by Jeff Mann
“Oh? What’s the real reason then?”
“I think it’s because you want me. Do you want me?”
Brice flinched. “Damn. Does making folks uncomfortable give you a thrill?”
Lucas grinned with triumph. “Yeah, it does. Answer the question.”
“Why are you trying to put me on the spot?”
“What are you afraid of? Be brave, big man. Answer the question.”
“Yeah, I want you.” Brice fumbled with his Scotch and stared at a landscape painting on the wall to Lucas’s left. “Who wouldn’t? Anyone with eyes would, you cocky little shit.”
“True. Have you paid for sex?”
Brice bit his lip and shifted uneasily. “We only met a couple days ago, and you’re asking me that?”
“Yep. You said you want my company? Well, let’s get to know one another then. Now you know one of my secrets. Only fair that you give up a few secrets in return, right?”
“Right. Okay. Yes, I have paid for sex.” Brice forced himself to meet Lucas’s amused gaze. “Many times. I was married, I was trying to act straight, but I wasn’t straight, so I got horny as hell for other men. Easiest way to get sex on the sly was hustlers.”
“Would you pay me? Only a hundred bucks, since you’re a friend of Uncle Phil’s.”
“Jesus, Lucas!”
“That’s my last question.” Lucas grinned, obviously enjoying himself. “I promise.”
“I would have at one time. I don’t want to now.”
“Why?”
“You said ‘Last question.’”
“This is the same question, just follow-up.” Lucas stretched out and propped his muddy work boots on the coffee table.
“Damn, boy. Were you raised in a barn? Get your feet off the table.”
“Ain’t your table. Well?”
“Because, as much as I—”
“As much as you want to fuck me?”
Brice stood up. “You’re a real prick, aren’t you? You think you’re God’s gift to everybody?”
Lucas rubbed his beard. “Yeah, some have called me that. They’ve handled my prick and called me God’s gift, yes, indeed. Answer the question, and tomorrow we can split some wood together. I would appreciate your help. I would appreciate your company, big country star.”
God, what a grin. Acting like a devil but smiling like an angel. Just my luck. “What was the question?”
Lucas snickered. “You are so fucking flustered right now, Daddy.”
Brice moaned. “Daddy?”
“Don’t you like that?”
“Not really,” Brice lied. Having a boy this beautiful call him “Daddy” made his dick twitch.
“Uh huh. How old are you anyway? Wait. I know, ‘cause I looked you up online when Uncle Phil told me you were coming. Your fan page has been taken down—I used to check that out every now and then—but I found info elsewhere.”
“Scandal sheets online?”
“Yep. Nasty ones. You been raked over the coals, that’s for damn sure. You turned forty last August. I’m twenty-seven. So I guess ‘Daddy’ is appropriate. The question was, ‘Why won’t you pay me?’ If you say you’ve paid hustlers and you think I’m hot.”
Brice rolled his eyes. “I didn’t say you were hot.”
“You said you wanted me. Same difference. If you answer the question, tomorrow, after we chop wood, we can take a hike together. There’s a great overlook I’d like to show you. It’s called Lee’s Knob.”
Brice kneaded his forehead. His skin felt hot, feverish. “I don’t want to pay you because…because I’m trying to get away from my past and all my failures and mistakes. I’m tired of using and being used. I haven’t ever been in a real relationship with another man…except for Zac.”
“He’s the asshole who outed you, right?”
“Yeah. And he did it because he’s sick and he needed the money. And because I broke his heart because I was too much of a coward to be myself.”
“So now?”
“So now I’m trying to figure out how to live a new life. It’s hard.”
Lucas dropped his feet to the floor and folded his arms across his chest. He stared at the cold hearth. “Yeah. It’s hard for sure.”
“I don’t want to pay you because I don’t want to use you. Look, yeah, I think you’re a handsome guy, and we have some things in common. We’ve both had hard times. So, yeah, I want to get to know you. I know we just met, but, if we’re going to be here together, maybe we should—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Lucas abruptly stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Let’s grab some breakfast, say around ten. Then we can hit the woodyard.” With that, the boy stumbled to the door and out into the night.
THE NEXT MORNING, BRICE WOKE EARLY AND HE woke hard, his head full of nebulous, fragmented images left behind by erotic dreams of Lucas. When he entered the lodge kitchen, he found the boy chopping parsley on the counter. By his elbow sat a paper-towel-covered plate of fried sausage patties. When Lucas gave Brice a curt nod, Brice noticed a shadow of weariness in his young face.
“Good morning,” Brice said, mustering his cheeriest tone. “Nice and sunny today.”
“Uh-huh. Coffee’s in the carafe over there.”
“Thanks.” Brice poured a cup and seated himself at the table. For a few moments, silence prevailed, while Lucas broke eggs into a bowl and Brice appreciated his compact frame and purposeful movements.
“How’d you sleep?” Brice asked, trying to imagine the boy naked and slumbering.
Lucas stared intently into the bowl and beat the eggs hard. “So-so. Bad dreams. I have ‘em a lot. Seems like every other night I’m beating up on someone. Sound sleep and me, we ain’t exactly best buddies these days.”
Brice chuckled. “Yeah, I get you. I have dreams like that every so often. I guess that’s what comes of lots of hostile male hormones mixed with being perpetually pissed off. How you feeling? Seemed like you downed quite a bit of booze last night.”
Lucas scowled into the eggs, then turned that scowl on Brice. “I’m an adult. I can drink as much as I damn well please.”
I should have known he’d take that as a criticism. I’ve got to learn to watch my words around him, Brice thought. “Yep, we’re both adults. I was just thinking that I’d be a little hung-over the morning after, if I were you.”
“Yeah? Well, you ain’t me.” Lucas pulled a bacon-grease container from the fridge and spooned out a dollop into a cast-iron skillet heating on the stove, where it sizzled and popped. “Actually, I woke up with a headache, so I swallowed me some aspirins.”
“Are you still up for chopping wood today?” Brice couldn’t resist a mischievous grin. “Or do you even remember saying that? Do you remember anything you said last night?”
“Yep. I do. I remember everything.” Lucas sighed and fell silent. He poured the eggs into the skillet, added salt, pepper, and chopped parsley, and stirred everything with a big wooden spoon. In another moment, he’d doled out the scrambled eggs and sausage patties. The two men took seats at opposite ends of the table, kept their eyes on their food, and ate without speaking.
This boy hates my guts, Brice thought with a flicker of despair. The first guy I’ve met in ages that I feel a sort of savage tenderness toward, and he can’t stand me. Why am I even here? He wolfed down his food, barely registering the rich tastes. Standing, he carried his emptied plate to the sink, then turned, trying to appear nonchalant.
“So, hey, thanks. That was real tasty. I’m gonna check my e-mail now, so if you wanna get to that wood, just—”
“We’ll get to that here in a bit.” Lucas looked up at Brice with an expression that he couldn’t read. “First, uh, I wanna talk to you about something. That all right? You got the time?”
Now you’re mannerly? “I got all the time in the world.” Especially for a boy as handsome as you. Brice leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. “What’s up?”
Lucas took a sip of coffee and fidgeted with hi
s dirty napkin. “So, yeah, I do remember last night. How I acted. All flirty and, well, mean. Putting you on the spot and all. Asking you if you wanted me, if you’d pay me. I wudn’t brought up to act like that, being nasty and vulgar to people who are trying to be nice to me. I was just real drunk…and, honestly, I’ve been pissed as hell ever since….”
Lucas paused. He looked up at Brice and furrowed his brow, as if he were trying to make up his mind.
“So you got the time, and I got stuff to say. Have another cup of coffee, man. Take a seat.”
“Okay.” Brice, curious and relieved, did as he was told. “So what d’you want to talk about?”
“Look, I…. Last night, you said that we’d both gone through rough times, that we had that in common. You’re right. I know a good bit about the shit you’ve been dealing with, since it’s been in the news and the tabloids and all. You got a raw deal, for sure. So, if you’re gonna hang around here a while, I guess I oughta be straight with you. About why I went to prison. ‘Cause I got a helluva raw deal too.”
“You don’t need to tell me if—”
“I’m not ashamed of what happened. Are you thinking I should be ashamed?” Lucas’s face took on an expression of flushed defiance.
“Lord, calm down. Don’t get all riled up. Tell me whatever you’d like.”
“Okay. Shit. Sorry. Seems like every goddamn little thing sets me off and gets me breathing smoke and fire. So….”
Lucas leaned back in his chair, wrapped his arms around himself, and dropped his gaze to the tabletop.
“So, Uncle Phil always used to say that my looks would be my undoing, and I guess he was right. To tell you the truth…when the job at Walmart didn’t pay enough, and it was looking like Mommy might lose the house, I…. Well, not to be indelicate, to use Uncle Phil’s kinda phrasing, but I took to rampant whoring in truck stops along I-81.”
“Damn. Really?” Brice wiped his mouth. The thought was vaguely exciting.
“Yep. Giving blowjobs in truck cabs and sleeper cabins. I made a decent amount of money, too.”
“Well, I don’t mean to be indelicate either, but as, uh, handsome as you are, I can see how men would be willing to pay you.” Just like I’ve been paying hustlers for years. Just the thought of you blowing another guy makes me want to shoot.
“I was a damn fool. It’s a mercy and a miracle—another of Uncle Phil’s expressions—that I didn’t end up with some nasty disease, though I did get crabs a few times. But then that little whoring hobby of mine led to prison.”
“What happened?”
Lucas scratched at his buzz cut and slurped at his coffee. “Well, I only offered guys oral sex. But one day I ran across a man a lot bigger’n me who was determined to take more.”
“Oh, no. And then what?”
“We were in his sleeper cabin. I fought him hard, but the bastard knocked me out. When I came to, he had me roped up and was about to rape me. But I managed to wiggle loose before that happened. I pulled a knife from my jacket pocket and stabbed the fucker in the thigh. That caused enough of a hullabaloo that other folks at the truck stop came running.”
“What happened then?”
“The asshole claimed that he’d caught me trying to rob him, so I got arrested, which led to a big trial. Mr. Would-Be Rapist got on the stand and made a big fuss about being straight and married and a devout Christian. Then two other truckers testified that I’d propositioned them for sex at the same truck stop, which was true. The jury was loaded with tight-assed homo-haters. So I was convicted of prostitution and malicious assault. I spent six years in prison. Six goddamn years. Just before I got out, Uncle Phil bought this place. To give me a home, and other fucked-up queer kids the world’s run over. So, are you horrified?”
“Horrifed?” Brice rubbed his brow and frowned. “Hell, no. Seems like your raw deal was a helluva lot worse than mine. Puts all my whiny career complaints in perspective.”
“Pain’s pain. We’ve both endured some major shit, that’s for sure.” Lucas finished his coffee and stood. “So, enougha the soul-baring. You wanna get to that wood?”
“Sure. I need to work off some breakfast. I’m not exactly in tip-top shape these days. Been eating and drinking too much since all that happened last fall.”
“You look fine to me,” Lucas said. “You were too damn skinny on that last CD cover.”
“You know my CDs?”
Lucas ignored the question. “C’mon, Paul Bunyan. Let’s get some work done.” Grabbing his ball cap off the sideboard, he headed up the stairs. Brice happily followed, admiring Lucas from behind.
BY THE TIME THEY GOT TO THE TOP OF THE wooded slope, Brice was panting but trying to hide it. The contrast between his beer-gut trudge and Lucas’s lean lope was not flattering. Several hours of splitting and stacking wood had about worn him out. His fingers ached, as did his lower back.
“Here we are. Lee’s Knob,” Lucas said, leading Brice out onto a rocky ledge set high above Brantley Valley. Above them, the sky had cleared, an icy azure. The wind was cold and brisk, convincing both men to turn their collars up. Late afternoon sun slanted over Lucas’s face as he pointed out landmarks.
“Out there’s Helvetia. It’s a sweet little town settled by Swiss immigrants. Some damn good eating in the restaurant there. And a great ramp feed, come April. That way’s Pickens. Highest rainfall in the state. That way’s Elkins. Down there—can you see it?—is Grace and Amie’s store.”
“It’s all beautiful,” Brice said, moving in a slow circle to take in all 360 degrees of gray-blue mountains receding into winter sky. “Why did I spend all that time in Nashville? Hell, it’s called country music for a reason. Did you grow up in this county?”
Lucas nudged a rock over the edge with his boot. “Yep. Grew up in Mabie. Little piss-ant shack, but we were happy there. Last time I was happy, I guess.”
“Happy’s hard,” Brice said, studying Lucas’s downcast face.
“Ain’t that the fucking truth? Helps to be ignorant of the world, and I sure was. Then Daddy died in that mine accident.” Lucas took his ball cap off and rubbed his scalp.
“That’s when you quit school, right?”
“Yep. I was a busy boy. Working Walmart during the day, hustling truck stops at night. Man, what was I thinking?” Lucas shook his head. “A few of those guys were hot. Most of ‘em…not. Still, the horny way they all fawned on me and pawed me made me feel…important, I guess. It felt good to be desired, y’know?”
“Yeah, I’d imagine so. Not that I’ve felt desired much lately.”
“You’re shitting me. Your fans must have been all over you.”
“My female fans were all over me. That felt good, but it wasn’t like being wanted by another man. Now that everybody knows I’m a faggot, no one wants me. Talk about love turning to hate. You should have read some of the hate mail I’ve received.”
Lucas grimaced. “Hate mail? Assholes.”
“Enough about me. You were talking about those truckers.”
“Yeah. The ego food felt as good as being paid, especially if they were handsome.” Lucas kicked another pebble over the edge. “That trucker I stabbed was one of the best-looking men I’d ever seen. If we’d met in other circumstances, if he hadn’t tried to force me, hell, I might have let him do what he wanted to do.”
“Really?” Damn, you look sad. I wish I could hug you right now.
“As it was,” Lucas continued, “when I resisted him, he punched me in the face so hard I passed out. Came to with my hands tied behind my back and a nasty rag taped in my mouth, and him with his prick out, greasing it up and rarin’ to go.”
“I’m glad you got loose. If I were you, I’d have stabbed him too.”
“You know what that got me. Shit, I should have just rolled over and let him screw me. Wouldn’t have hurt half as much as what came next. Six years of my life down the fucking toilet.” Lucas hawked and spat over the ledge, then stuffed his hands into his pockets.
> “Was that terrible? Prison?”
Lucas spat again. He took a step back and glowered at Brice. “That, I ain’t gonna talk about. Just ‘cause I told you all that other stuff don’t mean we’re bosom buddies or anything.”
Brice put up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Hey, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to pry. How about we head back and I help you make dinner?”
“Do as you please.” Lucas hunched his shoulders and stalked down the hill the way they’d come. Brice followed, cursing himself for bringing up a conversation-derailing question and looking forward to the back-medicine anesthetic of a stiff drink.
“LUCAS, HONEY, THOSE PANTS ARE so tight they’re like a cheap hotel.”
Downstairs in the kitchen, the cabbage rolls Brice and Lucas had collaborated on were simmering. Upstairs in the great room, the cocktail hour had begun. Phil had set out a plate of cheeses: Brie, Cheddar, and Maytag blue. All three men were drinking, Phil in an armchair with a glass of white wine, Lucas at one end of the couch with a bottle of IPA, and Brice at the other end with a tumbler of Scotch neat. Before them, another fire Lucas had set up flickered and popped.
“And how are they like a cheap hotel, Uncle Phil?” Lucas twisted his mouth in amused expectation.
“There’s no ball room!” Phil howled.
“I told you he was a hoot,” Lucas said. He leaned back into the corner of the couch, spread his legs a little wider, and yawned. Brice took a furtive look at the boy’s crotch and mentally agreed with Phil’s assessment.
“Did you two have a nice day together?”
“We did,” Brice replied. “Had a good breakfast, got some wood chopped, took a hike. I’m gonna sleep well tonight.”
Lucas nodded. “Mr. Brown and I had a talk or two. He even helped me make dinner.”
“You talked to someone? You, my misfit nephew? Lucas Bryan, the brooding and asocial misanthrope? The weightlifting recluse?”
“Yep. Hard to believe, I know. I talk too little and you talk too much. Why don’t you tell Mr. Brown about what happened by that baggage carousel the last time you flew to Florida?”
“Oh, yes! Well, there I was, minding my own business and waiting for my bag to show up at the Fort Lauderdale Airport when this little old lady came up to me—I guess she was looking for a representative of her cruise line—and she looked up at me and said, in this itty-bitty voice, “Are you Princess?”
