by TJ Klune
Serge laid his head on Josy’s shoulder. “Yeah, Josy. That sounds awesome.”
Xander collapsed on Josy’s legs. “We’ll buy an RV and hotbox the shit out of it when we drive to Milwaukee and the Vatican. Do you think the Pope smokes?”
Josy shrugged. “Yeah, man. I’m sure he does. I mean, he has to, right? Otherwise he would get so bored doing… whatever the king of Jesus does. I don’t know.”
“It’ll be awesome,” Serge agreed. “And the next six weeks won’t be so bad. You’ll have Casey and Gustavo.”
“And Quincy,” Xander singsonged.
Josy felt his face grow hot. “Shut up.”
“Who is your friiiiend.”
“Shut up, Xander!”
They wrestled for a little while.
Then they ate potato chips and watched HGTV.
Five minutes later, they remembered to order pizza.
It had goat cheese and kale and bullshit on it.
Chapter 9
WHEN JOSIAH Erickson landed in Eugene on a crisp morning in late October, three elderly women were waiting for him at the airport wearing sparkly pink jackets and holding signs with glitter on them.
The first woman was bony thin and taller than the others. She had a commanding presence and was obviously the leader of the trio. She was nearly eighty years old, and her poofy white hair sat like a cloud on her head. Her sign read: WELCOME TO.
The second woman was shorter and squatter. She suffered from female pattern baldness and today wore a platinum blonde wig that made her look like a high-powered executive. Her sign said: OREGON, YOU.
The last woman stood with her shoulders squared. Her head was shaved to a tight buzz cut, and she wore black chaps over her jeans. She also had on leather fingerless gloves with rhinestones on them. Her sign said: MOVIE STAR.
Bertha, Bernice, and Betty.
The We Three Queens.
Josy waved wildly at them.
Bertha and Bernice waved back just as hard.
Betty sized him up.
“Is that for me?” Josy demanded as he approached, pointing at their signs.
Bertha nodded. “It was Bernice’s idea. She said that she always wanted someone to be waiting for her with a sign in an airport and thought you would like the same.”
“I used too much glitter on mine,” Bernice said, looking down at her sign. “I got glitter in places no one should. My rear looked like a disco ball by the time I finished.”
“Cadet!” Betty growled. “Report!”
Josy snapped to attention. “The flight was good! I had water with no ice because ice hurts my teeth, and peanuts, and the woman next to me got drunk and asked me to go to her hotel room!”
“Oh dear,” Bernice said. “I do hope you said no. I don’t think we rode all this way just to wait outside for you to make love to a stranger. And a woman, no less. I always thought you were queer.”
“I said no,” Josy assured her. “That would be rude to make you wait. Also, I don’t have sex with women.”
“More for the rest of us,” Bertha said. “Shall we?” She frowned. “Is that all you brought? Just a backpack?”
Josy shook his head. “Nope. I have two more bags.” He squinted at them. “Did you bring a car, or…?”
The We Three Queens burst out laughing.
“A car,” Bertha said.
“As if we would ever,” Bernice said, wiping her eyes.
“Do we look like car people?” Betty asked.
That seemed like a dangerous question. “Uh… no?”
“We brought the Vespas, of course,” Bernice said, tugging him toward the baggage claim. “Bertha has a trailer that attaches to the back of hers, and Betty has a sidecar attached to hers that you’ll sit in. I get to just be pretty on mine without anything extraneous.”
“That’s right,” Betty said. “You’re gonna be my sidecar honey. You have a problem with that?”
“Nope,” Josy said. “I didn’t even know they made sidecars for Vespas, but I think I’ve always wanted to sit in one.”
“They don’t make them for people,” Bernice said, patting his hand. “It’s actually meant for a dog, but Casey said you’re flexible. Just because you’re a movie star now doesn’t mean you’re better than a dog.”
Josy blushed. “I’m not a movie star.”
“Not yet,” Bertha said as they stepped onto an escalator. “But I’ve got a good feeling about this. I remember when I first met you. I said, ‘That boy is going to be in a movie one day, and we’ll be the ones picking him up from the airport.’ Didn’t I say that?”
“She did,” Bernice said. “It’s spooky when you think about it. Though I don’t know why this didn’t happen sooner. I asked Casey why you weren’t cast in the Hungering Blood Moon saga. I’ve always thought you’d make a perfect Martindale.” They stepped off the escalator and followed the signs for the baggage claim.
Josy shrugged. “He didn’t have any say in the auditions. The producers didn’t think I was vampire/werewolf postapocalyptic enough, I guess. But that’s okay! Someone told me once that when one door closes, a window is left open so you can still break in and take what you want.”
“Wow,” Bernice said. “That sounds like it belongs on a calendar. Doesn’t that sound like it belongs on a calendar?”
Betty snorted. “It’s deep. And incorrect. But I had a good ride today into Eugene, so I’ll let it slide. Got me out of Abby for a little while. Too noisy there the past few weeks.”
Josy cocked his head. “Noisy?”
“Oh,” Bertha said, “it’s a trip. Abby is all abuzz since the movie people arrived with their cameras and their clapboards and their strange desire to have iced coffees in their hands at all times. There’s never been anything like it before. Californians are so strange.”
“Especially since they held auditions for minor roles in the movie,” Bertha said as they stopped in front of the conveyor belt. “Everyone who is anyone in Abby auditioned for a role.”
“Whoa,” Josy said. “That’s awesome. Did you guys audition too?”
Bernice sniffed. “Did we audition. Of course we auditioned. In fact, we were the first in line.”
“She made us camp out the night before,” Betty muttered. “Even though there was absolutely no need to.”
“Oh please,” Bertha said. “Like you complained about a chance to get out your old Army tent. In fact, you complained that Bernice and I were taking too long and that we’d be late.”
Betty crossed her arms as she rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It was sweet,” Bernice whispered to Josy. “All of us in a tiny little tent, just like when we were younger. I tried to make s’mores, but apparently it’s illegal to light fires on sidewalks in Abby for some reason.”
“Oh man,” Josy said. “I know all about that. It’s not just Abby. You can’t light fires on sidewalks in LA either.”
“Laws.” Bernice shrugged. “But yes, we did audition, and I nailed it, of course. I can’t speak for the other two, only myself. So when I say I was better, you know it’s true. At least that was the impression I got from the director.”
“Quincy?” Josy squeaked.
They turned slowly to stare at him. “Yes,” Bertha said. “Quincy.”
Josy swallowed thickly. “That’s… super cool. He’s so neat. Like, I’m his friend now. And stuff. You know.”
“And stuff,” Bertha said, watching him strangely.
“Hmm,” Bernice said, rubbing at a hair on her chin.
“Indeed,” Betty said, eyes glinting.
Josy needed a distraction. “Did you get the parts?”
“We did,” Bertha said, puffing out her chest. “I am some kind of monster thing that gives your character advice. I get to wear a costume. It will be my greatest role. And also my only one.”
“I’m a talking tree!” Bernice exclaimed. “I don’t know why!”
They looked at Betty.
Bertha nudged her shoulder.
Betty scowled. “I’m a cat.”
“She has to lick herself,” Bertha said, trying to smother her laughter. “I mean, it’s not the first time she’s had to lick—oh look, the bags are coming!”
And so they were.
THE PINK Vespas were waiting in the parking lot.
Sure enough, one had a sidecar attached. Josy didn’t know how he was going to fit, but he was going to give it the ol’ college try, even though he’d never been to college.
Betty put his luggage in the small trailer attached to Bertha’s Vespa before turning back around. “Since you are my sidecar honey, you have to act the part. You’re already an actor, so it shouldn’t be too hard.” She reached into a saddlebag on her own Vespa and pulled out a pink jacket, slightly bigger than theirs. She flipped it around. On the back, in bright bedazzled letters, were six words.
PROPERTY OF THE WE THREE QUEENS
“I get to wear that?” Josy asked. “That’s…. No one has ever given me a pink jacket and told me I was their property before.” He took it from Betty, running a finger over the letters. “This is gnarly. Thank you.”
He put the jacket on.
“And a helmet,” Bertha said. She handed him a pink helmet that had rainbows painted on it.
“And the goggles,” Bernice said. She passed him a pair of pink goggles that looked like they would cover his entire face.
Since he was surrounded by a biker gang, he did the only thing he could: he put everything on.
“Wow,” Bernice breathed when he finished. “You look ridiculous.”
“We need a selfie,” Josy demanded.
They agreed and smooshed in so he could take a picture.
His followers loved it, of course. Hashtag sidecar honey.
ON FRIDAY, October 23, 2015, Josiah Erickson arrived in Abby, Oregon. It was 2:36 in the afternoon. The air was crisp, the president of the United States was black and classy, and everything was wonderful.
Abby was in the deep throes of a bright and beautiful autumn. It was colder than it’d been in Eugene, and Josy was thankful for his kickass new jacket. He’d waved at everyone they’d passed, pleased that most people already seemed to be staring at him. They probably didn’t know who he was (not yet, anyway), but a few of them waved back, and that was cool. When he waved at people in LA, they either ignored him or walked faster. One time a guy had pulled a knife, but Josy had knocked it out of his hand with a powerful karate chop.
Now that he thought about it, that last one might have been a dream.
But no matter.
Abby just felt different than back home did. He might not have liked the fact that Casey had moved so far away, but he understood it. Not only was it home to Gustavo Tiberius, it was also a beautiful place in its own right. The leaves were red and gold on the big maple trees, and the smell of Douglas firs was thick in the air. The streets were filled with fall and Halloween decorations, paper pumpkins and witches put in the doors and windows of businesses that lined the main stretch. Casey had told him that Mrs. Leslie Von Patterson of the Abby Fun Committee had been in charge of the decorations and tended not to take no for an answer, much to Gustavo’s consternation. After the success of last year’s Strawberry Festival, Mrs. Von Patterson had decided that Abby should be decorated at all times, even if there wasn’t a specific festival and/or event going on. Mostly it went well. Other times, like this past April, they celebrated Plan Your Epitaph Day, where the businesses in Abby had to put in their windows what they wanted on their gravestones after they died.
Casey had sent him a picture of what Gustavo had put in the window of Pastor Tommy’s Video Rental Emporium.
I DIED AND NOW I FINALLY GET TO BE LEFT ALONE. BYE.
Gustavo was wonderful.
Abby, Oregon, was wonderful.
(Also, Oregon had legalized recreational marijuana last October, so.)
Casey had told him that Lottie was in the process of getting her license to create an extension onto Lottie’s Lattes that would act as a dispensary, both medical and recreational. It would be Abby’s first. It would work in harmony with Baked-Inn & Eggs, and they hoped to make Abby a destination stop on kush tours. The ideas were still in the planning stages, but the bed-and-breakfast Casey had opened was the first part of it. He’d bought an old ramshackle house last spring, had it renovated, and when the ballot initiative passed, opened it for business. He worked the B and B himself for the first couple of months before hiring a small staff to take over for him so he could focus on his books.
That had mostly been Bernice’s doing. She’d told him in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t resolve DesRinaDale, she would go onto Yelp and leave him a negative review for Baked-Inn & Eggs. She apologized almost immediately, but when Casey still hadn’t started a week later, a curiously vague review for the B and B appeared on Yelp from a user named IAmNotBernice that said it was haunted by the ghost of a loquacious Mormon. Casey immediately began working on the next book, and the review was removed before ghost hunters got wind of it. Everyone agreed that was for the best because ghost hunters were the absolute worst people in the world.
Josy loved LA. He loved the lights and the vibrancy and the people.
But here, in Abby, he felt like he could breathe again for the first time since he could remember.
The whine of the Vespas echoed off the buildings as they drove down the street. They passed Gustavo and Casey’s house and then the video store, which had a Closed sign on the door, along with a note that Josy didn’t catch. Betty honked the tiny horn as they passed by the coffee shop, where Lottie waved at them from the window, her frizzy drag-queen hair bouncing on her shoulders.
They left Main Street and turned up a small road that wound its way up a hill behind Abby. They came to a sign on the right that read:
BAKED-INN & EGGS
BED & BREAKFAST
WEED LOVE TO HAVE YOU!
According to Casey, Gustavo had threatened to knock down the sign in the middle of the night if the pot pun wasn’t removed. He didn’t seem to have gotten around to it.
The house itself was three stories but was still somehow cozy. It was an old Tudor with green leafy vines growing on the front. It had a garden in the back that was still a work in progress but would eventually have a gazebo and hammocks hanging from trees where people could smoke and relax. And since it was 420-friendly, there were no children allowed, which Josy was happy about. He was okay with kids as long as they belonged to someone else and stayed far, far away from him.
And there, standing on the porch, arms crossed and a scowl on his face, was one of the greatest people in the world.
“You’re late,” Gustavo Tiberius snapped. “You said you’d be here by two. It’s now a quarter till three. Do you know how much business I might have lost at the video store? Why, I can’t even begin to imagine.”
Josy didn’t hesitate. Even before the Vespa had come to a complete stop, he jumped out of the sidecar and ran. Gustavo gave a little shriek of fear and managed to say, “Who are you, pink stranger, stay away from me!” before Josy was on him, wrapping him in a tight hug.
“It’s Josiah,” Bertha called. “Who else would it be?”
Gustavo barely relaxed. “Why is he dressed like he just came from a rave in the late nineties?”
“It’s how my sidecar honeys look,” Betty said, grunting as she pulled Josy’s bags from the trailer. Bernice tried to help but got distracted by a butterfly on one of the bushes Casey had planted along the driveway.
“How much longer must this last?” Gustavo asked.
“Hi,” Josy said happily.
Gustavo sighed. “Hi, Josy.” And then, wonder of all wonders, he brought his arms up and loosely hugged Josy back for almost three seconds.
It was almost as good as the moment when he’d been hired to star in a movie.
Which wasn’t that long ago, so everything was coming up Jos
y.
Gustavo grumbled under his breath until Josy stepped back. “Take off that helmet. And the goggles.” He frowned. “The jacket’s okay, I guess.”
Josy did just that. His beard was probably a mess, and his hair felt in disarray, but none of it mattered. He dropped the helmet and goggles on the porch, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and pressed his face against Gustavo’s.
“What are you doing? No, Josy, I swear to god, if you don’t unhand me, I will—”
“Please?”
Gustavo rolled his eyes. “You get one.”
“Per hour?”
“Per week.”
“But—”
“Take it or leave it.”
“You suck, Gustavo. Is that any way to treat a guest?”
“You’re not a guest. You’re a leech that has somehow attached himself to my person, and I will not stand for it. Either take the picture for your Instatime or we’re done.”
“You have to smile. At least a little.”
Gustavo bared his teeth. He looked like a rabid chipmunk. It was perfect.
Josy snapped the photo before letting Gustavo go. “You know what? I’m not even going to use a filter for that. It looks so good already.”
“Wow,” Gustavo said. “The joy I feel knows no bounds.” He looked down the porch at the We Three Queens. “I know I’m supposed to ask if you need help because it’s polite, but the last time I did that, Betty reminded me she knew six ways to break my neck. And since the bones of the neck are surprisingly weak, I believe her.”
“Seven ways,” Betty corrected as she hefted Josy’s bags up the stairs. “And I got it. I may be old, but I’m still stronger than you. Being in love has made you soft, cadet.”
“I still do push-ups,” Gustavo said. “Sometimes Casey even sits on my back when I do them. I tell him to get off, but he says it’s his duty as my boyfriend to sit on me.”