Foothills Pride Stories, Volume 2

by Pat Henshaw

  “Lemme think about this. You’ll want something exclusive so this place doesn’t look like every living room in the area. I guess you’ll want a sketch and an estimate in the next couple of days?”

  David looked surprised. “What? Uh, yeah, sure. That’d be great.”

  “The decorator didn’t go over a sketch with you? Give you an estimate?”

  He shook his head. I sighed. Too much money and too few brains. No wonder the locals had so little respect for these people.

  THAT NIGHT I went down to dinner at John’s, something I hoped would be getting more frequent. When he was working at the restaurant, he promised to leave meals for me to heat up. As I saw it, I had a win-win going and wasn’t about to blow it.

  Tonight I thanked him for leading David Beth’s way. I also complained about newcomers who ignored local businesses in favor of more expensive and often less competent celebrity ones.

  “It’s the way they’re used to doing business.” He was fixing something that smelled delicious.

  I hated to argue with the cook, but really?

  “Well, all your little clique is doing is alienating people even more.” I picked up some carrot rounds and popped them in my mouth. “People like Bernie Phillips might be major dicks in town and against the gays coming in and opening stores, but you’ve got to admit, they only have clout around here because they’ve kept this small town going and the businesses making money. My cousin and her wife are lesbians, but nobody’s ever given them any trouble at all. They came in, opened a business, bought from the locals, treated people well, and became part of the community.” I shrugged.

  He’d stopped chopping and was standing there staring at me.

  “Anybody who wanted to could have come to the restaurant’s opening and the gala. They can eat at the Star any night we’re open,” he argued.

  He didn’t get it.

  “Yeah, anybody with the money. But your group priced the locals out of the picture, especially those with downtown businesses. Then to add insult to injury, you gave the profits of the gala to Bay Area charities. It was like the people around here didn’t exist.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I do know everybody was invited.” He turned and started wiping the cutting boards and his knives.

  “Like I said, everybody with enough extra money could buy an invitation to the opening gala or can eat at the restaurant. But most people are running on tight budgets and have been since the recession. It’s harder for them to bounce back now that the economy is getting better.

  “Besides, nobody from town that I know of was actually invited. Beth and Kate weren’t. None of the tellers at the bank where Cuttings has an account were. Maybe the bank president, who’s not from around here, was, but not the regular people who do the actual work. If you hadn’t been cooking, you wouldn’t have been invited.” When he started cleaning, I pitched in to help. “All I can say is the whole thing left a sour taste in people’s mouths. The people against the Star are gaining local supporters. Maybe they aren’t so much against gays as they are against newcomers moving in and taking over with no regard for the folks who’ve lived here their whole lives and have kept the town going.”

  He grunted and took a pan from the rack where they hang. “I’m going to stir-fry these with some steak. Then we’re ready to eat.”

  The discussion wasn’t over, but I let it drop.

  7

  AS I left the house on my way to work the next day, I saw Leo, with Ricky, drive up and park. Since I hadn’t seen either of them in a few days, I’d thought they were long gone. Evidently not.

  I didn’t dwell on them since I knew it’d be another killer day at the nursery, and I would again have to find time to check our stock and to plan decorations for the Star. I was coming to the conclusion that I wasn’t now, and never wanted to be, a designer or decorator. How to keep greenery alive? I’m your man. How to use it to decorate a restaurant or house? Not so much.

  Right before noon as I was beating another pine branch into submission, John came in, scoped out the place, and hurried up to me. He looked tired and frazzled, pretty much how I felt these days.

  “Got a sec?” he asked, his words a low growl.

  It seemed like he was staring at me all the time these days. I loved the way he looked and wanted to find time for us to explore his heated stares and my body’s Pavlovian response.

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  He gave me a rueful grin.

  “Ricky’ll be staying with me for a while,” he started. “I don’t want him hanging around the house all day with nothing to do. Well, you’ve seen him. I don’t think he grew past junior high mentally. He’s a nice enough guy, just not really with-it a lot of the time. I was hoping you could help me out.”

  “Babysit?” I sounded as appalled as I felt. Shit, I couldn’t babysit.

  “No, no. Nothing like that. I was hoping you could talk your cousin into giving him a job. You know, something easy like watering plants or something.”

  I started to laugh. “So wait. Let me get this straight. I have a college degree and am working here watering plants and stuff, and you think I’m as smart as Ricky?”

  Now he was blushing. I took a step toward him before I realized I couldn’t just haul off and kiss him here.

  “Tell you what. Just go talk to Beth. Ask her.” I gave him a playful punch on the arm and pointed to my cousin.

  He looked a little stunned as he stumbled forward, but I saw him walk up and talk to her. Really? He thought watering a bunch of different types of plants in the dead of winter was easy? Did he realize how many plants died during the winter, not to mention how many died of overwatering? I chuckled to myself and went back to pine wrestling.

  I was determined not to think about how Ricky living with John might throw too much water on my plans for getting him into my bed, or me into his.

  After lunch, Beth led Ricky toward me.

  “Fen, good news!” Behind Beth, Ricky gave me a big grin and a little hand wave. “I’ve hired Ricky to take over a few of your jobs so you can work on your restaurant project. Teach him whatever you think is appropriate. When he’s comfortable with all of it, then you can get him up to speed with bagging and helping up front.”

  She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried back where a line was already forming to check out.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Well, shit. I didn’t resent Ricky taking over or teaching him, but I wondered how long it would take him to catch on.

  Since she saw herself as a local businesswoman, I knew Beth was thrilled I’d made headway into the newcomer group, especially since they were establishing themselves as the antihate people. It wasn’t so much that she wanted to be accepted by this recent “in” crowd as it was that she wanted the queer community to be united and not split by celebrity/noncelebrity divisions. Ricky seemed to be part of the new group, if only on the periphery.

  After I explained my daily routine and gave him a couple of simple but important jobs to do, I discovered Ricky was as chatty as John was silent.

  “I like having friends.” He gave me an exuberant hug after I complimented him on cleaning up the holiday greenhouse display. “Not a lot of people want to be my friend.”

  I understood. Ricky was oddly childlike in his enthusiasm and his acceptance of everyone he met. His emotional level dipped and soared almost minute by minute. He exhausted me.

  “Leo left me to live with Johnny at his house and went to find us a new town to live in.” Ricky had beamed this to me like I’d asked for the information. I hadn’t. “Maybe Las Vegas or Hollywood. I’ve never been to Vegas. Have you?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer but kept babbling, telling me Leo had great plans for him. But, Ricky reassured me, he wasn’t going anywhere without Johnny. I didn’t mention that John seemed to have moved on, a long way from Leo and his previous life.

  When I spied a couple of little kids running around late in the afternoon, I
wanted to go screaming into the storage room and hide. Like Ricky, they weren’t flagging toward the end of the workday.

  The kids came to a screeching halt in front of me, then turned silent as they looked up at Ricky. Before I could introduce him, they turned on me.

  “You’re short!” one of them yelled as they both pointed at me.

  “Uh, yeah. I am.” I waited to see what came next. I had nothing to add to the conversation so far. I was short, and they were annoying. But customer relations said I couldn’t call them that.

  “You’re short. You’re short. You’re short,” they chanted and laughed, still pointing at me.

  I looked at Ricky, who was grinning and mouthing their chant. What the fuck? He wasn’t any taller than I was.

  Suddenly I was starring in a Fellini film. The rollercoaster of Ricky’s emotions had added two more little riders. The storage room was looking better and better as an option for getting anything done.

  As the little boys chanted and giggled, a woman swooped around the corner, knelt down, and put an arm around each boy. She reeled them in like a star angler.

  “Boys,” she chided in a steel voice, “what did I say about pointing and yelling at people in public?”

  “We were just teasing. Daddy said it was okay.” The kid and his brother had gone from bright red when they were chanting to deathly pale as they looked at their mother.

  Huh? This was teasing? Having never had a sibling, I wasn’t used to teasing done as a shouted chant. They were just annoying as far as I was concerned. Ricky had shut up and was staring at the little family with an open mouth.

  “What did I say would happen if you did this again?” She was as pale as her kids were, but her voice sounded like the voice of Thor.

  One of the boys started crying while the other answered in a dull voice, “You’ll take away our toys.”

  “Why will I take away your toys?” she countered calmly.

  “Because it’s not nice to tease strangers?” The kid promptly joined his brother in tears.

  Their mother stood and looked down at them.

  “We’re going home now to put your things away. You promised not to tease people anymore.”

  Her pronouncement was met with louder tears.

  “First you need to apologize for your rude behavior.” She took them by the hand and turned them to face me.

  “Uh, no, no,” I started, but she gave me a stern-mom look. I shut up for the moment.

  “I will not tolerate this behavior in my sons.” She looked drained, so tired it was a wonder she could stand up, but she stood like a solid bastion of good manners. She might fall asleep on her feet, her stance said, but her sons weren’t getting away with yelling anything personal about anyone in public.

  “Uh, they weren’t wrong,” I told her. “I am short.”

  “And gay,” one snot-nosed urchin muttered. He was picking at the mess oozing from his nose and wiping it on his jacket.

  Her face turned livid. “What did I tell you about saying that?”

  “Oh, uh, yeah, I am gay,” I assured her.

  The little guy looked up at me, his eyelashes crusted with tears and his nose dripping.

  “You’re gay like Santa’s elves,” he said. He seemed glad to hear I understood. “Mommy says gay means happy.”

  His brother hit him. “Don’t. We’re already in trouble.”

  I looked down at them and smiled. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m happy being gay like Santa’s elves. It’s a good way to be. Maybe you’ll be as happy as I am when you grow up too.”

  The mother, whose name I didn’t know, smiled, then started laughing.

  The ringleader looked at his brother. “See? He made mommy happy too.”

  She and I laughed while the boys and Ricky gave us puzzled stares. Over her shoulder I saw John standing stock-still, a look of horror on his face. When our eyes met, I winked at him. He backed up a step like he didn’t know me. Or maybe he refused to get involved. I didn’t blame him.

  When the mom stopped laughing and was using a tissue from her purse to mop up, she smiled at me. “Thanks. I found out how homophobic my ex, the boys’ father, is after I married him. He’s the one who eggs them on to do things like this. I think the boys should tell him what you said, though, don’t you?”

  I grinned and nodded. “Sure. You go ahead and tell your dad that I’m happy being gay, and that you want to be happy like me when you grow up too.”

  They nodded back, two little messes of snot and drying tears. Their mom gathered them up, tried to get them to blow their noses on more tissues, and finally dragged them toward the checkout.

  As I turned back to assess the damage to the greenhouse, Ricky’s hand touched my sleeve.

  “Are you happy?” Ricky asked.

  I realized he hadn’t caught the joke, but I had no idea how to unravel it for him.

  “Yup.”

  “You’re short and happy?” His voice wavered as if he knew something was wrong but couldn’t put his finger on it.

  “Yup.” I wasn’t going to explain because I was watching John as he walked slowly toward us. I couldn’t tell if his frown was for me, for Ricky, the situation with the boys, or all of the above.

  “They were mocking you,” John said softly.

  “I know.”

  “You don’t care?”

  I shrugged. Of course, I cared. What short guy—any guy—wouldn’t? But what was I going to do about it in the middle of Beth’s nursery? Besides, the kids didn’t actually know they were mocking me. As their mother said, they thought they were teasing, just like they probably teased each other. Like all kids, they were testing an adult—this time me—trying to find out good from bad, acceptable from unacceptable. I hadn’t engaged, so they’d probably never tease me again.

  I didn’t know what their father might have up his sleeve. Would he retaliate? Whatever he might do, it wouldn’t be pretty—not after they passed along my joke and my nonreaction to their teasing.

  THAT NIGHT after another spectacular dinner, John and I sat on the turret floor, our backs to the wall, and looked at my Christmas tree as Ricky fiddled with my sparse collection of holiday music.

  “You really don’t care that you’re short?” John asked me.

  “No, not really. It is what it is.” I shrugged. “Some guys are tall, some short. Who gives a shit? It doesn’t change who I am or what I want to do with my life.”

  He frowned at the tree.

  “I’ve always hated being short.” His voice turned sour.

  “I know. I get it. My mom found a doctor who’d give me growth hormones when she realized I was way below average on the growth charts. I was allergic to them, so I was meant to be short it seems. What about you? Didn’t your folks consider giving you the shots?”

  His laugh was bitter.

  “Maybe they would have if they knew I wasn’t growing like I should. But I was brought up by nannies who didn’t pass along bad news in case they’d be blamed and fired. My folks didn’t really notice until it was too late to do anything. Then they were stuck with a runt.

  “My dad left me alone when I didn’t grow in junior high and kicked me out when I was still short in high school, after I told him I was gay. He said I wasn’t trying.” He snorted. “Even getting a spot as a sous for a celebrity chef years later didn’t bring him around. He still won’t talk to me.”

  He sighed as “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” piped happily into the turret. I put my arm around him.

  “So many strikes against me. I couldn’t play football, his favorite sport. I didn’t live up to his family’s legacy of tall, dark, and handsome men. Then the coup de grace. I told him I was gay, and he kicked me out. Fuck. You would’ve thought I’d told him I was a notorious mass murderer,” he said.

  I pulled him closer. I knew I couldn’t hug away his anger and disappointment, but I could show support and recognition of his pain. My dad had been the same. After he and my mom divorced, he’d remarri
ed and got the huge, overgrown son of his dreams in his new family, even if he hadn’t sired the kid himself.

  At one time I’d missed my dad like crazy. But not for at least a decade. He didn’t appreciate me, and I felt the same about him. Fortunately, I’d had a supermom who made up for him.

  “What about your mother?” I asked quietly as Ricky gave us a tired wave. We watched him put on his coat and hat to go downstairs.

  “My mother.” John gave a sad little sigh. “She was no better than my old man. To get me out of the house, she sent me to live with a cousin. But once the cousin saw me, she didn’t want me in her apartment, so by seventeen, I was on the street fending for myself.”

  He sighed again and started shaking. In the background, we heard his kitchen door open and close. Ricky’s feet stomped a couple of times, then all was silent downstairs.

  I pulled John closer and slid us down away from the wall so we were lying at the foot of the Christmas tree. It smelled a little funky and dusty down there, but the pine scent came and went as if the tree were giving us its benediction.

  “What did you do out on your own?” I leaned over him and gave him a kiss. “What happened?”

  I knew by the way the ripples ran through his body that whatever it was had scarred him. If he didn’t answer my question, I wouldn’t push.

  He turned away. I couldn’t see his face.

  “I met Leo at a club.” Another big sigh. “He was looking for short men for a ‘project’ he was putting together. I didn’t know at the time that he was….” His voice faded away. Then he cleared his throat. “He was a pimp.”

  Shit. What? A pimp.

  I hugged him closely again even though he’d been trying to scoot away. A pimp?

  I grew up in a small university town where people were pretty benign, at least the people who lived around me. Sure, I’d been short and skinny, not what anyone would call a he-man or a hunk or anything. I’d been hassled at school until my mom threatened the principal with a lawsuit. Pimps were totally out of my experience. If they operated in Davis, I hadn’t met one, or even seen one to the best of my knowledge.