Country Cousins

[EasyRory]

Chapter Forty-Eight - Refo


After an very enjoyable lunch at Mike's workshop, Tyler and I went for our artistic tryout. Brent and Charles put us through our paces without a hint of any previous friendship showing.

“So, your technical skills are good, Tyler; but don't you think posing Otis kneeling on a bed like Rita Hayworth is trite?” Brent asked.

“Who is Rita Hayworth?” Tyler asked and Charles pulled out a book of photographs and showed him the famous pin-up of the movie star in a lacy slip.

“The pose is identical, except your model is nude. Are you sure you've never seen it.”

“Well, maybe. But it wasn't my idea to copy it. I posed him that way so his dick wouldn't be totally visible. Most of it is hanging down between his legs and you can't see his balls at all. It's not porn that way.” Tyler sounded defensive.

“You think?” Brent prodded. “I'm not sure the critics would agree with you.”

“You could get away with porn in New York; but this is Washington, hypocritical, puritanical Washington,” Charles explained. “And if anybody finds out your model is – what did you say? - 'developmentally challenged' - they'll lynch you for exploitation.”

“It was his idea to pose nude,” Tyler insisted.

“Won't matter. How old is he?”

“I don't know.”

“So he could be under-aged as well.” Charles sounded concerned. “Again, in New York … you could get away with it, but here …”

I ended the discussion with my comment that I wanted to see some friends before I went back home. Brent offered to show Tyler some catalogs of past exhibitions to give him an idea of the limits he felt comfortable with. So I went to see my old landlord Stan and left Tyler in good hands.

Stan was Stan, of course. I wouldn't have expected anything different. He and his companion, to use Stan's word, had split. Amicably, Stan assured me.

“It was great while it lasted, Refo, but … I'm straight. And the gay thing really weighed on me. I kept thinking, 'What am I DOING with a gay gym instructor??' Can you understand? I mean, it lasted six months. So obviously, it wasn't repulsive or anything. But I was lonely more than in love … Me! In love! At my age!”

“Six months is a lifetime in Jawan's world, Stan. Maybe he was ready to move on, too.”

“He wasn't. At least that's what he said, Reef. He cried. And I gotta say no woman ever cried for me.”

“He's an emotional guy; but I understand. I was hoping to see him was all. You too, of course.”

Stan's confession was over and his mood brightened. “What about you? Are you still fucking a new guy every week?”

“I never did that!”

“It sure seemed like it.”

“That's what Frank said, too. But as I remember it wasn't that frequent. It was more episodic.” I smiled as I said it. I never thought of myself as a slut, exactly. Well, maybe in those first years, after I moved to DC, I was a little overactive; but I wasn't living on Stan's top floor rental then. He didn't know me then. We ended an hour of conversation with a warm feeling, invitations to 'come visit', and promises that we would – you know, those promises you know you won't keep.

I went back to the gallery to pick up Tyler and found him with Charles. They had arranged a mix of my photography and Tyler's drawings in what I thought was an attractive groupings. The works, maybe two dozen, were on the floor around the walls of a single room.

“Looks good, huh, Refo?” Charles asked. “I think we can do a room as part of our fall new artist show.”

“Wow! Terrific!” I said. The show was planned to open in about a month; that was much faster action than I had expected. After concluding handshakes, Tyler and I began the trip back home with a thick packet of agreements to read and sign.

“This will give you something to tell your professor, huh?” I was pumped; I never expected anything like a show despite the success of my commercial photography. Tyler was less excited.

“Yeah, I suppose.” He said it with zero enthusiasm and lapsed back into silence, looking out the window as we crossed the TR bridge and got onto I-66. Tyler heaved a sigh and asked a blunt question. “Do you get hit on all the time?”

“No. What are you talking about?”

“Brent hit on me. It was pretty blatant. And demanding. I think he would have fucked me right in his office if I hadn't escaped.”

“Wha???” I couldn't believe it at first. The visit had been so professional when I was there.

“Yeah. That's what I thought. It started out with him showing me dirty drawings by some dead English guy. First they looked normal, then you put then under infrared light and the guys clothes came off. And they had erections, too. And a couple of guys were almost screwing. So it wasn't art, you know?”

“I don't know!”

“And then the touching started. It was so fuckin' creepy. He's gotta be how old? Eighty?”

“Touching? He touched you?” I was shocked; maybe I shouldn't have been, but I was.

“He put his hand on my shoulder. Step one, I guess.”

“Well, that doesn't sound so bad. Just your shoulder ...”

“It was the way he did it. A little squeeze. So fuckin' creepy. That was the way Tony started. Just a hand on the shoulder. Then he rips my pants off. Then he shoves it in! And shoves it in again!”

“Tyler. I know a counselor at the hospital. She's super understanding. Supportive and non-judgmental. You want to ...”

“Oh, God, Refo! I couldn't talk about this! I couldn't tell anybody!” Tyler sounded panicked at the idea of counseling.

“You just told me. She wouldn't be any harder to talk to. Honest, Tyler. She's done it for lots of people. Everybody loves her.”

“And Charles was just as bad. Except he didn't touch me. He just let me know if I wanted to get anywhere I needed to 'cooperate'. I never want to hear that word again.”

I was beyond shocked. I was appalled. “Tyler, I'm so sorry I exposed you to ...”

“It isn't your fault, Refo. You said we might get an exhibit and we did. I just didn't know it meant I have to get fucked by everybody involved.”

“It doesn't! It doesn't mean anything of the kind! We won't sign. We'll throw these agreements away. We'll never see those two again. Tyler, I'm so sorry!”

For the rest of the drive home Tyler surprised me and argued for going ahead with the exhibit. Finally he said, “In this life, you do what you have to do, I guess. Getting fucked isn't so bad. I mean, how big a deal is it for a gay guy to put his ankles in the air one extra time or two, right? I can do it if I have to.”

“Tyler, you don't have to do anything. You sound so fatalistic.”

“Right now, I have to see if Otis will agree to some new drawings. He's not gonna like it with his clothes on.”

Tyler thought that was pretty funny. I didn't.

 

[Craiger]

Lessons learned....never leave a young man with two older men who hold sway over him. Refo needs to be the "always near" agent and watch his young friend. Tyler could truly use the counseling. Interesting chapter on the inner working of art and life. Thanks, Rory.

Craiger

 

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
A bit of stark reality to enter their wonderland of rural Virginia and open cooperation and respect.

Your comments about the dual image drawings brought back a rush of remembrance from days gone by and other tales.

I definitely have to start working my way through the older stories again with more earnest.
I know you're getting some interest in your past works.
I was more than a bit melancholy after seeing the one post before I went to bed last night.
Not at all unlike the turns and twists in this chapter - life doesn't always turn out like you might think it will.

Especially with your writing, since you work hard to make sure any anticipatory discussions don't bear fruit!

 

[Kyanimal]

Oh, My! That was an eye opener, and heart breaker.

It was just a brush of the seamy underside of the art biz, theater biz, film biz, T.V. biz, music biz, etc., etc., etc. A glance at the moldy, wreaking, "casting couch".

You've managed to convey, quite well, the wisp of COLD, reaching out a tendril of repulsive Chill, wafting off the tip of the iceberg of "Power", inserting the stiletto of exploiting "Young Hope", the desire to achieve "success", no matter what it might take.

Just how high is the price to climb any given "ladder"? Is it worth it? Shouldn't those taking advantage of their "position", whatever it is, be made to endure the Hell they are propagating, in return, for the sake of "justice"?

Brent's already been confronted. Seems he hasn't learned anything from what he's already been through!

Good writing, Buddy! (And, props to Refo!)

More, Please!

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Forty-Nine - Vince


The best thing about Otis is his honesty. “I love Vince.” He outright told the fucking world! Ok, he just told my little part of it; but that did more to cheer me up than anything I could imagine. I'm guessing it's not fair to compare people who live in different circumstances, but Otis is so much better than Paul. They both say they love me, but only one of them really means it.

Sarah Felsen said Paul had never had a regular 'thing' with anybody before and that in my case he was confusing lust with love. I can see that - maybe - if HE wasn't the one getting fucked most of the time. Of course, I liked fucking him, so maybe I contributed to the problem. Lust seems to me to imply a need for action and Paul had a need to be passive. His mom's training I guess. No wonder she could take him over so easily.

Otis, on the other hand, was one of the most positive people on the planet. He accepted life and worked with whatever he found to work with. He says I make him laugh as if I'm doing him a favor. I LOVE making him laugh. He puts his whole body into it. And speaking of his body, I hope it's not too weird to say I like being naked with him. He has a nice body and he's uncut like me and he's totally comfortable to be around. He likes my body and I like his, without there being any sex involved. Ok, it is a little sexy, 'cause he is really cute – I want to hug him sometimes - but that's not the object. He's just so easy to be around. And he's also fast. Damn, I'm getting to be in much better shape trying to keep up with him in our races.

So I was really happy that he was coming along with me to attach the finials. I didn't need any help, but still, he's company and maybe he'll keep Mrs. Smith at a distance. Some people don't appreciate him and I'm sure she's one of them. And it helped that Otis was glad to be along with me.

We used Mike's truck. The day was sunny and hot, one of those hot days that didn't really require air conditioning as long as the truck's speed stayed above forty. So I drove forty with the windows open and the radio playing, a nice way to spend an hour. An oldie came on the radio, one of those gentle rockers that suddenly sounded both familiar as well as unusual; I was hearing “Lay Down Sally” as a surprising duet. I looked over at Otis and saw he was singing along with Eric Clapton.

His voice was good. It was more than good; and the amazing part was he sang beautifully without any trace of his “Otis” speaking voice. When the song was over he looked at me and smiled.

“My mother's name was Sally,” he announced, sounding like Otis again.

“I love you, Otis.” I answered cheerily.

“Yes, Vince, you said that at lunch.”

“You're amazing.”

“Does love mean you want to have sex with me? I will if you want to.”

“I … I don't know what to say, Otis.” Part of what I couldn't say was how shocked I was.

“Say yes or no.” He offered me the choice without giving me any hint of what answer he expected or wanted from me.

“Do YOU want to?”

“Tyler says it can be fun but I don't know if that is true. I think it would be more fun with you than with him.”

He didn't press me for an answer and instead sang along with the radio, playing “Queen of Hearts” by Greg Allman. He was awesome singing the blues.

When it was over, I told him, “I love you in my head, Otis, not with my ...”

“Penis,” he filled in. “Good. I love you in my head, too. If I ever do that other thing, I will do it with you.” He gave me his goofy smile and then stuck his head out the window to get more breeze.

Did he actually want to do “that other thing”? Or did he mean …? I had no idea what he meant and I didn't know how to ask him. I didn't know the words to use and I didn't really want to hear his answer. I looked him with his eyes squinted, happily smiling into the wind and the sight made me laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“Do you know this song?” I asked him back. “Sing it for me?” I requested. I guess he didn't know it. He listened for a while and then joined the second chorus. His mellow baritone, this time with a little rasping whine to it, filled the truck's cab. “If you'll be my Dixie chicken, I will be your Tennessee lamb and we can walk together down in Dixieland ...”

By the time the song was over we pulled into the Smith driveway and parked the truck. I opened the tailgate and we surveyed what we would need. “Vince?” he asked me. When I turned to Otis he put his hands on my neck and kissed me. Instinctively, my arms went around him. Mike always said Otis never did anything half way and that applied to the kiss. It was tender with an edge of fierceness. It didn't last long, but it gave me time enough to appreciate how naturally his slightly shorter body fitted to mine. He stepped back and smiled for a second and then gathered the four finials into his hands. “I've got the finials,” he said and stood back waiting to see what I would carry. I grabbed a couple of different rubber mallets, an electric glue gun, and some pieces of felt cloth.

We knocked on the door and waited. “I'm happy,” Otis said. I wanted to kiss him again, but said only, “So am I,” just as Mrs. Smith opened the door.

“The finials!” she exclaimed. “I was starting to think they'd never be ready. This project was long enough to try the patience of ...”

“I'm Vince, Mrs. Smith,” I pointedly interrupted her. “And this is Otis.”

“I remember you, Vince. Didn't you used to deliver for the drug store?” She gave me a look of appraisal, telling me she remembered me perfectly. “And don't you have striking black hair?” she said to Otis.

“No, it's soft,” he answered, making her take a harder, questioning look at him.

“The finials go across that banister?” I asked pointing to the second floor gallery above the entry hall.

“Yes, above each of the large balusters” she answered pointing to the four larger spindles spanning the center railing.

I wanted to finish the job as quickly as possible before she got any fancy ideas about why we were there. She closely watched us install the first two. I waited for the glue to warm up in the gun and then spread the felt over the rail on each side of the hole for the finial. I applied some glue to the hole and then, using another felt piece for protection, gently tapped the finial down into its hole. The first one fit perfectly. For the second one, I let Otis tap the finial into place. Otis was satisfied with his work.

“Just like putting my dick into a ...”

I interrupted his observation with a loud, “Right! There you go! The second one in place!” Mrs. Smith blushed at Otis's comment and decided she had something else to do in another part of the house as we moved on to the third installation.

The third time went just as smoothly, but the fourth was a problem. The hole was larger than the others and the finial fit loosely, meaning it would look askew unless we held it perfectly upright until the glue dried. “And that would take hours. That's what the balsam sleeve is for,” I said to Otis.

“I'll go get it,” he volunteered.

“No trouble,” I said. “You hold the glue gun, while I get the balsam. It'll only take a second.” I was already half way down the stairs before I finished my sentence. I wanted to hurry and I knew I could find and return with the balsam faster then Otis could. I didn't even bother to close the front door as I dashed for the truck. I grabbed the thin strips of balsam from the tool chest and turned to go back to the house when I hear shouting.

“THERE YOU ARE! STAND STILL! ” The words were followed by a huge noise that echoed in the front hall. In my heart, I knew what it was.

I ran for the door and saw a wild old man at the top of the stairs pointing a gun at Otis, who stood dumbly holding his side.

“NO!” I yelled and started up the stairs. Mrs. Smith arrived and just screamed a terrified shreak, “NO, SMITH, NO!”

The old man turned from my yell to the woman's scream and in the process fired again. BOOM! I lost my hearing and watched Otis sag to the floor.

“NO!” I yelled again. Otis lay, bewildered, against the railing holding his neck. There was a scuffle and yelling around me, but all I could see was Otis's confusion. And then he took his hand away and I saw the horror. Half his throat was gone; all I could see was red everywhere. Blood. Spurting. No way to stop it. “Call 911!” I screamed with no idea who might hear me.

I knelt and saw Otis's pain in his eyes. He couldn't speak. He looked panicked. I tried to stanch the flow of blood with some of the felt, but my hand and the felt were quickly soaked. Otis squeezed my arm in terror. I said pointless things to him; I can't even remember what they were. Finally I yelled, “”I love you.” It might have helped; I don't know. Physically he became calmer and I could talk to him. “Lie still, Otis. Someone will come.” He answered me with his eyes. I could tell the pain was less. “Somebody will come,” I promised him. I could hardly see and realized I was crying. I wiped my eyes and again told him I loved him. I felt his hand squeeze my arm in answer. There were noises around me but I ignored them. “We'll get you fixed up and then we can race again,” I told Otis. I saw the trace of a smile cross his lips. “It's gonna be fine,” I told him even as I saw how wrong I was. I wiped away more tears. “You're such a wonderful man,” I sobbed. He was less animated; there was a calmness in his eyes as he watched me. “I love you, Otis,” I wept. His gaze shifted to something I couldn't see. “DON'T LEAVE!” I yelled at him. I felt a brief pressure from his hand and then nothing. “No, please, God, no ...” I hugged him to me and held him and told him everything I remembered from the day I met him until somebody pried me away.

“Sir, please let go,” a man's voice demanded. “We'll take care of him now.”

They took Otis from me.

I sat against a wall and watched as a fireman cut out a smoldering portion of carpet where the hot glue gun lay. I saw people bent on pointless missions charging up and down the stairs. And I saw Mrs. Smith point at the railing. “It's ruined,” she said. And I began to cry again. I couldn't stop. I shook with sobs. Pain gripped my chest. It hurt to breathe. I gasped for air and then cried some more. I never felt the needle enter my arm. I welcomed the growing blackness.

 

[DonQuixote]

Rory,
I almost want to say I hate you. I don't, obviously, but this chapter tore my heart out. I read it in the quiet time at work after everyone had left, before I headed out to face traffic.

Other than the fact I want to destroy Mr. Smith, I want to slap the leacherous Mrs. Smith to Kingdom Come, too - she, afterall, is why this happened.

I feel like I lost a dear friend today. And, Vince is completely devastated - I take it it was a paramedic who gave him the shot - I hope.

Damn. You write so well, and the day was set up as so good. Then so so tragic.

 

[Kyanimal]

 

[DonQuixote]

Chaz,
That's one way of putting it.

 

[Craiger]

Sadly all I can say right now is I am completely devastated. Otis was the brightest light of all.

Craiger

 

[Craiger]

Wow! How strange. After reading this last chapter I tried to go on and check out other threads. Emotionally, I was drained and had no particular interest in what I was seeing or what I was reading. Rory, that chapter had a profound impact on me emotionally. Not in a negative way, but just sad and unresponsive to anything of interest. I did love Otis and felt an emotionally closeness as one can with such an intense character of a story. He was the most natural and honest character within the group of elite snobbery. Obviously not all are snobs, but only Otis stood out of the group showing how simple life can be without the entanglements of wealth or sex. Just pure as in the innocence of a young child. Thank you for sharing him with us.

Craiger

 

[rocabar]

. . .It takes a couple of seconds to say hello- but forever to say goodbye.

I was not expecting this. . . Sad to say the least.

 

[Rickrock]

What a devastating chapter for all who have been reading this story. I don't know whether to comment on my sadness or to compliment and thank you on your writing which has affected all of us.

 

[EasyRory]

What a devastating chapter for all who have been reading this story.

It wasn't easy to write, either.

 

[DonQuixote]

Something akin to killing one of your children, I would imagine.

 

[EasyRory]

Chapter Fifty - Marlee


“Willis, are you listening to MUSIC?”

“What, Momma?”

“Turn the music off and talk to me,” I demanded. “Were you involved in that business over at Luna Smith's place?”

“It wasn't 'business', Momma. It was murder.”

“Well, thank the Lord it wasn't YOU. And it could have been with all that you and Luna got up to.”

“It was a crazy man, that's what it was. And poor Otis never laid a finger on Luna.”

“Smith wasn't always crazy, Willis. Speak respectfully.”

“Respectfully? He murdered a harmless man who was trying to do an honest job. It's good he's locked up. Should have happened years ago.”

“You don't understand these things, Willis.”

“What don't I understand? He put two rounds of buckshot into my friend from six feet away and he was RELOADING when Luna shoved him down the stairs.”

“Nearly killing him!”

“Where's your sympathy for Otis? Who cares what happens to Smith? A crazy man who couldn't satisfy his wife.”

“Willis, I'm shocked. What do you know of such things?” And I was rightly shocked, too. Couldn't satisfy his wife? He was a fine man once and if you ask me nobody could satisfy Luna. And I'm her FRIEND! Now it was unfortunate about … what was his name? Otto? Anyway, the police reports say he was an escapee from a half-way house somewhere in Tidewater. “And just WHEN are you comin' home, young man?”

“I don't want to talk about it, Momma.” And he hung up on me! I frantically punched at those tiny little buttons. It took me several tries to get the number. How do they do it? Do all Asians have tiny little hands?

“Tommy Lynn! That son of yours needs a talkin' to!” And I recounted my exchange with Willis.

“Now, Marlee ...”

“Don't 'now, Marlee' me! He was outright rude. He never learned that from ME.”

“Marlee, he said his friend had just been killed. Give him some time. That's the first real rough spot in life the boy has ever known.”

“It's that woman he's with. Sarah Felsen. It's her fault.”

“You say the name like she's poison. Have you met her? I wish I'd known someone like her when I was his age.”

“When you were his age you got into that scandal with Beau Winters.”

“There was nothing to that. Nothing at all.”

“Nothing to it??? Two boys found naked asleep with each other after spending the night in a hay loft!”

“We weren't naked. And we'd had a little to drink. It was better than driving drunk.”

“You fucked him, didn't you? Everybody KNOWS you did. He was never right after that. Moved to California and died of AIDS, that's what happened.”

“That's not accurate at all, Marlee, and you know it.”

I began to cry and couldn't stop. It didn't help that Tommy Lynn sounded so reasonable and tried to console me. “Just get Willis to come home, Tommy Lynn!” I hated sounding so desperate and my tears made punching at those tiny little numbers even harder.

“Luna, sweetie! I am SO glad to talk to you. How ARE you holding up, honey?”

“The police are here constantly. Asking about the most PERSONAL things, Marlee.”

“Why are you whispering? Is someone there?”

“I think the line is bugged.”

“Well whispering isn't going to help, Luna-tic. If I can hear you, they can hear you.”

“I suppose you're right,” she said in a normal voice. “Livin' all alone here now, I don't really know what I'm sayin' or how I'm sayin' it. It's been a horrible ordeal, Marlee. The place is practically a police state! I had no idea there were so many people in the sheriff's department. And all the pizza trucks! Chewin' up the lawn and all.”

“Pizza trucks?”

“It's ALL they eat, apparently. Every couple of hours another pizza truck pulls up. At least they're eating outside. I don't know what I'll do with them if it rains.”

“Where is Smith?”

“Who?”

“Your husband, Luna. Named SMITH.”

“Oh. I believe he's at Central State Hospital over in Dinwiddie County. At least that's where they said he'd end up.”

“That is a hospital for the criminally insane,” I remarked in hushed tones. What a shame for Luna. Mortifying, really.

“That's what he is, Marlee. I mean let's face it: that's what he is! I thought I had removed ALL the guns from the house, but he's got them stashed all over creation! I found more in the barn yesterday and I haven't even checked the cellar.”

“Your place has a cellar?”

“I believe so. I haven't been down there in years. Not since ...” She actually giggled. “Remember that interior decorator I had that you said was as gay as an Easter basket? He wasn't after I took him through the coal bins. Not gay at all; just black when I got through with him!” She actually cackled like a surprised hen.

“Well, honey, you know you can count on me if you need anything, anything at all, anytime at all, just call … Don't call tomorrow, though. I'll be in rehab.” I tried to keep it light. “Rehab! That's what Renee LaGerbille calls Elizabeth Arden!”

“Just one thing before you go … can you recommend a good carpenter?”

“Why, Luna … I thought you were using Mike Pierce. He's fine.”

“Well, he's fine alright … and I was using him, but I called to complain? You know they never did get that fourth finial set before … you know. And Smith, the fool, completely shot out the newell post where the finial would have been set at the west end of the gallery? So I said, Mike, could you set the finial and replace the newell post?” She took a deep breath. “And he said, 'No.' Just outright NO! Can't you believe that? What kind of a business is he running?”

 

[DonQuixote]

Luna and Marlee - two people I don't care if I ever hear about again. Selfish bitches.

Your writing is THAT good at being so bad. My heart is still aching for Otis and Willis and the whole group.

 

[Kyanimal]

Marlee ... Luna ... Renee ...

 

[DonQuixote]

Chaz,
I think we need to go have a drink at Mother's - the basement, of course.

 

[Craiger]

Rory, I do so hope there are a few loving and unpretentious women in Virginia. My thinking is that all three, Marlee, Luna, and Renee need a real Rehab and not just Elizabeth Arden. Possibly even Central State Hospital over in Dinwiddie County. RIP Otis....

Craiger

 

[EasyRory]

So harsh with the ladies ... in their defense, they didn't know Otis.