by Jeff Mann
“The proposition is that you stay here and make this place a real retreat for queer youth. I’ve had several kids come and go over the last year, but I haven’t put much effort into getting the word out, other than through my contacts with the WVU gay and lesbian student group. You could make Phagg Heights serve many more people than it has.”
“Well, wow. I don’t know.” Brice wiped his hands on a dish towel, leaned back against the sink, and folded his arms. “I’ve got to admit I have no idea what I’m going to do in the future, since my time on the big stage is definitely done with. Lucas asked me if I’d be willing to move to Morgantown with him if he enters WVU, and I told him I would.”
“Morgantown is only a two-hour drive from here. If he goes to school up there, you could visit one another on weekends. Just think about it. I haven’t mentioned any of this to him yet, but—”
Phil paused to cup his ear. “Listen there. On the stairs. I do believe the little brute has arrived.”
In another few seconds, Lucas strode into the room, carrying a toolbox and wearing an oil-stained gray T-shirt, a ball cap, work boots, and dirty jeans with holes in the knees. “Hey, Uncle Phil! You’re home! We missed you.”
“I gather that y’all managed to entertain one another without me,” Phil said, giving his nephew a hug. “The Dionysian revels of the young. Mercy, you’re a muddy mess. And you smell like rotting leaves.”
“Sorry,” Lucas said, stepping back and scratching his ribs. “I been working down at Grace and Amie’s. Cleaning their gutters and patching a hole in the roof. They said to say Hi.”
“Well, go shower up, odoriferous!” Phil waved Lucas away. “It’s approaching cocktail time. And I have tales to tell.”
“You always do,” Lucas said, slipping off his cap and rubbing his scalp. “I’ll meet y’all in the great room, okay?” With that, he sauntered back the way he’d come.
“My God. The change in him,” Phil said. “He’s completely different. Almost lighthearted. You’ve worked a miracle.”
“He’s the one who’s worked a miracle. Before I came here, God, was I grim. Nothing to look forward to. But now….”
“A mutual miracle, then. A reciprocal redemption. Well, finish cobbling together that pie and let’s head upstairs. I’m standing in profound need of a frozen cocktail. Complete with tiny umbrella.”
PHIL WAITED TILL EVERYONE HAD drinks in hand and little plates heaped with smoked oysters, cheese, and crackers before he began.
“First of all, boy, let me see that ring.”
Lucas grinned proudly and held out his hand. “Check it out. Handsome, ain’t it? Kinda studly.”
“What? No diamond? Is the famous Brice Brown a cheapskate?”
Brice bit his lip. “I thought a diamond might be a little over the top at this stage in the relationship.”
“I don’t want no fucking prissy diamond. I love this. The design matches my tattoos, see?”
“I do see. With that buzz cut and all those trashy tattoos and bulging muscles and ratty clothes, you look like more of a baby Hell’s Angel than ever…rather than the refined Southern gentleman I dreamed you’d become. Oh, I had such high hopes that you’d grow up to be an elegant invert like me.”
“Fat chance. Don’t you know I’m bad to the bone?” Smirking, Lucas propped a sock-covered foot on the coffee table and slurped his beer. “Give it a rest, Uncle Phil. The tougher I look, the less likely local assholes will bother me.”
“True. The threat of local assholery is a real one, especially now that you’re both Notorious Homosexuals and Figures of Public Scandal. Beware! A convocation of the Randolph County devout might head up here yet to tar and feather the both of you.”
“Oh, shit. Don’t even say that. We’ve had enough crap driving off reporters.”
“I’m teasing you, boy. I’m proud of you. I’m proud of the man you’ve become. You seem so much better adjusted than you were before. No thanks to your gorgon of a mother. I gave Sister a little visit on the drive back from the airport.”
Lucas sat up straight. “What? You did?”
“I did indeed. The sad sow was deep into a passionate assignation with Cheez Whiz when I stopped by. Lord, the fuss she made, detailing her many sufferings and humiliations. The way she talked, you two were both avatars of Beelzebub. What weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth! The tears, the wringing of hands, the tearing of hair! I let Sister have her little say before I lit into her.” Phil took a sip of his daiquiri and smiled with satisfaction.
“Holy shit, Uncle Phil. What’d you say?”
“Several ferocious things. I fear that my normal mannerly composure slipped a wee bit.”
“Did you snatch her bald-headed? I told Brice that you’d snatch her bald-headed once you heard how she treated me.”
“He did,” Brice said, in between bites of Brie. “I’ve been trying to imagine her bald ever since.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I did give that rat’s nest of hers a good tug before I left. I also hit that portrait of her imaginary friend—that black velvet Jesus she so cherishes—upside the head with that vile vat of Cheez Whiz. I told Sister that she was a savage ogress and a rampant hag. I told her that her piety was pustular in the extreme, and that only someone afflicted with a serious case of cretinism would allow a tuskéd warthog like Reverend Davis to turn her against her own child, especially a boy as sterling as you.”
“Damn, Uncle Phil. Really?”
“‘Damn’ is right. That must have been hard for you.”
“Hard? It wasn’t hard. That heifer gave me grief all through my adolescence for being ‘a sinner and a sissy,’ as she put it. The only reason she’s had anything decent to say to me over the last three decades is because she’s always trying to cadge money. It was one thing for her to be hateful to me, but once she pretty much disowned Lucas when he got out of prison—a time in his life when he desperately needed support, as would any of us in such a position—I saw then what an ungenerous, mean-spirited heart she has. If there weren’t Christians like Doris Ann or that sweet Eleanor woman down in Helvetia, I’d write the whole religion off entirely. No wonder I’m an atheist. And for her to come up here and say what she said to Lucas, and spit in his face? Oh, no. Oh, no.”
Phil tapped the rainbow-colored umbrella in his lime-green drink. “So I told her if she ever came up here to Rump-Ranger Ranch again—I called it that just to see the look of puritanical horror on her face—I’d loose the dogs on her. I described in some detail how they’d disembowel her before I chucked that Cheez Whiz at Our Lord, gave her hair a yank, and made a glorious exit to the sound of her outraged blubbering.”
“Dogs? We ain’t got dogs.”
“Well, we can buy some. Some horrendous hell-hounds with gruesome fangs, perhaps. For your birthday? It’s coming up next week.”
“No, thanks. I could do with a new pair of cowboy boots. That’s about it.”
“Then you shall have them. They’ll contribute to your ribald redneck glory. Would you like me to bake your favorite coconut cake?”
“That’d be great, though I think Brice ‘n me’re going up to Blackwater Falls and rent a cabin for the night, maybe hit Helvetia’s Ramp Supper the day after. You still up for that, Brice?”
“Absolutely. But you said you wanted a special gift from me. Your birthday’s next Friday, and you still haven’t told me what you want.”
Lucas gave Brice a wink and took a chug of beer. “We’ll get to that. Don’t worry. According to Ole Granddaddy there,” he said, indicating the tall clock against the wall, “it’s getting on time for dinner, but before we chow down…. Uncle Phil, I think we should celebrate you cussing Mommy out in a special way.”
“How’s that, boy?”
“Well, you’ve told Brice some of your best stories, but not the one about….” Lucas held up his hand, curled his index finger and middle finger into fangs and stabbed at the air. “Big Creek?”
“Oh, Lord, yes! How appropriate.” Phil f
orked up a smoked oyster, popped it into his mouth, and gave it a vigorous chewing. “Well! Here we go. As Sophia on The Golden Girls would put it, ‘Picture it. Big Creek Holler, by the Gauley River, 1968.’ Dear Sister Kim is visiting her Bible camp friend, Opal Meadows, down in Fayette County. It’s a hot and humid summer morning, and they’re making their way down the riverbank, swatting at the beastly swarms of bitey gnats with goldenrod stalks. And Sister says, ‘Now, Opal, there better not be no damn snakes at this church, you know I’m scared to death of those things.’ And Opal says, ‘Kimmy, I’ve told you a dozen times there ain’t gonna be no snakes! Now quit your worryin’!’”
“Uh oh,” said Brice.
“Exactly,” said Lucas.
“So there are quite a few cars parked along the road and even more folks are coming on foot by the time the two get to the Holiness church. Sister and Miss Opal head on in and take a seat. The place is about as plain as can be, with worn pine floors, a couple windows, a raised stage and podium, and a couple lights hanging from the ceiling.”
“Too plain for Mommy. She likes her stained glass, don’t she?”
“True. She’s always had a vulgar taste for gaud. So the service gets under way and the preacher man starts off as soft as can be but pretty soon he’s getting het up and hyperventilating and tossing in ‘Haahh!’ at the end of phrases to emphasize things. About fifteen minutes into the service, he shifts into real high gear and the congregation does too, with lots of hand-waving and stomping and shouts of praise. Sister, who’s a Southern Baptist, is thinking maybe this is all too wild for her and maybe she’s stumbled into some kind of backwoods bedlam.”
“Sounds like some holler churches we have down in Summers County,” Brice said.
“Yes, they’re thick as fleas in this state. So, the church is shaking with the word of the Lord and overcome parishioners are taking to the aisles, dancing and gibbering about in pure holy bliss. And then….”
“And then?” Lucas drained his beer, propped his elbows on his knees, and gave Brice a Cheshire-cat grin.
“And then the preacher reaches down behind the podium and comes back up with two huge timber rattlers.”
“Holy shit,” breathed Brice.
“Holy shit, indeed. And the deacons grab rattlers of their own and start a’mingling with the crowd.”
“And what does Mommy do then, Uncle Phil?”
“Sister Kim bolts right up and lets loose a scream that can shatter glass and wake the dead up on the hill! No one thinks anything much of it—they think she’s just as seized up by the Lord as they are—until she stands up on the pew screaming like a banshee with urine running down both legs!”
“Oh, my God! Really? She pissed herself?”
“Yes! Yes!” Phil slapped his knee with a howl. “Quick as a streak she’s walking on the back of the pews, screaming bloody murder, falling down, flailing about, clambering for the center aisle. Half-leaping, half-falling, she makes it, and the people are cheering her on, assuming that the Holy Ghost has grabbed ahold of Sister’s soul real good. With even more hooting and hollering from the congregation, she stands up, white skirt piss-stained with more a’coming, and lights out for the door like she’s on fire.”
“My face and sides are aching,” Brice gasped. “Stop!”
“I’m about done. So Opal catches up with Sister in the tiny parking lot and grabs her by the arm and says, ‘Kimmy, for God’s sake, what the hell is wrong with you? You embarrassed me in there!’ and Sister goes from blind terror to blind rage in a split second. The Spirit really does grab her this time, but it isn’t the Holy Ghost, it’s the spirit of pure Irish rage, and she starts beating the living shit out of Opal, and Opal runs for the road with Sister in hot pursuit, throwing rocks and snatching handfuls of hair from the back of Opal’s head all the way back to Brownsville. I don’t think they ever spoke again. As for that snake-handling preacher, he tempted Fate one too many times and one day went off to have lunch with Jesus, if you get my drift. Sister, bless her heart, never set foot in a Holiness church again.”
Brice’s violent laughter graded into a coughing fit. He collapsed back against the couch. “My God. My God. I may have to lie down for a while.”
“You do that, honey. Meanwhile, just like Mrs. Venable in Tennessee’s Suddenly, Last Summer, I’m having another daiquiri—frozen! Let’s not rush the evening. After dinner, I do intend to go to bed early. It’s been a long day of travel, plus I figure I should leave you two to snake handling of a safer sort.”
BRICE SAT BACK AND WIPED HIS MOUTH. “BEST barbecued ribs I’ve had in a long time. Great view too,” he said, looking out over the forested gorge of Blackwater Canyon. “The only view I know that’s any finer is you buck naked.”
“Hush.” Lucas gazed worriedly around the dining room of the lodge. “Enough folks are staring as it is. This celebrity status thang can be a pain in the ass.” Frowning, he popped the last bite of lasagna into his mouth.
“I’m fine with it, as long as they don’t refuse to serve us. You want dessert?”
“I do want dessert. In a manner of speaking. But not here. I’m tired of being looked at like a circus freak. You ready to go back to the cabin?”
“Yep. We can split that bottle of champagne I brought.”
The two men rose. They passed their waiter—a handsome, clean-shaven blond kid—as they moved toward the exit. “Thanks, Mr. Brown,” the boy said, smiling shyly. “I love your music. It was real cool to see y’all here. I hope you two have a wonderful evening.”
“Thanks. It was a great meal,” Brice said. “Tip’s on the table.”
The boy nodded and hurried off. “Family, I think,” Brice said to Lucas. “A member of the fraternity. Funny how much a little friendliness can mean when you’re feeling like a pariah.”
They drove through the April dark, Lucas leaning against Brice in silence. Back at their cabin, they stood on the porch for a long moment, taking in the forested stillness and breathing in the cool highland air. Then Brice took Lucas’s hand and led him inside.
“You ready for some of that champagne now?” Brice asked, after locking the door behind them. “It should be cold enough to—”
“Not yet, big guy,” Lucas said, shoving Brice back against the wall. “I’ve been aching for dessert all damn day, and I got several courses in mind. Here’s the first.”
Lucas pressed his lips to Brice’s and began kissing him hungrily, all the while unbuttoning the front of Brice’s plaid flannel shirt and slipping it off him. Soon the two men’s tongues were tussling, and Lucas was pinching Brice’s nipples and rubbing his erection against Brice’s own.
“Here’s dessert course number two,” Lucas muttered, unzipping Brice’s jeans and hauling his hard-on out. “Follow me.”
Using Brice’s prick as a handle, he led the big man over to the couch before pushing him down onto it. Lucas dropped to his knees, wrapped his arms around Brice’s waist, and took his cock into his mouth.
“Ohhhh, yeah,” Brice breathed. He gripped Lucas by the shoulders and thrust into the tight wetness of Lucas’s skillful mouth. Lucas gazed up at Brice with happy submission, sucking and nibbling and licking his dick with spit-moist abandon.
“I love looking down into those pretty eyes of yours while you’re sucking my cock,” Brice groaned. “Nothing better.”
“You like my Truck-Stop Special, huh?” Lucas mumbled around Brice’s dick-head.
“Hell, yes, I do. You keep that up too much longer and I’m gonna shoot.”
Lucas pulled off. “As much as I’d like a big mouthful of your load, I got other things in mind. I got this evening all planned. Why don’t you fetch that champagne now? But leave your dick out, okay?”
“Sure. It’s your birthday.” Brice clambered to his feet, cock jutting from his trouser’s zippered gap. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“You bet you will.” Lucas snickered, giving Brice’s butt a slap.
“Vicious!” Brice gaspe
d with mock shock. Erection at full mast, he shuffled to the kitchen. He returned carrying two tumblers of golden champagne, with a couple of boxes wedged under his arms.
“No champagne glasses, but these’ll do.” He dropped the boxes on one end of the couch, then sat beside Lucas. “Here’s to age twenty-eight. May the year to come be full of wonderful surprises.”
“Here, here. I’m pretty sure it will be.”
Brice and Lucas tapped glasses, sipped, kissed, sipped, kissed, and sipped.
“These boots are pretty sharp, huh?” Lucas said, pulling off his new footwear. “Justin’s. Uncle Phil has great taste.”
“He does. So you never did tell me about that special gift you wanted,” Brice said, putting the boxes on Lucas’s lap. “I got you these little things instead. Sorry I didn’t wrap them. My attempts at gift-wrapping always look like the Frankenstein monster did it.”
“Cool. Okay, let’s see what we have here.” Lucas opened the top box. “Oh, yeah, nice! I needed a new belt. Brown suede. Pretty needlework. And a CS belt buckle. Confederate States. Great! And what’s this? A black jockstrap? Hah!”
“That gift’s more for me than you, got to admit. There’s a couple things in this other box. Well, two things and a future jaunt.”
“Hmmm. Okay,” Lucas murmured, opening the second box. “Oh, so cool! A book about Norse myths.”
“Yep. I didn’t see that one on your shelves.”
“Naw, I don’t have this one. And Forest Trees of West Virginia. Great!”
Nodding, Brice gulped champagne. “I thought that’d be helpful when you go to WVU. Look inside it. There’s something else.”
Lucas flipped through the little book, pulled out an envelope, and opened it. “‘All-expense paid weekend in Rehoboth Beach.’ Where’s that?”
“It’s a beach in Delaware where all the DC and Baltimore queers go, your uncle tells me. We can go this summer, if you’d like. Or off-season in October, when it’s less crowded. It was Phil’s idea. He told me that you’ve never seen the ocean.”
“I haven’t. A beach trip’d be wonderful. Let’s go this summer. I hate crowds, but if I’m gonna see the ocean, I’ll wanna get in it. Thank you!”