wouldn’t have to talk about football.”
The bell on the front door rattled softly in the distance. Nat shrugged it off and said, “They’ll find us. You want a muffin or something?”
“No. I ate at Renfrow’s. Everything’s the same there. Same grease, same menu, same flies.”
“Same bubbas sitting around bitchin’ ’cause the team ain’t undefeated.”
“Yep. You go to the games?”
“Naw. When you’re the only openly gay dude in a town like this, you don’t enjoy crowds. People stare and point and whisper and grab their children, and, while I’m used to it, I’d rather avoid the scene. And I’d either go alone, which is no fun, or I’d take a date, which would stop the game. Can you imagine me walking in with some cute boy, holding hands? They’d stone us.”
“How’d you manage to come out of the closet in this town?”
Nat put the coffee down and thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his highly starched and pressed jeans.
“Not here, man. After we graduated, I sort of migrated to D.C., where it didn’t take me long to figure out who I am and what I am. I didn’tsneak out of the closet, Neely, I kicked the damned door down. I got a job in a bookstore and learned the business. I lived the wild life for five years, had a ball, but then I got tired of the city. Frankly, I got homesick. My dad’s health was declining, and I needed to come home. I had a long talk with Rake. I told him the truth. Eddie Rake was the first person here I confided in.”
“What was his reaction?”
“He said he didn’t know much about gay people, but if I knew who I was, then to hell with everybody else. ‘Go live your life, son,’ he said. ‘Some folks’ll hate you, some folks’ll love you, most folks haven’t made up their minds. It’s up to you.’”
“Sounds like Rake.”
“He gave me the courage, man. Then he convinced me to open this place, and when I was sure I had made a huge blunder, Rake started hanging around here and word spread. Just a second. Don’t leave.” Nat loped away toward the front where an elderly lady was waiting. He called her by name, in a voice that couldn’t have been sweeter, and soon they were lost in a search for a book.
Neely walked around the counter and poured himself another cup of the brew. When Nat returned he said, “That was Mrs. Underwood, used to run the cleaners.”
“I remember.”
“A hundred ten years old and she likes erotic westerns. Go figure. You learn all sorts of good stuff when you run a bookshop. She figures she can buy from me because I have secrets of my own. Plus, at a hundred and ten, she probably doesn’t give a damn anymore.”
Nat put a massive blueberry muffin on a plate and laid it on the counter. “Dig in,” he said, breaking it in half. Neely picked up a small piece.
“You bake this stuff?” Neely asked.
“Every morning. I buy it frozen, bake it in the oven. Nobody knows the difference.”
“Not bad. You ever see Cameron?”
Nat stopped chewing and gave Neely a quizzical look. “Why should you be curious about Cameron?”
“You guys were friends. Just wondering.”
“I hope your conscience still bothers you.”
“It does.”
“Good. I hope it’s painful.”
“Maybe. Sometimes.”
“We write letters. She’s fine, living in Chicago. Married, two little girls. Again, why do you ask?”
“I can’t ask about one of our classmates?”
“There were almost two hundred in our class. Why is she the first you’ve asked about?”
“Please forgive me.”
“No, I want to know. Come on, Neely, why ask about Cameron?”
Neely put a few crumbs of the muffin in his mouth and waited. He shrugged and smiled and said, “Okay, I think about her.”
“Do you think about Screamer?”
“How could I forget?”
“You went with the bimbo, instant gratification, but in the long run it was a bad choice.”
“I was young and stupid, I admit. Sure was fun, though.”
“You were the all-American, Neely,
The bell on the front door rattled softly in the distance. Nat shrugged it off and said, “They’ll find us. You want a muffin or something?”
“No. I ate at Renfrow’s. Everything’s the same there. Same grease, same menu, same flies.”
“Same bubbas sitting around bitchin’ ’cause the team ain’t undefeated.”
“Yep. You go to the games?”
“Naw. When you’re the only openly gay dude in a town like this, you don’t enjoy crowds. People stare and point and whisper and grab their children, and, while I’m used to it, I’d rather avoid the scene. And I’d either go alone, which is no fun, or I’d take a date, which would stop the game. Can you imagine me walking in with some cute boy, holding hands? They’d stone us.”
“How’d you manage to come out of the closet in this town?”
Nat put the coffee down and thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his highly starched and pressed jeans.
“Not here, man. After we graduated, I sort of migrated to D.C., where it didn’t take me long to figure out who I am and what I am. I didn’tsneak out of the closet, Neely, I kicked the damned door down. I got a job in a bookstore and learned the business. I lived the wild life for five years, had a ball, but then I got tired of the city. Frankly, I got homesick. My dad’s health was declining, and I needed to come home. I had a long talk with Rake. I told him the truth. Eddie Rake was the first person here I confided in.”
“What was his reaction?”
“He said he didn’t know much about gay people, but if I knew who I was, then to hell with everybody else. ‘Go live your life, son,’ he said. ‘Some folks’ll hate you, some folks’ll love you, most folks haven’t made up their minds. It’s up to you.’”
“Sounds like Rake.”
“He gave me the courage, man. Then he convinced me to open this place, and when I was sure I had made a huge blunder, Rake started hanging around here and word spread. Just a second. Don’t leave.” Nat loped away toward the front where an elderly lady was waiting. He called her by name, in a voice that couldn’t have been sweeter, and soon they were lost in a search for a book.
Neely walked around the counter and poured himself another cup of the brew. When Nat returned he said, “That was Mrs. Underwood, used to run the cleaners.”
“I remember.”
“A hundred ten years old and she likes erotic westerns. Go figure. You learn all sorts of good stuff when you run a bookshop. She figures she can buy from me because I have secrets of my own. Plus, at a hundred and ten, she probably doesn’t give a damn anymore.”
Nat put a massive blueberry muffin on a plate and laid it on the counter. “Dig in,” he said, breaking it in half. Neely picked up a small piece.
“You bake this stuff?” Neely asked.
“Every morning. I buy it frozen, bake it in the oven. Nobody knows the difference.”
“Not bad. You ever see Cameron?”
Nat stopped chewing and gave Neely a quizzical look. “Why should you be curious about Cameron?”
“You guys were friends. Just wondering.”
“I hope your conscience still bothers you.”
“It does.”
“Good. I hope it’s painful.”
“Maybe. Sometimes.”
“We write letters. She’s fine, living in Chicago. Married, two little girls. Again, why do you ask?”
“I can’t ask about one of our classmates?”
“There were almost two hundred in our class. Why is she the first you’ve asked about?”
“Please forgive me.”
“No, I want to know. Come on, Neely, why ask about Cameron?”
Neely put a few crumbs of the muffin in his mouth and waited. He shrugged and smiled and said, “Okay, I think about her.”
“Do you think about Screamer?”
“How could I forget?”
“You went with the bimbo, instant gratification, but in the long run it was a bad choice.”
“I was young and stupid, I admit. Sure was fun, though.”
“You were the all-American, Neely,
Similar Books
