by Jeff Mann
“That was bullshit. He’s married too. We’re just friends.”
Frank shrugged again. “Okay, well…. Glad you have friends. Hard to get through without ‘em. Happy New Year.”
“Same to you. And thanks again for saving my ass. They might have cut me pretty bad.”
“Yep. It’s my job. Glad to help.”
The two men shook hands and parted. Brice had trudged only a few feet toward the top of the park when Frank said, “Hey, Brice?”
“Yeah?” Brice turned.
Frank pursed his lips and scratched his cheek. “I hope you get it back. Your career. And I know you’ve got to be lonely. So I hope you find someone. I really do. It’s a new year, right? Anything’s possible.”
“Right.” Brice tried to smile. Finding someone to love in his ruined-outcast state seemed to him about as likely as renting a pleasure palace on Pluto. “A new year. Thanks, Frank.”
Frank waved and headed for his police car. Brice walked into the park, calves stiff from the hours of hiking. He stood in the grass for a few minutes, shivering while he watched the sun set over the notch Madam’s Creek made in the mountains. On his porch, Brice stomped snow-dust off his boots. He was about to fetch in some kindling from the wood box when a flicker of color caught his eye. Something was waving by the door in the steady breeze and the dim light. He pulled it from between the screen door and its frame. It was a bright yellow piece of lined notepaper, folded in half. Brice unfolded it. In black Magic Marker letters were the words, “Repent, sinner. Or be damned.”
Rage flickered through Brice again, but this time it subsided in seconds. Weary amusement took its place.
“Nice of these folks to be providing more fuel for my fire,” he drawled. Brice crushed the note up into a ball and shoved it into his pocket before gathering up several handfuls of oak-twig kindling and entering the house.
THE SECOND GLASS OF IRISH WHISKEY HAD BRICE comfortably toasty. He’d just finished chopping up a head of cabbage and had it frying in a skillet with some bacon grease when the doorbell rang.
As usual, Brice tensed up, mind flashing through the possibilities. Reporters? Leigh? Those fucking Ward brothers, come to finish what they started? Shit, I need to get some ammunition for Daddy’s guns. Who knows if or when those Wards might show up here? They gotta know where I live. Screw courage. I don’t plan to die under the knives of backwards bastards like them. Frank said to call the police station and ask for him, and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do, if it’s those assholes.
Jaw set, Brice strode to the door and peered out through the glass. A man—tall and stocky, not at all familiar—was standing on the porch, faintly illuminated by the house lights. He was dressed in a WVU baseball cap, a black leather jacket, and a pair of jeans. His head was half-bowed, and the lower half of his face was covered by a thick beard. He carried a paper bag in his right hand.
Who the hell is that? Another damn scandal-rag journalist, no doubt. Well, I’ll send the little prick packing.
Brice unlocked the door and threw it open wide. After the earlier encounter with the Wards, he was feeling hostile and on edge. “What the hell do you want?” Brice growled through the screen.
The startled stranger stepped back and stared at Brice, wide-eyed. “M-Mr. Brown? Uh. I…uh.”
Lord, he’s young. Mid-twenties? Handsome. Looks a little like me when I was that age. Could be my kid brother, if I had one. “Speak up, boy. What do you want?”
“Mr. Brown, I’m real sorry to bother you. I just—”
“Are you a reporter? Journalism major? If so, fuck off.”
“Reporter? Aw, naw!” The boy shook his head, and shaggy hair swayed about his oval face. “I’m…I’m a fan. See? See here?”
He pulled a CD out of his jacket pocket—it was Brice’s Mountain Back Road—and brandished it like a protective charm before slipping it back into his pocket. “Your music means so much to me, and what’s happened to you lately…how mean people have been to you…well, I think you’re brave. I think you’re a hero. I’d love an autograph. And I brought you this. Kind of a Happy New Year present.”
The boy offered Brice the bag. Brice opened the screen door and took it. Inside he found a fifth of rum, a quart of eggnog, and four fried pies in a Glad Bag.
“What kinda pies?” Brice asked.
“Apple. Homemade. I made them. My Nanny…my grandmother’s recipe.”
“Hm.” Brice gave the boy the faintest of smiles. “So you’re a fan, huh? What’s your favorite song of mine?”
“Oh! It’s hard to choose! Uh, maybe ‘Sad-Eyed Angel?’”
“Yeah? So why is that your favorite?”
“Because it reminds me…of someone I knew.” The boy cleared his throat and looked away, out over the porch and toward the muffled rushing of the river. “Somebody I loved. His name was Mike.”
Brice’s face broke into a wide grin. “You’re gay?”
“Yes, sir.” The boy met Brice’s gaze and nodded. “That’s kinda why I’m here.”
“Well, hell, come on in. It’s cold out there.” Brice held the door open.
“Thank you, sir,” the boy said, entering the house with a loping, long-legged stride.
Brice closed the door and locked it. “Gimme that jacket and hat,” he said. His visitor did so, after removing the CD and a square red envelope. Beneath his outer garment, he was wearing a black and red plaid flannel shirt with rolled-up sleeves atop a black T-shirt. Nice build, Brice thought, hanging the leather jacket on the hall tree before ushering his guest into the front parlor, where a small fire burned.
“So what’s your name, son?” Brice said, offering his hand.
The two shook. “Travis, sir. Travis Ferrell. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time.”
“Nice to meet you, Travis. It’s sure good to meet someone who wants an autograph instead of an opportunity to beat me senseless. Two guys I ran into this very afternoon pulled a knife on me and were prepared to cut me up…before a cop arrived in the nick of time. Here now. Take a seat.”
“Oh, wow, a knife? Really? Damn. Sure glad the cop appeared.”
Travis set the CD and red envelope on the coffee table before plopping down on the couch. He stared up at Brice with a glassy-eyed, blissful fixation that Brice recognized. It was the stunned gaze of a fan in close proximity to an adored star, and it warmed Brice to his core. He hadn’t been looked at like that for a long, long time. Since that last concert in Daytona, I guess. Just before that poor bastard Zac outed me.
“How old are you, Travis?”
“I’m twenty-four.”
Twenty-four? A baby. Green eyes, auburn beard, solid build.... Good-looking kid. If I were a decade younger…. But my guess is he didn’t come here to be seduced. Keep your paws to yourself, old man! “Old enough to drink, then. Do you drink?”
“Oh, sure!”
So wide-eyed. So enthusiastic. Just adorable. “Would you like to share a round or two with me?”
“Drink with Brice Brown? You bet! All the folks back at school will be crazy with jealousy.”
“Good to hear I have a few fans left. I’m drinking Irish whiskey. Would you like some of that? Or some of that eggnog you brought?”
“Well, I have to drive home, so maybe a glass of eggnog with just a little bit of rum?”
“Sure. You got it.” Brice tramped into the kitchen, calves still smarting from his long hike, and mixed them eggnogs, a jigger of rum for Travis’s and two jiggers for his own.
“Thank again for this New Year cheer,” Brice said, handing the young man his glass before settling down onto the opposite end of the couch. “By the way, I have dinner going. You want to stay around for that?”
“Really? Sure! That’s mighty kind of you.” Travis looked as if Brice had just offered him a thousand-dollar bill or a job as vice president of the planet. “I’ve never sat down to supper with a star before.”
“Former star, I’m afraid. Your parents won’t want you home for dinn
er? It is New Year’s Day.”
“Naw. They’re overseas. Daddy travels a good bit on business. I came home for the holidays…just to be home, I guess. Just to get out of Morgantown for a few weeks. We live up Forest Hill, just a little ways from your sister, Miss Leigh, but there’s no one waiting there for me tonight, so, sure, if you’d let me stay for dinner, I’d be real grateful. I haven’t had much to eat today. Went by Kirk’s for a couple of their hot dogs….”
Travis clasped his hands in his lap, and sadness filled his eyes. “They were closed for the holidays. Shoulda known.”
Melancholy over the absence of hot dogs? This kid’s more of a glutton than I am. “Well, I have black-eyed peas cooking, and fried cabbage too. And I’m going to make some cornbread. Got some sorghum to go with that. How’s that sound?”
“That’s exactly what my family fixes on New Year’s Day. That sounds wonderful! Thank you so much!”
This boy is all exclamation marks, Brice thought, grinning. I remember when I was that excitable and eager. Nice chest and arms. He must lift weights. “So you mentioned Morgantown. You a student there?” Brice took a big swig of his spiked eggnog. Strong and rich. Like I used to be.
“Yes, sir. I’m in grad school at WVU. In English. I want to be a poet. Kinda like you.”
“Like me?” Brice grinned and took another sip. I like this kid a lot.
“Yeah, sure. Your song lyrics are poetry, right?”
“Well, yeah, I guess so. At least I like to think so.”
“I want to write poems like your songs, that get at the heart of emotions. That touch people and help ‘em deal with suffering and sorrow. Your songs have sure done that for me. That’s mainly why I came here tonight. To thank you for that. Your music has really helped get me through some hard times.”
“Well, sure, kid. You’re more than welcome. What hard times you talking about? If you don’t mind my asking.”
Travis shrugged and took a sip of eggnog. His eyes looked even sadder. “Oh, nothing like the stuff you’ve been going through. All that nasty publicity about you…I’d like to punch those people in the face!”
Brice chuckled. Passionate and protective. He really is a younger version of me. “Thanks. But as far as hard times go, this isn’t a competition, son. Lots of folks suffer.”
“Yeah, I know. Still…my gay and lesbian buddies and I, we all think the media’s treated you something awful. Oh, and speaking of my buddies.”
Travis picked up the square red envelope and proffered it to Brice. “They all signed this card. We’re all members of the gay student group up at WVU.”
“Yeah? Okay, thanks.”
Brice tore open the envelope. “THANK YOU!” was printed in raised letters across the front of the card. Inside, someone had written in black letters, “We love you! Don’t give up!” Around that swirled a messy storm of scrawled signatures, along with drawings of Lambdas and a little crayoned-in rainbow.
“Wow. Wow. Well, thanks, kid.” Brice did his best to smile, but his throat was tight. “This…this means a lot. A great deal. Please thank all of ‘em for me.”
“We sure hope you put out more music. Will you?”
Brice laid card and envelope on the coffee table. “That’s a damned good question.” Still haven’t gotten a notice from Steve that he’s dropped me, but I suspect it’s only a matter of time. “I’m not sure. So, do those hard times of yours have anything to do with that guy you mentioned before? Mike?”
For a split-second, Travis looked like he was going to burst into tears. Instead, he sat back, stared into the fire, and nodded. “Y-yeah. We were lovers once.”
God, he looks miserable. I’d like to take this poor boy upstairs and get him naked and hold him all night and give him what comfort I can. “Once, huh? Was he a WVU student too? What happened?”
Travis shifted with discomfort and shook his head. “Mr. Brown, I didn’t come here tonight to waste your time with my sad stories.”
“Look, kid, you just started my year in a wonderful way. I’ve been pummeled and kicked and insulted and mocked for months now, ever since that damn story broke about me and Zac, and I’ve been depressed as fuck and looking for one good reason to keep on living and wondering what kinda hell might heap up on me next. But tonight you show up out of the snow, a perfect stranger, and you tell me you’re a fan, and you bring me gifts, and you tell me that my music means a lot to you and that it’s helped you through hard times, and you give me this sweet card. Can you imagine how much your visit means to me? You’re a real gift from God, son. So sit back and share whatever you please with me.”
“Well…okay.” Travis brushed hair from his eyes. “So, Mike and I were lovers in high school, here in Hinton. But then he had to join the Army, and I went to college, and….”
“And you all broke up?”
“Yeah.” Travis finished his drink. He put down his empty glass and rubbed at his eyes. “Shit. I’m sorry. Being back here just…makes me remember so much. The reason I wanted to get some hot dogs across the river today is ‘cause Mike and I used to meet there…. I’m really sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” Brice said, fighting off the urge to hug the kid.
“Mike was bisexual, and being in the army, it was so hard to…. Well, I guess it got so hard—us being apart and all—well, after about a year, he ended up getting involved with a girl. I guess that was easier for him than being long-distance with me and pretending to be straight around all those butch guys who might have frailed the hell out of him if they’d found out about him and me.”
Travis’s voice shook. He wiped at his eyes again and cleared his throat. “My Nanny had died just before Mike sent me the letter telling me about that girl and how he felt he needed to end it with me, so that made all of it so much harder to take.”
“I’m sorry, kid.” Brice reached over and squeezed Travis’s furry forearm. “That all sounds rough as hell.”
“It was, sir. I guess I understand why Mike did what he did. I wish them well, I guess. Him and that girl. But, oh Lord, I loved him so much. So much. He was my first, and…I don’t think I’ll ever meet anyone I’ll love like that again.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. You can’t tell about those things, Travis. You’re a smart, handsome young man. My guess is you’ll find a new boyfriend sooner or later.”
“I hope so. Do I even dare to hope? I can’t imagine feeling….” Travis trailed off, looking sheepish. “Can we change the subject, Mr. Brown? To be honest, I don’t know you well enough to cry in front of you.”
“Yeah, I don’t want you crying. You might make me start off too, and what kind of New Year’s celebration would that be?” Brice patted Travis’s shoulder and stood. “You hang in there, kid, and I will too. Deal?”
Travis gave Brice a weak smile. “Deal.”
“Good. Let me get that cornbread started, okay? I think we’ll both feel better after a good meal.”
“A good meal would be great, sir.” Travis nodded, returning his gaze to the fire. “Food always makes me feel better. I really appreciate you letting me stay for dinner. And thanks for listening to me ramble on about my troubles.”
“NOT HALF AS GOOD AS Nanny’s, but it wasn’t too bad,” Travis said, scraping up the last bite of his fried apple pie.
“They’re delicious. Would you like me to heat you up another?”
“Oh, no. I brought them for you. Thank you again for the wonderful dinner!” Travis wiped his mouth, checked his wristwatch, and sighed. “I should go here pretty soon, though. I just hope the roads aren’t too slippery. I got a four-wheel drive but still, I hate to drive in snow. Will you sign my CD before I leave?”
“Sure.” Brice fetched a pen from the desk in the back parlor and scrawled his name across the back of the liner notes. “Here you go.”
“Thank you!” Travis blurted, sliding the liner notes back into the plastic CD case. “Oh, did you ever get my letter?
“Letter?”
�
�I sent you a letter weeks ago. Several of us in the gay student group did.”
“Where’d you send it?”
“To your manager’s office in Nashville.”
“Oh, hell. What did the letter say?”
“Some of the stuff I’ve said tonight. I told you how much of a role model you’d been to me. How much I loved your music. How I was glad to know you were gay, even though I knew being outed was super-hard on you. How it was great to have an openly gay celebrity to look up to.”
“Well, shit. I sure wish I’d read that letter. I burned them all. My manager’s bitch of a secretary forwarded a whole bunch of letters to me, but the first few I read were so vicious and hateful and threatening that I couldn’t bear to read any more of them.”
“Oh. Okay.” Travis stood. “Well, you didn’t need to read my letter, ‘cause I got to say my piece in person, which was lots better! I should get going now. I’ll be back in town for Spring Break in March. Maybe I could come visit you then?”
Brice stood as well. He was already dreading the solitude that would descend on him as soon as this young man left the house. What a luxury it had been, having another gay person around, not to mention a handsome country boy who’d grown up in the same county. “Sure you can. If I’m still around. I’m thinking it may have been a mistake to come back here, since everybody knows me and knows where I live. Not only do most of them hate gays, but they’re pissed as hell about me ‘bringing shame to the town,’ as a local minister put it yesterday. Guy up at the Methodist church.”
Travis made a face. “That guy is a shithead. Nanny always used to say that he had the personality of toilet tissue. I heard about the town council changing the name of the bridge. Bastards. So where will you go, if not here?”
Brice shook his head. “I have no fucking idea. My wife got the house, and I’m selling some other properties just to have cash. My label dropped me, and my manager might drop me too. I have nowhere else to go. Any day now, I’m afraid I’ll head outside to drive to the grocery store—in Beaver, mind you, where folks are a little less likely to recognize me than here in Hinton—and find my truck tires slit or my windshield smashed. After today’s run-in with those assholes who pulled a knife on me…. Hell, I guess I should leave here, but I don’t know where else to go. I can’t really afford to go anywhere else.”
