Paul locked his cabin, made sure the sign on the office cabin read CLOSED, got in his jeep and headed for Loveday. He said he’d be there for her that night, and he would be. And he’d take the drive as regularly as he had to. This town needed Tina’s Saloon.
The land he lived on pretty much became his life, recently.
After the carnage that James McKay inflicted on the southern and eastern ends of Loveday, it was a good retreat. His woods had not been burned.
But now, as he drove into Loveday, the landscape itself reminded everyone of what went down just a few months ago. Bleak and black, burned mountainside that looked like peeling scar tissue in the daylight. Then, you could see the trees were singed to the soil itself. Like serious burn wounds on the skin of a patient. Patches of red and black. Boils of ash that still blew across the landscape on a windy day, covering covers and anything left outside in a layer of charcoal dust. McKay really hurt this town.
The violence he inflicted was bad in itself, but his hate was worse – because it seemed to echo.
Perhaps he was being too much of hermit recently because he didn’t want to be around Loveday when it looked like that.
His land was a wonderful retreat. Or at least it had been. Now someone had gone and pissed all over that.
But he’d worry about all of that later. He’d get to all that. Right now, he just had to focus on being there for Tina.
Corner of Loveday and Sloane. CLS. It was the heart of the gayborhood. It was where everyone went for everything.
Need a place to just be gay and not worry about offending some righteous type? CLS. Birthday? Gay night out? Pride? Halloween? Christmas? Just a place to eat something away from your alt-right family? CLS.
Times had been tough in Loveday since June. But places like Loveday survive because they have one attraction no other glitzy new place could offer.
The biggest attraction of Loveday wasn’t Tina’s 24-hour saloon, or the Coliseum, the bookstore, the little church, the furniture slash antique store, or even the coffee shop. It was the ability to hold someone’s hand in public, and not to have that simple gesture become some sort of a political statement.
You could hold hands in public anywhere you wanted, Paul supposed. But that didn’t mean it was safe to do so.
But Corner Loveday and Sloane was the little rainbow ghetto.
It was hurt. It had taken a massive blow. But it was still alive.
And right at the center, on that very corner, looking out at the street like an All-American Diner, chrome and tube lighting, a bar, tables a small floor and a stage – was Tina’s Saloon itself. And it had been there since the early eighties.
To some a monument, others a shrine, yet others a failsafe, a plan B, a just get out of the house. A lot of things to a lot of people. The thought of it closing down was not something Paul was prepared to let happen.
To him it was where he first lived when he stopped being a child. Upstairs, next to Tina’s room. When mom was still alive, he snuck out to come here – and explore that part of him he was only starting to get to grips with.
It was a hell of a sneak out, too. Had to take two busses and walk pretty far. But he’d been sixteen and ready to draw back the veil on the worlds beyond this secret he had about himself.
Tina scared the hell out of him when he first saw her. A lesbian with a buzzcut and a sleeveless leather jacket.
Then she became a mentor to him. A friend.
But Mom caught on quick. She was no fool. She followed, turns out, on more than one night.
And that butch lesbian who ran the pub became a friend to his mom as well. So much so that when she was diagnosed – and given an utterly damning prognosis – Tina did what no one else would do. She looked after Paul, then a teenage boy with no one else.
And Tina was the one who helped the both of them through Mom’s cancer. Tina became an employer, and a guardian until he finished high school.
He was a waiter, exchange for pay, food and board. He was overseen, and taken care of, by Tina herself. A veteran of the early rights and equality struggles, a lesbian, a rocker, a bar owner.
And then, in June, earlier that year, CLS became ground zero for a different kind of monumental event.
Out of nowhere. Just like that. One crazy asshole with some beef over God knows what, God knows why. And he just inflicts himself like that on everyone. The hills around the hood were still a black landscape. A slap through the face. A reminder of McKay.
But Tina’s itself seemed to contradict all that. To spit in the face of McKay and everyone who feeds monsters like him. Still here. Still queer.
Paul parked just behind three other cars on the side of the road. It was pretty quiet, a midweek night, not much open except for Tina’s.
The nights were getting chilly, and Paul skipped to the entrance. It was going to be a cold winter.
Tina’s had a way of immediately creating a new and different atmosphere – and tonight was no different. The whole place was well lit, and Tina’s guest of honor had a jovial and loud conversation going. Smooth, soft jazz played – not so loudly that it would interfere with any conversation, but loud enough to be more than background noise.
Removing his jacket, Paul walked closer to the table. He recognized all of the people there – these were the list of people whose businesses or donations kept Loveday going as a little gay mecca.
It was clear from how easy the conversations were going that Tina hadn’t told them yet.
Keith and the Rev were engaged in a heated conversation at their end of the table. The two of them were almost always arguing – and while their friendship was platonic, they more often than not behaved like an old married couple.
Keith wore a tweed jacket and his trademark fringe darted this way and that as he gestured to get his point across. No doubt it was some cynical observation about politics or religion. Keith taught English and Literature at the V – and he was a devoted and vocal atheist, while firmly rooted in progressive politics.
The Rev was the local pastor of the Metropolitan Community Church – the one small congregation of LGBT-affirming Christians that made Loveday itself its home. The Rev was very different from Keith. Good-natured and soft-spoken, his pudgy cheeks and permanent smile often made Paul wonder if he didn’t get tired of listening to Keith spew his sardonic observations.
Paul recognized the community of people that counted as Loveday’s pillars. These were the people that owned the businesses, or supported the charities, or had their hearts anchored in the community.
Paul gave Keith a quick salute and patted the Rev on the back. They both smiled, but then Keith continued his rapid-fire declarations and the Rev rolled his eyes.
Next to them was Kurt, sitting with TJ. Kurt had gained a lot of weight since he and Paul nearly hooked up around Pride. When it became clear that things were not going to develop romantically at all, he began what Paul suspected was a quick rebound relationship that overstayed its welcome. TJ was more flamboyant than Kurt, and now he was draping himself around Kurt to the point that Kurt looked embarrassed. He also seems to have gone greyer in the last few months. TJ, on the other hand, was still very skinny and kept his hair dyed a fake maroon.
Paul supposed he was being a bit mean to TJ, but he disliked him.
He’d met TJ just before the June massacre, and he didn’t mind him so much since then. But after the dust cleared and Jimmy McKay was safely removed from the public domain, TJ made quite a drama out of the fact that he knew McKay. They met in school, when TJ still went by his first name, Thad.
It was as if TJ was trying to bask in the limelight of McKay’s infamy. A random, unrelated claim to fame.
Paul hadn’t liked him since then.
Kurt was a good enough guy. Paul had the sense that he was angry with him for not pursuing a relationship, even though it was Kurt who’d
called it off, not Paul.
Clay stood up and gave Paul a hug. A skinny former dancer, Clay had peroxide white hair and a leathery hide. His appearance belied a highly intelligent and highly sensitive mind – and Paul was very fond of the old man. He owned the Coliseum dance club next door, and was seldom at community events.
Finally, there was Anna, the stocky Greek woman lesbian who ran her family’s logistics business from Castleton. Tonight, she was dressed in a white power suit that brought out her dark complexion, which she further highlighted with huge round earrings. She patted Paul’s arm a few times and then pulled out a chair right next to her.
Anna was one of Loveday’s biggest benefactors, and she also seemed to always want to throw a lot of resources at Paul – if the resources in question was red wine. She poured him a large glass, topping her own up, and declared in an accent that she never quite shook despite living in Fairbridge her entire life: “I save this seat for you.”
She kept very quiet but watched Paul intently, waiting for his verdict on her choice of wine.
“Delightful,” he said, and she nodded as if she was pleased with his praise and valued his opinion on wine a great deal. The truth was that when it came to any kind of alcoholic beverages, Paul was clueless. He didn’t mind – she poured or handed him wine every time they were in the same room together. It was her way of showing that she cared about him, and he appreciated it.
They touched glasses, and Paul mouthed a silent thank you to her. The wine was actually a good prop. He could spend an entire night nursing it.
“How are you, Anna?”
“Good. But never mind that. You, you know what is going on here?”
Anna was a very astute observer. She was smart, figured out something was a bit different about Tina and Paul’s mood, and she smelled intrigue.
“Yes. But it’s not up to me, just wait and see.”
Anna’s eyes darted around the room. Knowing her, she was working out who knew and who didn’t. It killed her to not know when there was something to know and that she wasn’t already in on it.
She relaxed once she was satisfied that whatever it was, only Tina and Paul knew. And that when the others knew, she would be first because she suspected. She was really a sweet woman. Just a bit of an alpha female. She felt protective of the community.
Kenneth and George were having their ongoing argument. The topic, this time, seemed to be a new outreach program from Pastor Ted Stevens over at the big church in North Fairbridge. The good pastor seemed to have had a major turning point in his own convictions after the shootings. He sent a young, handsome, openly gay pastor to come and work with the LGBT community. Or at least that was how the Rev George saw it.
“Oh, it’s a little convenient to suddenly have an attack of morality, isn’t it?” Kenneth countered. “A way for that snake oil salesman and his con act to stay relevant.”
“Well, it’s better than divisiveness. At least he’s trying to build bridges.”
“Fuck his bridges like they are twelve-year-old choirboys. It is the kind of messaging that this man and those like him spews to millions of braindead American sheep in megachurches all over this country that inspire men like…”
But Kenneth realized he was getting loud and no one at the table liked to hear the name McKay. It was a rare opportunity for the Rev to get a word in, but he was so soft-spoken no one but Kenneth heard anything he said.
TJ was coiled around Kurt, looking at Paul with what could only be described as an underplayed victorious expression. As if Kurt was a prize that he won in a contest with Paul. Paul just nodded and smiled at both, but then ignored them, drinking his wine. It seemed he wasn’t the only gay male in Fairbridge at once lonely and acutely aware that you can’t fix lonely with the wrong company.
Still, although the Kurt thing never would have worked out, Kurt was a decent guy. Paul hoped the best for him.
That’s gay life for you. There’s bound to be an ex, or one that got away, or an embarrassing second meeting, or some history, in any room you walked into. Especially in a smaller city, like Fairbridge. The community was smaller than it looked.
Clay leaned across the table to clink glasses with Paul. While Paul was armed with a glass of Anna’s red of the day, Clay sported what was probably his third Long Island iced tea for the night.
“This party needs some beefcakes, some drag queens, some bears and some twinks – wouldn’t you say?”
That was Clay. Old enough, alone enough, to always look for an angle or element of fun – and leave the deep philosophy to academics like Keith. His natural tendency was to always look for the party, and in one way he served as the sense checker for the entire Loveday. It was only Queer enough if Clay approved. Luckily, he approved most things.
Clay was often the life of the party, primarily because his life was a party. It wore him down and made him sinewy, with many wiry lines across his face. But as he said, he preferred arriving in good fun to arriving in good form.
Slowly, the conversations began to soften. Everyone was waiting for Tina, even those who didn’t suspect big news.
Tina, carrying a beer, smiled and nodded and chatted and high-fived everyone, but Paul could tell she was tired.
She sat down, and for a good while just enjoyed the company, still safely on the other side of the finality of her step. Just enjoying things, for old times’ sake. Paul offered her an encouraging smile. She shrugged and started chatting with Clay.
“Paul, I need your help,” Anna said. “New candidate for Mayor. We can’t let them take the next election too.”
“We just had an election. The permanent political cycle is exhausting. I haven’t even gotten over the last one yet. That’s years away.”
“Ella re! The cost of freedom is eternal vigilance.”
“Okay. Bring her over sometime.”
Then Anna nodded in Tina’s direction.
“I’m worried about her.”
“Don’t. She’ll be fine.”
“So she’s not?”
“No. Look. It’s not my place to say. Just wait for her, okay?”
“Okay,” Anna said, and gave Paul a top-up he did didn’t ask for and his glass almost didn’t have space for.
He thanked her. What the hell, he might as well.
He would arrive home, alone, and had very little prospect of hooking up with anyone this evening, even if he dropped all standards and moral restraints and went slumming in some chatroom or hookup site.
He might as well enjoy some time with friends, and drink some wine, and remember that life was more than just holding someone, even though it’s the one thing he wanted so strongly that he felt embarrassed to admit it to himself.
“Cheers, Anna. Efcharistó.”
For a while Anna turned her attention to the other people. She looked distastefully at Kenneth. He often got on her nerves. His incessant philosophizing drove her crazy. She took a big sip of wine and then turned her attention back to Paul.
“I understand you are dealing with some legal issues on your land?” she asked.
She often blurted things out like that. By now, Paul was used to her. And he knew she was asking to stay on top of things. How she found out, no one knew. But Anna’s curiosity was matched only by her network.
Paul nodded. “Yes. A couple of off-duty drivers for Sutherland Ridgefield took some under the table cash and dumped waste on land that I own.”
Anna’s patrician nose stubbed the air as she gestured with her wineglass. “I hope you sue them!” She sounded personally offended.
Sutherland Ridgefield was the largest miner and consumer of coal in Appalachia. In many one company towns, it was the Company – and even in the relatively diverse economy of Fairbridge, people referred to it as the Company in a way that you could pick up the capital C.
“I’m getting the Compa
ny to clean it up – that’s all.” Paul said. At least, he’d instructed Tom Hamilton and his high-priced law firm to start the process of wrestling with the company. Tom was on it, and he was very competent. None of Reuben’s friends were mediocre when it came to business.
He should be able to get them to clean it up.
He’d discovered the trespass and illegal hazardous waste disposal while walking in his woods. He got the number plate of the two men trespassing, phoned Reuben’s old rowing buddy and litigation rottweiler Tom Hamilton. Last Paul heard, Sutherland Ridgefield was in the middle of what they called a full internal investigation.
“Go after them, the bastards.”
“I’ll persuade them of my reasoning. How about you, how’s the logistics business?”
Anna shrugged, which was usually her way of saying things were good.
“I’m hurting less than the town. And a hell of a lot less than this old, great neighborhood. Loveday is struggling. But the trucks are doing okay. What can I say? Do you have plans for Christmas?”
It would be Paul’s first Christmas as a civilian. His thirteenth without Reuben.
That thought suddenly struck him.
Thirteen years since Reuben passed.
How could so much time have passed and yet Paul still felt, most of the time, so very lonely?
“So far, nothing planned. I guess…” Paul stopped himself.
Before Anna could invite him, Kenneth’s sneering voice overpowered everyone else:
“They’re all in on it! I mean, we have the same Chief of Police as we had before. Why would the new Mayor keep a Democratic appointment unless said appointee, deep down, was also a right-winger?”
“Hear hear,” TJ shouted in agreement. He was so socially awkward that an uncomfortable silence settled over the table for a few moments.
“Jesus, I still can’t get over it,” Clay said, referring to the surprise victory of the City’s first Republican Mayor in thirty years. He earned nods around the table.
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