Foothills Pride Stories, Volume 2

by Pat Henshaw

  5

  ALTHOUGH I agreed the idea of Ebden and Anna being gay men hovered like a large chunk of irony over the town, I told him I wasn’t comfortable making their secret public. The couple had worked too hard for fifty years to keep themselves from gossip for me to be the one to out them.

  After he sobered up and finished his lunch, Vic agreed. The beautiful portrait of them, looking so in love and so complacently happy, that hung in the town library might be mocked and ridiculed if we outed them. I’d rather have everyone revere them as they always had.

  If the climate of public regard for gays continued as it was going, then the day to clear up the town history would come sooner rather than later.

  “Speaking of the town council not wanting more gays opening businesses here, has anyone hassled you?”

  Vic’s mischievous smile returned. “Are you kidding? They’ve been harassing the head office to open a branch here for the past year. So far they’ve been thankful it’s finally being done. Wait until they find out who’s heading up the branch office.”

  We laughed.

  When we got back to the hotel, Vic was hot on the history trail, so I showed him the stacks of photo albums in the breakfast room and left him happily leafing through them.

  “Dinner’s at seven tonight,” he said as I turned to leave. “We’ll leave in time for you to play at nine.”

  I didn’t protest. I had a date. Two, actually, counting our lunch. But who was counting?

  AFTER A sweet dinner with Vic at the Silver Star, I got to Stonewall, ready to set up, only to find the bachelor party group from last night still going strong.

  “They started coming in this afternoon and have been hanging around ever since—a lot of them saving tables and waiting for you. Some guy told me you were going to play your fiddle?” Stone ran his hand over his bald head. “We’ve been trying to kick out the drunks and keep things civilized, but you’re gonna have your hands full. If you want to cancel, I wouldn’t blame you. Just give me the word.”

  “Naw, it’s okay.” As an expectant buzz started to circulate the room, I accepted the larger than usual stack of requests he handed me. I saw Vic had already found Hayden, Jimmy, and a handful of other people I knew. They, like the rest of the crowd, seemed to be amped up and ready to party.

  In the back room before getting my instruments together and tuned, I went through the requests, throwing away the illegible and strange ones. I had to laugh at one that said, “Play that fiddle tune about the two guys who’re about to have a showdown.” Right. Two guys about to kill each other. Since it was a fiddle tune, how the hell did he know what the lyrics were? I tossed it in the Are-You-Kidding basket.

  I was left with four standard fiddle tunes: “St. Anne’s Reel,” “Soldier’s Joy,” “Simple Gifts,” and “Blackberry Blossom,” all of which were great for resting my vocal cords and quieting the crowd, but I couldn’t start with them. The remaining requests were guitar and banjo ballads and songs, standards like “Froggie Went a Courtin’,” “Rovin’ Gambler,” and “Fox on the Run.” For “Fox” I’d changed the lyrics to “he left me” instead of “she.” Because of Stonewall’s brand of good old boys, I’d changed songs like “Fox,” “Mama Don’t Allow,” and a bunch of others into gay-focused participation songs. I figured a gay bar needed gay Western music instead of show tunes, Madonna, and Lady Gaga.

  I rearranged the requests and paper-clipped them together more or less into a playlist. Then I tuned the instruments, carried them out on stage, and got everything ready for my two sets. The moment I poked my head out of the backstage door, the clapping and hollering started.

  “Zeke! Zeke! Zeke!” Guys at the ringside tables shouted and clapped. An alternative shout of “Red! Red! Red!” from the back competed with my front-row fans.

  I looked up from putting the banjo on its stand next to tonight’s guitar and waved. Setup was so routine, I could do it in my sleep.

  Someone whistled a shrill attention-getting ear-splitter. I grinned. My fans were out in force tonight. I worried that the playlist might be a little too sedate for this group and maybe I should up the tempo a bit.

  I went to get the fiddle, still mulling the night’s lineup. More energy or less? What would be best?

  As I entered with the fiddle, which I hadn’t played onstage in a while, the crowd started stomping and shouting requests. I nodded and smiled, unable to hear what most of them were saying, then sat down on the stool, and hit it with “Sailor’s Hornpipe” and rolled that one into “Turkey in the Straw.” After the first few notes and a lot of shushing, the shouting stopped and the clapping and foot stomping reflected the beat. I could feel the audience’s adrenaline and delight hitting me in the face like waves. It was going to be an interesting night.

  With a grin, I ended the medley and pulled the standing mic up, waiting for the clapping and whistling to crest.

  “Looks like everyone’s feeling chipper tonight.” The audience noise increased until I waved a hand at the group. “I’ve got some good stuff lined up for y’all, so sit back, relax, and let me entertain you.”

  I looked around at the eager faces in front of me. A lot of the regulars grinned back. More of them were here than I would have expected, considering what a beautiful spring night it was. I would have thought those with bikes would have been riding around in the hills, but quite a few of Stone and Jimmy’s friends were front and center, mingling with the wedding attendees.

  Vic and Hayden had been joined by Jax, Raynetta, and Justine, and squished between them sat Calvin. Wasn’t the kid underage? Did Stone know he was here?

  “Let’s start the evening going over the rules.” I glared—well, as much of a glare as this thin, alabaster-skinned, red-haired entertainer could glare. I leaned back, putting the fiddle on its stand and grabbed the banjo.

  I strummed it to get the audience’s attention, then shouted, “Mama don’t ’low no singing ’round here!” The room went crazy, with the regulars catcalling and the newbies sitting in shock. Those in the know were so over the top that they may even have beat me into singing the first few words.

  I loved this old standard because, like I did with Garth Brooks’s “Friends in Low Places,” I took leeway to get as raunchy as Stone would let me. In the past, the audience and I’d come up with all sorts of things Mama didn’t allow beside the standard singing, banjo playing, and other traditional lyrics. In my version, Mama didn’t allow things like knife-fighting, twerking, rimming, blowjobs, you name it.

  Tonight I’d added gay weddings to the group that Mama wouldn’t allow, which I knew the two grooms would love. The night was off to a roaring start, and I was already sweating with the audience’s power boost.

  I closed the second encore with “Goodnight Eugene,” my gayified rendition of the classic “Goodnight Irene.” I liked it at the end of the set because it put everyone in a mellow mood and left those who didn’t leave immediately reminiscing over their last few drinks. As I basked in the hum of a satisfied crowd, having put away my instruments backstage, Vic’s voice caught me between my legs, breaking the mellowness of my night.

  “That was amazing, Zeke.” Vic’s voice poured over me. He sounded delighted and moved, like I was a different person now than I’d been at lunch and dinner. “We’ve got time for a drink, right?”

  I nodded and followed him as he walked away from our group of friends to a tiny table in the shadows. I knew what he was asking and where we were heading tonight. But I’d really like to do it as friends and potential lovers, not as a fan and his favorite entertainer.

  Stone stepped up to our table as I sat. I could see Jimmy watching us from the bigger table surrounded by our friends. He winked at me, so I smiled back. He grinned in return and raised his eyebrows. I nodded, and his grin grew.

  “How ya doin’, Zeke? Good job tonight. Glad you calmed ’em down at the end there.” Stone gave Vic the evil eye. I could feel Stone assessing him but couldn’t tell how Vic finally measured up
. The minute dragged on, and then Stone turned back to me. “Whatcha drinkin’?”

  I looked up at him as I tried to wipe the sweat off my forehead without actually using the bottom of my T-shirt to do it.

  Vic reached into his back pocket and handed me a handkerchief. A fucking hankie!

  I glanced at Stone, who was looking as flummoxed as I felt. When was the last time I’d seen a man’s handkerchief? My dad’s? My granddad’s? Maybe never?

  “Uh, thanks.” I wiped my face, then couldn’t figure out what to do with the wet piece of cloth.

  I looked at Stone, who shook his head. Neither of us had a clue.

  Vic smiled. “Here. Give it to me.”

  I put it in his outstretched hand. He quickly sniffed it and stuck it in his pants pocket. I blinked in surprise. What was the hankie to him? A talisman? A memento?

  I checked Stone, who was now smirking at me. I could see him filing this little scene away to tell Jimmy, who would tell Fredi, and then all my friends and acquaintances in town would be talking about me and Vic’s hankie. I sighed. Oh well. Nothing I could do about it now.

  “Okay, yeah. I think alcohol would help at this point.” Stone’s eyebrows rose at my request. I usually stuck with beer. So what? “Whiskey and water. Scotch whiskey, none of that domestic crap.”

  Vic’s smile grew. “Same for me.”

  As Stone left, Vic turned to me.

  “I was thinking about you today as I went through the albums.” His deep voice soothed me, lulling me from my performance high. He had a hand on the back of my chair, his other hand on the table, so that I was surrounded by his concern and attention. His Native American handsomeness was eye candy I ate up. We were becoming friends, I tried to remind myself. My dick begged to differ.

  “Did you find the photo you were looking for?”

  He shook his head. “I only got through five of the albums. Quite a collection of memories, though. Some really stunning ones of Anna with Ebden and a bunch of important-looking people. You’d never know she was a guy.”

  A drink appeared in front of me, one in front of Vic, but he didn’t back away from me. His warmth and care wrapped around every fiber of my body. I stared at the glass, waiting, longing for I knew not what. The moment was eerie and erotically vibrant.

  Stone stood still beside us, rimming my peripheral vision. What did he want? Was he waiting to be paid? He’d never done that to me before. He usually let guys he knew run a tab and then collected later. Was he worried about Vic? What was I missing here?

  Slowly Vic backed away a tiny bit, took out his wallet, and put three twenties on the table. “We might need a refill.”

  Stone ignored the bills and gave us a long, almost worried glare.

  “You better watch yourself. You hurt Zeke, you hurt me.” Then he stomped away, his biker boots loud on the wooden floor now that the crowd had somewhat dissipated. The seductive moment shattered with his steps.

  I shook my head. Fuck. Stone had never stepped into my love life before. I must be more tired than I thought. Vic and I were just two guys having a drink after the show, right? No big deal. No big moment.

  I stifled a yawn, and Vic settled back around me, shielding us from the barroom noise. It didn’t feel like he was making a move like it had before.

  “Sorry about that.” I cleared my throat. What had gotten into Stone? I had to change the subject. “Can I ask you something?”

  He nodded and took a sip of his drink.

  “You don’t act very Native American, considering how you look.”

  His eyebrows shot up, and he grinned at me. “That was a question?”

  “I don’t get it. I expected more of a… I don’t know….” I waved my hand like it would fill in the blank.

  “More mumbo jumbo? More deep insight and cryptic sayings?” His grin had turned mocking.

  “Yeah, sorry. It’s just—”

  “The hair, the face, the eyes. I got it.” He shifted, bringing us a little closer together. “Here’s why I’m more white than Native. I was abandoned as a baby, and the state placed me with a couple of families, then with Tobias’s brother Hebron and his wife, Sehra, who never formally adopted me, so I retained my birth name of Victor Longbow. I was raised with Hayden, their natural son, and wasn’t ever taught Native ways. I went to all-white schools and a college generally considered very, very white.” His ironic smirk made me raise my eyebrow. “Harvard.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, definitely what I think of as a white college.”

  “Then I went to work in San Francisco at a brokerage firm. Until I started going to a few casinos in the area, I don’t think I’d ever met a Native American. So any hocus-pocus and astute Native lore or sayings? You better ask someone else.”

  “But you’re trying to find a photo of your ancestor.”

  “To find out if I’m a figment of my imagination or if I’m real and might have had a real family.” He sighed.

  Fuck it. That broke my heart. After having a dysfunctional but loving relationship with my own adoptive father, I bled for the bleakness in his eyes.

  I leaned into him. Startled, he glanced at me, then leaned closer.

  I put my head on his shoulder for a second.

  “Let’s drink up and go back to my place.” I sighed. “I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day.”

  As we walked toward Stonewall’s back room together, I could feel everyone’s eyes on us. I stopped him at the doorway and turned. He nearly ran me over.

  “What—?” He looked down as I wrapped my arms around him. One of his wrapped around my waist as the other cupped my ass. I put my lips on his and kissed him. As my tongue swept across his, I could feel him smile. I faintly heard someone back in the barroom say, “I didn’t know Zeke was looking for a—” Then I was lost in his warmth and affection.

  We were going back to my house of historic memories, and I was going to fuck a guy who was only too real. Neither of us were ciphers. Together I hoped we would add up completely and totally.

  6

  AS MY dad used to say at the beginning of a bright new morning, “Another day, another dollar.” God, I’d hated that saying some days almost as much as I missed my dad. Fuck making another dollar. I felt too good this morning. Who needed another dollar when he could feel as completely happy as I did? I wanted to stay in bed and pretend there wasn’t a world outside.

  The warm, beautiful body next to me stirred. I snuggled next to him, and his hand shifted around my waist.

  I felt whole and alive and sore. I knew we’d taken a huge step, Vic and me. This wasn’t just a random one-night stand. This wasn’t a Grindr romance or a fast pickup at a nameless bar. My friends and employees knew what I’d done last night and knew who I did it with.

  What I needed more than anything was advice. I’d entered the unknown territory of a potential relationship, and I needed a map. Even a GPS blip would be helpful. Where was my dad when I could use some advice about my love life? Where was he when I needed a dose of his irritating laissez-faire attitude before I broke down and panicked? When I desperately needed to unlock the chains of my unrelenting sense of responsibility and my need to know where I was going every moment?

  I had to take a breath and a step back, but I didn’t know how.

  As the morning-after thoughts swirled in my head, the hand on my waist had crept lower and lower. A soft, warm breath hit the back of my neck. Going forward looked so rosy.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.” His lazy voice made me turn. “Together.”

  Now this was how every day should start.

  JUSTINE AND Raynetta ambushed us much later as we stepped out my back door on our way to the kitchen.

  “Oh, there you are.” Raynetta rushed up to me, then stopped so suddenly, she teetered, and Justine nearly ran into her. She turned slightly to Vic. “And there you are too, naughty boy.” She giggled.

  “Oh my!” Justine’s hand couldn’t stop her tiny squeak as she stared at me and Vic
.

  I guess we looked as well fucked as we were, and my face now felt like a ripe tomato about to burst. Vic seemed to have added more red to his beautiful adobe skin, and his eyes twinkled as if he had a secret he couldn’t hide. We were a pair, we were.

  “Zeke, we wanted to thank you.” Although I’m tall, Raynetta and Justine are taller. Raynetta moved forward, crowding me and Vic.

  “How’s Calvin?” I asked. I was still a little curious how they’d talked Stone into letting the kid into the bar during my performance last night.

  “He says thank you for letting him stay in 305.” Justine’s whisper could barely be heard, so I awkwardly leaned around Raynetta to hear her. “He’s gonna be….” She hesitated and looked at her lover.

  “Don’t you say ‘fine,’ girl,” Raynetta spat. “It’ll take him a while to get over this, if he ever can.” She sighed, shook her head, and turned back to me. “But you sure did put a smile on his face last night, Zeke. Listening to you cheered him up. He needs so much help now. We just wanted to ask you a little something. Do you got a place he can work while he’s staying here? Until everything is settled?”

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I must have anticipated this question because I had an immediate answer.

  “Well, he could help Gloria with the breakfast setup and bussing the tables, and maybe help Jax fill out some of the online order forms that give him so much trouble.”

  “Perfect!” Both women clapped their hands. Then Raynetta grabbed one of mine and squeezed it between both of hers. “You gotta come down to the shop, honey. It’s time we get you cleaned up for the wedding. Don’t want you shaggy-baggy in front of all those other pretty boys.”

  Her hand popped up, and she ruffled my curls as I tried to back away. Beside me, Vic laughed.

  “Thank you for helping Calvin, dear. He’s such a love.” Justine smiled quickly, pulled Raynetta away from me, and whispered, “We gotta get to work, honey.”