The Beary Best Holiday Party Ever (6 page)

Watch yourself!

Ron turned back to the members of the club.

“The Heartland Bear Clan,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “means everything to me. It saved my life.”

“Yeah!” and “Me too!” and “Me three” came the answering voices.

“I-I really mean that.” He cleared his voice.
Do I do this?
He looked around the room, and what he saw were watchful faces, attention, men who were
listening
to him. He wasn’t sure anything like this had ever happened to him before. Not like this.

In high school, when it was time for him to stand before a class to give a speech, there had been laughter, jeers, eyelids lowering in boredom or closed all together.

Once he’d bolted from a classroom moments into his presentation of his baking soda volcano when someone had shouted, “Look at what Fatass brought! It’s a big pile of shit! Is that what your project is about, Corbin?
Shit
? How perfect from you!”

Of course everyone had laughed.

Whoever had made that comment had never gotten in trouble. The teacher didn’t care.

But not today! No one was calling him Fatass today!

Billy’s words all those years ago flashed into his memory.

“…some guys like big men like us.”

Ron smiled. He could
see
Billy wiggling his ample rear end—purple negligee, rippling plastic swans, and all.

“And you know I tell no lies when I say that some men really, really like big butts.”

“Thank God,” he whispered.

It was a wonderful feeling, and all the nervousness he’d had since he’d taken the stage was as gone as the dinosaurs.

“Guys,” he continued. “Before I found you all, I was… at the end of my rope.”
No, don’t go there. Just smile. It’s just a metaphor.
He nodded.
Metaphor.
“Then one Christmas weekend, I met Billy.” He pointed at his best friend. “He was wearing women’s underwear.”

Billy leapt to his feet, bowed, and then turned it into a
plié
.

More laughter.

Good.
Laughter was good.

“Billy brought me to you all. And you all changed my life. You accepted me. You cared about me. You became my tribe—my
clan
.”

“Yes!” sprang echoes from the shadows, and then assents and repeats.

Ron looked at his friends. His clan. So many faces.
Such
a turnout tonight. Paddy and Gary and Harvey and Jon, and Billy was there too, of course. His best friend and his board.
His
board.

And so many more.

Will, Mike, Chuck, Terry, Mikel, and Buck and John. Albie. Ron. Kirk and Michael (so many Mikes and Michaels—Clairee Belcher forgot to mention Michael!). Javier and Cole. Chad and Richie. Andy and Alan. Tommy and Jude, Wayne and James, Harry and Cody, Ric and Tim. And more. So many more.

He would have cried from happiness, except that he was
too
happy. Thank God, because if he hurried he might be able to get through the next part.

“Before I met you guys, I didn’t like myself much. No one else did, after all. Everyone made fun of me in school. My parents….” He cleared his throat.
Hurry! Keep going!
“They were…. They were always on me.
Hard
.”

“Fat! You’re a
fatass
!”

“I do not know
how
you can be a child of mine!”

Keep going! Hurry!

“They called me
Fat
ass.”

Ron swallowed hard. Focused on faces. And saw….

Nods.

Saw them mouthing words like “Yeah” and “Me too.”

Saw sympathy and empathy and even anger. And he knew by God that these men
were
a clan.

“I tried every diet known to man. Atkins diet, South Beach, and the Caveman/PaleoDiet! I spent a ton of money on Jenny Craig and SlimFast and Slim4Life and Weight Watchers and Herbalife. I choked down Dolly Parton’s frigging nasty cabbage soup! Hell, I even tried the ice cream diet—guaranteed to lose weight. Boy, did I
not
!

“I did lose weight on most of them, though. Most of the time. And then I’d gain it all back and more. Every time.”

More nods.

“And then I met you. I found out I didn’t
need
to lose weight. No matter what my parents said or my doctor said. Shit! He told me I should weigh one hundred and seventy pounds. One hundred and seventy pounds! I’m six foot tall! What would it have taken me to get down to one hundred and seventy pounds? The Concentration Camp Diet?”

Cries of agreement along with some chuckles.

“You all liked me the way I was—the way I
am
. And you’ve helped me give the finger to what society says is hot or handsome or beautiful and embrace my own—” He paused. Grinned. “—Rubenesque figure. My
own
kind of beautiful.”

Then Ron did something he’d rarely done before—except after drinking a bit too much. The crowd had given him courage. So before common sense (or fear) leapt in and talked him out of it, he pulled his way oversized shirt up and over his head and then…

(later he would wonder what got into him)

…he began to shimmy in his best imitation of Billy the Bear.

A roar of approval filled the bar.

He was blushing and very surprised at himself, and then he saw Paddy looking at him and felt a wash of shame. Thank God it didn’t last. The club was up on its feet, stomping and clapping. He finally raised his hand and gestured for them to quiet down. “There’s a lot of men like me who hate themselves. Whose bodies don’t conform to what TV shows and movies and commercials and magazine ads declare to be sexy or hot. It is my
mission
in life to make this club shine a spotlight into the dark and help these men find their way. Together we can make this the
beary
best club possible!”

And he didn’t wince a millimeter when he said it.

Then to Ron’s total surprise, men actually ran up onto the stage to hug him and slap him on the back.

“Thank you” and “You’re awesome” and “That was great” filled his ears. Jon threw an arm around Ron’s neck, pulled him close, and bumped crotches with him. “You gave me
wood
there, Ron Bear. That
rocked
.”

The rest of the board was there next, with big bear hugs and congrats and, good God, were there tears in Harvey’s eyes?

“Paddy was right,” Harvey said and wiped at his eyes. “We did right.”

“Huh?” asked Ron. “About what?”

“Never mind.” Harvey waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter.”

A
FEW
hours later, after they’d packed Ron’s car, he and Paddy sat on the trunk. Paddy handed Ron a flask. Ron drank. Whiskey. Pretty good whiskey. He smiled shyly at Paddy. Paddy didn’t like whiskey. He went to hand it back, and Paddy shook his head. It almost made Ron laugh.

“You were hot tonight,” Paddy said, making Ron’s heart jump for a moment.

But, of course, Paddy didn’t mean that sexually. He meant it figuratively. He meant Ron had aced it. Because hadn’t Paddy made it abundantly clear how
un
attracted he was to Ron?

“And that spotlight thing?” Paddy smiled that smile that lately was giving
Ron
wood every time they were together. “
Inspired
! Can’t you just see it?” Paddy chortled. “The
Bear
Signal? We paint a big honking bear paw on a spotlight instead of a bat? Now
that
would be
hot
!”

(Further proving what he meant when he said “hot,” it didn’t mean sexy.)

Why do you care?
he asked himself.
You
hate
him!

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He
didn’t
hate Paddy. Quite the opposite. Which took him right back to where he’d been when he found out Paddy was his vice president. How was he going to do it? How was he going to work shoulder to shoulder with Paddy Brennan for the next year? It really could be as much a nightmare as it was a dream come true.

“Thanks,” Ron said. What else was there to say?

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of crickets. Ron drank from the flask, offered it to Paddy a few more times. Finally Paddy took it, drank, winced.

“Ah…. Did…. Did your parents really call you a fatass?”

Ron stiffened. Sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “They’re big fitness nuts. And I mean
nuts
. They do decathlons. They go all over the world. Last December they went to Hawaii for the Honolulu Marathon. People from all over Australia and Asia go to compete in it. They just got back from one in Iceland, and they’re talking about doing this one in Peru—which they say is the hardest one in the world. And they’re both in their fifties! Machu Picchu or some damned thing. I wasn’t really listening.”

He closed his eyes. Rubbed at them. “They’re ashamed of me.” An invisible knife pierced his heart. Still. After all this time. Even with the Bear Clan.

“Oh come on,” Paddy said. “Surely not
ashamed
.”

Ron glared at him, anger flaring. When Paddy flinched, he tried to pull it back. Paddy hadn’t deserved that. “They’re
ashamed
, Paddy. Okay?
Trust
me.” He trembled.

“I’m sorry,” Paddy whispered. “That really sucks.”

Then why
did
you say it? Why did
you
call me a fatass?

Crickets.

Ron took a deep breath. “Did your family ever give you any trouble?” he asked. “Not that you’re that big.” What? Maybe twenty pounds overweight?

Just the way I like it.

Paddy chuckled. “
My
parents? Not hardly. You know how big Gary is?”

Ron knew. Gary was one of the heaviest men in the Bear Clan. He nodded.

“My dad’s about the same. My mom has fifty pounds on him. They’ve always been big, as long as I can remember.
They
believe a fat child is a happy child.”

“You’re not fat,” Ron objected.

Paddy laughed. “You should have seen me as a kid. I was pretty damned plump.”

Ron looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

Paddy nodded.

Wow.
It was hard to imagine. “Did the kids make fun of you?

“Well….” He blushed. Ron could see it even under the parking-lot lights. “I was homeschooled until I was in high school, so I didn’t have those classroom problems. By the time I was in public schools, my metabolism changed, and I lost a lot of weight. Not
all
of it.” He patted his (sexy) tummy (Ron suddenly wished
he
was patting that belly). “And when this jock saw my parents at parent-teacher night when I was a freshman and made fun of them, I beat the snot out of him. I was suspended, but I never ever got any shit after that.”

“Wow,” Ron said aloud.
If only.
He couldn’t even imagine the alternate-universe version of himself where such a thing had happened.

“I just don’t understand! You want to die of a heart attack before you’re forty?”

Heads shaken.

“You embarrass us, Ronnie. We’re ashamed when our friends meet you.”

Paddy quite suddenly threw an arm around Ron’s neck. “Fuck that. What’s the point of dwelling on the past, right? There is only this moment, and all that new-age shit?”

If only it were that easy.

“Anyway,” Paddy continued. “I just wanted to say it again. You were hot tonight. You
knocked
it out of the park—”

(Which again confirmed that “hot” had nothing to do with “sexy.”)

“—and I am so damned proud of you.”

Ron gulped. “T-Thanks, Paddy.”

“Hey!” Paddy cried. “You want to go to Chubby’s to get something to eat?”

“Nah,” Ron replied. “I-I don’t think so.” He found at that moment the
last
place he could eat was at a place with that kind of name. Even if it was probably the only place open this time of night. He shook his head. “I think I need to go home. Have a little alone time.”

“Oh.” Paddy gave a nod. “Okay. Whatever.” He pulled his arm from around Ron’s shoulders and jumped to his feet. “Then I’ll see you around?”

“Sure,” Ron said, feeling all funny for some reason. Confused.

“Maybe we can go see a movie? I’ve got high hopes for
The Man from U.N.C.L.E
. I’ll buy us a big tub of popcorn.”

Ron shrugged and thought about their fingers touching when they reached for the popcorn at the same time. Against his better judgment, he said he’d love to. “Anything except
The Fantastic Four
.”

“
Tell
me about it,” Paddy said. “I hear it sucks ass—and not in a good way.”

Ron blushed. “
The Pathetic Four
is what I’ve heard.” They both laughed. Paddy hugged him, and Ron shivered and felt his traitorous penis shift in the confines of his jeans. But God, Paddy felt good—even for that quick few seconds. He flashed on Paddy naked again—that chest and that sweet tummy and that soft hair and those low hanging—but then heard the words….

“Look at that
fat
ass.”

And boy, was that a mood killer.

SEPTEMBER

T
HE
BAKE
sale was a smashing success. Jon had been ecstatic all afternoon. The club was making a lot of money.

They had set up a few tables outside The Watering Hole under a carport tent the owner of The Watering Hole had loaned them. The whole setup was to avoid any problem with food laws, which suited everyone. It was a stunning fall day.

They had even set up Ron’s huge painting of the half-naughty, half-adorable teddy bear wearing a Santa hat and framed by a huge wreath. That was because even though it was September, they took Gary’s suggestion and put a December spin to it since the money was going to help them throw their big party. Ron was okay with it, as silly as he’d thought it was, because it was very important to him that everyone felt their ideas were valued. Thank goodness he’d been wrong and everyone was loving the theme.