LOVE IS (AN INTERNAL) BATTLEFIELD
Burt,
I realized that while I'm sitting around here writing sappy love letters to Bessie, I ought to write you a letter, too. Not a sappy love letter, though. I can promise you that.
Writing me back will be impractical, but that's okay. I just wanted to write you to let you know that all is well. It's hot as the blazes up here and I sure wouldn't want to imagine how hot it must be back there in Tulsa.
I hope business is well for you. I'd hate to imagine who you have replacing me right now. I hope he's good at what he does, for your sake. And I hope he doesn't get too comfortable because he's going to have to hightail it out of there when I come home.
I miss working in the store. Believe it or don't believe it, but it's the honest truth. I think I've decided that big city life just isn't for me anymore. I used to think it was, back in the vaudeville times. Back then it was fine dining and loose women and nobody to deny us anything. And as a man in his early twenties, that's the American dream. But now? Men my age are married with families now. Granted, a lot of them are suffering from the depression, but they'll bounce back, you know? The point is I think I'm ready to slow down and settle. I love my girl and I love my dog and I love Tulsa. I love the new friends I've been making lately. I love the fresh air and the slower-paced lifestyle. I miss it all, Burt. And I miss you, too. Don't mistake that for mush. Any of it. We're both men here, we don't do mush.
There's a lady here named Thelma. She wears a fake beard that passes for a real one and people pay to see a woman with a beard. She's a real sweet lady and a great friend. She reminded me recently that my job is to bring home the bacon. And I think I'm okay with that. I want to have a family someday and I want to bring home the bacon. I want Bessie and our children to look forward to seeing me walk through the door every day and be someone they can look up to and depend on. That's what I'm supposed to strive for, right? Isn't that the real American dream? Anyway, it is mine.
I'll be home in a few weeks. I'm writing you from Philadelphia and our run will be up here in the next couple of days and then we're off to New York to play Coney Island for a week and then a vaudeville reunion show in a theatre for a week that they still haven't told us the name of. At Coney Island we'll be living in our trailer, but for the theatre run they're putting us up in a hotel. I can't wait for that. Not that I'm not used to living and traveling in the trailer, but a soft bed and central air conditioning is always a welcome treat.
I hope this letter finds you well. I'll try to write again soon.
Your friend,
Zac
"Dagnabbit, girl, do something about that beastly mutt of yours, he's ruining my store again!"
Burt loved that Harlow girl. She was a sweet girl with nothing but the best intentions and she'd been kind and visited the feed store with lunch a few times since Zac had been gone. But that dog of hers, that Scout. He was a menace. And he seemed to grow worse and worse with every visit.
Just like he always did, he tore through the store at full speed, hauling ass into the back and back out again. He circled a few times, wreaking havoc with his heavy, brown tail, and finally skidded to a stop to sniff and paw at a display of dog chow. Burt should have known better. He should have known after the first time not to let that display near the floor. Now he merely shook his head and wiped his brow with the handkerchief that he stuffed back into his back pocket.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Anderson!" Bessie exclaimed in despair. "I try to tell him he can't come with me on these visits, but he loves car rides so much. And he's been absolutely pitiful since Zac's been gone. And he doesn't listen to me a single bit!"
Looking the dog over and watching Bessie as she unsuccessfully tried to keep Scout away from the merchandise, Burt huffed a breath and he shook his head. Hobbling on his new cane from behind the counter, he crossed the store and over to a wall just by the doorway to the stock room. Plucking a thick leather leash and a thick leather belt off of the wall, items waiting to be sold, he immediately donated them to the poor girl and her mangy scoundrel. Folding the brown, leather leash in half, he handed it to Bessie. "Here. Take this. Whip it across his hind end once and for all."
Her eyes widened in horror as she shook her head with rejection. "Mr. Anderson, no. I can't hit him, I'll hurt him!"
"You ain't hurting him, you're earning his respect. He ain't got no respect for you, child, and he'll never listen to a word you say unless you show him who's boss. Now you take this thing and give him one healthy lash across the hind end. It'll only take one time, I guarantee it."
She glanced at the leash in his hand and then she looked back up at him. "Zac never had to hit him to make him listen."
"Yeah? Well, Zachary ain't here. And that mutt needs to learn some discipline. Didn't your daddy ever belt you when you were a girl?"
"No."
Burt rolled his eyes. "Of course he didn't. Well, look here, I can't whip him, he ain't my dog. He's your dog. Now get to it or he'll be wild for the rest of his life."
As they spoke, Scout's pawing and clawing only intensified. Hesitantly, she took the leash from Burt and then looked down at the dog. And then, with as much strength as one of the fleas on the dog's back, she brushed the leash across his backside.
Scout didn't budge.
"Come now, Bessie, he didn't even feel it. Look at him, he's ruining my store. He doesn't come when you call him and I bet he's hell in the kitchen at breakfast time, ain't he? Show him who's boss!"
It took a second before she tried again. With a flip of her wrist, she snapped the leash across the dog's back end and accompanied it with a firm, "Scout, no!"
As if by magic, the dog ceased all activity. He yelped and he ducked his head and he hunkered down to the floor, crawling on his belly to Bessie's feet. Burt had only seen that dog do that one other time and that was the time Zac laid down the law with the mere sound of his voice.
Bessie's eyes widened and Burt could see the pride in them. "He did it!" She hissed. "He listened!"
"See, there? What did I tell you? Dogs are fast learners. As long as you continue to use that voice on him, you shouldn't have to hit him again. Here." He took the collar and unbuckled it for her. "Put this around his neck. It's time that mutt was domesticated already. And keep the leash. He learns to walk on it, you can teach him all sorts of things. He'll finally be an acceptable member of society."
"Thank you, Mr. Anderson," she grinned as she crouched down to buckle the collar around Scout's neck. "Thank you so much!"
"Think nothing of it," he waved as he hobbled back to the counter.
Hesitantly, Bessie followed him and watched as he eased himself onto the stool that stood behind the counter. She looked at him with regret as she shook her head. "Zac's going to lose his religion when he sees that cane."
"Yeah, well. You wear them trousers in here the day it happens and lessen the blow for me, will you?"
"I'm serious. He'll be so upset."
"Well, Bessie, I'm old, I'm not immortal. He'll just have to get used to it. All it is is a touch of the ol' gout, anyway. Not to worry."
Burt would never admit it to anyone--he barely wanted to admit it to himself--but he had been feeling like there might be reason to worry lately. After all, the brother he'd just visited was his youngest brother and now he lay on his death bed, eaten up with cancer. Burt had just turned seventy-two and it was a miracle he'd even lived that long. He knew that in his old age, his days were numbered. And he feared that he'd never know what it was like to walk without a cane ever again. He was deteriorating quickly, his ability to bounce back now a thing of the past.
He'd known this when Zac was afforded the opportunity to pick up his old career. The truth was, Burt needed Zac and he'd come into the picture at exactly the right time. Zac was a good boy, strong-bodied, smart-minded, and whole-hearted, a lot like the way he'd want his own son to be if he'd had one. He reminded Burt a lot of himself when he was a young man in his determination for a future and in the way he loved his young better-half. Zac was full of passion and drive and there wasn't a person in all of Tulsa who was better suited to carry on Anderson's Feed and Seed's legacy than that boy.
However, the boy needed to be afforded the opportunity to find his own way. Burt couldn't be unfair and guilt him into staying with him and the feed store, though he could count several good ways that he couldn't do without him. He supposed that the Martin boy would do as a replacement for a spell, and he was doing all right considering the circumstances, but Burt prayed every single day for Zac's safe return. Not that he wanted him to fail...he just wanted him to finally realize where he belonged in life--and that was in Tulsa, running the feed store, marrying his girl, and raising a family of smart, healthy children.
Receiving the letter in the mail from Zac, confiding in Burt everything that Burt already knew, spoke volumes in what Zac was getting out of this trip. Sure, he had gone into it with high hopes of money and fame and reliving old memories, but what he was apparently getting was a healthy dose of soul-searching and Burt had never been more thrilled. He longed to send him a postcard saying, "Good, now when are you coming home?" But he'd never get it in time and the last thing Burt wanted was for Zac to realize that Burt was reaching his limitations. It turned out that Zac wasn't the only one who needed to be strong for Zac. Zac needed his support system from back home and Burt would be damned if he'd burden him with anything more than the burdens he was already dealing with.
Meanwhile, speaking of the Martin boy, he'd just come from the back of the store, wiping his hands on his apron, and much to the visible dismay of the Harlow girl. Burt watched her take a step back, her eyes wide with surprise, and address the young man. "Joey. What--what are you doing here?"
"Working," the redhead said. His skin was turning pink from the time he'd been spending in the sun, loading trucks with supplies. He took twice as long to get the job done as Zac did, largely due to the fact that his spindly arms couldn't lift near as much at one time than Zac's comparable mammoths could.
As Bessie's head darted over to Burt, he could read the blatant betrayal on her face. "Mr. Anderson--"
"Well, you can't see me doing it, can you?" Burt replied. "Zachary ain't here. I needed someone who could fill in, lift the merchandise, do the stuff I'm too old to do. So, I enlisted young Joseph, here."
"I'm learning a lot," Joey replied, letting out a breath as he crossed Bessie's path to adjust the dog food display that Scout had dismantled. "I'm learning lots of things like, 'Zac always loads this way' or how 'Zac can have this done in a fraction of the time you did it in' or, my personal favorite, 'I like Zac better than you, when's he coming back?' You know, never mind that I used to load these very same trucks for these men several years ago. They don't care. They don't even remember. It's all about Zac. Everybody wants Zac. Just like the rest of America did when he was in vaudeville. Why should things be different now?"
Accusingly, Bessie's eyes returned to Burt's and Burt held his hands up. "Don't look at me, little miss, he ain't talking about me."
"The farmers around here love him," Joey continued. "Hell, even District Attorney Connors's farmhand is wrapped around your beau's finger. That, I find interesting."
Bessie's eyes blinked as she haughtily lifted her chin. "Well. Zac is a very likeable person. He's good and he's kind to everyone, and he certainly doesn't keep important secrets from his best friends."
Joey's blue eyes glared at Bessie and his cheeks and ears turned a shade of red that was new, even to Burt. "Yeah?" He replied to her. "I bet he stops and considers a person's position before he passes judgment, too."
"I can tell you that he certainly cares about his friends and his family and will do anything in his power to keep anything bad from happening to them, that's for sure." Then she whipped her head around and snapped her fingers loudly. "Scout, come!" She commanded. With her dog in tow, she turned her attention back to Burt. "If you'll excuse me, I have some things to tend to today. I'll see you soon and we'll have lunch again. Okay?"
"Sure thing, young lady," Burt said to her as she watched her turn on her heel and lead her dog out of the store. He was bewildered and a little curious at her seemingly newfound confidence. She did have a birthday coming up, after all. Maybe she was simply growing up.
Looking over at Joey, Joey returned his stare for a moment before he stormed off into the storage room. Burt shook his head and adjusted himself on his stool, opening up his record book. Young people these days. Couldn't just say 'hello' and keep walking anymore, could they?
_______________________________________________________
Joey Martin had been spending quite a bit of time with Millie Jennings lately and it was giving him a complex. Millie was a good friend. Understanding, for the most part, non-judgmental, and tried as hard as she could to just let him be himself.
Unless she was drunk or feeling frisky, that was. Millie was sexy. The fact that he could recognize that gave Joey hope that he might actually lead a normal life someday. He was attracted to her dark, shoulder-length, soft waves and her long eyelashes and her womanly curves. Truth be told, he never thought he'd ever be attracted to anything described as "womanly," but Millie simply fascinated him. He'd never been fascinated by a woman before and it confused him because he was fascinated with her on what felt like an educational level. He wasn't romantically fascinated, but he'd sit and watch her live her normal life all day long if afforded the opportunity. He liked the way she drank out of cups and he liked the way she flipped her hair and he liked the way she rested her hand on her hip. In all honesty, he just liked the way she did everything.
Millie, on the other hand, was attracted to Joey and she was not ashamed to admit it. The pair had been friends for awhile, but how she managed to develop this recent crush, he had no idea. It seemed like ever since they'd shared that drunken kiss at the gypsy party, he couldn't beat her off with a stick. Was he just that good of a kisser or was she just lonely? Was it even possible for Millie Jennings to be lonely?
But Joey was lonely. And he hadn't exactly been trying to beat Millie off with a stick, either. He was grateful to have her around, despite the way she constantly gushed over him and, at no surprise, her presence seemed to keep his father off his back some. As a matter of fact, his father doted on Millie, constantly inviting her to supper just so he could tell stories of Joey's youth with stars in his eyes. Joey wasn't sure how he felt about this, but as long as it kept the peace under his roof, he was all for it.
It was one of these nights, after supper, that Joey and Millie sat together on a blanket on the edge of the Martins' cornfield, passing a flask back and forth with a pack of cigarettes between them. The sky was clear, the air was light and cool and was a welcome relief from the day's hot sun. Taking a drag from his cigarette, Joey flicked the ashes onto the ground and blew out the smoke. "I saw Bessie yesterday," he said.
"Oh, yeah?" Millie replied, her tone a little too lively for his liking. "I meant to ask you if you've picked up her gift yet."
He shook his head. "Nah. I'm, uh...well, I was gonna get her some new paints or canvas paper or something like that, but I don't think I'm going to her party."
"Joey! You have to go! How could you not? You're one of her very best friends! And you know she's going to need all the friends she can get with Zac not being there. Gosh, she'll be so miserable, I just know it. She loves him so much...why, I don't think I've ever seen a couple love each other as much as they do. It's so romantic."
As Millie gushed and awed over Bessie's relationship with Zac, Joey's stomach churned with guilt. The truth was, he loved Bessie and he liked Zac just fine. He seemed to make her happy and he and his brothers had been real accepting of Joey at the gypsy party not too long ago. However, he also valued his life and so he'd battled with himself ever since between ratting out Billy Connors and Lawrence Baker and staying loyal to his friends. And Bessie had made a good point at the feed store about it yesterday. After all, if it were her in his situation, she probably would have come right out of the shadows and called them on it right there. She would have defended Zac to the death without question, and he knew she would do the same if it was him or Millie or Judith, too.
Joey sighed to himself. He was such a failure. A complete wimp and a failure.
"What's the matter?" Millie asked, apparently sensing his distress.
He let out a breath, dropping his head. "Bessie's mad at me. Real mad. And for good reason."
She blinked at him in surprise. "Mad? Well, whatever for?"
"Because--" He paused and he let out a breath and then cleared his throat. "Because I kept something from her. From both her and Zac, really, something...something really important. I kept it from them to save my own ass and I couldn't bear it anymore, so I confessed to her at the Independence Day picnic and she's been mad at me ever since. I don't know if she'll ever forgive me."
"Jesus, Joey," Millie retorted, picking up the flask and turning it up. "What the hell did you do?"
He was silent as he looked Millie over for a moment. Finally, he swallowed and he said to her quietly, "I know what happened to the feed store."
"What?" Millie whispered in shock.
"Yeah," he nodded. "I was...I was in the woods--hiding behind a tree when I overheard Billy Connors and Lawrence Baker talking about it before it happened. I heard the plans, the conversation, everything. And, uh, then the gypsy party happened."
Millie's jaw dropped. "You knew then?! Joey, how could you?"
"I know! I know. I just...Millie, you know how hard things are for me. If I ratted them out, they'd finish me for sure. And I'm walking around with a target on my back for just being who I am in the first place. Could you imagine...?"
Millie sighed, her eyes darting into his and all over his face as she took another healthy swig from the flask. "You gotta go to the police," she said simply.
"The pol--? Did you not hear a word I just said?'
"Oh, stop being a wimp and be a man for crying out loud. You might be gay, but you're still a man. And a real man would have done the right thing and reported what he witnessed. How dare you? You sat there, beside Zac and Bessie, and spoke to them and stared both of them in the face, knowing what you knew, knowing what was coming, and you didn't say a word. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
"I am ashamed of myself! But don't you understand what'll happen if I go to the police with this? They'll tear me apart in the streets, the lot of them. And that's only after D. A. Connors gets them all off with a slap on the wrist, if that. Don't you understand, Millie? Those guys ain't gonna pay for anything so long as Billy Connors's daddy is involved. Reporting anything ain't gonna do nothing but put me in the gutter!"
"Or it could very well get justice for both Zac and Mr. Anderson--and for you. Don't you know the rumors say they think you did it?"
"Yeah, I know what they're saying. They talked to me for hours that day, it's not like I can forget it."
"So, then, you know reporting what you know is the right thing, no matter the result. Sometimes in life you have to take risks. Stand up for yourself, stand up for those you care about. You can't walk around carrying this around on your shoulders like that. Bessie wouldn't want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, you know that."
"Bessie don't care about anything anymore but protecting Zac Hanson," Joey spat. "She doesn't give a shit what the consequences are for anyone else, just so long as his name is cleared."
"Joseph Martin, I'm ashamed of you!" Millie scolded him following a healthy slap on his thigh. "You know the only reason those detectives even came to talk to you and me is because Bessie ratted herself out to her father and the rest of the police force just to clear your name! She could have gotten into a lot of trouble for that. Her father could have locked her up for the rest of the summer, broken her and Zac up, and ruined her entire life, but she took the risk. She took the risk for you. And you can't even be bothered to return the favor. I thought better of you, Joey. I really did." She shook her head and smoothed out her dress over her knees. "You know, it's because of Bessie Harlow that you only got questioned and not arrested that day."
Joey stared at Millie in silence as she lit up another cigarette and took a long, first drag, looking around into the darkness that surrounded them. "Millie," he said quietly. "I don't want to be me anymore."
Lowering her cigarette, her eyes finally met his, the moonlight glinting off of them, and he watched her expression soften. "Please don't say that. I really like who you are."
"I don't," he said, finishing his cigarette and fetching a new one. "You don't understand what it's like to be me. The looks, the comments...Millie, Tulsa isn't the place for a guy like me to be...a guy like me. Do you know how long it's been since I've even been to church? Years. Because the church does nothing but judge and my parents are ashamed of me. I can't even find a safe haven in my own house. I feel like I'm...like I'm in my own personal prison. I'm in hell, Millie. And I don't know how to get out of it, or even if I can."
"It doesn't have to be that way--"
"Except that it is. This place is too small for me. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately and I just...I need to get out of here."
The pair were silent for a moment before Millie scooted herself closer to him and surprised him by running her hand comfortingly up his thigh. "Please don't leave," she whispered. "I want you to stay. I want you here."
"Why?" He snapped back quickly. "What's in it for you?"
"I like you, Joey."
"Yeah? Why? Because you don't have your little boy toy to hang all over anymore?"
"You know, I'm really starting to dislike your tone."
"You know what I dislike? Looking at you and watching you and feeling your hand on my leg like that and wanting to be excited and like it, knowing that I should be, and constantly having to have a battle within myself about what I'm supposed to do every time you get close to me like that. If you had any idea what that's like..."
"I do know what that's like," Millie said. "Because I know you're not attracted to me that way. But I'm still attracted to you that way and I have a moral battle with myself every day over it. I don't know what it is, Joey, but I really, genuinely like you. I'm not--I'm not trying to rebound from Taylor or--I don't know, maybe I was in the beginning. But not anymore. And every single time we part it pains me to know that you'll never feel about me the way I feel about you. Do you know what that feels like?"
He stared back at her, reveling in the way the moonlight seemed to bounce off of her soft hair, the way it glowed on her porcelain skin, the way it glittered in her eyes. Unable to help himself, he reached up and touched her cheek, unable to resist the softness of her skin, breathing in the floral musk of her perfume as the soft breeze blew it into his face. "Help me, Millie," he whispered. "Please help me."
And then he did something he never thought he would do while still sober. He took her face in his hands and he kissed her. Her lips were soft, her red lipstick tasting of a faint wax that he surprisingly didn't mind. As his tongue met hers, her mouth tasted of cigarettes and liquor, a flavor that he also didn't mind because he knew his tasted the same. As he kissed her, she moved her body closer to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. This was a feeling that was nearly foreign to him, he found--the feeling of being wanted. It was at this point that he realized that it didn't matter that she was a woman--it just felt good to be wanted by someone.
After a minute, Millie broke their kiss, sliding an arm from around his neck and running her hand gently over his cheek. "Joey," she said softly. "What does this mean?"
"I don't know," he said, shaking her head. "I don't know anything anymore. I just know that I want to be normal. And that I'm attracted to you and I'd like to explore that further."
"You're attracted to me?" She asked him, her innocent eyes staring into his.
"On some level, yes," he admitted. "I don't know if that means there's hope for me or not, but I'd like to try."
"Oh, Joey," she whispered. "We should start slow. We should go on a date first."
"I can agree to that," he replied, resting his forehead against hers and letting his hands slide down her shoulders. "Right after I pay a visit to the police station."
In the dark, under the moonlight, a bright smile spread across Millie's face, brighter than the moon. Joey's heart warmed instantly, filled with relief that finally someone, somewhere, was no longer disappointed in him. At the same time, however, he now felt a brand new form of pressure. Trying to be "normal" with Millie could someday end up breaking her heart. And he couldn't afford to lose any more friends. He hoped this was it. He hoped this was his answer. To freedom, to acceptance, to safety...and to a brighter future.
Burt,
I realized that while I'm sitting around here writing sappy love letters to Bessie, I ought to write you a letter, too. Not a sappy love letter, though. I can promise you that.
Writing me back will be impractical, but that's okay. I just wanted to write you to let you know that all is well. It's hot as the blazes up here and I sure wouldn't want to imagine how hot it must be back there in Tulsa.
I hope business is well for you. I'd hate to imagine who you have replacing me right now. I hope he's good at what he does, for your sake. And I hope he doesn't get too comfortable because he's going to have to hightail it out of there when I come home.
I miss working in the store. Believe it or don't believe it, but it's the honest truth. I think I've decided that big city life just isn't for me anymore. I used to think it was, back in the vaudeville times. Back then it was fine dining and loose women and nobody to deny us anything. And as a man in his early twenties, that's the American dream. But now? Men my age are married with families now. Granted, a lot of them are suffering from the depression, but they'll bounce back, you know? The point is I think I'm ready to slow down and settle. I love my girl and I love my dog and I love Tulsa. I love the new friends I've been making lately. I love the fresh air and the slower-paced lifestyle. I miss it all, Burt. And I miss you, too. Don't mistake that for mush. Any of it. We're both men here, we don't do mush.
There's a lady here named Thelma. She wears a fake beard that passes for a real one and people pay to see a woman with a beard. She's a real sweet lady and a great friend. She reminded me recently that my job is to bring home the bacon. And I think I'm okay with that. I want to have a family someday and I want to bring home the bacon. I want Bessie and our children to look forward to seeing me walk through the door every day and be someone they can look up to and depend on. That's what I'm supposed to strive for, right? Isn't that the real American dream? Anyway, it is mine.
I'll be home in a few weeks. I'm writing you from Philadelphia and our run will be up here in the next couple of days and then we're off to New York to play Coney Island for a week and then a vaudeville reunion show in a theatre for a week that they still haven't told us the name of. At Coney Island we'll be living in our trailer, but for the theatre run they're putting us up in a hotel. I can't wait for that. Not that I'm not used to living and traveling in the trailer, but a soft bed and central air conditioning is always a welcome treat.
I hope this letter finds you well. I'll try to write again soon.
Your friend,
Zac
"Dagnabbit, girl, do something about that beastly mutt of yours, he's ruining my store again!"
Burt loved that Harlow girl. She was a sweet girl with nothing but the best intentions and she'd been kind and visited the feed store with lunch a few times since Zac had been gone. But that dog of hers, that Scout. He was a menace. And he seemed to grow worse and worse with every visit.
Just like he always did, he tore through the store at full speed, hauling ass into the back and back out again. He circled a few times, wreaking havoc with his heavy, brown tail, and finally skidded to a stop to sniff and paw at a display of dog chow. Burt should have known better. He should have known after the first time not to let that display near the floor. Now he merely shook his head and wiped his brow with the handkerchief that he stuffed back into his back pocket.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Anderson!" Bessie exclaimed in despair. "I try to tell him he can't come with me on these visits, but he loves car rides so much. And he's been absolutely pitiful since Zac's been gone. And he doesn't listen to me a single bit!"
Looking the dog over and watching Bessie as she unsuccessfully tried to keep Scout away from the merchandise, Burt huffed a breath and he shook his head. Hobbling on his new cane from behind the counter, he crossed the store and over to a wall just by the doorway to the stock room. Plucking a thick leather leash and a thick leather belt off of the wall, items waiting to be sold, he immediately donated them to the poor girl and her mangy scoundrel. Folding the brown, leather leash in half, he handed it to Bessie. "Here. Take this. Whip it across his hind end once and for all."
Her eyes widened in horror as she shook her head with rejection. "Mr. Anderson, no. I can't hit him, I'll hurt him!"
"You ain't hurting him, you're earning his respect. He ain't got no respect for you, child, and he'll never listen to a word you say unless you show him who's boss. Now you take this thing and give him one healthy lash across the hind end. It'll only take one time, I guarantee it."
She glanced at the leash in his hand and then she looked back up at him. "Zac never had to hit him to make him listen."
"Yeah? Well, Zachary ain't here. And that mutt needs to learn some discipline. Didn't your daddy ever belt you when you were a girl?"
"No."
Burt rolled his eyes. "Of course he didn't. Well, look here, I can't whip him, he ain't my dog. He's your dog. Now get to it or he'll be wild for the rest of his life."
As they spoke, Scout's pawing and clawing only intensified. Hesitantly, she took the leash from Burt and then looked down at the dog. And then, with as much strength as one of the fleas on the dog's back, she brushed the leash across his backside.
Scout didn't budge.
"Come now, Bessie, he didn't even feel it. Look at him, he's ruining my store. He doesn't come when you call him and I bet he's hell in the kitchen at breakfast time, ain't he? Show him who's boss!"
It took a second before she tried again. With a flip of her wrist, she snapped the leash across the dog's back end and accompanied it with a firm, "Scout, no!"
As if by magic, the dog ceased all activity. He yelped and he ducked his head and he hunkered down to the floor, crawling on his belly to Bessie's feet. Burt had only seen that dog do that one other time and that was the time Zac laid down the law with the mere sound of his voice.
Bessie's eyes widened and Burt could see the pride in them. "He did it!" She hissed. "He listened!"
"See, there? What did I tell you? Dogs are fast learners. As long as you continue to use that voice on him, you shouldn't have to hit him again. Here." He took the collar and unbuckled it for her. "Put this around his neck. It's time that mutt was domesticated already. And keep the leash. He learns to walk on it, you can teach him all sorts of things. He'll finally be an acceptable member of society."
"Thank you, Mr. Anderson," she grinned as she crouched down to buckle the collar around Scout's neck. "Thank you so much!"
"Think nothing of it," he waved as he hobbled back to the counter.
Hesitantly, Bessie followed him and watched as he eased himself onto the stool that stood behind the counter. She looked at him with regret as she shook her head. "Zac's going to lose his religion when he sees that cane."
"Yeah, well. You wear them trousers in here the day it happens and lessen the blow for me, will you?"
"I'm serious. He'll be so upset."
"Well, Bessie, I'm old, I'm not immortal. He'll just have to get used to it. All it is is a touch of the ol' gout, anyway. Not to worry."
Burt would never admit it to anyone--he barely wanted to admit it to himself--but he had been feeling like there might be reason to worry lately. After all, the brother he'd just visited was his youngest brother and now he lay on his death bed, eaten up with cancer. Burt had just turned seventy-two and it was a miracle he'd even lived that long. He knew that in his old age, his days were numbered. And he feared that he'd never know what it was like to walk without a cane ever again. He was deteriorating quickly, his ability to bounce back now a thing of the past.
He'd known this when Zac was afforded the opportunity to pick up his old career. The truth was, Burt needed Zac and he'd come into the picture at exactly the right time. Zac was a good boy, strong-bodied, smart-minded, and whole-hearted, a lot like the way he'd want his own son to be if he'd had one. He reminded Burt a lot of himself when he was a young man in his determination for a future and in the way he loved his young better-half. Zac was full of passion and drive and there wasn't a person in all of Tulsa who was better suited to carry on Anderson's Feed and Seed's legacy than that boy.
However, the boy needed to be afforded the opportunity to find his own way. Burt couldn't be unfair and guilt him into staying with him and the feed store, though he could count several good ways that he couldn't do without him. He supposed that the Martin boy would do as a replacement for a spell, and he was doing all right considering the circumstances, but Burt prayed every single day for Zac's safe return. Not that he wanted him to fail...he just wanted him to finally realize where he belonged in life--and that was in Tulsa, running the feed store, marrying his girl, and raising a family of smart, healthy children.
Receiving the letter in the mail from Zac, confiding in Burt everything that Burt already knew, spoke volumes in what Zac was getting out of this trip. Sure, he had gone into it with high hopes of money and fame and reliving old memories, but what he was apparently getting was a healthy dose of soul-searching and Burt had never been more thrilled. He longed to send him a postcard saying, "Good, now when are you coming home?" But he'd never get it in time and the last thing Burt wanted was for Zac to realize that Burt was reaching his limitations. It turned out that Zac wasn't the only one who needed to be strong for Zac. Zac needed his support system from back home and Burt would be damned if he'd burden him with anything more than the burdens he was already dealing with.
Meanwhile, speaking of the Martin boy, he'd just come from the back of the store, wiping his hands on his apron, and much to the visible dismay of the Harlow girl. Burt watched her take a step back, her eyes wide with surprise, and address the young man. "Joey. What--what are you doing here?"
"Working," the redhead said. His skin was turning pink from the time he'd been spending in the sun, loading trucks with supplies. He took twice as long to get the job done as Zac did, largely due to the fact that his spindly arms couldn't lift near as much at one time than Zac's comparable mammoths could.
As Bessie's head darted over to Burt, he could read the blatant betrayal on her face. "Mr. Anderson--"
"Well, you can't see me doing it, can you?" Burt replied. "Zachary ain't here. I needed someone who could fill in, lift the merchandise, do the stuff I'm too old to do. So, I enlisted young Joseph, here."
"I'm learning a lot," Joey replied, letting out a breath as he crossed Bessie's path to adjust the dog food display that Scout had dismantled. "I'm learning lots of things like, 'Zac always loads this way' or how 'Zac can have this done in a fraction of the time you did it in' or, my personal favorite, 'I like Zac better than you, when's he coming back?' You know, never mind that I used to load these very same trucks for these men several years ago. They don't care. They don't even remember. It's all about Zac. Everybody wants Zac. Just like the rest of America did when he was in vaudeville. Why should things be different now?"
Accusingly, Bessie's eyes returned to Burt's and Burt held his hands up. "Don't look at me, little miss, he ain't talking about me."
"The farmers around here love him," Joey continued. "Hell, even District Attorney Connors's farmhand is wrapped around your beau's finger. That, I find interesting."
Bessie's eyes blinked as she haughtily lifted her chin. "Well. Zac is a very likeable person. He's good and he's kind to everyone, and he certainly doesn't keep important secrets from his best friends."
Joey's blue eyes glared at Bessie and his cheeks and ears turned a shade of red that was new, even to Burt. "Yeah?" He replied to her. "I bet he stops and considers a person's position before he passes judgment, too."
"I can tell you that he certainly cares about his friends and his family and will do anything in his power to keep anything bad from happening to them, that's for sure." Then she whipped her head around and snapped her fingers loudly. "Scout, come!" She commanded. With her dog in tow, she turned her attention back to Burt. "If you'll excuse me, I have some things to tend to today. I'll see you soon and we'll have lunch again. Okay?"
"Sure thing, young lady," Burt said to her as she watched her turn on her heel and lead her dog out of the store. He was bewildered and a little curious at her seemingly newfound confidence. She did have a birthday coming up, after all. Maybe she was simply growing up.
Looking over at Joey, Joey returned his stare for a moment before he stormed off into the storage room. Burt shook his head and adjusted himself on his stool, opening up his record book. Young people these days. Couldn't just say 'hello' and keep walking anymore, could they?
_______________________________________________________
Joey Martin had been spending quite a bit of time with Millie Jennings lately and it was giving him a complex. Millie was a good friend. Understanding, for the most part, non-judgmental, and tried as hard as she could to just let him be himself.
Unless she was drunk or feeling frisky, that was. Millie was sexy. The fact that he could recognize that gave Joey hope that he might actually lead a normal life someday. He was attracted to her dark, shoulder-length, soft waves and her long eyelashes and her womanly curves. Truth be told, he never thought he'd ever be attracted to anything described as "womanly," but Millie simply fascinated him. He'd never been fascinated by a woman before and it confused him because he was fascinated with her on what felt like an educational level. He wasn't romantically fascinated, but he'd sit and watch her live her normal life all day long if afforded the opportunity. He liked the way she drank out of cups and he liked the way she flipped her hair and he liked the way she rested her hand on her hip. In all honesty, he just liked the way she did everything.
Millie, on the other hand, was attracted to Joey and she was not ashamed to admit it. The pair had been friends for awhile, but how she managed to develop this recent crush, he had no idea. It seemed like ever since they'd shared that drunken kiss at the gypsy party, he couldn't beat her off with a stick. Was he just that good of a kisser or was she just lonely? Was it even possible for Millie Jennings to be lonely?
But Joey was lonely. And he hadn't exactly been trying to beat Millie off with a stick, either. He was grateful to have her around, despite the way she constantly gushed over him and, at no surprise, her presence seemed to keep his father off his back some. As a matter of fact, his father doted on Millie, constantly inviting her to supper just so he could tell stories of Joey's youth with stars in his eyes. Joey wasn't sure how he felt about this, but as long as it kept the peace under his roof, he was all for it.
It was one of these nights, after supper, that Joey and Millie sat together on a blanket on the edge of the Martins' cornfield, passing a flask back and forth with a pack of cigarettes between them. The sky was clear, the air was light and cool and was a welcome relief from the day's hot sun. Taking a drag from his cigarette, Joey flicked the ashes onto the ground and blew out the smoke. "I saw Bessie yesterday," he said.
"Oh, yeah?" Millie replied, her tone a little too lively for his liking. "I meant to ask you if you've picked up her gift yet."
He shook his head. "Nah. I'm, uh...well, I was gonna get her some new paints or canvas paper or something like that, but I don't think I'm going to her party."
"Joey! You have to go! How could you not? You're one of her very best friends! And you know she's going to need all the friends she can get with Zac not being there. Gosh, she'll be so miserable, I just know it. She loves him so much...why, I don't think I've ever seen a couple love each other as much as they do. It's so romantic."
As Millie gushed and awed over Bessie's relationship with Zac, Joey's stomach churned with guilt. The truth was, he loved Bessie and he liked Zac just fine. He seemed to make her happy and he and his brothers had been real accepting of Joey at the gypsy party not too long ago. However, he also valued his life and so he'd battled with himself ever since between ratting out Billy Connors and Lawrence Baker and staying loyal to his friends. And Bessie had made a good point at the feed store about it yesterday. After all, if it were her in his situation, she probably would have come right out of the shadows and called them on it right there. She would have defended Zac to the death without question, and he knew she would do the same if it was him or Millie or Judith, too.
Joey sighed to himself. He was such a failure. A complete wimp and a failure.
"What's the matter?" Millie asked, apparently sensing his distress.
He let out a breath, dropping his head. "Bessie's mad at me. Real mad. And for good reason."
She blinked at him in surprise. "Mad? Well, whatever for?"
"Because--" He paused and he let out a breath and then cleared his throat. "Because I kept something from her. From both her and Zac, really, something...something really important. I kept it from them to save my own ass and I couldn't bear it anymore, so I confessed to her at the Independence Day picnic and she's been mad at me ever since. I don't know if she'll ever forgive me."
"Jesus, Joey," Millie retorted, picking up the flask and turning it up. "What the hell did you do?"
He was silent as he looked Millie over for a moment. Finally, he swallowed and he said to her quietly, "I know what happened to the feed store."
"What?" Millie whispered in shock.
"Yeah," he nodded. "I was...I was in the woods--hiding behind a tree when I overheard Billy Connors and Lawrence Baker talking about it before it happened. I heard the plans, the conversation, everything. And, uh, then the gypsy party happened."
Millie's jaw dropped. "You knew then?! Joey, how could you?"
"I know! I know. I just...Millie, you know how hard things are for me. If I ratted them out, they'd finish me for sure. And I'm walking around with a target on my back for just being who I am in the first place. Could you imagine...?"
Millie sighed, her eyes darting into his and all over his face as she took another healthy swig from the flask. "You gotta go to the police," she said simply.
"The pol--? Did you not hear a word I just said?'
"Oh, stop being a wimp and be a man for crying out loud. You might be gay, but you're still a man. And a real man would have done the right thing and reported what he witnessed. How dare you? You sat there, beside Zac and Bessie, and spoke to them and stared both of them in the face, knowing what you knew, knowing what was coming, and you didn't say a word. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
"I am ashamed of myself! But don't you understand what'll happen if I go to the police with this? They'll tear me apart in the streets, the lot of them. And that's only after D. A. Connors gets them all off with a slap on the wrist, if that. Don't you understand, Millie? Those guys ain't gonna pay for anything so long as Billy Connors's daddy is involved. Reporting anything ain't gonna do nothing but put me in the gutter!"
"Or it could very well get justice for both Zac and Mr. Anderson--and for you. Don't you know the rumors say they think you did it?"
"Yeah, I know what they're saying. They talked to me for hours that day, it's not like I can forget it."
"So, then, you know reporting what you know is the right thing, no matter the result. Sometimes in life you have to take risks. Stand up for yourself, stand up for those you care about. You can't walk around carrying this around on your shoulders like that. Bessie wouldn't want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, you know that."
"Bessie don't care about anything anymore but protecting Zac Hanson," Joey spat. "She doesn't give a shit what the consequences are for anyone else, just so long as his name is cleared."
"Joseph Martin, I'm ashamed of you!" Millie scolded him following a healthy slap on his thigh. "You know the only reason those detectives even came to talk to you and me is because Bessie ratted herself out to her father and the rest of the police force just to clear your name! She could have gotten into a lot of trouble for that. Her father could have locked her up for the rest of the summer, broken her and Zac up, and ruined her entire life, but she took the risk. She took the risk for you. And you can't even be bothered to return the favor. I thought better of you, Joey. I really did." She shook her head and smoothed out her dress over her knees. "You know, it's because of Bessie Harlow that you only got questioned and not arrested that day."
Joey stared at Millie in silence as she lit up another cigarette and took a long, first drag, looking around into the darkness that surrounded them. "Millie," he said quietly. "I don't want to be me anymore."
Lowering her cigarette, her eyes finally met his, the moonlight glinting off of them, and he watched her expression soften. "Please don't say that. I really like who you are."
"I don't," he said, finishing his cigarette and fetching a new one. "You don't understand what it's like to be me. The looks, the comments...Millie, Tulsa isn't the place for a guy like me to be...a guy like me. Do you know how long it's been since I've even been to church? Years. Because the church does nothing but judge and my parents are ashamed of me. I can't even find a safe haven in my own house. I feel like I'm...like I'm in my own personal prison. I'm in hell, Millie. And I don't know how to get out of it, or even if I can."
"It doesn't have to be that way--"
"Except that it is. This place is too small for me. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately and I just...I need to get out of here."
The pair were silent for a moment before Millie scooted herself closer to him and surprised him by running her hand comfortingly up his thigh. "Please don't leave," she whispered. "I want you to stay. I want you here."
"Why?" He snapped back quickly. "What's in it for you?"
"I like you, Joey."
"Yeah? Why? Because you don't have your little boy toy to hang all over anymore?"
"You know, I'm really starting to dislike your tone."
"You know what I dislike? Looking at you and watching you and feeling your hand on my leg like that and wanting to be excited and like it, knowing that I should be, and constantly having to have a battle within myself about what I'm supposed to do every time you get close to me like that. If you had any idea what that's like..."
"I do know what that's like," Millie said. "Because I know you're not attracted to me that way. But I'm still attracted to you that way and I have a moral battle with myself every day over it. I don't know what it is, Joey, but I really, genuinely like you. I'm not--I'm not trying to rebound from Taylor or--I don't know, maybe I was in the beginning. But not anymore. And every single time we part it pains me to know that you'll never feel about me the way I feel about you. Do you know what that feels like?"
He stared back at her, reveling in the way the moonlight seemed to bounce off of her soft hair, the way it glowed on her porcelain skin, the way it glittered in her eyes. Unable to help himself, he reached up and touched her cheek, unable to resist the softness of her skin, breathing in the floral musk of her perfume as the soft breeze blew it into his face. "Help me, Millie," he whispered. "Please help me."
And then he did something he never thought he would do while still sober. He took her face in his hands and he kissed her. Her lips were soft, her red lipstick tasting of a faint wax that he surprisingly didn't mind. As his tongue met hers, her mouth tasted of cigarettes and liquor, a flavor that he also didn't mind because he knew his tasted the same. As he kissed her, she moved her body closer to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. This was a feeling that was nearly foreign to him, he found--the feeling of being wanted. It was at this point that he realized that it didn't matter that she was a woman--it just felt good to be wanted by someone.
After a minute, Millie broke their kiss, sliding an arm from around his neck and running her hand gently over his cheek. "Joey," she said softly. "What does this mean?"
"I don't know," he said, shaking her head. "I don't know anything anymore. I just know that I want to be normal. And that I'm attracted to you and I'd like to explore that further."
"You're attracted to me?" She asked him, her innocent eyes staring into his.
"On some level, yes," he admitted. "I don't know if that means there's hope for me or not, but I'd like to try."
"Oh, Joey," she whispered. "We should start slow. We should go on a date first."
"I can agree to that," he replied, resting his forehead against hers and letting his hands slide down her shoulders. "Right after I pay a visit to the police station."
In the dark, under the moonlight, a bright smile spread across Millie's face, brighter than the moon. Joey's heart warmed instantly, filled with relief that finally someone, somewhere, was no longer disappointed in him. At the same time, however, he now felt a brand new form of pressure. Trying to be "normal" with Millie could someday end up breaking her heart. And he couldn't afford to lose any more friends. He hoped this was it. He hoped this was his answer. To freedom, to acceptance, to safety...and to a brighter future.