by Cooper West
“Fuck, Gary, fuck….” Chuck’s words were distant noises to Gary, but he felt the throbbing of his cock and warmth of his cum flood over his thigh as Chuck stuttered throughhis ownorgasm.
Theylaytwitchingineachother’s arms untilit was almost funny. Chuck giggled as he rolled off. “Damn!”
Gary nodded, complacent in his sated, pleased state of mind. It was still early, and he thought they had time to play some music and eat dinner together, but he was in no rush to roll out of the bed. Neither was Chuck, if his dazed, sleepy expression was any indication.
“Nap?”Garygrinned over at him.
“Got nowhere to be until late.” Chuck turned to curl around and over Gary, kicking both of their pants fully off and away. They both ignored the mess of semen smeared between them, which Gary secretly hoped would lead to some mutually satisfying washing up later. He dozed off with the smell and the feel of Chuck allover him.
ChapterEight
Theyboth woke up a couple of hours later, hard
again but stomachs grumbling. Chuck shrugged goodnaturedly and clambered out of bed, going down to the bathroom to run a washrag over himself. Mildly disappointed but too hungry to be upset, Gary followed.
Down in the kitchen, Gary set up making scrambled eggs and toast for dinner, because that was pretty much the extent of his food supply. Chuck sat happily watching him, though, so Gary figured it was all good.
Gary set a glass of sweet tea down in front of Chuck while he prepped, thinking about practicing some songs after they ate. “You’re too good for that to be a hobby.”
Chuck nodded gravely. “I take sex very seriously.”
Gary blinked, then snorted through his laughter. “Music, youjerk. Youknow what I meant.”
Chuck grinned, his triangular smile bright and easy.
“I was ina band inAtlanta, duringcollege.”
Gary sipped his tea, processing that. “Didn’t you major inart?”
“Art history.” Chuck sighed and put down his glass. “The Old Man held the purse strings, but I convinced him that art history was a good choice for a future antiques dealer; he knows the agricultural end of the business is on the way out. Hell, it’s been on the wayout for thirtyyears, since bigagro took over.”
Gary laughed. “Art history major, antique store owner… your father has no idea you’re gay?”
Chuck’s expression went dark, and he closed down, returningto his tea.
“Seriously, are you that in the closet?” Gary sat back, frowning.
“Jesus, you looked around lately? We’re in the Deep South, if you missed it, and my family are Baptists. Hell, we have our own foot-washing church out in Cornerstone.” The expression on Chuck’s face was close to a snarl.
Gary shifted in the chair, unhappy with the tone of the conversation, but he could not let it go. “So move back to Atlanta. Or hell, Seattle—anyplace else.”
“Chicago?” Chuck threw the word like an accusation.
Gary nodded. “The problemwith Chicago wasn’t the city. It’s not a bad place to live.”
“But here you are, on a pecan farm in Marker County.”
“Youknow I inherited the property.”
“And who the hellyou think’s going to ‘inherit the property’ whenthe Old Mankicks off?”
“I can’t believe it’s the same thing. I’m the last person alive to get this piece of shit farm, okay? Aren’t there hundreds ofEveretts out inCornerstone?”
“I’m the eldest. If I don’t take the inheritance, there are about ten others who will pull the business apart tryingto grab it.”
“So it’s you or no one?” Gary felt himself getting angry, but he did not want to inspect his reasons too carefullyjust yet.
“Pretty much.” Chuck stopped, chewed his bottomlip, and looked directly at Gary. “I got two kids from my divorce. Their mother couldn’t handle the family, walked out on us. Martha is nine, Evan, thirteen. I can’t just pack up and walk, even if I didn’t give a damnabout what happens to Cornerstone.”
Gary chewed on the confirmation of what he had suspected and finally realized what pissed him off. It was the same story all over again that he went through with Roger: held on the side, treated like a cheap mistress because Roger’s middle-class Catholic family refused to accept that their precious baby boy might be gay. They lived together for years, and Gary never got more than “roommate” for a title. He got up and slammed his glass into the sink.
“What’s withyou?”Chuck asked calmly, realizing the mood had shifted.
“Nothing. Believe me, I’mused to this.”
Chuck’s voice was low and angry. “Used to what, exactly?”
“Being the bit on the side, your dirty little secret. Fuck.” Gary leaned on the counter, trying to calm down.
“Youthink that?”
“Really? No. I think this was a one-off, because I’m not going through that shit again. You deal with your religious fundamentalist bigots onyour own.”
Chuck sat stilland cold as deathat the table.
“I get it. You have responsibilities and all that. Believe me, I’ve heard it all before. And I may have moved to Hick Town of my own free will, but I’m not doing this. I’m not staying here for the rest of my life, livinginsomeone else’s closet.”
“That so?”Chuck asked tightly.
“That’s so. I’ve found my music again, and where it takes me, I’ll go.” Gary stopped, shocked at his own words. He had not thought it out until he said it, but now that the words were out there, he realized it was true. He had no ideas of how it was all going to work out, but the missing piece of his life was back where it belonged. He followed his muse to Chicago but stayed there too long in too many ways, and now that he’d found his muse again, he was not going to let it go because he was too scared to follow it. He could figure out the farm and his career and even his love life if he kept to his calling.
Chuck disrupted his epiphany by scraping his chair back as he stood. They stared at each other for a few moments, Gary’s heart hammering with new insights and anger and confusion. Chuck still looked fucked out, his hair mussed and his lanky body slouching as he faced off with Gary, but the posture held a note of tension that was slowly bleeding out into the space betweenthem.
“I’llbe going.”
Gary nodded, disappointment flooding him. He knew that he could not expect Chuck to argue withhim. Garywas just a piece ofass to him, and it was better to clear it out betweenthembefore Garygot too far into it, the wayhe had withRoger.
Calling up on his last reserves, Gary did not see Chuck to the door or even say goodbye. It had been funwhile it lasted.
Garydid not see Chuck the rest of the week,
unsurprisingly. He kept at his practice, laying down a few halfway decent tracks that he thought would clue Tally into the direction he was taking. He knew bluegrass fusion was not something that would turn him into a superstar (even Béla Fleck could not claim that kind of fame), but since that was never his goal in the first place, he was happy to follow his instincts wherever theytook him, for a change.
He was in the middle of jazzing up a tricky old gospel song he heard on one of the 78s when someone started hammering on the door. Frowning, Gary got up to answer it, only to stand in stunned silence when he opened the door to Tally McGuire on the porch with three bags ofluggage.
“I swear to god, Winston, this is the south side of nowhere!” he yelled, his blond curls bouncing as he waved his arms around. There was probably a time when Tally was an adorable but heartbreakingly straight twink who drove gay boys crazy, but that had been a long time ago, and he was now a solid six-foot wall of blond ambition. He was standing on the porch in his preppy trousers and loafers, his tailored camelhair coat swishingaround as he yelled.
“Tally?”
“Oh, brilliant! The hick vibrations have not rotted your brain. Are you going to let me in? Because for beingthe legendarybalmySouth, it’s damncold.” Gary stepped back, still in shock, as Tally muscl
ed past him, carryingallthree bags. “What a crushing dump.” Tally stood with his hands on his hips, inspecting the place. “Except for that. Jesus, Blaupunkt?” He approached the stereo reverently, petting it gently. Gary rolled his eyes, unsurprised that Tally would gravitate to the most valuable piece of furniture in the place. “Your aunt had this?”Tallysaid, staringat himaccusingly.
“No, she had the albums next to it. I found that at a store in town. Needed a way to play the music.” He gestured at the haphazard shelves of albums he had set up after he got tired ofsiftingthroughboxes.
“Damn, sweet, sweet find.” Tally opened the top cabinet and grabbed analbumrandomlyto playonit. “Uh, Tally?”
“Hmmm?” Tally fiddled with the settings and placed the album.
“Whythe hellare youhere?” The strains of a scratchy fiddle started up, and Tally closed his eyes to listen. Gary kept quiet. For all his brash and overbearing ways, Tally came out of the Juilliard School and had a legendary ear for quality. He was rich in a settled, comfortable way, representing at least two of the top names in the jazz scene and a number of lesser studio players like Gary. If it were not for his first-class musical abilities, Tally would have made one hell of a lawyer, and the combination of his natural talents made him a born manager. Gary did not understand why Tally was not a musical star in his own right, but it was not something anyone dared to ask Tally about. He played sometimes, usually by sitting down unexpectedly at a randompiano in a store or bar, and when he stopped to play for a moment, everyone stopped withhim, because he reallywas that good.
“Wow, very… genuine.” Gary laughed, pulling out a different album. “Try this. Careful, it’s a 78.”
Tally handled the shellac reverently, changing out the albums and being very careful about the settings. They both stood quietly as the first song twanged out, the voice of Molly O’Day ringing with an honest strengthand timbre that Garyknew Tallywould pick up on.
“Okay, I can see why you didn’t run screaming out of here.” Tally stopped the record and turned back to Gary. His eyes roamed to the makeshift studio in the den.
“Tally, whyare youhere?”Garysighed.
“I’m on vacation.” Tally crossed his arms and jutted out his chin.
“Oh, really.”
“That’s what I told Gina.”
“And she bought it?”
“She’s mygirlfriend. She trusts me implicitly.”
“She’s also your secretary and smarter than you are.”
“Ouch,” Tally sighed dramatically, and Gary wondered how someone could be so straight and act so gay. “Okay, seriously, it’s not as ifI haven’t invested in you. We were dealing with the stage-fright thing. We were makingprogress, and suddenly you’re driving your POS car southbound to play GrizzlyAdams in the mountains.”
“Foothills. The mountains are west ofhere.”
Tally flapped a hand impatiently. “Do not argue semantics withme. I want some answers.”
“I’ve beene-mailingyou. I explained everything.”
Tally’s frantic energy suddenly bled away. He stood solemnly looking at Gary. “There were about ten different ways you could have handled this, Gary. At the very least, you should have asked me to check property values. Instead you pack up and leave town.” He rolled up on the balls of his feet and back down, and Gary felt like he was on the receiving end of a courtroom interrogation. “I’m not lying about the investment; that’s my job, to sink money and time into an artist I think is going to give me returns out of all proportion to my risks. When one of my best investments runs out on me, I want to know what the planis.”
Feeling whipped, Gary sat on the edge of the couch. “Maybe I’mnot that good ofaninvestment.”
Tally sighed, his posture relaxing. “Believe me, I’ve had worse. You’ve got stage-fright issues. So what?You’re stillmagic fingers onthat guitar, and I had three studio gigs lined up, two with Marcus, who requested you specifically. Jesus, Gary, you ran out just as your studio reputation was starting to pick up steam.”
“It was getting worse, okay? Everything… was just getting worse. And fuck, I was tired of couch surfing.”
Tally sighed and sat down next to him, their shoulders mashed up together. He slapped a friendly hand on Gary’s knee. “Roger was an ass. I told you that when I first met him. Don’t let that mistake ruin you forever. And seriously, like you can live out of the closet here inHangdog?”
“Holden.”
“Whatever.”
“It’s not like it was Roger’s fault. He was just… a symptom.”
Tallysighed again. “Right, Dr. Winston.”
“Oh, shut up,” Gary laughed as he dropped his head into his hands. “What do you know about the traditionalscene?”
Tally sucked at his teeth as he stood up again. “I represent Joseph Adams, who’s got a decent name in bluegrass. He’s making me money, anyway, but he’s pretty self-directed. I just handle the legal end. Other than that, not much. You know I specialize in jazz musicians, for the most part. Although Tanya seems to be branchingout into Gothrock. Dyed her hair pink.”
“Tanya?” Gary blinked at the image of the nearly fifty-year-old cellist withpink hair.
Tally nodded in agreement. “I know. But she’s touring Europe with some EBM band, and getting one hellofa fanclub oftwenty-year-old ambisexualboys.”
“I missed mycalling.”
“Don’t you dare,” Tally laughed. “Okay, but still, what are youdoing?”
“Don’t youwant to see the guestroom?”
“Do I?”
“Not really, no.” Gary grimaced, thinking of the third bedroom and its creaky fold-out couch bed that Tallywould point-blank refuse to sleep on.
“Right. So shut up and play me something.” Tally waved at the studio as he took his coat off and slung it over his luggage. Sighing, Gary got up and went to play Tally the two songs he had been working on recording earlier. Tally sat on the edge of the couch and watched him with knowing eyes, cataloging everything from his posture to the composition. Gary felt particularly exhausted by the time he got through them and put the guitar aside gratefullywhenhe was done.
Tally did not say anything for a few moments, then shook his head slowly. “Fuck me, I forget how good you are sometimes… your own arrangements, right?”
Garynodded, numbed bythe praise.
“You’ve got something, there. Something good… I don’t know the bluegrass scene, but I’m going to. We’re going to work on getting a solo album out, then —”
“I can’t tour, Tally. You know that. Damn it,” Garygroaned.
Tally leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at Gary with a seriousness that he rarely wore. “We’ll deal with that. I just heard you play with more heart and soul and creativity than I’ve seen come out of you in years. Maybe this damn hillbilly town is good for you. Maybe we just needed to get you out of Chicago.”
Gary snorted, but Tally waved him off. “I’m serious, Gary. Believe me, I thought I was here to drag you back to the city, but”—he pointed at the guitar —“I’mchanging those plans. Now, show me that spare bedroom.”
Gary took him upstairs, where Tally took one look at the couch and waved his hands around in horror. “Ohmygod, no! Unacceptable!”
“Yeah, I didn’t think it would be. There’s a Motel 6 up at the interstate exchange….”
Tally squeaked. “You are joking. No, not happening. My god. Get your keys. You’re driving me into town, and we are buying some furniture—oh Christ! Is this what you’re sleeping on?” He wandered down the halland looked in on the master bedroom. “It smells like Bengayinhere!”
“No, I’msleepinginthe other guest bedroom.”
Tally gave him a look of deep suspicion before openingthe door to Gary’s room. “This is tragic.”
“I’mnot buying two bedroomsuites to make you feelbetter. Youcanstayat the motel—”
“Shut up, Gary. Just, shut up.” Tally stalked by him and went downstairs, s
winging his coat back on and shakingthe keys to his rentalcar loudly. “I’mtaking this out ofyour residuals! Now move your ass!”
Gary sighed, resigning himself to furniture shoppingwiththe gayest straight maninNorthCarolina.
ChapterNine
Tallywas a genuine bully when he put his back into it
and got the mattress store fifty miles east in the real city of Braedon to agree to deliver the two mattress sets that evening. Gary managed to hold him back from purchasing whole bedroom sets, but the cost was to purchasing whole bedroom sets, but the cost was to count sheet sets and Egyptian-cottonbathtowels.
“At this rate, I won’t see residuals untilI retire.” Tally nodded thoughtfully. “Good retirement plan, then.”
Garygroaned.
“So! Spending money always makes me hungry.” Tally pointed at the fast-food sign on the side of the highway.
“You know you don’t live in the projects anymore, right? We just spent over $1,000. I think we deserve realfood.”
“Do not diss my guilty pleasures.” Tally glared at him.
“Look, get off at the exit before mine. There’s a Germanrestaurant withkiller Wiener schnitzel.”
“Really? How bizarre.”
“Not bizarre; Brunhilde was a war bride in WWII, and the area has about as many Germans as Scotch Irish. Her kids and kin have run the place for years, and the food is stillexcellent.”
“Germans inthe South? Who knew?”
“We even have Jews and African Americans. Truly a multicultural experience below the MasonDixonline.”Garyrolled his eyes.
Tally snorted. “Is this where we segue into how awesome it is be a queer gayboyinHangdog?”
“Holden.”Garygritted his teeth.
“Uh huh.” Tally paused. “And still waiting for that segue.”
“The phrase ‘confirmed bachelor’ has a long, storied historyinthe South.”
“So does ‘mama’s boy’.”
Gary could not stop himself from laughing, and after a moment Tally joined him. They kept the conversation light after that, up until they pulled into the parkinglot.