Bobby Green

by Amy Lane

  She sat down on the bed and patted the space next to her. He sat, because his body was too stiff not to, and she scooted toward the head so they could talk.

  “Is this your first relationship with a man?” she asked, head cocked.

  He grimaced. “Uh, yes and no?”

  Her laugh again. He liked how she laughed—it made the lines at the corners of her eyes seem kind and not old. In fact, it made her whole long face lighten up—it became oval-shaped and smooth. Her son was a really pretty boy, and his mother was a really pretty woman, especially when she smiled. It hit Reg then—hard—she was Veronica’s age. Oh, he was so much older than he should be.

  “I fooled around a lot,” he said frankly, feeling stupid. “Bobby was the first person to say ‘Hey, this is a relationship, and we can do this.’” He swallowed, because that kiss in the rain had seemed magical, and so out of reach before it had actually happened. “It was hard, I think. For both of us. To figure out that’s what we were doing.”

  “Mm.” She nodded. “Not just fooling around.”

  “God—no. There was no fooling around for us until we knew what we were doing. Weirdest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

  She laughed again, leaning back comfortably against the headboard and pulling her knees up in front of her. Her feet were bare, and he stared at her naked toes.

  “You should get a pedicure,” he said. “I like those—I don’t get the colors on my toes, but they make my feet all smooth.”

  Her eyebrows went up, showing him Bobby’s round hazel eyes. “You get pedicures?”

  Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. He got pedicures before he had scenes, because sometimes the guys sucked on your toes, and it was just not nice if your feet were all gnarly.

  His face heated again, and he gnawed on his lower lip. “Uh, yeah. I like, uh, smooth feet?” He was scratching behind his ear again, and what he was starting to think of as “Bobby’s Mom’s Bullshit Face” was staring back at him.

  “Sure you do,” she said, mouth pursed in a droll little O. “I’m going to let it slide, then, okay?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” Reg smiled toothily, and she scrubbed her face with her palms the way Dex did sometimes. Oh good. He got Dex’s moods. This should be easy. “Oh! Hey—I almost forgot. We brought you something.”

  Reg got up, restretching all his stiff muscles, and walked around again to his duffel bag. “We brought you books. We’ve been reading them ourselves—first me, then Bobby, and then we thought we’d bring them to you.”

  He handed her the bag, which was all dolled up with flowers, and she smiled as she reached for it. “That’s wonderful!” She started going through the bag, her expression growing more and more bemused with every book. “But, uh, Reg—these are all girl-and-boy romances.”

  Reg shrugged. “They didn’t have any other kind at the used-book store. Bobby’s got a new phone now—he says we can buy books on it and stuff, and that there’s boy/boy books, but I gotta figure out how to use my phone like that.” He reached into the bag and grabbed one of the paperbacks. “I like books this way,” he admitted. “It feels real like this.”

  “Me too,” she said. “Oh! Amanda Quick! I love her books!”

  “I like those.” Reg flipped through the book. “The girls were really awesome. Brave and smart and stuff.” He looked at Bobby’s mom and bit his lip. “They probably wouldn’t have let themselves get beat up by the bad guy.”

  “No. But then, they probably would work hard to keep their mentally ill sisters home with them instead of someplace they didn’t like.”

  Yeah, he was going to make his lower lip raw, but he couldn’t help himself. “But I’m supposed to be the hero,” he apologized. “I’m supposed to have the house and the servants and the people who can take care of her.” He sighed. “Bobby had to have stitches when he fell through the fence chasing after her.”

  “I saw the wound on his hand,” she said, head cocked to the side. “There was more?”

  “On his shoulder,” Reg said glumly. “He’s been fixing the fence after work for the last week or so.”

  “Hm,” she said. “That’s expensive.”

  Reg shrugged uncomfortably. “Well, he’s got two jobs. Waiting tables and stuff.”

  “Yeah.” Thankfully she changed the subject. “Reg?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You ever think that maybe the reason women read romance books is not so we can dream of a rescuer?”

  Reg frowned. “None of the women in those books seemed to want one of those.”

  “Right. What they really wanted was a work partner so they could rescue each other.”

  Reg sighed. “Then you need to get Bobby to read some more of those books. I can’t even rescue myself.”

  She stood and patted his shoulder. “Maybe you’ll figure out how. I’m going to go fix dinner. You should wake Bobby up and watch some television.”

  He smiled at her. “Sure. Thank you. You know. For being nice.”

  It was her turn to bite her lip. “Anytime, Reggie. I mean that.”

  He thought she was just being polite—he really did.

  But he went and shook Bobby awake, and they turned on the TV and found a movie—shit-go-boom style, as Bobby said, and Reg was right on board that shit. Bobby was sitting on a battered corduroy couch, and he pulled Reg into the V of his legs and wrapped an arm around Reg’s chest.

  Reg toyed with his battered knuckles and the scabbing hole that was his closing wound. “Did you reopen your shoulder?” he asked anxiously.

  “No,” Bobby said, kissing his temple. “I’m fine.”

  They paused for a moment to watch the heroes kill people and run through some obstacles and kill more people. Sometimes TV was just so easy. “I feel stupid.”

  “You shouldn’t. You wouldn’t have dreamed of hitting him. You wouldn’t think he’d attack you.”

  “But I just laid there,” Reg mumbled.

  “Remember when I got hurt?” Bobby reminded him. “You tackled your sister on the way to taking me to the ER? Hard-core, baby. You just need to know what’s coming, and you do fine.”

  In the kitchen, Bobby’s mom let out a breathless little shriek, and then, loudly: “John Carey Industries my ass!”

  Bobby cringed, and Reg looked over his shoulder in horror. “Do you think she—”

  “Got out the laptop and looked it up?” Bobby supplied. “Yup. That’s Mom.”

  Reg sighed and tried to pull away.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To pack,” Reg told him resignedly. “It’s a real shame too—I think she liked me for an entire minute.”

  Bobby held him tighter. “She’ll still like you,” he said, his voice sounding like it was laughing. “It’s me she’s gonna yell at. Wait for it….”

  Sure enough, she stomped into the living room and stood in front of the television.

  Reg closed his eyes. “Oh God.”

  “Porn?” she asked, hands on her hips.

  “Yup,” Bobby replied laconically.

  “Both of you?”

  “It’s where we met,” Bobby said, arm still around Reg’s chest. “But we haven’t done any scenes together, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Reg opened his eyes and saw that she was glaring at Bobby but seemed to have forgotten him entirely.

  “Vern Carl Roberts—”

  “Mom, are you going to make us leave?” he asked simply.

  “No! But are you seriously—”

  “Then maybe go back into the kitchen, calm down a little, and talk to us about it during dinner. I’m serious, Mom. My body hurts, Reg looks like he’s gonna disintegrate, and my knuckles feel like they’re on fire. If we could maybe, just for the next hour, pretend like I’m still your kid and this ain’t a big deal.”

  She let out a sigh. “You are still my kid, and this is a big deal.”

  “Sorry,” Reg squeaked, wishing he could burrow behind Bobby like a cat or something.


  Her mouth twisted as she noticed he was still there. “You are killing me,” she said on a sigh. Then, to her son, “You are so lucky he’s… he’s frickin’ him. Because he could be the only thing saving you from getting your ass whupped with a shoe.”

  With that she stomped back into the kitchen, and they both winced as they heard her throwing around pots and pans.

  “Is she going to be mad all night?” Reg whispered.

  “Not if we bring out the cookies and chocolate we brought her,” Bobby said, with undue optimism, Reg felt.

  But the movie, in all its inanity, beckoned. Just as Reg lost himself in it, he realized Bobby was right. They still had a roof over their heads. She was still cooking them dinner. And she seemed to like him, even if she was apparently pissed at Bobby.

  UNLIKE LUNCH, dinner started out to be a grim and silent affair. Bobby’s mom did a lot of glaring, and Bobby did a lot of eating and pretending his mom wasn’t glaring.

  “So, uh, flat spaghetti with white sauce?” Reg said encouragingly into the silence.

  “Fettuccine Alfredo,” Isabelle said with a tight smile. Then she shook her head and sighed. “How old were you,” she asked, “when you started working for John Carey Industries?”

  “Johnnies?” Reg shrugged. “Bobby’s age. Nineteen. McDonald’s wasn’t cutting it for property taxes, and V couldn’t work anymore. I was, uh”—Reg tried hard not to scratch behind his ear—“on a website and saw an ad. John was real nice to me. It felt like, you know. The one thing I could do. I mean, besides McDonald’s, but they yell a lot.”

  “Oh Lord,” she muttered. Then she turned to Bobby. “So?”

  Bobby sighed. “The construction guy was a sham,” he said baldly. “I didn’t have a place to stay. I was crashing on people’s couches and showering at the Y, Mom. What do you want me to tell you? Dex—he’s our other boss—spotted me when I was bussing tables. Gave me their card.”

  “What were you doing?” she asked skeptically. “How do you go from bussing tables to having sex for money?”

  Bobby appeared to think about it. “Mostly I was just wearing really tight jeans,” he said, and then he caught Reg’s eye. “The ones with no rips in the knees?”

  Reg grinned. “Oh yeah. I like those ones. They show off your….” He swallowed and went back to his white spaghetti. “They make you look good,” he mumbled.

  “You were wearing tight jeans?” Her head was still cocked, and Bobby finally had the grace to look uncomfortable.

  “I don’t know, Mom. It’s not like I mail-ordered what was in them. You changed my diapers—you know what’s there.”

  Her eyes got big, and Reg could see it. Right there. The moment when Isabelle Roberts recognized that her son had a special talent she might never have even thought of.

  “I’m not sure if that’s why God gave you that,” she said weakly.

  “Well, it must be. Because I’ve been able to keep an apartment and send you money,” he said frankly. “I’ve been able to help Reg fix his house, and keep medical insurance. I mean, sure. I’d love a construction job, or cabinetmaking or something—but I’m not trusting that shit until you are the hell out of Dogpatch.”

  Reg was still looking at his white spaghetti, but he knew Bobby was looking at him when he said the next part.

  “And the people I’ve met there—not all of ’em are gay, Mom, but they’re all real nice. They took care of Reg here for years before I came along.”

  “Bobby….” Her voice was pained, but for the first time, Reg thought maybe Bobby was right and they wouldn’t be driving back to Sacramento in the dark.

  “He’s got his health insurance for his sister through them,” Bobby was saying firmly. “Maybe if I get a construction job and I make a little more money, we can find something else he can do that will pay as much without….” Reg looked up this time in time to catch Bobby’s gaze. “Without people yelling at you,” he said with a little smile.

  “I didn’t like that part,” Reg said, smiling back.

  “No. You do okay at Johnnies,” Bobby told him. “People are good to you. They help with V.” He closed his eyes. “We’ll figure something out for later.” Then he turned back to his mom. “This isn’t forever,” he said softly. “But right now, it works for us.”

  “Dear Diary,” his mom said flatly, “today my son told me he was a sex worker, and I almost fainted with pride.”

  “Dear Diary,” Bobby returned just as flatly, “today I got my mom out of a shitty little town where my ex-boyfriend couldn’t stalk her and sabotage her car, and my boyfriend got to know his sister wasn’t wandering the street with a shopping cart. Wasn’t Christmas, but it wasn’t bad.”

  Isabelle looked away, her throat working. “Do you have any idea how many doors this job will close?” she asked. “How many things you can’t do?” She turned back to him. “Work as a teacher. Adopt kids. Do you think they’ll let you do those things?”

  “Maybe not,” Bobby said softly. “But I’ve got six films already out. If those doors are closed, they’re closed, Mom. What matters now is where we go from here.”

  She scrubbed at her eyes. “Where do we go from here?” she asked.

  Bobby looked around at the decrepit house. “Keith Gilmore isn’t going to let this go,” he said softly. “I think where we go from here depends on where you go from here. I think you should move out in the next week. You can stay at my apartment—it’s not great. We’ll put the furniture in storage for a couple of months, and maybe, in the summer, we’ll find a new place.”

  For a moment, Reg wanted to protest. A new place? Why couldn’t Bobby move into his place?

  And then he remembered. V was there. She hated Bobby. He couldn’t ask Bobby to move into that situation. Bobby could stay the night a lot, but… oh Lord.

  “Maybe V’ll be feeling better,” Reg said weakly, staring at his plate. “I… someday, you know. You and me, maybe.”

  “Yeah,” Bobby said quietly. “I’d like that. But right now, my mom can’t stay here any longer.”

  “I have a job here,” Isabelle said worriedly. “I can’t just bail on that—not after seven years. George Foster may be a sleazy control freak, but he gave me a job when I had no skills and a child and an arm in a sling.”

  Bobby nodded. “Two weeks’ notice? Maybe commute the second week. Reg and I are still free next weekend. We can do the moving then.”

  “Dex has got a truck,” Reg said helpfully. “And Kane has the big Navigator. Ethan and Jonah can help, but, you know. Jonah’s not as big as Ethan.”

  Bobby let out a low chuckle. “Jonah’ll be fine. We’ll get everyone to help. I’m telling you, Dogpatch won’t know what hit it.”

  “Wonderful,” his mother muttered. “What am I supposed to say to these guys? ‘Hi, I’m glad to meet you, so nice of you to seduce my son into porn’?”

  Bobby scowled. “They’re good guys, Mom. How about ‘Hi, I’m glad to meet you!’—just like you said to Reg, okay?”

  “Yeah,” Reg said, nodding. “That was real nice. I gotta tell you, it’s been a long time since I met a mom.”

  Isabelle closed her eyes. “Vern—goddammit. How could you… what are you… augh!” She stood up then and went to the stove, where two pies sat on the counter. One was obviously homemade apple, and the other was sort of a silky-looking chocolate mousse cream. She pulled out a pie slicer and cut about a third of the chocolate one off, then threw it on a dinner plate before grabbing a fork and coming back to the table.

  Reg and Bobby stared at her.

  “Bobby, do you guys eat dessert for dinner a lot?” Reg asked, because that seemed to violate one of the fundamental rules he’d always read about in books.

  “No,” Bobby said, round hazel eyes wide. “Never.”

  “Should you and me—”

  “No!” Bobby and Isabelle both snapped, and Reg would have been hurt, but even he could tell they were snapping at each other. Bobby turned toward him and gave a
weak smile. “This is a mom thing right now,” he said carefully. “I think, you know, this is what happens when I’m too big to beat with a shoe.”

  Reg nodded and gave her a tentative smile. “Good, because this white spaghetti is really amazing. Maybe Bobby can make it for us sometime.”

  Isabelle nodded and shoved a giant forkful of chocolate in her mouth, closing her eyes as it went down. “Sounds great,” she said, taking a deep breath, almost like a smoker taking a drag. “I’ll give him the recipe. But not right now.” With that she shoved another forkful of pie in her mouth, and Bobby and Reg finished their white spaghetti in peace.

  Moving In, Moving Out, Moving In

  “YOU’RE AWFULLY quiet,” Bobby said, piloting the full truck back through the snow.

  “Tired,” Reg told him, scratching the back of his ear.

  “Yeah—sorry. That bed was really narrow.” There was something else going on—Bobby could feel it.

  “Just different.” Reg yawned. “And… and I’m wondering. When you’ll get tired of dealing with my sister and leave me.”

  Bobby kept the steering wheel steady and tried to catch his breath. “No,” he said harshly. “No.”

  “But… but I want her home. And you’re not going to live with me if she’s home,” Reg said, sounding sad.

  “Well, no.” Bobby had to be honest. “But sometimes we just need a place to sleep, Reg. You think of that? We’d need two places so at least one of us can get some honest shut-eye?”

  Reg grunted. “Yeah, okay.” But he still sounded unhappy.

  “Do you want me to leave?” Bobby’s whole chest ached.

  “No!” Reg reached over and squeezed his knee. “I just don’t know how to make this last, is all. You’re bringing your mom to your apartment. That’s a change.” The back of Bobby’s truck rattled with stuff he was going to unload into his front room.

  “Well, yeah. But I’ll be spending more time with you. That’s a good change.”

  Reg nodded and leaned over to kiss his shoulder before straightening up. “Okay. Yeah.”