The General and the Horse-Lord

by Sarah Black

  Lathrop sighed. It was clear this was not going to be an easy lunch. John smiled, pulled his napkin to his lap. “Charles, I read that article you wrote for Foreign Affairs. It was a subtle rethinking about the dynamics of Cuban-American relationships.”

  “Thank you, John! What have you been writing?”

  “Xenophon again, off to Monocle.”

  “Always popular. We talked before about you writing a more extensive history of military leadership. Have you thought any more about that?”

  “I’ve been tied up a bit, Charles, but that’s always in the back of my mind. I’ll need a year or more to do the research.”

  “Would you be interested in doing a few graduate seminars? Maybe one?”

  John shook his head. “I’m not sure, Charles. Not… I’m not sure if I want to remain associated with this university system.”

  That dropped onto the table like a lead balloon, and they all stared at the tablecloth in silence. Their waiter, well trained in business lunches, moved in to pour wine and take orders and get them over the next few awkward minutes.

  “Thank you for the report you sent, John.” Charles put his reading glasses on, pulled out a memo pad and pen. He looked at George Fox. “And for your follow-up, George. Can you update me?”

  George pulled his napkin into his lap, picked up his fork when the waiter slid a salad in front of him. “I told Simon I was going to terminate Brian Walker, as we discussed, and four hours later, Brian Walker disappeared.”

  “Have you been able to locate him and deliver the termination letter?”

  “No.”

  “I suggest we let HR handle that from this point forward. You doing it was a courtesy, and his disappearance suggests we can withdraw the courtesy. Did Dr. Wainright say he had spoken to Professor Walker regarding the termination?”

  George shook his head. “Claimed not to know anything about it, or his absence, though he did sign the medical leave papers. Maybe it happened when he was in a fugue state. Or one of those seizure disorders? What are they called, absence seizures? When you do things and later can’t remember anything about it?”

  Charles sighed, tapped the pen against the memo pad. “Could anyone else have gotten the information to Professor Walker? An admin?”

  “Not sure.” George ate a mouthful of salad. The look on his face suggested what he wanted to say was I don’t give a shit.

  Charles studied him for a moment, then put down the pen and picked up his fork. “Well, HR will manage things from this point, so I feel confident our students are….” He was looking at John. “How is your salad, John?”

  John hadn’t started to eat. He looked across the table, a cool gray gaze, his hands still in his lap. “Does Prentiss Walker have a reason to think he can manipulate personnel issues at the university from the board of supervisors?”

  Lathrop rubbed his chin, then picked up his wine glass and took a sip. “There is certainly the appearance of inappropriate influence. I have concerns, and the governor shares those concerns. You can rest assured I’m gathering information.” John didn’t speak, and Charles gave him a crooked grin, drained his glass of wine. “He’s going to be joining us for dessert, John. You can get a look at him then.”

  “Excellent.” John picked up his fork. The salad was really quite good. “I’m sorry this problem got dumped into your lap, Charlie.”

  Charles shrugged. “It’s the job, I guess. I don’t know why people keep acting like fools and jackasses. I’m thinking about having one of those soft little retirement careers myself.”

  PRENTISS WALKER was a bluff, heavy man with a shock of carefully styled white hair and a face that was red enough John wondered about his alcohol intake and blood pressure. The waitstaff avoided him, leaving the hostess to greet him and escort him to their table. He looked powerful and spoiled. Charles Lathrop rose to shake hands, and he introduced the other men at the table. Walker studied Gabriel, then looked down at John. There was open derision on his red face. “So you brought the little boyfriend? He’s your lawyer, huh? Isn’t that sweet.”

  Gabriel stood up, looking lean and dark and dangerous, and stood between John and Walker. “Mr. Walker. Why don’t you back way the hell off?”

  Prentiss Walker grinned at Gabriel. “How’s the little wifey?”

  Gabriel was as still as stone. “You’re about to make a mistake, sir, that you will bitterly regret.”

  “I doubt that.” Walker turned away, studied Charlie Lathrop, then looked at John. “Now I am going to tell you all how things work in Santa Fe, and what we’re going to do about this situation, so Charlie, you can get your little memo book out and take notes.” He pulled up a chair, sat heavily. “General, you aren’t a general any longer. We don’t all jump when you yell. And you don’t come into my back yard and start spraying like a tomcat and fucking with my son’s career and reputation. So I’m going to tell you….”

  John stopped listening, studied the plate of cheese and fruit. He was tired suddenly, tired of dealing with these weak men, these bullies and fools. Prentiss Walker was exactly what John thought he would be. Was there anyone who had the balls to be a better man than he had to be? He put his napkin down on the table and stood. George Fox stood, as well, taking his cue.

  Charlie Lathrop looked startled. “Gentlemen, can we just sit down for a moment? Let’s not….”

  John shook his head. “I don’t think that would be productive, Dr. Lathrop. You have the information you need for the governor to make a decision about this matter.” John looked at Walker, studied him as the older man’s face got redder and redder. Then he turned and walked out of the restaurant. Gabriel winked at Walker, which John thought might precipitate a stroke, and George Fox nodded to Lathrop, followed John and Gabriel out the door.

  George didn’t speak until they were in the car, and John could hear the grin in his voice. “Hey, that was kind of badass, wasn’t it? I like how you military guys negotiate. So, what happens now?”

  “Now we wait.” John turned from the front seat. “That was a brilliant comment, by the way. You would be a wicked good cage fighter, George.”

  “Just a little fantasy of mine.”

  John looked at Gabriel. He was loose as a goose, his hand riding on the bottom of the steering wheel, looking through the CDs for some music for the ride home. His shoulders were moving to a familiar tune, and he was singing “Super Freak” under his breath.

  John looked back at Fox. “The best negotiation is when you aren’t negotiating.”

  Chapter 17

  THE house was overrun with young artistic types running in and out of the garage, and John had to laugh at the noise they made, like a bunch of colorful tropical birds in too small a jungle. The boys and girls seemed to be dressed in rags or maybe curtains, not quite costumes, he thought, but he didn’t want to ask and embarrass Kim by being so uncool.

  John called Cody Dial, got him on his cell. “You still in town? I’m going to throw some steaks on the grill. You want to come over? We can drive down to Ho Ho’s together for this shindig.”

  “I could eat a steak.”

  “I think Billy is already here. He was wearing a black cape a few minutes ago when he went by on his bike.”

  “A black cape? You know, his mama was an actress.”

  “I haven’t talked to you for a couple of days. You happen to run into a man on a boat?”

  “Such a pretty face the boy had. I offered to drop him off at the ER but he said no. I left him making up an ice pack, with blood and snot running down his chin.”

  “You like sirloin?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  CODY showed up with a six-pack, passed out beers, and Gabriel showed him the cold frame, with the tiny basil seedlings popping up out of the black dirt.

  He twisted the top off a beer. “I could use a couple of these cold frames up in Cheyenne. The winter gets ugly. You use wood screws to put it together?”

  John had put their plates on a picnic tab
le on the back porch so they could avoid the preparations for Ho Ho’s. Gabriel set the table, and Cody sat on the porch, watching everyone, keeping an eye out for his boy. John brought the steaks to the table when they were done, and the three of them bent over their plates.

  No one spoke until the last delicious tender bite was dispatched, then Cody pushed his plate away and sighed. “You know your way around a grill, General.”

  “I never asked you what you were doing now you’ve stopped bull riding.”

  “Ranching. Not much else to do in Wyoming other than roughnecking. I bought scrub ranchland with the money I earned riding.”

  “Cattle?”

  Cody nodded. “Cattle and bison. I like those bison; they’re tough sons of bitches. We’ve got close to a thousand acres. Sounds like more than it is. It’s poor land, but we can squeeze a living out of it. My three oldest boys, they work it with me. It’s funny. When I was riding, just before they opened the chute, with that monster between my legs, I used to think, no matter what else I do in my life, it won’t be as hard as this. But I was wrong. Life just keeps getting harder. I try not to let my boys know. They’ll find out soon enough, seems to me.”

  He looked out over the yard. Billy was wearing some sort of costume, a black skinsuit with sequins that looked like a white shirt, black tie and tux, with black Converse high tops. He had a top hat and a short black cape tied around his neck, and he swept the top hat off his head, gave them a deep bow. “Billy, he never fit in with that bunch up there. He always had his eye set on something else. Someplace else. New Mexico. He talked about it all the time, the history, the artists. He was sure this was where he’d find a place to fit in.”

  Kim came out of the garage, looked at them sitting on the porch. He was shading his eyes with his hand, squinting up at them. His skinsuit was pink, with short legs that ended midthigh, and he was wearing pink Converse high-tops. He was wearing some sort of skirt over the skinsuit that looked torn and tattered, made out of pieces of gold lamé. His black hair was tied up in pigtails, and he gave them a little wave, pulled Billy away. John thought he could see pink nail polish. “Seems like he fits in pretty good with this bunch. Are they all artists?”

  Gabriel nodded. “I got a look at the exhibit this morning. They’ve got several photographers, each with their own exhibit, a fiber artist, a mask maker and makeup artist―that’s Billy―and a little three-man band. Three-person band, I guess. Drag queens.” John and Cody exchanged a look. “These drag queens sing to support the victims of intimate partner violence. I think they call themselves the Kitty Cats.”

  “Well, I’ll be looking forward to that,” Cody said.

  They stayed on the back porch for longer than they should have, telling war stories, stories about bull riding, stories about raising boys. Gabriel finally stood up. “If we miss the Kitty Cats opening number, we’re going to be hearing about it for a very long time.”

  John found a parking space behind the McDonald’s, and they pushed their way through the crowd of students and artists and homeless people to get into Ho Ho’s. Out front, the huge banner for the art show was titled BEAUTIFUL FACES. The banner was a collage of children’s faces, laughing, beautiful children’s faces, babies, boys and girls, and along the bottom, the text gave statistics about intimate partner violence. John found the baby picture of Kim, his mouth grinning, drool on his chin. Cody pointed out a little picture of Billy in a red cowboy hat.

  Inside, the artist-hosts had been painted up by Billy’s hand to look like cats. Gabriel nudged him. “It’s from that musical Cats. Remember? Billy is the Magical Mr. Mistoffelees, and Kim is Grizabella. Look at the old ladies.”

  The elderly Vietnamese ladies were serving up food in twin cat costumes. John shrugged, looked a question at Gabriel. “Mungojerrie and Rumpleteaser?” Gabriel was studying the crowd, and John thought he was watching for Juan. They spotted him finally in a tan trench coat and rumpled hat, with cat whiskers glued on his nose. Gabriel grinned. “He’s Macavity, the Mystery Cat.” He pushed through the crowd until he was in front of Juan. The Mystery Cat let him have a hug; then he wiggled away and was off again, delivering his trays of food.

  The Kitty Cats were a trio of pretty ladies with extravagantly long painted nails, two blondes and a redhead, wearing black stockings and heels. They sang a variety of doo-wop songs that were easy to dance to and showed off their wide range of voices to good effect.

  They walked along the walls, looking at the exhibits. John saw Kim’s photography immediately. The group was titled The Blueberry Chronicles! He had done a series of self-portraits, then marked them up with magic marker comments. One picture showed his swollen, cut lip, pushed out with his tongue, and the magic marker said, Ow! That hurts!

  The blueberry picture was there, and Kim posed as Rodin’s The Thinker, and the thought bubble over his head said, What the Fuck Just Happened?

  The one John liked the most was Kim with a mad face, mad, but with sad eyes, and he’d made a list at the bottom of the photograph. Options, it said. 1. Buy a Weapon. 2. Have a Good Cry. 3. Talk to the Cops? 4. Get a Facial. 5. All of the Above.

  One of the other photographers had printed photos on fabric, then washed them until they were faded and torn. The fabric artist had made something that looked like little baskets with pieces of metal sticking out from the sides. These were titled Wreck on the Highway. All of the work had edges that were torn, frayed, worn-out. Billy had made a series of masks that were hanging on the wall, and Gabriel studied these a long time. They looked Japanese, and Gabriel told John and Cody they were faithful depictions of ancient samurai helmets made out of paper, and they showed cuts and tears, like they had been used in battle. Billy came up to them, his face painted black and white. He was wearing the mask John thought made him look like the Phantom of the Opera. “I’m real proud of you, son.” Cody gathered him up close, and Billy snuggled happily in his father’s arms.

  “I just felt like I wanted everybody to have a helmet when they needed one.”

  A reporter came up to them, a young girl with intense dark eyes. She gave Gabriel a hungry look and dragged him away into the corner for a chat. John saw her showing him a copy of what looked like a cell phone picture from Effex, with the banner of Brian Walker’s face. She was talking, gesturing, and Gabriel had his hands in his pockets, staring out into space. He turned around, looked back at John, winked, then leaned over and spoke in her ear for a good two minutes. She was smart enough to be quiet and listen, and John hoped she had a recorder on her person somewhere, so she didn’t miss anything.

  They ducked out when the Kitty Cats were starting their second set. They left Billy and Kim dancing in the middle of the floor, Kim’s torn gold lamé skirt flying out when he spun on his pink sneakers.

  JOHN looked into the garage early. Kim was splayed across his bed, facedown, still wearing his gold skirt and pink skinsuit. Billy was there too, curled up on a couple of pillows, and there were three other artists, cats, or drag queens, John wasn’t sure, lying on the floor, asleep. They looked like a piece of performance art, gay angels after the fall. John closed the door again and put on a big pot of coffee.

  He heard the shower come on a few minutes later, and Billy peeked through the door, wearing one of Kim’s tee shirts and a pair of sweats that fell over the top of his feet. John got him a tea bag and the unfiltered raw honey.

  “I really loved the show, Billy. You guys did a great job.”

  “Gabriel said he wanted to buy the masks! Isn’t that cool? My first professional art sale.”

  “Very cool.” He waited, and Billy sipped his tea.

  “I don’t know if I should go home with my dad. I mean, this is just one setback, right? I’ll have others. I need to figure out how to handle the things that come my way.” John waited. “On the other hand, I’m only eighteen. I have to admit I’ve been more homesick than I expected to be. I know my mom is worried.”

  “What would you do if you went home?”

/>   “There’s a decent art school at the U. Heavy into cowboy art, though. Realistic art, not a great deal of abstraction. I’m totally into the abstract. I’m not sure how well I’d fit in there.” He looked back at the garage. “I fit in really well here. Really, really well. Like the cat’s pajamas.”

  “You going to talk to your dad?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tell him I said you could stay here with us.”

  Billy’s face bloomed into a smile. “Really? That would be so cool! Even though I know I’m going to be like an annoying little brother to Kim. He can be really protective, you know? One of those Kitty Cats asked me out, the one with the red hair, and Kim was, like, right there, and he made some joke about my being too young and led me away by the wrist! Can you believe that?”

  “Those Kitty Cats looked a bit too old to me too.”

  Billy shrugged. “Older guys have always asked me out. This was the first drag queen, though. I actually think she was trying to recruit me into the band. How cool would that be?”

  “You talk to your dad, and then let me know.” John was running through available bedrooms in his mind.

  Kim staggered into the kitchen, holding his head between both hands. He appeared to have lipstick smeared across his face, and he was greenish under the pancake. John studied him without speaking, his arms crossed over his chest. “Don’t go anywhere,” Kim said, and he sprinted to the bathroom. John heard some retching, then the water running.

  Billy was shaking his head. “There is too much alcohol in the gay college scene,” he said, trying on the mask of a wise old sage. John gave him a look, and he giggled and went back to the garage. “I’m getting dressed and going off to see my dad,” he said. “Later, gator.”

  Gabriel came out of the bedroom dressed for work, wearing a new lavender shirt and a purple-and-gray silk tie. John felt a little twist of lust when Gabriel grinned at him, tucked his shirt in his waistband.