Joel laughed. “I don’t think you’ll recognize anything these cowboys do. They’re supposed to waltz and two-step and bop, but mainly it’s just an excuse to bump and grind and show off their T’s and A’s, if you know what I mean.”
Tom didn’t. His face was blank except for the excitement in his eyes and the little sly smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Anyway,” Joel said, “it isn’t going to be what you’re expecting.”
“How do you know what I’m expecting?”
“Oh, I don’t, but something sane, I bet.”
Tom laughed weirdly again. For some reason, it increased Joel’s surprise. It wasn’t exactly a bad feeling. But it was strange.
A high chain-link fence ran along the road beside the county fairgrounds. Tonight, the big steel gates stood open. The ticket booth on the left was boarded up and Joel drove past, thinking of what he’d just told Tom.
There was a time not long ago, Joel recalled, that he had come out here with a date every chance he could, looking for the same sort of excitement Tom seemed to be expecting. At other times, he went with the guys and just stood around all night drinking and cussing and halfheartedly playing horny like they did, dancing with whatever girls came along. Nothing special ever happened on a date. They always ended with Joel debating the big question—whether he should kiss her good night.
It was always painful, making him feel embarrassed when he walked her to the door. Sometimes the girl would stand there, purse clutched in front of her, as nervous as he, and Joel would reach up with a hand and maybe touch her on the elbow and mutter something stupid like “Are you still sweating?” and she would turn quickly and go inside; he would practically run to the pickup and cuss himself out on the way home. You stupid shit, shoulda kissed her and kept your mouth shut. Now she probably thinks you didn’t enjoy yourself. Usually he hadn’t. But that wasn’t the point, was it? Guys swore up and down how hot it was to “make out,” cop a feel, maybe even get laid. Then sometimes the girl wouldn’t give him a chance to kiss her. She would bound out of the car, slam her door, and bounce cheerily away, blowing him an imaginary kiss, and he would wonder what was wrong with him. When he did kiss them, it was usually a dry, closed-lip affair on his part. It would feel strange leaning over, expecting to be drowned in passion, and coming away feeling as if he’d just kissed the back of her hand. Nothing magical ever happened. By the time he and Tom were good friends, these dances were long forgotten.
He pulled into the gravel lot and parked on the north side, away from the few cars that were already there and killed the engine. “Well, here we are, buddy.” Tom started to open his door. “We may as well stay for awhile,” Joel said. “I’ll go see if old Slim is set up out back yet.”
“The beer?”
“Yeah. Be right back.”
When he returned, Joel pulled two beers out of the cardboard package. “It’s not so bad cold,” he said, flicking open the glove box and grabbing the can opener he used to open oil cans. He cleaned it off on the cuff of his Levi’s and punched holes in Tom’s can. “Here.” He watched as Tom took a big gulp, then laughed a little as he held his own can up to his lips and took a bitter sip.
Tom shivered, and Joel laughed at his face, screwed up like he’d bitten into a rotten egg. But Tom squeezed his nose shut and took another gulp.
“You don’t have to torture yourself,” Joel said, trying to take the beer can away from Tom. “You don’t have to prove anything.”
But Tom held the can out of Joel’s reach and took a deep breath. He grinned sickly, threw back his head, and gulped, swallowed, and gagged until he had killed the beer. He laid the empty can on the floorboard of the pickup and got another one. He handed it to Joel. “Open it.”
Joel couldn’t keep from laughing and held the beer Tom gave him against his chest. “Wait, man! I’ve gotta catch up!” He chugged his own and imagined that his face was almost as tortured as Tom’s. They drank the rest of the six pack like two kids sucking on soda pop and watched the parking lot fill up with cars and pickups. By the time they slid out and walked toward the hangar, Tom was drunk and acting silly. Joel wasn’t drunk, exactly. His face felt numb and hot, but he was too bothered to feel slap-happy. It especially bothered him that Tom could get into trouble with his father, the preacher, the hard-ass who always made Joel feel like something was hanging from his nose, the way the preacher studied him with a stern expression whenever he had to talk to the guy. The last thing Tom could be when he took him home was shit-faced; and he could have kicked himself for giving in.
The dance was held in the arts and crafts building, where school children displayed their handiwork every October during the Fair and Livestock Show. Around the inside walls of the old hangar, between the partitions that usually divided the fair exhibits, tables were beginning to fill up. The place was alive and noisy, echoing laughter and talk high up in the open rafters; the only light came from the stage where the band was tuning up. The drummer’s erratic rhythms cut through the noisy crowd echoing like gunshots in the wide space.
When they passed by a table in a dark corner across from the band, Joel heard someone call his name. Peering through the darkness, he recognized Jeannie Lynn, Betsy Weller, and a few guys he had graduated with from the eighth grade at the county school near his farm. As usual, Jeannie Lynn was collecting partners for the dance. She already had the Crawford boys, Cliff and Bill, fetching her beer and showing off. No doubt by the end of the evening she’d have more in tow. Cliff and Bill clapped Joel on the shoulders from either side of the table. Their parents owned another farm near the school. Bill was the oldest, a senior come fall, like Joel. Cliff, his younger brother, was only a sophomore, but went everywhere Bill did. Nicky Coleman shook Joel’s hand and introduced a girl name Cindy, whom Joel recognized from high school. Joel introduced Tom to the guys. They shook the hand that Tom offered, but they weren’t all that friendly. Maybe even a little unfriendly. He thought maybe it was because Tom’s father was a preacher, or maybe because Tom wasn’t a rowdy sort, or maybe because he didn’t stand around grabbing at his crotch like they did, trying to keep hard-ons for Jeannie Lynn. He felt uncomfortable with them these days anyway, because they had already let him know they thought Tom was a weird friend for him to take up with. More than once, Nicky or one of the other guys had asked him why he was getting so standoffish. Joel had never been able to think of an answer that wouldn’t piss them off, so he just let it ride.
Tom took Jeannie Lynn’s politeness at face value, but knowing Jeannie Lynn, Joel figured she wasn’t being polite to be nice. Maybe she was waiting to see if Tom would come on to her. If a guy didn’t slobber over her—and Tom didn’t—she wouldn’t have much use for him.
But Betsy was practically climbing over the table to get at Tom, and Joel laughed to himself when she giggled and shook Tom’s hand as though she’d met Elvis Presley or somebody. Joel sympathized with her. He knew just how she felt, because he’d reacted the same way about a year before. He was glad that at least somebody was being nice to Tom. They sat on the opposite side of the table from the two girls, and Betsy leaned across the table to talk to Tom. Drunk and silly herself, she and Tom were soon rattling like old friends. Joel tried to watch Tom out of the corner of his eye and still keep up the prattle with the other guys.
Cliff, Jeannie Lynn, and Bill talked about their old school days at Mimbres County School like it was yesterday and not almost three years ago. Jeannie still enjoyed telling mean stories about Leo Johnson, another of their old classmates. She laughed wickedly and let her wrists flap loosely, imitating Leo. Nicky had changed some, or maybe he was just a little quieter than he used to be. He was leaning back against the wall with Cindy, one arm around her and one arm resting on the table, tapping his fingers and looking coolly around at the others. Their eyes never met, but Joel got the feeling that Nicky was watching him. At least he was dating other people besides the same old county school crowd and seemed proud of Cindy. He didn’t hav
e much to say about the good old days, either. Joel felt indifferent to the reminiscing; like Nicky, he had drifted away from this old crowd. The others never grew tired of these dances and drinking and endlessly dating one another, as if the town and all the other students at the high school didn’t even exist.
He was struck especially with their crudeness, of Bill’s goddamns and shits between every word, like I used to talk, Joel thought. Cliff was still chewing tobacco and kept an empty beer can on the table next to him to spit in. Every once in a while he bent over and squirted a black lumpy stream into the can. When he laughed, his teeth showed a crust of black around the edges. Several times Joel almost gagged when Cliff caught him by surprise and in the middle of a sentence leaned over and squirted a good one, then wiped the spit away from his mouth with the back of his hand.
When the band began playing, Betsy dragged Tom out to the dance floor, crushing her plump body against his. Tom had tried to tell her he didn’t know how to dance, but Betsy wouldn’t listen. Joel watched them struggle on the dance floor; Tom was having trouble standing up, and Betsy was trying to climb onto him. People danced by them, laughing at the way Betsy manhandled Tom into a semblance of romance, and Joel laughed at them, too.
“He sure dances like a pansy!” Bill said.
Joel looked around. He’d been leaning away from the table, watching Tom across the room. Bill was leaning back in a chair he’d stolen from the table next to them, arms crossed, laughing and shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it. Joel hooked a boot under Bill’s chair and jerked it out from under him, then laughed loudly as Bill fell ungracefully to the floor. “Lay off him, man, he’s just drunk!” Joel said at Bill’s shocked face.
“Shit, Joel! You’re runnin’ around with a strange one,” Bill said, picking himself up and laughing back, but there was the slightest edge that warned: “you ain’t that dumb, my old friend.” Joel turned away to hide his anger. He felt sorry for Tom just then, insulted by the laughter, and he wished again they hadn’t come.
In Tom’s strange mood, though, he actually seemed to enjoy their laughter. But he did get weary of Betsy and, when he struggled back into his place at the table after a few dances, he slumped against the wall and grabbed Joel around the neck. He pulled Joel’s face down to his mouth and whispered in a loud drunk’s voice, “Keep her away, Joel!” His breath gave Joel cold chills, and the heat of Tom’s chest against him was almost sexual. But Tom was grinning helplessly; his eyes were glassy and he looked as though he might pass out. Without thinking, Joel put his arm around Tom’s shoulders and brushed Tom’s hair back from his forehead. Tom leaned back against him.
“He get like this all the time?” Nicky said.
Joel looked across the table and met Nicky’s frown. “Naw—” realizing that the others had begun to look strangely, too, he pulled his arm away from Tom’s shoulders. “He’s never been drunk before.”
Nicky shook his head. He pulled Cindy up beside him and looked straight at Joel. “Well, it’s gettin’ a little too weird around here for us. Catch you later, guys.” He began to move off.
Tom pulled himself up, using Joel’s neck for support. He called out “Nice meeting you!” But Nicky ignored him and walked away with Cindy. Jeannie Lynn laughed and nudged Betsy. Tom looked around, confused.
“Take it easy, Tom,” Joel said, quietly, feeling the undercurrents of his old friends’ attitudes. “Nicky can’t hear you.” He caught Jeannie’s eyes; they were teasing and mischievous. “Anything wrong?” he asked.
“Your little boyfwend upthet Nicky,” she laughed.
“Oh shut up!” Betsy said, surprising everybody. Then she mooned over at Tom. “You wanna dance, hon?”
“I don’t think he does,” Joel said. “I think he just needs to sober up.”
“You his nursemaid or what?” Jeannie said and laughed, again. Her eyes glittered and she looked around, sharing the humor.
Bill caught her eye and laughed too, showing Joel he still thought it was funny. Then he put his arm around Betsy and gave her a squeeze. “Come on, Betsy,” he said, “let’s show him how it’s done,” and danced her off, easily maneuvering Betsy around the slick floor. Then Cliff took Jeannie out to the dance floor and, for a moment, he and Tom were left alone.
Tom didn’t sense their hostility, but Joel felt it like a solid presence. “You ready to go?” he asked.
Tom looked genuinely surprised. “We just got here!”
Joel sighed. Tom leaned against the wall, his expression almost a caricature of seriousness, and Joel grinned. “What?”
Tom leaned against him. “Aren’t you havin’ a good time? Huh?” He spoke quietly, slurring his words a little; his eyes were still glassy. But he smiled more like his old self in the dim light.
Joel leaned against the table, resting his left forearm on it, his back to the dance floor. In this light he noticed how soft Tom’s features looked and it made his chest feel tight. He sighed again and smiled a little stiffly at his friend. “I am if you are.”
“Betsy’s nice,” Tom laughed. “But I sure am glad you told her I didn’t have to dance anymore.”
Joel settled back against the partition. In the smoky half-light he watched the dancers. The band was playing a waltz or two-step—something with a steady, paced rhythm—and the dancers shuffled in unison in a circle around the dance floor like a human wheel.
Tom sighed. “Well, I know what it’s like to dance, now.”
Joel had to laugh. “Sort of, you do.”
“Whadya mean?”
“With you and Betsy? It was more like a wrestling match.”
He looked at Joel, searching his face. “Then do you wanna dance and show me how?”
Joel started to laugh. “We can’t do that! People would think—”
“Why not? Look over there.”
A couple of women were dancing together near the ticket taker. “Oh, women do that all the time, Tom. My sisters used to do that, too. Two guys couldn’t—”
“But it wouldn’t be any different,” Tom said, looking around as if his logic was sound.
Joel laughed. “No. It wouldn’t raise an eyebrow!”
As he studied Tom’s face, he suddenly realized that Tom wasn’t kidding. Tom was looking at him as if he expected an answer. A thrill shot through Joel, again, and he realized he was getting an erection, wondering how it would feel to dance with his friend. Tom’s eyes glittered like crystals against the spotlight from the stage, and he smiled steadily at Joel as if he knew the feelings he was arousing in him.
Then Jeannie Lynn and the others came back to the table laughing and talking loudly; someone made a trip out back for beer and, soon, the cigarette smoke and noise, the smell of sweat, and the pumping rhythm of the band pressed in again. Tom helped himself to a beer, making a mess of it with the can opener. It was warm and spewed foam all over him and the wall. When he tried to put his mouth over it, it spilled out of the corners, wetting his chin and running down his neck into the open collar of his shirt. He wiped his face and rubbed his hands on his pants. He began acting silly again, and whatever he had been getting at when they were alone was lost in the noise and the swirling faces.
Joel continued to drink, as well, and soon felt himself slipping into a silly stupor. It was difficult to focus on the faces after awhile. The night seemed to go on in waves of laughter and commotion, comings and goings. Several times he had to lead Tom to the restrooms behind the stage where the band was playing. And each time it was becoming more difficult to get in and out of their place at the table.
Another old schoolmate, Kenneth Stroud, wandered by, causing a sudden stillness to settle over the table. Jeannie Lynn stiffened. Her eyes lost their coquettish gleam, became wary. The other guys got up from the table like Dobermans on guard. Bill leaned against the partition, arms folded, blocking Kenneth’s approach. But Kenneth had already spotted Joel. He stood his ground at a wary distance, swaying drunkenly, staring into the dark corner. Joel hadn
’t gotten up like the others. Their eyes locked long before the others had even seen him.
Kenneth’s old animosity toward Joel covered him like an odor. Joel felt sorry for him, but at the same time, he dreaded every encounter with him. Kenneth leered at him as he passed. “I know that kid you’re with, Reece,” he snarled. “The preacher’s kid, yeah!” Then he disappeared into the crowd. Joel shrugged to himself, confused as always by Kenneth. Why who he ran around with should bother Kenneth was a mystery, and Joel wondered for the thousandth time in the last few years if Kenneth wasn’t just plain crazy. Of course he hates me, Joel thought. No big mystery there at all, after all those fights at school, which Kenneth always started and Joel reluctantly finished, beating the shit out of him and miserably wishing Kenneth would just give it up. Kenneth was both a real loser and too dumb to realize he would be better off if he’d just try to make friends. But of course he wouldn’t.
More people joined them at the table and, soon, Joel was pressed on both sides. On his left, Cliff had found a girl from somewhere and was trying to make room for her. On his right, Tom was being squeezed between him and the wall. Joel put his arm around Tom’s back. It was so crowded no one seemed to notice, which suited Joel just fine. He was beginning to enjoy the feelings rushing through him and, when he felt Tom snuggle against him, he hugged him closer. Tom was hot and sweaty and very quiet. Joel spoke into Tom’s ear, brushing it with his lips. “You all ri—?” He felt Tom’s hand on his leg, working its way up to his crotch. Tom was looking at him with his mouth partway open and Joel felt the insistent throb in his pants. His heart pounded hard. Drunk and fascinated, he didn’t think to push Tom away until it was too late. Even as he felt Tom’s mouth on his it didn’t register—
Then Jeannie screamed a long, shrill laugh. “Oooh, how queer! They’re kissing!” Laughter exploded around the table, and the guys standing nearby suddenly became a wall, falling in on him and Tom. In the slow-motion getaway that followed, Joel pushed Tom away and tried to stand. For what seemed like a minute or more, he couldn’t make Tom stand up and finally hooked his forearms under Tom’s armpits. Gotta get out. Gotta leave, he kept thinking, unable to say anything to any of them. He stomped his way blindly over feet and thighs, felt beer soak his calf, a thumbnail break to the quick against the table; they fell free onto the dance floor and Joel managed to get Tom to his feet. Over his shoulder, Joel heard the laughter and confusion they had caused. But the music from the band pounded into his head, and he couldn’t hear what was being said. Jeannie’s high-pitched laughter sounded like a siren over the rest of the noise. The last sound Joel heard when they passed the ticket taker on the way out into the sluggish night air was a general pulsing laughter, as if everyone in the hangar had seen him and Tom kissing and heard Jeannie’s accusation.
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