by Pat Henshaw
“Thanks,” he said, not looking at her, and barreled up to stand in front of me, blocking my way out.
“Can we talk?” he growled. The silence of the other lumberjacks echoed around the cafe.
Puzzled, but resigned, I sighed and scooted back to the middle of the bench. I folded my hands on the table and nodded to Max. “Okay, you obviously worked to find me tonight. What do you have to say?”
Max all but fell into his side of the booth. His hair was a windy mess, and even though he’d changed outfits, his clothes were rumpled. He looked harried.
“Don’t say anything, okay?” He waited for me to nod. “Okay, I’ve thought this all out. I want to say it without messin’ up.”
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
When he opened them, he glared at the men around us, making those who were staring look away. Then he started talking quietly in a rush, as if I hadn’t agreed to keep still and listen.
“The folks and my brother died when I was nine. I went to live with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. I’ve never thought about whether I was gay or not because it was just assumed I wasn’t. But, see, I knew. I knew.”
He stared off above my head as the waitress set our plates in front of us.
“Bud’s experimenting with this tri-tip, and I thought you both might like it. I’ll check with you later for the verdict.” She peered at us one at a time and finally left, shaking her head.
“Anyway,” Max continued, his voice a low rumble, his eyes now on the tri-tip in front of him. “Anyway, I’d watch the other guys in my classes, all the time envying them because they acted so free and easy. I figured they had parents who let them do whatever they wanted. You know, let them think whatever they wanted to think. Be what they were.”
He shook his head, stared at his meal, then picked up his knife and fork. He cut off a huge bite of beef and roasted potato, shoving the combination into his mouth, and chewed. He gulped some of his water, then held up his knife.
“Let me finish.”
I’d been eating steadily and hadn’t even acted like I wanted to speak, but I nodded anyway. So far the story was mostly the same as the one Guy had told me. Now my sympathy for the young Max had bled into a degree of liking I’d never felt for anyone else. I wanted to get up, sit next to him, and put my arms around him in a hug.
Instead I just nodded.
“Long story short. I’m gay. I’m attracted to you, but I’ve never done this before. I’ve got no clue what to do. Not one damn clue. Do I ask you out? Where do we go? What do we do? It’s like I’m in junior high again. So far all I seem to do is piss you off. I’m sure I look like the biggest ass in the world. I just….” He stopped and sighed. “I just want you to like me as much as I do you. Only I don’t know how.”
Oh my God, I’d totally misread the entire thing. I opened my mouth to reassure him, but Max held up a hand and plowed ahead.
“When I sucked on your finger, I came,” he whispered, tight and low. He turned bright pink, his eyes averted. “Never happened to me so quick before. Never. Scared the shit out of me. Then those guys got up in your face and you pulled the knife. All I could think was you’ve been through worse than a little—okay, a lot of—cum in the shorts.” He shook his head. His face was now brick red. He looked like he was about to explode.
“I don’t know what I want. I only know I want more than I have now. You know?” His low rumble dripped desperation.
I nodded, my heart full, but Max wasn’t watching me. He was shaking. He pushed his plate away and clasped his hands in front of himself on the table, his knuckles a glaring white.
“I’m pathetic. I don’t know how to kiss a guy. Never had sex with a guy. Watched a lot of porn. But is porn real? If you’re with a real person?” Max’s hand bumped the silverware on his plate. We both jumped slightly at the ping of metal on ceramic. Then he ran his fingers through his hair. “Don’t even know what I’m doing here now. Just, I don’t know, just give me a chance, okay?”
I smiled, my heart breaking. I understood how hard it was for him to make these admissions. Before I could answer, the waitress was back.
“How was the tri-tip?” she asked brightly. Without waiting for responses, she smiled and continued, “It’s pecan, cherry, and peach-rhubarb tonight.” She scooped our plates and utensils into her hands. “So what’s it gonna be?”
My world jolted back to the cafe.
“Pecan, please,” I answered. “A la mode.”
She frowned. “Nope. We don’t do that. Pecan doesn’t get ice cream.”
“Okay, cherry a la mode,” I answered, not taking my eyes off Max. What the hell? The chef was a Pie Nazi? Why were we bothering about something as mundane as pie?
“Max?” She turned to him.
“Pecan, and some of the whipped cream.” He sounded as stunned as I felt.
“Your regular.” She nodded, turning away.
Our eyes followed her. We slipped uneasily back into our discussion.
“There’s a problem, you know,” I said.
Max’s shoulders fell.
“You’re a client. I can’t have a personal relationship with a client.”
It was a rule I’d made and kept after a client I’d slept with had decided that since we were an item, he didn’t need to pay me.
“Oh, I….” Max stopped and sat studying his clasped hands. “I can’t break the contract. I like what you’ve planned. Shit.”
The waitress was back with dessert, the quickest turnaround I’d ever seen.
“No glum faces, now,” she scolded. “There’s nothing so bad a piece of pie won’t cure it. Eat up.”
Then she was gone. The rumble of background conversation was still suspiciously quieter than I thought it should have been. We were at a stalemate. In silence, we ate our pie, not looking at each other.
My mind was running its chaotic marathon. So many ups and downs today, I didn’t know if I was coming or going. No, wait. I knew I wasn’t coming.
Max was too good to be true. Gay? How did he know he was gay? Stupid question. How did any of us know? We just knew.
He seemed perfect for me. Was I perfect for him? Should I break the contract to find out? I didn’t need the money. Did I need him as a potential boyfriend? Good grief. I couldn’t think about this here.
I peeked around me. The room’s ears seemed to be straining. Or was it just my imagination?
I dug into the piece of pie, trying to distract myself.
Like everything else the Rock Bottom served, the pie was delicious. I nearly inhaled mine. I was surprised when Max cut a little off his and slid it across to my plate.
“Pecan was your first choice. You need to taste it,” he muttered.
As I forked the piece, I looked around the cafe and noticed all the other customers still seemed to be surreptitiously watching us. Were they listening or trying to listen to what we were talking about? For Max’s sake, I hoped not. Personally, I didn’t care one way or another. If the lumberjacks wanted to listen in, more power to them.
“So you’re a little attracted to me, then?” Max asked. Was that relief showing on his face? Had this been bugging him all along?
“What? Of course. You’re gorgeous. You could have anyone you want,” I reassured him.
“Don’t want anyone. Want to get to know you,” Max breathed. I felt a tingle from my groin to my toes as Max’s lust settled over me.
The world stopped a moment as if the fates were writing in their eternal histories. I nearly passed out feeling so overwhelmed.
Then the world resumed and the cosmos breathed. Max shook his head.
“Don’t suppose we could break the contract and then you could sell me the plans?” Max took a peek up from his cleaned plate.
“And have you give them to someone else who’ll claim them as his own? Not a chance,” I answered. “But I think maybe we can compromise.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Let’s sleep on it—not toget
her,” I added with an uneasy laugh. “How about we meet here tomorrow morning? Let’s think about it. We’ll figure something out. I might have some ideas.”
As I walked out of the Rock Bottom past all the stares of the lumberjacks, I was shaken, but had enough experience not to show I was quaking in my shoes.
As I drove to Guy’s cabin—with Max following for some reason, to make sure I got there safely, I assume—I asked myself how I really felt about him. If we did get together, would Max be the love of my life or the bane of my existence? Was I willing to take a chance with someone just exploring his sexuality? I didn’t usually do virgins. Was Max worth it?
The night was inky around me. Every once in a while a particular tree or woodland animal was spotlighted by the headlights.
Why did I feel like I was one of them? As if someone were shining a light on me, waiting for me to do something spectacular?
Could I live up to Max’s expectations? Could Max live up to mine?
7
THE COOL fresh air and bird songs of the morning lulled me from sleep. I thought I’d be awake all night when I went to bed, but evidently the breeze and night noises of the forest had me drifting off while I puzzled over Max.
He was admittedly gay. He was gorgeous. He pushed all my relevant buttons. We might even have something in common—besides the cabin, of course. What was I dithering about?
Okay, my bad past life notwithstanding. Had anybody said anything negative about Max? No. In fact, everyone acted like he was the best thing since sliced bread. He’d all but begged me to give him a good time. And I was being paranoid now? What was wrong with me? I mean, honestly. Sometimes I pissed myself off royally.
The clincher, from a purely business point of view, was I’d already gotten his check for payment in full. No quibbles, no counteroffers, just money in the bank. So even if he wanted to renege on the deal, he couldn’t. I’d already won as far as finances went.
I was sold and eager to engage.
The Rock Bottom was just as crowded early in the morning as it had been the night before and with what seemed to be the same contingent from the woodsmen’s convention. Plaid shirts over T-shirts, heavy-duty jeans, and brown work boots were the uniforms of choice.
The foyer was crowded again as I opened the front door. I took a deep breath as those waiting for a table turned and stared at me, not one of them cracking a smile.
Good Lord, I was getting tired of this. I straightened my shoulders as I felt a hand land on my shoulder. Now what?
The woodsmen were staring behind me, their gazes for the most part puzzled. The hand squeezed, not painfully, but physically there. A thumb rubbed my neck. I knew whose hand caressed me and I rubbed my butt a little against him.
“Mornin’. Let’s go find us a table,” Max purred in my ear. Then louder he said, “Mornin’, guys. Looks like everybody’s up early today.”
Max gave me a little shove with his body, and I tingled all over. We walked through the crowd toward the main part of the cafe.
“Mornin’, Lorraine. You got a table for us?” Max asked the woman whom I was beginning to think of as the Rock Bottom’s only waitress.
At her nod, I was again nudged to walk, to follow her as she led us to the same booth where we’d been sitting the night before. Still in shock at having Max at my back when I’d just been thinking of him, I followed her black polyester knit pants. Max was walking so close to me, I could feel his erection. And as always happens, action provoked reaction. I stiffened.
“I think coffee for both of us,” Max said, waiting until I nodded before he looked at Lorraine.
I’d heard the grumbling in the foyer, and the low, intimidating noise had followed us into the dining area. It sounded like the ominous rumble before a particularly bad thunderstorm. I softened. Nothing like a dark chorus to make a man go limp.
After we’d given our order—an omelet for me and a workman’s breakfast for him—the room got so quiet I was afraid to look away from Max. His eyes sparkled with mischief, but I knew mine didn’t.
I heard more than saw the white-haired gentleman walk up to the table and stand next to Max.
“Steven,” Max said with a frown.
“Son, I just wanted to say that your daddy would be real ashamed of you letting this homosexual turn you like he did,” the man pontificated.
What the fuck? It took all I had not to laugh. Turned? Like a vampire? I hadn’t so much as kissed Max, let alone sunk my teeth into the man, though both ideas were good ones.
“No, sir.” Max swiveled so he nearly touched the older man. The gleam in his eyes had intensified. “My daddy’d be ashamed of you callin’ me out in public like this about somethin’ personal. My daddy’d be happy his son was gay. In fact, I think he’d like Fredi a lot.”
What? I was stunned. They were going to duke it out about this here?
The senior citizen was agape, staring at Max as if he had two heads, both of them topped with Medusa-like snakes. A couple of the other diners were slowly getting up out of their seats, and they looked like they were about to come over to our table.
Not good. Not good. Oh Lord. Now I was shaking so hard my hands were shredding the paper napkin in my lap. Was I going to have to use Boner again? This was getting really old.
Max turned to me, a big grin on his face.
“Fredi, this was my uncle’s best friend,” Max intoned, giving just a little lewd emphasis on the last two words. “Steven Myers, this is Fredi Zimmer, a world-renowned architect and interior designer.” He stopped and looked like he was thinking a second. “Can’t recall anythin’ Steve’s world renowned for.”
A moment of silence built, broken by the waitress coming into the dining room, then standing still with her hands on her hips.
“Are we having some trouble in here?” she asked.
“I didn’t know you and Bud served out and out faggots,” Steve said without looking at her, still staring at Max.
“Now you listen here. You can just leave right now, Steven Myers,” she said. “And don’t you think about leaving without paying your tab.”
“What? I beg your pardon.” He rounded on her. He’d been red-faced when Max was talking to him, but now he was livid. He looked as if he could spit fire. “What did you say to me?”
He stalked up to her, but she didn’t back down. Even though she was shorter and lighter, she glared up at him.
“We don’t serve no bigots in here. Do we, Bud?” she yelled over her shoulder.
A dumpling of a man, sweat pouring off him, came out of the back and rounded the sit-down counter. The men who’d gotten up and had been walking to back up Steve turned and sat back down. Deep freezers weren’t any colder than the chill coming from Lorraine’s eyes.
Bud looked from Lorraine to Steve and back again.
“You, get out of here,” he said, pointing at Steve. “And don’t come back.”
“What? You can’t…,” Steve sputtered. “You can’t kick me out.”
“Just watch me,” Bud answered flatly. “Now, Lorraine, honey, we got some food ready. Unless there’s more people wantin’ to leave?”
Bud looked around at the men staring down at their tables. His gaze landed back on Steve.
“Thought I told you to get out,” he said pleasantly before he turned and went back to the kitchen.
I was stunned. What the hell was going on? Nobody was moving, least of all Steve Myers.
The busboy appeared from the kitchen and walked up to Lorraine, who was staring at Steve.
“Junior, Mr. Myers was just leaving. You want to help him out to the parking lot?” she asked.
Junior, who looked like a younger, skinnier, healthier version of Bud, nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
I was flabbergasted to see Junior, like Max, was grinning.
“Be a pleasure,” Junior added, walking up to Myers.
The older man flinched. “Don’t you put your dirty faggot-loving hands on me, son,” Myers spat at the teen
. “Don’t you touch me.”
Junior’s grin went into overdrive. The mischief poured off him.
“Gonna turn you into a faggot lover too,” he said softly and put his hand out as if to touch the man’s sleeve.
Steve slapped at Junior’s hand, turned, and all but ran out of the Rock Bottom.
“I’m calling the sheriff if you don’t pay your tab,” Lorraine called.
Myers stopped, dug a bill out of his pocket, and pounded it on the sign-in desk. Without another word, he stalked out.
“Anybody want more coffee?” Lorraine asked the room. Nobody answered.
“Is it always this exciting in the morning?” I asked as Max said, “Sorry you had to see that. Never did like the man.”
“Don’t apologize.” I put my hand over Max’s. “He’s the bigot, not you.”
“True enough,” Max answered. He turned his hand over and held mine. He looked down at our hands. “There’re so many things I haven’t done that I want to. You figure out a solution to our problem?”
I nodded. It was hard to think over what had just happened and the jolts firing up my arm from the hand Max held. I wanted to jump across the table and kiss him, but I thought there’d been enough histrionics and grand gestures for one morning. Drama before several cups of coffee is downright rude.
“Okay, here’s how I think this should work. We’re going to get your cabin just the way you want it,” I told Max. As he started to speak, I added, “While we’re doing that, you’ll take me out to lunch and dinner whenever we can get together. Or I’ll take you out. We’ll talk about the cabin. And other things. Maybe we’ll kiss, maybe other things. We’ll get to know each other. What do you think?”
By the time I finished, Max was grinning.
“All right. It’s a plan.” He turned and waved to Lorraine. “Lorraine, you mind bein’ a darlin’ and warmin’ up my eggs and Fredi’s omelet, please?”
“Sure thing, honey.” She scooped up our plates, handing them to Junior. “C’mon now, I know some of you want a refill,” she added, waving the coffee pot at the room.