mentally and physically exhausted.

“You sure about this, Brad?” Patrick Kennedy stared skyward to the top of the structure and raised his phone to take a picture. Lowering it, he accessed the webpage for Hudson Yards. “It’s about a mile. Like climbing a sixteen-story building.”

The Vessel, the signature structure at the center of the largest development ever in New York, had 154 interconnected flights of stairs—almost 2,500 steps and 80 landings—climbing the open-sided, metal honeycomb structure promised incredible views of the city, the river, and beyond.

“Hell, yeah. I have to prove I can do it.” Brad moved around on his artificial legs easily. At home, he used a wheelchair at times, but the narrow doors in the New York apartment convinced him to leave it in Washington. It was inconvenient having to strap one on and use his crutches if he had to get up in the middle of the night, but he was determined to overcome his disability. His endurance continued to grow the more he used the prostheses.

“That’s baloney, bro. You have nothing to prove to anyone.”

Brad threw an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Yes, I do, Paddy. To myself, and to whatever agency thinks about hiring me. I don’t want to be the cripple who sits at a desk all the time.”

“Hey! There’s no shame in being a pencil pusher. You read that article I sent you about the wheelchair bound detective in England?”

“Yep. Robert Pedley. But he was a cop before that skiing accident paralyzed him. And even though he’s been out on the front lines in his chair, it’s been on limited occasions. Where his handicap made him relatable to protesters. Me? I have to prove I can join up and be a regular cop.”

Patrick took one more glance towards the firmament, lowered his sight, crossed himself, and mumbled what Brad assumed was a prayer. “Let’s go.”

Brad wore shorts, his titanium legs visible to everyone. People moved aside and made room for the brothers when they noticed the prostheses. Some frowned, some smiled, and a few offered words of encouragement. Halfway up, they stopped at a landing and leaned over the railing to admire the view.

“This isn’t so bad. Reminds me of running up and down the Exorcist Steps.” Popularized by the movie, the steep staircase one house down from their fathers’ place had served as a sort of playground for them and their friends. Brad had frequently run it as a training tool.

Patrick nudged his brother and tipped his head towards the next set of steps. “Let’s climb a little slower so we can talk.” The initial part of the ascent had been made in silence. “Have you been on them recently? The Exorcist Stairs?”

“Yeah… first time I tried climbing them was right after I returned to Washington from Heroes Haven. I had started running and thought I could handle anything.” Brad’s pause coincided with a painful expression. “Boy was I wrong. I had to stop halfway up, at the one landing on the damn thing, and cried. Paddy, I felt so damn defeated. It took me forever to walk the same steps I’d run and taken two-at-a-time when we were in high school. I ended up sitting and looking at my phone so the damn tourists flocking all over the place couldn’t see me losing it.”

“You could have asked someone for help.”

“Fuck, no. I didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for the cripple.”

“So what’d you do?”

“Rested for a bit and then climbed again. Slowly. And whenever people were around, I would stop, turn around, and take a picture or two. That way they couldn’t see how much pain I was in and how miserable I felt.” Without warning, Brad cracked up. “Bro, I have a gazillion pictures of Key Bridge and the Potomac. I kept them as a reminder of a failure.”

“It wasn’t a failure if you made it all the way up.”

“Felt like a failure to me. But I used the experience to talk my physical therapist into modifying my program. I wanted exercises to help me climb stairs like anyone else.”

“Have you tried doing it again?”

“Yeah. I said that happened the first time I tried climbing. Been back a few times, and the last couple of instances I’ve done it without losing my breath. I plan on running them sometime soon.”

Although there were no further long conversations, the brothers maintained their leisurely pace. At the top, they bumped fists then hugged. Admiring the view, they took the obligatory selfie to share on social media.

Brad’s sense of accomplishment was clear by the huge smile and the arm pumping. “We need to celebrate. Wanna get some ice cream?” He realized he sounded like an excited little boy, but that was how he felt.

“Ice cream? It’s almost lunch time.”

“And? Afraid you’ll ruin your appetite?” Brad playfully bumped his brother with a shoulder. “Live a little, bro. Ice cream’s a perfect choice as a meal.”

Patrick chuckled and shook his head. “Whatever… Weren’t you just talking about how you need to get in better shape? Where would we get ice cream around here anyway?”

“Kith Treats at Snark Park.”

“Say what?” Somehow, Patrick found a way to laugh while sounding confused and surprised simultaneously.

“Don’t laugh, bro. I was there on Sunday with Cristina and Carolina.” He had digested their conversation and felt better about the future. Sadness about maybe not being around each other as frequently still tinged his thoughts, but not as much as before. “Snark Park’s like an exhibit space, and Kith Treats makes ice cream with cereal. I had the Bam Bam. It has Rice Krispies treats and Cinnamon Toast Crunch in it.”

“Sounds interesting.” Paddy’s smile was enough to tell Brad he had won. “Lead on, MacDuff.”

Brad was at his fathers’ house for Sunday dinner when he received a Squad group message from Ethan.

Saw this when we left the theater this afternoon

A long string of emoji, including several eggplants and peaches, preceded the meat of the message: Two gigantic billboards on adjacent Times Square buildings. One Brad had seen himself while in Manhattan; it showed Chipper in electric blue boxer briefs with the distinctive Versace Greek key design on the waistline. The other one made Brad shake his head. It was strange to see himself in a similar pose wearing TMPLE camo briefs.

Before dinner was over, all Squad members had texted to give him shit.