Brimstone

by Peter van der Walt

  Hamilton was not hired so that Paul could have an expert to defer to. He was hired to do a job. And part of the job had best not be anything akin to a messy divorce, because Paul Draker wanted to be free.

  “How much time?”

  “They are saying two calendar months.”

  Paul considered his next move.

  “And in the meantime? The environmental damage gets worse. Tell them they have four weeks at most.”

  Two months was a very long time, but corporate processes took time. One month was fair though. It showed Sutherland Ridgefield that Paul were not averse to being demanding, sending whoever was calling the shots a clear signal. He had terms, but he wasn’t being unreasonable.

  Also, it gave Hamilton something to do.

  “Got you,” Hamilton replied, and Paul could almost hear the grin through the phone.

  “Anything else?”

  “Not right now. Will keep you posted.”

  “Okay. Call me Friday unless there’s something urgent.”

  “I’ll text you new terms if I can produce them.”

  “Tom. Produce them.”

  “Yessir.”

  And that was that. With Hamilton handled, Paul could get back to the bar counter. It was completely empty, only Tina was around, and a casual was working away somewhere in the kitchen.

  While Hamilton was on the phone, she read the document he handed her. She looked at Paul with a kind of disbelief.

  He sat down, taking a sip of his cola.

  Tina shook her head. “Paul, I…”

  “Leave it,” he said.

  “I can’t thank you enough.”

  He shook his head. It really was nothing.

  She shook her head, and suddenly Paul could see that she was getting older. When you see people all the time, that happens as they get older. They will look the same forever, and then one day, suddenly, you notice a big step down.

  And the way life treated this woman over the years. Every frontline political fight for LGBT rights or equality in the last forty years. Up to and including the beating that Alex Keegan gave her.

  She’d been there for him when his mother passed away. Gave him a waiting job so he could earn his own money, living and eating for free, and helped him transition from just another Southern white kid with a single mom – to an out gay orphan back when Ronald Reagan was in charge and kids didn’t come out to their parents.

  Somehow, she got him through those very uncertain teenage years, all the first heartbreak and all the anger at everything and everyone. And away from a whole bunch of older men who circled like vultures.

  When Paul left for the military, he had no boyfriend, a few friends who were not going to the military and no blood relations.

  But he never would feel alone.

  When time came to call home, Paul would explore. Either the local terrain, wherever local was. Or he would explore in other ways. Quick trips to the local countryside, getting to see different people in different contexts.

  Experiencing a world that sometimes felt small, but that Paul knew was immeasurably immense. There was so much to see in the world, and Paul knew even if he spent the rest of his life looking, he’d never see it all.

  She was the one he’d call. Or email.

  Her little Saloon was the anchor point of Paul’s life. Official admin was couriered to Tina’s address.

  And when Paul met Reuben, she was the one he had to tell. She really had been, back then, the only one he could tell.

  And now, she deserved to do whatever the hell she wanted, go wherever the hell she wanted, when the hell she wanted.

  “I don’t know what to say…”

  “Tell me what you’re going to do.”

  She ran a hand through her thinning gray hair. Raised her eyebrows and thought.

  “I think I’m going to take my Harley and drive up one side of the Appalachians, and then drive down the other side. And I’ll go to bars like this one, and play a song or two. Like I used to with the Steel Woolfs.”

  “You’re going to rock and roll.”

  “Fuck yeah.”

  Paul stood up and gave her as big of a hug as he could. She held on to him for a bit.

  “How did you do this?”

  He shook his head. “Basically, every cent of rent you’ve paid in the past six years, was invested, and matched by me.”

  “Two and a half million dollars,” she said, still incredulous. “In six years?”

  “Well, I matched you.”

  “You didn’t just match me.”

  “I also added fair market value for the Saloon.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “No ma’am. It’s karma.”

  “Screw this. Get us beers.”

  Paul brought two, they touched glasses and Tina raised her hand high.

  “Now,” she said, taking a big, celebratory sip, “tell me about this guy.”

  Paul sat back. He wasn’t really a big drinker, of any kind. But two if the lesbians in his life always insisted that he have a drink or two with them. Anna fed him wine. Tina, beer. But right now, sitting here with her, the beer was actually quite nice.

  “I don’t know anything yet.”

  Tina rolled her eyes. “Paul. Enough with the heteronormativity. Gay boy. Tell me about his looks.”

  “You’ll have me gushing like a teenager.”

  “I’ll do you one better. I want you to sound like a teen girl. Give me the cheerleader version. Go full drama. You want to. You’re gay. Deep down it’s lurking… it wants to come out.”

  Paul laughed and shook his head at the same time.

  “Well, he’s got this really deep voice.”

  “Uhuh.”

  “And he looks really nice.”

  “Go on.”

  Paul shrugged.

  “Coy. How Southern. Go ahead… and I want the details.”

  Paul sat back and thought about it.

  How did you describe it?

  “He was built to ravage me.”

  Tina nearly spilled her beer.

  “It’s his presence. That’s the first thing I noticed. Not one feature, but just how… solid, he feels, if that makes sense,”

  “Damn ho, listen to all your filthy slut talk.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I mean he’s just, really present, you know?”

  She kept smiling, but nodded.

  “He’s got these cool blue eyes. I mean, you notice them across a room they are so cool. A little bit of scruff. His smile and his lips – well, those really get me.”

  “Whoo-hoo! Finally! Let’s hear it for the boy!”

  “Really, Tina…”

  “No. I told you earlier you better go out there and grab some prime beef, didn’t I? When was it? A few weeks ago?”

  “Seems like your prayers have been answered.”

  “I think you have a tendency to go off into the woods alone. It’s fine that you like the woods, don’t get me wrong. But it’s the alone part that had me a little worried. To be honest, Paul, you’re so much of a loner sometimes it scares me a little.”

  Paul stood up, pretending to get the refills. He didn’t want her to see that his eyes had welled up a little.

  Scared her a little? It scared him. A lot.

  The loner thing was him, he would probably not ever get over that. Seventeen was early to start looking after yourself.

  Reuben changed all that. And when he died, Paul didn’t reach out as much as he should have. Instead, he retreated. And he’d been stuck ever since.

  “But good for you. You got some a-grade tush.”

  “Well, I gave him my number. He hasn’t called yet.”

  “I think he will.”

  “I hope so. He’s smart too. Book smart an
d real smart.”

  Tina sat back, finally relaxed enough to feel pretty tired.

  “Yeah, get me that beer will ya?”

  Paul brought hers over.

  “C’mon, Paul. You own the place.”

  “Yeah. But the name on the door will always say Tina’s Saloon. It’s your home. I’ll just nurse mine a while longer.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Paul sat down, realizing he spent longer than he planned to.

  Adam showed up. He had a big grin on his face and kept staring at Paul.

  He’ll grow.

  “Listen, I got to hit the road.”

  “Hot date?”

  “Well, he hasn’t called.”

  “Whatever.”

  Paul was halfway out the door when his phone rang.

  “Hi, it’s Brad.”

  Paul showed Tina a thumbs up and left the Saloon. For a second he thought he heard a smacking noise in the background. It could just have been on his side.

  Once outside, he put the phone closer to his ear.

  “Hey. Glad you called.”

  “It’s been a long, rough day for me. But I got a lot done.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Plus, I have some classes on. I just want to get the first ones out of the way. But in thinking we should hook up next Friday.”

  “That would be great.”

  “How was your day?”

  “Action-packed. The usual.”

  “Uhuh.” He heard a door shut on the other end.

  “What’s going on over there? I’m struggling to hear you.”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “Sorry, I just left the room. I’m with you now.”

  “Do your thing. Next Friday. I now have your number too.”

  “Don’t run. Just doing some cleaning. Tell me more about your action-packed day.”

  “Lots of admin type stuff. And just leaving a friend’s.”

  “I wanted to know, why is a guy like you still single.”

  “Not the biggest city, I guess.”

  “You know, the other night. I felt like giving you a hug.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  “Yeah. But hugs are first base, right?”

  Paul laughed.

  “Nice laugh you have too.”

  It seemed as if his voice was reaching through the phone and playing with Paul’s hair.

  “So I’m going to hit the books and do my thing. But then it’s next week Friday.”

  Paul so wished it could be earlier. But in a way it was good. It gave him time to enjoy looking forward to something.

  “Okay. We’ll touch base then.”

  “Hopefully.”

  Paul laughed again.

  “There’s that laugh. Also, don’t plan anything. Let me handle this first one. The next time you can organize.”

  “Ok, cool. Do I need to prepare or anything? Parachute? Scuba gear?”

  Brad’s turn to laugh… and it sounded like music.

  “So yeah, I gotta go.”

  “Okay, go.”

  “Cool. I’m gonna go, then.”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  “Bye.”

  “Okay I’m going.”

  “Okay.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  And the line went silent.

  Paul put his phone away.

  Grown ass man, prancing around like a giddy schoolgirl.

  Still. It felt really good.

  And why shouldn’t it?

  Every human being out there yearns for a little bit of connection.

  Every one of us wants to be touched.

  Paul Draker did not go home, however. He was walking, just walking. He was going nowhere in particular – yet he walked as if he was in a rush. A loner walking in the woods or in the streets would be Paul’s default mode. It’s the isolation he retreats to, as much as that isolation is the very thing that makes his heart ache.

  Not all the time, but sometimes.

  The thing with being gay, is that life comes without a rulebook.

  A happy ending defined: the guy and the girl get together. Fathers and sons, mothers and daughters. There are all kinds of cultural or social models that tell straight people how to behave. What is expected. For good or ill, these models work.

  But what are the rules of dating? What are the rules of relationships? Anyone’s guess is likely to be better than Paul’s.

  The sun was going down. Paul decided he’d have to get home… although his mind was running in a million directions.

  That was it. He shouldn’t overthink things.

  Maybe it was the tendency to isolate himself. Maybe it was sensory evidence that was all still jumbled up. Maybe it was his guilt over not coming out and weeping publicly when his Reuben died. Maybe it was paranoia. Maybe self-doubt.

  Or maybe it was the fucking PTSD.

  It was hard for Paul to know what was going on in his own heart sometimes.

  But something felt… a little off, a little wrong.

  “Hey guy,” Paul said to himself. He could hear Tina and Reuben both say it, even though he was voicing it: “Just enjoy it… whatever it is.”

  Chapter 16

  “Tears”

  Tears get you what you want.

  People were soft and weak. They could not help themselves.

  Brad could simply dominate them, but he found it easier and simpler to get them to do what he wanted by using tears.

  Weakness ruled the world.

  A week person just had to turn on the waterworks, and the strong would interrupt what they were doing, and bow down to help.

  There were three things Brad needed tears for. One was with a stranger, to seal the deal and to ensure that he was selected and not others. The second was to remind his father that after many sins and many years, $12,000 would just not cut it. The third was so he would be left alone long enough to do what he had to do with Draker.

  The first set of tears came earlier in the day, when he convinced an old bat renting out an apartment above a furniture store that he was the one she should lease the place to.

  Having revisited the library, Brad got the details of five places to rent that was suitable. In every case, the apartment was for a single person, in Loveday or close to Loveday, and not for rent via some sort of agency or business. Those companies did background checks – and Brad was not only a registered sex offender, but he had no references and could show no record of earning money to pay the rent, or actually paying the rent.

  For lease by owner was sweet.

  Provided Brad kept his acting just perfect – and he was always perfect – and some fake printed documents bearing random signatures – a good story with just a hint of tears was enough to get what he wanted.

  The place he settled on was in Loveday itself, around the corner from Sloane street. From the street, you could see the antiques and furniture store. This had big windows and nice pieces – it was run by two fags that seemed to bicker incessantly throughout the day.

  The landlord – an overweight old bat with a single strand of purple hair, met Brad outside in the street.

  Brad stood next to the beater he bought himself, which now had textbooks from the classes he signed up for at the Varsity.

  He was older now, but could still pass for a student.

  She greeted him with a polite smile, shaking his hand with a chubby, cold, limp hand – and walking him to the side door, which opened to a staircase that went on to the second and third floors.

  His apartment was one level above the street, directly above the furniture store.

  It was no more than a single large room, with a kitchen in one corner and a sin
gle door that led to the bathroom. No bath, shower only.

  Inside the walls were face brick, and two large windows looked out on to the street. With no blinds or curtains, and no one across the street to see in, it gave full light and an open feeling, as well as privacy.

  The old bat saw him looking at the window and said: “I have blinds for those, if you want.”

  Brad allowed a faint smile to cross his lips. He nodded and inspected the room.

  “Four hundred dollars. Need a deposit of one month up front. I inspect the premises every six months. It’s as quiet as Loveday gets, and everyone in the neighborhood. Brad smiled again, this time moving his head in an effeminate way – something the fags called ‘camp’.

  The behavior got him a lot of politeness in Loveday itself – and a kind of grim, brooding judgement outside in Fairbridge proper.

  She had placed the place to lease in the Pink Mountain Times, a free publication filled with ads, features on various community organizations, a calendar of events and two or three badly written articles. He found her ad in the classifieds, after looking through the dating notices.

  He was looking up various terms and acronyms… words he was learning to understand how to behave gay. It wasn’t just fucking, these fairies. They also had a whole subculture – an underground set of speech codes hidden in plain sight. GWM – that was Gay White Male. WLTM – that was Would Like To Meet. There was this thing called SA/SL – Straight Acting and Straight Looking – which seemed to be highly prized by the men looking for sex, friendship or relationships in the little rag of a paper.

  No fats, no femmes, no blacks – the gay world mirrored the straight world in many ways. People had their own prejudices and hang-ups. Some of the fags were damn near right-wing, others were progressive social justice warrior snowflakes.

  Like on the websites he started hanging around on, either on his phone or on his laptop (he bought this not only as a treat but to help him get back on his feet, money wise and mission wise).

  Kinks were advertised. SM, Bondage and Leather, Watersports (guys pissing on each other), Chemfun, Party and Play.

  There was something liberating about being a fag, Brad supposed. Once that secret was out, people couldn’t really think any worse of you. So everything went. You didn’t have time to fuck around.