by Ryan Field
A few minutes later, when he kissed Chance goodbye at the door, Brody grabbed his waist and said, “I think I'm going to get you a pair of bright red high heels for Sunday."
Chance wasn't sure if he was serious or not, so he grabbed his dick and said, “Only if you're a good boy.” Then he left him standing in the doorway, semi-erect.
The old man returned from Maryland that afternoon with a gigantic grin and a spring in his step. The squirrels had been set free on a remote tract of land near Virginia, and he knew he'd never see them again. He was so certain of this, he pounded his fist on the counter and stomped his right foot. And he was in such a good mood the rest of the week that he actually gave Chance a twenty-dollar bill when he asked if he could go to The Island with Sarah on Saturday night. Sarah's boyfriend, Mike, was away for the weekend and they decided to just hang out together that night. Chance was frustrated because he couldn't see Brody, and he was on the verge of biting his fingernails worrying about whether or not he'd be selected in the recipe contest on the Food Network. The following Monday, they were going to choose the finalists for the competition, and he wanted it so desperately that he couldn't sleep at night. At least he'd be able to see Brody on Sunday night. It occurred to him that being satisfied by Brody's big dick was the best sedative he'd ever known.
The weather had turned on Saturday morning from hot and humid to dry and very cool. The hills of northwest New Jersey were almost a thousand feet above sea level, and when it got cold in the Lakeland area during the summer, the temperature could drop well below sixty degrees at night. Neither Chance nor Sarah had thought ahead and brought jackets, so after they walked around The Island a few times, they decided to go into the bar at the pier to warm up with a few drinks. It was crowded that night, and they were lucky to find two empty seats at the bar.
Chance ordered a cup of black coffee with a shot of vodka, and Sarah ordered her usual bottle of beer. She laughed hard when a drunk, middle-aged guy with a white baseball cap put his arm around Chance's shoulders and offered to buy him another drink. And she nearly fell off her stool when Chance politely refused and the guy reached down and squeezed his thigh. Chance didn't respond; he refused to even make eye contact. He knew that if he ignored the guy, he'd disappear eventually.
But while he was staring straight ahead, trying to get rid of the annoying man, he noticed a familiar face standing near the pool table. He reached over and grabbed Sarah's arm and whispered, “Brody is over there. And he's talking with some guy.” The other guy was very young, with reddish brown hair and a bump in the middle of his nose that made it resemble a parrot's beak.
"I thought he was going on some bogus date tonight,” she said. Then she turned and saw him standing there, too. His head was facing the floor and when he slowly raised his arm to drink his beer he stumbled a few times. The guy with whom he was talking was smiling and waving his arms, and he kept touching Brody on the shoulder in an overly familiar manner. “It's probably just an old friend,” she said. But she was frowning, and she tapped her bottom lip with her index finger.
Chance leaned back so Brody wouldn't see him. The young guy Brody was talking to whispered something in his ear. The next thing Chance saw was Brody and the guy crossing toward the exit door. Brody held his beer and walked slowly, staring at the floor to be sure he wouldn't bump into anything and fall. The guy held his elbow and guided him so he wouldn't knock into anyone.
"C'mon,” Chance said, “I want to follow them outside."
Sarah quickly finished her beer with a few swallows and popped another stick of gum into her mouth. They followed them out of the bar, toward the main exit, and then out to the dark parking lot. Brody almost tripped over a rock, but the guy reached out before he fell. Brody started to laugh, and then he reached down and squeezed the guy's ass a few times. Chance pressed his lips together tightly; he shoved his hands into his pockets and clenched his fists. Sarah's eyes were wide and she started to rub her palms together.
The dark Cadillac was parked way out back, almost hidden behind a large weeping willow. When Brody and the guy reached the car, they went to the back, near the trunk, where they could hide next to overgrown shrubbery. But Chance could see everything they were doing. The young guy unbuttoned Brody's pants and pulled down his zipper. He reached into the opening and pulled out his cock. It was still soft and it flopped against his jeans. Brody's eyes were only half open and he had to lean back against the car for support. Then the guy disappeared; he went down between the cars and all they could see was Brody standing there, still slugging back the beer.
"Oh my God!!” Sarah said. She was staring at Brody's limp penis—his dick, when soft, was the size most dicks get when they were erect. “If he's that large when it's soft, I can't even imagine how large it is when he's got wood. It's a wonder you can even walk after being with him."
Chance ignored her. He clenched his fists again and he sniffed back a few times because he didn't want to start crying. “It's big because his brain is in his dick,” he said.
Then Chance stepped forward and walked up to the car parked next to Brody's Cadillac. When he cleared his throat and coughed, Brody looked up and saw him standing there. Sarah was right behind him, chewing her gum violently and rocking on the balls of her feet. The only thing Sarah loved more than big dick was a good fight.
At first Brody didn't recognize him; he was so drunk he could barely see the guy about to suck his penis. But then he blinked a few times, jerked his head, and stared back at Chance. When the magnitude of the situation finally registered, he shook his head and asked, “What are you doing here?” He stepped back, as if he'd become instantly sober, and pulled up his zipper.
The guy who on his knees and ready to open his mouth said, “Hey, what the fuck?"
"Get out of here,” Brody told him. He buttoned his jeans and crossed to the front of the car.
Chance straightened his shoulders and said, “No. I don't want to interrupt you boys. We're going home. You have a good life, Brody. I'll see y'around.” He turned, grabbed Sarah by the arm, and headed to his car.
"Have a good life? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Brody shouted. He left the other guy standing next to his car and followed them.
When he reached Chance's side, he grabbed his elbow. “Stop. Don't leave like this."
But it was too late for that. Chance jerked away and said, “Leave me alone. You said you had a bogus date, and here you are getting sucked off by some ugly dude with a hook nose. You're a liar.” He started walking faster. Poor Sarah had to hold her tits and jog to keep up the pace.
"I did have a date,” Brody shouted, “But it ended early and I got a little depressed, and I came here for a drink. I swear I didn't plan this. I'm sorry ... please don't leave like this. I made a mistake. I had too much to drink and that guy came on to me."
"Well, you could have said no,” Chance shouted. “You could have said, ‘Sorry, I'm involved with someone and I can't do this.’ But no, you just get drunk, let that whore pull down your zipper, and spread your legs."
"Men are pigs,” Sarah shouted. “All they care about is one thing.” Her hands were on her hips and she nodded her head up and down.
Both Brody and Chance stopped and stared at her for a second. Then Chance started walking fast again. Brody could have pointed out that Chance had been more than willing to let three strange guys tag his ass on the boat that night. But that wasn't the same; they'd both agreed to do that together. This time, Brody was sneaking around behind Chance's back.
When they reached Chance's car, Brody was still pleading for forgiveness. He made a fist with his left hand and started punching the palm of his right hand. But Chance and Sarah got into the car and slammed the doors shut. Chance pulled away, leaving Brody there waving his arms in a cloud of dust. Chance gripped the steering wheel tightly as the car screeched and swerved. When they rounded a corner near the exit road, the rear end fishtailed a few times. Sarah's eyes were still wide and her lips
were pressed together tightly. This was the sort of drama one didn't see every day.
"Are you going to forgive him?” she asked, when they were on Lakeside Drive and the car wasn't swerving anymore.
He clenched the steering wheel with both hands and locked his teeth together. Then he said, “I've been kicked in the ass enough in my life so far. I don't need it from him, too."
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Chapter Eight
Early on Sunday morning, Chance went down to the barn to see if there were any squirrels in cages. The traps were empty, and he went back into the market and started to prepare a special brownie recipe for the wooden bowl display. His eyes were still puffy from crying, and both legs felt heavy from not sleeping. The brownie recipe was simple to prepare: a surprisingly rich blend of three kinds of chocolate—that you could easily buy at any supermarket—all tossed together in one large mixing bowl with regular brownie ingredients. Almost too simple for him to have the audacity to charge two dollars and fifty cents for each individual bar.
After he placed them in the oven, he opened the front door and situated the open sign on the sidewalk outside the front steps. The sky was bright blue and the sun was shining in his face. It was warmer, and they were predicting a long heat wave for the end of the week. When he looked across the street with his hand over his eyebrows, he saw a large black Cadillac parked on the side of the road. Brody stared at him through the open window. His eyes were wide and innocent and his face was covered with five o'clock shadow. Chance's heart skipped a beat, and he almost took a step forward. But then he stopped, turned around, and went back into the market. He didn't go out front again, but he kept looking out the front window all day long, peeking beyond the rows of pretzel sticks and cheese puffs. Brody didn't leave until three o'clock that afternoon.
He was parked there again on Monday morning. So Chance made Sarah put the open sign outside when she came in at nine. She looked across the road and smiled at Brody. He smiled back, and then she shrugged her shoulders. When she came back into the market Chance was standing behind the register. She said, “I hope you know what you're doing. If I had a guy like Brody camping out front for me, I'd be begging his forgiveness."
Chance smiled and shook his head. He wasn't sure if she meant that Brody cared enough to camp outside the market to beg his forgiveness, or because he had a large penis; with Sarah, you never knew. But it didn't matter anyway. “I can't trust him anymore,” he told her. It had occurred to him a few times, mostly during the night when he tossed and turned, that maybe he was being too hard on Brody and that he should just forget about his little indiscretion. And then he'd remember the lump he felt in his stomach when he saw the other guy pull down Brody's zipper in the parking lot. He couldn't forget the sharp pain in his chest when he saw the guy going down between Brody's legs.
On Tuesday morning, while he was preparing small hand pies as the special of the day, Sarah came clopping into the market wearing a pink terry bathrobe and white fluffy bed slippers. She came in through the side door of the kitchen. Though her hair was pulled back in a dreadful ponytail and her eyes were still puffy with sleep, her voice was animated and she was smiling.
"Why are you here at this time of day?” he asked. No one but the squirrels got up with Chance. “Are you sleepwalking?” His voice was low and his movements were swift and awkward. He knew they'd selected the recipe winners on Monday and he hadn't heard a thing.
She grinned and wrinkled her nose, then she threw her arms in the air and said, “The Food Network called me last night and I had to pretend I was you! You're a finalist."
He dropped a pie on the floor, stunned. He'd never won a thing in his life.
She handed him a piece of paper and said, “All the information is here. You go on live TV this Saturday night!” She clenched her fists and jumped up and down a few times. She couldn't scream because the old man was still sleeping.
Chance didn't say anything at first, but then he threw his arms around her and they bounced up and down together. One of her slippers came off and she slipped on the pie. She went down, dragging Chance with her, and poor Sarah's ass landed on the pie. Apples and cinnamon shot out and hit the wall, and the back of her robe was a caramel, slushy mess. But they continued to laugh and hug. “I can't believe it,” he kept whispering.
Sarah stood up, cleaned apple pie filling off her bathrobe, and said, “He's out there again, you know.” She nodded toward the front of the store and sighed.
Chance lowered his eyebrows and tilted his head back. “Who?” As if he didn't know.
"Brody,” she said, “He's parked out there right now;,just sitting in that big old car waiting for you to forgive him.” She sighed and shook her head a few times.
Chance pressed his lips together and went back to filling pie crust. “He'll get the hint sooner or later. All I want to do is concentrate on winning this competition.” He stared at her for a moment, then raised his arms and said, “It's all I have. It's my only way out of this nightmare of a life I'm living."
Brody disappeared Tuesday afternoon and didn't return Wednesday morning. When Chance opened the front door and didn't see Brody's car outside, he slammed the sandwich board sign on the front steps and stomped back to the deli counter. Though he'd gotten what he wanted, Chance felt as if he'd been deserted and discarded and forgotten about, and he banged a few pots and pans louder than usual. While he sliced deli meat for customers, he whispered under his breath, “I'll show him. I'll show them all."
Betty Shack pressed her hand to her throat on Wednesday morning and asked him if he was feeling okay. He didn't smile and joke around like he usually did when he sliced her half-pound of head cheese, and he didn't bother to say thank you when he handed it to her. Mrs. Dolan told Sarah she was worried because Chance hadn't bothered to prepare a special on Thursday. She'd been looking forward to the special of the day, and when she saw the empty wooden bowl she felt compelled to say something to Sarah about this depressing state of affairs. Even the nun noticed that something was wrong with him that week. When he handed her a half-pound of macaroni salad and a quarter-pound of potato salad and forgot to price them, she patted his hand lightly and smiled.
The only one who didn't notice that anything was wrong was Dan Pratta. And that was because he was still so happy that the squirrels hadn't returned from Maryland. He smiled and joked with the customers, and he even told Sarah she looked good in her new white jeans Thursday morning. Of course, Chance had been letting new squirrels go early every morning that week—not because it was funny anymore. He just didn't like to see the squirrels in the cages. Once they submitted to being trapped in cages, they remained perfectly still as if all energy and life had been drained from them. Kind of the way he felt.
On Friday morning when Dan came downstairs, he farted a few times and scratched his ass. Chance took a deep breath and said, “I need to take tomorrow afternoon off. It's something personal that I have to do. I can work until three.” This was the first time he'd ever asked for any time off since he'd been there. Maybe he should have approached this differently; begging a little might have helped. But he wasn't in the mood.
Dan poured a cup of coffee, and he stared into the stained mug while he stirred in two packets of sugar. Then he shook his head, and said, “No. You can't take off. That's a busy day. If it was something important, like a funeral or even a wedding. But you just can't take off when you want.” He took a sip and started to walk away.
"This is important, and I'll still be here most of the day,” Chance didn't want to go into detail about the recipe contest, but he wanted the old man to see how important this was to him. “I won this recipe contest, with the Food Network. And I have to go to New York tomorrow to compete in the final competition on live TV. The winner receives fifty thousand dollars and a chance to get their own cooking show.” When he actually said the words, it began to feel real.
Dan stopped, and then he turned on Chance. His eyes widened an
d he started laughing as loud as he could. “You won't win. That's like gambling on the horses. You have a career to think about right here. Cook my specials and stop dreaming about the Food Network. Stick to what you do good: cooking here and showing off that pretty ass.” He continued to laugh in Chance's face for a minute, then and laughed all the way out the front door.
On Saturday afternoon, while Dan was talking to Mrs. Dolan about his squirrels, Chance removed his apron and went upstairs to change his clothes. The only good clothes he had were a pair of dressy jeans, a white dress shirt and a black blazer. He was young, with a great body and a handsome face: Anything he wore looked great. It had been raining all day and the market had not been busy. He knew Dan and Sarah could handle things without him for a couple of hours.
But when he went back downstairs with his car keys in his hand, Dan was standing at the end of the deli counter with his arms folded across his chest. The store was empty and Sarah was at the register, pretending not to listen. “Where do you think you're going?” He started to tap his foot; he put his hands under his arms and made tight fists.
"I told you, Dan,” Chance said. “I'm going to New York. I'll be back tonight.” His armpits began to sweat and his hands felt a little shaky. This was the first time he'd ever stood up to Dan about anything.
Dan stared at the wooden floor for a moment, and then looked up at him with fear in his eyes. “If you walk out that door now, don't bother to come back, you.” His words were clear and cold. He wanted to control Chance completely.
Sarah leaned forward and held the counter for support, as if she hadn't expected the old man to go that far.
"Are you serious?” Chance asked. “I work hard here, and I never complain. I do everything you ask. Not to mention the fact that I've been walking around naked and letting you feel up my ass for the past four years.” He wanted Sarah to hear the past part so she could fully comprehend the magnitude of his situation there.