by Sarah Black
“It’s not enough for a new bathroom,” Baxter protested. “Why don’t we take a vote? The cowboy auction, the John Wayne in Drag contest, or that same old boring chili cook-off that Graham wins every year. Come on, Ray, you could do The Seekers.”
“Goddamnit.” Ray stomped off to his table, muttering something about being surrounded by fools. Graham couldn’t help but agree with him.
“At the very least, it will open up a dialog about tolerance that is long overdue in this town.” Baxter and Max were staring at him with the wistful gaze of a couple of dim puppies, and Graham couldn’t take another minute. He spun on his heel and marched out of the dining room.
Normally the kitchen was a haven, but today Zeigler got up from his table and followed him through the swinging doors. “Graham, can’t you shut him up? He’s gonna open up some dialogue about tolerance, and some cowboy’s gonna open up his head.” Zeigler should have stopped there, and Graham would have agreed with him and maybe even said something to Baxter. But he had to keep talking. “Why don’t you send his candy ass to San Francisco or New York? We’re men out here, Graham.” He shook his head slowly. “I blame his mama. That hard-headed woman, no man was good enough for her, she’s got to have that boy on her own and raise him without a father. And this is the result. This is the result.”
Graham stared at him, his mouth dropping open. “So, you mean… Uh…”
“Trouble. Is. Coming.” Zeigler nodded. “You mark my words, Graham. You rein that boy in or we gonna see the start…” Oh, no, he is not going to say i… “of the Lincoln County Wars, all over again. I don’t want to see those boys hurt, Graham, but they don’t belong here. You see to it. I don’t want any more trouble over this.”
Back in the dining room, Baxter was making his proposal to the ranch hands and passing out pens. “Just use your napkin as a ballot. Put down cowboy auction if you want to do that one, especially if you have a talent.”
Billy raised his head, a corn tortilla in either hand. “What, like roping?”
Max shook his head. “Like singing or playing the guitar.”
“Hollywood cowboys.” Billy sneered. “But what’s that thing about the beer again?”
“Whoever has the winning bid on you buys you a drink.”
“What in hell is wrong with that?” Billy looked up and down the table. “I don’t care if Baxter buys me a beer. Shit, how many of those Brokeback boys we got in town, anyway?” Billy shrugged. “Hell, they can all buy me beers.”
Seth leaned forward. “Then you got to dance with them.”
“Shit, not the…”
Baxter perked up. “Sure, why not? I’d love to da…”
“Goddamnit, Baxter!” Billy shoved half a tortilla into his mouth.
“What’s the other option?” Ray pushed back from the table and stared up at the pies.
Baxter was watching him. “I made a special dessert, Ray. Low sugar peach cobbler. You can eat it on your diet.”
Ray sighed, crossed his hands over his belly and stretched his boots toward the stove. “So we got to vote between this cowboy dancing thing and the chili cook-off?”
“John Wayne in Drag,” Max said. “That’s the third option. Best impersonation of The Duke, your choice of movie. But, you know, dressed…” His voice trailed off under the hard gaze of a table full of cowboys.
“In dresses,” Baxter supplied, passing out bowls of peach cobbler with ice cream. He gave Ray a bowl with a tiny dollop of whipped cream.
“Baxter, you ain’t told your granddaddy about this, have you?”
“Uh, no.”
“Good. You are a damn fool, but you can cook like an angel. Why don’t you quit fucking around and just cook?” Ray made a note on his napkin and passed it up.
When the entire table had voted, Baxter watched them finish off their bowls of cobbler and pie and then file out the door. He took the stack of napkins and read the results. “Chili cook-off. Chili cook-off. Chili cook-off. Oh, here’s one that isn’t for the chili cook-off. It says Barbeque and chili cook-off. What a rebel.” He looked over at Graham. “If I had to guess, I would say these elections were rigged.”
Graham studied him. “Strap on your balls and start chopping peppers, then. You’re the only person in this town who can come close to my chili, Baxter, but you’re too chicken-shit to try.”
He grinned as Baxter’s cheeks flamed up pink and clashed horribly with his orange hair.
* * * * *
Graham found the vandalism the next morning. It was the first time he could remember seeing anti-gay trouble like this in Lincoln County. But of course, trouble had probably been brewing for months, maybe years. The street-side façade of the Mad Moose was cedar shingle, stained a pretty dove gray, with forest green window frames and flowerboxes. The Day-Glo orange words spray-painted across the restaurant said “fagots get out of town we don’t want you here.”
Graham stared at the words for a long time, feeling curiously numb. What was the correct spelling of fagot? Faggot? One g or two? He couldn’t remember. What did that word even mean, anyway? He ought to get out the dictionary and look it up.
Baxter rode up on his bike, coasting the last few yards, saddlebags bulging with fresh parsley and cilantro and avocados for guacamole. He swung his leg over the bike and staggered back when he saw the writing, his face pinched and white. “Who did this? Oh, Graham. This is my fault, isn’t it?” He covered his face with his hands. “This is what you meant when you told me not to…” He broke down then, his thin shoulders shaking with sobs. “Creeps! Just look what they did to our beautiful restaurant.” Graham put his arms around him and pulled him into a hug.
“You didn’t do this. Settle down, Baxter. Maybe you were right. Tolerance seems to be sorely lacking around Lincoln County this morning.”
Baxter put his head down on Graham’s shoulder. “This is on me. I know it.”
“Enough.” Graham gave him a little shake. “Shake it off, and get to work on that guacamole, because I need to call the owner, and…”
“Oh, God. Not that. Mom’s gonna kill me.”
Graham put his arms back around Baxter and gave him a couple of soothing pats on the back. Zeigler drove by very slowly, his eyebrows heading for the sky as he took in the graffiti and the two men hugging on the sidewalk.
Ray drove Merry in from the ranch, and she rolled her wheelchair into the dining room as the Lincoln County deputy was finishing up his report. “You find that fucker did this, you just bring him to me, Barney. I’ll take care of him.”
Ray just rolled his eyes and took the cup of coffee Graham handed him. “Merry, you want coffee?”
She looked him over critically. Graham had always thought she was the tallest-looking person in a wheelchair he had ever seen. Thick, curly hair cut short, the flaming red faded a little, and blue eyes with black lashes and eyebrows. Her skin was starting to show the effects of a life lived outdoors on the High Lonesome. Merry looked tough, and she was tough. Not many men who knew her had the cojones to challenge her.
“Yeah, give me a cup. What’s for breakfast, Graham?”
“Something really good. Baxter’s been cooking. I hope you came hungry.” The restaurant smelled like onions and green Italian peppers frying in olive oil.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about, Ray. Fucking dieting is the most useless human activity on the planet.”
Baxter pushed through from the kitchen, bent over, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Ray.”
Merry regarded him through narrowed eyes. The traces of his tears were still visible on his face, and his hands shook a little. “That smells good, son. You haven’t fixed me breakfast in a good long while. Can you sit down and eat with me?”
Baxter nodded, and the tears overflowed again.
“All right, son. Now that’s enough. You go get a plate for you and Graham and Ray. We’ll sit down together and talk about this, about what’s to be done.” She stared politely at the deputy unti
l he closed his notebook and stood, explaining to Graham that the report would be available in ten days at a cost of two dollars a page.
“Do you fucking believe that?” Merry addressed the room. “Tommy Lathrop is gonna have to explain that to me.” No one had the nerve to say anything.
Baxter set Ray’s plate in front of him. He had a smaller pile of fried potatoes and just a sprinkle of cheese on top of the fried eggs. “I gave you an extra egg, Ray.”
“Thanks.” Ray’s voice was gruff. “You settle down now, Baxter. This ain’t nothing. I mean, this ain’t nothing about you, boy. Don’t take it personal.”
Baxter smiled gratefully at him, though everyone sitting at the table thought this probably did have something to do with him. He went back through into the kitchen and brought a plate of fried potatoes and eggs for Graham, and brought a big bowl of peeled avocado halves covered with lemon juice. He sat down with a fork and started mashing the fruit.
Merry studied him. “Baxter, don’t you have a food processor or something that can do that?”
Baxter raised his eyebrows. “Mom, please. You’re joking, right? We don’t make shit food around here.” Merry grinned across the table at him. “Okay, and the truth is it calms me down to do it by hand.” He looked over at Graham. “What did the sheriff say? Did you talk to Tommy?”
Graham shook his head. “The dispatcher and the deputy. At the moment they don’t have any clues.”
“The clues are written across the siding, Graham.” Merry leaned forward. “Ray told me about Baxter’s vote at dinner last night. You think that’s the issue?”
Graham nodded reluctantly. “Maybe. Yeah, probably.”
“You think this is likely to get worse? Could it turn dangerous?”
Graham nodded. “Maybe. I would never have guessed someone…”
Merry turned to Ray. “Ray, what about that siding? Can we get one of the guys to pull it off and replace it? Stain some new? I want that fixed right away.”
Ray pushed his empty plate away. “Merry, we got to replace all the siding at the same time. It’s weathered. Just putting up new shingles won’t do the job, you want to do the job right. And we’re short already out at the ranch.”
Graham dropped his napkin next to his plate. “Good breakfast, Baxter, thanks. Merry, you know we got a bunch of vets just back from Iraq. The National Guard unit. A couple of them are still looking for work. Eddie’s got them shacked up over at his place. Maybe one of them could do the work.”
Merry leaned back in her chair. “Yeah, that’s a good idea, Graham. You let me interview them, okay? I’ll see quick enough if one of those guys is the kind of crazy fucker who would be targeting gays.” She looked around the table. “Who did it? Ray, you think it was one of the ranch hands, got some kind of wild hair up his ass about John Wayne in drag?”
He shook his head. “Hard to imagine.”
“Graham? What about Eddie’s platoon? Anybody looking more fucked up than the rest?”
Graham thought about Bear, then shook his head. “I don’t think so, Merry, but I’m not really sure if I would know.” Bear was only guilty of not shaving. That didn’t make him… Maybe Merry was right. She was military. She spoke their language. Let her check them out.
Baxter stood up and carried his bowl of avocados through into the kitchen. When he came back out he had the coffeepot, and Tommy Lathrop was with him.
Tommy took his hat off and shook hands all around, and Graham felt an old, smooth feeling move through his belly like melted chocolate. “Callahan, you want to take a walk with me? Let’s go look at the damage.”
Baxter poured him a cup of coffee and handed him the mug. “Tommy, don’t you want some breakfast? I could fix you some eggs and potatoes. I got the peppers fried already.”
He shook his head. “Thanks, Baxter, but no. I ate early this morning.”
“You want to come for supper tonight? Please, Tommy. We’ll make something special.”
Tommy apparently couldn’t resist Baxter looking so forlorn, because he nodded. “Yeah, okay, Baxter. I’ll come to supper.”
“Great!”
“Tommy, you come talk to me before you go.” Merry was studying him with a sharp eye. “Ten days and two dollars a page?”
Tommy laughed and followed Graham through the kitchen and around the corner. They stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the words. “That’s real bitter looking,” Tommy said. “You think this is general or specific?”
“What do you mean, Tommy?” Graham was distracted by the oiled brown leather of Tommy’s new work boots and the lingering spicy scent of the new aftershave.
“You think this is general being an asshole sort of stuff, and this was a convenient wall? Or was this directed against Baxter? Or was this directed against you?”
Graham blinked, and the shock of that idea felt like a fist. Graham wasn’t sure that anyone in town knew he was gay. He wasn’t hiding it, but he wasn’t doing much advertising, either. He didn’t want people to look at him and slap a bumper sticker label on him about who he was, because of who he liked to sleep with. It wasn’t just that, though. He thought of himself as a man people liked. He would have been hard-pressed to name someone who didn’t like him. But maybe he was wrong about that. He stared at the orange scrawl. Big-time wrong.
“Callahan, nobody’s made any sort of threat? Ugly phone calls, nothing like that?”
Graham shook his head, feeling numb again.
“There’s more coming. Letter to the editor, this morning’s paper. Willa over at the library brought me a copy early. Something ugly about traditions and family values and we don’t want that flag-burning, homosexual deviant trash in our county.”
“Jesus, Tommy. What in God’s name is going on?”
Tommy shrugged, staring at the words sprawled across the wall. “You just let me know, anything else happens.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is that word spelled right?”
Graham laughed. “I wondered about that, too. I’m gonna check the dictionary. Are you really gonna come to supper?”
Tommy nodded and kicked a pebble off the sidewalk. “Yeah, I said I’d come.”
“You can come home with me tonight if you want.”
Tommy stared into the sun. “Been a long time since you asked me. You usually just wait for me to show up, like when I can’t stand it anymore.” He nodded. “Yeah, okay, Callahan. That’ll be something to look forward to.” Graham felt that odd, warm roll in his stomach again. Yes, indeed. It would be something to look forward to. Tommy turned to go. “I better go in and talk to Merry.”
* * * * *
The restaurant was packed. Half the town had turned out to either offer their support or to enjoy the vicarious thrill of trouble brewing. Maybe some of them had been lured by the smell of barbequed ribs on the big smoking pits out back of the restaurant. Baxter was working the grills, and he’d been surrounded by a pack of boys and dogs since school let out.
Merry rolled in and sat with Eddie and the guys from the platoon. Graham could hear her laughing, a ribald cackle that made everybody in hearing distance smile in response. Tommy came through about seven, but he didn’t sit down to eat. He didn’t have his uniform on, but from the top of his Silver Belly to the toes of his black lizard skin boots, he was the Law with a capital L. He gave the crowd a slow, narrow-eyed scan, then walked round the room, stopping here and there to shake hands. More than a few sweaty foreheads were mopped up with handkerchiefs after he passed.
Eddie came up to Graham and threw an arm over his shoulder. “What’s the status of the next batch of ribs, bro?”
Graham looked at the buffet table. “Good grief. You guys have eaten half a cow and most of a goat. Let me go check on the grill.”
Eddie walked out back with him. “Baxter, we got another batch of ribs ready to eat?” Baxter nodded, his face sweaty and tired beneath the bright purple bandana he had tied around his forehead.
“You take a break. I’ll watch the grill for a bit.
”
“Thanks, G.”
Eddie picked up a metal bowl and started ladling the barbeque sauce over the rack of ribs. “So what are you so pissed off about?”
“Me?” Graham shrugged. “I’m not pissed off.”
“You’ve been giving Tommy dirty looks every time he comes in here. What’s the matter?”
Graham took a deep breath. “Nothing’s the matter. He didn’t have to come see me when he got home. There was no law said he had to write to me from Iraq. One single three-line letter in the entire year. Nobody had to let me know he got hurt and now he’s got scars all over his arm and shoulder.” Suddenly Graham was so mad he wanted to spit. “It’s not like I matter or anything. I’m just a cook.” He grabbed the huge turning fork, jabbed the meat, and flipped it over.
“Tommy wrote to you. He wrote every day. He just didn’t mail any of them. It was fucking pathetic, tell you the truth, how much he missed you.”
Graham stared at him. Was that supposed to somehow make him feel better?
“I’ll tell you what the problem is with you and Tommy.”
Graham sighed. He was gonna ram that fork right through his big brother’s throat.
“You’re imprinted on each other. You were best friends, then one morning you both wake up and you’re ready for sex. You were like a couple of baby ducks just coming out of the egg, feathers still wet. You stared at each other, stole my bourbon, and that was that.” He slathered some more barbeque sauce on the ribs. “Imprinting. I don’t think you two are gay, but there’s nothing to do about it now. It’s a done deal. You’re both gonna have to just accept it and move on.”
Tommy loomed up out of the darkness. “Jesus, Eddie. Can you talk any louder?”
“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you two.” He shook his head and handed off the ladle to Graham. “I’m going back inside.” He turned back. “Graham, could you use some help here at the Moose? I want to keep Bear close for a bit. Let him do dishes, fix the siding, something like that where he won’t be alone. He’s not sleeping good.”