Authors: Rob Rosen
Tags: #MLR Press LLC; Print format ISBN# 978-1-60820-435-9; ebook format ISBN#978-1-60820-436-6, #Gay, #General, #Romance, #Erotica, #Fiction
that day. After we all grabbed our suitcases and beat a hasty
retreat. Because if there’s one thing Granny always told me it was
never to tempt fate. And we’d been at least teasing with it pretty
badly up until then, tickling at its sides, and it was growing mighty
pissed at us.
I closed up the mansion, just temporarily, mind you, and fired
Roy. Goodbye to bad rubbish, I figured. Though I couldn’t, for
some reason, track down Betty. Her I left a note for. And a check
to help tide her over until we returned, despite what she’d done.
We knew where Beau was now, so Granny’s lawyer was able to
fill him in on his inheritance. I’d not spoken with him since that
fateful day at Port’s, either. Oh, sure, I tried. And tried. But all I
got was a bunch of hang-ups. In any case, he had half the money
now. The mansion would have to wait for the time being. But at
least he didn’t have any more peaches to pick.
As for the birth certificate, we found out why the Pellinghams
wanted it so badly. See, only Beau’s copy listed the father. Or so
we assumed, since none of us had ever seen it, and it was the
original. This I figured because once I got back to New York, I
dug up what I could find on the Internet, and Robert E. wasn’t
listed as the father. Meaning, that little bit of information had
been wiped out over the years. Show’s you what a little power and
a lot of money can do.
In any case, so long as Beau had the original, he was safe.
And, from what he’d been saying all that time, he wasn’t in any
all-fired hurry to bring it to anyone’s attention. So that left us, me
and my staff, at least the faithful ones, to worry about. In other
224 Rob Rosen
words, we were
all
up in New York. Me, Zeb, Pearl, Jeeves, Jake,
and Stella. All living in a well-guarded apartment I’d rented for
us. And a large one at that. Heck, Pearl had her own maid now.
And she could afford it. That and vacations for all her children,
who were now far, far away from home. Out of the country even.
Safe and sound.
And all this we made sure the Pellinghams new. Made them a
promise that none of us would step foot in the South before the
election. I called the truce. They leave us alone; we leave them
alone. Sent them some pictures of our rag-tag team at the Statue
of Liberty, our huddled masses, Pearl’s in a fur coat, breathing
freely. I told them that we had no intention of bringing Beau’s
birth to light. And that was the truth. Because even though
Beau and I hadn’t spoken, I knew that was what he wanted, for
whatever reason.
Though, of course, we had other rabbits to pull out of our
hats.
And none of them would be revealed until the time was right.
So we laid low. As far as those nasty Pellinghams were
concerned, we were but a faint blip on their radar. They didn’t
see us or hear from us after that. Plus, we figured, the senator and
his son were too busy to give us much thought. The campaigns
kept them on the move. I know this because we kept tabs on
them. And the election. Which would be a close one for the both
of them.
The senator was too old, the opposition said. And his son was
too inexperienced. But they were still Pellinghams. With a lot of
clout. And a lot of old money backing them up. So, like I said, it
was close. All the way up until Election Day. Neck and neck. Or,
in the senator’s case, jowl and jowl.
Thankfully, our plan didn’t involve being down there for the
festivities. In fact, everything we did, we did through a well-paid
intermediary. Because there was no way I was going to let them
know for sure that it was all done by me. Way too many lives
were depending on our anonymity. In other words, it was fine
if he suspected, because I couldn’t control that, but I covered
southeRn FRied
225
our asses up enough so that at least he’d have no proof of our
involvement.
And so, on a cold November day, cold even in South Carolina
and Georgia, the first letters arrived by messenger. One to all the
major news stations. The DNA test. From the hair we took from
the senator. And from Vicky, Pearl’s eldest daughter. Because,
as Pearl had promised, she was going to make things right. Not
that the senator didn’t vehemently deny that it was his DNA, but
still, it was enough to start the scales tipping. Because illegitimate
children were one thing, but when they come from the former
maid of a racist senator, well now, that’s something else entirely.
Thankfully, Vicky was only too happy to help. Because, in
case I neglected to mention it, she’s the chief council for the
South Carolina Democratic Party. Graduated magna cum laude
from UNC. Top of her class in law school. All paid for by the
senator. Yep, there’s that irony again. Go figure.
An hour after the letters, the tapes arrived. Not that they
showed them on the air, mind you. Because Port might’ve looked
pretty stunning, naked and hard, to the likes of us, but, well,
maybe not to a good deal of the television viewing audience.
Though the audio was played. Loud and clear. Especially the
part we’re he implicated both his father and grandfather in nasty
doings. Ironically, he joked about them in a bunch of those porn
tapes that Zeb had stolen, too. And calling your dad a shriveldicked closet case and your granddaddy a drunken whore and a lousy cheating scum apparently doesn’t make for a good sound
bite. Unless you’re the opposing party. Then, all systems go.
And those guns that Jake had collected? Wouldn’t you know
it, they were all stolen. And covered in Pellingham fingerprints.
As for the emails and letters to and from Granny, and the rap
sheets for all those blackmailed people, we didn’t release any of
them. Mainly because we didn’t have to. See, once Pearl and Jeeves
came forward, in sworn affidavits sent to the stations, dozens of
others started pouring in. And all from the finest homes. Homes,
that is, that up until the election had been supporting the senator
and his son.
226 Rob Rosen
Yep, Jeeves promised to make things right, too. And better late
than never, right? Also better late than never, and an even bigger
surprise, was Jenny. She was smiling for the cameras, puffing away
on her filterless cigarettes, and admitting to Robbie’s payoff for
the rebel flag tattoo story. And, damn, if she didn’t look happy
at last. Of course, just in case the police felt like pressing any
charges, we had Granny’s lawyer backing her up soon enough.
So with all that, and not too surprisingly, the election was a
landslide. And one that buried all those Pellinghams, every last
one of them. Heck, not even the gay community wanted to touch
Port with a ten foot pole. Not even the ones that wanted to get
a gander at his, well, ten foot pole. Because, yes, somehow those
tapes of his got leaked on the Internet. With only the innocent
faces blurred out. Oops.
The shit hit that fan I told you about less than twenty four
hours later. On the day after the election, instead of recuperating
from their victory parties, all three generations of Pellingham
men were being handcuffed and brought in for questioning.
Blackmailing, you see, is a big no-no. Especially when you’re
blackmailing the help of the cream of the crop of so many old,
southern families.
We, of course, had our own victory party. All of us. And not
with any,
blech
, peach brandy, either. No sir, no how. Southern
Comfort for everyone, our glasses held up high, bright smiles on
all our faces.
“To Granny,” I said, face lifted up to the ceiling.
“To Granny,” they echoed.
And then, well, a few glasses later, anyway, I ordered us our
plane tickets home. My home. The South. Because that’s where I
belonged. Always had, always will.
§ § § §
The limos dropped all of us off in turn. It had been a fun
several months, but life needed to return to normal. Stella and
Jake had clients depending on them. Jeeves and Pearl had a
mansion to run, as was Granny’s wish. And Zeb had his horses.
southeRn FRied
227
And me, of course.
I entered the house. My house. Well, mine and Beau’s, but
why nitpick? The place was quiet as church. I looked up at the
chandelier gleaming overhead. “Sorry, Granny,” I said, with a
giggle. “Quiet as a liquor store in a dry county on a Sunday.” It
was a bit wordier, but it would do. I closed the front door behind
me and breathed in the familiar smell of the place, of the old
wood, of the dust that had settled in our absence.
I moved into the living room and looked up at the portrait
over the fireplace. Granny stared down at me, eyes boring into
my soul. “If only you could speak,” I said, with a sigh.
Then came the voice. “She’d tell you how fucked you are.”
I jumped and grabbed my chest. “Wh… what are you doing
here?” I stammered.
“Bail, boy,” said the senator. He was holding a gun that was
aimed right for my face. “See what happens when you have
nothing left to lose?” He smirked, then sneered.
“You still have the love of your family,” I told him. Sorry, I
just couldn’t help myself.
He spat on the floor and moved in, finger on the trigger. “Say
hello to that bitch of a granny of yours, boy.”
I gulped and backed up. I fell onto the sofa, eyes shut tight,
just as the shot rang out, the sound nearly deafening. Strangely, it
was mixed with the clanking of shattering glass, which seemed to
be ringing out in all directions.
Did he miss
? I thought to myself.
My hands roamed my body, my face, my head. No holes, c
heck
.
No blood, c
heck
. I squinted one eye open. And there he lay. Hole,
c
heck
. Blood, c
heck
. And lots of it. Then my head slowly rose up as I took in the window behind where he’d been standing, the glass
shards still tinkling down. I smiled when my eyes focused about
fifty feet away, though the jagged opening left in the bullet’s wake.
Zeb was riding up on a white stallion, pistol still gripped in his
hand. “You okay?” he asked, poking his head through.
“Did you really just rescue me on a white horse?” I managed,
228 Rob Rosen
staggering off the couch and around the lifeless senator’s body.
He patted said horse on its flank. “Your granny’s favorite,” he
replied, hopping off. “Belongs to me now.”
I smiled. “That makes two of us.” I closed the gap, our lips
melding together through the now massive hole in the window.
His kiss started my heart beating again, the blood, at last, returning
to my face. And, uh, to certain other body parts.
“I saw you two when I was out on my ride,” he said, when we’d
broken contact. “Thank goodness I keep a gun in the stables.”
I shivered. “Yeah, thank goodness.”
He stared past me at the body. “
Ouch
,” he managed.
I nodded. “To be fair, he had it coming.”
“Well, yeah, what with him killing your parents, and all,” he
said, with a frown. “But,
ouch
, I meant the rug. Can’t hardly clean
blood out of an antique carpet.”
I turned and stared at the portrait again. And I could’ve sworn
I saw it smile. “Don’t worry,” I said, with a nod her way. “I think
I can afford a new one.”
Which, of course, was a gross understatement.
And speaking of gross, the body was taken away a short while
later, the police and the ambulance and, of course, the news vans,
arriving about ten minutes after my hero rescued me. Needless
to say, word traveled fast. Meaning, Stella and Jake and Pearl and
Jeeves were by my side not too much later.
We were sitting at the kitchen table, once it all came to an end.
Pearl had whipped us up some baked chicken and greens, along
with tall glasses of iced tea and fresh-baked biscuits, the honey
and butter already dripping over the sides. Strangely, or maybe
not so much, that was about all I needed to get over the day’s
events. In fact, truth be told, I felt pretty damn good. Because,
yes, as Zeb had so aptly put it, the asshole had killed my parents
and was about two seconds shy of doing the same to yours truly.
I sat there thinking of all that when Stella nudged me. “Your
cell is ringing, Trip.”
southeRn FRied
229
I blinked and came out of my reverie. “Oh, yeah.” I glanced
at the screen, even more surprised than when I found the senator
in my living room. “Hello?” I said, nearly breathless.
“You’re on the news.” It was Beau.
“How do I look?” I couldn’t help but ask.
He chuckled. “Youthful and effervescent. That what you
were going for?”
“Well, it’s what it claims on the side of the bottle, so yes.” I
paused, my heart beating a hundred miles per hour. “You calling
to see if I’m okay?”
Again he chuckled. “I already know you’re okay. It said so on
the news. Plus, I’m talking to you right now, aren’t I?” Now it was