Two Sides of the Same Coin

by Jake Mactire

  “Howdy, Debbie, I’ll have an Anchor Steam.”

  “Okay, Jeff; what about you?”

  “Make it two.”

  “So how are you guys doin’ this evening?”

  “Fair to middlin’,” Mike answered and then asked, “How about you?”

  “No complaints. So, Jeff, I hear you’re gonna be featured in the artists’ co-op sometime.” Ya gotta love a small town. The news got around before I did.

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. ’Bout time they had a local artist instead of a transplant.” You could always get hours of conversation from any local about the pros and cons of the weekenders and tourists coming in from Seattle. One thing they had done is quadrupled house prices here. A lot of the locals resented it.

  “We gotta make some money off of ’em somehows.”

  “Most of ’em do tip pretty well, though.”

  “That’s a good thing,” Mike added.

  “It sure is for me. You boys sit tight, and I’ll be right back with your beers.”

  She had the beer on the table in a flash, and we ordered. I had the burrito especial, and Mike had the taco and enchilada combination plate. We split an order of nachos to start. I had asked Debbie for extra jalapenos on the nachos. I took a long sip of my beer.

  “Sure tastes good don’t it, buddy?”

  “Yep, I like Anchor Steam beer.” Mike leaned back in the booth. In the dim light of the cantina, his beard looked much darker than normal. It was a big contrast with his white cowboy hat. My own hat was black felt. We were both duded up. Myself, still from the morning interview, and Mike, for God knows what reason, but I wasn’t complaining. I liked looking at him in his tight jeans, dinner plate belt buckle, and bright striped shirt. We sat back and admired each other until Debbie brought the nachos.

  “You guys want a pitcher? It’s cheaper than by the mug if you’re gonna have a couple.”

  Mike nodded, so I said, “Bring it on!” We dug into the nachos.

  “Ain’t nothin’ better than beer and Mexican food is there, Jeffy?”

  “You can say that again.”

  “I was wonderin’, how many rustlers do ya think there are? Can’t be too many.”

  “I reckon you’re right. I’d say three, maybe four at most. Two to drive the cattle to a makeshift pen, one to push ’em into a processing truck, and maybe one to process if the other guys ain’t doin’ it. I guess at that stage, they all could help.”

  “Gotta be a local too.”

  “Either that or someone who’s spent a lot of time around here. I’d guess to fly so long under the radar, they’d have to know the forest service roads pretty well.”

  “That’s pretty fucked up though.” Mike looked disgusted. “Ya hate to think your friends or neighbors could be in on somethin’ like that.”

  “True. The town’s small enough so everyone knows, or knows of, everyone else.”

  “I wonder if the sheriff has any suspects.”

  “I doubt it, Mike. Given the fact they murdered one man, shot another, and shot at a third, I think if he did, he’d lean on ’em awful hard.”

  “It still don’t add up to me that they’d shoot to kill.”

  “Me either, bud.” Just then Debbie brought us our dinners and a pitcher of beer. Both the nacho plate and our mugs were empty. She refilled the beer mugs.

  “Anything else, guys?”

  “We’re all set. Thanks!” She smiled at us and walked over to the next table. The food smelled great. Nice and spicy. I looked at Mike and raised my glass.

  “To friends. I am really glad Dad hired you.”

  “I am too, Jeff. I ain’t never had a friend like you.” I smiled at him.

  “You’re right there, buddy. I am pretty special, and you are lucky to have caught my eye.” He snorted and put his beer mug down.

  “Yeah, a nice modest, humble friend like you.”

  I laughed and continued teasing “Well, Mike, I’m smart, likeable, and best of all drop dead gorgeous.” He laughed again and raised his glass.

  “You know I will agree with you on that. Even though I can say you got a mighty high opinion of yourself.”

  “Thanks. All teasin’ aside, you’re pretty incredible yourself. You’re sharp as a tack, and one of the handsomest men I ever seen.”

  “Thanks. You know, I never been able to joke around with someone like we do. I’ve never had a friend who makes me feel special rather than some stupid redneck.”

  “That’s a good part of what bein’ a friend is about. Friends support each other, laugh together, do stuff together, and if needed, tell each other they got too high an opinion of themselves.” He laughed at that one, and then looked at me seriously.

  “I remember you sayin’ that your dad would be happy knowin’ we’re friends and hang around together.” I thought about that one for a couple of minutes. Dad knew I was gay and had met some of my gay friends. He was always open and accepting. He’d read some books about parents of gays and lesbians, and had even attended a PFLAG meeting or two in Wenatchee. I guess he’d developed a bit of a gaydar. Enough to reach out to Mike, who shared the story of his hurt and horrific childhood, and make Dad take him under his wing. He had said that Mike reminded him a bit of me in one discussion they’d had that Mike told me about. They’d also talked enough for Dad to know Mike and I had a lot of common interests. When I started goin’ seriously with Robert, I could tell Dad didn’t really like him. His only comment was, “If he makes you happy, then I’m happy. No one should have to be alone.” I noticed Mike was staring at me intently.

  “Ya know I reckon he would. I really have an inklin’ that he mighta been tryin’ to set us up.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, think about it. Dad knew you’re gay didn’t he?” Mike nodded. “And he told you all about me, my background, my hobbies, interests, and all that right?”

  “Yeah….”

  “Do you think he coulda been doin’ a sales job on ya? Sellin’ me to you?”

  Mike laughed. “If he did, he was mighty slick about it.”

  “And successful, wouldn’t ya say?”

  “Yeah, I guess I’d have to say that.” I felt Mike’s boots touch mine under the table. I pushed my feet out, so our boots were intertwined. We sat there and smiled at each other as we ate and sipped our beers. We polished off the food and finished the pitcher.

  “Buddy, what do ya say we walk up the street to One Eyed Jack’s? Maria will be there. Sandy’s workin’ and they got a band tonight. I could stand listenin’ to some good honky tonk. And their pitchers are cheaper there.”

  “Okay by me.” I insisted on paying since I’d invited Mike. He said okay only on the promise that he could pay for the pitcher in the saloon. We headed out into the night. It was cold. Enough so that I was glad I wore my jacket. The air was clear, and a million stars shined down on us. I could smell wood smoke, dust from the street, and grease from a deep fryer in one of the open restaurants on Main Street. Mike and I walked down the street. We both had our hands in our pockets and were close enough to bump shoulders. It was nice. One Eyed Jack’s was only a block away, and we got there pretty quick. The restaurant side was crowded, but the bar side where the band would play was just starting to fill. I noticed Maria and José in a booth. They saw us and waved us over. José got up and sat next to Maria. Mike and I sat across from them. The band was just setting up, and Sandy showed up immediately.

  “No Josh?” I was wondering if he was in the bathroom and we were taking his seat.

  “No, he had a date in Wenatchee. The cabrón left us all alone tonight.” Maria slapped José’s arm at the swearword, but she was smiling.

  “Cochino,” she chided José. Mike looked at me quizzically.

  “Pig,” I said under my breath. Sandy smiled at us all sitting together.

  “Hey, Jeff, Mike. Nice to see you guys. Are you ready for the big entertainment tomorrow, Jeff?”

  “I�
�ll get the steaks out of the freezer when I get back home and put the beans on to soak. We can do everythin’ else tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” she said and then asked, “What are ya havin’ to drink?” I looked at Mike.

  “A pitcher okay, bud?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Okay then Sandy, how about a pitcher of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale?”

  “Comin’ right up. And it’s on me.” José leaned over the table as Sandy walked to the bar.

  “Are you guys on a date?”

  Maria slapped his arm again. She said, “Les dejen en paz. Te van a decir lo que quieren cuando quieren.” I turned to Mike and whispered.

  “Leave ’em alone. They’ll tell you when they want to.” Mike had turned a brilliant shade of red. He looked at José, who had asked the question in all seriousness.

  “How do you know about me? I never told you.” At least he wasn’t denying anything.

  “The way you look at Jeff. It is no big deal, Mike. If you are together, I am very happy for you both. If you are just friends, I am happy. Mike, I’m your friend, your amigo. I want the best for you.” Mike stared at him with an abashed look on his face.

  “Thanks. It’s kinda new for me to be honest about who I am, okay? If I seem kinda uncomfortable or don’t answer or somethin’ like that, well, I just don’t come from a background where bein’ gay was acceptable.”

  Maria reached over and put her hand over his. “We are your friends, Mike. We want what’s best for you.” She then got a mischievous look in her eye, smiled, and asked, “So, is it a date?”

  Mike leaned over the table, and both José and Maria leaned in. He whispered loud enough for me and Sandy, who’d just brought the pitcher and two mugs, to hear, “I’m workin’ on it.”

  “Workin’ on what?” Sandy was eyeing us all suspiciously. Mike took a deep breath, and looked around. Everyone looked back at him including me.

  “Datin’ Jeffy here.” Mike was still beet red, but looked pleased with himself. José and Maria were beaming at him. I guess by this time, I was a little red myself. Sandy’s eyebrows went up. She laughed and looked at me.

  “Jeffy? Jeffy?” Maria and José were tryin’ hard not to laugh. “I gotta remember that one, Jeffy.” She continued laughing.

  “Hey, I like it when he calls me that.”

  “Can I call you Jeffy too, boss?” José was laughing now.

  “Sure you can, if you’re willin’ to do what he’s gonna do if he and me get together.” José stopped dead in his tracks at that, and Maria and Sandy burst out laughing. José finally joined in, followed by Mike and me.

  “Does Josh know?” Mike was still worrying about who knew.

  “Sí, he is not blind.” José looked at Mike. “And he does not care either.” Mike raised his glass.

  “My old man made my life hell for bein’ gay. He tried to beat it outta me and all sorts of horrible shit. But now I feel like I’m a really special guy. I just want to toast all of ya for bein’ my friends and carin’ enough to accept me for who I am. You have no idea how much that means to me. Cheers.”

  We answered in unison, “Cheers.”

  “You are special, Mike.” Sandy had jumped in.

  Maria nodded and said, “Don’t let anyone tell you that you are not a very good man, Mike.” José reached over and shook Mike’s hand.

  “Now that you stopped acting like a hijo de puta, cabrón, you are a really good guy, and I’m happy to be your friend.”

  I leaned into Mike and said, “Mother effin SOB.”

  Maria laughingly slapped José’s hand.

  Mike said loudly, “You are all gonna make me as cocky as Jeffy here.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered dryly, once the laughter died down. Sandy mentioned that she got off in ten minutes, so she’d be right over. The band started, and they weren’t half bad. First song they did was “Toes” by the Zac Brown Band. Then after introducin’ themselves, they launched into “Tequila Makes her Clothes Fall Off.” Sandy wandered over.

  “Boss let me off a few minutes early if you and me would dance, Jeffy.”

  “I’m happy to dance with ya, Sandy, but there’s only one person that calls me Jeffy, and it ain’t you darlin’.” We walked out to the dance floor, caught the beat, and started two-steppin’.

  “Actually, Jeff, I think it’s kind of cute he calls you that.”

  “Yeah, I do too. I think I got it bad.”

  “Have you guys slept together yet?” Sandy did have a reputation for bluntness. She was probably my best and oldest friend, so I bit back the “it’s none of your business” type reply I was about to make, and answered.

  “No, I think it’s better if we get to know each other first. I seen too many guys who start on the physical right away, and then when that calms down, find out they don’t have anything in common. I don’t want him and me to be like that.”

  “It’s pretty amazin’ how he’s opened up since you two started hangin’ together. He doesn’t seem so angry either.”

  “José said the same thing.” By this time, the song was done. The band struck up “Why Don’t We Just Dance?” by Josh Turner. It was a shuffle, so we stopped and caught the new beat. Every third set of steps or so, I’d twirl Sandy around. We were both having fun, and a few other couples had joined us on the dance floor. We finished the song and headed back to the table.

  “You dance, Mike?” Sandy asked him.

  “Ain’t never learned. I’ll have to though. You look like you both were havin’ fun.”

  “It is a lot of fun, buddy.” I drained my mug of beer. Sandy poured me some more.

  “So how did your photo shoot and interview with Mary Grace go?”

  “It seemed to go pretty well. Fast actually. She wants to get another picture or three after we get the first snowfall.” Sandy raised her eyebrows, and Mike got a curious expression on his face.

  “You remember that year I came home for Christmas and we were goin’ through town and I had that Santa cap over the top of my cowboy hat? We met uptown for the Christmas at the End of the Road carolin’.”

  “Yeah, how could I forget that? I remember when we were carolin’, you insisted on singin’ ‘Santa Got Lost in Texas’.” She laughed. “But everyone did like you singin’ a cappella ‘Christmas for Cowboys’.”

  “Mary Grace wants to get some shots of me with the Santa cap on top of my cowboy hat in the snow.”

  “Do I get a copy?” Mike grinned as he asked.

  “First one.”

  “You guys are getting too saccharine sweet. I’m gonna get us a refill on our pitcher.”

  “You’re the one who’s been workin’ overtime tryin’ to fix us up!” She just smiled and headed off to the bar. José and Maria got back to the table and sat down. Maria turned to Mike.

  “Mike, if you want to dance just let me know.”

  “I never learned how to dance, Maria. My old man saw it as a Satan-led pastime. But sometime, if you don’t mind, I’d love to learn.”

  She reached across the table and held out her hand. They shook and she said, “You’re on for that!”

  Just then there was a commotion over near the pool table. A group of bikers was playing pool. Winslett is a popular stop for bikers who do the Cascade loop highway, so that wasn’t very unusual. One greasy and heavyset guy was laughing really loudly. One of the girls with them said something, and he pushed her away hard. He looked to be drunk. His black T-shirt was riding up over his beer gut, and his filthy jeans made him look like a plumber. His long greasy hair was tied back in a ponytail. Just then Sandy passed by with the pitcher of beer she was bringing us. The fat biker laughed, leaned over, and pinched her backside, hard, when she passed. Sandy let out a yelp and threw the pitcher of beer at him drenching him. He shook it off his face and started toward her. Brian, the bouncer, was moving from behind the bar. Mr. Dobbins, the owner, had hauled out a pistol from below the bar. I had already gotten there.

  I stood in fron
t of Sandy and told the fat biker, “Time for you to leave.”

  “Get the fuck outta my way asshole. I’ll leave after I slap that bitch around good.”

  I looked at him. He was trying to stare me down, which was difficult as beer was running down his face and getting into his eyes. All of a sudden he blinked, and I threw a straight punch right into his solar plexus. He immediately began wheezing and gasping, since I knocked the wind out of him. I reached around, grabbed his ponytail with one hand and the back of his belt with the other. I pushed him forward and out the door. I shoved him hard enough that he stumbled over the boardwalk still gasping and fell in the street. Brian, Mr. Dobbins, his pistol, José, and Mike, were escorting the remaining bikers. As I turned to go back in the bar, the fat biker had gotten his wind back.

  “You’re dead you fuckin’ redneck asshole.”

  “Funny, I don’t feel dead. I’m standin’ here breathin’ enough to smell your stink from way over there, Porky.”

  “I’ll kill you!”

  “I’m quakin’ in my boots here, Porky. What ya gonna do, gas me to death with your stench, or ya gonna sit on me?” By this time, his friends had gotten him up and were dragging him off. He turned back and with a final hate filled glance left. We all turned back into the bar.

  “You okay, Sandy?” She looked fine, but as mad as a wet hen.

  “Yeah, thanks, Jeff. I was about to knock his teeth out with the pitcher.”

  “Let’s go back to the table,” Mike added. When we got there, Mr. Dobbins walked over with a pitcher.

  “This one’s on me, Jeff. You ever want a part-time job as a bouncer, let me know.”

  “Thank you, sir, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble; just looked like you needed a bit of help takin’ out the trash.”

  “No trouble from my point of view, son. You kids enjoy now.”

  We all chorused, “Thanks.”

  “You moved very fast there, boss. That hijo de…,” he looked at Maria, “that idiota didn’t stand a chance.”

  “We had your back, Jeff,” Mike added and José nodded. “Those friends of his were closin’ in on you from behind.”

  “You and Maria need a ride home or an escort tonight, just in case that trash shows back up?”