Common Powers

by Lynn Lorenz

  “Can anyone see the reports? If they find out about the fight and arrest, can they see his statement?” Phillip wanted to dig a hole and jump in. Why was he asking, when he knew the answer?

  “Well, it’s public record.” Brian shrugged. “Look, I know this sucks.” He blew out his breath. “Luckily, the bar owners aren’t filing any charges. So, there’s no financial responsibilities for the fight. Unless Crowder, or the bartenders, or the dozen or so witnesses talk, you’re home free.”

  “What are the chances of that?” Phillip snorted. “I guess I’m just waiting for the shoe to drop and kick me in the ass.” He started writing again, spilling the story out, as if it had been someone else, not him. How he’d asked him into the bathroom for a blow job.

  The pen scratched over the paper and his handwriting wavered. He swallowed down the panic rising in his chest. He could do this. Think of it as describing a scene from a movie. That’s all.

  How Crowder had gotten pissed, jumped off his stool then slugged him in the face, knocking him off his bar stool onto the floor. How he’d started to kick the living shit out of him. How the bartenders had broken it up and put him out for his own safety.

  He put the pen down and uncurled his fist. His fingers ached from being clenched so tightly. Phillip cracked his knuckles, trying to stretch them out to get some relief.

  “You just need to sign here.” Brian pointed to the place on the form.

  He picked the pen up, signed it and pushed the paper back to Brian, who read it, then took it over to the copy machine and ran off a few copies. Phillip let the pen roll out of his hand onto the desk. Brian came back, handed him the report and sat back down.

  “Thanks, Brian.” Phillip got up. Man, I need a drink. Maybe he’d pick up a long neck or two on the way home. Maybe a six-pack.

  Brian stood. “Hey. I was thinking…are you going to be doing anything on Christmas?” He rubbed the back of his neck.

  “What?” Phillip blinked. “Like Christmas Day?”

  “Look, my partner and I are having some friends over for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day for food and hanging out. If you’re not doing anything, I wondered if you’d like to join us.”

  “Your partner?” Phillip glanced around the room at the couple of officers.

  “No, not that kind of partner.” Brian huffed out a breath. “My partner Rush Weston. He’s a rancher. We live together out on his ranch. We’ve got two couples, men, who’ll be joining us. Low key. Nothing fancy. No presents. Just good food, maybe play some poker or watch a football game or two.”

  “You’re gay?” Phillip gulped down the last of the sentence.

  “Yeah, and everyone here knows. In fact, our chief of police is one of the other couples.”

  “Wait. There are ‘out’ gays here?” Phillip just about fell over. Un-fucking-believable. “How come I never heard about it—you? Them?”

  “Didn’t you get the town memo?” He chuckled. “Guess all the talk has died down a bit since everything came out.”

  Phillip bit his lip. What did he have to do on Christmas? Go to the diner or eat one of those sliced turkey, dressing and gravy frozen dinners? “I guess so. I don’t have any plans. If you don’t mind me tagging along?”

  “We don’t mind. In fact, it was Rush who suggested it.”

  “You told him about me?” Phillip tilted his head. Wow. Four gay guys. He’d thought he was the only one in Spring Lake. The guys he blew at the bar, most of them were straight guys who just wanted to get off and didn’t care who did it. The rest were buried deep in the back of the closet and rarely took the risk.

  “Yeah. I think he sees you as a kindred spirit. On the down-low, hiding in a small town.” Brian gave Phillip a gentle punch on his shoulder. “Hell, we’ve all been where you are now.”

  “Okay.” Maybe they had been there. Maybe for the first time in years he could make some friends. Real friends. People he didn’t have to hide who he was from. A warm rush filled his chest, working its way up to his eyes and throat. “Let me know the details and I’ll be there.”

  Brian wrote it all down on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “We hope to see you. Pack a bag for a day or two if you can stay.”

  “Thanks, but the garage will be open the next day.” Phillip held out his hand and they shook. He started to the door then looked down at the note and stopped. “Hey, I might need a ride out there. It’s kind of far to walk.”

  “No problem. I’ll pick you up around six p.m. on Christmas Eve. That work?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” Phillip grinned, stuffed the note into his jeans pocket and left. He exited the station and damn if his steps felt lighter, his limp not so bad. Maybe his life didn’t suck after all. Maybe Spring Lake had more going for it than he thought.

  Maybe this place could be home.

  Chapter Seven

  Phillip leaned on the counter. Almost six p.m. and he could call it a day. One day further from the fight and worrying about losing his job. One day closer to the holidays, when they’d be closed.

  Business had been brisk in the morning, but had slowed after two. Now he was just playing catch-up on some part orders and paperwork. The guys out in the garage bays had music cranked up loud enough to bleed through the door. On the coffee counter, the branches of the little Christmas tree sagged under the weight of the mini-lights. They should probably throw it out and get a new one for next year.

  The front door opened and he glanced up. The next second, his heart froze and his mouth went dry as cotton. Crowder. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  “So here you are, you little queer.” The guy from the bar stood in the doorway, sneering at him. “You fucker. Piece of shit. Got me arrested.” He’d bunched his hands into fists and the hatred in his narrowed eyes and the hard line of his lips told Phillip this wouldn’t end well.

  Phillip put his hand on the phone to call the cops, then changed his mind. This guy had beat him like a dirty rug and now he was here, blaming him? A rage, one that hadn’t been able to form before, filled him. Who does this bastard think he is?

  “Hey, you beat me, remember? What the hell are you doing here?” Phillip leaned against the counter, the only barrier between them.

  “Just wanted to speak to the manager. Wanted to let him know who he had working here.” Crowder grinned, but it wasn’t due to humor. He knew he had Phillip.

  “Maybe I should just call the cops.” Phillip picked up the phone.

  “Hey! Where’s your manager!” Crowder shouted loud enough for everyone in the building to hear. “I got a complaint to make!”

  Down the hall, the door to the manager’s office opened. Almost at the same time, Estaban came in from the garage bays.

  “What’s going on?” Estaban gave Phillip a quick look, then shifted his gaze to Crowder. “I heard yelling.”

  Phillip wanted to go to Estaban, shelter next to him, but he gripped the edge of the counter and stood his ground.

  Fuck. His manager, Carl Flynn, the owner’s brother-in-law, came rushing down the hall to the front office. “Phillip. What’s happening?”

  Great. All he needed was—Jimmy. Who rushed in, wiping his hands on a greasy shop towel. “What’s up, P-dawg?” His expression was feral, a dog in on the kill.

  Great. I’ve hit the trifecta of crap.

  Holy fuck my life sideways.

  Crowder stood there looking pleased as punch at the idea of destroying Phillip’s life. And there was nothing Phillip could do to stop him.

  “Can I help you?” Flynn asked, stepping around the counter. Phillip stared at Crowder, wishing he had eyes that shot laser beams so he could end this guy. For a second, he thought of grabbing Flynn and suggesting he go back to his office, but everyone else was there and how could he get to all of them? No way would he get close enough to Crowder to influence him, he’d just land another punch.

  “Yeah. I wanted to let you know you got a cocksucker working for you. A real life, blow-job-giving, gets-it-up-the-ass fag-boy.” He p
ointed at Phillip.

  The ice in Phillip’s heart spread through his body and he couldn’t move or speak.

  Flynn glanced back and forth between him and Crowder, then turned to Phillip. “What’s he talking about, Phil?”

  Phillip had to swallow hard. “This guy is nuts. He attacked me the other night. Got arrested and now he’s trying to stir up trouble.” All true.

  “Is that what really happened to you?” Estaban took a step toward Phillip. “Phil, you should have told me.” He turned and glared at Crowder. “You should get the hell outta here.” He waved at Crowder as if to shoo him away, but Phillip noticed his other hand had curled into a fist.

  “Whoo-hoo!” Jimmy crowed and slapped his towel against his leg. “I knew it! Knew there was something wrong about you!” He just about danced in a circle.

  Estaban glared at Jimmy. “Shut up, man.”

  Phillip said to Crowder, “I’m calling the cops if you don’t leave now.” He started dialing nine-one-one.

  “Hold up!” Flynn held his hand out at Phillip. “This true?”

  “That he beat me up? Yes.” Phillip hung up the phone. His knees shook so hard he braced his hands on the edge of the counter to keep himself upright and he hated himself for it. What he should do was vault over the counter and give Crowder the beating he deserved for trying to destroy his life.

  “No. That you’re a fag?” Flynn’s eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted in disgust.

  “I don’t think that’s anyone’s business or the point of this. He attacked me, and the cops arrested him for it. He’s the criminal.”

  Estaban took a step closer. “Look, boss, this is stupid. This guy comes in here, threatening Phil, trying to cause trouble. It ain’t right.”

  Phillip wanted to smile at Estaban, but he wasn’t sure about taking his gaze off Crowder.

  “It don’t matter what you think.” Flynn snorted at Estaban. “I got a clientele to think about.” He turned to Phillip. “I asked you, son, is this true?”

  “What if it is?” Phillip was tired of this shit. He could see where this was going and it wasn’t him coming out on top.

  “He’s a fag!” Jimmy laughed. “Pretending to be a man. I knew it.”

  “Shut up, Jimmy.” Phillip wanted to say more, but it might be what pushed Flynn over, even if it was true.

  “So, you gonna keep a fag working here? Coming in contact with all the fine upstanding Christian customers who do business with y’all?” Crowder threw his arm out toward Phillip, pointing him out again.

  Flynn cleared his throat. “This is a Christian business.” He stared at Crowder. “You need to leave or I’ll call the cops myself. Go on, now. Get outta here.” He walked past Crowder and opened the front door.

  Crowder gave Phillip a last stare. “Don’t let me catch you alone, fag.” Then he stormed out. Flynn let the door close behind him and Phillip exhaled, only his braced arms and knees keeping him upright.

  Flynn pointed at Jimmy. “Get back to work.” He nodded at Estaban. “You too.”

  Estaban gave Phillip a searching gaze. “Go on, Estaban. I’ll be fine.” Phillip nodded. Estaban left, but the set of his shoulders told Phillip he didn’t want to leave.

  Flynn locked the front door and turned the closed sign over. “Let’s go to my office, Phil. We need to talk.”

  Fuck. That wasn’t good. But he’d put Crowder out, right? Maybe Flynn would come through for him, but he didn’t get his hopes up.

  He followed Flynn back to his office. Flynn sat behind the desk and didn’t offer Phillip a seat. Phillip stood at attention. Whatever happened, he was going to face it like the man he was, no matter what anyone thought of him.

  “So.” Flynn ran his hand over his face, then looked at the ceiling. “You’re a queer.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

  Phillip didn’t answer. What was the point? Either he was okay or fucked.

  “You know Joe ain’t going to stand for this. He’s got this whole Christian thing working here.” Flynn pulled open a drawer and took out a small flask and a cup. He opened it, poured himself a drink and tossed it back.

  “Okay.” What did he want Phillip to say?

  “Shit. I can’t believe this is arriving on my doorstep, right before the holidays.” He shook his head. “I’m in a pickle, Phil. If I keep you on and Joe finds out, he’s going to bust a ball. Might fire me. If I fire you, I’m stuck with no one to work the front and I have to do it myself.” He exhaled and shifted his gaze to a wall calendar next to the desk.

  “Finding someone new is going to be a bitch this time of year.” He twisted his lips to the side.

  Phillip almost opened his mouth, but he was afraid nothing but a whine would come out as he begged for his job. Best to keep quiet and let the chips fall. Flynn was working through all the possibilities, and knowing Flynn, he was figuring his own best interests as most important, that was for sure.

  He was fucked. He wished Flynn would just get on with it and put him out of his misery, because he didn’t know how much longer he could stand here before the panic hit him and he fell apart.

  Flynn clapped his hands together, signaling he’d made his decision. “You got to go. I can’t take a risk on Joe finding out.”

  Phillip sagged. No job. Fuck. Not much he could say about it and he sure as hell didn’t want to ask about staying in the trailer.

  “I know it’s right before Christmas, but today’s your last day. I’ll give you this week plus two weeks’ pay, but you got to move out of the trailer tomorrow.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

  “Right.” A numbness spread through Phillip, sapping his strength. Jobless. Homeless.

  He’d been here before. This he could survive.

  Flynn took out a large checkbook and opened it. “Look, I’ll give you a good reference, not mention you being queer.” He punched some numbers into a tabletop calculator. It whirred and spat out a slip of white tape. He leaned over and stared at the numbers, then typed them into his computer.

  Phillip locked his knees to stay upright when all he wanted was to fall down and curl into a tight, howling ball of despair. He should have known this would happen, that his life would eventually fall apart. It always did. Beggars can’t be choosers.

  The thought of pushing Flynn to let him stay in the trailer a little longer flitted through his mind and right out of it. If he were going to influence him, it would be to change his mind or for another week or two of pay, like old times.

  And what about Jimmy and Estaban? He couldn’t make them forget what they’d seen or heard.

  But abusing his power never got him anywhere good and only led to more trouble. And he’d sworn he’d never use it that way again.

  Flynn finished figuring out his pay and wrote out the check. “Now, your uniforms are yours. I’ll stop by at the end of the day tomorrow to pick up the keys to the trailer. Give me the office keys now.” He held out the check between two fingers of one hand and held the other hand palm up, for the keys.

  Phillip got out his keys. They chimed as his hand shook. He fumbled off the trailer key, then handed the ring over to Flynn, who tossed them into the desk drawer. Phillip took the check, folded it without looking at it, and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. God, it hurt his heart to do this one thing. Surrendering all his responsibility. Just because he preferred men to women.

  Is this ever going to change?

  “Five o’clock tomorrow. I’ll see you out through the back.” Flynn jerked his head to signal Phillip to leave, so he turned and left, with Flynn following. Phillip limped down the hall to the back door. Flynn unlocked it and held it open as Phillip walked through.

  “I’m sorry.” Flynn did sound sorry, but Phillip sure wished Flynn had a stronger spine to stand up and do what was right, not cave to Joe Smith’s homophobic beliefs.

  “Sure.” And just to turn the knife a bit, Phillip added, “Merry Christmas.”

  The door shut behind him.

  He cro
ssed the yard and climbed the few steps to the door of the trailer. He unlocked it with the single key he still possessed and went inside.

  Phillip stood in the entry of the trailer and looked around. Not much to pack up, really. Lucky me. Lucky fucking me.

  He had a large duffel bag that had carried everything he owned when he’d come to Spring Lake. It would hold everything when he left. He’d start packing tomorrow, because right now, he just wanted to lie on his bed, close his eyes and wish the world away.

  Homeless on Christmas Eve.

  Sounded like the worse country music song ever.

  Chapter Eight

  “So, what can I bring? What are you bringing?” Sammi sat on the kitchen table as he talked to Edward over the phone.

  “The usual. Everyone wants the traditional things—dressing, cranberries, sweet potato with marshmallows, peas, corn on the cob, hell, you know.”

  Sammi bit his lip. “Well, yeah, only I don’t know. I never really had a traditional Christmas dinner. When I did, the food at the foster homes wasn’t much to talk about. But I’m learning so much from Otto and at school. I really want to do some of the dishes.”

  “Great! Because, to tell you the truth, I’m exhausted. The business is kicking my bubble butt. It’s good, don’t get me wrong, but the idea of spending the holiday slaving over a hot stove makes me tired just thinking about it.” His sigh gusted over the line. “So, if you want to take over, I’ll be your helper. I think Rush and Brian are cooking the turkey and the ham, but that’s easy. It’s all the sides that they can’t handle.”

  “I’m glad of that. How about I work up a menu and email it to you. If you see anything you want to add or change, email me back.”

  “Cool. Keep the receipts, so we can split the costs, okay? I don’t want y’all to pay for everything. Fifty-fifty, right?”

  “Right.” Sammi nodded, even though Edward couldn’t see him. “And I’m so glad your spa is doing well.” He paused. “I guess you’ll be closed the rest of the week, huh?”

  “No. I’m opening the next day. Everyone wants to be beautiful for New Year’s Eve. It’s going to be busy.”