This reveal is one that Jimmy has waited out so many, many times in his life. At the show, it's part of the act. It's the entire point, really. He's heard so many gasps, sometimes screams from the dramatic in the audience, that you'd think he'd be deaf to it by now. He's used to the way housewives sometimes shrink from it, the way they can giggle with nerves and distance themselves from what they're doing - cheating on their husbands - by knowing that they're sleeping with a guy who's not really part of normal society. His hand is probably the reason he's one of the few successful straight male prostitutes he's ever met. Jimmy knows all of this. It's old by now.
He also knows that some of those housewives don't seem to actually care. Jimmy's had every one of his extended freak family hold his hand at some point, to shake it or to offer support, and all of them were able to look him in the eye and not flinch. He knows exactly what acceptance feels like and how rare it is.
And he sees it, when Morgan is done noticing his hand and just bends forward to light the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Acceptance. Like this is normal.
Jimmy's had that a bare handful of times in his life from 'normal' people. The first time, he'd been seven and in a candy store, and his ma had been insisting, as usual, that he couldn't hand over the money. Like any self-respecting seven year old, Jimmy had been whining for the independence to pay himself, and the woman behind the counter - bless her - had just reached down and plucked the money from his hand. Ma, who had been trying to grab it back from him at the time to hand over herself, had frozen in place, stunned.
Jimmy, who had been insisting with a child's importance but who knew how strangers tended to react to his hands, had blinked up at the old woman. She looked like how Jimmy imagined grandmas did, and she'd smiled at him. And then, when she gave him the change, she'd tucked it into his palm and closed his fingers over it with a smile, and Jimmy had embarrassed himself by crying. He's pretty sure Ma did too, after they left. They hadn't talked about it again.
Christ, talk about memory lane. Jimmy stops pressing on the lighter a few seconds too late, shoves it back in his pocket. He considers his gloves, but a glance up and down the alley tells him they're safe for now.
He presses his bottom lip with his teeth, briefly, and then takes off the other glove. Both go into his back pocket. "Only permanently attached when I'm in questionable company." He answers, and he isn't joking at all. He sounds awed, which he is. Jimmy's gloves are always on in public, unless he's trying to make a point. They're never off because he's comfortable. That's never been a step in this dance.
So let's make this clear: this is a huge endorsement for you, Morgan. Jimmy isn't gonna forget the way you just breezed right on past his hands.
But he also isn't going to linger too long. He picks up, gratefully, on Morgan's willingness to keep the conversation moving. "Listen, I've known some dedicated smokers before, but no one's ever tried to convince me that Marlboro was tryin' to create a spiritual experience." Jimmy chuckles, mouth opening around a smile. "Are you gonna sing to summon it? Should I get a drum beat going?"
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He also knows that some of those housewives don't seem to actually care. Jimmy's had every one of his extended freak family hold his hand at some point, to shake it or to offer support, and all of them were able to look him in the eye and not flinch. He knows exactly what acceptance feels like and how rare it is.
And he sees it, when Morgan is done noticing his hand and just bends forward to light the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Acceptance. Like this is normal.
Jimmy's had that a bare handful of times in his life from 'normal' people. The first time, he'd been seven and in a candy store, and his ma had been insisting, as usual, that he couldn't hand over the money. Like any self-respecting seven year old, Jimmy had been whining for the independence to pay himself, and the woman behind the counter - bless her - had just reached down and plucked the money from his hand. Ma, who had been trying to grab it back from him at the time to hand over herself, had frozen in place, stunned.
Jimmy, who had been insisting with a child's importance but who knew how strangers tended to react to his hands, had blinked up at the old woman. She looked like how Jimmy imagined grandmas did, and she'd smiled at him. And then, when she gave him the change, she'd tucked it into his palm and closed his fingers over it with a smile, and Jimmy had embarrassed himself by crying. He's pretty sure Ma did too, after they left. They hadn't talked about it again.
Christ, talk about memory lane. Jimmy stops pressing on the lighter a few seconds too late, shoves it back in his pocket. He considers his gloves, but a glance up and down the alley tells him they're safe for now.
He presses his bottom lip with his teeth, briefly, and then takes off the other glove. Both go into his back pocket. "Only permanently attached when I'm in questionable company." He answers, and he isn't joking at all. He sounds awed, which he is. Jimmy's gloves are always on in public, unless he's trying to make a point. They're never off because he's comfortable. That's never been a step in this dance.
So let's make this clear: this is a huge endorsement for you, Morgan. Jimmy isn't gonna forget the way you just breezed right on past his hands.
But he also isn't going to linger too long. He picks up, gratefully, on Morgan's willingness to keep the conversation moving. "Listen, I've known some dedicated smokers before, but no one's ever tried to convince me that Marlboro was tryin' to create a spiritual experience." Jimmy chuckles, mouth opening around a smile. "Are you gonna sing to summon it? Should I get a drum beat going?"