Home is a Fire (6 page)

“Home, sir, as promised,” he said, opening my door, other hand outstretched as if to lead the way.

I stepped out and he closed the door behind me. I turned, and before I could speak or think of what to do or say, he pulled me into his arms and held me there, tight, my head on his shoulder, just inches from his neck. My god he smelled good: smoky, almost like wood, as if he had slept the night downwind from a campfire.

“I had a great time,” he said, over my shoulder. “Thanks for hanging with me.” His strong arms held me there, for a second longer than a friend should. One second more, in fact, and I was about to give in, give up, and surrender. I felt my knees weaken and my own hands started to explore the muscles in his back…

Then he pushed himself away, firmly. He held one hand on the back of my neck and another at my waist and looked me deeply in the eyes.

“I’m actually a good guy, ya know?” he said.

“I can see that.” I smiled, dumbfounded.

“Good night, buddy. Sleep tight.” He patted me twice on the back, walked back over to the driver’s side, jumped in and reversed out of the driveway, leaving me in the headlights, wondering what the hell just happened.

Good night…buddy?

8

HELLO, DOLLY

As I had promised myself, I went for a run by the lake Saturday morning to clear my thoughts. It didn’t really work. Luke Walcott, what the hell are you doing in my head, and am I crazy? Readjusting to life in Tennessee was hard enough, but dealing with yet another crush on an unattainable straight boy was something I just didn’t think I could go through right now. I had had enough heartbreak this year. It was time to just concentrate on my friends, my family, and me and have some fun.

The towing service came by and hauled Willie Nelson off to Scooter’s shop for repairs. Kit picked me up at noon and we headed to the Tater Tot for lunch. One huge plate of cheese fries later and I was in carb heaven. All the worries and stresses of the last few weeks departed my body.

“My friend, this is better than any spa I’ve ever been to,” I said, as that potato-filled cheese covered fork made its way towards my gaping pie hole.

“Comfort food is one thing,” she said, “but real life bacon and cheese covered Southern comfort food is just a whole ‘nother level.
Come. To. Mama
!” She dug into her fried potato skins with two hands.

We may ignore a lot of the uncomfortable conversations and subjects in the South, but one thing we do not ignore is the value of food as a binding source of love and friendship. And the food at the Tater Tot was definitely doing its job.

“Okay, Mister.” Kit pushed her plate away and took a big swig of sweet ice tea. “The carbs are loaded and our energy reserves are in place. Let’s get to the important task of the day. Thrifting!”

Kit was a wiz at finding cultural gems in the strangest of places. She knew every Goodwill, Salvation Army and Thrifty Bee from one end of town to the other. She had an uncanny ability to walk into a thrift store, junk shop or garage sale and find the one item that she could buy for five dollars and turn around and sell on eBay for two hundred. Vintage fiberglass Knoll chairs, George Nelson lamps, or Massimo Vignelli for Heller, Kit could spot them faster, see their value, and flip them for a profit better than anyone else. If I had been a gold miner in the Old West, I would have wanted Kit at my side.

We spent a few hours rummaging through junk and treasures. I felt dirty, but I was having a blast. Scooter called my cell phone in the late afternoon to say that Willie was alive and
kicking again, so Kit dropped me off to pick up the car, and I headed home with a few old Brownie cameras to add to my mom’s ever expanding collection of stuff.

Mom was in the kitchen making dinner when I walked in, and the house was filled with the smell of chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, gravy and creamed spinach. I was in heaven, but honestly, I was beginning to worry that at this rate my high metabolism wouldn’t hold out for too many more months, let alone years. The running was sure to help, but age certainly has a way of sneaking up on you.

“Plans tonight, honey?” Mom said, as she seasoned the gravy. She was wearing her apron, hunched over the stove, as I always pictured her, long wooden spoon in hand.

“Oh, just a quiet night. I’m heading over to Tommy’s to watch a movie with him and his new girlfriend, Meredith. You know the drill. Third wheel strikes again. You?”

“Just dinner with you, then a long bubble bath and an early night,” she said, pulling the chicken fried steaks from her cast iron skillet and plating our meal. “Barry’s down at the Bears’ Club. They are having some kind of performance tonight. I’m glad he has something he loves to occupy his time now that Janey’s passed. It keeps him busy.”

We ate dinner and caught up on my transition to my new life, so far. I told her about Bammy, Kit and Tommy and about my new job. We talked about my students, and the adjustments of living back in the South again after having spent so many years in New York. We didn’t talk about David, though, and we certainly didn’t talk about Luke. I know that my mom loves me unconditionally, but a parent cannot help but want
what’s best for their children, and I had a feeling that Mom knew David was not the best for me, but she had always been too sweet to say anything too harsh, so we avoided the topic altogether. I just didn’t want to hear it. And I wasn’t about to bring up yet another straight boy crush story. I’d had too many of those in my twenties, and they all ended in heartache.

I helped her clear the table, load the dishwasher and put away the few remaining leftovers. Chicken fried steak is always better the next day for lunch. The phone rang and she walked over to pick it up.

“Hello? Hi, there.” It was obviously someone she knew on the other end of the line, as I could hear the smile in her voice. “What’s that? Now, where upstairs? Sure thing. No problem. We just finished dinner so I can be there in about 15-20 minutes. Sounds good. Love ya, too. Bye,” and she hung up the wall phone. Who still has a landline? My mom.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Oh, that was Barry. He forgot something in his room and needs me to drop it off for one of his performers.”

“Well, I’m on my way to Tommy’s,” I offered. “I can drop off whatever he needs, if you want.”

“Are you sure, honey?” She looked a bit tired, as if she could really use a good warm soak in the tub. “I don’t want to keep you from your friends.”

“Not at all. What is it?” I asked.

“Oh, he forgot a pair of earrings. They’re having some big to-do tonight, and the star of the show needs a fancy pair of diamond something-or-others. They’re Janey’s. I’ll go get them off his dresser.” She headed upstairs and I walked over
to the door and picked up my keys from the old wooden cigar box on the table.

She came down and I took the jewelry bag. Scooter had done a great job, and Willie started purring (with only a few minor rattles) before I was on the road, again. The Bears’ Club was located downtown, not far from the college campus, but not too far from the “wrong side of the tracks.” Downtown Parkville was a lot different when the club was founded, and today it was an odd location for what I assumed was a private gathering space for well-to-do members of our little town, but then again, I didn’t know too much about the Bears. No one knew much more than they wanted you to know, actually.

Founded by Commodore William Parker soon after the Civil War, the Bears’ Club had a long, splendid history as the “Premiere Gentleman’s Club” of Parkville, attracting many of the founding fathers of our town. Mayors, governors and even a former vice president were members, at one time. No ladies were admitted, of course. In my mind’s eye I imagined that it was filled with heavy mahogany card tables and leather banquettes, ready for thrilling nights of poker tournaments, whiskey drinking, cigars and political rumblings, so I was a bit excited to finally see inside. If they’d let me in, of course.

I pulled the car into the parking lot and walked towards the front door. I imagined there would be a secret knock or a tiny window, like at a speakeasy in a 1930’s gangster film, but there was no such thing. In fact, the door was simply locked, with an engraved brass Members Only sign attached. No matter how many times I knocked, no one answered. Mom had told me
that whenever she had dropped something off before, she just knocked, a hand reached out, and that was that. I could barely make out the sound of music behind the heavy oak door, so I could only assume the show had started and no one was manning the front. I hoped I wasn’t too late.

Having worked in my fair share of restaurants, I knew there had to be a back entrance, so I made my way around the corner. The music grew louder as I passed through the hedge, and I saw a bit of light peaking through a bright red lacquered doorframe. I tried the handle and voila! It turned.

Feeling a bit like a kid who knew he was about to sneak through his parents’ dresser drawers, I walked in to see that I was at the back entrance of what appeared to be a stage. I could hear music and laughter… and Donna Summer?

There was a large woman in front of me in a silver, sparkling beaded gown. She had her back turned to me, and her jet-black hair piled on top of her head in a great big bun, highlighted with a large fascinator hat that appeared to be accentuated with ostrich feathers. She was swaying slightly in her high heels to the music that was coming from onstage.

“
Ahem
,” I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, ma’am. I’m looking for Barry Henry?” I said.

She seemed to stiffen her back a bit, then turned slowly to face me.

“Well, hello Dolly,” said my Uncle Barry. And I dropped the jewelry bag on the floor.

9

“Barry?” I asked.

“
Beret
, honey. In here, it’s Beret,” he said.

“But… what? I don’t…” I was speechless.

“Well, it’s sort of an homage to our love of all things French. And it’s better than Ethel. I’ve learned a few tricks over the years. Listen kid, I love ya and I know you’ve got a million questions, but I’ve got a show to put on. Now that the cat’s out of the closet, so to speak, you may as well stay and watch. Just stand over there by Scotty, the sound guy, and then you and I can have a heart-to-heart after I’m done. Now
do
be a dear and bend down for those rocks. They complete my outfit. I would do it, but this gown’s too damn tight.”

He (she?) batted his (her?) smoky grey eyelids at me as I knelt down to retrieve the jewelry bag at my feet. Beret quickly put the dangling diamond strands in her ears, gave me a
how do
I look?
look, hands framing her face, then turned on her heels towards the stage.

“Break a leg?” I said, as my uncle sashayed away, his/her sparkly covered ass swaying from side to side.

“Your first time?” said Scotty. He was standing in the corner with a clipboard in his hands.

“At a drag show? No. At a family drag show? Yes.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat,” he said. “There’s no one better in town than Beret.”

Scotty was right. Beret was, in a word, priceless. She brought the house down with a rousing rendition of “Diamonds Are Forever,” by Shirley Bassey, and exited to thunderous applause.

“Come on, kid,” Beret said, walking offstage towards me after her number was over. “Let’s head down to the dressing rooms. I think you and I have some catching up to do. Scotty? Be a doll and send us down a few vodka martinis, very dry. On second thought, make that a pitcher. And tell Ricky not to use the cheap shit. We’re entertaining family.”

With that, Beret grabbed my hand and we walked towards a staircase off stage right.

We headed below the building and entered a short hallway. It was warmly lit, but nowhere near as stately and hallowed as I imagined the Bears’ Club to be. In fact, it looked a bit like this part of the building had undergone a not-so-successful renovation in the 1970s, with thick caramel shag carpeting and wood paneled walls.

Beret sat in front of a dressing room mirror and pointed to a chair and said “So, where do I begin?” she said. “I guess we have a bit more in common than you thought, huh?”

“Um, yeah. I mean, wow. I’m kind of thrown right now.” I was shocked, but not in a bad way. This revelation actually made a lot of things make more sense to me. “I mean, I guess it was right in front of me my whole life, but I never put two and two together.”

“Well, you
are
Southern,” she said, removing her hat and placing it to her right. “It’s just polite to ignore that which stares us plainly in the face. It’s how we deal.” Scotty knocked on the doorframe and brought in a tray with a pitcher of vodka, chilled, two highball glasses and some ice.

“Thanks, Scotty,” said Beret. “Do be a sweetie and close that door on your way out?” She filled the two martini glasses. “Olives or twist?”

“Olives,” I said. “Always.”

“Two for good measure. Cheers, nephew!”

I gulped once. Twice. It was strange to take all of this in. “You look like Mom, but in drag.”

“Oh, please.” Beret rolled her eyes and threw me shade. “Your mother never could do a smoky eye. She does have better tits, though.”

“HA!” I coughed up vodka and covered my mouth in shock. Beret just laughed at me and set her martini glass down.

“Barry? Sorry.
Beret
. Very French. Did Aunt Janey know?” I asked.

“Oh, honey, who do you think taught me how to do a smoky eye?” She set her glass down and looked at me, lovingly. “Of course she did. I loved your Aunt Janey. Don’t you dare think otherwise. She was the love of my life. But we had an arrangement, and we both understood it. You and I come from
different generations, you know. You, we knew you were gay by the time you were four years old, but no one ever said anything. We just didn’t. We didn’t even talk about it before you moved to New York, but I could clearly see why you needed to leave. And you blossomed there, and really discovered yourself, and I’m proud of you. Kids nowadays are ‘out’ at twelve years old, and it’s easy for them. I don’t understand it. I’m jealous, of course, but it’s just not the world I come from, and it wouldn’t have been right for me, or you, for that matter. Janey and I met in high school, as you know. We dated, kissed, the whole thing. But more often than not, our kissing would lead to us laughing at how ridiculous we both felt. We were putting on an act, both of us. She was my best friend and I loved her, and I spent the best years of my life with her, and I don’t regret a single minute of it. Neither did she.”