Calvin’s Cowboy

by Drew Hunt

  The MC came back on stage. “Thank you, ladies and gentleman.” He waited a few seconds for the crowd to settle. “And now, please give a warm welcome to the man you’ve all been waiting for. Fresh from his nationwide tour—” A scruffily dressed man, about six feet tall with receding dark brown hair, and whom Brock estimated to be in his mid-forties, walked on stage and began shouting, “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention!”

  The audience burst into applause.

  Brock tensed, thinking the guy was a heckler or something, but when the MC smiled and left the stage, he realized it must be part of the act.

  Despite the baggy clothing, Brock could tell the guy was handsome: high cheekbones, dark brown thick eyebrows, chiselled…Brock received a dig in the ribs.

  “What?” He turned to Calvin.

  “Stop drooling.”

  Brock grinned and, surprising himself, put an arm around Calvin’s back and pulled him closer. Calvin laid his head on Brock’s shoulder. “You’re the only man I drool over, darlin’.” He whispered into Calvin’s hair.

  Brock turned his concentration back to the guy on stage. “My therapist said I should talk about it.”

  This brought a few giggles from the audience.

  “Growing up in California I had two influences in my life. Serial killers and the Walt Disney Corporation.”

  More laughter.

  “Unfortunately Ted Bundy couldn’t be with us tonight, but…” The guy opened the canvas bag he’d brought on stage with him. “Winnie could.” He brought out a large Pooh bear and gave it a hug.

  The audience ahhed.

  Looking at the bear, the comedian said, “Now, Winnie, where did the nasty man touch you?”

  The audience laughed.

  “I tell you, it’s hard—”

  A man just behind Brock barked out a laugh.

  “We all know where your mind is at, honey,” the comedian fired back, causing more general laughter.

  “As I was saying. It’s hard growing up in a family with nine other brothers and sisters. You soon realize if you don’t grab the food as soon as it’s in front of you, you go hungry. I’ve been thrown out of more buffet restaurants for not staying in line and waiting for my turn at the egg rolls.”

  The audience tittered.

  “And coming from a large family, I had to suffer the problem of hand-me down clothes. That would have been okay, but I had two older sisters.”

  The man paused until the laughter ebbed.

  “Why it came as a shock to my mom when I came out, I don’t know. ‘Oh, son, why didn’t you tell me when it happened?’” He said the latter in a falsetto voice.

  The audience laughed.

  “‘Mom, I’m gay. I didn’t get hit by a truck.’”

  People clapped.

  “‘Didn’t the collection of original Broadway cast albums clue you in?’ I asked. ‘No, I just thought you liked singing.’”

  More laughter.

  “‘But all those posters on your walls. They’re of female film stars.’ She reminded me. ‘Mom, don’t you get it? Those posters are of Marilyn Monroe, Barbra Streisand, Liza Minnelli, and Judy Garland.’”

  This was met by cheers.

  “Honestly, my mom is clueless. Once I ordered a vibrating dildo.”

  There were hoots from the audience.

  “What can I say, I wore my boyfriend out…yeah, okay, he got a puncture, and I didn’t have a repair kit.”

  More laughter.

  “So I left the dildo in the top drawer of my dresser while I went to the drug store for lube. And, yes, you guessed it. When I returned, lube in an appropriately nondescript paper bag, my mom gave me the look. And I immediately knew I was in trouble. She’d been in my room putting away clean laundry. ‘Son, why have you got one of these?’ She held the vibrator between finger and thumb.” The guy demonstrated. “I thought about telling her it was a new design of ultrasonic toothbrush, but she’s not that clueless.”

  There were giggles from the crowd.

  “So I came clean and told her it was a sex toy. ‘But, honey, you’re a man. Where would you put it?’ Maybe she would have swallowed the line about it being a toothbrush. I just pointed,” he followed his words with actions, “the dildo at my ass and turned it on. Unfortunately,” the man stifled a laugh, “the dog saw what I was doing…he hadn’t had his dinner yet, and by the time I’d chased Fido to the bottom of the yard and pried the dildo from his jaws…”

  Brock had to admit—through his laughter—the man’s timing was spot on. And how cool was it that the whole audience—not just the gay ones—could laugh about gay issues? Nothing like this would happen in Parish Creek.

  * * * *

  Brock looked at his wristwatch, and saw it wasn’t quite nine. Tim and Felicity had promised to mind Junior until ten. “We’ve got an hour.”

  “I know, and I plan to make full use of it.” Calvin smiled up at Brock.

  Brock doubted they’d have time to go back home and mess around before they had to go pick up Junior.

  “Let’s do something touristy, clichéd, and romantic.”

  Brock raised an eyebrow.

  * * * *

  Brock had heard about carriage rides in Central Park. But the reality was much better than anything he could have imagined: the twilight, the regular clop-clop of the horse’s hooves, the slight rocking of the carriage, and his lover sitting next to him all added to Brock’s deep sense of contentment. He didn’t even flinch when Calvin took his hand. It was dark, and the carriage driver had his back to them.

  “This is wonderful, thank you,” Brock whispered.

  Calvin squeezed Brock’s hand as the carriage drove into a grove of trees.

  “You okay?” Brock kissed the top of Calvin’s head.

  Calvin sighed. “This is the first time I’ve ever taken a carriage ride in Central Park.

  “Huh?”

  They emerged from under the trees.

  “Ever since moving to New York I promised myself I’d do this when,” Calvin paused, and Brock felt him tremble. “When I had someone to do it with.”

  Brock put his left arm around the man’s shoulders and pulled him closer. Calvin had told Brock about his few previous lovers, though none of them seemed to have lasted, one or two using Calvin before either dumping him or running out on him.

  Brock wasn’t sure what prompted him to ask, maybe the fact Calvin had done so much for him—and Junior—but he wondered if there were any other things Calvin could have done in the city but hadn’t because he hadn’t had a suitable man with him.

  “Well, I wondered what it would be like to kiss someone at the top of the Empire State building.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything when we were there the other day?”

  Calvin hid his face in Brock’s shoulder. “Because it’s silly.”

  The fuck it wasn’t silly. “Tomorrow,” Brock said, struggling to keep a lid on his emotions, “we’re going back to the Empire State Building and getting that elevator right to the top, and I’ll kiss you till…till you tell me to stop.”

  Brock had a momentary twinge of panic that he’d be showing affection for another man in public, but he’d just have to cope. His Calvin deserved the world, and if he wanted kissing on top of a skyscraper, then he’d get kissed!

  “I love you, John Brockwell, so fucking much,” Calvin whispered.

  Filled with emotion, Brock croaked, “Oh, darlin’.” Pushing up the brim of his Stetson, Brock tilted his head and kissed Calvin on the lips. “I love you, too.”

  Brock didn’t care that the driver could hear them. Hell, the man was probably used to all manner of folks in the back of his carriage saying all sorts of things.

  Brock and Calvin fell silent. The horse’s hooves continued their steady clip-clop. Brock closed his eyes. Calvin snuggled into Brock’s side, Brock rubbed Calvin’s left arm. This moment felt so perfect.

  Brock opened his eyes to watch Strawberry Fields an
d the Dakota Building pass by. If only he said ‘yes’ to Calvin’s as yet unasked question, all this—and so much more—could be his.

  * * * *

  Before they set out from Calvin’s office one afternoon, Calvin asked Brock if he would object to them going to have a look at a vacant brownstone in Brooklyn. “Just to have a look,” Calvin repeated. “To see if you get a feel for the place.”

  Brock’s initial response was to say ‘no,’ but Calvin had asked him in advance, hadn’t sprung it on him, wasn’t putting him under pressure. The idea of setting up a business here had been percolating in his mind. Maybe…just maybe.

  He shrugged. “Guess it couldn’t do any harm to look. Please tell me you haven’t already bought this place and you’re showing it to me as a done…” the rest of Brock’s statement died in his throat at the hurt look he saw on Calvin’s face before the man turned away. “Sorry, darlin’. That was wrong o’ me.”

  “I probably deserved it,” Calvin said quietly. “I did ask a Realtor friend of mine to be on the look out for likely properties, but no,” he looked straight into Brock’s eyes, “I haven’t made any deals or anything. Now you’ve said you’ll agree to take a look, I’ll call my friend, and we’ll arrange a viewing.”

  Wow,” Brock thought, Calvin hadn’t even made an appointment to go see the place before I’d given my reaction.

  The brownstone, when they pulled up out front in a cab, looked good structurally. The place had three floors. Brock wondered how far back the building went.

  Inside, the basics were sound, but the building had suffered decades of neglect. The baseboards and the architrave around the doorframes were coated with many layers of paint; the detail Brock knew was underneath was barely visible.

  The worst crime in Brock’s opinion had been perpetrated to the staircase. Hardboard had been nailed to the banister rails. Brock bet dollars to doughnuts behind the hardboard would be the original posts. One piece of board partway up the first stairway was loose. Brock took out his pocketknife and pried at the opening, but couldn’t see anything as the light was poor and the opening wasn’t big enough for his hand. Fortunately the Realtor had a small flashlight, which he gave to Brock.

  “Wow!” The banister rail was held up by round turned rods.

  “What?” Calvin asked. Brock moved aside to show him. “So?”

  Brock explained he’d thought there’d be plain two-by-two square posts, but turned rods—which had a fair amount of detail on them—were something a bit special.

  Calvin smiled and gave Brock’s shoulder a squeeze.

  Looking down the length of the banister, Brock could see some idiot had taken a saw to the newel post at the end and removed what he bet would have been a magnificent piece of woodworking.

  Then something shot past him on the banister rail.

  “Junior!”

  Thank God Calvin was back down at the bottom to catch the young fool. Despite the lack of a finial, the newel post stuck up a few inches, easily enough to…Brock winced at the possible damage that could have been done to the continuation of the Brockwell family name.

  “Uh, you probably shouldn’t have done that,” Calvin said quietly to Junior as Brock came down the stairs.

  Looking up at Brock, and no doubt seeing the fury in his eyes, Calvin put a hand on Junior’s back and pulled the boy toward him.

  “Why did you do that?” Brock asked, holding onto his temper, just.

  “Sorry,” Junior said. “I just saw it and…I couldn’t resist,” he said meekly.

  His anger dissipating—he could never stay mad at his son for long—Brock patted Junior on the shoulder. “It’s just we don’t know how sturdy this thing is.” Brock banged the newel post. It remained rock solid.

  “Would you care to take a look around this floor before going upstairs?” the Realtor asked.

  Brock welcomed the change of subject and agreed.

  As he showed them around, the Realtor explained there was one apartment on each floor.

  “I remember the central stairway at school,” Calvin said in a low voice when Junior and the Realtor had moved into another room, “and a certain someone who got detention for sliding down it.”

  “That was different.” Brock said.

  “How so? Was it because you’d been dared to do it by your jock buddies, and you couldn’t back out and lose face in front of them?”

  Brock winced at how Calvin had hit the nail on the head.

  “Sorry, beautiful,” Calvin touched Brock’s arm. “I probably shouldn’t have brought it up. Just wanted to show you how Junior is a chip off the old Brock, uh, block.”

  Brock laughed, pleased they’d moved past their minor disagreement. “Yep, he sure is.”

  They caught up with Junior and the Realtor, Brock becoming more and more impressed at the high ceilings and the generous size of each of the rooms. He hadn’t expected such in a building in the middle of a city. He saw frequent examples of modernization that just didn’t fit with a building of the period. The biggest need for improvement was in the three bathrooms. Either the fittings were old and badly maintained, or modern and out of place. The cork flooring in the third floor bathroom was a complete travesty. Brock had another hunch and got out his pocketknife again. Lifting the corner of one of the cork tiles he found what he’d hoped would be there. Small black and white hexagonal ceramic tiles. He’d have to rip up all the cork to check if the original flooring was intact, but he was fairly confident it would be.

  “So…what do you think?” Calvin asked.

  “Hmm,” Brock said. He had to admit Calvin had been patient. They’d visited every room in the place and his man had managed to hold his tongue. Brock guessed he shouldn’t keep Calvin waiting any longer. “It has possibilities. I think the building would be at its best if we combined an old-fashioned look with modern functionality.”

  “Oh?”

  “A heated towel rail in here for example.” Brock walked to the wall and stretched out his hands. “It would provide both heat to the room, which faces north, and would also warm towels of course.” Brock walked around some more. “Yes, that would work,” Brock thought out loud. “The building is heated with steam, which is typical for here.”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s plenty of space in here.” Brock did a three-sixty turn in the bathroom. The wall tiles would probably have to be replaced: too many were cracked or discolored.

  “That’s true,” Calvin put in, but Brock was too deep in his visions of what the bathroom would look like when he’d finished with it to pay him much attention.

  “There should be a cast iron claw-foot tub, and, yes, with antique polished brass fittings.” He looked over at the toilet. Would one with an elevated water tank and a pull chain be in keeping? Brock didn’t know. He’d have to give that more thought. The existing sink would have to come out. Something with a pedestal…yes, that would work. A large sink with a shelf behind and around it. Matching brass fittings of course. Brock nodded. Yes, he could picture it. A mixture of concealed wall-lighting, plus a central ceiling light—he looked up—would really set the room off nicely.

  Brock caught his reflection in a mirror. He was smiling and nodding. Had he found his niche?

  They took another quick look around, thanked the Realtor and set off for the subway. Calvin had offered to call for a cab, but Brock knew they were expensive, and they’d all bought subway cards a few days before which were due to expire shortly. Brock wanted them to get their money’s worth.

  “Should we put in an offer?” Calvin asked when they had seated themselves on the subway train.

  Brock found it interesting how Calvin was deferring to him.

  Seemingly reading his mind, Calvin said, “You’re the expert here.”

  Brock shrugged. He had really liked the place, but… “Depends on how much they’re asking.” He had no idea about the cost of property in New York.

  “It’s quite reasonable, and I think I can beat them down a
little more.”

  Even with Junior present, Brock had to ask. “Surely you can’t afford to buy such a place outright?”

  Calvin laughed. “Heck no, but the bank can. We could get a loan, fix the place up, sell it, and make a profit and pay off the bank. Then look for another place, and repeat the process.”

  Was it really that simple? Brock doubted it. “It’s too big a job for just me.”

  Calvin smiled. “I know you’re good,” in a lower voice, which Brock just managed to hear over the noise of the subway car, he added, “very good indeed.” Calvin licked his lips, making Brock squirm. “But I know you’re not Superman.”

  Brock looked around. No one was paying them any attention. Junior—who sat on the next seat—was reading a book.

  “Obviously Building Brocks would have to contract out much of the work, and—”

  “We are not calling it ‘Building Brock’s,’” Brock said.

  Junior snickered.

  “’Brock’s Bricks?’”

  “No!”

  “‘Cowboy Construction?’”

  Brock shook his head and crossed his arms. He knew he was wearing a shit-eating grin. He loved it when his man was being goofy. If we set up a company we’ll call it “‘Brockwell Construction’ or something like that.”

  “’Stucco On Cowboys?’” Calvin persisted. “We could have the tag line, ‘We’ll fix ya’ll up.’”

  Junior laughed.

  Brock rolled his eyes and repeated, “’Brockwell Construction.’”

  “Well, whatever we call it, the company would contract out certain tasks for the length of the job, and”—Calvin’s voice lowered again—“it’ll be overseen by the most beautiful man in…uh…”

  “The solar system?” Brock offered at normal volume, causing Junior to look up from his book.

  “Had we got up to that?”

  “No, but it’s the next step.” Brock couldn’t believe he was indulging Calvin with this silly conversation, especially in front of Junior.

  “That’s true. Well, this guy will be in charge. And as he can speak Spanish, he’ll be able to hire from the Latino community.”

  “I wonder if Pedro would move up here? He’s very good.” Brock teased, knowing Calvin thought the roofer had had designs on Brock, and had been jealous. Brock wondered what Calvin would say, given Junior’s presence.