Country

by Jeff Mann

  Brice smiled despite himself. “Thanks, man. But you know what I mean, don’t you? You know how we were raised. Fags were delicate, prissy little things, more like girls than boys. Fairies. Pansies. I mean, think about all the folks we went to school with. Imagine how they would’ve reacted to the truth. Hell, I ran across Randy Doyle in Kroger just this afternoon, and he told me I was a hell-bound blot on the good name of this town.”

  “Well, Randy Doyle looks like a tick left on a hound dog’s ear too long. Bloated bastard. He can suck my dick. Oh, sorry.” Wayne gave Brice a crooked grin. “Was that a homophobic comment?”

  Brice laughed. “I ain’t that sensitive. You heard they renamed the bridge, right?”

  Wayne made a sour face. “Yep. My stepmother told me all about it. Her second cousin is on the town council.”

  “So…what was her reaction to all that? I’m sorta afraid to ask.”

  Wayne’s expression achieved deeper depths of sour. “Well, she’s a churchgoer, if you get my drift. To be honest, she and I have been arguing about you ever since I got to town. She demanded that I not come down here to visit you. As if that harpy can tell me what to do. She’s so damn afraid of what the town might think if someone sees me down here hanging out with you. Fuck ‘the town,’ that’s what I say. It’s not like reporters are going to be out in this storm lurking around and trying to get shots of us.”

  “Shit. Sorry about that.” Brice rose. “Yeah, I’m beginning to wonder if it was the smartest thing for me to come back here. I mean, when a guy’s wounded or hurt, he just wants to go home, y’know? But what if home doesn’t want you around? My sister and nephew are all I got left. Hell, even my brother-in-law objects to me. I have to sneak around to see my own nephew. Shit.”

  “Really? Jesus.”

  “Yep. He must think I’m some kinda pedophile, the moron. Another?” Brice peered into Wayne’s nearly empty mug.

  “You bet. Between Gail’s mother being sick and Roy falling apart, and all the retards giving you crap, we could both do with a good buzz. Happy holidays, huh?”

  “Right,” Brice agreed, striding to the kitchen. In a few minutes, he’d mixed a second round of toddies. “Hold on,” he said, placing the steamy mugs on the coffee table. “I need to get more firewood from the porch.”

  Outside, the sleet had shifted to snow, and a brisk wind was blowing. Brice loaded up his arms with five logs. He was bending down to grab one more when his back clenched up and a familiar pain surged through him. “Fuck!” he blurted, dropping the armload back into the wood box. Face distorted, he shuffled back into the foyer. Wayne stood there, body tense, face full of concern.

  “What the hell happened? I heard a crash. Damn, Brice, what’s wrong with you?” Wayne grabbed his unsteady friend by the shoulder.

  “Frigging back. It goes out sometimes. Sacroiliac joint, they call it. Doctor says it’s stress.”

  “You need to sit down,” Wayne said.

  “Good idea.”

  Wayne helped Brice hobble into the front parlor. Ever so slowly, face contorted and teeth clenched, Brice lowered himself onto the couch.

  “Should you lie down and stretch out?” Wayne said.

  “Naw. Sitting’ll do for now.” Stiffly, Brice propped pillows behind him, then leaned back and closed his eyes.

  “Ohhhh, fuck, it hurts,” Brice groaned. “Thanks, man. I’d be screwed if you weren’t here.”

  “So what else can I do?” Wayne said, spreading an afghan over Brice’s lap.

  “Hand here that drink. Bourbon’s bound to help.”

  “Here you go. What else?”

  Brice took a big gulp of his toddy. “I got some pain pills upstairs in the bathroom cabinet over the sink. If you’d fetch those, I’d be mighty grateful.”

  “You bet.” Wayne stomped up the stairs and was back under a minute with the medication and a glass of water.

  “Thanks,” Brice rasped, gulping down two pills. “I don’t want to impose, man. I’m a mess. Y’ought to head home. Not only am I a big fat failure, I’m a broke-back geezer. Git on back to your family. I’ll be fine.”

  “Fool. You just said you’d be screwed if I weren’t around. I’m not gonna leave you here all crippled up. I’m staying the night, whether you like it or not. Besides, you promised me dinner.” Wayne squeezed Brice’s shoulder. “Right?”

  “Okay, ornery,” Brice said, a wash of gratitude hoarsening his voice. “Stay then. Seems like you’re saving my butt again, just like back in high school. I got several guest beds upstairs.” I’d much prefer it if you got naked and slept with me, though with this goddamn back, I’m sure not in any position to seduce you, more’s the pity, Brice thought, massaging his spine. And every time you touch me, I want to cry. God, I’m so starved for affection it’s pathetic.

  “Lemme get more firewood, and then I’ll check on the chops,” Wayne said. “I’ll take care of you, friend.”

  I need taken care of, considering what kinda wreck I’ve become, Brice thought. In a better world, you and I’d be lovers, but, as it is, I’m damned grateful you’re still my friend. “Thanks, Pooch. Means a lot. Y’ought to let your kin know you’re staying, or they’ll worry. Phone’s in the kitchen. Oh, and I should have offered sooner, but there’s some cheese in the fridge and some crackers in the cupboard.”

  “Great! I’m starved,” Wayne said. Soon, he had two big armloads of wood piled beside the hearth. Soon thereafter, he’d returned from the kitchen with a plate of Ritz crackers and Cheddar already sliced.

  “Here you go. I have more water heating up. I want another of these toddies. You just sit back and snack while I check on dinner.”

  “Your wife’s a lucky woman,” Brice said, taking the plate.

  Wayne chuckled. “I like to take care of my clan, man. That’s the way we mountain men are, ain’t we? Protect and provide?”

  “Yep. Yep, I guess so. Glad you think I’m still part of your clan.”

  “You bet. Always. Be back in a minute. Those chops smell done.”

  Brice munched on cheese, massaged his lower back, and looked around the room. Ain’t lost quite everything yet. Cozy fire and solid house keeping out the winter. Good friend. Food to eat. Thank you, God, whoever You are, for all I got left.

  Wayne peered into the parlor. “Chop’s are out. I mixed up the cornbread batter and stuck it in the oven. Used that cast-iron skillet and lots of bacon grease from that tin in the fridge. Right?”

  “Right. Didn’t know you could cook.”

  “Cain’t. But I can read that cookbook on the counter.”

  Brice smirked. “I thought all us West Virginia hillbillies were illiterate.”

  “We are.” Wayne smirked back. “You get that kinda shit in Nashville?”

  “Occasionally.”

  “Yeah, I get it in Charlotte. They’re just jealous. Those North Carolina flatlands ain’t half as scenic as these hills of ours. Okay, let me call my folks.”

  Brice ate more cheese and sipped his drink. Between the bourbon and the pain pills, he was suddenly feeling very relaxed and content. Ah, chemistry, he mused. Didn’t much like the subject in high school, but I sure like what it’s doing to my head right now.

  “Yeah. Hey,” Wayne’s voice sounded in the kitchen. “Look, Roy, I’m down at Brice’s. Yeah, Brice Brown. Naw. Naw. I don’t care. Look, his back’s giving him fits, and it’s coming down outside, and…. Naw, I don’t wanna talk to her. I’m staying. It’s no big deal. Naw. Ah, hell. Okay, okay.”

  Wayne heaved a husky groan. Long-corded phone in hand, he appeared in the parlor door. “Shit. Sorry, Brice. Here we go,” he said before returning to the kitchen.

  Oh, no. Brice put his head in his hands, his comfortable buzz dispersing. His family’s giving him grief, and it’s all my fault.

  “Hey, Myrtle. Yep. Yep. Staying the night. Like I told Roy, Brice’s back’s gone out. Yep. Naw. Naw. Naw. Naw, I don’t care if folks know I’m here. We’re friends, Myrtle. Friends. Hav
en’t seen him in years, but, yep…. Don’t care about that. You should know me better’n—. What? Oh, please. Whoring? Really? No, I’m not worried. You’re crazy. Seems to me it’s my Christian duty to stay here and help—. What? No. Forget it. I’ll see y’all tomorrow morning. I’m staying, and that’s that. Good night.”

  Bang of phone into receiver. Muttered string of profanities.

  Wayne strode in, black eyebrows bunched up. “Drink up, bud. Another’s on the way.”

  Brice nodded. He swigged the last of the second toddy and handed his mug to Wayne. “Look, I don’t want you to stay if—”

  “I’m staying!” Wayne blurted. “You need me tonight. And I’m so fucking pissed at Myrtle I don’t even wanna be under the same roof as her.”

  “So what’d she say?” Brice asked, once Wayne had come back with the third round.

  “Oh, shit.” Wayne wrinkled up his nose. “Do you really wanna—”

  “Yes. Tell me.”

  “She….”

  “Ain’t nothing you gonna say gonna surprise me. I know the religious rhetoric as good as you do. We both grew up in this town, remember?”

  Wayne sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah. She said…you’re an instrument of Satan, and you’re bound to make a pass at me for sure. And she said that I have such a tendency toward sin—considering all the infamous whoring I indulged in in the past—I’d fall victim to your aggressive and notorious perversions, and then—”

  “Aggressive and notorious perversions? Infamous whoring? She said that?”

  “Sure did.”

  “Love it,” Brice said, stroking his beard.

  “Me too. When she gets her dander up, she can turn a phrase. As if I’d suddenly turn to cock-sucking after all these decades of chasing pussy.”

  “True.” Tragically true. “Go on.”

  “She said if word gets around I’m here, word I spent the night, even word that we’re still friends…ever’body’ll say….”

  “Go on.”

  “Folks’ll say we got a thing going like you and that Zac guy had. Then we’ll both be ridden out of town on a rail….”

  Brice grinned. “Tarred and feathered too?”

  The glower on Wayne’s face lightened. “No doubt. Shit. You and me, bulky as you’ve gotten, we could take ‘em all on.”

  “Sure we could. Especially with my back the way it is now.”

  “True. That might be a problem. Oh, and Myrtle said that Gail’ll leave me for sure once the scandal gets out. And I’ll be fired from my job. And I’ll never be welcome in this town again. And she’ll never, never, never be able to hold her head up at a church social again.”

  “Bless her heart.” Brice shifted and stretched his back. The medication and the booze had herded off most of the pain, leaving him feeling warm and limp and only mildly uncomfortable. Not that some of what Myrtle said ain’t right. I’d love to make a pass at you, except that wouldn’t do either of us any good. Ain’t that a bitter truth? One of the bitterest. I think I met the love of my life in high school, and just my luck, the guy’s straight. “Myrtle’s predictions are pretty dire. Sounds like high gay drama.”

  “True. Lemme go put those chops back in to warm up,” Wayne said, standing. “Cornbread’s smelling real good. Should be ready soon. You got any sorghum to go with it? Or wildflower honey?”

  “Cabinet over the stove,” Brice said. He wrapped his cold hands around the warmth of the toddy mug and admired the curves of Wayne’s butt as he left the room. Your wife is the luckiest woman on earth. Shit, I sure wish there was a pill to turn you queer. Shit, I wish I could meet some hot guy like you who wants me just as much as I want you.

  OH, MAN. I AM FLYING, Brice thought, drowsing on the parlor couch while Wayne, humming one of Brice’s early tunes, washed dishes in the kitchen. I haven’t been this high since I butt-fucked that hot little hustler in Daytona.

  The two men had made short work of their suppers. Only one chop and a triangle of cornbread were left, tucked away in Tupperware in the fridge. Outside, a fine snow fell, driven along wild angles by increasingly blustery wind. Every few minutes, the windows went blizzard-blank, full of writhing white.

  In the kitchen, the sound of splashing water ceased. In another minute, Wayne sauntered in, black bangs falling over his brow and two glasses of golden liquid in his hand.

  “I’m drunk, and I feel like getting drunker,” he announced. “Found this Jameson in your liquor cabinet. All right with you?”

  “Oh, yes,” Brice said. He knew only one Wayne was there, but he kept seeing two, both of them impressively broad-shouldered. “I’m pretty shit-faced right now, what with pills on top of toddies, but what the hell? It’s a reunion.”

  “You bet it is.” Wayne handed Brice a glass. “Gail’s always scolding me about my booze habit, but—”

  “But she ain’t here tonight, right?” Clumsily, Brice bumped Wayne’s drink with his. “To old friends.”

  “To old friends,” Wayne repeated, taking a seat beside Brice. Both men drank, regarding one another with lopsided grins.

  “Nice and toasty in here,” Wayne said, unbuttoning and peeling off his flannel shirt. To Brice’s drunken delight, the tight black turtleneck accentuated the brawny swell of Wayne’s pecs and belly. Wow, I can make out his nipples. Damn it, Brice thought, trying not to stare. It’s a blessing and a torment, having him so close.

  “Thanks for cleaning up. Didn’t know you liked Irish whiskey,” Brice said, looking away. “Thought you were a Canadian whiskey kinda guy. ”

  “Grew outta that. I love Jameson after a meal. How you feeling, broke-back?” To Brice’s tacit pleasure, Wayne patted his thigh.

  “Lots better. Again, ‘cause I’m high as hell.”

  “Whatever works. Want me to lay another log down?”

  “Naw. Getting late.”

  “Want some of that German chocolate cake?”

  “Naw. Don’t have room.”

  “Me neither.” Wayne rubbed the curve of his belly. “Shouldn’t have had that third piece of cornbread. Just cain’t eat the way I used to.”

  “Me neither. Otherwise, I’d be twice as fat.”

  “You ain’t fat. You’re just burly.”

  “Tell my Nashville publicist that. Oh, wait. I don’t have a Nashville publicist. Or a Nashville label. Or a Nashville wife.”

  “Shelly, right? Did she know about you?”

  “Not for a long time. Then she found some letters Zac’d sent me. Kinda sexy letters. But she stayed with me anyway.”

  “’Cause she loved you?”

  “Naw. ‘Cause she liked the house and the fame. I don’t think she ever loved me. She filed for divorce as soon as Zac spilled the beans about us.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “Naw. I talked myself into thinking I did, but I didn’t.”

  “Hmmm. If you think you’re in love, aren’t you in love?”

  “Not necessarily. Are you in love with Gail?”

  “Yeah. At least I think I am.”

  “Uh oh.”

  Brice giggled. Wayne guffawed. Both sipped whiskey, settled deeper into the couch, and stared into the fire. Wind noisily slammed the side of the house. In the distance, a train whistled.

  “You ever been in love, Brice?”

  Brice pursed up his lips and scratched his scalp. “Bastard. You gotta ask me that now?”

  “What’d’ya mean? C’mon. Confess.” Wayne nudged Brice in the side with his elbow. “I mean, guys like you love men like guys like me love women, right? Cain’t be that much of a difference. You’re forty, right? My age. Surely you’ve loved somebody.”

  “Shit, Wayne.”

  “Hey, we’re friends. Friends talk about real stuff, right? Not just sports and the weather. We used to talk about real things in high school, right? Or did we? You kept so much from me then. Was all that talk just bullshit?”

  “No. Not all of it.”

  “So? Talk. Look, buddy, I can tell you�
��re real low, real down. You’re bound to have been low ever since the news hit the papers about you and that Zac. Talk to me. Might help.”

  “Do you love Gail?”

  “You already asked that. Yes, I do. First woman I ever loved, I think. The others, well, I was an asshole. I knew I was good-looking and I could get away with shit, so…well, I used ‘em. I regret that. I was a young, horny guy, and I got all the pussy I could, and I broke a few hearts. Did…did you love that Zac guy?”

  “I should have. I was afraid to, I guess. If I had, maybe I wouldn’t be in this mess. He was a great guy, and he was so hungry to be loved, but every time he tried to make what we had more than sex, I pulled away. By then, I was married, and I had a career, and I knew if things got serious with him, and if the public found out, I’d lose everything. And then I lost everything anyway.”

  Brice cleared his throat and rubbed his jaw. “There were a few guys I really cared about before I got to Nashville. But when my career started taking off, when I was twenty-five, I made a deliberate decision to try to forget my feelings for other men, ‘cause I knew there was no goddamn way I could get anywhere in country music unless everybody—managers, record executives, band members, and fans—thought I was straight. Then, at thirty, I married Shelly.”

  “Shit. Rough.” Wayne shook his head and slurped whiskey. “So you give up any chance of a real personal life so you can make music?”

  “Yep. Yep. I had to sacrifice any chance for love with another guy because of my love of music. And my ambition. At first it was all about the music, but then it became about the fame. Not even the money so much as the attention. I wanted to be famous, man. I wanted folks lining up at my concerts and screaming in the arena seats. I wanted to win awards. I wanted the music critics to go on and on and on about what a talent I was.”

  “Yeah, I remember how pumped up you were by the audience when you played at that little club up Pipestem that summer before we went our separate ways. Hell, Brice, you’re a star. You deserve a big audience. I’ve always thought you were talented as all get-out, ever since you first sang some of your songs to me.”