Two Sides of the Same Coin (18 page)

“My old man made my life hell for bein’ gay. He tried to beat it outta me and all sorts of horrible shit. But now I feel like I’m a really special guy. I just want to toast all of ya for bein’ my friends and carin’ enough to accept me for who I am. You have no idea how much that means to me. Cheers.”

We answered in unison, “Cheers.”

“You are special, Mike.” Sandy had jumped in.

Maria nodded and said, “Don’t let anyone tell you that you are not a very good man, Mike.” José reached over and shook Mike’s hand.

“Now that you stopped acting like a hijo de puta, cabrón, you are a really good guy, and I’m happy to be your friend.”

I leaned into Mike and said, “Mother effin SOB.”

Maria laughingly slapped José’s hand.

Mike said loudly, “You are all gonna make me as cocky as Jeffy here.”

“Thanks,” I muttered dryly, once the laughter died down. Sandy mentioned that she got off in ten minutes, so she’d be right over. The band started, and they weren’t half bad. First song they did was “Toes” by the Zac Brown Band. Then after introducin’ themselves, they launched into “Tequila Makes her Clothes Fall Off.” Sandy wandered over.

“Boss let me off a few minutes early if you and me would dance,
Jeffy
.”

“I’m happy to dance with ya, Sandy, but there’s only one person that calls me Jeffy, and it ain’t you darlin’.” We walked out to the dance floor, caught the beat, and started two-steppin’.

“Actually, Jeff, I think it’s kind of cute he calls you that.”

“Yeah, I do too. I think I got it bad.”

“Have you guys slept together yet?” Sandy did have a reputation for bluntness. She was probably my best and oldest friend, so I bit back the “it’s none of your business” type reply I was about to make, and answered.

“No, I think it’s better if we get to know each other first. I seen too many guys who start on the physical right away, and then when that calms down, find out they don’t have anything in common. I don’t want him and me to be like that.”

“It’s pretty amazin’ how he’s opened up since you two started hangin’ together. He doesn’t seem so angry either.”

“José said the same thing.” By this time, the song was done. The band struck up “Why Don’t We Just Dance?” by Josh Turner. It was a shuffle, so we stopped and caught the new beat. Every third set of steps or so, I’d twirl Sandy around. We were both having fun, and a few other couples had joined us on the dance floor. We finished the song and headed back to the table.

“You dance, Mike?” Sandy asked him.

“Ain’t never learned. I’ll have to though. You look like you both were havin’ fun.”

“It is a lot of fun, buddy.” I drained my mug of beer. Sandy poured me some more.

“So how did your photo shoot and interview with Mary Grace go?”

“It seemed to go pretty well. Fast actually. She wants to get another picture or three after we get the first snowfall.” Sandy raised her eyebrows, and Mike got a curious expression on his face.

“You remember that year I came home for Christmas and we were goin’ through town and I had that Santa cap over the top of my cowboy hat? We met uptown for the Christmas at the End of the Road carolin’.”

“Yeah, how could I forget that? I remember when we were carolin’, you insisted on singin’ ‘Santa Got Lost in Texas’.” She laughed. “But everyone did like you singin’ a cappella ‘Christmas for Cowboys’.”

“Mary Grace wants to get some shots of me with the Santa cap on top of my cowboy hat in the snow.”

“Do I get a copy?” Mike grinned as he asked.

“First one.”

“You guys are getting too saccharine sweet. I’m gonna get us a refill on our pitcher.”

“You’re the one who’s been workin’ overtime tryin’ to fix us up!” She just smiled and headed off to the bar. José and Maria got back to the table and sat down. Maria turned to Mike.

“Mike, if you want to dance just let me know.”

“I never learned how to dance, Maria. My old man saw it as a Satan-led pastime. But sometime, if you don’t mind, I’d love to learn.”

She reached across the table and held out her hand. They shook and she said, “You’re on for that!”

Just then there was a commotion over near the pool table. A group of bikers was playing pool. Winslett is a popular stop for bikers who do the Cascade loop highway, so that wasn’t very unusual. One greasy and heavyset guy was laughing really loudly. One of the girls with them said something, and he pushed her away hard. He looked to be drunk. His black T-shirt was riding up over his beer gut, and his filthy jeans made him look like a plumber. His long greasy hair was tied back in a ponytail. Just then Sandy passed by with the pitcher of beer she was bringing us. The fat biker laughed, leaned over, and pinched her backside, hard, when she passed. Sandy let out a yelp and threw the pitcher of beer at him drenching him. He shook it off his face and started toward her. Brian, the bouncer, was moving from behind the bar. Mr. Dobbins, the owner, had hauled out a pistol from below the bar. I had already gotten there.

I stood in front of Sandy and told the fat biker, “Time for you to leave.”

“Get the fuck outta my way asshole. I’ll leave after I slap that bitch around good.”

I looked at him. He was trying to stare me down, which was difficult as beer was running down his face and getting into his eyes. All of a sudden he blinked, and I threw a straight punch right into his solar plexus. He immediately began wheezing and gasping, since I knocked the wind out of him. I reached around, grabbed his ponytail with one hand and the back of his belt with the other. I pushed him forward and out the door. I shoved him hard enough that he stumbled over the boardwalk still gasping and fell in the street. Brian, Mr. Dobbins, his pistol, José, and Mike, were escorting the remaining bikers. As I turned to go back in the bar, the fat biker had gotten his wind back.

“You’re dead you fuckin’ redneck asshole.”

“Funny, I don’t feel dead. I’m standin’ here breathin’ enough to smell your stink from way over there, Porky.”

“I’ll kill you!”

“I’m quakin’ in my boots here, Porky. What ya gonna do, gas me to death with your stench, or ya gonna sit on me?” By this time, his friends had gotten him up and were dragging him off. He turned back and with a final hate filled glance left. We all turned back into the bar.

“You okay, Sandy?” She looked fine, but as mad as a wet hen.

“Yeah, thanks, Jeff. I was about to knock his teeth out with the pitcher.”

“Let’s go back to the table,” Mike added. When we got there, Mr. Dobbins walked over with a pitcher.

“This one’s on me, Jeff. You ever want a part-time job as a bouncer, let me know.”

“Thank you, sir, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble; just looked like you needed a bit of help takin’ out the trash.”

“No trouble from my point of view, son. You kids enjoy now.”

We all chorused, “Thanks.”

“You moved very fast there, boss. That hijo de…,” he looked at Maria, “that idiota didn’t stand a chance.”

“We had your back, Jeff,” Mike added and José nodded. “Those friends of his were closin’ in on you from behind.”

“You and Maria need a ride home or an escort tonight, just in case that trash shows back up?”

“We’re stayin’ out at the ranch tonight, right, Maria?”

“Right, Sandy!”

“I mean, Jeff, if we’re cookin’ and gettin’ ready for a bunch of dudes tomorrow, I want to be there. Besides, someone’s gotta chaperone you and Mike, so ya don’t get into trouble.” José laughed at Sandy’s remark.

Mike turned red, and I just answered, “I can handle trouble.”

“See there Mike?” Sandy winked at him. “You’re gonna be in good hands.”

“I got no doubt about that, Sandy.”

“Jeff, for tomorrow I was thinkin’ you could make your cowboy spuds instead of baked potatoes. That little guy who wants to be a cowboy so bad, will love ’em. You ever tried Jeff’s cowboy spuds, Mike?”

“Can’t say as I have.”

“You are really missing out, mi amigo. They are very delicioso,” José added.

“Okay, I can make ’em, especially as you’ll be there to peel the potatoes, Sandy.”

“What are cowboy spuds, Jeff?” Maria asked.

“Just some sliced potatoes, bacon, fried onions baked with some milk.”

“That sounds really good. I can’t wait to try them.” Just then the band struck up “Should’ve Been a Cowboy” by Toby Keith. All five of us started singing. Sandy and José couldn’t sing a note, but that didn’t stop them. We were loud enough for the guy who was singing in the band to bring his microphone down to us. It was a really fun time.

We stayed around another half an hour or so, planning tomorrow. We had some ideas to make the kids feel really happy, and hopefully something for the adults too. Mike, José, and I walked the girls out to Sandy’s truck and made sure they got in all right. José was parked right next to them, so he followed. Mike and I were walking back to my truck when a couple of shadows stepped out from a passageway between the buildings. It was the fat biker and a couple of his friends.

He sneered at me and then said, “I told you I was gonna get you asshole.”

“Like I said Porky, I’m quakin’ in my boots.” He laughed and flicked open a switchblade. Mike had moved to my side. “I got it, Mike. When I kicked the shit outta this trash earlier, I didn’t even break a sweat. It might be a bit more fun this time since Porky feels more like a man with that big, bad ol’ knife to hide behind.”

“Okay, Jeff, just let me know if you need a hand.”

“Thanks, buddy, but I won’t.” I said to the fat biker, “So hidin’ behind that makes you feel more like a man than a pig that just about got butchered earlier, eh Porky? Well, Porky, you just proved how stupid you are. I kicked your ass earlier, and you’re back for more, you stupid stinkin’ dumbfuck.” I’d been trying to get him mad and make him lose any caution he might’ve had. He was still a little drunk, that was obvious in the way that he moved.

“Here piggy, piggy, piggy, soooey, here pig, pig, pig,” I hollered out at the biker. His face turned red with rage, and he charged with the knife held out in front. I moved forward real quick and raised my left forearm from the inside against the arm holding the knife. His arm went wide, and the knife flew out of his hand. With my right arm, I punched him in the solar plexus again as hard as I could. It knocked the wind out of him again. This time though, I followed through and raised my left knee real quick right into his balls. He let out a wheezy squeal and doubled over. I raised my left knee again and grabbed his head and slammed his face against my knee coming up. I felt his nose break. I pushed him back and just for good measure, punched him hard in his broken nose. He went down like a sack of potatoes. I looked at the other three bikers who were just standing there.

“Next?” They looked at me and each other. Mike was standing next to me and cracking his knuckles.

“We don’t got no beef with you, dude; it was all our friend.”

“Why don’t you get him picked up then and head on outta here?” They moved forward, skirting Mike and me widely. They picked up their friend, who was out like a light, and half carried, half dragged him down the street.

“You okay, Jeff?” Mike asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Wish he would have learned after the first time though.”

“He didn’t seem too awfully bright though, so don’t surprise me none.”

“Thanks for watchin’ my back there, buddy.”

Mike grinned at me. “I like watchin’ your backside, Jeffy.”

“You know what I meant!” I couldn’t help but laugh too.

“Yeah, I do. And don’t worry. I am always gonna have your back.”

“Thanks.” We walked over to the truck and headed back west to the ranch. The night was cold, the air clear, and the stars were close enough to touch. “Bring It on Home” by Little Big Town was on the radio. I had my right hand on the divider between the seats. Mike reached over and clasped it.

“You don’t mind do ya, Jeffy?”

“Not at all, buddy. It’s nice.”

“One thing I will say, life with ya sure as hell ain’t borin’.”

“Would ya rather it would be?”

“Not at all, not at all.” We rode along in silence and finally reached the turn off to the ranch. I headed up the hill and parked in my usual space in the yard. The light in the bunkhouse was on, so José must’ve got there okay. I could see into the windows in the back of the house. The girls were in the kitchen. We jumped out of the truck. I walked around to the passenger side. I put my arms on Mike’s shoulders. We touched foreheads and leaned into each other.

“I had a great time, Mike. Thanks for joinin’ me.”

“Hey, Jeffy, should I consider this a date?”

“Why don’t you just do that? So did you have a good time?”

“Nicest first date I ever had.” I put one of my hands on the back of his neck and slid the other down the middle of his back. I pulled him into me for a kiss. He still tasted like beer. I explored his mouth with my tongue and rubbed the back of his head below the brim of his hat. Our arms and legs were all tangled up in a good way. His beard felt good on my lips, I knew tomorrow, we’d both have a bit of beard burn. The kiss seemed to last a long time. It was slow, sweet, and held a lot of promise. We pulled back and just looked at each other. The look was deep, soul searching, and filled with caring and promise.

“Good night, buddy.”

“Night, Jeffy, you have a good sleep and sweet dreams.”

“You too, buddy.” We hugged again and then set off in different directions, him to the bunkhouse, and me to the house.

Chapter Eight

S
ATURDAY
dawned clear and sunny. It was a bit cold, but with the sun out, it should take off the chill and make it shirtsleeve weather. It would be a good day for visitors. In the back we had a big wooden picnic table, and that would be a nice place for dinner. The ranch is at the foot of Lucky Jeff Bluff. Supposedly, I got named after it because Mom and Dad wanted me to always be lucky. I jumped up, threw the covers back, and pulled on a pair of socks, my jeans, which I’d left hangin’ over the bed post, and a T-shirt. I pushed the sleeves of my long handles up, and brushed my teeth. My hair was a mess, so I doused it with water, dried it with a towel, and combed it. I ran the comb through my beard, which was pretty short and better behaved than my hair. Since the girls were over, I thought I’d make myself presentable. I headed downstairs to the sound of laughter in the kitchen and the smell of coffee and bacon. Sandy was at the stove cooking bacon and eggs. Mike and Maria sat at the table drinking coffee. I had to laugh when I saw Mike. We were dressed exactly alike—jeans, black T-shirts, and white long handles with the sleeves pushed up. Only difference was he had his cowboy hat on. Mike was entertaining the girls with tales of our meeting the bikers outside One Eyed Jack’s. Sandy looked at my knuckles. I looked down and realized they were cut up. Porky’s teeth had done a job on them.