The Mary's Boys Collection

by Brandon Witt

  Betsy smiled up at him from where she arranged a new variety of stemware in the display case. “Hey, boss. You’re late today.” Her face fell. “You okay? You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m fine, thanks.” She started to protest, but he cut her off. “Please tell me you’re behind on the Romig wedding. I could use a project to throw myself into.”

  Her smile returned. “You’re in luck!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Steven Conley

  Steven groaned. He’d barely slept, but that wasn’t new. He smacked the alarm clock, shutting it up, and opened his eyes. He groaned again as he looked at the empty spot in his bed and then around the room.

  The little apartment had never been anything special. The view was okay, but that was it. But somehow, after his night with Ryan, with the ever-present absence of Ryan, the apartment was worse. Even if Steven bothered to unpack the few things he’d kept and attempted to decorate, it would only highlight everything the apartment wasn’t.

  He’d traded a Cherry Creek minimansion for a broken-in apartment. Gleaming hardwood floors for stained carpet, imported tile for aged linoleum, a landscaped yard for a parking lot. Even though his father had never admitted it, the few times he’d been to the house, Steven had seen the respect in his father’s expression. Well, maybe not respect, but he’d been impressed. And Steven had tossed it away on a whim. The house and everything else. And sure, maybe a house wasn’t what was important in life, but it had shown he’d accomplished something. Something real and tangible. Now? What did he have? This shithole and bills, bills, bills.

  Steven got out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. At least after he got ready for work, he could leave this dump for the day. As he brushed his teeth, he eyed the shower, letting the memories of Ryan fucking him flit through his mind. He didn’t want to go back in there. He could skip a day of showering. Or had he already skipped it the day before?

  ManDonna’s glittering pink false eyelashes contrasted with her prim puritanical pilgrim’s dress. Of course, the shimmying of her massive breasts and hips contrasted with her costume even more.

  The crowd at Mary’s wolf-whistled and catcalled as ManDonna pulled a feather out of the headband Ariel Merman wore over her long black wig and proceeded to flick it under her barely there loincloth.

  Ariel was one of those drag queens who could pass for being a biological woman, even when dressed like a pinup version of an Indian.

  Native American?

  Steven wasn’t sure what the correct term was when the drag show was being as intentionally offensive as possible. He’d stopped being surprised that ManDonna was able to outdo the offensive level ages ago. One more week of pilgrims and lusty Indians and then Thanksgiving would pass. Of course, then it moved right along to slutty elves and whorish reindeer.

  Steven liked that better. At least no ethnic group could claim offense at those skits. At least he didn’t think so. Not that it really mattered. There wasn’t a group of people ManDonna didn’t exploit or make fun of. She said the beauty of drag was that it was the great equalizer. And she pulled Ariel Merman right along with her.

  It didn’t matter how many times Steven watched ManDonna and Ariel perform, he always laughed, always felt better.

  But that had been before.

  Before falling for Ryan Fuller. No. Before fucking Ryan Fuller. And getting fucked by Ryan Fuller. That’s what it had been. There’d been no falling. For either of them. Just fucking. And it had been wrong. He’d been wrong.

  Laughing had been before his father had died and left cruel words ringing in Steven’s ears.

  Yeah, ManDonna was good. But she wasn’t that good. Not even she could evoke a laugh at that.

  As he had every night for the past two weeks, Steven looked around Hamburger Mary’s. His restaurant. The thing he’d given up his entire life for, the place he’d been so proud of.

  A shroud had fallen over the place. What used to be bright, happy, and sparkly, now seemed brash, cliché, and gaudy.

  Art deco pink wallpaper. What had he been thinking?

  Gilded frames around vintage homoerotic art. Dirty old queen, much?

  Burgers, nachos, and beer. That’s what he’d traded his fortune for?

  It was all show and cheap. All bright colors, loud music, and over-the-top gay.

  Even the main attraction, his two star performers, were men dressed up like women. No matter how funny ManDonna was or how gorgeous Ariel Merman seemed, they were just guys who stuffed their junk up in between their legs and lilted their voices. Fake. Totally fake. Just like everything else.

  Just like him. Fake.

  A fake businessman. A fake son. A fake man.

  Just as his father knew him to be.

  “Dude, I love you, but you’re killing my tips, here. I could take off my shirt and people still wouldn’t come to this part of the bar.”

  Steven looked over from where he leaned against the bar and cocked an eyebrow at Vahin.

  He shoved his shoulder into Steven’s and leaned next to him, their forearms touching. “You’ve got a case of the sads that’s contagious, Steven. I think people can probably taste it in their food.”

  Steven attempted a smile but knew he wasn’t even close to achieving one. “Sorry.” He lingered for an extra second, enjoying the touch of Vahin’s skin. Then he sighed and pushed himself to a standing position. “Sorry. I’ll go home.”

  Vahin grabbed his arm and squeezed hard. “Yeah, you being alone looking like that is a great plan. Hold on, we’re going outside to talk.”

  “It’s freezing.”

  “Don’t care.”

  He didn’t want to talk. Not to anyone, not even Vahin. “You’re working. And I’m your boss. Get to work.”

  Vahin forced an exaggerated tremble through his body. “Oh, yeah, I’m terrified. And you’ve already scared away all my customers, so shut the fuck up. I’ll be right back.”

  Steven watched as Vahin left the bar and wandered through the crowd of tables, ducking here and there to keep from blocking the patrons’ view of the drag show. When he pulled one of the waiters aside, Steven realized what he was doing.

  Cody glanced at Steven over Vahin’s shoulder and gave a sympathetic smile, dug in his pocket, and handed something to Vahin.

  Despite himself, Steven’s spirits perked up a bit.

  Within half a minute, Vahin was back, and they’d grabbed their coats and exited to the vacant back patio.

  Vahin took out a lighter, handed the joint to Steven, who put it in his mouth. Making a wind barrier with one hand, Vahin struck the lighter with his other and lit the paper.

  Steven inhaled, then held his breath. After several seconds, he breathed out and sighed. “Thank God that Cody’s boyfriend works in the pot industry.”

  Vahin snorted. “Right, like you can’t get it every time you turn around. Even before it was legal. And this didn’t come from Darwin.”

  “Whatever.” Steven took another hit and then sank back against the wall. “You’re brilliant.”

  “I know.” Vahin shrugged. He held out his hand.

  Steven took a third drag then handed it over to Vahin. Whether it was already bringing ease or it was simply a placebo effect, it was the first time Steven had begun to feel relaxed since….

  “Okay, I’ve given you a couple weeks.” Vahin paused to take a hit, then closed his eyes momentarily before addressing Steven again. “I listened when you forbade us from going to the funeral. I’ve given you space. But, man, I can see if Cody will set you up with his therapist.” He grinned his sexy, crooked smile. “He’s providing the drugs; he might as well provide the mental health too.”

  Some of the pleasant sensation wafted away. “Vahin, I don’t wanna do this. You’re killing my buzz.”

  Vahin scoffed. “It hasn’t had long enough to give you more than a tingle. Calm down, drama queen.” His expression grew serious. “And talk to me. It’s obvious you’re hurting because your dad died. I know he
wasn’t the best father or anything, but—”

  “No,” Steven cut him off, probably too forcibly and showing through his denial. “It’s not that. It’s just….”

  I’ve wasted my life.

  I never should have bought this place.

  I should’ve stayed in corporate finance.

  I need to have a son to carry on the Conley name.

  Everything he made was fake.

  “It’s what, Steven? Just spit it out.” Vahin smacked his shoulder.

  “I met someone.”

  Steven’s words brought both of them up cold. Vahin’s eyes grew large, and Steven figured they matched his own.

  “You… met someone. You, Steven Conley, met someone? As in a guy?”

  “No, dipshit, Ms. Edgerton who lives next door to my apartment. Hearing her snores through the walls has finally captivated me.” Steven smacked Vahin back. “Of course a guy.”

  “Okay, okay. No need to get violent.” Vahin rubbed his shoulder and grimaced. “And Ms. Edgerton? You had to give me that mental image. Isn’t she like sixty?”

  Steven shuddered at the thought, then cooled. That was only fourteen thirteen years older than he was. He still had five more years in the difference between him and Ryan.

  “Whoa. There it is again. All the dark and sad. What’s wrong with the guy?” Vahin leaned closer. “Is he sick or something? A murderer?”

  “A murderer? Really? I think your cop boyfriend is rubbing off on you.” Despite himself, Steven grinned.

  Vahin grinned back. “See, I knew I could get you to smile. Now cut the fucking dramatics and talk to me.”

  Steven considered telling Vahin to mind his own business. He really didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to admit to what he’d done. And even worse, how he wanted to do it again.

  “I’ll call Pat.”

  Terror coursed through him. “Oh my God, no! Pat can’t know. She can’t ever know.”

  “Whoa, man. Whoa. I was kidding.” Vahin took the joint from between Steven’s fingers. “But now you gotta tell me. Pat’s not that scary.” He took another drag.

  Steven sighed. Maybe it would help. If he told Vahin, maybe reality would solidify once more. He’d quit trying to justify how he felt. “Fine, just don’t interrupt until I’m done.”

  Vahin inhaled again, then used the joint to mime zipping his lips.

  “So I hooked up with a guy who works at the funeral home the night of my father’s wake… in my truck… in the parking lot.”

  Vahin’s dark eyes grew huge, and his lips parted.

  “Not a word.”

  Vahin shut his mouth, but his eyes stayed large.

  It wasn’t too late to quit talking. “And then he stayed the night of the funeral.” Steven turned away. He couldn’t face Vahin during the admission. “I, ah… I’ve never felt like that before. At least not that soon. Like it….” He felt so stupid. So fucking stupid. “Like I was falling in love with the guy, you know. Like he was the one I’d been waiting on. Even though I didn’t know I was waiting.”

  Applause sounded from inside, wafting through the glass door. The drag show must be over. Steven darted a glance at Vahin.

  “Well. What else? That all sounds pretty amazing. Not like you, but amazing. And that was kinda how it felt for me when I met Marlon, so I’m not going to scoff at you for feeling that way. I’d say trust it. Unless he doesn’t feel the same. Is that it?” Pity crossed Vahin’s face, and he held out what remained of the joint.

  Steven took it, lifted it to his lips, and sucked in deep. He didn’t feel a thing. He glanced around the patio, at the clumps of snow that hadn’t melted, glistening in the Christmas lights they’d strung over the open space. What he was looking for, he had no idea. “Actually, I’m pretty sure he felt exactly the same way.”

  “Okay, that should be making you obnoxiously cheerful all the time, so get to the punch line, boss man.”

  He glared at Vahin. “I hate it when you call me that.”

  “Then get to the fucking punch line. I’m freezing, and you’re being weird.”

  Steven closed his eyes as if the darkness could hide the truth. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but he’s my nephew’s best friend. I even met him a few times when they were kids.”

  Vahin didn’t speak for a long time. Long enough that Steven finally looked over at him.

  “Well?”

  “Well….” Vahin grimaced. “You’ve got more than one nephew. Which one are you talking about? Like, how young is this kid?”

  “Oh, fuck off, Vahin. None of my nephews are kids. They’re all married. And it’s Topher. My oldest. Ryan is twenty-seven.”

  Vahin’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Oh, thank God. I thought you were going to say sixteen or some shit.”

  “What!”

  Vahin raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, you’re the one acting like the world is crumbling all over the place. What was I supposed to think?”

  “I don’t even have a sixteen-year-old nephew.”

  “Steven, I love you. You and Pat. But there are a shit-ton of kids in your family. I don’t keep a chart.”

  Steven glared at him. He felt his lips start to curve into a smile, but he refused to allow it. “Ryan is twenty-seven, not sixteen.”

  Vahin seemed to consider, carefully choosing his words, which was not at all like him and made Steven nervous. Finally he let out a long breath. “Okay, boss man, do you have your cell on you?”

  Steven nodded, confused.

  “Good. Here’s what you’re going to do. And I’m going to make it easy on you, because your little bitch of a father died and I know that’s fucking with you, whether you want to admit it or not. Maybe it’s all too much at once for you to think clearly.” He tapped Steven lightly on the chest. “You’re going to pull out your cell and call that twenty-seven-year-old man. The one who you just talked about with more feeling than I’ve ever heard you talk about any guy before.” A grin played at his lips. “Except for me after we slept together, obviously.” He winked, then gave a wave of his hand. “Anyway, you’re going to call that man and tell him you’ve pulled your head out of your ass and that you’d like to go on a date, or fuck, or drive all night to an Elvis chapel in Vegas. I don’t give a shit which. Whatever you choose, you’re not allowed to come back into Mary’s until you’ve called him.”

  “No.” A spike of hope coursed through him, then crumbled. “No.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  Vahin rolled his eyes. “Bitch, I will tell ManDonna this whole thing, and she’ll do a show about it for the next decade.”

  And he laughed. He didn’t mean to. Didn’t even feel it coming, but then Steven was laughing. Laughing until there were tears in his eyes and that grain of hope was back.

  “There you are.” Vahin grasped Steven’s shoulder. “Now call your man.”

  Without another word, Vahin released Steven, turned, and walked back inside.

  Call your man.

  Your man.

  Steven let the words reverberate. Ryan was a man. As old as Topher, pretty much. And Topher had been married for years. Had a five-year-old.

  But those feelings. Man or not, they couldn’t be real. It was just the emotional state of his dad passing. Of grief. Not that he was grieving.

  But what if?

  He dug in his pocket and pulled out his cell.

  He could feel Ryan lying next to him, his back pressed against Steven’s chest as he slept.

  The way he’d kissed Steven by the door. In the shower. Like Ryan loved him. Like Steven was something wonderful.

  And he’d felt the same, hadn’t he?

  The phone seemed to speak to him, to whisper another truth.

  Oh fuck. He didn’t even have Ryan’s number. How the hell was he supposed to call?

  He could go back to the funeral home. He knew Ryan’s car. He’d just keep driving by until he saw it there.

  Another option came to hi
m. Not whispered by the phone, probably by the devil himself. Topher.

  Topher would have Ryan’s number.

  Steven didn’t even let the thought completely form in his mind before he hit Topher’s name in his speed dial list. If he waited even a second more, he’d not do it.

  He lifted the phone to his ear. It rang.

  He didn’t even know what time it was. Had to be late.

  It rang again.

  Topher wouldn’t answer. He probably was getting ready for bed. Or maybe already in bed. He was a father. They went to bed early, right?

  Another ring.

  Maybe he was waking up Riley Christopher. He should end the call.

  “Uncle Steven?”

  Steven gasped, startled. “Oh. Hey. You answered. Sorry. I probably woke up Riley Christopher, didn’t I? Sorry. I’ll let you go.”

  “Steven! Are you okay?” Topher’s voice had gone from sounding drowsy to worried.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Really. I shouldn’t have called. I’ll… talk to you soon.”

  Topher’s voice was audible as Steven lowered the cell to hit the End button. He returned it to his ear as Topher continued to speak. “Uncle Steven, you’re not bothering me. You didn’t wake Riley Christopher. But you’re freaking me out. So it would actually be better if you tell me what’s up.”

  “I, ah… I….” Fuck. Why had he called? He should know better than to listen to anything Vahin had to say. “I just needed a favor. I can ask you later, though.”

  “What favor?” Irritation seemed to be creeping into Topher’s tone.

  Another sigh. Steven squeezed his temples with his free hand and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Can I get Ryan’s number from you? Er, Ryan Fuller.”

  There was a long pause. “You want Ryan’s phone number?”

  “Yes.” God, this was awful. “Please.”

  “Why?”

  Goddammit! “Well, you see, I….” Fucked him in my truck and in my bed and my shower, and I’m insane, and I think I’m in love. Which is fucking stupid. Your uncle is a sick, sick bastard who thinks that—“We… ran into each other the other night. Well, you were there. At your grandfather’s service, and… I thought, maybe….”