by David Connor
“I should get to bed,” Rohan said.
“Okay.” Still, neither moved.
“Tomorrow’s a show day.”
“Yes.”
They stayed right there.
“I don’t want to,” Rohan admitted, so AC took matters into his own hands.
“Come on.” He stood and offered his. “N-night night t-time.”
On the way back to the motel, a short walk the pair turned into a long one, Rohan went on to explain how he was half Indian and half American, with several ethnicities thrown into his DNA mix. His parents were back in India, now, though he’d been raised since birth in the US. “I know more about my mother’s side of things than my dad’s. I have promised him I will go to India for an extended stay someday. I have to get there. My father tells me it can wait. We think we can learn everything on the Internet these days.” Rohan pursed his lips. “Bollywood. Done. That’s what a lot of people would say.”
They were holding hands again, as the snow started up a bit harder, landing wet on AC’s nose, then melting away as he watched it do the same to Rohan.
“It’s not a gay friendly place,” Rohan said quietly.
“N-no?”
“Not at all. Officially, the government was anti-gay. Very recently, progress…at least on paper. Among the people first, I suppose, and then on paper. So, maybe I’ll get there sooner rather than later. The previous laws have a lot to do with my father’s reluctance to have me there for any length of time. He loves me and says there are people there who also will. Of course, I believe it, but…” he trailed off. “It’s beautiful, but things get complicated.”
“Y-yes. I c-can only i-imagine. You w-were near th-there when you served.”
“Yes. Sort of. Close on a map, yet a world away. Those recollections can wait, except to say my fellow corpsmen were like these guys, a rock, a shoulder, hope, playmates, protectors, and family.” Rohan touched his cheek, the left one, where his hearing was bad and his tooth was broken. “We need to do better for the ones who make it back. I’m fine,” he added quickly. “Some aren’t and they’re not getting what they need.”
AC found himself inspired to create a piece in honor of the military. Silly bunnies, Santas, and jack-o-lanterns were one thing. His favorite projects, however, were still those that said something, like the one he’d done as a teenager for graduation.
“I took my middle name as my first to honor Father,” Rohan said. “My mother calls me Christopher.”
AC gasped.
“What?”
“N-nothing.” He remembered his sculpture and wondered what the perfect man would look like, if he could create one. At the moment, all he could see in his vision was Rohan. AC was smitten, too.
Chapter 15
12 Drummers Drumming: Five Stars. A spectacular group of guys who put on a spectacular show!
AC woke up on Christmas Eve like most children wake up Christmas morning. He couldn’t wait to get the day started and drove down to Dunkin’ Donuts for coffee and pastries for everyone.
“You’re a morning bird,” Terrel said, wearing nothing but tiny azure underwear when he opened the door to AC’s gentle tap.
“W-we’re r-riding a unicorn t-today.”
“There is no rhyme nor reason to which words trip you up, is there, boo?”
AC smiled. “S-seems not. Unicorn.” He shrugged.
“Good morning.” When Rohan emerged from the bathroom in a towel, AC almost dropped his offering. What a stunning body the one that stood before him was, all shiny, golden and wet. The hair on Rohan’s torso, arms, and legs was darker than the long, drippy almost flaxen spirals on his head. AC had noticed that with the eyebrows as well. Now, he couldn’t take his eyes off the trail from Rohan’s belly button leading down to the cheap, thin towel wrapped at his waist, a towel that did little to conceal the outline of Rohan’s thick cock when wet.
“I b-brought c-coffee.”
Rohan and Terrel each took one. So did Yoshi, and then Carlton, who appeared from somewhere as if a magician, or maybe a spy. “I’ll take the rest of these over to the other room,” he offered.
AC asked if there were morning rituals in which the 12 Drummers Drumming had to partake on the day of a show. When Rohan said, “Not really,” they decided he and Terrel would dress, while AC took a quick turn in the shower, so they could head off to the Maughan horse farm just up the road from the motel.
Spud was in his glory, left to roam free once they got there.
“Holy Cher singing Abba! This is where you live?” Terrel asked.
AC was down on the ground with Indianapolis, who’d come charging across the acreage at the sound of the van. “Yup. My h-house is b-back th-there.” AC pointed to a huge, two-story gray Cape Cod perched up on a hill. The house had burgundy shutters and a pristine white porch railing and was surrounded by short green conifers and knee-height stone walls. There were woods on all four sides, a frame of sorts, for a huge expanse of open space, now winter white, with flecks of green poking through, and dusty brown, that was a driveway and riding trails.
“Your art pays for all this?” Terrel seemed doubtful.
AC condensed a rather lengthy explanation about high-priced commission work, family wealth that went back several generations, and the fact that his parents owned the acreage if not the house, all into a few words. “I’ve b-been l-lucky in l-life.”
He showed Rohan and Terrel around outside with Indianapolis and Spud at their heels, introduced the guys to a beautiful white mare named Bianca, and then got Terrel in the saddle for his video.
“Gurrrrl, bein’ on a horse is way up here!”
“Y-you’ll be fine.” AC slowly led Bianca forward by the reins. “W-w-we can add the f-filters later to g-give B-Bianca her horn and m-maybe edit it to s-speed up her g-g-gal—trot.”
“And maybe wings,” Terrel said dreamily. “Bianca, the Unicorn Pegasus. I’ma make her fly over a rainbow.”
AC didn’t know how to do anything like that, but Terrel was young, like Emery. They probably learned to “phone” the same time they learned their ABCs. “S-s-sounds good.”
Terrel had nixed the Lady Godiva nude riding option for a velvety green motel bedspread he somehow managed to make look like a couture cape when worn over gold silk pajamas.
“Give me sexy,” Rohan called, recording with his phone, as AC trailed behind him, coaxing the horse. “Give me thoughtful, sad, happy, romantic!”
Rohan was having a blast. Goofiness seemed to allow some of his shyness to go away.
“Tyesha is gonna love this, gurrrrl,” Terrel said.
“G-g-gurrrrl.”
They said it together, even Rohan. “G-g-gurrrl.”
Terrel passed on the next activity, deciding instead to sit in front of the roaring outdoor firepit to edit his video. “You two boos have fun.” Indianapolis and Spud stayed with him.
There was something AC had always wanted to do, something he could have done at Christmastime every year, but never had, not as an adult, knowing it would only truly be fun if done with someone else. That someone, Rohan, raised his arms in the air as if on a rollercoaster.
“I can’t believe I am riding in a one-horse open sleigh on Christmas Eve in the snow!”
“Tech-technically, it’s a one h-horse open c-carriage.” The thing had wheels. There were jingle bells, however, attached to a sturdy brown horse named Chestnut, who pulled it. Each step he took made them ring out.
“Either way,” Rohan snuggled in closer, under a red and green plaid wool blanket, “it’s pretty magical.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about the name Indianapolis?”
“We l-like long ones in my f-f-family. When Ind-Indianapolis was a p-puppy, he was fast as a r-r-race car.”
As the two chatted further, AC found himself revealing quite a bit about his childhood, including the recollections that had come to mind while traveling back from Texas. He talked about “Reindeer in My Kitchen,” Mrs. Eich
orn mouthing “Stop singing!” the pot, the neurologist, all of it.
“Then, wh-when I w-was eighteen, I m-made myself a b-b-boyfriend, one I named C-Christopher.”
“No way.”
AC nodded. “I s-s-swear.” He wanted to say it was some sort of sign. He wanted Rohan to say it. The problem wasn’t always how words came out. Figuring out the right ones to attempt was just as difficult. Until very recently, AC hadn’t had much practice talking to people.
“Wow. I don’t know what to say.” Rohan looked at his lap. “Which isn’t a new phenomenon, really. I don’t get much practice talking to people.”
Okay. That had to be a sign. AC nearly jumped out of his carriage seat. “You’re d-doing fine.” He managed to keep calm, both hands on the reins, to live in the moment, which was truly enough.
Around two inches of snow had fallen. The sun would melt it by noon, but right then, it was a sparkly, brisk wonderland, one he would always remember. Sitting close to a man who wasn’t put off by how he talked, a sweet soul, a beautiful one, inside and out? Yes, that was enough.
“I’m n-not sure I ever w-w-would have gotten into art if I c-c-could s-sing. That’s w-what I always wanted t-to do.”
“Then sing we shall,” Rohan said, and then he did, choosing the most appropriate tune. “Jingle bells. Jingle bells. Jingle all the…”
AC picked up his cue. “W-w-way.”
“Oh, what fun it is to ride in a one horse open…”
“Carriage! H-hey!” They ran through a dozen carols, plus “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” even though neither of them truly knew all the words. They did come close to the high note at the end, though, to Chestnut’s dismay. He shook his ears as if it was summer and the horseflies were rampant.
“One more,” Rohan suggested, as they headed back toward the barn after traveling the entire perimeter of the property on the dirt road that circled it. Swooping garland on the fence posts all around them, a huge wreath with a giant red bow attached on the front of the barn, glimmering white lights dotting short, feathery shrubs, AC’s mother had made the estate quite beautiful. She did it every year. Funny thing was, AC rarely noticed any of it before he’d leave for Mexico. Something about Rohan’s presence made all forms of beauty more beautiful, all things joyful more joyous. A new attitude, AC figured. He owed his mother a hug and several years’ worth of compliments.
“W-what sh-should it b-be?”
“I know one we missed.” Rohan cleared his throat. “Deck the halls with boughs of holly. Fa-la-la-la-la. La…”
“La, la, la!”
“Tis the season to be jolly. Fa-la-la-la-la. La…”
“La, la, la.”
“We are on our first gay date now. Fa-la-la, la-la-la…”
“La, la, la!”
“Troll the ancient yuletide carol, Fa, la, la, la, la. La…”
“La, la, la!” AC warbled at the top of his lungs. Their harmony blended perfectly to his ears.
Rohan nodded in agreement, or maybe for another reason. “See. Instead of trying to make you sing like everyone else, someone should have found a way to make how you do sing fit in.”
Why had none of Atticus’s teachers thought of that?
“Your tone, your pitch, your inflection…all perfect.”
AC was smiling, ear to ear, close to laughing, even. So, why was he suddenly taken over by another emotion, one that made him check his eyes for tears.
* * * *
Terrel and Rohan shared the front seat heading back to the motel. It was a tight fit, and likely illegal, but it was hard to say no to Terrel.
AC asked Rohan, who sat closest to him, what he did when not performing. “You n-n-never said l-last night.”
“Believe it or not, I talk for a living.”
“As w-w-what?”
“I’m an auctioneer.”
Terrel piggybacked. “‘Give me fiddy, fiddy five? Do I hear sixty?’ and all that.”
“Yup. Car auctions in upstate New York,” Rohan said.
“C-cars? I l-l-love c-cars! Old, n-new, vintage, y-you n-name it.”
“We do mostly vintage. You’ll come up sometime. I’ll get you backstage, and you can watch me in action. I’m good with a script, even in front of a crowd, when all I have to remember is how to count by five. I do most of the acquisitioning, always on the lookout for something rare, something cherry. It’s all online, thankfully.” Rohan mimed typing. “No face to face stuff.”
AC nodded.
“There’s no schmoozing with auction customers required. Once in a while, someone will want to snap a selfie, but I don’t have to talk much. Is that like a smitten kind of word, ‘schmoozing?’” Even with so many words, Rohan’s shyness showed. Now and the night before, even in the carriage, he kept looking down.
“I w-would l-love to w-w-watch you work, and schmooze is a f-fine w-word.” AC did it, too. He noticed his shoe was coming untied, before focusing back on the road.
“Y’all think you’re bad at talking,” Terrel said. “Have you noticed how quiet I been? Ain’t getting a word in edgewise with you chatty bitches.”
Rohan and AC exchanged glances and smiles.
“You should see this one onstage,” Terrel continued. “No introversion at all. He does ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ on a stop watch.” Terrel fanned himself. “It’s l-l-lit!”
“What’s your r-r-rec—best time?” AC asked.
“Under one twenty,” Rohan said proudly.
“I can’t w-w-wait to h-h-hear it this af-afternoon.”
The show was to start at four. Murphy wanted everyone there at two. As the drummers prepped in the dressing room around three, AC waited for his family out in the lobby.
“Atticus!” Bartholomew hollered across the red-painted room with blue velvet curtains and a twelve-foot Christmas tree done in silver and gold.
“Is t-this K-Krissy?” AC asked when they met in the middle.
“I am.” The girl was all smiles.
“H-how was the t-t-trip?”
“Everyone’s great,” Marilyn said. “Krissy is doing fine.”
Marilyn and Bartholomew were both doctors. Not all the Maughan men had gone into law. They had transported Krissy from Chicago, with all the medical technology that was necessary.
“The coincidence of it all is a Christmas miracle,” Marilyn stated. “With a little Santa’s helper to pull it off.”
“You t-two m-made it h-happen. Y-Yoshi will be ou-out in a se-second.”
AC paced the whole time, like an expectant father. His Fitbit counted a couple hundred steps. The look of glee and surprise was worth it.
“Krissy.” Yoshi melted, dropped to his knees, and threw his arms gently around his patient. “How?”
“Him. Them.” Krissy pointed to AC, and then Marilyn and Bartholomew. When Yoshi rose to thank them, his hugs were much less cautious. He nearly knocked AC over. Bartholomew fared much the same.
“We were coming this way anyway,” he said with a chuckle. “It was no big deal.”
“No.” Yoshi disagreed. “It really was.”
Luanne showed up next, with Carlton’s special blanket. She was escorted by Emmanuel, who told AC he’d left Rick’s new bicycle outside. Gabriel, when he arrived, had the life-size Spud in tow.
“The Kitty whatever it’s called is being overnighted.” He showed AC the tracking receipt on his phone. “You should have it by the day after Christmas. Sorry I couldn’t get it to you on time.”
“I th-think Emery w-w-will be h-happy w-whenever it comes. I’ll get h-his add-address and m-mail it to him.”
Downstairs in the dressing room, AC made a very brief speech, telling the guys how much their two-day journey had meant to him and how grateful he was to have met each one of them. Rohan got an extra special little nod. There were hugs all around, and the drummers who didn’t receive a tangible gift seemed just as satisfied. All four of AC’s legal eagle brothers, and even their dad, vowed to help Hewlett with th
e battle for his cabin free of charge. Rob said he would love to paint as part of AC’s artistic team. Sometimes, painters got unfinished pieces by mail, and when they were finished, they returned them to the company. That system would work just fine for Rob, they thought. Meanwhile, Terrel was still gushing over his video, and Stone couldn’t wait for classes to start again. He was further moved by AC’s pledge to share the profits of his School Days piece with the art department there.
Rick tried to turn down the bike. “It’s too much, man.”
But AC wouldn’t hear of it. “I’ll h-have it sh-shipped to you, if y-you’re wo-worried about g-g-getting it home.”
“It’s not that. It’s just…” He was near tears.
“I w-w-wanted to d-do it. P-please, l-let me.” AC put an end to the argument with an embrace.
Murphy was deep in conversation with Gabriel, likely about finding vendors to sell his crochet work and collaborating on a mixed medium piece with AC Maughan Art. Manny’s surprise was still to come, a Mexican Christmas fiesta, that would take place after the show. He didn’t even seem grumpy about not knowing what he’d be getting and the fact he had to wait a bit longer than everyone else to find out.
Though it didn’t fully make up for the guilt over the stupid ratings notebook, AC felt a bit like Santa Claus, seeing everyone happy and excited. Then he turned to Rohan.
“Oh n-n-no!”
“What’s up?” Rohan asked.
“I d-d-didn’t get or d-d-do anything f-for you.” AC couldn’t even look at him.
“Are you kidding? Last night…this morning at the farm…We took a carriage ride! I got several gifts already, including getting to spend more time with you.”
“N-no way. Th-that’s my gift.”
“Mine, like fifty times.”
“Mine, like a h-hundred.”
“Are you really trying to out talk me, AC Maughan?” Rohan shook his head, and then let his words fly at unimaginable speed. “I got a hundred. Lookin’ for two. Do I hear two? Two? Got a two. Three, maybe. Three. Who has a three? Lookin’ for three, three, three, three. Rohan Nayar does three. Come on four. Whadda ya say, four? Four, four. Am I gonna get four? Here we have four. And five, five. Anybody got five? Five it is. How about six, six, six hundred, six? Me, me, me.”