Read When the Stars Come Out for Free Online

anything.
    I wonder sometimes why they even bother talking to me.”
    “Maybe they are talking to you. Maybe you’re just not listening.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “You are the product of privilege, and you forget that some-
    times. You’ve had a good life, but I’m not quite sure you appreciate exactly how good you’ve had it.” Blood was suddenly rushing to
    Noah’s head, but he decided to give his father a free pass for his heart attack and held his tongue.
    Max continued. “Seriously. You’ve always had money and a roof.
    Don’t get me wrong; I was happy to provide them. And you were
    also privileged to be born into a family that accepted you, gay and all. How old were you? Seventeen?”
    “Twenty.”
    “Twenty. Young. But you told me you were gay, and still you were
    accepted and supported.” He waved a steady finger in Noah’s di-
    rection. “Twenty years old, and you were out, gay, and proud, with the full support of your family and no financial worries. Do you
    think that’s the way it happens for everyone?”
    “No. I know that I had it easier than a lot of people. But if peo-
    ple don’t come out—”
    Max slumped back into the thin pillows, dismissing the argu-
    ment before Noah had a chance to start it. “I know, I know. If peo-W H E N T H E S T A R S C O M E O U T
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    ple don’t come out, Bush and Cheney will think no one except for
    you and Rosie O’Donnell are gay and they’ll put you in camps.
    Blah, blah, blah.”
    Blah, blah, blah ? Had his father, the famous lawyer and occasional social activist Max Abraham, really just dismissed his fears, diminishing them to three nonsense syllables? A Jew born at a time when millions of Jews were being exterminated in Nazi camps? A
    man who lived through, and protested against, McCarthyism and
    segregation? This was the man who was telling him that he was unrealistic to expect gay men and lesbians to show their faces?
    Noah suddenly wished they were still talking about Harry.
    The silence following his comment lasted an uncomfortably long
    time, before Max finally—and correctly—said, “I think I’ve pissed you off.”
    “A little.”
    “Eh, maybe it’s good to get pissed off sometimes. Right?” Noah
    didn’t answer. “I’m sorry, but I’m a bit tired. I didn’t mean to cause a problem here. I was just trying to point out that it’s easier for some people—you, for example—to come out than it is for others.” Max looked at Noah and winked, and Noah thought, Did he
    wink? Yes, he winked! Which just pissed him off even more.
    “You’re a good boy,” Max said. “You’ve got passion, and—most
    importantly—you are right. I hope you succeed. Just . . . try a little patience.”
    Noah could understand why other lawyers ran when his father
    walked into a room, because he was by turns frustrating, charming, infuriating, friendly, maddening, self-deprecating, and, finally . . .
    well, he was Max Abraham. He did whatever he could to get your
    goat, then embraced you before you could hate him. And then,
    when all was forgiven, he would whip out the needle yet again.
    In this case, though, Max Abraham was apparently going to wait
    for the needle, because he went for the dodge . . . although it was an understandable dodge.
    He yawned.
    “I hate to end such an . . . interesting discussion on this note, but I’m getting tired, and I want to save some energy for Tricia. You
    don’t mind?”
    In fact, Noah was relieved. “No, I understand.”
    “We’ll pick this up later, okay?”
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    R o b B y r n e s
    “Okay.” Not that picking it up again was really necessary, but
    Noah knew his father wouldn’t let the conversation end until he
    had won the argument unequivocally. They had been down this
    road before.
    Back safely in the waiting room, Noah sent Tricia in, knowing
    that Max needed to talk to a young person with a more pragmatic
    sensibility.
    And Noah wasn’t that young person. He was just his son.
    Noah sat in the