Vintage Toys For Lucky Boys (2 page)

mentioned what they were supposed to be.”

Max sighed, shaking his head. He wasn’t going to give up until

Randy figured it out. “Just one figure,” he went on like a grade-school

teacher. “A female figure. Seven little men and….”

“Snow White!” Of course! He felt like a total moron not guessing it

right off the bat. “Snow White and the seven dwarves.”

“Am I right in thinking you don’t have Snow White anywhere?”

Thinking back through the years, Randy tried to visualize the

shelf in Brent’s bedroom where he’d put them after his grandfather

died. “No, I don’t remember ever seeing a Snow White. What about all

those other little ones in there?” he asked, pulling a fuzzy rabbit from

the shoebox.

“Oh, those are nothing,” Max replied, waving the rabbit away.

Randy put it back in the box. “The animals are a hundred. They all run

okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Randy said, though he’d never actually played with them.

When Max bent forward to turn the keys on each of the seven

dwarves, his intense man-scent smacked Randy in the face. It was a

physical aroma, raw but clean, like a hot, soapy shower at the gym.

Once that scent invaded his lungs, he didn’t want to breathe out. He

8

Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

wanted to keep it inside him forever.

A slight wave of guilt passed through him when he realized he

was selling off Brent’s inheritance. Was it really awful of him to get rid

of the lot for… wait, how much? A hundred bucks just for the animals?

He didn’t think he’d get that for the whole shoebox.

“If you had the Snow White, I could hook you up with a buyer

who’d give you ten for them all. It’s too bad. He won’t purchase an

incomplete set.”

Randy mulled the words over, but couldn’t make sense of them.

“Give me ten… ten what?”

“Ten thousand,” Max replied without looking up from the last of

the gnomes.

Was this place in the twilight zone or something? It was a box of

toys, for Christ’s sake! With a pronounced gulp, Randy squeaked a

syllable and then stopped to push his voice back down. For someone

who didn’t want to seem like a total moron, he was doing a mighty

fine job of it. “Ten thousand dollars?”

Max looked him up and down with a forgiving smirk.

“Remember, that would be if you had the full set, which you don’t.” He

must have been thinking, Not another one of these schmucks! What

does he think this is, Antiques Roadshow? “That missing Snow White’s

going to cost you. I can offer five thousand.”

If he’d been sitting, Randy would have fallen off his chair. As it

was, he grasped the counter to stay upright. This had to be a joke.

Someone was setting him up. There was no other explanation. A

bunch of stupid toys couldn’t possibly be worth so much.

Randy was utterly at a loss for words, which seemed to make

Max think he’d caused offense. “Oh, I’m sorry. I always assume

9

Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

everybody wants to sell. Were you just looking for an evaluation?”

“No!” Randy cried. He clutched at his chest, but of course he

couldn’t feel his heartbeat under so many bulky layers of clothing.

“No, I definitely want to sell. Jeez, I was just hoping for enough to get

my mom a cordless drill for Christmas. With fifty-one hundred, I could

fill a workshop.”

Winding his way through the animals, Max asked, “Fifty-one?

Your math’s off, little dude.” Counting up the “cheap” toys, he said, “At

one hundred a piece over here, you’ve got a good sixty-five coming to

you, if you’re sure you want to sell.”

“Oh, I do, I do,” Randy said, suppressing the urge to do his happy

dance all around the shop. This must be what brides felt like on their

wedding days—like they were set for life.

“Good,” Max replied, so calmly Randy wanted to shake him. Kiss

him? Maybe. “Honestly, there’s not much to these little guys, but with

the holidays coming people will snap them up like nobody’s business.”

Kiss him? Definitely.

Reaching across the counter, Randy grabbed Max by the scruff of

his thick neck. Everything went slow-mo as he leaned in for the kill.

When his eager lips came within two centimetres of Max’s, the

muscle-god turned his head downwards while Randy was still moving

forward. He smacked Randy’s chin with his nose, causing him to look

down just as his chest met the lineup of toys. In one swift motion, Max

put his hands out to guard the wind-up windfall, but in the process his

built forearm met Randy’s chest.

He’d never moved so fast in his life. In fact, Randy could hardly

fathom how he’d managed to get from one end of the shop to the

other—without breaking anything—in about three seconds. All he

10

Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

knew was that he couldn’t catch his breath. His whole body seemed to

be shaking as he shielded his chest with his arms, staring with alarm

at a very still antiques dealer.

When Max spoke up, Randy was sure he knew everything. “I’m

really sorry, man. I didn’t mean to…” he chuckled nervously. Was that

a nervous chuckle? Or was Randy reading too much into it, as usual?

“Just protecting your treasures.”

It seemed like ages before he could breathe again. How could

Max possibly have felt anything? He couldn’t have. Randy was bound

tight as the foot of a Chinese empress. God, what a terrible comparison.

Why would he think a thing like that? He must have picked it up online

somewhere, from one of those forum-lurking degenerates. Why was

everybody an ass-face except him? He shook his head. “Sorry. I’m just

a little jumpy. I don’t get as much sleep as I should these days.”

Max placed each toy gently back inside the shoebox before

grabbing a photocopied form and his checkbook from the back

counter. A checkbook? Damn it. He figured it would be two hundred

bucks tops for the shoebox. He’d get a couple fifties and be on his way.

He’d have to think on his feet now. “So, if we’ve got a deal, I’ll just get

your personal information, and we can finish up our transaction.”

Transaction. Trans-action. God, he knew. He knew everything.

Randy could feel the sweat trickling down his pits and wetting his

binder. But how could he take off with sixty five hundred hanging in

the balance? He was overreacting, as usual. How could Max possibly

know?

“Name?”

“Randy,” he replied softly.

Max chuckled as he leaned over the form. “I know your first

11

Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

name. What’s your last name?”

“Oh,” he hesitated. He cleared his throat and tried to hit a deeper

pitch, but his alarm raised it up and up. “It’s Venner. V-e-n-n-e-r.”

“Address?”

Randy sounded like a girl when he replied, and that made him

hate the process. It almost made him hate Max for asking the

questions, but not quite. There was something about Max that seemed

really accepting. He walked a little closer to the back of the shop, so

that he reached the counter just as Max announced, “All right, now all I

need to see is a piece of photo ID, and I can write you a check.”

The sweat that had all but evaporated came back like a tidal

wave. Randy went corpse-cold. How could he get around showing ID?

He didn’t want to leave without a check in hand. The price seemed too

good to be true. He pushed his voice down. “Actually, funny story. I

don’t actually have any photo ID. I don’t drive, so no license, and I

don’t travel, so no passport.” He tried to sound smooth as he chuckled,

but he knew he was coming across as criminally nervous.

“Okay,” Max said with an understanding nod. “Well, legally, I do

need to collect personal information and see ID in order to make the

purchase. Do you have, like a student card and a credit card, or a… I

don’t know. What’s in your wallet? ”

A sense of desperation overcame Randy as he realized he’d

never get his hands on the money for his mom’s Christmas gift. The

last thing he wanted to seem was argumentative, but a sense of

irritation built like a volcano in him until he burst with, “Why do you

need to see my ID? I don’t get that. What, you don’t believe Brent gave

that stuff to me? You think I stole it or something? Is that what this is

all about? Because I am not a crook.”

12

Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

Dammit! He didn’t mean to throw a Nixon quote in there, but it

certainly colored Max’s reaction. Instead of getting all self-righteous,

he just laughed. “Yeah, man, I know, but that’s the law and I have to

follow it. For all I know, you could be an undercover cop looking to

bust me.”

His kind gaze softened Randy to the point where he couldn’t bear

to argue. But what could he say? If he claimed he’d left his wallet at

home, Max would just tell him to go and get it. Anywhere else, he’d

have been long gone, but there was something encouraging in Max’s

demeanor. The more he looked him in the eye, the more Randy

thought this might be a safe place. His friendly gaze sparked the image

of the hippie woman leaving the shop as he’d arrived. She was very

tall, with broad shoulders. Max had called her a draft-dodger, hadn’t

he? Vietnam was way before his time, of course, but even Randy knew

only men were drafted to war. Only men would have come up to

Canada to dodge the draft.

In an ultra-casual motion, Max picked up his toothpick-pointer-

thing. He tapped at the plastic sign indicating which credit cards his

shop accepted. Behind the sign, on the old-school cash register was a

sticker that made Randy’s heart jump. At the top of the decal was a

rainbow flag, and on the bottom there was a familiar pink triangle

containing the transgender symbol of a Mars arrow, a Venus cross,

and a combination of the two all joined by a central ring. In the middle

were the words “Friendly Space.” Randy stared at the sticker. On the

one hand, it was a clear indication Max had read him. Why else would

he have uncovered the sticker? If boys could cry, he would have cried.

Instead, he bit his lip and suppressed the hurt. And, God, did it ever

hurt when someone could tell he was FTM.

On the other hand, he had to feel indebted to Max for his class.

Instead of just calling him out, he’d displayed some subtlety. He’d

13

Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

given Randy the opportunity to disclose or not to disclose. He had a

choice, and the gentle and encouraging look in Max’s eye made the

whole situation a little easier to handle. Not that it was easy easy; he

wondered if he was being set up, but couldn’t bring himself to believe

any trans-basher would have that friendly space sticker up in his shop.

His mind showed him a slide show of every negative situation that

could arise out of disclosing, but in his heart he knew Max was a good

person. He knew Max wouldn’t hurt him.

Wiping his sweating hands on his cargo pants, he grabbed for his

wallet and slid out his folded-up passport.

Surname/Nom: VENNER

Given Names/Prénoms: JENNIFER ANN

Nationality/Nationalité: CANADIAN/CANADIENNE

Date of Birth/Date de naissance: 24 APR / AVR 1977

Sex/Sexe: F

He held his breath as he handed it over to Max. Somewhat

ashamed and somewhat bashful, he said, “I haven’t changed it yet.”

Max took a look to confirm and then passed the ID back to

Randy. His voice was smooth and receptive when he asked, “Why

not?”

As quick as he could, Randy folded it up and shoved it back in his

wallet. “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “Just… everything costs

money, you know?”

Nodding, Max said, “One hundred and thirty seven dollars, last

time I checked.”

14

Vintage Toys for Lucky Boys * G.R. Richards

Randy looked straight up at him, trying not to seem too shocked.

It was just a really random figure to know with such precision. “Yeah.”

“I have an ex who’s trans,” he said. Randy felt a smile growing

across his cheeks as Max walked toward the back room. He offered an

inviting nod and went on, “I still have strong ties to the community.

Want to sit down for a coffee? I know how hard it is to find allies in the

big bad world.”

“Sure!” Randy cried before thoughts of rat poison and Arsenic

and Old Lace clouded his vision. Why did he have to be so suspicious of