Southern Fried (26 page)

front door, we were stopped dead in our tracks at what we saw

through the pane of glass. “No fucking way,” coughed Zeb.

“Way,” I exhaled, staring at the pair of them making out like

two randy teenagers in the front seat. “If opposites really do

attract, I’d say it’s gonna take a forklift to pry those two apart.”

But pry apart they did. Like five minutes later. And then Jake

came running up as Stella drove off. We opened the door and he

came in, a sheepish grin on his devastatingly handsome face. He

handed us the bag of greens as we closed the door behind him.

“You know how to cook these, right?” he asked.

“Uh,” uhed Zeb, yet again.

“Figures,” he said, grabbing the bag back. “Kitchen?”

Zeb pointed and we followed close behind him. “Where did

Stella go?” I thought to ask, as we set him up with everything he

needed, horse tranquilizers included.

168 Rob Rosen

A flush of red crept up his neck. “She’s coming back for me

in an hour,” he told us. “Just had to finish something up at the

mansion first.” He looked up at us, a sheepish grin on his face.

“She’s something else, huh?”

I merely nodded. But Zeb replied, “Something else. Yup.

That’s a good description of her, all right.”

The sarcasm flew right over his head. “Yup,” he agreed, all

smiles as he tore up the greens and started washing them in a

colander. He looked up again and added, “Mind if I take a shower

afterward?” That bolt of crimson of his reappeared. “Stella and

I are going to, uh, to dinner, and I smell a bit too much like pool

and shame for anybody’s liking.”

“Yes!” hollered Zeb, Jake and I jumping at the shrieking

sound of it. “I mean, sure, bathroom’s all yours.”

We left him there cooking and moved to the living room.

“What was that all about?” I whispered.

He grinned, teeth gleaming in the light of a nearby lamp. “Just

wait,” he replied, his breathing now shallow.

And so wait we did, the aroma of the collard greens mixing

with the bacon grease and the hot sauce wafting over us, causing

my tummy to rumble. And still we waited. And waited. Ten

minutes later, he came out to the living room. “Too bad he’ll be

too unconscious to enjoy it,” said Jake, wiping the sweat away.

“Now point me to the shower.”

Zeb jumped up and pointed, again strangely too eagerly. Still,

Jake moved along and closed the bathroom door behind him.

“Are we still waiting?” I whispered. He answered by motioning

with his finger for me to follow, his other finger to his lips as

he shushed me. Then he tiptoed to a smallish room that held a

washer and dryer. “Why are we sneaking around?” I said in his

ear.

He smiled, devilishly, and pointed down. I followed his point

with my eyes and spotted the vent near the floor. Crouching,

I peered inside. Then gulped. Jake’s hairy calves were on the

other side, his boxers dropping to the ground a split second later.

southeRn FRied
169

Naturally, I craned my neck up, his stunning ass coming into

view, two alabaster cheeks rubbing together as he moved into the

shower. Zeb pushed his head in next to mine and let out a moan

just as the water was turned on. “Told you so,” he whispered as

we watched Jake get in.

Which meant, in case you weren’t keeping track, that in the

short while I’d been in South Carolina, I’d now seen most of

my butler and all of my stable boy, my gardener, and my pool

boy naked. Hopefully, my handyman woman wouldn’t be next on

the list. In any case, my eyes stayed glued to the vent, my cock

throbbing inside my robe. Zeb’s robe, of course, was already off,

his hand gleefully stroking away.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Missed opportunities suck, boss,” he replied, nearly in a pant.

I thought about it for a second and followed suit, both of us

naked, hard, stroking, and peering into the vent. Thankfully, Zeb

had clear plastic curtains in his shower or I might’ve had to fire

him. Especially when Jake started to soap up that Adonis-like

body of his and his cock started a slow arch up, uP, UP.

“Fuck,” Zeb groaned.

“Indeed,” I moaned back. “Where does he get enough blood

for that thing? It’s a wonder he doesn’t pass out.”

It was nine inches at least, sausage thick, the head wide as

a plumb, balls the size of lemons that swayed as he lathered it

up. It stayed at full-mast as he soaped the rest of himself foamy

before washing it all off. But the show was sadly over before it

had begun.

Or so we thought.

He turned the shower off and hopped out, feet and shins

staring out at us now, the overhead bathroom vent turned on so

he couldn’t hear us as we continued to jerk off a mere few inches

away from him. Then we watched as a wad of toilet tissue came

wafting down to the tile floor. Zeb turned his head slightly my

way. “Ignition,” he mouthed.

170 Rob Rosen

“Blast off,” I mouthed back, just as Jake squatted down, his

glorious cock on the other side of the vent, balls so low they

almost hit the floor. And then, like all good porn movies, a gob

of spit came cascading down a second later, dripping over all that

pulsing flesh.

Zeb reached over and started to stroke me, a sizzling jolt of

adrenaline coursing through in an instant. I reached for his and

matched him, stroke for stroke, our faces up next to each other

as we gazed on in admiration, until all three of us were in sync.

Jake jacked fast as lightning, balls rising now, his feet and legs

quaking as he worked his load up. I held off as best I could, but

I was close, so fucking close. As was Zeb, if the thickness of his

rod and all that heavy breathing were any indication.

Thankfully, our guest shot a few seconds later, his fat dick

head pointed down, thick streams of come spewing into the

tissue paper as his soft moans pushed through the vent, sending

both of our fists into overdrive. Zeb and I shot next, his cock

exploding in my hand, mine in his, both of us stifling our grunts

and groans as we watched Jake shake out every last milky drop.

Then we silently pushed away from the vent.

Thank goodness there was a towel nearby because Zeb and

I had made a considerable mess of ourselves, spooge flung

everywhere. Then we quickly and quietly ran back to the couch,

slipping our robes back on just as Jake reappeared, hair wet and

slicked back, a smile stretched wide across his face.

“I feel better now,” he sighed.

Zeb and I nodded. “I’m sure you do,” I said.

He cocked his head, but didn’t comment. Not that he had

time, because Stella was honking for him barely a minute later.

“We’ll pick you up in the morning,” he told us, smile going 100watt strong now. “You and the collards.”

And with that, he was gone.

Though clearly not forgotten. “It’s not cheating if there’s a

vent between you,” offered Zeb.

southeRn FRied
171

“And your boyfriend is right next to you,” I added, guiltily.

He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Exactly.”

§ § § §

In any case, we had more pressing matters to deal with. I

mean, we were given a second chance at Robert E.’s, and damn

if we weren’t going to take it. So, early the next morning, with

collard greens in hand, spiced up nicely with a healthy sprinkling

of hot sauce and horse tranquilizers, we found ourselves back

there. Jake rang the bell, shirtless yes again, just to help hedge our

bets, with the rest of us around the side of the house, listening

on.

“Well howdy-do,” purred Port. We could only imagine how

big his eyes were, with Jake’s pecs bouncing their greetings and

all.

“Morning,” said my pool man. “Brought you a present.”

“I can see that.”

Jake cleared his throat. “Collard greens,” he said. “Freshly

made. Secret recipe.” I held back a laugh, seeing as the secret was

that it was fit for Seabiscuit.

Then we heard nothing but the click of the door.

“We’re in,” Stella whispered.

“Well, Jake, anyway,” I whispered back.

The minutes ticked by like hours, all of us growing impatient.

And testy. And desperately in need of some coffee. “So, you and

Jake,” Zeb said, tearing at his cuticles.

Her face turned red. I was praying it wasn’t out of anger. But

then she exhaled and grinned. “He is, sort of, uh…”

“Yeah,” Zeb chimed in. “We know.”

“Uh huh,” I agreed.

“Uh huh,” said she.

And then, “What are we talking about?” It was Jake, rounding

the bend, and scaring the shit out of us.

172 Rob Rosen

We all jumped in place. “Fucker,” I exhaled, hand over chest.

“Yeah, fucker,” echoed Zeb.

“Yeah, fucker,” said Stella, only, it came out all raspy and

syrupy and dreamy.

Meaning, I quickly changed the subject. “Did he eat the

collards?”

Jake nodded and grinned. And winked at Stella. “Yup. All of

‘em. Lock, stock, and horse tranquilized barrel.”

“And?” I asked, holding my breath.

“Out like a light.” He moved back to the front of the house

and we followed. “Now, let’s get to that other old desk.”

We creaked the front door back open and tiptoed in. Place was

silent as a crypt. Or as Granny used to say, silent as a Protestant

in a Baptist church. Granny, you should know, hated Protestants.

Presbyterians, too. And we knew never to get her started on the

Mormons. Or the Lutherans. Come to think of it, Baptists were

about all she could stand. Besides the Jews. “Poor things,” she’d

say. “Already been through enough.” Not that she knew any Jews,

mind you. At least none she’d admit to.

Anyway, back to the tiptoeing. Which we did, all of us bunched

up, heading for the back room. And there it was. Older than the

one upstairs. Though still finely constructed, massive and thick,

with intricate etchings along the front, claw-toothed legs, scrolls

on the side panels.

We split up, Zeb and I to the left, Stella and Jake to the right.

All drawers were pulled out, rifled through, and neatly stacked

on the floor. As with the one upstairs, all we found were receipts,

useless paperwork, restaurant menus, and assorted phone

numbers on bar napkins. What with this being Port’s room, that

probably meant gay bar napkins, no doubt. But nothing else of

value to us.

The others moved back and let the expert get to work. Namely

me. The
Antiques Roadshow
king. Or queen. Take your pick. And

then, sure enough, there they were: the latch, the spring, the

southeRn FRied
173

hidden drawer sliding out from the side, long in length, narrow

in width, and deep. I sucked in my breath as I read the papers

within. Or at least the first half-dozen or so.

“What do they say?” Zeb whispered, noticing that I hadn’t

once blinked.

I looked up. “They’re letters, first, and then emails from

Granny. Printed. But all one-sided, no replies.” I scratched my

chin. “Which explains why her computer had been wiped clean. I

bet she had all the most recent responses saved. But they’re gone

now.” I very nearly cried.

“But what do
her
emails say?” Stella asked.

“They’re all about Beau,” I replied. “He turned up just before

I went off to college, it seems, judging by the dates of the emails.

In fact, just before I decided where to go to college. Or, that is,

where Granny decided.”

“New York,” Zeb said.

“Far away from here as she could get me, but still close enough

for her to be able to meet me when she wanted to,” I realized.

“But why?” Stella asked.

Again I stared at the letters and emails, reading several more

just to make sure. “It’s hard to piece together, since there’s no

responses and there seems to be a big gap in time,” I finally

replied. “But it looks like when Beau was born, the Pellingams

naturally didn’t want anyone to know about him.”

“Which makes sense,” said Jake. “Beau’s daddy is a senator’s

son. And a staunch conservative senator at that.”

I nodded. “But Granny talks about my parent’s death, too, in

relation to that.” I gulped, the blood draining from my face. “Just

before they died, my parents were trying to regain custody of

Beau. My mom had been pressured to give him up for adoption,

and now she’d had a change of heart. With Granny’s money and

connections, there was a chance to get him back, especially since

it looked like the adoptive parents had fallen on hard times.”

Zeb and Jake and Stella all gulped as well. “And then their car

174 Rob Rosen

blew up,” said Stella.

I nodded, again, weaker this time. “And then their car blew

up, right. And even though there was no direct evidence, Granny

suspected the Pellinghams. Came right out and said it in a letter.”

I showed them the exact one. “But then the letters stopped, until

Beau shows up again many years later on her doorstep, only, now