Calvin’s Cowboy

by Drew Hunt

  * * * *

  “But Grantley’s is closed today,” Calvin said when Brock pulled into the parking lot of the general store and drove around back.

  “I know.” Brock shut off the engine and turned to him. Grinning, he said, “And Junior was right, we do have half a bag of charcoal left.”

  “Huh?”

  Brock reached over the console and pulled Calvin in for a long kiss.

  A couple of minutes later, their lips barely touching, Brock said, “Thought you needed a bit of TLC.”

  “Rather have some TCL.”

  “Uh?”

  “Tender cowboy lovin’.”

  Brock smiled and kissed him again.

  They decided to get out of the car and take a walk. Brock led him to a tumbledown fence and helped him step over it. Then he heard the sound of trickling water. Calvin had forgotten about the creek that ran behind the store.

  “Damn bugs!” Brock slapped at his arm.

  Calvin remembered how much the insects had loved biting his cowboy the night before, so while out shopping earlier that day he’d called in at the drug store and bought some bug repellent. He’d left it in the car, thinking to take it in to Brock’s house, but the warm welcome he’d received on first arrival had had him forget all about the stuff.

  “Hang on a minute, just need to get something from the car.”

  Calvin scrambled over the fence and jogged back to the parking lot. It was only when he reached into his pocket he realized Brock had driven and still had the car keys. He jogged back to the fence and met a smirking Brock, who was holding out the keys to him.

  “You could have said something.”

  “Like watching you run.” Brock continued to smirk.

  After retrieving the bottle of repellant lotion, Calvin spent an enjoyable few minutes rubbing the stuff on Brock’s exposed skin, even wondering aloud if it was necessary to apply it to some unexposed areas.

  “No thanks,” Brock grinned. “I think you’ve put enough on my arms to ward off any insect within a quarter mile. And how come you got lotion rather than a spray?”

  “I can’t rub in a spray,” Calvin admitted. He loved touching Brock’s arms. Kissing them, too, but realized that covered in gunk as they now were, he wouldn’t be able to do the latter for a while. Oh, well, he’d deal.

  “Love it when you take care of me.”

  “Love taking care of you.” It was on the tip of Calvin’s tongue to add, ‘just plain love you.’ But he couldn’t. It was too soon, their future too uncertain.

  As they walked along the bank, shaded for the most part by trees, Calvin was soothed by the peacefulness of the scene. The birdsong, the babbling of the creek, and the buzz of the occasional insect as it flew past.

  Brock slid his right hand into Calvin’s right back pocket and pulled Calvin into his side. The gesture felt right, comforting, and safe. Calvin didn’t say anything—just carried on walking—for fear of breaking the spell.

  He had to admit, it was difficult to find such tranquility in Manhattan. Could he try living back in Parish Creek? Or maybe in a larger town or city close by? Austin had a decent-sized gay community. It would mean a lot of upheaval at work. Could he do his job effectively from Texas? He’d done okay this past week or so hadn’t he?

  A small black and white dog appeared from round a corner and bounced toward them, its unseen owner calling after it. Brock took his hand out of Calvin’s back pocket and moved away. The dog sniffed at their ankles. Brock bent to pet it.

  “Howdy, little guy,” Brock said.

  The dog yipped, turned around and raced back to its owner, who appeared around the corner a few seconds later.

  “Happy Fourth,” the man said, nodding at Calvin and Brock.

  “Same to you,” Brock said.

  Calvin merely nodded. No, he couldn’t move back to Texas. Everything was just so…closeted there. Calvin sighed. He wanted to go back to Brock’s where they could be close without fear of being seen. Then Calvin remembered Junior. He sighed again.

  They came upon a fallen tree trunk that lay along the side of the path.

  “Want to sit a spell?” Brock asked.

  Calvin shrugged.

  Brock lowered himself down and patted the trunk next to him. Calvin sat where indicated. Neither man spoke. Brock picked up the occasional stone and tossed it into the creek.

  Eventually Brock turned to Calvin. “So, what’s been eating you this afternoon?” Calvin was about to open his mouth, when Brock continued, “And don’t tell me it’s nothing. Something’s been on your mind ever since you came back.”

  Calvin thought he’d done a good job of hiding his problems. Letting out a long breath he tried to stall. “Oh, you know, life, the universe, if the Mets will have a shot at the Series.”

  Brock smiled, shook his head, but didn’t say anything.

  Calvin grimaced, and then quietly said, “My mom.”

  “What about her?” Brock slung an arm across Calvin’s shoulders and just rested it there. The weight felt comforting, safe, making it easier for Calvin to talk.

  “She doesn’t approve.”

  “Of?”

  “Me…us.”

  If Brock was surprised Calvin had told his mom about them, he didn’t show it.

  “No, that’s not fair. I think I surprised her when I told her about you…about you and me.”

  “She knows you’re gay, right?”

  “Oh, yes. That’s never been a problem. But I guess I’ve never introduced her to anyone, much less someone she already knew.” Silently Calvin added,‘someone she thought was straight.

  “What did she say?”

  Calvin swallowed and related the conversation as best he could recall. He had no difficulty at all in remembering her final words. “So I pretended I had another call and hung up.”

  “Oh.”

  “Brock, What we have—it is just the same. At least for me it is.” Calvin knew that was a loaded statement, but he just had to know.

  Brock straddled the tree trunk to face Calvin fully. Calvin followed suit.

  Brock leaned in and gave Calvin a gentle kiss on the lips. “Darlin’, you’ve turned my life upside down, inside out and back to front this past week.”

  Was this a good or a bad thing? Calvin wondered.

  “For what it’s worth, which might not be a whole lot, an’ I don’t want to disrespect your mamma or anything, but she’s wrong.” Brock slapped at his arm; evidently the anti-bug lotion wasn’t doing its thing. “What you an’ me have is real special.”

  It wasn’t the declaration Calvin would have hoped for, but it would do.

  Reaching out, Calvin gently touched Brock’s cheek near his black eye. The flesh was black and purple. “Does it still hurt?”

  “Not really,” Brock whispered, leaning forward and kissing Calvin, who kissed Brock back.

  They sat and exchanged kisses until Brock started to fidget.

  “What?” Calvin said, leaning back.

  “Fuckin’ bugs.”

  Calvin stood and offered a hand to his cowboy. “Come on, beautiful, let’s get back. Junior will be wondering where we’ve gone.”

  Beginning to realize how smart that kid was, Calvin bet the boy had a fair idea what he and Brock were up to.

  Calvin’s assumption was proved correct. Arriving back at Brock’s house they found Junior on the sofa, flipping TV channels.

  Glancing over at them, Junior said, “I put that half-bag of charcoal next to the grill.”

  Brock nodded. “Thanks, son.”

  Junior then looked over at Calvin and gave him a wink.

  * * * *

  Stretched out in a lawn chair in the shade of a live oak, Calvin didn’t think he’d need to eat again for at least three days. Brock had piled Calvin’s plate with everything anyone could have expected at a good ole Texas Fourth of July cookout. Burgers, hotdogs, potato salad, corn on the cob, baked beans and watermelon.

  Calvin let out a loud belch.
“Sorry.”

  Junior snickered.

  “Knew I shouldn’t have had beans,” Calvin admitted.

  His peach cobbler had been a real hit. Both Junior and Brock had had two helpings. Calvin thought it might have needed a bit more sugar, but both Brockwells pronounced it perfect, the best cobbler they’d ever tasted. Calvin had accepted their compliments, not allowing himself to believe they might just have been saying it out of politeness. It was too perfect a day, and too fucking hot to think about anything complicated.

  “Another beer, Mr. Hamilton?”

  “It’s Calvin.” Calvin opened his eyes to look up at Junior. “And thank you, I think I will.”

  “Dad?”

  “Thanks, son.”

  Calvin remembered Brock saying the only big thing he and Junior disagreed on was Brock’s drinking. Evidently they must have come to some compromise for the holiday.

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I have some beer?”

  Calvin opened his eyes; he wanted to see how this would play out.

  “You’re a bit young.”

  “Kyle’s daddy lets him have beer.”

  Calvin noted Junior was going for the my friend’s parents are cool enough to let their kid drink angle.

  “I still think you’re a bit too young. Maybe next year.”

  “And Kyle’s mom works for the police department.”

  “As a dispatcher,” Brock parried.

  Junior continued to state his case. Calvin had to admire the boy’s persistence. He didn’t whine or complain, just calmly advanced his arguments.

  “Okay, bring out a small glass.” Brock eventually said.

  “Yes!” Junior raced into the house.

  “He’ll probably hate the taste of it,” Brock said. “I know I did when I first sneaked cans from under my daddy’s nose.”

  Calvin laughed.

  Junior was back in a matter of moments, two bottles and a glass in hand.

  Brock poured an inch of beer into the glass Junior held. Calvin expected the boy to complain about the amount, but he didn’t. Brock stayed the boy’s hand before he could bring it up to his lips.

  “Let me tell you a story.”

  Junior rolled his eyes.

  “It’ll only take a minute. I used to sneak beer from your granddaddy. It didn’t take him long to cotton that the cans in the fridge were disappearing faster than he was drinking them. Now I thought I was bein’ smart by crushin’ the cans and buryin’ ‘em deep in the trash. But I got caught. I thought I was in for a whippin’ for sure.”

  Junior giggled, and then grew serious. “What happened?”

  Brock took a swig from his bottle. “I’d never been able to drink more than a few mouthfuls. I’d pour the rest away, usually behind the shed. I think that’s what clued your granddaddy in ‘cause it was at the back of the shed where he caught me.”

  “What did he do?” Junior asked.

  “Made me drink the whole can.” Brock nodded to the glass in Junior’s hand. “Just take a sip.”

  Junior did, and immediately pulled a face.

  “Want the rest?”

  Junior shook his head and gave the glass to Brock.

  “I was sick to my stomach for the rest of the day. And wasn’t feelin’ too good the next morning either. Didn’t help that your granddaddy had cooked up the biggest, greasiest breakfast, and made me sit down to eat it.”

  Calvin barked out a laugh.

  “Never thought the kitchen table and the john were so far apart.”

  Calvin continued to laugh, as did Junior.

  “How long was it before you took another drink?” Calvin asked.

  “Couple of weeks,” Brock admitted. “See, your daddy wasn’t the smartest back then.”

  Junior looked as though he was about to protest.

  Brock held up a hand. “Trust me, I wasn’t. But I hope I’ve learned from the mistakes I made. This was why I let you have a taste of beer now. Better you do it in front of me than behind my back.”

  Junior nodded.

  “Next time you want to try it, ask, okay?”

  “Yes, Dad. Thanks.”

  * * * *

  Calvin was surprised at the number of people who had turned up at the high school football stadium to watch the fireworks.

  Junior asked Brock for money to buy a funnel cake from one of the concession stands.

  “Get me one, too,” Brock said, reaching into his back pocket.

  Calvin said he’d get it and pulled out a ten before Brock could protest.

  “Thanks, Calvin,” Junior said. “Would you like one, too?”

  Calvin shook his head. He was still full from the cookout.

  The high risk of being bitten by insects had had Brock putting on a pale-blue long-sleeve button up shirt before they left the house. Calvin had applied more bug killer, ‘just in case.’

  “Why’re you starin’ at me?” Brock asked under his breath.

  “Just because.” Blue really suited his cowboy.

  Brock turned his head away, clearly uncomfortable at such a conversation taking place in public.

  “Sorry,” Calvin said, and meant it. Though whenever Brock wasn’t looking, Calvin would sneak peeks at his man. He liked how Brock’s belly was a little rounded. It was soft to cuddle up to, to put his head on.

  “Stop lookin’ at me like I’m something to eat,” Brock said under his breath.

  “Sorry,” Calvin repeated. “But make no mistake, I will eat you later.”

  Brock shook his head and turned away to start a conversation with someone else.

  Calvin thought it better to mingle, put some distance between himself and the man he loved.

  God, the old place hadn’t changed much, not that he frequented the football stadium when he’d been a student at the school. There were a few people present who Calvin knew…even fewer that he actually wanted to talk to. He chit-chatted with a handful of his old teachers who still taught at the school. He said ‘hi’ to a fellow geek who had been in the drama club with him. While standing in line at a concession stand to get a bottle of water he got talking with—of all people—a former jock. Calvin recognized him as the starting wide receiver, but he was sure the guy didn’t remember Calvin, a fact for which Calvin was grateful.

  The fireworks—when they finally came—were pretty good. The school band accompanied the pyrotechnics, and managed to stay fairly in sync, too.

  By the time the last rocket had exploded, Calvin was ready to sit down. Not seeing Brock or Junior anywhere, he made his way over to the bleachers.

  “Hi, didn’t think I’d ever see you back in Parish Creek.”

  Calvin looked at the speaker, and drew a blank as to his identity.

  The guy laughed and held out a hand. “Derek Creswell.”

  Calvin took the proffered hand and shook it enthusiastically. “Wow, you’ve changed.”

  Derek laughed, and held onto Calvin’s hand for just a second longer than expected. “Could say the same about you.”

  Calvin took a seat next to Derek and spent a few minutes catching up. Derek had been the geekiest of geeks in Calvin’s grade. He even had a pocket protector, probably a collection of pocket protectors. But now, wow. The guy had swapped mechanical pencils, protractors, and compasses for muscles, tattoos, and spiked hair.

  “What are you doing now?” Derek asked.

  “PR and advertising in New York.”

  Derek nodded, as if Calvin was confirming what he already knew. “Heard your folks were selling up and moving to Florida.”

  “They’ve already moved, and I’m in the process of getting their place ready to put on the market.”

  Derek smiled. “Well, I just might be able to help you out there, my friend.” He reached into a pocket of his ripped jeans and pulled out a wallet from which he extracted a business card.

  “Creswell Real Estate Agency,” Calvin said aloud. Then he looked over at the bad boy biker. The two thi
ngs didn’t fit.

  Derek laughed and squeezed Calvin’s knee. “Real estate is just the day job. At night…” Derek held out his arms as if gripping the handlebars of a motorcycle and followed it up with a few growls.

  “There you are,” Brock said to Calvin, then shot a disapproving look at Derek.

  Calvin introduced the two of them. Derek was friendly, and Brock made the attempt, but Calvin could tell the man was jealous.

  “Well, it’s been great catching up. I’ll certainly get back to you once Brock here has finished renovating the place,” Calvin said.

  “Look forward to it.” Derek stood, shook hands with Calvin then Brock before leaving.

  “What did he want?” Brock asked, staring daggers into Derek’s retreating back.

  “A fuck under the bleachers.”

  Brock’s gaze shot back to Calvin.

  “But I told him, ‘No thanks, I’ve already got a beautiful cowboy who’ll do that.’”

  Brock harrumphed, took a look around, but the bleachers were pretty empty and no one was close. “I want to try something.”

  “Oh?” Maybe Brock really was gonna take him under the bleachers. The thought had Calvin plumping up.

  As they made for the exit, Brock said, “Junior’s gone home with a school friend, hope it’ll be okay to go pick him up later.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  Where were they heading? Once out of the stadium, Brock took a right, then a left, and walked toward the gymnasium. They stopped in front of the entrance to the boys’ locker room, a place that held no good memories for Calvin.

  “Don’t know if this key still works.” Brock took out a small shiny key and fitted it into the lock. It turned, there was a click, and Brock pushed the door open.

  Immediately the memories of musty damp towels, teenage male sweat, and Bengay assaulted Calvin. He stood rooted to the spot.

  “It’s okay,” Brock soothed, rubbing Calvin’s shoulder. “I wanted to bring you here to…I don’t know, to rest a few ghosts for you, make some good memories of this place.”

  Calvin nodded, and, taking a firm grip on his emotions, stepped into the dark interior. He immediately began to shiver, even though the room was warm and stuffy.

  Brock flipped on the lights, and locked the door. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

  Calvin swallowed. This was just a room. A room couldn’t hurt him.