Southern Fried

Southern Fried, the romantic misadventure of Trip Jackson and his stable boy, Zeb Jones, is about the love of family, the love of one’s heritage, and the love between friends, both old and new. It’s as antebellum as Tara ever was, but with a deliciously suspenseful and sexy twist. Because what our heroes are quick to discover is that not all is as it appears to be, and sometimes life can get turned upside down when you least expect it. Especially when lip-smacking romance, deep-dish humor, and a side of mystery fall on your plate, all, of course, served up southern-style. “Southern Fried by Rob Rosen is a charismatic, erotic, comic, and gastronomic trip through the South with a dash of mystery and pinch of peaches. You’ll close the book with a smile and a craving for sweet tea.” -- Greg Lilly, author of the Derek Mason Mystery series “Southern Fried is Rob Rosen’s best yet, a sexy and fun whodunit set in a southern mansion full of soul food and mystery. The chapter titles could have been pulled from Paula Dean’s recipe files, so be forewarned not to start reading on an empty stomach. Did I mention sexy? Plenty of that and it’s hot!” -- Mark Abramson, author of the Beach Reading series “With any of Rob’s popular books you know you are going to get something good, something interesting, and this Southern Fried tale is no exception.” -- Wayne Mansfield, Author of The Stroke of Midnight

MLR PRess AuthoRs Featuring a roll call of some of the best writers of gay erotica and mysteries today! Derek Adams

Z. Allora

Maura Anderson

Victor J. Banis

Jeanne Barrack

Laura Baumbach

Ally Blue

J.P. Bowie

Barry Brennessel

Michael Breyette

Nowell Briscoe

P.A. Brown

Jade Buchanan

James Buchanan

Charlie Cochrane

Karenna Colcroft

Jamie Craig

Kirby Crow

Ethan Day

Diana DeRicci

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Theo Fenraven

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Storm Grant

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David Juhren

Kiernan Kelly

M. King

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J.L. Langley

Josh Lanyon

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William Maltese

Z.A. Maxfield

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AKM Miles

Reiko Morgan

Jet Mykles

William Neale

Cherie Noel

Willa Okati

Neil S. Plakcy

Jordan Castillo Price

Luisa Prieto

Rick R. Reed

A.M. Riley

Rob Rosen

George Seaton

Jardonn Smith

Caro Soles

JoAnne Soper-Cook

Richard Stevenson

Liz Strange

Marshall Thornton

Lex Valentine

Maggie Veness

Haley Walsh

Missy Welsh

Stevie Woods

Lance Zarimba

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southeRn

FRied

Rob Rosen

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Copyright 2011 by Rob Rosen All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Published by MLR Press, LLC 3052 Gaines Waterport Rd. Albion, NY 14411 Visit ManLoveRomance Press, LLC on the Internet: www.mlrpress.com Cover Art by Deana C. Jamroz Editing by Rick R. Reed

Print format ISBN# 978-1-60820-435-9 ebook format ISBN#978-1-60820-436-6 Issued 2011

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.

Dedication

For my husband, Kenny, who’s the butter on my biscuit.

ChAPteR 1 Fresh Baked Biscuits Psst. Hey, hey you up there. Yep, you, you looking down all confused like. I know we’re not supposed to talk, you and me, but, heck, if I’m gonna be in it up to my ears, might as well take as many innocent bystanders right along with me, right? Not that you look all that innocent, mind you, but still. Anyway, the shit already hit the fan – fuck it, fans, plural – and damn if I didn’t leave my shit-smock back in New York. Who knew it would come in handy, right? I mean, funerals are sad and all, but they’re not supposed to be friggin’ deadly. Least not for those of us still around to witness them, I mean. Granny, on the other hand, well now, it couldn’t have been more deadly for her, I suppose. Still, from what those nice people down at the mortuary told me, she was the prettiest corpse you ever laid eyes on, which, considering she was ninety when she kicked that old proverbial bucket, that’s really saying something. Heck, they said that by the time they were done with her she didn’t look a day over sixty. Kind of bitter irony, I suppose: looking your best and never getting a chance to see it. Though with Granny, I wouldn’t put it past her. She was probably hovering over the service the entire time. “Wait a darn minute,” I bet she was hollering over to that angel, Gabriel. “Yeah, yeah, I see your damn light; just hold your horses. Gotta find out what these folks really thought of me.” Truth was, it wasn’t a whole hell of a lot. People respected her, for sure, but love is such a strong word. And so is hate. Oh, I certainly loved her, of course, but she was my granny. Only family I ever really had. But she was more of an acquired taste. Sort of like escargot. I mean, you can cover it up with rich sauces and charge a pretty penny for it, but when it comes right down to it, you’re still just eating a bunch of snails. That was Granny, all

2 Rob Rosen right: a bit of a slug with one damn fine, pretty shell. Sorry, Granny, but I’m not telling this nice person anything they couldn’t just as easily find out for themselves. I mean, you just had to listen to the scuttlebutt outside the funeral home if you wanted to get yourself an earful. Not that they weren’t trying to keep it from me, her only living relative and supposed heir to her fortune, though. Except I heard it just the same. Loud and clear. Wait, wait. You caught that supposed heir, huh? Well, and rightly so. See, I assumed everything was coming to me, too. Like I said, we were all each other had, in terms of blood. My parents, my mom being Granny’s only daughter, see, both of them were killed in a car accident when I was just a baby. No other family from what I’d been told. No aunts or uncles, maybe some distant cousins nobody ever talked about. No one sending Christmas cards who wasn’t on the payroll, though. So the estate should’ve come to me. Lock, stock, and barrel. Smoking barrel, as it turned out. Cue the doom and gloom music. But I’m getting ahead of myself here. I mean, you have to be wondering why this is the first time I’d been back home in nearly ten years, right? Well, that was Granny’s doing, too. Come to think of it, everything was Granny’s doing. Always was. And, based on the reading of her will, would be for quite some time to come. “Nothing for you down here, Trip,” she told me, way back when, a week shy of my eighteenth birthday as she packed me up and shipped me off, first and last time she ever stepped foot inside an airport. “Just me and a bunch of pissy servants out in the middle of nowhere. Best for you to go up North, get yourself a decent education.” Not that I had a choice, really. Once she made up her mind, that was all she wrote. Besides, she was right. Granny lived deep, deep inside the South Carolina low country, and that’s about as deep as a fellow can get, the nearest neighbor a good several

southeRn FRied 3 miles away down a barely paved road. More alligators than people in those parts. Still, it was the first time I’d been away, and I was pretty near terrified. And the North? Granny was a die-hard southerner. Most I heard about the North was that it was full of people who talked too loud, too fast, and ate with their mouths open. Meaning, about all I could picture were folks with really strong jaws. Plus, there wasn’t a Baptist in the bunch. Least not her kind of Baptist. But, like I said, that’s what she wanted for me and that’s what I got. A kiss and a hug and a wallet full of cash, and I was on my merry way. New York City. And, man, did I ever take a bite out of that apple. Sucked it dry, seeds and all. Two college degrees, a handful of ex boyfriends, and a closet full of Marc Jacobs later, and, wham, you got yourself the man standing before you today. All traces of the South were wiped clean the hell away. Mostly. Which is why, getting off that plane in Savannah, I felt like a fish out of water. Catfish, if I had my way. Southern fried. Makes your mouth water, doesn’t it? Anyway, not like me and Granny didn’t see each other in all that time. She’d get her chauffeur to drive her up to Atlanta, fly me down, meet me at the Peachtree Hotel, get us a couple of suites overlooking the city. She’d take me shopping, catch me up on her antics, and try to pry me for mine. Though good luck with that, right? Would’ve put her in her grave way before her ninetieth birthday, let me tell you. A boy can antic the hell on out in New York City. Antic enough to leak on over to New Jersey, for that matter. Suffice it to say, Granny got the watered down version. Buckets of water, really. Oh, she knew I was gay, and all. Would’ve taken a whole ocean to water that little tidbit down. And let me tell you, there’d still be some flame left over. Still, the Southern Baptist in her got put on the back burner when it came to the gay stuff. Granny was a veritable fag hag when she wanted to be, in fact. Dragged me to more than my share of gay bars in Midtown Atlanta. Queen of the ball, she was. Queen of the queens of the ball, to be exact.

4 Rob Rosen But that was the side of Granny only I ever got to see, when she let her hair down, kicked up her heels. Orthopedic though they were. Back at the mansion, and, yes, it was as antebellum as Tara ever was, she was a prim and proper and very, very bible­ toting-southern lady: hair in a bun, blouse buttoned up to her neck, lips pursed, eyes steely gray. The woman put the fear of God into you, she did. Me included, most times. And, man, was it ever hard to go back there, what with her gone. Place was soulless. All shell, the snail now in nothing but plain old wood. I gulped, standing on the porch, a trail of sweat bee-lining down my face, luggage off to the side. Then I rang the bell, I Wish I Was in Dixie gonging from within as I took a deep breath, the fragrant smell of magnolia blossoms wafting languidly up my nostrils, with jasmine close behind. “Old times there are not forgotten,” I sang, tapping my foot as the door creaked on open. “Trip, that you?” came the familiar voice, her head poking out, a smile spreading wide across her dark, round face. My smile instantly matched hers. “Pearl?” I managed, my heart very nearly bursting at the seams. The door continued moving open. “Who else would it be, boy?” She held out her arms to me, rolls of fat dangling down, swinging like a pendulum. I ran in and gave her a hug, face buried in layers of cotton and breast. She smelled like fresh cut corn and okra, a splash of vanilla with a dash of Kentucky bourbon. She smelled, in fact, like my childhood. Her arms closed in tight, the hug like a vice as a tear streamed down her cheek before tickling my forehead. “You’re looking good, Pearl,” I managed, voice muffled. She laughed. “All you seeing is titty, boy,” she chided, slapping me on the shoulder. “Well, could be worse,” I retorted, backing up an inch. “You could be much taller and I could be much shorter.”

southeRn FRied 5 She paused, letting that image splash across her brain. Then she laughed and smacked me twice as hard. “You’re a foul talking boy, Trip Jackson. Who done taught you how to talk that way?” She winked and led me inside. “My lips are sealed,” I replied, closing the door behind me, the smell of magnolia replaced by Pine Sol, jasmine by fresh baked biscuits. “You got strawberry jam to go with those?” I asked, head craning from side to side, taking it all in after being away for so very long. “With butter and honey,” she told me, grabbing my hand and leading me inside the belly of the beast, not a stick of furniture moved in well over a decade, and all of it clean as a whistle, not a speck of dust to be found. Pearl saw me staring and nodded. “She’s gone in body only, sugar. I swear, I think she’s still around watching me like she always did. Making sure I keep it just like she likes it. Fussy old biddy.” I laughed, despite myself. “That any way to talk about the dead, Pearl?” We walked into the kitchen, the yeasty aroma so intoxicating it very nearly made me hard in my jeans. Then she replied to my question. “Trust me, boy, that’s saying it nicely.” She moved to the oven and removed the tray of biscuits, flaky and perfect, just a smidgen of brown around the edges. She cut one open for me, a puff of steam rising up, before she smeared a slab of butter on top, a swirl of honey, a glob of jam over it all. Then she served it to me on Granny’s favorite china, a glass of whole milk set to the side. I smiled wide. “It’s a miracle her heart didn’t go out long before now,” I remarked, taking in Lord only knew how much cholesterol and fat. Gleefully. It went down smooth as silk, blocking several arteries along its murderous path. Pearl returned my smile with one of her own, big and white against a sea of honey-colored brown. “Boy, it’s a miracle her liver didn’t go out long before that. Only reason she died was because we plum ran out of that Jack Daniels of hers.” She made the sign of the cross over her chest. “God rest her soul.”

6 Rob Rosen “And bless her liver, too,” I added, mimicking the gesture.

“Amen.”

She joined me at the kitchen table, two biscuits to my one.

“Funeral’s tomorrow, huh?” I asked, almost in a whisper. She merely nodded. “Hard to believe she’s gone.” Again the nod, half a biscuit downed. “Then what happens, Pearl?” I looked at her like I did when I was a little boy and I broke something, something Granny was going to be awfully pissed about me breaking. Pearl always knew the right thing to say to comfort me. Sadly, I wasn’t a boy any longer, much as I felt like one right at that moment. She swallowed and then gulped. “Her attorney is in London. Can’t get back until a couple of days from now. He’s got the will in a safe up in Charleston and then there’ll be a reading as soon as he retrieves it and brings it on down here. That what you meant by then what happens?” she asked, in between another hearty bite. I swallowed too, but not because I had a thick slab of biscuit gliding down my throat. “I suppose. I mean, it is a pretty big estate, huh?” She craned her head this way and that, multiple chins sloshing about as she started in on biscuit number two. “I think that’s what you’d call a gross understatement, Trip.” She laughed, crumbs flying to and fro from between lips so thick they’d make Mick Jagger jealous. See, in terms of money, Granny was rich as Rockefeller and twice as ornery. My family had always been rich, going back to the Civil War. Rich from cotton. Fields and fields of it. All spared from Grant’s torch. Marched right on past us and decided on Atlanta instead. Thank goodness. Anyway, the house stayed put, every last white column and stick of silver of it, all of it passed down, down, down. Stopping dead in its tracks with me, I supposed. There’s that bitter irony again, right? Last living relative is queer as a three dollar bill, which, needless to say, they didn’t have in confederate money. The genes were staying put in my, well, jeans, so to speak. Still, I’d never laid eyes on Granny’s will before. The inheritance was all assumption on my part, and

southeRn FRied 7 would be until the lawyer arrived. I finished my biscuit and drank my milk. It went down cold and satisfying. Then I washed my plate and glass and turned again to Pearl. “Mind if I go and have a look around?” I asked. “Been a long while.” She shrugged. “Suit yourself, boy. Place’ll be all yours soon enough, I reckon.” She smiled, her eyes softening. “I missed you, Trip,” she added. I moved in and placed a warm, wet kiss on her cheek. “Same here, Pearl. Same here.” And then I excused myself and started my tour. So strange to be back after so long a time. And, yet, it felt like I hadn’t left at all, because Granny never, ever moved anything or bought anything new. The furniture had been around long before any of us where even glimmers in our rebel ancestors’ cotton-pickin’ minds. Still, it did my heart good to run my hand across the smooth, wooden banister, to sit on the sofa, to touch the lace that draped over it. It was like feeling my past. Her past, too, I suppose. Generations of pasts all piled high. I stared at her portrait over the mantelpiece. It was Granny when she was in her thirties. Less dour, if only by a hair. There was a scowl on her face as she stared down at me, as if to say, get your filthy jeans off my sofa, boy. In other words, I jumped up and off. “I was done sitting there anyway,” I said to the painting, turning away as I stuck my tongue out, just in case she really was hanging around up there. I walked back into the hallway, staring up the winding staircase, massive chandelier hanging high overhead, dripping with crystals, ancestral portraits arranged along the side of the wall, older as you made your way up. I touched the picture of my mom and dad. She was pregnant with me, smiling big and broad. I echoed her smile as I made my way past, instinctively heading for my old room. The door creaked open. Granny never oiled it. Said she liked knowing when I was up to no good, which was often enough.

8 Rob Rosen My room, like the rest of the mansion, was just as I’d left it. It was all teenage boy, posters on the wall, glee club trophies, debate plaques, comic books neatly stacked. Nerdy chic, I called it. I sighed as I hopped on the bed, smaller than I remembered it to be. Ironically, my bedroom in New York wasn’t any bigger, despite my staggering rent. I stood up and walked to the dresser, staring at the pictures, me when I was a teenager, Granny still old, barely a meager smile if any at all. I touched her face behind the glass, a chill riding shotgun down my back. “Hope you’re in a better place, Granny,” I whispered, then realized that where she had been wasn’t too shabby. Not by a long shot. I giggled at the thought. Then my eye caught the light twinkling from outside. I moved to the window and stared down, the pool off to the corner of the yard, the sweeping lawn cascading over and down, trimmed with magnolias and loblolly pines, water oaks, Spanish moss hanging down off the branches like grayish green locks of unkempt hair. A white egret took flight off the lake in the rear of the property. “Fuck it, Granny; you were in a damn fine place already.” Again I laughed, once more noticing the sunlight as it reflected off the pool. Only this time I spotted movement, as well. It was hard to see him from my vantage point, too far down and off to the side. Still, it was a man, shirtless, tan arms, his body rife with hair. Then I saw the fluid motion of a net swiping the top of the water, retrieving leaves and debris. That was my job as a kid, but now the hired help’s. I gulped when he came into view, at the sight of his broad hairy chest, etched belly, love trail disappearing into tight work slacks. Handsome fella, super tan, short hair, graying at the sides. Early forties with the body of a twenty year old’s. My jeans bulged at the sight of him. “Who are you, I wonder?” I asked, aloud, craning my neck over, cheek against the cool glass, trying and failing for a better shot of him. “Better view from Granny’s sewing room,” I added, with a snap of my fingers. “That’ll look straight down on to him.” I left my bedroom and hot-footed it across the hall and around

southeRn FRied 9 the corner, flinging open the sewing room door. I stopped, dead in my tracks. “Oh, uh, fuck, sorry,” I yelped, frozen to the spot. As was he. He had his pants around his ankles, hand at mid-stroke. Obviously, whoever this guy was, he’d had the same thought as I did. “You, uh, you want to put that away?” His face went beet red, then an even deeper crimson. “Come in, quick, before Pearl hears us.” I jumped inside and shut the door quietly behind me. “She doesn’t like the help in the house,” he informed, reaching for his shorts and then stuffing his rather fetching stiffy inside. Dude was my age, or near about, shorter than me by several inches, cute as all get out, with eyes a startling blue, blue as that pool outside, of the sky on a hot August day. I gazed out the window at what he’d been staring at. He followed my eyes downward. “Jake,” he told me. “Jake,” I echoed, with a nod, my heart beating hummingbirdfast. “And you are?” He laughed, nervously, his zipper rising up, shorts now buttoned. “Zebulon. But everyone calls me Zeb. I take care of the horses.” His eyes stayed locked on mine, boring down deep, a smile wide on his tanned face, cheeks sprinkled with a day’s growth of hair. “And you are?” I gave him the quick run down. He’d heard of me, of course, then apologized again, pleading with me not to tell Pearl. As if, I thought. She was scarier than Granny when she wanted to be. And she usually wanted to be. Besides, I loved having the upper hand. “Does Jake know you’re watching him?” I asked, an inch closer now, then two, both of us staring longingly down at him. “I reckon not, not if I want to live to tell about it,” came the reply, hand pushing down at his still hard prick, now sadly encased in denim. “Promise not to tell?” I grinned, that upper hand quickly put into play. “But Pearl doesn’t want you in the house,” I said, all smiles, again staring down as Jake emptied the net, his chest flexing, biceps massive, sweat trickling down between his bulging pecs, which looked like boulders after a morning rain. “Not smart to go against Pearl’s wishes. I learned that the hard way.” Emphasis on the hard.

10 Rob Rosen He gulped, eyes wide. Like a deer caught in the headlights. “Oh, come on now; I was just having me some fun. Nobody needs to know nothin’.” His smile made a forced return, nervous if not downright adorable. My heart went thump, thump, thump inside my chest. I paused for effect, hand rubbing my chin as I pretended to think it over. “I suppose so,” I relented. “Fun is fun. Too bad I spoiled yours, though.” Now it my turn to stare, drilling home the point. “I mean, you should always finish what you start, right? Granny always told me that. Nothing worse than a job half-finished.” “Nuh uh,” he replied, nearly breathless at what I was implying. “I mean, by all accounts, I do work for you now, but I, uh, I couldn’t.” By all accounts, he was probably right. The thought, not to mention the close proximity to him, made my dick throb. “Well then, Zeb, I insist.” I pointed to his shorts, nodding and smiling as I did so. When he didn’t move, I unbuttoned them for him. Again he locked eyes with me, followed by another gulp, sweat glistening off his smooth forehead. Then he stared down, eyeing my hand as it grabbed a hold of the zipper for a tug, his bush coming into view, curly, black, trimmed. “Kick your boots off,” I told him. He did as I asked. They landed with a dull thud off to the side. Then I pulled down his shorts, his cock springing out, arcing to the side, the wide head dripping, shimmering in the light that poured in through the window. He lifted his feet up and kicked the shorts to the side, as well. My hands then held the bottom of his t-shirt, which I lifted up in one fluid jerk. He raised his arms and the shirt came off, leaving him in nothing but his sweat socks. His taught chest raised and lowered, hard tummy in sync as he rapidly inhaled and exhaled. “Come on now, be quick about it,” I told him. “Before Pearl comes on up and finds you in here.” Slowly, he gave his dick a stroke, a tug, balls swaying, legs trembling a bit. “What are you gonna be doing, Trip?” he squeaked out.

southeRn FRied 11 “Good question,” I replied, reaching for a chair, which I leaned against the wall, placing it beneath the window. “You watch Jake down below; I watch you. Seems fair enough. Now, please put one foot up on the chair, Zeb, face to the glass.” Again he did as I asked, leg up, hand stroking as he stared at Jake, who was still busy with the pool, clueless as to our shenanigans. I stood behind him and crouched down, face to glorious ass, his cheeks parted a bit, two mounds of alabaster with a line of fine hair down the crack, balls swaying on the other side of things. “You ever see Jake like this?” I asked, fingers stroking down his crack. Zeb jumped, but remained in place, spitting down into his hand now as he jacked away. “Jake likes the ladies, Trip. Doesn’t give me the time of day. Better to, uh, to admire him from afar, I suppose.” I unzipped my fly and whipped out my prick, which was hard as granite by then, eager for release. I started a nice, easy stroke on it as I tickled Zeb’s hole, fingers running rings around the soft halo of hair. “He does give good afar,” I agreed, spitting into both my hands, lubing up my dick and then his hole. Zeb pushed out his ass for me. “Yessir, that he does.” He moaned as a spit-slick finger wormed its way inside of him. Boy was tight as a drum, too, sucking me in like a Hoover. “Who knows,” I said, sliding my finger in and up and back, wiggling around inside of him as the come rose steadily from my balls. “Maybe some day you’ll get to see the up close and personal side.” He groaned at the thought, body trembling as I picked up the pace on his ass and on my cock, staring up between his legs as he worked his pole, fist moving lightning fast now. “M… maybe,” he said, followed by a grunt, and then another, his cock shooting, thick gobs of spunk that splashed against the wall before dripping down. My own load flew out a second later, landing on the carpet beneath the chair, both of us struggling to catch our breaths as we milked out every last drop, my finger gliding out of his ass as I stood up.

12 Rob Rosen He dropped his leg off the chair and turned, dick still steely stiff and dripping, the sweat making its way down his chest. He held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Trip,” he said, with a laugh, the sound like a babbling brook to my ears, like water running over mossy rocks. “Pleasure was all mine, Zeb,” I replied, rocking his hand in mind. He stared down at our two withering dicks. “Well now, not all yours.” He laughed and stared up at me, those eyes of his like lasers. “You were never gonna tell Pearl on me, were you?” I leaned in and brushed my lips against his. Then I stuffed my dick back inside my jeans. “She scares me, too, Zeb,” I said, the kiss full-on now, his lips soft as down, a rush of tingles sparkling across my back. “Scares me like the dickens.” I gave his dickens a grab, and with a final kiss, excused myself. Because he was right about one thing: if Pearl found us like this, we’d both be dead meat. “See you around, Trip,” he said, with a wink and a nod. I turned again, taking him in, his body compact and perfect, socks up to his knees, smile dazzling on his endearing face, dick now dangling. Good enough to eat. Like home cooking. Southernstyle. “Hope so, Zeb,” I said, with a wave as I left the room, head craning left and right, making sure the coast was clear. Thankfully, it was. Then I stared up to the ceiling, shrugging, just in case Granny was watching. “Didn’t you ever hire any ugly people, Granny?” I whispered, walking back down the hall. Oh, I know what you’re thinking now. Taking advantage of a poor, misbegotten youth. Shame on you, Trip Jackson. Shame on you. But, truth be told, it was no piece of cake growing up gay in the South. In fact, it was downright scary. Granny, after all, couldn’t protect me outside the mansion; I had to cover my own damn tracks most of the time. That is to say, all the time. And having sex, gay sex, wasn’t in the cards for me back then. Too risky when everyone knew your business and was all too happy to blab about it. So, you see, that fling with Zeb was me just finally

southeRn FRied 13 getting a shot at sewing some wild oats. And that was a sewing room back there, after all. Go figure. Anyway, no harm, no foul. Just some much needed relief from what was still yet to come. I had me a dreaded funeral to go to, you know. And then the reading of the will. And then, well, I was going to have to play that one by ear. One step at a time, I figured, one step at a time. And damn if I didn’t have some big shoes to fill for those steps. Again, orthopedic though they were. Then, sure enough, I rounded the bend and ran smack into some more big shoes, easily size twelve. “Jeeves!” I hollered, frightened like a little bunny rabbit. “Trip!” he hollered back, hand reaching for his chest. “Make some noise next time, please; you’re likely to scare a person half to death.” He stared down at me, menacingly. “And please don’t call me Jeeves; you know how I hate that.” I laughed, feeling the teenager in my well up. “All butlers are called Jeeves, Jeeves.” “Unless they’re called Walter, Trip,” he said, with a frown, eyes cast downward. He’d aged poorly. Ten years looked more like twenty. Then again, ten years in Granny’s hire probably felt more like fifty. But he was, truth be told, still ruggedly handsome. “You don’t look like a Walter, Jeeves,” I told him, smartmouthed as always. “Besides, even Granny called you Jeeves.” He sighed and straightened out his vest. “Your grandmother called me many things, Trip; Jeeves was better than most of them by far. Still, my checks said Walter, and that was all that mattered.” He squinted at me, scratching his jowly chin. “You’ve grown.” I couldn’t help but laugh, which is something people rarely did around him. “Ten years will do that to a person, Jeeves. You’re looking well, yourself.” Which wasn’t exactly true. The compliment was just my southern manners poking on through. “Pearl’s cooking is keeping you healthy, I see.” He snickered, which was creepy. “Pearl’s cooking is to be avoided at all costs, Trip. Doctor’s orders.” He patted his belly, also creepy. “That woman refuses to cook in anything other than

14 Rob Rosen lard, the milk is always whole, and butter is astoundingly plentiful. It’s a miracle your grandmother stayed so thin.” Undeniable, to be sure. Probably due to her cast-iron will. Plus, she flat out refused to gain any weight. Hated going clothes shopping. I shuddered at the very thought. “She was a fine woman, your grandmother,” he quickly added, more for my benefit, I was sure. The brunt of her ill-humor generally fell on him, you see. “Thank you, Jeeves,” I replied, avoiding eye contact. “Thank you for caring for her all these many years.” “Thirty, to be exact, sir,” he corrected. “Her will, I’m sure, will reflect that.” Unavoidably, our eyes met at the word will. His gaze was like ice, the comment leaving me arctic-cold, and rightfully so. Still, I chose to ignore it, despite its hanging in the air like the moss hung from the trees outside. Tenaciously, that is. “I’m sure it will,” I managed, stepping around him and then past. “Good to see you,” I added, quickly heading in the direction opposite to his, just like I had done as a child. Age had made him no less easy to be around. Creepy, as I said. It bears repeating. He nodded as I went by, barely registering my existence, much as he did throughout my childhood. He was Granny’s butler, her chauffeur, not mine, of course. Pearl attended to me when Granny couldn’t, which was most of the time. And thank the Lord almighty for that. Granny, after all, had about as much maternal instinct as a water snake, of which we already had plenty of in the lake out back. When he was out of sight, I stopped in place and breathed again, staring down over the railing into the greeting room. I’d done this so often as child, watching my grandmother attend to her various guests. See, Granny stood at the pinnacle of the social circle, even at her age. Our family name assured that much. And they always dropped by to pay their respects, our neighbors and their neighbors in turn, a smile and a wave up at me as I stared down. I waved back if I liked them. More often than not, I just slunk into the shadows, where a good little sissy boy belonged. Pardon my bitterness. Like I said, it wasn’t easy, mansion or no mansion, butler and chauffeur and cook and pool boy and stable

southeRn FRied 15 boy or not. Or maid, for that matter. “Hello, may I help you?” she asked, awakening me from my reverie, causing me to jump in place. “Oh, uh, sorry,” I blurted out. “I’m, uh, Trip. Mary Jackson’s grandson.” She smiled and nodded. “Betty,” I was told. She was a woman in her early thirties, if the dim overhead light was any indication, dressed entirely in black, a feather duster in her hand. Pale white, stick thin, hair in a tight bun. Granny’s type of maid, to be sure. “You look like your pictures,” she told me, her features softening once she realized who I was. “Though I suppose you would, right?” I smiled, too, nodding, as well. “Which pictures?” I asked, aware of only the boyhood ones in my bedroom; and ten years out I barely looked like that person any longer. Her smile broadened. She was pretty, in a stiff sort of way. Then she led me down the hall, up the last remaining flight of stairs. I knew where we were headed. A feeling of dread suddenly overcame me. Still, I followed. She opened the ancient oak door, the sunlight from within temporarily blinding me. We walked into Granny’s bedroom, the silence nearly deafening, the room lifeless, missing its sole occupant. I spotted the pictures in question almost immediately. I walked inside and over to a low dresser. Six photos in six silver frames, all of me, most from the last several years, taken on various vacations and sent to Granny. My heart swelled, a tear ready to break free. I laughed rather than cried. It was easier that way, all things considered. “Yep, that’s me, all right.” She moved in and stood to my side. “Miss Jackson talked of you often,” she practically whispered, as if we were in a church. “She was very proud of you.” “Huh,” I managed. “I was proud of her, too, I suppose. It wasn’t easy being Mary Jackson. Took a lot of work.” I held up a frame, the photo of me in England, arms up wide as I stood on

16 Rob Rosen London Bridge, the Thames gray beneath me. “How long have you worked here?” I asked. I couldn’t remember Granny ever mentioning her. Then again, it wasn’t like Granny to talk about the help, period. Not even Pearl, unless I asked. She paused, thinking about it. “Five years, I suppose. Best job I ever had, too.” I laughed, despite it all. “I’m not about to walk in and fire anybody, Betty.” Though the thought did suddenly form in my addled head. What would happen to all of them now that Granny was gone? Her shoulders relaxed and she allowed the briefest of smiles. “No, it’s fine working here, really. I mean, your Granny, she, she could be…” “Difficult?” And that was putting it nicely. “Difficult,” she agreed. “Though she treated me well. I’ve not had it easy, you see. And she took me in and gave me a job. Hard to come by good work around these parts, so I was grateful. See, I had nothing before this. Less than that.” My smile made a triumphant return. It was good to hear that Granny was appreciated. I supposed I rarely told her so myself. Chalk it up to the ignorance of youth. In truth, she gave her time and money to so many causes, but mostly she did it on the downlow. In other words, this news from Betty was no surprise. And it made me miss Granny all the more. I wished I had just five more minutes with her, to tell her how much I too appreciated her. Things could’ve been so different for me when my parents died. As it was, I had a good life, and still do, all thanks to her. “She was a special woman,” I said, reverently. Betty smiled. “That’s a much better word than difficult, I think.” I looked around the room, at the canopy bed, her mother’s mother’s, if memory served correct. Granny’s housecoat hung over the edge. I walked over and lifted it up, her familiar floral perfume filling my nostrils, a flood of memories washing over my brain all at once. “Nah,” I said. “Granny would’ve liked difficult.

southeRn FRied 17 Always preferred to call a spade a spade. Besides, I think she took some pride in her, well, her demeanor. Nobody, pardon my French, screwed with Granny.” Betty’s laughter flew out of her pursed lips, like a dam that suddenly burst. “No, Trip. That’s for sure. Not and lived to tell about it.” I nodded. She wasn’t speaking out of turn. Again, I looked around. All was as it has been the last time I was in the room, just before she shipped me off. Though something was missing, something strangely not where it should’ve been. Anything else I might’ve overlooked, but not this. “Her jewelry box is gone,” I said, not as an accusation, just a statement of fact. “It’s not on her nightstand.” Betty’s laughter abruptly stopped, the thin lips returning, a nervous tic lifting up her eyebrow. “I’m sure it’s around here somewhere. Maybe it got moved when she was, when she was taken away. For safe keeping, I mean. I’ll ask Walter.” “Jeeves.” I couldn’t help but correct her. “He hates being called that,” she told me. “Which is why I call him that.” She shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable looking. I had a suspicion that she knew where the jewelry box had up and vanished to. It was one of Granny’s prized possessions. Four generations of jewelry never left her sight for very long. I’d frequently told her to put it all in a safe, but she said she preferred to have it nearby. Now it was missing. Granny, I was certain, was rolling over in her grave, in a manner of speaking, since she didn’t, in fact, have one just yet. I cringed at the thought. “If that will be all, Trip, I have work to do,” she said, rather formally. “Of course, Betty,” I told her. “And thanks for showing me the pictures.” She nodded, curtly, and quickly left me alone. I sat on the bed, shoulders hunched over. I’d been home barely over an hour and

18 Rob Rosen just look at all the mischief I’d gotten myself into. What on earth would the next several days hold? And was I strong enough to handle it? After all, I was no Granny. I stared up at the canopy and wagged my finger up to her. If up was in fact where she was. “Well, at least it’s never boring around here.” It was then I spotted it, wedged into the groove between the wood and the fabric. I stood on the bed, usually a big no-no, and retrieved it. It was a ripped piece of paper, a corner piece, blank. Pink. It gave off a strange smell. Fragrant. “Granny’s stationary,” I said, pocketing the fragment. I looked around, but that was all I saw. And I didn’t have time to look any further. “What on earth are you doing up there, boy?” It was Pearl, arms akimbo, a nasty glower on her face. “Get off your granny’s bed this instant.” I hopped down. “What’re you doing up there anyway?” she asked, staring up at where the paper had been wedged. “I, uh, nothing, Pearl. I saw a spider’s web and wanted to brush it off,” I lied. She sneered. “Nonsense, boy. Ain’t no spider’s web up there. Your granny would’ve had a fit. Now get.” She swatted my rump. “Go get washed up; dinner will be ready soon.” “Yes, ma’am,” I said, suddenly back to being a teenager all over again. “What are we having?” The smile returned to her face. “Fried chicken, turnip greens, and candied yams.” And then my smile joined hers. “All my favorites. You remembered!” I ran in and gave her a hug, more for my benefit than hers. I needed one right about then. She patted my back. “As if I’d forget, boy. What, you think I’m an old woman, not remembering something as important as that?” I looked up at her. “You look even younger than the last time I saw you, Pearl.” She snickered. “Boy, if your eyes weren’t so green, I’d swear

southeRn FRied 19 you were full of shit.” She pushed me away and winked. “Now go get washed up before I lose my last bit of patience.” I ran out of the room, hollering over my shoulder, “Lost it years ago, Pearl. Years ago.” I heard her laugh as I took the stairs two at a time, running into the bathroom at the end of the hall. It was bigger than my own back home by double, the shower and the tub separate, with a window overlooking the stables. I stared down and spotted Zeb grooming one of the mares. Even from a distance he was adorable, a determined look on his face as he brushed her down, her flanks trembling as he put his back into it. He turned, wiping the sweat off his brow, and noticed me, then waved. I waved in return, my prick growing hard at the very sight of him. Like we’d know each other for ages. I got undressed, then hopped in the shower. The water felt great after such a stressful day. Returning to ones youth, after all, can be, uh, taxing. Not to mention, that looming funeral, well, loomed. I know, that’s a lot of fretting, but give me a break; I’d suddenly been reorphaned and was just barely holding my shit together. Though it seemed like I was to have some bit of help with that. I heard the door creak open and then click shut. “Pearl?” I asked, head tilted up beneath the spray of water. He opened the curtain, smiling big and wide and bright. “Guess again.” My smile matched his. “You smell like horse, Zeb,” I told him. “I think you could use a shower.” He stripped off his t-shirt. “Then I’m in the right place.” I stood with my back against the tile, dick making an upward climb. He kicked off his boots and slid out of his shorts and socks. Naked and just as hard as me, he got in and closed the curtain behind him. I put my hands on his shoulders. “I don’t think the lord of the manor is supposed to sleep with the stable boy.” He winked and pressed his chest into mine. “Who’s sleeping?”

20 Rob Rosen His lips met mine, water dripping down over our faces, our tongues colliding, his hands wrapped around my waist, rigid cock to rigid cock. I felt his hand reaching for something behind me, the soap, I realized. He pulled his face an inch away, and added, “Besides, I hear I’m quite good at cleaning the animals around here.” He grabbed my hands and placed them over my head, sapphire blue eyes locked on tight with mine as he lathered me up, head to toe, white bubbles covering up my budding summer tan. Last, but certainly not least, because, come on, he cleans horses for a living – hint, hint – he grabbed a hold of my dick with his soapy hand, a million volts of adrenalin shooting straight up my back as he mashed his mouth into mine. I sighed, exhaling down his throat. Sex and death. A heady mixture to be sure, and one that I gladly gave in to. So, with my fist happily stroking his hefty schlong, and his working the come up from my balls for a second time that day, I temporarily forgot the miserable circumstances that brought us together. Yes, again, we’ll call that the ignorance of youth. But then, who else could come twice in practically an hour? Which is just what we did, both of us moaning and groaning, the sound ricocheting around the tiled room, swirling in my ears like a swarm of hornets as his load splattered on my lathered belly, mine on his trembling thighs and buckling knees, our faces so close together it was impossible to tell where he ended and I began. He collapsed into me, cheek on my shoulder as he fought to catch his breath. “You made a mess,” I whispered into his ear. He laughed, wrapping his hands around me and pulling me in. “Then thank goodness we’re in the shower already.” My hands found his ass, my finger gently swirling around his puckered hole. “Are you bucking for a raise, Zeb?” Again he laughed. “Did you say bucking or fucking?” Well, suffice it to say, the witty repartee went on for quite some time. For a stable boy, he had a rather nice sense of humor. A rather nice everything, really. But once the lather got washed

southeRn FRied 21 down the drain, reality set in. The funeral was tomorrow. And then Granny really would be out of my life forever. Meaning, my youthful ignorance was fast waning, right along with my lengthy boner. In any case, Zeb and I toweled off and he hot-footed it out of the house. He wasn’t kidding when he implied that Pearl would skin him alive if she found him in the mansion. And it wasn’t something I wanted to witness either. I’d seen her do coons and crocs, deer and doves, and that was plenty enough for me, thank you kindly. Dinner, however, wasn’t any of those things; it was fried chicken, the foul purchased at the local Piggly Wiggly. So, in this instance, I was spared. Mouth watering, I sat at the kitchen table and greedily breathed in all the familiar aromas, my belly gurgling in anticipation. New York was full of fabulous restaurants, but none of them could hold a candle to Pearl’s cooking. Not by a country mile. “I’m so hungry I could eat with a Yankee,” I said, using one of Granny’s colorful expressions. Pearl turned and smiled. “You are a Yankee, Trip. Ten years makes it official.” I moved my head from side to side. “Nuh uh. You can take the boy out of the South, but you can’t take the South out of the boy.” And then she sighed, turning back to her work, plating our meals. “And you ain’t no boy no more, neither.” She turned and set our meals down on the table, then put a folded piece of paper to the side of my plate. “What’s that?” I asked, my heart suddenly racing. She sat down and looked at me. “The lawyer’s office called. That there’s the list of us who’s expected at the reading of the will the day after tomorrow.” I lifted the paper up and unfolded it, a pit forming in my stomach where once a joyous hunger had been. “Any surprises?” I thought to ask before I read what she’d written down. Pearl scratched her chin, pausing to think before she replied.

22 Rob Rosen “Surprises?” she said. “Not rightly sure, seeing as I don’t know what’s been left to them. I mean, your granny was a lot of things, Trip.” “A lot,” I interrupted. “But deep on down to the roots, she was a fine woman. Took care of those that took care of her.” “Meaning, everyone is on this list?” “Meaning that, yes.” I read down the length of the paper as she recited if from memory. “There’s you, of course. Me, of course, otherwise you’d never live to hear the end of it. Jeeves, listed as Walter, of course. Then the not so of courses. Betty, the maid, Jake, the pool man, Roy, the gardener, Zeb the stable boy, and Stella, the handy, uh, man.” “The handyman’s name is Stella?” I couldn’t help but ask. She laughed, her jowls shaking as she did so. “Well now, boy, just you wait until you meet Stella, then you’ll understand. Now let’s dig in; food’s gettin’ cold.” “Wait,” I said, my eyes landing on one more name at the very bottom of the list. “Who’s this Beau Pellingham? Never heard of him before. Does he work here too?” She shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me. Surely not that I can recall. Guess we’ll find out soon enough, though.” I shrugged as well, that pit in my belly swelling. But Pearl was right, we’d just have to wait and see who he was. Then she reached out to hold my hand. I grabbed on to hers. We bowed our heads, eyes closed good and tight. “Dear Lord,” she said, beginning our grace, “we thank you for the food we are about to eat. And we thank you for bringing old friends home and even older friends up to heaven with you. Please forgive her, Lord; she meant well.” “Amen,” I said, squelching a laugh. Then I looked over at Pearl. “Granny didn’t do anything she didn’t mean to do, you know. Well or not.” She smiled. “Trust me, I know. Anyway, he knows that already,

southeRn FRied 23 doesn’t he? I was just hedging us some bets.” “Amen,” I repeated, already eagerly lifting up a drumstick to my mouth. It was hot and crisp and fried to perfection. Colonel Sanders had nothing on Pearl. The chicken was moist, cooked with tender loving care. The greens were both bitter and hot, spicy hot, smothered with some secret sauce that burned a hole through your tongue, the fire doused with iced tea that had been brewing all day in the sun. The yams were home grown, sweet and candied, with extra heaping spoonfuls of brown sugar. A plate of biscuits sat to the side, dripping with butter and honey. “Hot damn,” I couldn’t help but groan, in between hearty mouthfuls. She smiled, lips wrapped around a thigh. “You got that right, boy.” Ten minutes later, we had both cleaned our plates, not a wayward crumb to be found. Though I did, of course, save some room. Peach pie was quickly proffered, topped with homemade whipped cream, steam rising up as I cut into it. “I should’ve come home sooner,” I said, slapping down a slab onto my plate. Pearl did the same. “But you didn’t, boy, did you?” I set my fork down and looked up at her, a frown suddenly forming on both our faces. “She wouldn’t let me, Pearl,” I explained. “I tried, believe me, I did. But she preferred to meet me in Atlanta or Savannah, Charleston or Hilton Head. Anywhere she could get driven to in a day’s time. Then it was a vacation for both of us. Me being home, she said, took all the fun out it because she’d still have to work, as she called it.” I again reached out and held Pearl’s hand. “And you know there was no arguing with Granny. Would’ve had better luck with this piece of pie.” Her smile returned, however half-heartedly. “Pie’s too good to argue with, Trip; just go ahead and eat it. Least you’re home now, and that’s all that counts.” Which was true, though it didn’t make me feel any less guilty. Pearl had been at the mansion since I was a baby, hired to clean and cook and take care of me, mostly the latter as it turned out.

24 Rob Rosen Meaning, she was owed more than just my weak apology. Finished with our meals, I excused myself and went to my room, belly so full it felt ready to burst. I got out of my clothes and slipped into my pajamas, then hopped into bed, the list again folded opened and on my lap. With the news of Granny’s passing, I hadn’t given much thought to the people that worked for her, for the mansion itself, to the will and all it entailed. I was a Jackson, like Granny was, but that’s where the similarities ended. For better or worse, Granny made me into a Yankee. Odd but true. And a gay Yankee at that. What did that mean for all our futures? Or had Granny taken care of that as well? Guess, I’d have to wait and see. No use putting the cart in front of the horse just yet. And speaking of horses, their handler was sneaking into my room at that very moment, a smile on his face, a plate in his hand. “Pearl left me a snack,” he said, by way of greeting, gently closing the door behind him. I folded the paper and sat up, spotting the biscuits he was holding out for me. “Pearl’s snacks can make a grown man weep,” I whispered, making room on the bed for him. He hopped in, snuggling next to me, good and tight. “Thank goodness I ain’t no grown man just yet, then. Shame to get these biscuits all wet.” He grabbed one and set to work. Reluctantly, so did I. Well, maybe not reluctantly. After all, I wasn’t full grown just yet, either. And there was always room for one of Pearl’s biscuits. I put my arm around him and he slid into my crook, head on my shoulder, both of us contentedly chewing away. “You going to the funeral tomorrow, Zeb?” I asked, hopefully. He laughed, despite the direness of the question. “Your granny would haunt me until the day I die if I didn’t, Trip. Woman was vengeful in life; in death, Lord only knows what she’d be like.” I nodded and laughed right along with him, setting the plate on the nightstand. “Yep,” I said, sinking into my down pillow as he rolled over, his hand on my chest, body soft and warm against

southeRn FRied 25 mine. “You have a point.” His hand moved south, landing playfully on my crotch. “So do you, Trip. So do you.”

ChAPteR 2 Sweet Iced Tea The next morning I woke in my old bed, not feeling anything like the randy teenager I used to be. Well, a teenager at any rate; the randy part was taken care of those several times the day before. Sadly, however, my caretaker was already up and gone. Seems like the horses needed Zeb more than I did. Only, the horses didn’t have to bury anybody that day. In other words, I may not have needed my flanks brushed, but my own needs weren’t any less pressing. Fine, fine, so I’m being a bit overdramatic. But, I mean, I wasn’t yet thirty and had no mom, no dad, no family. Granted, by all accounts, I had a mansion and a bunch of servants, but, uh, but… okay, I see your point; hard to feel sorry for a guy with a mansion and bunch of servants. I get it. But, truthfully, it didn’t make me feel any better. Not a lick. I stared up at the ceiling and shook my fist at Granny. “Not a lick!” I shouted. Then I shook my fist at the floor, too, because the odds seemed so much better that way. “Not a lick!” I shouted again. “Boy, who you talking to?” Pearl asked, kicking open the door with her foot while holding a tray overflowing with breakfast, a pot of piping hot coffee, a yellow flower in a porcelain vase. Again I stared at the ceiling, smelling the wonderful aroma coming off the tray. Well, maybe just a little lick, but from a small tongue. Then I looked at Pearl. “Morning, Pearl. And nobody in particular, to answer your question.” She tsked me and set the tray down. “City done made you daft, boy,” she chided, taking a bite of my toast, the butter sliding off, a glob of marmalade with it. Homemade, if I wasn’t mistaken. The peaches, of course, came from our very own orchard. Again I looked to the ceiling, giving it a shrug. “A little daft

28 Rob Rosen goes a long way, Pearl. Keeps the beggars away. And the Girl Scouts, too. Parents don’t let their kids knock on a crazy person’s doors. Nifty trick I learned.” She sat on the bed and finished my slice of toast. Thankfully, it had a sister. I grabbed it before she did. “You get that from your granny,” she said, chewing. “Penchant for toast?” I matched her chew for chew. She slapped my arm. “The crazy, boy. Your granny was crazy, too. Did some of the strangest things at times. Couldn’t rightly guess what she was up to when she got like that.” She shook her head, sipping from my coffee. “Crazy.” “Like what?” I asked, starting in on my omelet before she had the chance to. She scratched her chin, a tater tot now between her nimble fingers. She popped it whole in her mouth. “I don’t know,” she replied, shooting crumbs my way, which she quickly brushed off the bed. “Like when you done left, she’d come up here at night when she thought I’d left for the day. Only, I heard her, pacing around, opening and closing drawers. I’d ask her about it, but she’d say I was hearing things. And, boy, everything else might be going, but my hearing is still top notch. Like a hawk.” I shook my head back and forth. “I think hawks are known for their eyesight, Pearl, more than for their hearing.” She slapped me again. “Boy, don’t you sass me. Anyway, my eyesight ain’t too shabby neither.” She ate another tater tot and grabbed my fork when I set it down, starting in on my omelet right where I had left off. “Maybe she missed me,” I offered. “Maybe she came up here to be closer to me the only way she still could.” Pearl snickered, the omelet nearly gone, my juice too, and the tater tots, and toast, and strawberries. Thankfully, I wasn’t all that hungry. “You’re confusing your granny with someone else, boy. Woman didn’t have a sentimental bone in her body.” She nodded and took another sip of coffee. My coffee. “Don’t get me wrong, though; woman loved you something fierce. Just wasn’t her style

southeRn FRied 29 to show it too much. Least of all coming up here and getting all sappy over it. Nope, just plumb crazy she got sometimes, I’m telling you. Other things too, like whispering on the phone and then pretending she wasn’t. And she hated talking on the phone. You know it, too. But I’d catch her whispering, then lying about it.” Pearl had a point. Granny hated the phone, or anything electric for that matter. Might’ve been born in the twentieth century, but she had a foot stuck in the nineteenth. Barely talked to me when I called. But she could write pages and pages worth, all on that fancy scented stationary of hers. Yep, I could smell a letter from her from a mile away. “What else?” I asked, pushing the tray away. Breakfast, after all, was finished. She shrugged. “I don’t like talking bad about the dead, boy.” I chuckled, despite the comment, the dead part of it, anyway. “What’ve we been doing?” The third slap was the hardest. Or I was just getting tender. “Never mind, boy. She was just an old lady. And old ladies do nutty things sometimes, I suppose. Probably not even knowing they’re doing it.” She stood up and lifted the tray. Then she headed for the door. “We’re leaving at eleven, Trip. Jeeves is driving us. Wear something nice.” She left, the silence enveloping me like a shroud. I shivered into it. I’ll tell you this, though: Granny wasn’t crazy or old acting. Ever. The woman retained her senses to the end, I was sure of it. Held it all in like a steel safe. What Pearl was saying sounded fishy, but it didn’t sound crazy. Again I did my ceiling stare. “What were you up to, Granny? And why were you hanging around in my bedroom? Never liked to come up here when I was around, so why after?” On that subject, Granny was silent. Not even a banging on the wall or a shifting of a picture. Nothing remotely poltergeistlike. Still, I had me a look around, just out of curiosity. Pearl, it seemed, had it aroused. Zeb, of course, took care of all the rest

30 Rob Rosen of my arousals, for the time being. Post-funeral, there was no telling. Problem was, it had been ten years since I’d been in my room. Everything looked familiar, but in a distant way. Like I’d seen it all in a movie rather than my life. And it all appeared in place. Probably just where I left it all. Albums in alphabetical order, books grouped by authors, posters on the walls in perfect alignment. “God, I was anal.” Chalk it up to life with Granny. Then I opened up the dresser drawers, figuring they’d be empty. I mean, I took my clothes with me to college. I was fairly certain I’d left nothing behind. But there was stuff inside. Underwear, socks, a couple of t-shirts, a pair of shorts, a pair of jeans. And none of it was for a teenager. Least not me. See, I didn’t wear jeans; Granny wouldn’t allow them inside the house. “Jeans is for fieldwork,” she’d say, sternly. In other words, someone was using my room. Or living in it. And under Pearl’s nose, I was certain, without her knowing it. Unless Granny had taken to wearing men’s clothes, which I highly doubted, amusing though the image might have been. “Maybe one of the workers was squatting, using my room without anyone knowing about it,” I said to myself, my fingers shuffling the clothes around. “After all, no one ever came up here once I was gone. What would’ve been the point?” Made sense. The mansion was huge. You could come and go without anybody knowing about it. Especially at night, when everyone was sleeping or had gone home. Heck, I’d done my fair share of sneaking out then. Well, twice, to be exact. But, in truth, that was my fair share. Anyway, I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Not then, at any rate. I still had to get showered, dressed, and bury Granny. My stomach tied up in knots at item number three. Are you ready for it all? And so close to the beginning of our encounter? Nah, me neither. Nobody likes a funeral. Don’t worry, though; thankfully, it was a quick one. Once the police came and carted him away, that is.

southeRn FRied 31 Oh, now, sorry, there I go again, getting ahead of myself. Just wanted to make sure you were still listening. People usually zone out when you get to talking about funerals. Can’t blame them, really. Still, best to pay attention because at least one of my questions would soon be answered. Of course, it led to a whole lot more, as answers frequently do. Murphy’s Law they call it. “Fuck you, Murphy, wherever you are!” So I took that shower I mentioned, solo this go around. I hadn’t seen stunning hide nor slicked back hair of Zeb as of yet. I guessed he was getting ready, too. Not that it made me feel any better. Truth was, though, I’d already grown attached. Chalk it up to the times, harrowing as they were. Then I got dressed. Which left only that dreaded third agenda item. Gulp. Jeeves drove around to the front of the mansion, Bentley idling, Pearl and I standing at the top of the stairs. She looked at me and I at her. “Fine day for it,” she managed, forcing a smile, her black, unbelievably ginormous hat shading her from any vestiges of solar radiation. “Granny would’ve liked it,” I replied, slowly making my way to the car, Pearl’s hand now in mine. “Not the sunny part, just the fact that it’s Sunday. That means most everyone will be sober. Nothing worse than drunks at a funeral, Granny always said.” “It’s unseemly,” we both said in unison, followed by a laugh as I opened the car door for her. “Morning, Jeeves,” I said, stepping inside, perched next to Pearl. “Walter,” he corrected, with a heavy sigh. “Granny liked Jeeves,” I told him, shutting my door. “No,” said he. “That was you.” I smiled. “And wouldn’t you know it, I’m the last Jackson standing.” Pearl gave me a slap. Jeeves merely pulled away, shaking his head all the while. The last Jackson standing. It put a chill in me, despite all that sweltering heat, air so thick with water it was like wading through

32 Rob Rosen a tide pool. That was the South for you. If the mosquitoes didn’t kill you, then the humidity surely would. Or the alligators. Not to mention the pollen count, which was shooting about a thousand times higher than any nose should’ve been tolerating right at that very moment. Sorry, now I’m sounding like Granny. In truth, it was beautiful around the estate. I stared out the window as Jeeves slowly drove down the narrow gravel road that led off the property. At the oaks that were Lord only knows how many centuries old, so heavy with leaves it was amazing they didn’t tip right on over. Pine trees so green it would’ve made Kermit jealous, dense with cones, towering to the sky, with maple and sycamore and ironwood filling in the gaps. Deer scampered about, appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye, possum too, only, you were more likely to run over one than see it scampering about. Tire lunch, Granny called them. I rolled down the window and stuck my head out, beams of light brushing across my upturned face as I leaned my face toward the sky. Birds and crickets and frogs serenaded me; flowering shrubs and trees, magnolia blossoms so big they looked like giant white faces, all cast off their intoxicating bouquets. I had to think it was all for Granny’s benefit. A fitting farewell. This, after all, was her pride and joy, the land around her home, so much of it planted and tended to by so many succeeding generations of us. I smiled at the thought. She might’ve been gone, but this was her legacy. Not to mention, so was I. My smile vanished as quickly as it had arrived. The legacy, after all, had run smack dab into a brick wall. “What’s gonna happen to it all, Pearl?” I whispered, staring out into the woods. She smiled, humming some sort of hymn. “Don’t rightly know, boy. But don’t you fret none; it’ll all right itself, somehow.” She closed her eyes and the smile grew brighter. “The good Lord sure does work in mysterious ways.” “Think He can offer me a clue?” I asked, now gazing up at

southeRn FRied 33 the azure sky, clouds billowing lazily to the north. “The mystery is killing me.” “The reading of the will is tomorrow, Trip. Suppose we’ll figure out things then. Today is Granny’s day, though. Time to remember her, lay her to rest, send her on her way.” I nodded, eyes tearing up for what I was certain wouldn’t be the last time that day. “But which way do you think she’ll be headed?” Pearl didn’t answer. I was sure it was a thought she’d already thunk. Granny certainly was righteous, in her own way, but just as equally, well, I don’t want to say evil, per se, but cantankerous would be too nice a word. Hopefully, with all the money she’d donated to the church throughout the years, she’d bought her way through to whatever place she was on her way to. Again I turned to Pearl. “You think Gabriel takes bribes?” She smiled, her hand held up to caress my cheek. “Let’s hope so, boy. Let’s sure hope so.” Jeeves pulled up to the church a short while later, cars overflowing the parking lot, a sea of dark suites, dark dresses, and wide brimmed hats filing on inside. A space was reserved for family, namely us. We pulled in. I inhaled, deeply, and opened the door. A hot blast of air hit me like an open oven, tinged with honeysuckle, jasmine, the faint scent of roses. We three entered the church, Pearl in the middle. Like the lone survivors of a great war, we were. Place was filled to the rafters, too, the whole town turning out, people I hadn’t seen since I was a child, plus a host of strange faces, most of them turning our way as we entered, eyes glued to us. “Now I know what Brad Pitt feels like,” I whispered out of the side of my mouth. Pearl snickered. “Guess that makes me Angelina Jolie. Damned if we don’t have the same lips.” I stifled a laugh. All things considered, it wouldn’t have been appropriate. Ironically, Granny would’ve found it downright hilarious. Same thing for the hordes that turned up for her

34 Rob Rosen funeral. Hilarious, since she hated most everyone, tolerating them at best. Still, the name Jackson was synonymous with the town. Somehow or another, everyone was tied to it, to her, even if it was from generations earlier. Still, these people had come to pay their respects, despite the fact that they probably couldn’t stand her. In other words, she would’ve despised this spectacle. Doubly so if no one, had in fact, shown up. The paradox of it made me smile. And yet, Granny pretty much still won in the end: everyone showed up and was miserable all at the same time. Chalk one up for Granny. Victorious even in death. I held on to Pearl’s hand. She turned and smiled at me. I was pretty sure she was thinking the same thing I was. Jeeves, naturally, looked somber all the while. Though Jeeves pretty much always looked somber. I remember seeing pictures of him once at Disney World for a family reunion. He was the only one frowning in every picture, in the whole park, more than likely. If there was a happiest place on earth for Jeeves, it was certainly where there were no other people. Or cars to drive. Or doors to answer. Or grannies to answer to. I wondered what he’d do now that she was gone. Then, all too soon, we found our pew, up front, Granny’s coffin only a couple of feet away. Thankfully, it was a closed casket. Granny, apparently, had already made her wishes known on that one. “Last thing I want is for people to remember me looking peaceful,” she apparently told her lawyer. “They wished I’d shut up when I living; far be it from me to give them what they asked for once I was dead.” Sounded like her, anyway. Besides, she was probably worried that someone would swipe the family jewels, which Pearl told me where dangling down from her good clothes inside that coffin at that very moment. Thankfully, she was wearing some of them when she died because the jewelry box was still missing. And, man, I sure hoped Gabriel liked pearls and platinum because Granny found diamonds far too showy. I turned around before the funeral got underway. The rest of the staff was scattered about nearby. My eyes roamed down each

southeRn FRied 35 of the pews, finally landing on Zeb’s sapphire peepers. He smiled and waved when he saw me, my heart fairly skipping a tra la la beat. I know, inappropriate in my timing, but I needed the boost right about then. And it wasn’t like I popped a boner at Granny’s funeral. Mostly. Then the organ started and all systems were go. I gulped, sweat trickling down my forehead, quickly turning into a torrent. Preacher Woods moved to the podium. He’d baptized me, married my parents, and now was sending Granny off. I’d always hated him. Guy gave me the willies. The way he’d put his hand on your shoulder and clamp down. The way he’d whisper in your ear, face too close up. Fire and brimstone for the masses, butt plugs and nipple rings in his bedroom. Molester for sure. Would’ve put money on it. I shuddered at the thought. Though the sermon was nice and all: Granny’s favorite Bible quotes, stories about her good will, her commitment to the community, her tireless work on behalf of the down and out. I bit my lip, preventing a smile from forming. Oh, not out of pride, mind you. Granny hated the down and out, you see. “Pull up your own damn boot straps,” she’d say. Loudly. Still, she dished out the money. Had to. It was the only way to keep those asking quiet. “Just write the check,” she’d tell me. “Don’t even let them get to talking. Otherwise, they’ll never shut the hell on up. Damn do-gooders. Get a job and get off my front porch.” The check always came with a smile, too. To their faces. Soon as that door was closed, however, her middle finger would fly up. See, Granny loved shooting the bird. More ladylike than cussing, she thought. Double birds for the Girl Scouts, the ones brave enough to knock. “Their cookies taste like cardboard and cost twice as much as those down at the Piggly Wiggly. A scam. An out and out scam, it is. Put ‘em in the fields if you want to teach them about the world. That’s what my daddy did for me, and just look at how I turned out.” Needless to say, I kept my mouth shut. Besides, if my great grandpa put her in the fields, it was only to get him a fresh peach, seeing as the servants weren’t allowed in

36 Rob Rosen the mansion back then either. And I hear he hated waiting for anything. Guess the peach didn’t fall too far from the tree on that one. Pearl picked that moment to lean over and whisper in my ear. “Think your Granny is rolling over in that there coffin right now listening to all this shit?” I laughed, then tried to cover it up with a loud sob. All eyes turned my way. And so I repeated it. Thank goodness for all those theater classes. Who knew that Willy Loman would come in handy at a funeral? In any case, I was sure I looked downright miserable at that very moment. Then again, maybe it wasn’t to my advantage, after all. The creepy preacher looked down at me and gave me a condescending smile. “And now, brothers and sisters, I think Miss Jackson’s grandson, Trip, would like to say a few words for the dearly departed.” No he wouldn’t! No he wouldn’t! my brain was screaming. Ask Jeeves, while he’s still on the payroll! Only, the preacher couldn’t hear my brain screaming and was already waving me up on stage. With, of course, Pearl propelling me up. And Pearl’s propulsion rockets could put NASA to shame. In other words, I was up there with him, his, yuck, hand clamped down on my shoulder, his, double-yuck, breath in my ear. “Just speak from your heart, son.” I stare down at the coffin. Granny had done well for her final resting place. Thing must’ve cost a small fortune. Though it wasn’t like that was what I could say to all those people. Boy howdy, Granny’s coffin is gonna put all yours to shame. Yes, even I knew that wouldn’t fly. I might be shallow but I’m not dense. It’s a fine line. A mighty fine line. Anyway, I owed it to her to do this. And there wasn’t anyone else who knew her like I did that could say the words that meant the most. Maybe the archangel Gabriel was listening right at that moment, horn at the ready. Maybe my words could sway him to blow. They’d certainly done me well in the past in that capacity.

southeRn FRied 37 Well, maybe not in the same capacity, but still. I looked down at Pearl. She smiled and nodded. I looked at Jeeves. Nothing. Go figure. Then I looked to Zeb. His smile lit up the place. Heck, even Gabriel would’ve needed shades for that one. And then, all of a sudden, I knew what to say. Because it wasn’t for those people I was saying it; it was for Granny. And you know what Granny would’ve said to me? She would’ve said, “Tell it like it is, boy. ‘Cause most people won’t believe you either way, so you might just as well speak the truth.” I smiled as I stared at the coffin, and then I spoke. “Granny was one of the best dancers I know.” I looked at the crowd, most of their eyes growing wide at the comment, with more than a few hushed whispers here and there. This was not what they were expecting. And Granny hated giving people what they expected. “What’s the fun in that?” she’d say. In any case, I continued. “She loved getting in the middle of the crowd and lifting her arms up, swaying them to the beat, on account of her hips didn’t work all that well anymore.” Pearl snickered, which meant I was on the right track. “See, in the crowd, Granny was just like everyone else. Nobody was watching to see if she was saying or doing the right thing. Nobody knew that she was a Jackson. Nobody knew about the mansion or the plantation. Not that Granny didn’t love the mansion, mind you; it’s just, it came with a price none of you could see.” I paused, trying to keep my voice in check and the floodgates behind my eyes locked up good and tight. Granny hated when people made a spectacle of themselves. And, if she was watching, I didn’t want to disappoint. “See, she was Miss Jackson to you all. But she was Granny to me. I got to see her for who she was. And, yes, she was as ornery as you all thought, just as shorttempered and irritable, but that’s because she had generations and generations of Jacksons pressing down on her, forcing her into a role too heavy for your average person.” Again I looked to Pearl, her eyes shut good and tight, head bobbing up and down. “And let me tell you all something right here and now, Granny was anything but average.”

38 Rob Rosen “Hallelujah,” shouted Pearl, a few uncertain amens following suit. “Now then, Granny wasn’t a God fearing Christian woman, like many of you know. But that’s because she wasn’t fearing of anything. In fact, she was the most fearless person I ever met or ever hope to meet. Which is why she was able to get down with it in the middle of a dance floor at her age.” Pearl had her hands up in the air now, getting ready to feel it. “But Granny, well now, she was a God loving woman. She loved God for all that he gave her. Loved God for that mansion and her name. For her peach crops and her rose bushes. Loved God for making her a fine southern woman.” Well know, wouldn’t you know it, half the crowd amened at that one. Probably all the women in the audience, at any rate. “And, mostly, she loved God even though he took her only child away from her and gave her me instead. And that’s about as fearless a person as any of you would be lucky enough to meet. And lucky for me as well, let me tell you.” Pearl was on her feet now, “Hallelujah, praise Jesus!” I smiled, knowing full well that this wasn’t that kind of Baptist church. Still, a bunch of folks followed Pearl and a bunch more shouted their praise up to the rafters. Meaning, if Gabriel was listening, I was certain he was getting an earful. Probably from Granny right by his side, I’d imagine. “So for all of you out there, pretty much the whole town it looks like from up here, for all of you who understand what it’s like to show something on the outside but feel something completely different on the inside, let me hear an amen!” There was a murmur of it, a ripple across and down the pews. “And for all of you who feel the crush sometimes and just wish you could shake it off and get down with it, let me hear an amen!” And the murmur went full-voice, rising like the tide. “And for those of you who love the South and what it represents above what other folks think about you, because let me tell you, Granny loved the South and couldn’t give a damn what anybody thought about her, let me hear an amen!” And, wouldn’t you know it, they were all on their feet, every last one of them, even the ones that probably

southeRn FRied 39 couldn’t stand Granny. Because, above all else, they were her kin just by being her neighbors, just by being born southern by the grace of God. And Granny might have hated them all for a lot of things, but she loved them all for that. And if Gabriel couldn’t hear all those resounding amens then he surely needed himself some hearing aids. “Amen,” I whispered, staring at the coffin yet again, picturing Granny smiling. Then I bowed, good actor that I am, and headed back to my pew. I had mixed feelings about it being over, though, because the tough part was still yet to come. Pearl held my hand when I sat down. “Your Granny would’ve been mighty proud of you, boy. You sure done told it like it is. And that woman liked for people to say what they mean and mean what they say.” She nodded and smiled. “Especially if she came out looking good as a result.” “Especially,” I agreed. “Besides, it isn’t too good to lie in the house of the Lord. Least not when he’s about to judge your only kin.” “Amen,” both Jeeves and Pearl said. And I could’ve sworn I saw just the slightest tear welling up in that old man’s eyes. Then again, the pollen count was off the charts that day, so it was hard to tell for certain. Then the service was done with, the creepy preacher bowing his head in one final prayer before telling the folks who wanted to go to the burial where they should go. Me, I would’ve preferred a nice stool at a nice bar, but this being Sunday, I wouldn’t have had much luck. The South was nice for a lot of reasons, dry Sundays not being one of them. Not that people didn’t get shit roaring drunk, of course, just not so much in public, where the good Lord could see you. Trust me, when you’re from the South, that does indeed make some bit of sense. We piled out after that, Zeb catching up to us before we reached the Bentley, the rest of the staff milling about, none of them any happier than we were about what needed to get done next: one Granny, one meal ticket, good and buried. Still, it was nice to see Zeb again. “You done real good, Trip,” he whispered

40 Rob Rosen in my ear, his hand squeezing mine before anyone was the wiser. “You think Granny would’ve liked it, Zeb?” I asked, locking eyes with his, butterflies swarming all at once inside my belly. “She would’ve loved it, Trip,” he replied, smiling and nodding. “You done put her in the best light possible.” I returned his smile in kind. “Which wasn’t an easy thing to do, all things considered.” He laughed. “I reckon not. Your Granny was more of an acquired taste. Kind of like wanting to eat snails.” See! See! Talk about being on the same wavelength. And, damn, if those butterflies didn’t go wild at that comment. “And you’re all coming to the burial, right?” He nodded, again. “We’ll all be standing right behind you,” he told me. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. Miss Jackson was our acquired taste, too, Trip. Seeing as how she done acquired all of us, I mean.” An odd if not apt choice of words. And then we were off. As before, I stared out the window, though we only had to drive less than a mile. People like to be buried as close to the church as they can be around those parts; gives them a sense of peace, I suppose. Plus, the cemetery and the church are as far way from the water as possible. Don’t want your earthly remains or your house of worship to be washed out to sea come the first bad rains. Or land you on the wrong side of the tracks, heaven forbid. We all made it to the cemetery a short while later, Granny included. Mostly it was just us, those closest to her. The townsfolk already made their required appearances; they’d done their parts and were off the hook. Still, there were some old biddies scattered here and there, neighbors who knew Granny when she was my age or younger. Not too many of them left, so I figured they were there to gloat. Though they’d all be following her soon enough. Guess this was just a preview before the big event for them. I know, I know, morbid thoughts for a morbid day. So sue me. I turned and smiled at everyone. At Pearl and Jeeves. At Betty, the maid, Jake, the pool man, Roy, the gardener, Zeb, of course,

southeRn FRied 41 and Stella, I guessed, the handyman. Pearl was right on that account; one look at Stella and you knew handyman was what you should call her, on account of she’d make Rosie O’Donnell look petite. Though, oddly enough, she was just as beautiful as she was brick-wally. And that was pretty much everyone. Everyone, that is, but one lone straggler hanging back some, near to my age, good looking if not entirely solemn. Him I’d never seen before. I nudged Pearl. “Who’s that?” I pointed with my chin in his general direction. Pearl squinted, tilting her hat up for a better view. “Huh,” she said. “Don’t rightly know. He looks familiar, I suppose. Maybe he did some work for Granny. She was always hiring people for this and that. Odd jobs.” “Huh,” I also said. “Kind of strange to come to a person’s funeral that you barely know, though.” It was then it hit me. “Unless that’s the Beau Pellingham mentioned in Granny’s will.” I whispered the question to each of the staff in turn. They all shrugged, all remembered seeing him around the mansion at one point or another, but nothing beyond that. Strange, even for Granny. You were either in her life or not; no one was on the periphery. Least of all anyone allowed in the mansion. That was sacred ground for her. Maybe you could make it inside the greeting room, but never beyond that. Not even at parties. Those always occurred out back, on the great lawn, or out front on the veranda, for sweet iced tea and finger sandwiches. See, Granny loved her sweet iced tea. She’d have Pearl brew it in the sun all day so that it was good and strong. Then she’d pour in spoonfuls of Dixie Crystal sugar, which came from Savannah. Some peach juice was added, if the peaches were in season, either that or a fresh-cut lemon. Nothing like a cold glass of it on a sweltering summer’s day. Matter of fact, I was pleased as punch when the preacher arrived, several pitchers in tow. Seems Granny had told him at some point that she wanted it served at her funeral. For a final toast. All things considered, I was glad

42 Rob Rosen for it right about then, seeing as my clothes were already sticking to me something fierce, my face drenched with sweat, my heart beating like a drum inside my chest. Not that any of that explained who Beau Pellingham was, if that’s who the stranger was, in fact. Just thought you’d want to know why a bunch of folks were drinking iced tea at a funeral. Even in the South that must’ve seemed odd. Though for Granny, odd was par for the course. Heck, odd was a friggin’ hole in one. Anyway, I didn’t have time to find out about the stranger just then. The preacher started walking up, the funeral home wheeling Granny’s remains behind them. I shivered at the sight, despite the intense heat. This was it, after all. A handful of minutes and I’d be all alone in the world. Pearl held my hand, sensing my sadness. Though I suppose hers was almost as great as mine, seeing as she’d been with Granny even longer than I had. The preacher nodded, standing at the head of the grave. He spoke briefly, offering up some prayers I barely paid any attention to. I stared up at the trees instead, at a pair of birds flitting about, at a squirrel running across a nearby branch. Anywhere but down. Not that it helped, what with all the sobbing going on around me, the heaviest from the rear of the crowd, which was weird, all things considered, seeing as those closest to her were packed up front. I turned, briefly. It was the stranger making the racket, the supposed Beau Pellingham. Just for a second, our eyes locked. The chill returned. It was true, I’d never seem him before, as far as I could remember, but there was still something familiar about him, like we’d met. Only, I was certain we hadn’t. He glared my way, tears streaking down his face. I stared his way, tears streaking down mine as well. I turned back around, just as they were lowering her into the ground, the iced tea glasses making there way around. The toast was said by Jeeves, of all people. “Rest in peace, Miss Jackson,” he said, with a wry smile. “Or at least let those around you get some.” I chuckled, as did Pearl. Probably the first joke he ever made, and, wouldn’t you know it, it was at a funeral.

southeRn FRied 43 Still, not everyone was laughing as the coffin hit rock bottom, so to speak. It was then that the stranger’s bawling turned to caterwauling and then to flat out hysterics. “You can’t go!” he shouted, breaking through our little group before kneeling at the edge of the grave. “Not yet!” he added, somewhat cryptically, I thought. I mean, she was old. Way old. And she’d done everything she’d set out to do, far as I knew. What did she have yet to do? Plus, who was he to be going on like that? And, yikes, where was he going? Meaning, one minute he was staring over the edge and the next he was gone. Plunk. Yep, with all of us staring on in disbelief, he dropped right on down, landing on top of the casket, which he then began to claw at. I know this because I moved in to watch, scratching my head all the while, my iced tea gulped down, the glass set to the ground. I mean, yes, the man had clearly lost his senses, but no use letting that fine tea go to waste. Pearl came over to my side and craned her ample neck down, too. “Ain’t gonna bring her back, son,” she tried telling him. Which probably wasn’t the best choice of words, seeing as he doubled up on his sobbing and carrying on. And clawing at all that expensive wood. So I tried something next. “Uh,” I said, squatting now and staring over the edge. “You know, Granny hated scenes.” Well now, wouldn’t you know it, that stopped him cold. He turned to look up, locking eyes with me yet again, his stare sharp as daggers. “What would you know about it? Ain’t like you been to see her in all this time,” he spat, briefly pausing with his carrying on. Briefly. Because then he went right on back to it. I stood, confused at what he’d said. How would he know where I was or wasn’t all those years? Just who the hell was he, anyway? But, again, I wasn’t about to find out. Least not yet. Because right about then the police pulled up, their car at the edge of the grass, lights flashing. The preacher must’ve called them, I figured, seeing as we hadn’t. And it wasn’t as if any of us where about to

44 Rob Rosen jump in the grave after him. As I had said, Granny hated scenes. As did we all. At least not in public. It just wasn’t very southern. The police obviously had the same misgivings. Still, someone had to get him out of there, and it might as well have been them, especially since we were all hollering at them to do just that, the preacher the loudest. I mean, yes, he might’ve been creepy, but he was still the Lord’s right hand man, so it probably wasn’t good to ignore him for very long. Thankfully, the police relented soon enough and jumped in after the stranger. Took them several minutes, but they managed to yank him free. Kicking and squirming, he fought them, but eventually they managed to lift him up and toss him out. Which is when, like I warned you about earlier, he was carted away, leaving us all there in utter shock and confusion. “What was that all about?” I managed. “Beats me,” replied Pearl. “I mean, I done loved your Granny, but I ain’t about to jump in there with her.” She pointed down to the now silent grave. “Though the tea was a nice touch.” I nodded. “Hit the spot.” We all turned as the dirt started getting tossed in. None of us had the heart to watch. Instead, we walked toward our cars, our eyes fixed on the still squirming stranger as the cops shoved him in the back of their squad car. His hollering could still be heard behind the glass. I paused and again scratched my head. I just knew I’d never seen him before, so how did he know about me like he seemed to? Anyway, it didn’t matter; I might never have seen him before, but I was certainly going to get my full of him soon enough. Sorry for the foreshadowing again, but, come on, even you must’ve realized that we weren’t finished with the likes of him just yet. No one who jumps inside your Granny’s grave stays out of your life for very long.

ChAPteR 3 Grits Jeeves, Pearl, and I drove back home. The rest of the staff, with the day off, scattered in separate directions, clearly unsure of what they’d be doing beyond the funeral. Not that I knew either, really. For the time being, I was trying hard not to think about it. Or Granny’s will, for that matter. Something told me it wasn’t going to be what any of us were expecting. Truth was, it would be just like Granny to leave everything to the possums. A last laugh, if you will. Only, even I knew better than that. The estate had to be left in the family. Me being family. But was Granny as crazy as Pearl had made her out to be? That’s what had me worried. I shook the thought from my head and turned her way. “What do you think that was all about back there? You only see that sort of thing in the movies. And only by loved ones at that, not by strangers.” “Maybe it was the heat, boy,” she said, with a sigh. “Makes people do the oddest things. I remember my grandpappy once. We was all sitting out back of our cabin, fanning ourselves, what with it being the hottest August I could recall. So hot even the tree frogs were keeping quiet. Anyway, my grandpappy just stands right on up, shucks off his clothes, and marches his brown ass down to the pond. Man couldn’t even swim a stroke and he just jumps right on in, whooping and hollering like a little boy. Damndest thing I ever did see.” “What’d you do?” I couldn’t help but ask, picturing the scene in my head. “Me?” she said, with a smile. “I grabbed his fan. That there pond was full of snakes and gators. Meaning, I might’ve been hot, but I wasn’t about to lose my head over it none.” I snickered. “Be that as it may, it wasn’t the heat that made

46 Rob Rosen that man jump inside Granny’s grave. You heard his crying. That was sadness, pure and simple. But why? Why would he be so sad? None of us even know who he is.” She sighed. “Unless he’s Beau Pellingham.” And then I sighed. “But none of us know who Beau Pellingham even is.” “Yessum,” she agreed. “But your Granny sure knew him or she wouldn’t be leaving him something inside that will of hers.” Which was true, though not the least bit helpful. “But what, I wonder?” She turned and stroked my cheek. “Gonna find out soon enough, boy. Tomorrow will be here before you know it.” §§§§ And that it was. I stretched and yawned into it, in fact, sun so bright it practically burned a hole right on through the shades, the heat of the day already evident, baking my room. I kicked off the blanket, staring down the length of my bedmate, who had snuck inside the night before. He was naked as a jaybird, face buried in a pillow. I grinned. “That’s one fine ass you got there, Zeb. Grade-A prime beef.” He chuckled, the sound muffled, but he spread his legs just the same. He lifted his head a tad so that I could hear him. “Good enough to eat?” he asked. “Good enough, I suppose,” I replied, reaching my hand out to spank it. “Better than Pearl’s grits?” he asked, legs even wider now. My grin went high up on my face. “Don’t rightly know, Zeb. Might require some research on my part before I can answer that. I mean, Pearl does make some mighty fine grits, you know.” “Fair enough,” he said, suddenly up on all fours, butt jutting out. “Research away, then, Trip.”

southeRn FRied 47 I jumped up and knelt behind him, morning wood at fullmast, hard as a tree stump. I ran my hands across all that alabaster, the fine hairs tickling my palms. I gave his left cheek a thwack, then another, the red rising to the surface. He moaned, his hand reaching between his legs, his dick pushed through, balls as well. “If I’m gonna compete with Pearl’s grits I might as well cheat just a bit, give you something extra to sink your teeth into.” He laughed. “Only, please don’t use your teeth none, Trip; meat might be Grade-A prime, but it’s tender enough you don’t need ‘em.” I giggled. “Granny always said, if you’re gonna cheat, might as well give it everything you got. Nothing worse than a cheater who’s also a loser.” He pushed his dick and balls even further my way. “Trust me, Trip, this is everything I got.” And I had a feeling he wasn’t about to lose, either. Meaning, my mouth sunk down on his prick in a flash. Maybe faster. Again he moaned, beautiful asshole winking out at me, heavy balls bouncing off the brim of my nose as I sucked him off, his thick tool pushing down my throat. He smelled of musk and sweat and tasted salty sweet, his precome hitting the back of my throat like a bullet. In other words, Pearl’s grits didn’t stand a chance. “How’m I doing?” he rasped. I popped his prick out of my mouth, my tongue lapping around his ring. “Pearl’s grits don’t stand a chance.” See, told you so! I rimmed him out, yanking his cock, balls swaying, bed creaking. He bucked and groaned, shoving his glorious ass into my face. Then his back arched, a rumble rocking down his body, out his butt, and straight through to my chest. He shot a split second later, buckets of come drenching the sheets down below. I backed away, admiring my work as he fought to catch his breath. Then I hopped up, got myself a towel to clean it all up with. He was already on his back when I returned, patting the space by his side once I was done. I hopped in next to him. “Your

48 Rob Rosen turn,” he told me, rolling over, his nimble hand making me hard in two seconds flat, his lips pressed to my lips, soft as a cloud, eyes wide open, locked with mine. He pulled away, stroking all the while. “Morning,” he whispered, smiling as bright as the sun outside. His grin was infectious. I kissed him, every nerve ending in my body shooting off, come rising to the surface like molten magma. “Morning,” I echoed, with Vesuvius about to erupt. And then promptly did. He pressed his lips even tighter to mine, my moans pushing into his lungs, his fist moving like wildfire on my prick, my load shooting up, splashing across my belly. I squirmed beneath him as he drained every last drop out of me, my body drenched with sweat. Then he cleaned me up and plopped down next to me again, both of us huffing and puffing. “You know something, Trip?” he said, caressing my upper thigh with his dexterous fingertips. “What’s that, Zeb?” I replied, still panting.

“Shame I wasn’t working here ten years ago. Me and you

would’ve got ourselves into a fine mess of trouble.” I laughed. “No time like the present, Zeb,” I told him. “Besides, ten years ago, Granny would’ve caught us for sure. And a mess of trouble is just what we would’ve been in. Multiplied by a hundred. Last time anyone had sex in this mansion, Roosevelt was president.” “Which one, Teddy or Franklin D.?” “Doesn’t matter. Point is, took me ten years to get comfortable enough to do this; back then, I’d have been too scared.” I sighed, my smile matching his. “But now’s the perfect time.” Only, there was nothing perfect about that time, either, as we were soon to find out. Sorry, just preparing you. Still, that particular hour was pretty close to perfect, so I’m not complaining. Perfect as we nestled next to each other. Perfect

southeRn FRied 49 as we showered together. Perfect on up until we got dressed together. Then it went right on down hill as he snuck away, tiptoeing out of sight. Though, of course, not out of mind. No sir, no how. I laughed, staring up at the ceiling. “What would you have thought, Granny? Me sleeping with the help. Not a very Jackson-like thing to do, huh?” I laughed again as I headed down the stairs, the smell of Pearl’s breakfast making my tummy rumble. “Morning,” I said, pulling out a chair before sitting down to the table. “What are we having?” She turned and smiled. “Grits with cheese and bacon.” She turned back around, swirling the mixing bowl. “And there ain’t nothing like my grits, Trip.” I fought back the urge to laugh again. “Well now, I can think of one thing,” I whispered. Thankfully, she didn’t hear me. And, truth be told, her grits were something spectacular. But Zeb’s ass, man, that was just downright heavenly. Not that I felt like sharing that tidbit of information at that very moment; just thought you’d like to know. Anyway, like I mentioned, down hill we were about to go. Pearl sat across from me and served us both two heaping spoonfuls apiece. She waited just long enough for me to enjoy it, then informed, “Lawyer’s gonna be here in an hour, sugar. I done already spread the word. Staff ’ll be around shortly.” I dropped the spoon in my bowl. “And Beau Pellingham?” She shrugged. “Don’t know, Trip. He ain’t staff. So that’s his problem, not mine.” Only, it wasn’t as easy as all that. The problem would remain there, whether he showed up or not. I mean, I still didn’t even know what was coming to me even. Or any of them, for that matter. I gazed outside the kitchen window, spotting a possum as it ran behind a tree. I grinned and stared up at the ceiling. You wouldn’t have, would you? Full as a tick on a cow’s ass, as Granny would say, I excused

50 Rob Rosen myself and went upstairs to get dressed and to try and collect myself. In less than an hour, my life, I was certain, would change drastically. For all I knew, it would never be the same again. For any of us. And, yes, I was scared. But, truth be told, also excited. If it was time for my life to get all shook up, it might as well be a ten on the Richter Scale. And so, as planned, we all found ourselves in the library. Me, Pearl, Jeeves, Betty, Zeb, Jake, Roy, and Stella. I still had yet to meet the last three, and so I quickly did just that. Jake, as it turned out, was dreamier in person than from a second story window. Picture Charlton Heston, not so much Moses, but more like when he was leather-clad in Planet of the Apes, and you wouldn’t be far off the mark. And damn if Roy didn’t come in a close second. A lithe little stunner he was. Guess being a gardener on an estate the size of Cleveland kept him fit and trim. And tan. Did I mention stunning? It bears repeating. Still, with Zeb so close by, I kept it professional, only drooling ever so slightly before quickly wiping it away. Last but not least was Stella, whose grip nearly crushed my hand. I winced, but managed to stay upright. When the introductions were finished, I looked around expectantly. The stranger from the funeral, who I still assumed was Beau Pellingham, was nowhere in sight. I breathed a sigh of relief, however misguided. After all, I’d had enough of his scenes to last me for quite some time; I couldn’t imagine what or who he would’ve jumped on next if the will wasn’t to his liking. Then again, it might’ve been sort of hot to see him wrestling around the floor with Jake. Or Roy. Or both. But that’s neither here nor there. Mostly here, I know. As in the here and now, which we were in, us and the lawyer, who had just made an entrance. Which is exactly the time my heart started beating out a mad samba. I know, I’m rambling, but, come on, give me a break; this was some heavy shit. Nine futures were on the line, including the missing Beau’s. Granny’s attorney introduced himself. Claude Newman: distinguished, old, all business. He sat at the desk and removed the will from his briefcase. The group of us gathered around, on

southeRn FRied 51 chairs and couches, some of us standing, but all of us as close as possible, nervous looking, silent. Suddenly, I understood what it meant to be on pins and needles. And it hurt like a motherfucker, let me tell you. Claude slipped his bifocals on, cleared his throat, and began, all of us leaning in just a couple of inches closer, Pearl’s hand in mine, squeezed tightly. “My condolences to you all,” he began. “Miss Jackson was a, uh, was a, uh…” Pearl interrupted. “Yeah, we know what she was; just get on with it, please.” He coughed and stared down at the paper. “Right. Let’s see here then.” He cleared his throat again and began. My heart did a skip and a jump, then a double axel. “I, Mary Jackson, being of sound mind and body, do hereby leave the following upon my demise. To Roy Presley, for taking care of my gardens, my prized roses, my manicured lawns and the trees that have been on this estate for generations, I leave ten acres of my land, those to the far west, to do with as he pleases.” Roy squealed and then bit down on his lip in order to contain himself. Though the squeal, of course, was telltale; Zeb might not have had a shot with Jake, but Roy was fair game. Fair being the optimal word. Again, stunning. Simply stunning. Anyway, Claude wasn’t finished with Roy just yet. “Provided,” he continued, the big old but acoming, barreling down like a runaway freight train. “Provided he continues to maintain the estate’s premises for as long as he lives on those ten acres, his salary to be paid while he remains with the estate. If he leaves said property, he relinquishes his claim to it and his role as gardener. The land shall never be for sale and will return to the estate upon Roy’s demise or his termination of residence.” Roy’s squeal promptly turned to a groan. Even in death she had him. I held back a snort, as did Pearl. Still, ten acres plus a salary for life was nothing to sneeze at. Even with all that dastardly pine pollen forever swirling about. Claude moved on. “To Betty Dutmire, for keeping my china gleaming, my silver polished, and my heirlooms unchipped,

52 Rob Rosen uncracked, and unbroken, I leave all the china, all the silver, and all the heirlooms.” And now it was Betty’s turn to squeal, her smile going from fifty-watt to a blinding two-hundred, the cash register in her head ch-chinging. But, of course, neither Claude nor Granny was quite finished with Betty just yet. Here came that other dropping shoe. Kerplunk. “All the china, all the silver, and all the heirlooms that are less than fifty years old. Anything older will remain in the family, one piece of it, however, going to Betty with each year she stays on at the mansion, the piece to be determined by the estate.” Meaning, anything that Granny had bought in her lifetime was for Betty to keep. Meaning, nothing antique. Meaning, the drawers in that cash register had been emptied out before they even got filled. And Betty’s smile dimmed considerably. Still, as with Roy, Granny’s silver and china and heirlooms were also nothing to sneeze at. After all, Granny sure as hell didn’t shop at K-Mart for those things. Plus, each year Betty stayed on, her personal fortune would increase considerably. Next was Stella, who, up until then, had remained stonecold silent. Though I doubt she was much of squealer to begin with. Besides, what, after all, could Granny leave to a handyman woman? Not like Granny had a diamond-studded tool belt hanging around. “To Stella Murphy,” Claude began. “A construction business will be set up in her name, with enough money to get it off the ground and keep it running for up to five years.” Well now, wouldn’t you know it, Stella really was squealable. Only, it sounded more like a high-pitched grunt, really. Sort of jarring, if you ask me. Still, Granny made her happy. To a point. “Provided,” Claude threw in, as I was sure he would. “Provided that her primary client shall be the Jackson estate for a period of up to ten years, its upkeep and maintenance her responsibility during that time.” Upon that, the squeal-like grunt was pretty much just grunt. Stella’s construction business came at a hefty price, it seemed. I stared at the ceiling. Well, at least no possums so far, Granny. Bravo. “To Jake Thompson,” Claude continued. “I leave three thousand dollars.”

southeRn FRied 53 Jake jumped up. “What?” he shouted. “Are you kidding me? That impossible old woman had me work on her pool five days a week, keeping the leaves out, keeping it sparkling for her, and not once did she use it. Not even a piggy toe dipped in.” Claude cleared his throat. “Three thousand dollars unless he settles down and finds a wife.” Claude smiled almost imperceptibly as he glanced at Jake above his reading glasses. “If he does so within one year’s time, that amount will increase to one hundred thousand. Enough to start a family with.” For Jake, the previous squeals were no match for his squeak. It sounded like he stopped breathing after that, until Jeeves patted him on the back. “He will also be paid an additional ten thousand dollars a year above his usual salary for every year he remains with the estate. Ten thousand more for every child his future wife gives birth to.” Jake coughed. “Impossible old woman,” he reiterated. “Quite,” Claude agreed. “Any prospects?” I couldn’t help but ask. Jake grimaced. “Plenty,” he replied. “Unfortunately.” And just wait until those prospects heard about all that money. They’d be knocking down poor, rich Jake’s door. Maybe Stella would have a new client in Jake then, fixing busted doors. That is, when she wasn’t working on the estate. Along with everyone else. In perpetual servitude. Granny must’ve had a field day writing up that will of hers. In other words, I gulped at what was still yet to come. Zeb was next. “To Zebulon Jones,” started Claude, “I leave any three horses of his choosing.” Zeb laughed and clapped his hands, but was smart enough to add, “Provided?” Claude nodded and found his place. “Provided that he keeps them in the estate’s stables, free of charge, food included, and that he also maintains the horses that remain in the possession of the estate, at his current salary with a ten percent raise in pay.” Zeb’s smile remained. “And, since I can’t afford to stable

54 Rob Rosen them elsewhere anyway…” Claude interrupted. “Yes, I believe you see Miss Jackson’s intentions.” “Twenty-twenty,” said Zeb. “And I have no problem with those intentions. The three horses I have in mind are the best in the county. The stud fees alone will keep me rolling in it.” Claude shook his head and chuckled, his index finger held up high. “Um, except for this.” He again found his place in the will and continued. “Any stud fees, sale of said three horses, or sales of future progeny of said three horses will be split fifty-fifty with the estate. Failure to do so will result in the return of said three horses to the estate.” Zeb couldn’t help but laugh. “She always did think of everything.” “Apparently,” agreed Claude. “No problem,” Zeb said, with a shrug. “That’s still three more horses than I had when I woke up this morning. Plus a raise.” He, too, stared up at the ceiling. “Thank you kindly, Miss Jackson.” Jake, Stella, Betty, and Roy also looked up at the ceiling and, in unison, said the same. “Thank you kindly, Miss Jackson.” Though, in truth, it was said like a child being admonished by a parent. I mean, Lord have mercy, those gifts were full of strings. Strings that tied and bound them all to the mansion, like a spider’s web made of steel cables. Pearl and Jeeves and I just looked at each other. We knew the meat of the estate was still left. That was just the potatoes thus far. What, I dare imagined, did Granny have up her laced sleeve for us? Jeeves had little time to wait to find out; he was up next. “To Walter Smithy, faithful butler, chauffeur, confidant, and friend, lo these many years, I leave all six of my automobiles for him to do with as he pleases.” “But?” intoned Jeeves, expectantly. Claude shook his graying mass of hair from side to side. “But

southeRn FRied 55 nothing. That’s it.” “I don’t understand,” Jeeves said, a look of confusion spreading across his dour face. “Don’t you?” asked Pearl. “Them there cars were all bought by Miss Jackson. They had no ties to the mansion. She ain’t giving you anything of the family’s. You’ll be rich, but not at the expense of her kinfolk.” She paused, forcing a smile on her face. “Plus, she’s freeing you from this place. Your time is served, Jeeves. Free as a bird to just flit away if you like.” He stood there, stunned, like a prisoner with a life sentence suddenly released from his cell. I suspected he didn’t know what to make of it. I also realized something neither he nor Pearl probably did: Granny knew I didn’t like Jeeves, never had. This way, she was making sure I didn’t have to fire him; he could leave if he pleased. And with the money he was sure to get from the cars, I was sure he pleased. To leave, that is. Amen. Good riddance. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out. Thank you, Granny. “I see,” he said, somehow dejected looking. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him. I turned to Pearl. “Your turn,” I whispered. “My turn,” she whispered back, eyes wide, hand squeezing mine. “To Pearl Loomis,” Claude read, “I leave the contents of the banking account I’ve left in her name. Provided she watches over the Jackson mansion until the time of her death, looking out for its new inhabitants, whoever they might be.” “Whoever they might be?” I blurted out, a sizzling sensation burning down the length of my back as a lone bead of sweat trickled down my face. “What the hell does that mean?” “What bank account?” Pearl asked, completely ignoring my outburst. Claude again opened his briefcase, removing an envelope, the bank’s emblem stretched across the top left corner. He walked

56 Rob Rosen around the desk and handed it to her, a sudden smile appearing on his face. “She had me open this up many years ago, Miss Loomis. Far as I know, she’s been adding to it ever since.” “How many years?” Pearl asked, gingerly taking the envelope between her thick fingers, which were now uncharacteristically trembling. “The day Trip was born,” he replied, moving back to his seat. “I surmise she knew even then that you’d be earning whatever is in that envelope.” Pearl elbowed me in the ribs. “And then some.” She tore open the envelope and removed the lone slip of paper, her lips silently moving as she read the amount. Then she sucked in her breath and began to fan her face with the paper. “Lord have mercy,” she croaked out. “How much, Pearl?” I asked, also fanning her with my hands as her face broke out into a cold sweat, her cheeks and forehead suddenly drenched. She tried to speak, but her voice was now lodged in her throat. She handed me the slip of paper instead. Twenty-plus years of interest alone on whatever was deposited had to be a mouthful. Only, this was more than a mouthful; this was all the mouths in South Carolina. With enough left over for all of Georgia to bloat themselves on. “Just under four million,” I coughed out. “Four million,” Pearl echoed. “Four million?” shouted Jeeves. “Are you fucking kidding me? Thirty years and all I get is a bunch of old cars, and she, she gets four million dollars?” he stared at the ceiling and shook his fists. “Fuck you, Mary Jackson! Fuck you very much!” Bitter party, table for one. “Calm down, Jeeves,” I tried. Unsuccessfully, I might add. He jumped from where he’d been sitting and, in the blink of an eye, was standing before me, finger wagging in my face. “Don’t tell me to calm down, you, you sick perverted bastard. You haven’t a clue as to what she had me do all those years while you were gallivanting about up North. All the secrets, all the lies.

southeRn FRied 57 All the countless errands and ridiculous chores. And for what?” He was shouting now, poking me in the chest as we all sat there staring at him, eyes wide. “For what? For some cars? While this woman gets four million for cooking and cleaning? Are you fucking kidding me?” Again he stared at the ceiling, his face a blistering red, veins bulging down the length of his neck. “You always were a thankless, old cow, Mary Jackson!” he spat. “I hope you’re roasting in hell right now!” I gaped up at him, anger spewing from all my vents. “Uh, I think you’re shouting in the wrong direction then, Jeeves.” Well, even in anger it was still fun to rib him. I’m nothing if not consistent. He looked back down and grimaced, sweat pouring off of him. And then, with a final growl, he turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The rest of us exhaled as if on cue. “Well,” Pearl said, breaking the silence. “Guess it’s a good thing I neglected to tell him that I scratched one of the cars last week when I was puttin’ away the groceries.” “Hope you scratched it good,” I told her. “Oh, I did, child. I surely did.” She laughed, as did the rest of us. “And I ain’t about to pay him for the damage neither, four million dollars or no four million dollars.” She froze and stared at me. “Four million dollars, Trip. It can’t be real.” It was then that Claude chimed in. “Oh, I can assure you, ma’am, it’s real all right. And not even a part of the estate. That account was yours and yours alone, to do with as you please.” Pearl blinked, eyes still on mine. “Meanin’, Trip, the rest of it is coming to you.” I squeezed her hand and smiled. “Looks that way.” Then I turned and looked at Claude. “Is that right, sir?” He coughed and found the spot he’d left off at. “Let’s find out,” he said, clearing his throat one final time. “As for the

58 Rob Rosen remainder of my estate, the house, my bank account, all other assets not mentioned above, I leave it all to my surviving closest kin, my two grandsons.” I chuckled. “One, sir. One surviving grandson.” He shook his head and continued. “My two grandsons, Trip Jackson and Beau Pellingham. They can split the estate however they see fit, provided the house and the grounds not be sold during their lifetimes. Beyond that, I hope they have the good sense to ensure that the estate remains in the hands of their surviving relatives when the time comes for them to meet their maker.” Claude forced back a grin before finishing. “Because, trust me, the good Lord might be the one weighing their souls come judgment day, but it’s me they’ll have to reckon with when the time comes.” And with that, he folded the paper and removed his reading glasses. I released my hand from Pearl’s. “One grandson,” I squeaked out. “One.” “No, son,” said Claude. “Two. Two, unless Ms. Jackson was mistaken. And, until you can prove otherwise, the estate must be split evenly.” But it wasn’t the splitting that shook me to the core. I already had a life. I had my own money. I had a place to call home. If the estate was coming to me, then fine, I’d deal with it. But no, it was the second grandson thing. If it was true, I had a brother out there. A brother I’d never heard of before then. Which confused the hell out of me. I mean, how could such a thing have been possible? And why didn’t Granny tell me about it? Or any of them, Pearl or even Jeeves, for that matter? Surely they knew. If my parents had had another son, Pearl and Jeeves had been around long enough to know about him. I mean, they’d both been with Granny since before I was born. It just didn’t make sense. Not even a little. I stood up on wobbly knees. “I have a brother,” I whispered, the room suddenly spinning, blackness zooming in from all sides. And, just before everything went completely dark, I added, “I’m not alone.”

ChAPteR 4 Fried Green Tomatoes (No, not the movie) I awoke in my bed. The room was hot, my face sticky with sweat. I had a feeling I wasn’t alone and so I popped open my eyes. Sure enough, Pearl and Zeb were off to one side, Betty and Stella to the other side. I blinked, yawned, and shot them a crooked smile. “Man,” I said. “I had the strangest dream. And you were there, and you were there, and you were there, and you were there.” With each and you were there I pointed to the person I was referring to. “In fact, everyone was there, even Jeeves. Granny died and left him all her cars.” I smiled, despite the bile pushing its way up from my gurgling belly. Pearl reached down and stroked my hair. “Wasn’t no dream, sugar. Your granny died and left us all those things. Now you’re like that comic book character you used to read about when you was just a little thing. What was his name?” She paused and scratched her head. I frowned. It sure seemed like a dream. “Richie Rich. Poor, little rich boy. Kid was a flamer for sure. Sounds like me all over.” I yawned again. “But how did I get here?” She grinned. “You passed out, Trip. We carried you up here.” “Mostly Stella,” piped in Zeb. I looked over at Stella and nodded. “Thanks.” She nodded back. “Luckily, you don’t weigh all that much.” My smile shot up. “Finally, some good news.” Then the grin exploded into a million pieces of debris. I remembered how the will had ended. I turned again to Pearl. “You knew?” She shook her head from side to side. “No, sugar. Not a clue. Like I done told you, I’d seen that Beau feller around, but all your granny ever said was that he worked for her from time to

60 Rob Rosen time. Wasn’t my place to ask her anything beyond that. If ’n your granny wanted to tell me, she would have.” I looked to the others. They all shrugged. “Did any of you ever talk to him? Find out what he did for Granny? Where he lived?” Betty spoke up next. “Lots of people worked for your granny, Trip. This is a big estate, as you well know. Plus, Ms. Jackson had her charity work. If there was something needed to be done and one of us couldn’t make time for it, or wasn’t qualified to help, she’d just hire someone else. Sometimes she’d hire them for several different projects, so it wasn’t that unusual to see someone coming and going, maybe over a few months, maybe over a few years. You’d smile and nod to them, say good morning, but that was it. Because there was no one in the mansion that didn’t belong in the mansion.” She smiled at me, nodding all the while. “That Beau person, he was one of those types of people. Sometimes you’d see him, sometimes you wouldn’t. Like I said, not that unusual.” Again I turned to Pearl. “Did Mister Newman, her lawyer, say how he was related to Granny? Is he my full brother or a half brother or a cousin? Did Granny have other children I didn’t know about? Did my parents?” My mind was suddenly swimming with all the possibilities. How exactly was he Granny’s other grandson? And then, lastly, “Where is he? Beau, I mean? Is he still in jail?” Pearl sighed as her hand went from my head to my cheek. “Mister Newman is checking on that now, sugar. He needs to find him, too. Tell him about his inheritance. Seems like that will of your granny’s was just as big a surprise to him as it was to us. Ms. Jackson drew it up herself and had it sealed away. He knew about it, but wasn’t allowed to read it until after she passed.” I shook my head. “Isn’t that strange, though? Why would she do such a thing? Keep Beau a secret from us, from her lawyer?” Pearl’s smile returned. “Now, Trip, you know as well as I do that your granny was a strange one. But I’m sure she had her reasons, even though I can’t begin to imagine what they might

southeRn FRied 61 have been. Guess we’ll just have to wait and ask Beau himself. Maybe he can shed some light on all this. I mean, based on his antics at her funeral, he must’ve known something that we don’t.” Which did in fact make sense. Maybe he knew he was family, knew she was his grandmother. But why the animosity toward me then, his brother or his cousin? “You’re right, Pearl. We’ll just have to wait and see.” I smiled again. “Meanwhile, any plans for all that money?” She shrugged. “Give most of it to my kids and grandkids, I suppose. A large chunk to the church. Take me a trip someplace warm, but with none of this god-awful humidity or pollen. Plus, that will of hers says that I need to stay at the mansion; doesn’t mention if I can hire me some help. With four million, looks like I can hire me a whole mess of it.” She smiled, her face lighting up. “But what about you, boy? You gonna stay on here?” I pushed myself up on my elbows, that bile in my belly suddenly on fire, like molten hot lava. “I wish I knew, Pearl. Guess me and this Beau person will have to come to some sort of arrangement. After all, this place isn’t all mine, as we all thought it would be.” Her hand found mine, the flame doused, if only for a second. “You always did want a brother, boy.” Truth be told, I always wanted a sister, someone to play dress up with, to talk about boys with. Still, even a brother would be nice. It meant I wasn’t alone in the world any longer; I had family, however small it might have been. “He looked a little older than me, don’t you think?” I asked. “It would be nice to have a big brother.” It was then that we heard the front door chiming: “I Wish I Was in Dixie”. Seemed more like Oz right about then, except in this case it was a mansion landing smack-dab on top of yours truly. “Guess we’re about to find out,” Pearl said, already turning to go answer it. The rest of them stood there staring at her as she left, the door ajar, her footsteps disappearing down the staircase. I gulped and stared as well, a million thoughts buzzing around my addled

62 Rob Rosen head. Or maybe it was just a single major one: a brother. Only, it wasn’t Beau that entered a short while later, it was Pearl and Granny’s lawyer. And neither one of them looked all that happy. In fact, Pearl was swinging her head from left to right and then back again. “Uh oh,” I managed, my gulp repeating. “What, they wouldn’t let you in to see him?” Mister Newman echoed Pearl’s headshake. “No one to see, Trip. He was never arrested.” “But they took him away,” I retorted. “We all saw it.” The others nodded in unison. He frowned. “They took him away because he was making a scene. But they didn’t arrest him. They asked him where he lived and dropped him off there instead.” My smile returned. “So we’ll go to wherever that is and straighten this all out. Divvy up the property.” Go to the beach and build us some sand castles, like brothers are supposed to do. Toss a ball around. Only, I didn’t say that, as much as I was thinking it. But still his head shook. “They gave me the address, Trip. It’s not his. Just an apartment building, and he’s never lived there; I checked. The manager never heard of him or recognized my description of him.” His head stopped shaking, a glimmer of a forced grin rising northward on his wizened face. “But don’t you worry, son; we’ll find him. After all, we have a name to go on.” “And a lineage,” I couldn’t help but add. “We know he’s somehow related to Granny. That should help in locating him. Offer some sort of trail.” He nodded, half-heartedly. “It could, yes.” Then he paused, that glimmer flickering out. “Only, I’ve known your grandmother for decades now, Trip. Drew up hundreds of documents for her. And I never heard her mention the name Pellingham before. My guess, however he’s related to you, if he is in fact related to you, it will be hard to dig up the information. With no names of parents or a social security number to go on, we’ll just have to find every Beau Pellingham we can and hope one of them is him.”

southeRn FRied 63 I groaned. “Though it’s hard to dig something up that’s buried, especially when it’s now at least six feet under, right along with the person that buried it.” Mister Newman touched fingertip to nose. “Exactly, Trip. But I’ll do my best. And at least we have a name. And your grandmother’s name. That should help.” Except, with Granny’s wealth and her vast resources, I wasn’t holding my breath. The woman had a reason for hiding Beau and it wasn’t going to be a roll in the hay finding out what that reason was. In other words, it wouldn’t only be Mister Newman looking. I’d taken an extended leave of absence from my job, already knowing there would be a good chance I wouldn’t be returning. Not that I shared that information with my boss, but at least he wasn’t expecting me back any time soon. Meaning, I had some time, some time to find this Beau person. “Thank you, sir,” I eventually told him. “Any help you can offer would be greatly appreciated.” His smile returned. “I know that, Trip. I know that. Besides, I have to find him. As the executor to your grandmother’s will, it’s my duty. He has to be made aware of his inheritance.” “And of me,” I couldn’t help but add. “If he’s as unaware of all this as I am.” Which could made sense, explain his animosity toward me at the funeral. Maybe he didn’t know that he was related to me. Or to Granny. Mister Newman nodded. “Of course, Trip. And make sure he’s aware of you.” One by one they left the room, with just me and Pearl remaining. She sat on the edge of the bed and smiled at me. “Even in death that old woman is one giant pain in my equally giant rear end.” She sighed. “Why wait until she was dead to spring all this on you, boy? Just doesn’t make sense.” My sigh echoed hers. “Nope. No it doesn’t. Unless she was planning on telling me and just didn’t get around to it. Or unless she couldn’t. Not that that makes any sense either.” I fell backward, my head hitting the soft down pillow. “Five more

64 Rob Rosen minutes, Pearl. That’s all I wish I had. Five more minutes with her to straighten all this out. And to thank her for all she did for me.” A tear welled up in my eye. I wiped it away, only to have it joined by another and yet another, a trickle turning to a stream. Pearl kissed my salty cheek. “Don’t work that way, sugar. Still, when the Good Lord closes one door, sometimes he truly does open up a window.” “Beau being the window,” I said. “Beau,” she repeated. “The next best thing to your granny.” I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. “But how do I find him, Pearl? If, I mean, that lawyer can’t. After all, no one knows who Beau is, right?” She didn’t reply, just breathed along with me. I popped my eyes open and looked her way. “Right?” Again her hand found mine. She gave it a squeeze. “I was hired just before you was born, sugar. I only know what came after you.” Again I closed my eyes, moaned, grimaced. I knew what she was getting at. And it didn’t bode well for the likes of me. No sir, not one bit. “Jeeves,” I coughed out. “He was here just before you were hired.” “By a few years, Trip,” she agreed. “And that Beau feller looked to me to be only a few years older than you. If ’n anybody knows who he is, how he’s related to you, it’s Jeeves.” “If he’s willing to talk,” I quickly amended. “And that’s a big if,” she agreed. “You ain’t at the very top of his Christmas list now, boy.” “If I ever was.” Again I looked her way. “Think I could offer to fuel up all those cars of his in exchange for some information?” She answered my question with one of her own. “Think your granny would’ve had someone working for her for thirty years that could be so easily bribed?” I shook my head. “Doubtful,” I replied. “So what are you suggesting?”

southeRn FRied 65 She smiled. “Only that you get more flies with honey than vinegar.” Again I groaned. “Except I doubt Jeeves has much of a sweet tooth, Pearl.” Her smile widened. “But maybe Walter does.” “Meaning, that honey may be easier to swallow with a big heaping spoonful of my pride?” She stood up and straightened out her skirt. “Oh, Trip, I think you’ll need something more than just honey for this mission; time to break out the big guns.” And with that, she was gone, running down the stairs in double-time. But still I wasn’t alone. Zeb popped his head back in when the coast was clear. “Seems like all our lives got changed today, huh, Trip?” “You got yourself three horses and a raise,” I replied, with a smile. “And you got half a mansion and either a brother or a cousin.” He shut the door behind him and snuggled in next to me. “That’s a lot to take in, I reckon.” I pulled him in close, his head on my shoulder. “Yep. A whole hell of a lot. And it sure would help if someone knew something about this Beau Pellingham person.” He lifted his head and locked eyes with mine, that familiar burn suddenly let loose within my belly. “Well now, I couldn’t rightly say it before,” he said, “what with the others being in the room, and all, but I do know a couple of things.” My heart skipped a beat. “You do?” I asked, nearly breathless. “Like what?” He grinned, clearly glad to be able to help me. “Well, for starters, I don’t know what sort of work he did for your granny, but it surely must’ve meant him living here from time to time.” I jumped up, nearly pushing poor Zeb off the bed. Then I ran to my dresser and popped open a drawer. “Here, as in this room?” I asked. “Is this his stuff ?” I lifted up a few pairs of boxers and some socks, which I knew couldn’t have been mine.

66 Rob Rosen Zeb nodded. “I suppose so. See, the other folks that work for your granny, they don’t live here. They all go home at night.” “Except for Jeeves,” I corrected him. “Nope. When Jeeves has his days off, he has an apartment in town to go to. Which is where I reckon he stormed off to earlier today.” I followed his train of thought. “So, on those nights when he was off, it was just Granny alone in the mansion. If someone else was staying here, only she’d know about it.” I paused. “But you don’t live here, Zeb, so how would you know it?” He grinned. “Look out your window, Trip; tell me what you see.” I did as he said. “The pool,” I replied, my neck craning to the side. I smiled, big and wide. “And the stables. But you don’t live in the stables, do you?” He shook his head. “Only when one of the horses is sick or foaling. Then I got me a bed in there. And a view of the back door.” “And my bedroom window.” “Yep, that’s right. Saw that Beau feller sneak in a couple of times, and then, a few minutes later, saw your bedroom lights pop on. Saw him the next morning, too, sneakin’ right back out before Pearl or Jeeves came to work. If I only saw him a couple of times, I figure he was doing it often enough.” “But that doesn’t mean Granny knew about it,” I told him. “If he worked for her, he might’ve had a key.” “True,” he replied. “But it’s still awfully strange. Why would you want to sneak into the house of your employer? Seems risky, if you ask me. You could just as easily go to one of those motels that dot the highway if you needed a cheap place to stay.” Which meant that Granny knew about it, more than likely. But how long had that been going on? And why? “But why didn’t you ever mention it to Pearl or Jeeves, or even Granny, in case he was sneaking in under their noses.”

southeRn FRied 67 He shook his head. “Not my place, Trip. Best to keep to the business of the stables. And keep my job at the same time. Stick your nose where it doesn’t belong and you’re bound to smell something plumb awful.” Made sense. If Granny was keeping it a secret, his knowing about it would be a detriment to him. I smiled and hopped back in bed. “Thanks for letting me know.” Then he smiled. “Well, see, you’re the boss.” Which sounded sexier than hell. “And what the boss says goes, huh?” I practically purred. “Yes, sir,” he purred right on back, my boxers instantly tenting. I leaned in to kiss him, his lips warm and soft on mine. Then I pulled away, remembering what he’d said. “Wait, you mentioned that you knew a couple of things about Beau. His living here from time to time was one; what was the other?” His grin went lopsided, a flush of red suddenly riding up his neck before splashing across both stubbled cheeks. “Well, uh, he’s… he’s straight. Not that it matters, I suppose. Just something I, uh, I know about him.” I nodded and kissed him again. “You hit on him, huh?” His nod matched mine. “Tried too, anyway.” His smile rose north. “Unsuccessfully, I might add.” “No harm, no foul,” I told him, tickling his chin. “He is nice looking.” “Well, he’s related to you, so, of course he is.” Related to me. The very notion made my head swim. Thankfully, I hadn’t had any deviant thoughts about him. Well, overly-deviant thoughts, at any rate. Well, any more deviant than usual, I mean. Okay, okay, no judgments here; not like I knew we were related at the time. Not like now. Now all my thoughts are wholesome. Except for the ones related to Zeb, especially once his ass suddenly found its way up to my mouth. Suddenly. Well, maybe with a little help from me, but, come on, I am only human. And fast, too, because I knew what Pearl was up to and I knew

68 Rob Rosen what I’d be up to as soon as she was finished. Meaning, we were both spewing in record time. Kapow! He made it out the door barely a few minutes before Pearl’s return. “You okay, boy?” she asked, huffing from her walk up the staircase. I grinned. “Sure, Pearl, why do you ask?” She looked at me with her head tilted to the side, her eyes in a squint. “You look flushed, is all. You sure you don’t have no fever? Maybe still in shock or something?” In fact, I was relaxed down to my very toes, thanks to a certain stable boy. “Probably just hot in here, I suppose. Not used to all this, uh, southern heat.” She smiled and handed me a tinfoil-wrapped bowl. “Then too bad you’s about to go from out of the frying pan and into the fire.” She chuckled. “Just thank the Good Lord for that secret weapon you got there.” I breathed in, the familiar aroma taking me back a decade or so. “Now we gotta pray that the way to a man’s heart really is through his stomach.” “While you’re at it,” she couldn’t help but add, “better pray he’s got himself one. A heart, I mean. Can’t recall ever running across it before, sorry to say.” She had a point, and I groaned at it as I hopped out of the bed, my sneakers on in no time flat, both of us heading downstairs before I said my goodbyes and made my way to the address she’d handed me. Thankfully, the cars were all still there. After all, they all belonged to Jeeves now, and he was the one I was headed to. §§§§ He didn’t live too far away, as it turned out, an old two story house that had long ago been subdivided into apartments. It was a nice enough place, but not the mansion. That was for sure. Still, I could see why Pearl’s windfall was so upsetting; by the looks of things, he most certainly got the short end of the stick. I sighed and looked down at my secret weapon. Suddenly

southeRn FRied 69 it seemed pretty weak. Like tossing a powder-puff at a tank. Still, with little choice, I hopped out and trod on over, walking inside a vestibule and up a short flight of steps. I breathed in deeply, counted to ten, then ten again, then breathed in again, added another ten for good measure, and then rang the bell. I remembered to exhale just as his door creaked open, his face appearing from within the gap. He eyed me suspiciously, a look of out and out hatred washing over him like a tidal wave. Then again, that was pretty much how he always looked, so it was hard to tell just how pissed off he was to see me. “What are you doing here, Trip?” he asked, lips barely pried open. “I, uh,” I managed to push up from my lungs, followed by a rather painful pause, which was, of course followed by yet another one. At the best of times, I had little to say to the man. And these clearly weren’t the best of times. In fact, these were the dark ages and the black plague combined, tossed in with a little herpes outbreak for good measure. “I, uh, was hoping you could help me.” And then he laughed. Scare-fucking-ey. Which was promptly followed by his slamming the door in my face, the sound echoing down the hallway before boomeranging back into my ears. But I, of course, was not to be deterred. Frightened, yes. Deterred, no. Besides, I still had my secret weapon. I knocked this time around, loudly. “I have something for you,” I said, my lips a mere inch from the wooden door. “Go away,” he replied back, his voice muffled on the other side. I removed the tinfoil. “Pearl made them special for you.” The silence was deafening. Then the door opened ever so slightly. “What?” he growled, hungrily eyeing the dish. “Fried green tomatoes,” I replied. “Your favorite.” I gulped down my pride, tossing in a “Walter” for good measure. He snickered, and the door opened a few more inches. “You have five minutes, Trip. No more.” He ushered me in and quickly

70 Rob Rosen grabbed for the dish. “Now, what is it?” He stood. I stood. He stared down at me and I up at him. “Beau Pellingham,” I managed. “What about him?” he asked, tapping his foot. “He’s, uh, he’s either my brother or my cousin,” I replied, meekly. “He’s, he’s Granny’s other grandson either way.” He shook his head. “Nonsense. You are that infernal woman’s only living relative.” I shook my head back at him. “Or so we thought,” I said. “You skedaddled before the rest of the will was read. Granny left the remainder of her estate to Beau and I, her grandsons.” And still I stared at him, and waited. But he said nothing, clearly pondering what I had just said. “You knew her the longest, Walter. You were at the mansion before I was born. You, you must know something about this. About Beau.” And still his head shook, the tapping gladly and abruptly stopping. “Did Granny have another child? Did my parents?” He walked away, reaching for one of the fried green tomatoes. “Nobody makes these like Pearl does, Trip. This is pure South, this is.” He popped it in his mouth, then another, sucking the grease off his fingers, his eyelids fluttering. Gross, I know. “Suppose I do know something. What would it be worth to you?” “Do you know something?” I asked, peeved that I was suddenly being blackmailed. And by the likes of him, no less. “I said suppose I know something,” he replied. “Then what?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “What do you want, Jeeves?” “Walter,” he corrected, wagging his finger at me. “What do you want, Walter,” I amended, fairly choking on the word. He paused, a new look appearing on his face. It was just for the briefest of moments, really, a hiccup in time, but I recognized it just the same. It was sadness. Resigned sadness. “I, I’d like to keep my job,” he said, his usual gruffness quickly making a triumphant return.

southeRn FRied 71 I couldn’t help but laugh. “Why? You’d be working for me then.” But I knew the answer even before he told it to me. His job, after all, was all he knew. Thirty years of it. It was his life. Without it, there was nothing. He had no family nearby, no home, no fancy house. So of course he still wanted his job, even with me now in the mix. So I stopped him. I didn’t need to hear him say it. In fact, I didn’t want to. “Fine. Your job, plus a ten percent raise,” I blurted out. “Now, tell me what you know. Please, Walter.” The sadness on his face returned and stayed put this time. “Until you mentioned it, I’d completely forgotten about it.” He sat down, tired looking in his everyday clothes. The chauffeur suit gave him a regality he was now missing, a respectability. Strange how I never noticed it before. Anyway, he continued. “Your grandparents hired me as soon as I walked into the mansion. Took one look at me and offered me a job. I was just barely in my twenties. Poor as poor could be, after, well, after I’d recently lost a job.” I nodded. “Granny always enjoyed helping out those less fortunate. I’d seen it as a kid. Betty, in fact, told me something similar when I met her.” He sighed, looking all his years. Like he’d been put through the ringer and still hung up wet. “Yes, she was like that. But still, I had no experience. And she knew nothing about me. Nor did your grandfather, for that matter. This was more than charity, Trip.” He looked straight ahead, though clearly not seeing me. Like he was staring into his past. “I saw it in their faces. It was desperation. They needed me as much as I needed them.” I found a chair and sat down. “I don’t get it. Granny was never desperate. Ever.” He blinked, smiled. “She grew into that woman, Trip. Many southern women do. Especially the widowers, which would come soon enough for her.” He paused again, head tilted down. “Anyway, this was a different kind of desperation. They needed me because they needed someone new to town. Someone who didn’t know who they were or what they meant to everyone.” The light was flickering on above my head now. “They had a

72 Rob Rosen secret. Something you’d never know about.” “And was too young to dare ask. Or blab about should I ever find out,” he told me, head lifted up again, eyes locked with mine. “She had another child?” I asked. He laughed, low and soft. “Of course not, Trip. How could she keep something like that a secret? She couldn’t just disappear and come back, could she?” That light above my head was now burning bright. “But my mom could. A young woman, maybe sent away for a brief time. Traveling. Going to school.” He nodded. “To Europe, they told me. She returned just after I started at the mansion, your father in tow. She said they met in France, fell in love. They married soon after that, the whole town turning up, me included. Only…” “Only what?” I yelped, heart racing now. “What?” He continued. “Only, whenever I asked her about Europe, what she saw, how they met, she never answered. I was young, curious. She understood and was sweet as could be. Still, there was never a response. Eventually, I stopped asking. Stopped even thinking about it. Until, until today, just now.” My heart was now beating rapid-fast, ready to explode from my chest. “So he’s my brother then. Beau.” He shrugged. “Stands to reason. That sort of thing happened back then. It also explains his comings and goings around the mansion. I never could figure out what he did for your grandmother. And she, of course, wasn’t about to tell me if she didn’t want to, which clearly she didn’t.” My shoulders slumped. “He lived there. In the mansion.” “Nonsense.” “No, he did. When you were on your days off, he lived in my room. But why? Why not let everyone know? Thirty years later, who would care? She was an old woman. Times had changed.” He stood up and popped another tomato in his mouth,

southeRn FRied 73 offering me one, mainly because southern hospitality always trumps disdain. In other words, I took it, the tart green tomato bursting from within its crispy, salty coat. I stifled a moan because, yes, they really were that good. Secret weapon indeed. “Times had changed, passing her by along their merry route, Trip. Her only daughter had a baby out of wedlock. The neighbors still would’ve had a field day with that, the whole town, in fact.” I nodded, grabbing for another tomato. “I get it,” I said, chewing and swallowing. “But why not tell me? Tell me I had a brother? Let us get to know each other?” He set the dish down and scratched his head. “Now that is a mystery, one I think you’ll have to figure out on your own. Or ask Beau. My guess is that he knows more than either of us.” Once again I sighed. “Easier said than done. I don’t have a clue where he lives. All anyone seems to know is that he did some sort of work for Granny.” Again he smiled, which was getting really unnerving. “Then she must have paid him. Which means she wrote him checks. Which means she had records of him in her files, I’m assuming. Unless it was all under the table. Still, worth a shot. Maybe an address will turn up, at any rate.” I stood. “Will you show me?” I asked. “Tomorrow, I mean. When you come in to work?” The smile remained. He emptied the remaining contents of the dish into some Tupperware, then returned it to me. “Tomorrow then, Trip,” he said, leading me out the door. “Just like you always sang as a child, the sun’ll come out tomorrow.” Oh, God, was I really that gay? Don’t answer that. Rhetorical question.

ChAPteR 5 Boiled Peanuts I didn’t go directly back to the mansion; I drove into town instead. It’d been ten years, but nothing had changed all that much. And though there were certainly no Internet coffee houses, there was, thankfully, a public library, small though it was. And, lo and behold, there was one computer tucked neatly in the back of the place. Not surprisingly, because life is never that easy, I quickly discovered that there were no local Beau Pellinghams on Facebook or LinkedIn. None on MySpace or Twitter, either. Those that did pop up were long dead, found only in obituaries, or lived many states away or were clearly the wrong age. Still, I sat there and scrolled through it all, alone in my corner, heart racing when that last name appeared. Like a whistle, it blew in my head each time I came across it. Pellingham. Oddly, the name sounded vaguely familiar, only, I couldn’t for the life of me remember why. It was like it was tucked away, cobwebbed in the farthest recesses of my brain, unwilling to break free and reveal itself. Turned out, as I was soon to discover, it was a name with deep southern roots, all the way back to the early South Carolina settlers. Meaning, lots of old money. And power. Which is exactly when it hit me why the name sounded so familiar. “Pellingham,” I whispered. “Senator Pellingham.” Living in the North, it wasn’t a name I came across all that often. Why would I? I gulped, though, because Granny, I knew damned well and good, ran in just such circles. But Senator Pellingham was pushing eighty now. Certainly, he couldn’t have had an affair with my mom and had a son with her, could he? I dug further. Yippy for Wikipedia. Senator Bertram Pellingham had a son, namely one Robert E. Pellingham. I kid

76 Rob Rosen you not. Robert E. And southerners eat that shit up. Pretty much, you get an extra thirty percent of the vote just for naming your kid that, fifty in the rural areas. Not that Republican senators in the South have much fear of losing their seats, mind you, but it never hurts to hedge your bets. Robert E. Pellingham, I read, was about my mom’s age, if she were still alive. He was living in Savannah now. A big-shot lawyer, with a wife and two kids, twenty five year old twins, Jessica and Portnoy. The latter was a family name. Still, talk about cruel and unusual punishment. No mention of Beau, though. Probably just a coincidence, all of this, I supposed. It was, after all, a common enough southern name. Still, the dates all worked, and Granny most certainly knew the Senator, had to have, in fact. But now what? I couldn’t walk into either of their offices and start asking questions. One look at me and security would be called, right quick. Gay and coming from the North? I mean really, talk about your double wammies. Might as well lie and say I was Jewish, too. At least the secretary would get a good laugh before I was promptly thrown out on my gay, northern, almostJewish ass. And what would my line of questioning be, anyway? “Hello, Senator. Did your son father an illegitimate child with my mother? Because I’d like to find that child and play catch with him, build us a few sand castles. You can even take pictures. Get yourself some of the gay vote.” As if. Nope. That route was closed off before the road even got started. Besides, there was no mention of Beau in any of their bios, and what was the likelihood that they’d be willing to admit to him now? Anyway, the odds of Beau being that Pellingham were unlikely at best, despite how good a made-for-TV-movie it would be. Very Lifetime. I pictured it with Harry Hamlin and Valerie Bertinelli. In other words, I’d just have to find Beau and hope he’d maybe know how he came to be. And be willing to share it with me. And then maybe go play catch and build us some sand castles. Maybe

southeRn FRied 77 down on Hilton Head or Tybee Island. I know, that’s a whole hell of a lot of maybes, but better to dream alligator-smile-big than not at all, as Granny used to say. So I headed on home, the windows rolled down, the late afternoon sun pouring in, burning my arm as I strummed my fingers on the outside of the old Cadillac. The radio was blaring a nice country tune. Something about someone losing her man and then something about a shotgun. Very uplifting stuff. I smiled as I drove, staring at the worn down houses, single roomed dwellings, barely shacks, at people rocking on their front porches, smoking, gulping down bottles of Coke. This was the South. My South. And then I spotted something even more quintessential. “Boiled peanuts,” I yipped, pulling off to the side of the road, my car kicking up dust as it crept up to the stand. I hopped out, the smell of them overpowering, the giant metal pot boiling over, steaming, hundreds of peanuts bobbing atop the surface. Only, this wasn’t what my eyes were glued to. No sir, no how. Not even fucking close. “Afternoon,” he said, sitting on the stool behind the stand. He was in his early twenties, short, thin, scruffy, wearing nothing but denim shorts, flip-flops, and a shit-eating grin. “Afternoon,” I replied, just slightly breathless. “Want some?” he asked, with a sly wink, sending a bevy of bats loose inside my belly. “Um, uh, yeah. What flavors you got?” I replied, my arms resting on the old wooden countertop, staring down at him, his legs splayed, hands resting atop hairy thighs. “Got ‘em all. Just depends, I suppose.” The smile grew, as did the tenting in my pants. “How do you like your nuts?” He laughed. “I mean, you like ‘em salty, sweet, hot and spicy?” I coughed, my crotch pushing against the stand. “Big and salty, I guess,” I rasped. He stood up, etched belly tightening as he did so. Then he reached beneath the counter and handed me two bags. “Biggest

78 Rob Rosen and saltiest I got,” he said. “Five bucks.” Then he stared right at me, eyes boring on through. “You know, you look awfully familiar. Like I recognize you, but I don’t. Know what I mean?” Honestly, I hadn’t a clue. Still, he sure was nice to look at. Sinew for days, all in a fiercely compact body. Like an Adonis start-up kit. “Haven’t been through these parts in nearly ten years, so it’s doubtful. Guess I just look like someone else.” He nodded as I handed him the fiver, his pinky tickling my pinky for the briefest of seconds. “Yup. That must be it. Still, got me a regular customer comes by here ‘bout once a week. Buys them same salty nuts, sometimes the jalapeno flavor.” He paused and scratched his mane of hair. “Beau somethin’ or another.” It was then that my fiercely beating heart leapt from my chest. “Beau Pellingham?” I managed, if not just barely. He nodded and pointed his index finger at me. “That’s him. Feller looks a lot like you. You related to him somehow?” I nodded, too. “Somehow. Only, I haven’t seen him for quite some time. Do you know where I could find him, by any chance?” He continued with his nodding, steel gray eyes locked in on mine. “This time of year?” He paused and appeared to be thinking it over. “Peach pickin’ time, ain’t it?” I shrugged. He continued. “Yep, I believe he picks down at the Peachtree Grove right about now.” Which, of course, didn’t make any sense. Not that anything that had to do with Beau did, mind you. I mean, he came from money. And lots of it. Granny would never let any kin of hers pick peaches for a living. Not that any of them would have to, I’d think. Heck, Granny owned her own orchards, peaches included. “What did you mean about this time of year? What does he do the rest of the year?” He eyes me suspiciously. “You’re his kin; don’t you know?” I pulled out my wallet and handed him a twenty. “I’ll take four more bags. The sugar coated ones. The sweet ones.” His smiled returned, his hand atop mine, lingering once again. Then I added, “Like I said, I haven’t seen him in a long while. Just curious, is

southeRn FRied 79 all.” He took my money and placed it inside a dented metal box, then sat back down, fanning himself, legs splayed wide. “Well now, guess he does odd jobs, far as I can recall. Little of this, little of that. Just trying to get by, I reckon.” He laughed. “That makes two of us. Hard enough ‘round these parts.” He paused again, hand creeping up his leg, index finger patting his bulge. “You sure do look like him, though. Only, you’re, well, even nicer lookin’.” I blushed, a flush of crimson rising up my neck, sizzling beneath ample quantities of sweat that now poured on down. “Thanks,” I squeaked out. “Same here. I mean, you too. I, uh, mean, you’re nice-looking, too.” I was eloquent as ever. He smiled, winked again, free hand running across his tight chest, then over a six pack of abs with a seemingly extra set of cans. “Helps with the tips when you’re pleasant to the eyes, I reckon.” I took out my wallet and plopped down a ten, ample tipping for the amply pleasant looking. “What other kind of nuts do you have?” My prick pulsed. “Oh now, got me some really big nuts hidden away. Been boiling all day out here. Must be salty as all hell by now.” His grin exploded, teeth white as sun-bleached bone. “You wanna see ‘em?” he semi-whispered, semi-rasped. I merely nodded, gulped, leaned in. His eyes stayed laserlocked on mine, my body wet with sweat. Both his hands went to his narrow waist, fingers unbuttoning the top button of his shorts, an auburn bush poking out. “These here nuts is more expensive then those other kinds,” he informed, sliding down the zipper, just as a car whizzed by, then another, the zipper all the way down now, the shaft of his willy exposed. I dropped down another ten. “That enough?” He nodded. “Yessum, that ought to do it. You just stand there and watch now, on account of these here nuts is just about ready to blow.” He shimmied out of his shorts, kicking them to the dirt,

80 Rob Rosen massive balls hanging several inches over the edge of the stool, steely cock pressed up tight to his belly. He pulled on his hairy sac. “See, biggest, sweatiest nuts this side of the Chattahoochee.” My mouth watered. “And probably the other side, too,” I corrected him. Again he winked. “I reckon so,” he agreed, spitting into the palm of his hand before lubing up his billy club of a prick, which looked even larger when compared to his rather short stature. Then he began to stroke it, watching me all the while, mouth in a pant. Which made two of us. The sun began its gradual descent, turning him a golden orange as those giant balls of his bounced and swayed, his pace quickening, dick nothing but a blur now. He tossed his head back, eyes shut good and tight, a soft moan escaping from between his lips as he exploded in a torrent. Which wasn’t too surprising, as balls that big carry around a lot of extra come. And a lot of extra come is just what came flying out. Ropes and ropes of it, a geyser of hot spunk that landed, splat, splat, splat in the dirt, thick wads of it. Then, with an extra splat for good measure, he opened his eyes and stared up at me. “You enjoy those nuts of yours, good buddy. And come back any time. I’m always here, boiling away.” He shot me a wicked-ass wink. I cleared my throat and tossed in an extra five. For the show and the information. Well, mostly for the show. “I’ll do that. And thanks.” I heard him slipping back into his shorts as I made it back to the car, my prick mega-rigid now. Then I sped on home, fairly ready to explode as I took the stairs two at a time. Luckily, I looked out my bedroom window before I got undressed. Zeb was locking up the stables in what little remained of the day’s light. I rapped on the glass and motioned him up. He smiled and gave me a great, big smile. Hurry, I mouthed. Thankfully, that’s just what he did, bounding in and hopping into bed with me. “That’s a lot of boiled peanuts you got there,” he said, hand already gratefully working my now-vertical tool.

southeRn FRied 81 That blush of mine returned. “Hope you like them salty and sweet. Two of them are for you.” He laughed. “Yep. And judging from this here granite boner I got here, I’d say you found them over at Billy Ray’s stand. Boy’s a born salesman, ain’t he?” He looked up at me and smiled, my prick so swollen with blood it was a miracle I didn’t pass out from the lack of it anyplace else. “Biggest nuts this side of the Chattahoochee.” I shot at the word. “Saltiest, too, I hear.” I moaned, body trembling as I doused the sheets. Then I eagerly returned the favor, two big messes that would need to be cleaned up. Eventually. We collapsed in my bed, sticky, sweaty, and satiated. He stroked my hand, both of us staring up at the ceiling. “You were gone quite awhile. Discover anything worthwhile?” I nodded, my leg draped over his leg. Truth be told, what I discovered was that I was quickly growing very fond of him. Though that’s not what I told him, not just yet. “Think so,” I replied, instead. “Looks like my mom was sent away a couple of years before I was born, had an illegitimate baby, probably Beau, then came back with a man who would soon become my father.” “So you got yourself a half-brother,” he tossed in. “Pretty cool, huh?” I sighed. “Cool if not utterly confusing.” I turned to look at him. “I mean, he meets me and tells me off, meaning he knows about me, but never contacts me before Granny’s funeral. Then I find out that he picks peaches and does odd jobs, secretly squatting in my bedroom whenever he’s able to.” “Meaning he’s broke,” Zeb added. “But how can that be? Granny knew he was her grandson. She showered me with money, so why not Beau?” “Confusing,” he repeated. “Definitely,” I agreed. He snuggled up even closer to me, stifling a yawn. “Know

82 Rob Rosen what I think?” he said, but didn’t wait for my reply. “I think only your Granny knew that Beau was her grandson. Trust me, no one picks peaches that doesn’t have to; it ain’t much fun. Could also explain why he didn’t treat you like the long-lost brother that you more than likely are.” “Makes sense,” I said, with a groan. “And doesn’t make any at all.” “Nope,” he agreed, squeezing my hand. “Not a lick. So now what?” Again I groaned, and not the good kind of groan. “I don’t suppose you know Senator Pellingham, do you?” He sat up and looked at me with the oddest expression. “Well, now that you mention it.” Then I sat up. “Huh?” He grinned. “Um, I do have a connection to him, sort of. Why do you ask?” And so I told him about the possible Beau connection. And then he said, “Yup, see, that makes sense.” “That makes sense? Why does that make sense?” I was dumbfounded. “Because,” he replied. “The Pellinghams are some powerful people. Even your granny would’ve had to cow down to them. If none of this shit is making sense, and it sure as hell isn’t, then I’d say there are some forces working behind the scenes to make sure it stays that way. Plus, and this is a big old plus, that Robert E. ain’t nothing but trouble, and, from what I hear, he was even worse thirty years ago, about the time Beau was born. Add it all up and this not making sense thing starts to make a bit of sense.” “Or not,” I threw in.

He chuckled. “Or not. Still, it’s a path worth following.”

I nodded. “Only, you didn’t tell me about how it is you know

Senator Pellingham.” He shook his mop of hair from side to side. “Nope, ain’t never met the senator.”

southeRn FRied 83 I scratched my head. “Okay, tell me about how it is you know Robert E. Pellingham.” His head still kept on shaking. “Strike two, Trip.” And a crooked grin started cracking along his face. I stared at him until the bulb above my head lit up, bright as a Christmas tree. “Portnoy!” “He prefers Port.” “I’m sure he does.” I poked his leg. “And do you prefer Port?” I could’ve sworn I spotted a flush of red blooming on his cheeks, but he quickly ducked his head down. “I, uh, I prefer…” And then he looked up and flashed me the most beautiful smile this side of the Mona Lisa. “… you.” Screw it, Leonardo couldn’t have painted anything that beautiful. I leaned in and pressed my lips up tight to his, a warm flush spreading across my back. “Ditto,” I whispered into his mouth, then pulled away. “Now spill.” Because, come on, how often do you know someone who slept with a senator’s grandson? Which, of course, put a new thought into my head: how often do you know someone who slept with a bigoted, Republican, homophobic, southern senator’s grandson? “Spill,” I repeated, more eagerly this time. The crimson spread from his cheeks down his neck. “Had to go to Savannah. Your granny ordered a custom-made saddle for her favorite mare. Made a side-trip to the mall, to do some clothes shopping. Not like there’s a lot of selection out here in the sticks.” I couldn’t help but interrupt. “Unless you like plaid. Or camouflage.” “Or camouflaged plaid. Exactly. Anyway, Macy’s was having a one-day sale and I had to Starbucks-up to prepare for the spending onslaught. By the time I made it to the mall, my teeth were practically floating.” “Ah,” I said. “Bathroom pickup.” He nodded. “Guy was tapping furiously on the floor in the

84 Rob Rosen urinal next to mine. It was one of those johns without dividers, so I had me a little look-see.” “And?” “And he had a big look-see. And I work with horses, so I know when I see big. Plus, he was, well, sort of handsome. Closeted, but handsome.” “And being hung trumps being closeted, right?” “Especially when there’s an empty stall next to the john you’re currently jacking over. Not that I usually do such a thing.” “But hung trumps modesty, too?” He shrugged. “Bingo. Plus, I knew who he was. Guess he wasn’t counting on a dude reading Southern Homes and Gardens. Big article on the senator. Family shots. Port included. Not that I said anything and not that he said anything, of course, but it helped with the, um, trumping.” I hopped up and got dressed. Dinner would be ready soon. Zeb did the same. “So, just the one time then? Trump and run?” He paused, mid-button-up. “Yeah, well, see…” I stopped, mid-zip. “What, there a nearby Sears crapper I should know about?” It came out bitchier than I would’ve liked. Go figure. “I mean, it went beyond the porcelain confines of Macy’s?” He walked over and ruffled my hair, bussing me on the cheek. “Just exchanged cellphone numbers that first time. He’s got an apartment not far from here, calls me sometimes. Not often. And not lately. I think I make him nervous. For some folks, like me, closets are for clothes.” I forced a non-jealous smile, then scooped him up and pulled him in. “No sweat, dude,” I whispered, our tongues soon colliding, swapping some heavy spit. Though it was a sweat. I mean, yes, it had been just a few days, but I’d gone through a lot in those few days. And he was pretty much the only bright spot in them. “Uh, I hate to ask, but…” He nodded and interrupted. “But you’d like me to call him

southeRn FRied 85 and see what I can find out? He could know about Beau, know where he is.” “It’s a big maybe,” I agreed. “But that’s better than a big nothing. Still, like I said, it’s a lot to ask.” “Well, you’re not asking, I’m volunteering. Besides, I’m curious, too. And what if Port doesn’t know he has a half-brother, the same half-brother you have. Just doesn’t seem right.” To which I added, “But what if he does know and nobody’s told Beau. What are the odds of being related to two such powerful, old southern families and never knowing about it? Seems like a cruel twist of fate. Especially when you’re picking peaches for a living.” The very thought made me want to find Beau all that much more. It wasn’t just about me finding a brother; it was about making sure he got what was coming to him. “But how are you gonna do it? I mean, do you guys even, uh, talk when you get together to, uh, you know, get together?” I was trying to give him a visual with my fingers, and I think he got the gist. “I’ll figure something out, Trip. Maybe bring along some of them boiled peanuts. Seems like they entice the shit out of people.” He pointed to my obvious overkill in the purchasing department. And it was then that that bulb over my head went super nova, an idea to put into play. I quickly filled him in on what I was thinking, and then he skedaddled, him out the back, me down the stairs, the aroma of something wonderful drawing me in like a coon to a trashcan, as Granny used to say. “What are we having?” I asked, already pulling up a chair and sucking down some sugary-sweet lemonade. “Pork chops, sweet potatoes, and corn on the cob,” she replied over her shoulder, pulling the pork chops out of the oven, the aroma washing over me like a flood. She turned around and smiled at me. “Everything go okay over there at the lion’s den?” I laughed. “What, Jeeves? Ain’t nothing but a little, old pussy cat.”

86 Rob Rosen She snickered and shot me a look that said she knew better. “Old, maybe. But that’s about all you got right in that there statement. Don’t tell me he’s gonna help you.” I nodded. “And come back to work here. Said he’d miss you something fierce otherwise.” Again she snickered, plating the food. “Boy, if ’n you’re trying to pull the wool over my eyes, ain’t enough sheep in the whole damned county. Now fess up.” So fess up I did, in between ravenous chomps on that stupendous dinner of hers, leaving out most, but not all, of the Zeb/Port assignation. “Still not adding up, though,” she said. “Like you mentioned, your granny knew the senator, and Robert E. was a fine hunk of cheese for your mama to nibble on, let me tell you, but why is that child of theirs pickin’ peaches? There’s plenty of rooms for kin in the mansion. Plenty of money, too. And a brother waiting for him. And I gotta say, if ’n that Beau knew he was a senator’s grandson or your granny’s for that matter, he sure as shit wasn’t acting like it.” “How did he act?” I asked, stopping midway across the ear of corn, melted butter dripping down my fingers. “Like the help,” she replied, “the few times I done had words with him. And your granny treated him as such, too.” She shook her head. “And she must’ve known about him. Knew he was her grandson all along. But how can that be?” I set the corn down. “Jeeves is gonna help me tomorrow. Maybe we can find an address for Beau. Hopefully, he has some of the answers, a piece to the puzzle that’s gone missing.” I picked up the ear again, and just as a side comment, asked, “Don’t suppose you know the senator, do you?” “Well, now that you mention it,” she replied. “Not you, too?” I couldn’t help but utter. She laughed. “Nope, not me, too. Met that old fool once. Only thing black that he likes is his limos. But now Roy, Roy

southeRn FRied 87 knows the senator. Used to work for him.” “Roy the gardener?” I asked in shock. “Yup. Roy worked over at the senator’s mansion in Charleston. Him and his father before him, in fact.” I pushed the plate away and stared at her, tilting my head like a confused hound dog. “Then how did he come to work for Granny?” Suddenly, my stomach knotted. The idea that Beau was the senator’s grandson was just that, an idea. A coincidence of names and social strata. But now there was another connection. And an odd one at that. Not that the pieces fit, mind you, but it sure as shooting was starting to look like they were all from the same puzzle. “We’re a couple of hours from Charleston, Pearl. And second generation gardeners just don’t up and leave their jobs, I’d think.” “Nope,” she said. “I reckon not. Guess you’ll just have to ask Roy.” She stood up and walked over to a drawer. Out came her address book, and two seconds later she was handing me a scribbled note. “He only lives twenty minutes from here. Never been there myself, but it should be easy enough to find.” I thanked her and we resumed eating. Though my mind was a million miles away. And then it was merely upstairs. “Something I forgot to ask you about, Pearl.” She chewed and swallowed. “What’s that, boy?” “Granny’s jewelry case. It wasn’t by her bed. Not on the dresser either.” I chugged down another gulp of lemonade. “I can’t remember a time it wasn’t in her bedroom. Granny always kept it close by. Always.” Pearl stopped eating. “Always is right, boy. You sure about it being missing?” I pushed my plate away and stood up. Pearl did the same. “Let’s go see.” And that’s just what we did, finding ourselves in Granny’s bedroom a couple of minutes later. I took the left half of the room, Pearl the right. We searched the place, high and low. “It’s

88 Rob Rosen gone, sugar,” Pearl said, plopping down on the bed. “Could it have been the undertakers?” I thought to ask. “I suppose,” she told me. “I mean, I wasn’t up here when they, when they wheeled her out. Just couldn’t bear to see it.” She shut her eyes. “You understand.” And I did. I sat next to her and held her hand. “Betty said she thought it was put away for safekeeping. But if she didn’t put it away and you didn’t put it away, then who would have? Jeeves?” She shrugged. “You can ask him tomorrow, but that seems unlikely, too. If ’n he did it, he would’ve given it to Betty or myself. No, Trip. I got me a feeling that it was taken on purpose. Everyone in this house knew how valuable your granny’s jewelry was. Guess someone figured, with her gone, no one would miss it. Least not right away.” Suddenly, that lemonade went sour in my belly. “You think any of the staff could’ve done it?” She frowned and squeezed my hand. “Do I hope not? Yes. Do I think one of them could’ve done it?” Her frown deepened. “Yes, I suppose so. Those jewels are worth a lot of money, and it was before the will was read, too. Before they knew what they had coming to them.” I leaned back on my elbows and stared up at canopy. “I hope who did it is feeling pretty guilty now, seeing as how she took such good care of all of them in the end.” And it was then I remembered the second thing I’d discovered missing in her room. Meaning, I kicked off my sneakers and hopped up on the bed. Pearl looked at me like I was crazy. “What’s got into you, boy? You trying to stir up the dead? ‘Cause I wouldn’t if I was you.” She swatted my leg. I stared down at her as my fingers traced the place where the wood met the fabric. “I’m not trying to wake the dead, Pearl,” I told her, kicking her hand away with my foot. Though jumping on Granny’s bed was a sure bet for at least riling the dead up. “Granny hid something up here before she died. I found a ripped piece of her stationary up here the other day.”

southeRn FRied 89 She shook her head. “Stop it, boy.” This time she grabbed for my leg. “Just for a second, stop it.” I stopped my searching. She continued. “Look how you’re reaching up there boy. Takes the whole length of you.” “And?” I asked. She sighed. “And how tall was your granny, Trip?” I dropped my hands to my side. “Oh.” She waited for me to hop back down and sit beside her again. “Yeah, oh.” She patted my hand. “I believe you found a piece of paper up there, sugar, but it wasn’t your granny who put it up there. Not unless she had a stool on the bed.” She laughed. “Woman was spry for her age, but she wasn’t that spry.” “But why?” I asked. “And it was Granny’s stationary. Smelled like lilacs.” Pearl nodded and then her eyes lit up. Seems like that bulb above her head must’ve been glowing now, because she all of a sudden jumped up and ran to the dresser. Then she pulled out a pink pad of paper. “This stationary?” she asked. I jumped up and joined her. “That’s the one.” She smiled, a big Cheshire cat grin. And one that just ate a canary at that. “Lookee here, Trip. You can see the indent of the writing that was on the previous page. Maybe from the one that was stuffed in the canopy.” I smiled, too, but more because her smile was so damned infectious. Then I squinted at the blank page. “Little good it does us. Just a lot of faint lines.” “Maybe,” she said, setting the pad down before running into Granny’s bathroom. She returned with a tin of Granny’s blush. “But maybe not.” She opened the tin and pinched out a tiny wad of the powder, which she gently sprinkled over the pad. The she lifted the pad and held it up close to her face. With a little wisp of her breath, she blew the excess powder off the pad. We both stared down at it, two sets of eyes growing wide. See, the faint lines weren’t so faint any longer. It was hard to read

90 Rob Rosen what was written, but not impossible. I gulped as I read it aloud. “She’s dead.” Pearl gulped, too. “That a threat or a statement of fact, Trip?” I stared at the canopy. “Why stick either up there?” Her eyes followed mine. “Unless you were passing notes to someone and you knew that was the one place no one could find it. And neither Betty, me, or your Granny could reach it.” “And only the male workers in the house could.” I groaned. “Not to mention, Beau.” Again we stared at the pad, a tide of unease set loose in my gut. “But why not just use the phone?” She set the pad down. “Because phone calls can be traced?” I nodded. “That, and maybe the two people passing the notes didn’t normally talk to one another. The notes, then, would be untraceable, the connections between the two people never discovered.” But which two people? I wondered to myself. Pearl snickered. “Untraceable unless you used the finest rosecolored blush.” “Imported from France,” I couldn’t help but add, also with a giggle. She held the tin up close to her eyes. “From the south of France.” And my giggle broke out into a full-on laugh. “Never would’ve bought it from the north.” “Oh, no, child. Nothing from the north.” She snorted. “Oh, hell to the friggin’ no.”

ChAPteR 6 Pork Rinds I woke up the next morning bright and early. I’d spoken to Zeb the night before on his cellphone. He was putting our plan into action, so I’d have to meet up with Jeeves first and try to see if we could find an address for Beau. If not, then hopefully we could find something out from Port. I was praying for the former, because the latter seemed like a long-shot. I mean, even if he knew something, the odds of him sharing that information were pretty darn slim. Which is why my plan involved a little espionage work. Oh, I hear your groaning. And rightly so. Hence my reason for not blabbing just yet. I quickly ate breakfast. Well, quick as one can eat hashbrowns, sausage, bacon, and a three-egg omelet with cheese. Not to mention a tall glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice and two cups of coffee. And that was a small breakfast for Pearl. Damn if my jeans weren’t already getting tight. I met Jeeves just after I finished eating. He was already in Granny’s study, the filing cabinets open, the computer flicked on. “Find anything?” I asked, expectantly. He shook his head and frowned. Least I think he was frowning, what with that being his usual face and all. “Her ledger is in the filing cabinet. She paid him in cash. Just says Beau and three hundred dollars here and there. No records of what he did for her, only that he got paid monthly, which isn’t all that unusual. She kept lots of people on the books and called them when she needed them. This is a big mansion, extensive grounds, and she frequently required workers of all sorts. Though usually she cut them checks and paid their taxes.” “But not Beau?” I asked, knowing we’d failed before I even asked it.

92 Rob Rosen “Not Beau,” he replied.

“What about her computer?” I asked, with a glimmer of hope.

“I tried, but it’s password protected and I don’t know the

password. Do you?” he asked, already closing the filing cabinet. I shook my head, a sob rising up from my chest. On the odd chance, I called down to the kitchen and asked Pearl. “I’m the cook, not the accountant,” she said. “Try some of the words she liked best.” I sat down at the computer and did just that, trying all the words that I knew made Granny happy: Savannah, Charleston, grits, bourbon, southern, Jackson, money, hamhocks, barbeque, lilac. Then a dozen more. Each time I typed in a word, I got more depressed. It was hopeless. A lot of things made granny happy. Then it hit me. I typed it in: Rebecca. It was my mom’s name. I pressed enter. “Jackpot,” I yipped, the screen filling with her desktop icons. And, more importantly, her address book. Needless to say, it was enormous, filled with hundreds and hundreds of names. I scrolled down to the P’s, my heart pounding in my ears, palms suddenly sweaty. Please be here, Beau. Please, I said to myself. “Pellingham!” I shouted. Jeeves leaned in. “Wrong one,” he said. “That’s for the senator.” I didn’t let on that I thought there was a connection. “Granny knows Senator Pellingham?” I asked, instead. He shrugged and straightened up, moving away from the computer. “Socially, I suppose. The Jacksons and the Pellinghams are two fine, old, southern families, Trip. It would, as you well know, be impossible for them not to know each other.” He straightened out his vest. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I have work to do.” Jeeves. He was nothing if not predictable. I should’ve known that the glimmer of a heart I saw the day before already flickered out, leaving nothing but a cold lump of coal in its place. I sighed and waved him off. “Thanks for your help,” I told him, not even

southeRn FRied 93 looking his way. “You’re welcome,” he replied, icily, and was gone, nothing but the smell of moth balls left in his wake. I sat and stared at the screen, moving from folder to folder, hoping beyond hope that she had a secret stash somewhere, anything that could help me find Beau. Second to last were her emails. Only, the inbox was empty. Same for the sent emails. Empty. With no folders left, I clicked the very last icon, the garbage. Just to be on the safe side. “Huh,” I said, surprised at what I’d found. “Empty, too.” And Granny didn’t even empty her own trash. Ever. That was what the help was for. How strange, I thought, that she’d even think to empty the one on her computer. “Unless she didn’t.” “Unless she didn’t what?” came the voice from behind me. I jumped, my heart leaping to my throat. “Fuck, you scared me half to death.” Zeb laughed. “Which half ? Not the good half, I hope.” Now I laughed. “Dirty boy.” “Amen to that.” Then I remembered why he was there. “Did you set it all up?” I held my breath, praying for some good news at long last. He bounded over and put his arms around me. “We’re in luck,” he whispered into my ear, taking a slow nibble on my lobe as a million tingles worked their way down my spine. “He has a meeting this morning, nearby. He’s going to meet me at his apartment just after that. Then we can put our plan into action.” “Plans,” I said, removing the paper from my pocket, the one with Roy’s address on it. “Might as well kill two birds with one stone.” “Yuck,” he said, grabbing my hand. “I hope you mean that figuratively.” I nodded and we walked out of the room. “Okay then, to quote Granny, might as well kill two shots with one glass. Has a nicer ring to it, yes?”

94 Rob Rosen “Yes,” he agreed, the pair of us tiptoeing down the stairs and out the back door, his car already waiting for us. He laughed as he started the engine. “Thank goodness you’re the boss; then I’m not really sneaking off from work.” I reached over and patted his crotch. “Something tells me it isn’t goodness we’re in for.” He returned the favor and gave my crotch a squeeze. “Then, thankfully, it wasn’t this half I scared half to death before.” I leaned back and smiled, slipping on my sunglasses as he sped off, a trail of dust rising behind us. He lowered the windows, the warm air hitting our faces, the greenery whizzing by. I breathed in deeply. The trail had gone cold, but at least we’d picked up a new one, maybe two. I said a silent prayer that Beau would be at the end of one of them. That he’d be glad for the inheritance. That he’d be glad for me. After all, a gay, mostly northern, half-brother was not high up there on a southerner’s most wanted list. I turned to Zeb, taking in his square jaw, dimpled chin, scruffy cheeks. My heart beat madly in my chest. “Is it weird to be dating the boss?” I blurted out, then waited with interest for the reply. He chuckled, the sound like seashells being tossed at the shoreline. “Oh, are we dating?” Volley tossed. Volley returned. “Um, since, as you say, I’m the boss, then yes. Yes, we’re dating.” He returned it with a lob. “Is it weird to be dating the hired help?” I scrunched up my face and giggled, lobbing it right the hell on back. “Nope. Kind of hot, actually.” He smacked it, hard, and scored. “Then, no, it’s not weird, and, yes, I’m glad we’re dating. Now, any chance for a raise, boss?” I turned to him and smiled. “You already got one, remember?” Once again he grabbed for my crotch. “Different kind of raise.” He looked over at me and winked, pulling the car to the side of the ride. “We’re here, boss.” I looked up. Roy’s house was more than I’d been expecting,

southeRn FRied 95 the gardens extensive, a veritable field of color, all exquisitely tended too. How much did Granny pay him? For that matter, how much would I be paying him? Guess we’d have to find all that out after we had a talk with him. But all that would have to wait. Suddenly, we were confronted with a monkey wrench in the works. “Look,” Zeb said, pointing to the driveway. There were two cars parked. The first a Volkswagen, the second a Mercedes, new, and waxed to perfection. “I think I’m in the wrong field.” “No,” he said. “Only the first one is Roy’s.” I sensed he knew who owned the other one. “And the Mercedes?” He turned to look at me. “Port’s.” My jaw dropped. “I think we’ve moved way past coincidences now,” I squeaked out. He nodded. “Looks that way. Now what?” I stared at the house. “I suppose we could just knock on the door and see how it unfolds. It would be interesting to see their reactions. Maybe we can glean something from that. And then we won’t need Plan B.” Which I was all for because our other plan meant that Zeb and Port would have to be alone. Not to mention a little breaking and entering on my part. Yes, sorry, that’s what I should have told you about sooner, but I didn’t want you to worry. Thankfully, it now looked like we had a Plan C. We got out of the car and walked to the front of the house, my heart thumping a mile a minute. I looked over at Zeb; he looked just as nervous. I rang the bell and we waited. And then waited some more. “Ring it again,” Zeb said. So I did. Still nothing. I knocked, loudly. Nada. Zip, nil, nicht. “Wait,” said Zeb. “I hear something.” We paused and held our ears up. “Two men talking,” I whispered. “Sounds like it’s coming from out back.” We followed the sound, our faces soon pressed up to a slatted

96 Rob Rosen fence. “Roy,” I whispered. “And Port,” Zeb whispered. Holy motherfucking cow. I thought Roy was Stunning, capital S. Port was all caps. STUNNING. And get this, they were both naked. NAKED. In fact, I could cap the rest of this, but it would get annoying, so I won’t. But, trust me, it’s deserving of it. It was like a naked, gay Banana Republic ad come to life – well, even more gay and more naked than usual. They were both reclining in adjacent lounge chairs. We watched and listened, my iPhone’s camera at the ready. “Do you know where he is?” Roy asked, absentmindedly fiddling with his man-junk. “No, he upped and vanished,” replied Port, his man-junk already standing at full-mast. And mega-yacht full-mast at that. Fifth limb full-mast. “Which means she either told him or he somehow found out,” said Roy. “Any ideas where he could be?” He spat in his hand and slicked up his prick. I stifled a moan. Almost. Port nodded. “Got a few men looking. Should be an email by the time I get home. Don’t worry, he’ll turn up sooner or later. Always does.” Roy was now tugging on his shaft. We watched in appreciation as it rose steadily. Roy, it turned out, was both a grower and shower. In other words, he was big to start out with and only got a hell of a lot more huge. “Not worried,” he said. “That’s you and your old man’s department.” Port winced. “More like the fucking senator’s. Which doesn’t bode well for any of us.” Roy stood up, mammoth cock swaying to and from, a shit­ eatin’ grin plastered on his handsome face as he slid a rubber over the beast. “He’ll turn up when the money runs out. Always does,” he said, lifting Port’s legs up and out, the smile widening as he got into position, cock-head against hole. “Knock, knock,” he cooed.

southeRn FRied 97 “Come on in,” rasped the senator’s grandson, eyelids fluttering, head tilted back. Zeb looked at me and gave me a slight shove. “You’re filming this?” he whispered, “And you called me a dirty boy?” I moved my face away from my iPhone for a second. “Insurance,” I whispered back. He nodded and pushed me again. Only lower this time. Much lower. “And this?” I pointed at my screen, at the two men now fucking their brains out. “Guilt by association.” “Dirty boy,” he repeated, crouching down, unzipping my fly, and releasing yet a second beast, mine, which quickly disappeared down his throat. “Amen,” I rasped, shoving it in and down. I stared from him to them and back again. “Takes one to know one.” He popped my prick out of his mouth, a happy gagging tear cascading down his scruffy cheek. Such a beautiful man, I thought. Which came out as, “Think we can blow before they do?” He stood and squinted between the slats. “They have a good head start.” I held the phone, he dropped my shorts and boxers, my cock springing to life, dripping copious amounts of precome. He followed suit, two divining rods pointing, two quickly grabbed onto, my hand on his, his on mine. “Then let’s get a move on, boyfriend. Ain’t about to lose to that miserable pair.” I looked through the lens. Neither of them looked all that miserable, but far be it from me to argue. Especially since Zeb had a free hand, which somehow got quickly buried up my ass. Somehow. I mean, I may have spread my feet apart some and then told him to bury his hand up my ass, but that’s neither here nor there. In any case, we’d taken a commanding lead, and with their howling on the other side of the fence like two screaming banshees, it was doubtful they heard us doing nearly the same on our side.

98 Rob Rosen “Close,” I moaned, asshole clenched tight around his entrenched digits. “Closer,” he moaned back, both of us staring in awe as Roy retracted and them slammed into Port’s eager ass. And then we shot together, both our cocks exploding in sync, drenching the fence in ounce after ounce of opalescent come, which shot and then slid down the wood in great big gobs. Huffing and puffing, legs quaking, shirts soaked through with sweat, we watched as Roy and Port came, no pun intended, in close second. Okay, pun intended. And, boy howdy, did those boys come, Port like a geyser with Roy’s massive prick filling every centimeter of him. Pretty hot. And all of it on tape. I leaned in and gave Zeb a deep, soulful kiss. He giggled and whispered, “Well, it sure ain’t boring working for you, boss.” I giggled back and pulled up my britches. “And it’s early yet.” He pulled his shorts up, too. “Better get some more food into me then. Think I just spewed out my protein reservoir.” And so we hot-footed it out of there, speeding away in no time flat, one hand of his on the steering wheel, the other in mine. The hot sun was even hotter now, baking us. “Think they were talking about Beau back there?” I asked, right away. “Seems like it,” he replied. “And, if so, that answered at least one thing.” I nodded. “He didn’t know he was Granny’s grandson. At least not maybe until recently. And it looks like we’re not the only ones looking for him.” “Meaning,” he added, “he’s gonna be even harder to find. If he’s lying low, there’s a lot of places to do it in around these parts.” And then it hit me. “Wait,” I yelled out, slamming my hand on my knee. “We’re not looking in the right place.” “What do you mean? We’re not looking any place just yet. Don’t know where to look.” “No,” I told him. “I mean, we’ve been looking for Beau

southeRn FRied 99 Pellingham.” “Which is his name.” “No,” I repeated. “That’s what it said in Granny’s will, but it’s doubtful he went through life with that last name. He must have a different last name than that. An adoptive last name. I doubt he ever heard the name Pellingham associated with him. I mean, if Granny was hiding who she was from him, then it stands to reason she was hiding everything from him. And I’m sure the Pellinghams were hiding the same thing.” “Meaning, he didn’t know that Pellingham’s his last name by birth, probably. Or at least didn’t until recently, which could explain why those two back there are afraid he’s gone missing all of a sudden. Maybe they think he’s put two and two together.” “And any guesses what Granny kept in her jewelry case, Zeb?” I asked, a smile so big and wide on my face that it hurt. “What’s that?” he replied, same exact smile. “My birth certificate. Mine and my mama’s. Which, stands to reason means…” “… Beau’s.” “And the jewelry case is missing. Which means…” “…. Beau needed money, those two said. Your granny dies and he’s without a salary. He lives in your room from time to time, so he probably knows about the jewelry case. He steels it after she dies and finds…” “… his heritage.” I laughed. “Hey, we’ve only been boyfriends for a day and we’re already finishing each other’s thoughts.” “And spewing together on other people’s fences; don’t forget that.” I shifted my still sticky prick in my shorts. “Hard to forget that one.” Again I laughed, squeezing his hand. “Anyway, imagine if you all of a sudden find out that your parents came from two of the most influential and wealthy southern families, and then realized that this was kept from you your whole life, on purpose. What would you do?”

100 Rob Rosen He stared ahead and closed his eyes, obviously thinking about my question. “If one of those families were the senator’s, probably blackmail him. Your granny is dead, so he can’t do anything about her, but the senator, well, he could do a mess of evil, I reckon. And deservedly so.” I nodded. “Which could explain why he’s in hiding. Maybe he’s already done just that. Or maybe he’s pissed and skipped town, washing his hands of both families, and using Granny’s jewels to start a new life with.” I strummed the side of the car as he pulled off the road and into a convenience store parking lot. “Only, this doesn’t sound like Granny. She was a lot of things, but what she did to him was really rotten. And why not at least tell me? We could’ve still had a family. And he could’ve had a better life, one without peach picking.” I scratched my head. “The puzzle is coming together some, but we’re still missing some pieces. We have to be.” “But we know something else,” he said, looking my way. “Which is?” “Roy,” he said. “He must’ve been a plant. Explains why he left the Pellingham’s and started working for your granny.” “And explains those nice digs of his back there. Definitely not from a gardener’s salary. Maybe he was keeping tabs on both Granny and Beau.” “But why both?” I shrugged. “Not sure yet. Guess we’ll have to wait and see. And hopefully find Beau before they do. Maybe he knows the answer to that one.” Zeb smiled and opened his door. “I’m starving. Be right back.” I watched him run in, tight little ass swaying back and forth. Lucky me. But poor Beau. What an awful life. Maybe that’s why he was so mean to me. Living high off the hog in New York City while he’s slaving away and working odd jobs in order to get by. Had every right to be pissed. As did I. All these years, I could’ve had a brother.

southeRn FRied 101 I stared at the sky. “Why Granny? Why did you have to keep it a secret from me? Just to save the family name?” Suddenly, it wasn’t just Beau who was deservedly pissed. Thankfully, the gray skies cleared up and I put on a happy face, Zeb returning, with two ice-cold Cokes and giant bag tossed my way. “Homemade!” he squealed. I unfurled the bag and peeked inside, the smell nearly overpowering. “Homemade what?” I asked. “Styrofoam peanuts? Are we packing up some valuables later?” He socked me in the arm. “Silly northerner. These are the finest pork rinds money can buy.” I stared at him incredulously. “You paid money for fried pig skin?” He socked me again. “Deep fried and then sprinkled with barbeque flavoring.” He stuck his fingers in the bag and then a handful in his mouth. Oddly, I’d never had one before. Granny certainly didn’t keep it in stock, and you probably had to go out of your way to find it in New York. Homemade that is. I mean, I’d seen it Frito Layed on the shelves, but, come on, it’s puffed up and fried pork skin. And I’m a gay man trying to fit into a size twenty-eight pair of jeans. And designer jeans at that. Still, when in Rome… which we have down here, too, only it’s Rome, Georgia. In other words, I tried one. Then fairly moaned. “Oh, my God. They melt in your mouth and then explode in a veritable cornucopia of flavor.” He frowned. “Less gay, please.”

I popped another one in and crunched down. “These are

damned good.” “Not for the pig, though.” Three more went in, my mouth full of fried skin. “May it rest in peace.” “Pieces,” Zeb mumbled, stuffing his mouth full. I grinned, crumbles of masticated pig falling from my mouth to my t-shirt. “Think a half-bag of homemade pork rinds can

102 Rob Rosen delay Port from what he has in mind for the two of you?” Zeb stared inside the bag, probably contemplating whether or nor a quarter of a bag could do just the same thing. Still, to be safe, he scrunched it closed. “Probably,” he said, unscrewing the top of the Coke and taking a chug. “Hopefully, that scene back at Roy’s will have him satiated. At least temporarily.” “And if not?” I couldn’t help but ask. He sucked the barbeque powder off his fingers and then gripped my hand. “Don’t worry, you have the insurance. We’re safe.” Though I was much more worried about leaving the two of them alone together than for my safety. I’d seen Port naked. And hard. That was some stiff competition. But I just smiled and put on a brave face, knowing that Beau might be within our grasp now. It wasn’t the plan we had originally planned, but a better one, a twist on the original. Like putting barbeque powder on a pork rind. Making it even better. We sat there like that, drinking our Cokes and biding our time. He wasn’t meeting Port for another half an hour. The apartment was only twenty minutes away. Ten minutes to catch our breath, to regroup, go over the new plan one more time. It was an easy one, but so much was riding on it. A family hung in the balance, after all. Mine. We pulled out of the parking lot a short while later, the heady aroma of fried pig skin and barbeque wafting over us and out the window. Hey, let’s hear someone in New York City make that statement. Then, as planned, we pulled up to his building right on time. It was a small place, non-descript, a perfect little getaway. In other words, a super large closet to hide away in. “Wait ten minutes and then come up.” He leaned in and gave me a kiss, his lips as comforting as a Xanax. “And don’t worry; this will work. Worse case scenario, we try and fail and then we’re back to square one.” I forced a smile. “Um, worse case scenario: he catches us, we go to jail, and Beau disappears into the countryside.” He laughed and tousled my hair. “Well, yeah, that’s the worst

southeRn FRied 103 worse case. But glass half-full, Trip. Glass half-full.” I held up my empty Coke bottle in response; he held up the bag. “Okay, bag half-full, Trip. Bag half-full.” And he was gone. Longest ten minutes of my life. It ticked by like it was covered in molasses. When the last second faded away, I breathed in and crept up the stairs. Zeb had planned to sit out back with Port on a small balcony overlooking a pond. He’d then excuse himself to use the restroom, leave the front door unlocked, and stall for ten more minutes while I snooped around. If caught, I had the video, while, before, all we had was the story of Beau, the illegitimate grandson of a powerful senator. All in all, the video was so much more convincing. Not that we’d need it, as it turned out. At least not yet. In any case, I snuck in. That much of the plan went off without a hitch. I saw them on the balcony, their backs to me, the bag in Port’s lap. I veered right, out of sight. Zeb had told me where the bedroom was. It was a small apartment, serving but one need, more than likely. I walked into said bedroom, my heart thumping away, like someone was playing the bongos inside my chest. And there, on his bed, sat his laptop. I gulped, praying it was already on and beyond the password. I peeked over, saw the blue screen, the icons, and knew we were home free. I clicked the Outlook icon first. His email filled up the screen. Port, it seemed, was a popular fellow. Now I had just under ten minutes to find the one we were looking for. Thankfully, it only took me about three. Port had mentioned to Roy that a few men were looking for Beau. One, it seemed, had found him. A private detective. Barely a greeting, followed by an address. I snapped a picture of it and got ready to hightail it out of there. Sneaking out of the bedroom, I made it to the front door, turning just for a moment toward the balcony. But fuck, fuck, fuck! Port was flat on his back, with Zeb directly over him, pumping his chest. He looked up at me and shrieked, “Call 911!”

104 Rob Rosen I ran back to the bedroom, that bongo in my chest now an entire rhythm section. I dialed 911. “Man down!” I hollered. “What seems to be the problem, sir?” said the woman on the other end of the line. “Uh, there’s a man, I think he’s unconscious, and another man’s over him, I think pumping his chest.” “And where are you, sir?” “I’m in the bedroom.” “Then why do you think there’s an unconscious man and another man apparently applying CPR? Don’t you know? Can’t you go find out?” “No!” I screeched. “I mean, no, I’m, uh, incapacitated.”

“So you need an ambulance as well, sir?”

“No!” I yelled. “I mean, I’ve always been incapacitated. So I

can’t get to the balcony where they’re at.” “Okay,” she said, sounding a bit world-weary. “Where are you located?” I honestly hadn’t a clue. The address was written on a piece of paper in the car. It’s not like I memorized it. “I don’t know.” “You don’t know?” She paused, probably counting to ten. Or five, since this was an emergency. “You’re incapacitated, you don’t know where you are, and you think there’s someone who needs help.” I nodded. “That about covers it. Help.” “Okay, sir. Just stay on the line; we’re tracing the call now.” In fact, I heard the sirens before I could even say thank you and beat a hasty retreat. I heard the sound of running footsteps next, all while I hid beneath the bed, cowering. Then I heard a bunch of talking, then a lot of foot pounding, then the sirens disappearing into the distance. I waited in the silence and then came out from my hiding place. “Hello?” I whispered, back inside the living room. “Anybody home? Zeb?”

southeRn FRied 105 I waited and breathed, but I was in fact alone. Alone in my half-brother’s half-brother’s apartment, which he used strictly to have gay sex in, away from the prying eye’s of his Republican senator grandfather. Talk about your one in a billion odds. Make that trillion. Heck, this might be the only time in all of human history that such a claim could be made. Not that I had the time to do the exact calculations because I was too busy snooping. There were few personal belongings in the place, which wasn’t surprising since this really wasn’t his home. Which also explained the inordinate amount of gay porn. Still, this wasn’t what I was after. Not that I didn’t find something else, though. In fact, besides Beau’s address, I’d also found the Holy Grail in our search. See, even though he didn’t have many personal effects there, his briefcase was just where he’d left it. Inside were mostly work folders. Port had just graduated from law school and was working in his father’s firm; the folders were cases they were working on. All, that is, but one. And that one momentarily stopped my heart when I came across it. Beau Collingsworth, it read, in bright red letters. Which meant I now had the name Beau really went by. I sat on the floor and opened the folder up. Inside was a sort of dossier. There were lists of jobs, addresses, friends who he associated with, his hangouts, when he usually woke up in the morning and when he usually went to bed. Years and years worth of information. Seems like they’d been keeping tabs on my brother since he was a baby. And speaking of which, that’s when I pulled out the last item in the folder. “Proof positive,” I said, holding the picture in my hands. It was an old black and white. Just a small picture, maybe three inches by four inches. A baby sat asleep in his mother’s arms, the father with his hand on her shoulder, a distant look in his eyes. But the mom was smiling, eyes glued to her prized possession. “Such a happy family.” However temporary that happiness was to last. Yes, the mom in the picture was my mom, but the dad wasn’t my father; it was a much younger Robert E. Pellingham. And the

106 Rob Rosen baby was Beau, of course. I’m guessing it was the last time they were ever together, or near about. Soon thereafter, she was back at the mansion with my father in tow. “But who took care of you, Beau? And how did you make it back home?” My reverie, however, was short-lived. The front door swung open a moment later. I froze and stared, wide-eyed, heart apumpin’. “Well, that went well,” commented Zeb, with a heavy sigh, closing the door behind him. “What the hell happened?” I asked, hopping up to give him a hug. He laughed and shook his head. “Fucker choked on a pork rind. Took forever to Heimlich it out. Guess he lost too much oxygen and passed out.” “Waste of a perfectly good pork rind,” I couldn’t help but add, offering him the picture and the dossier. “Well, that proves it then,” he said, with a kiss and a hug in return. “Now what?” I smiled. “Now we go find Beau. I go the address from Port’s email, which Port’ll have as soon as he returns. We have a head start, but not much of one.” “One day, in fact,” Zeb informed. “They want to keep him in the hospital overnight. Just to be on the safe side.” “Meaning, the hospital probably knew who he was and it was their safe side they were worried about.” He nodded. “Goody for us.” His head turned from side to side, eyes scanning the apartment. “Find anything else?” I took his hand and led him to the bedroom. “Lots of gay porn.” I pointed to the stack of DVDs, dozens of them. “Guy likes to jack off a lot, apparently.” Zeb crouched down and rifled through them, then slid the door to the media center open. I whistled at the stash. Easily a hundred more. Only, most of these weren’t store-bought, just black cases. He took a few out, opened them up. “Jack, Steve, Ron,” he read off the DVDs themselves. “You thinking what

southeRn FRied 107 I’m thinking?” I grinned and nodded. “Pop one in.” He did just that, Port’s hefty schlong filling the giant screen, saliva cascading down the shaft. Then a mouth. Down it went, almost to the hilt. Port moaned, shooting his load, come dripping out of that same opened mouth. “Guess that’s Jack,” I rasped. Zeb popped another DVD in. Port was on all fours now, his ass getting pummeled, all while he squealed like a hog in heat. “Steve,” I said. The next one was Port on the bed, a guy crouched over his face, asshole getting an eager licking while Port jacked away. “Lucky Ron.” I turned around, scanning the dresser across from the bed. “Bingo,” said I, walking toward the teddy bear. “Fucker has a cam inside,” I quickly added, finger pointing at a hole where an eye should’ve been. Zeb put the DVDs back in and then found the one marked with his name. “Fucker indeed.” Then he took that one and a half dozen more. “Two can play at this game,” he said to me. “That closet of his is coming down.” I smiled and grabbed his hand. “Easy now, boy,” I told him. “We still have work to do.” I showed him the picture I’d taken of Beau’s address. “Know where this is?” He nodded. “Not too far, maybe twenty minutes.” Then he frowned. “Not the best neighborhood, either. Mostly trailers and dense woods.” My frown echoed his. “Then let’s hurry. The sooner we find him, the sooner he can move from there.” And the sooner I’d maybe find out why Granny allowed him to live there in the first place. That still didn’t make any sense. None of it did. Why wait until she was dead to rescue him from all that? And why not tell me, at least? Just to be safe, we wiped down everything we touched with a healthy dose of Windex. Then we skedaddled. The sun was high overhead now, broiling as it pushed its way through the clouds. We drove in silence, his hand in mine, both of us nervous and eager. A few more minutes and I’d be meeting my big brother

108 Rob Rosen for the first time. My heart throbbed at the thought of it, nearly ready to burst. The road turned rocky soon enough, half dirt, half gravel. The ramshackle houses on either side dwindled, turning to trailers, old and worn, spotted with rust and circled with debris. “Told you so,” Zeb said. “This here’s the sub part of the burb.” I shuddered, guilt washing over me like a flood. Never again would I complain about my five story walk-up in the city. Then, a minute later, we were at Beau’s. It was one of those trailers from the fifties, space-age looking, rounded edges, silver, way small. We parked on the side of the road and walked up. “No cars in the driveway,” I said, stomach sinking, head now pounding. “Doesn’t mean he’s not here,” said Zeb, walking up to the door and knocking. We waited, and waited some more, knocking again, louder. “That’s exactly what it means,” I finally replied. “Any suggestions?” He shrugged and grabbed for the knob. It turned. “Uh, go in and wait?” The door swung in, creaking as it did so. “Think we should?” He was already inside before he answered. “Well, he squats in your room; might as well return the favor.” I followed him inside. “Good point.” Place was clean, at least. And teeny-tiny. Small bed at one end, kitchenette at the other, living room dead center, just big enough for a couch that could hold two super thin people, a short, square coffee table in front of that, a box on top of that.” “That your granny’s jewelry box?” Zeb asked, sucking in his breath at the sight of it. I walked the two feet it took to get to it and held it up. “So he did take it.” I opened it up. “Empty.” I turned to Zeb. “Well, at least now he must know everything. Know she’s his grandmother, if his birth certificate was in here. Knows I’m his half-brother, too, then.” I forced a smile. “At least that’s something.” Zeb patted my back. “And with those jewels, he can afford

southeRn FRied 109 a double-wide now.” He laughed, then covered his mouth with his hand. “Sorry, just trying to make lemonade out of these here lemons.” I grinned. “It’s okay. I’m glad he took them. Now we just have to find him so he can get everything else that’s owed to him.” I looked around and found a pad and a pen. I paused, unsure of what to say. This wasn’t, after all, how I wanted to make first contact. Well, second, if you counted the funeral, which I wasn’t counting. “Wait,” I said. “He had to have stolen this before the funeral. It went missing before then.” “And?” “And that means he knew about himself and me and Granny and my mom, about all of it, before that scene at the funeral. Knew I was his half-brother.” Zeb shook his head. “Only if his birth certificate was in this.” He pointed to the box. “Otherwise, he’s just an opportunistic thief, stealing from a dead woman.” I frowned. Suddenly, I felt sick. The box was empty, so I hadn’t a clue what he had discovered inside. Meaning, we snooped around just a bit more, finding nothing. No jewels, no documents, not one single thing to indicate that he knew about his background or me or us. “Now what do I say in this note I’m going to leave for him?” I asked. “Just tell him you need to talk and leave him your cell phone number. If he calls, then great. If not, we know how to find him now.” “But Port’s going to be looking for him, too, remember. And it didn’t sound like he’s looking out for Beau’s better interests. For all we know, he’s in real danger.” Zeb sighed. “Okay, tell him he’s in danger, then. Tell him it’s not safe here. Tell him he can call or just come directly to the mansion.” I nodded as he spoke, writing it all down on the pad. Then I set the piece of paper on the coffee table, right next to Granny’s empty jewelry box, which seemed completely out of place in that

110 Rob Rosen miserable trailer of his. Then we walked out of there and back to the car. In truth, I felt almost as bad as when we’d arrived. So close and yet so far. One step forward, two giant steps backward. “What if he already sold the jewels and skipped town? Lord only knows what they were worth. A small fortune, I’d imagine,” I lamented. Zeb nodded and scratched his chin. Then he turned to me and grinned. “I may have an idea,” he said. “You told me that back at the mansion, inside the payroll files was just the name Beau and what he got paid each month, right?” I’d told him that before we left for Roy’s house. “Yes. And?” “And you said you looked up Beau Pellingham on the computer, right?” “Again, yes. And?” “But that’s not the name he went by. We already discussed that,” he told me, excited now, eyes blazing. “You were looking under the wrong name.” I snapped my finger. “You’re right! What if Granny has an online card for him by the name he actually went by, Beau Collingsworth? She must’ve had a phone number for him somewhere, for when she had work for him.” I turned and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a genius!” A flush of red spread across his cheeks. “Yeah, I kind of knew that already. Still, nice to hear you say it.” “And cute, too.” The flush grew. “Yup, that too, I reckon. And?” “And, uh, you have a big dick.”

He nodded. “Three for three, boss. Three for three.”

Then we sped home, raced inside, and tore up to the study.

I flicked on the computer and typed in the password. Once again, I went to her address book, only this time I searched for Collingsworth instead of Pellingham. “There he is! There he is!” I shouted, jumping up and down. “Beau Collingsworth.” I clicked

southeRn FRied 111 his name and the card appeared. “That’s his trailer address, and look there, a cell phone number! We’ve got him! We’ve got him!” Oh, I wish I could say that was true. With all my heart, I wish I could say that. But that wish and fifty cents would only get me a Coke. Meaning, it fell on some mighty deaf ears, and that phone call I was about to make didn’t get us any closer to Beau. In fact, it got us in a whole mess of trouble.

ChAPteR 7 Fried Chicken I held the phone up, my fingers hovering just above the numbers. Again, I was about to speak with my brother, and again my stomach got all twisted up, pretzel-tight. Like I just drank sour milk and had nowhere to spit it out. This wasn’t how I wanted to do it, to meet him, but I had little choice in the matter; he was in trouble by all accounts, and I had to do something. So I dialed. It rang. It picked up. My heart stopped. Only, no one was there. Sort of. “What?” whispered Zeb. “Why aren’t you talking to him?” I held the phone to his ear. “Someone picked up, but didn’t say hello or anything. Sounds like a conversation’s happening on the other end.” We both held our ears up close now, our heads side by side. This is what we heard, muffled as it might have been: “Does he know?”

“Who? Does who know?”

There was a pause. “You know who I mean. Does he know?”

“Like I told you, I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking

about.” Another pause, the sound of shoes walking back and forth. “So, you don’t know who I am? Don’t know what you’re doing here? Don’t know your connection to me? Don’t know your connection to him? That about right?” “Right.” The walking stopped. Then we heard what sounded like a smack, then a grunt, then another smack. I could feel both

114 Rob Rosen wallops through the receiver as flesh met flesh, my cheeks somehow stinging in response. “She told you. I know she told you. So you might as well tell me what you know. Then I can let you go. Otherwise… wait, what the fuck you got behind your back.” Pause. Struggle. Then, click. And the phone went dead. I dropped my cell to the desk and looked at Zeb. His face was white as a sheet, eyes wide. “That was Beau.” I squeaked out. “I know that was Beau. But who was the other man? Not Port. Port’s in the hospital.” Zeb shook his head. “Sounded like Port, though, sort of.” His jaw dropped open and he turned back around to the computer. I watched him type something in just before YouTube popped up on the screen, then a video started. I read the description of the clip: Georgia State Bar Association, Annual Meeting. I waited until the voice on the other end of my cell phone matched the one on the screen. “Robert E.” I groaned. “But how’d you know about this video?” “It was on the news last week. Stands to reason that the father would sound something like the son. And I sure as hell know what the son sounds like.” I gulped. “Robert E. told Beau to tell him or otherwise. Otherwise what? He couldn’t kill him, right? He’s a lawyer. His father’s a senator, for Christ sake.” But even as I said it I knew how ridiculous it sounded. Those were exactly the kind of people who could kill someone. Plus, Beau had no family to go looking for him. He was just an itinerant peach picker that nobody would be looking for. Again I gulped. “They’re going to kill him, Zeb.” “Doubtful,” he replied. “You’re forgetting something.” “What’s that?” “That’s his father you’re talking about. He wouldn’t kill his own son.” I had forgotten. Still, he’d never known his son. Might as well have been a total stranger. Plus, as far as Robert E. was concerned, Beau didn’t even know he was his father. He just suspected it, judging by the conversation I’d just heard. “He

southeRn FRied 115 deserted my mother and his son before, Zeb. What’s one more desertion, or a quicky murder, in the greater scheme of things?” I held his hand and looked him deep into his eyes. “I have to go find him, Zeb. I have to. Now. Right now.” I let go of his hand. “But, but you don’t have to come along. I mean, it’s dangerous. And he’s not your family.” He giggled. “Pretty butch, boss. For someone in a pink Izod, I mean.” “It’s my preppy look.” “Sounds like an eighties movie: Preppy in Pink. Very Molly Ringwald.” He grabbed my hand again. “Now, if you’re done being melodramatic, I’m going. And we’re recruiting help for this leg of the journey. Because, yes, this shit is dangerous.” He paused and looked at me sheepishly. “Robert E. is running for a house seat next year, by the way.” “State or Federal?” I asked. “Federal.” He frowned. “And an illegitimate peach picking son doesn’t look too good with the voters. Not when you already got yourself a closeted gay son, to boot. Doesn’t exactly make you the ideal candidate down here, does it?” “Nope. Not unless you’re planning on going on Maury Povich first.” I tilted my head, realizing what he had said previously. “Wait, who exactly are we recruiting?” Again he giggled, which suited him. “Stella.” My tilt went all Leaning Tower. “The handyman? I mean, woman? I don’t get it.” “Ex-army. Special Ops. And bi.” He smiled. “Don’t ask, don’t tell, Trip. And guess what?” I guessed. “She told.” He nodded. “And guess which senator was big time for the policy?”

116 Rob Rosen I echoed his smile. “Does it start with a P and end with an ellingham?” He was already leading me out of the study. “Exactly, boss. And she’s worked here forever. Roy might’ve been a plant, but no way is Stella. Hates anything to do with the good senator from South Carolina or his Georgian son. Plus, she loved your granny. And, and this is the biggest and of all, no way are two sissy boys going to Savannah all alone. We got the brains, but now we need some brawn.” I hated to say it, but he had a point. Zeb and I were cute as all get out, but that’d only get us in the club without a cover charge. And Robert E.’s office wasn’t no club. “Is she working today?” He was rushing me down the stairs now, then out the back door. Stella was bent over a workhorse, saw ripping through a thick slab of wood. We ran over. She stopped and lifted her goggles. “’sup?” So we quickly ‘supped her. She nodded throughout. Then she smiled when the whole Pellingham thing got introduced into the story. “Fucker,” she spat. Literarily, I mean. With chew. Redman, I was soon to find out. Better than a cigarette, I supposed. Mostly. “So, we’re heading to Savannah?” she asked. “To that fucker’s law firm?” I nodded. “Well, um, yeah. We are. But I couldn’t ask you to come. Too dangerous.” She set the saw down. “Uh, you just asked me. Why do you think you just told me that whole friggin’ story? Besides, you’re the boss; something happens to you, I’m out of work.” Team spirit. Yippy. “Thanks, I think.” She laughed, huskily, boobs bouncing beneath a way too revealing tank top. I doubted that Stella paid for cover charges either. She was hot, in a roller derby sort of way. “Don’t thank me just yet. Anyway, I’m glad to help. Anything to screw over those Pellinghams, I’m all for it. Now wait right here.” We did just that, whistling while we waited, inhaling the sawdust fumes. She returned a few minutes later, pistol in her grip. “I keep one

southeRn FRied 117 in the car. Lucky for you, I’m a crack shot. Trained by the best of them.” “Lucky for us,” I groaned. Then we ran back to Zeb’s car. It was now late afternoon and we were all starving, so we stopped at a Popeye’s along the way for a super quick lunch, just to get our juices flowing. No rescuing on an empty stomach. Anyway, I was shocked when we pulled up. On either side was a KFC and a Church’s. Grease triplified. “What gives?” I asked, pointing at all three establishments. “Fried chicken, Trip,” Zeb replied. “Staple food around these parts.” “What’s the difference?” I asked, eyeing the trio. Stella laughed. “KFC is southern-rooted; Popeye’s is Cajunstyle; and Church’s is Texan, with jalapenos thrown in for good measure. Me, I like Popeye’s best. Spicier and crispier.” “Same here,” chimed in Zeb. “Plus, they have better sides.” To which I couldn’t help but ask, “But what if you don’t like fried chicken?” They both sucked in their breath. “Sacrilege.” Then Zeb pointed a short ways down the block. “If you don’t like fried chicken you can always go to Long John Silvers.” “For?” “Fried fish,” he replied, with a smile. “Duh.” I dropped it. In New York, I tended to frequent the hot dog stands. Or went for knishes. Or pizza if I was carelessly sucking down calories and fat. You rarely spotted a KFC, and when you did, it was usually next to a McDonald’s. Or a sub shop, where I could at least get a healthy salad stuffed between the bread. Anyway, they were right; Popeye’s was awesome. Pearl did it better, of course, but Pearl was back home. And the spicy coleslaw was out of this world. The Colonel might’ve had fingerlickin’, but I was licking my whole fucking hand in greasy ecstasy. That is until Stella thought to ask, “So, what’s the plan? We barge in, guns up high, and steal him back?”

118 Rob Rosen I set my drumstick back inside the box. “Uh, yeah. Maybe no guns just yet, though. Besides, we’re only guessing he’s in Savannah.” She stared at us, eyes squinted tight, scowling like Scrooge. Then she pulled out her iPhone and started punching away, searching for something. A minute after that, she was dialing someone. And then she was saying, in the fakest of southern belle voices, “Well hi there, sugar. This is Governor Crest’s office calling for Robbie. Is he in?” She paused and gave us a thumb’s up. “He’ll be back in a half hour? Oh good, the governor will call back then. Thank you kindly.” And then she flicked the phone shut. “Well, at least Robert E. is in Savannah. Which means, so is Beau.” Zeb tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “But Beau’s not at the office, I’m sure. That’d be too risky.” “But he must be in about a thirty mile radius of it. The receptionist said that the boss would be back in a half hour.” Again she flicked open her cellphone, typed a bit, and then looked up at us. “Found his home address and mapped it. He lives thirtyfive miles away from his office. Think it’s a coincidence?” I looked over at Zeb. “I thought you said we were the brains and she was the brawn.” He shrugged. “Guess we’re just the pretty ones.” She reached over and socked him one in the arm. “Ow! I meant, pretty in a gay boy way. You’re pretty in a, in a, um…” She hit him again. “Forget it,” she said. “I’ll take the brains and the brawn. Pretty fades; smarts only get smarter.” I frowned. “Who says pretty fades? Look at Cher.” She sighed and took another big chomp of her chicken. “Okay then. Pretty fades unless it gets permalocked and stapled in. Better?” Reluctantly, I lifted my drumstick back up. “They don’t use staples anymore,” I informed her. “And, yes. Much.” I finished off the tender meat and took a big swig of Coke. “So, what do we do once we get there?”

southeRn FRied 119 She started in on her next piece. “Let’s just get there first; then we’ll think of something after we get the lay of the land.” She stared at me and then at Zeb, both of us now with mildly terrified looks on our faces. “Don’t worry, boys; I’m trained for this.” But I was worried. And slightly queasy from all the grease and caffeine sloshing around in my belly. Not to mention the pork rinds from that morning. Still, we knew about them and they didn’t know about us, and we had the element of surprise on our side. So I turned my frown upside down and sucked my fingers clean, saving a piece of chicken for later, and then one from each of their plates. Because, truth be told, that shit was about as addictive as crystal meth, without the obvious slimming side effects. In any case, we were off a short while later, speeding along now, making up time. And that’s when we spotted the black Mercedes as it zipped by us, going in the opposite direction. Zeb hollered, “That was him!” “Him who?” I hollered back. “Robert E!” My belly burbled. That was good news for us; it meant we were headed in the right direction, headed for Beau. And with Robert E. gone, we had one less bad guy to contend with. Though we weren’t out of the woods just yet. In fact, we were in the thick of them. Literally. This wasn’t the burbs; this was the sticks. And the trees were dense on all sides. Giant oaks and massive pines. What we were driving through was an old growth forest. And the reason? Because the Pellinghams owned this land for generations. The house, too, we were soon to discover, was old. Not like Granny’s, of course. Or the senator’s, more than likely. But it did scream of wealth. We pulled of the road about a quarter of a mile past the place. No sense in giving them any warning that we were there. Though we hadn’t a clue who the them was. In silence we crept. Well, when we weren’t cracking twigs or crunching leaves beneath our

120 Rob Rosen sneakers, or squealing with each sound we heard from off to the side. So, to rephrase, in near silence we crept. We spotted the pick-up truck first, parked in front of a garage that sat separate from the house. Then out of the side of the garage stepped a big, burly dude, dressed in overalls and a plaid shirt. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and lit one up, all while we crouched down, hiding behind two pines that had grown side by side. But that’s not what gave us pause. See, he wasn’t alone. Two massive dogs lay sprawled out off to the right of the driveway. And, while we could go undetected by the guy, the dogs were a different story entirely. “Now what?” I mouthed. Zeb lifted his index finger at me and Stella, indicating that we should wait there. Then he ran back the way we’d come, silently. Um, silently-ish. But the woods were full of noise, and the dogs, thank goodness, stayed slumbering, the guard puffing away. Ten minutes later, Zeb returned, my Popeye’s box in his hand. “How can you eat a time like this?” I whispered. He punched me gently in the arm. “Not for me, boss.” Then he pointed at the dogs and grinned. Stella sighed. “How long will that keep them quiet, though?” Zeb’s grin grew wider. From his front pocket he took out a prescription bottle. I took it from him and read the label. Then my smile echoed his. “Pays to be a stable boy, huh?” I whispered. Stella took the bottle, and the smile was thirded. “Horse tranquilizers,” she whispered. “Brilliant.” He grinned, and whispered back. “I aim to please.” She looked at me with her own grin, this one a knowing one. So, I replied, “That he does.” Then I looked up at the garage. “But what about Bubba up there?” She smiled and stood up. “Leave Bubba to me. You two wait back here; you’ll know what to do next.”

southeRn FRied 121 I grabbed her arm. “But, but what if he, uh, tries anything?” She patted the gun hidden in her waistband. “Trust me, I’ll be fine. It’s him you should be worried about.” I smiled and let go of her. She nodded and was off. “Somehow,” I whispered to Zeb, “I believe her.” He nodded, kissed me on the cheek, and the two of us watched her in action. She backtracked a bit and approached from the driveway, pushing her shirt down and over, so one shoulder was showing, her boobs pushed up and out. Bait. And when you’re fishing, it’s all about the bait. Thankfully, hers were first-rate. Then she poufed up her hair. Because southern guys love big hair. Then her walk went from her usual lumber to a dainty short-step. “Oh, she’s good,” I whispered. And he was watching her now, eyes wide, the cigarette finished and the butt tossed to the ground. She approached him, swirling the tip of her mop of blonde between her fingers, head tilted coyly to the side. He smiled, face suddenly animated. Then, to Zeb and my great surprise, the two of them took off down the driveway. “She’s taking him to our car,” Zeb whispered. “So we don’t have all that much time to rescue Beau, if he’s even in there.” I stood up after they went past and then grabbed Zeb’s hand. “Nope, not much time.” We ran as quietly to the house as we could, the dogs suddenly alert, teeth bared, backs arched. The growls came next. And then so did our pieces of doped-up fried chicken, which got tossed right in front of them. They were on it, quick as wink, ignoring us for the time being. And that was our chance. The two of us ran to the side of the garage, grabbed the doorknob, and hustled inside. “What the fuck?” came the immediate reply. “Beau!” I yelped, running toward him, and noticing in an instant a kink in our plan. See, he wasn’t only guarded by two dogs and one big Bubba; he was chained up to a radiator, too, sitting on the cement floor, tucked away in a corner. “I don’t suppose you have the key to that lock, do you?” “Guess again, dipshit,” he grumbled, strangely none too

122 Rob Rosen happy to see me. “That guy out there have it?” I tried. “Strike two.” “Robert E.?” asked Zeb. Beau chuckled, half-heartedly. “And it only took you three guesses. My heroes.” He pulled at his chains and tossed his head back. “Any bright ideas, fellas?” My heart began to race even quicker now. “Do you, do you know who I am?” He locked eyes with me, bitterly. “You’re Trip Jackson.” He looked to Zeb. “And you’re Zeb, the stable boy. So what? Unless you brought a locksmith, I can’t see how either one of you is much of a help here.” He held up the chains and the lock. I moved in closer. “No. I meant, do you know who I am?” His eyes shut tight, the chuckle repeated, the chains clanking as his hands fell to his side. He opened his eyes again and smiled, crookedly. “Family reunion time, huh?” My legs trembled. “So you do know.” “I know a lot, Trip.” His smile disappeared. “Like, when you called me before and that asshole found my phone, guess what he did after he hung up?” I gulped. “Oh fuck.” “Exactly,” he snickered. “Oh fuck. As in, you’re fucked. Because the senator’s son has lots and lots of connections, Little Brother. And now he’s looking for you, too. Guess why?” My gulp repeated as I stared at him. “Because he knows that I know. That I know he’s your father. That I know he’s about to run for office and that one son is gay and the other an illegitimate peach picker.” His snickering stopped. “Bravo, Trip. Little good all that will do you now. They have me and they’ll have you soon enough. In fact, you’re halfway dead just being here. Might as well go back up to New York where you belong, let me take care of Daddy.

southeRn FRied 123 So long as no one’s talking out of turn, we’ll both be fine and dandy.” “But, but you’re my brother; I can’t leave you.” He sneered, the chains loud as he shifted in place. “Leave me? Huh. Where were you all the other times I needed you? What’s so different about now?” I crouched down a foot in front of him. “I didn’t know, Beau. Honest, I didn’t know until after she died.” He fought against his chains. “Bullshit!” he spat. “Bullshit, Trip! She told me everything. So save your breath, go home, and leave me the fuck alone.” His eyes flickered with hatred. “Besides, he can’t kill me. I have the birth certificate in a safe place. Insurance, Trip. Insurance. All I have to do is tell them that I have it and I’m a free man.” He looked away, breathing heavily now. I wanted to tell him that if wasn’t true. To tell him how glad I was that I had a brother. That we’d share the mansion, the heritage. But I didn’t have time. Just as I was about to say all that, we heard Stella’s voice booming from down the driveway. That was our warning, our clue to skedaddle. “I’ll be back, Beau. Don’t worry, I’ll be back to save you.” We headed for the door, with him shouting from behind. “Don’t do me any favors.” I turned, quickly. “You have it all wrong, Big Brother. All wrong.” And then Zeb was yanking me out of there, both of us running behind the garage, just as Bubba made his way back to the side. We’d made it to safety, but just by a hair. I poked my head around as he shut the door behind him. Stella was waving from the foot of the driveway. That was our next clue. And one we gladly took. Minutes later, with Zeb and I huffing and puffing, after ducking behind too many trees to count, we met up with her back at the car. “Well, that was fun,” she quipped. “What did you say to him to get him out here?” I asked.

124 Rob Rosen She winked at me. “Feminine wiles,” she said. “Told him my car broke down, acted all defenseless, pushed out my tits and smiled. Easy as pie.” “But the car isn’t broken down,” I reminded her. She nodded and winked. “Trust me, it was by the time he looked. Took me a half a second to break it and five minutes for him to fix.” She paused and her smile turned to a frown. “Guess that wasn’t enough time though, huh?” My own frown was twice as hang-dog. “It was plenty, Stella. Thanks. But he was chained up, and Robert E. has the key. Besides, he… he doesn’t want our help.” Zeb made the frown unanimous. “Your granny, she lied to him. But why?” We filled Stella in on what he’d said. “Nope, doesn’t make sense,” she soon agreed. “Family was everything to her. You, your mama, her mama. It was all she talked about, Trip. Why not add Beau to the mix? And why tell him about you and not you about him?” She folded her arms over her chest and sighed. “Something’s not adding up here. We’re missing something.” “Besides that key for that lock back there.” I pointed to the house through the thicket of trees, my heart nearly breaking. Close. So close. “Then let’s just call the cops and be done with it,” she suggested. That seemed like both a good and a bad idea, but mostly the latter. “It took Robert E. less than a minute to trace that call I made to Beau, Stella. Now he’s looking for me, too. What if we call the police and the Pellinghams have already told them to be looking out for me? These are some powerful people; no telling who they have in their pocket.” I shook my head, a new thought forming. “And what if I called the police and forced Robert E.’s hand with Beau. They could kill him if they thought the police were on to them. Because that’s no way to win an election you know: when you’re behind bars. No way for either Robert E. or the senator. See, Beau would be an even bigger liability, insurance

southeRn FRied 125 or no insurance.” Zeb nodded, ruefully. “But he was right about that insurance, Trip. They couldn’t hurt him if he had the birth certificate tucked away somewhere. If he dies or goes missing, and the birth certificate shows up, his death or disappearance points right back to the Pellinghams.” Zeb looked at me and patted my hand. “He has them over a barrel, Trip. So long as they can’t find you, they’ll have to eventually let him go and hope you don’t ever come forward. Plus, we heard Beau tell Robert E. that he doesn’t know anything about you. Robert E. might just have to believe him and stop looking for you.” But my frown remained. “So what do I do? Sell the mansion, take my half of the money and run? Go to some tropical island and sip mimosas the rest of my life.” He shrugged. “I’m game.” Stella shrugged, too. “Count me in.” I shook my head. “And then what? They let Beau go, we have two Pellinghams in office, and I never see my brother again? Beau never gets the life he was meant to have? He just takes his half of the money and never gets a chance for a family, either?” I fought back a sob. “I know that’s not what Granny wanted. She was up to something keeping us apart for all these years, but that will of hers was her way of getting us back together again. She called him Pellingham so we’d end up together. Now I have to make sure that happens.” “But you can’t go back to the mansion,” Stella said. “They’ll come looking for you there. Hell, if they know you’re his brother, they might think it’s you that now has the birth certificate hidden away.” I sniffled and flipped open my cell phone. Then I dialed and waited. “Pearl?” I said. “It’s me, Trip. No, I’m, I’m fine. I, uh, I had a call from my office. There’s a big deal that’s about to fall through and I, I need to fly home to help them fix it. The client’s asking for me.” She talked and I nodded, that sob of mine worming its way back up. “No, Pearl. Now. I’m already at

126 Rob Rosen the airport. I’ll call you when I land. If anyone comes looking for me, just tell them all that, okay?” She agreed, but I could hear the worry in her voice. “I love you Pearl. And don’t you worry none; I’ll be back soon.” I ended the call before she could say another word. Zeb patted my back. “You couldn’t tell her the truth, Trip. No sense putting her in danger, or risking that she’d slip if they came calling. And they’re gonna come, Trip. They’re gonna. They need that birth certificate as much as Beau does.” I looked at him and forced a smile. “I know, but still. In any case, now I’ll have to find a motel somewhere and then figure out a way to get him back. And lie low while I’m doing it.” He didn’t even have to think that one over. “Or stay with me. In disguise.” Truth be told, I did like the first part of that. “You sure? Could be dangerous for you.” Though I quickly thought to add, “What kind of disguise?” He laughed and jumped back in the car, shouting, “Wait and see, boss. Just you wait and see.”

ChAPteR 8 Blech, Peach Brandy We dropped Stella off back at the mansion, then drove another ten miles to Zeb’s place. It was a small house out in the middle of nowhere, the wood painted sunflower yellow, a brick chimney, green shutters, a small flower garden up front. “What, no white picket fence?” I asked, stepping up the walkway. He grabbed me and pulled me in to him. “That a dream of yours, Trip? House with a white picket fence?” He kissed me, long and hard and soul-shivering deep. “I thought about it,” I admitted, coming up for air. “But does anyone even have those anymore?” He laughed and took my hand, walking me to a shed in the back. He opened the door, great stacks of wood piled to the side. “Picket slats, boss,” he said. “Next on my list.” And that soul-shiver went all magnum eruption. “Seems like you got yourself a little slice of heaven out here, Zeb.” He grinned. “Sure do, Trip. Third cloud to the left.” But then the clouds turned black. “What if they come looking for me here, though? Stella seemed to put two and two together about us pretty quickly. What if other people have seen us together these last couple of days? Or Roy, the snitch?” He shrugged. “But they won’t find you here. Least not this version of you.” I gulped, not liking the sound of that. “I’m getting an upgrade? Model 2.0?” He grinned, impishly, and I knew I was in trouble now. “You could say that, yes. If it makes it any easier.” Cryptic and nervewracking. Not a good pairing. At least for the likes of me. He led me inside. The place was decorated all Martha Stewart

128 Rob Rosen Living, right on down to the throw pillows and homemade potpourri. Paintings of horses appeared in between the lace-curtained windows. “Did you inherit this from your grandmother?” I asked, innocently enough. He kicked me in the ass. “I decorated it myself, fuckwad.” I blanched. Really? Himself ? No help from an eighty year old woman? “I mean, it’s, uh, lovely.” He smiled and shrugged. “Well, with a little help from Martha Stewart Living.” See! Told you so! “But getting back to Model 2.0. Are we going to shave my goatee? Dye my hair blond? Get me some colored contact lenses?” His face reddened. “Not exactly.” Then he walked me to the bedroom. It was a small room, a double bed, lavender walls, those same lace curtains, wrought iron end tables, and even more potpourri. In truth, the place smelled like a florist shop had exploded in there, and then someone who had eaten a bouquet of lilies threw up. Twice. But far be it from me to say so. Again. Anyway, that’s not what we were there to see. “Um, since we really don’t know each other all that well, Trip,” he began, “this next bit might come as a, well, as a surprise.” My shoulders tightened. “A pleasant surprise?” He paused and stared at me, face just a bit scrunched up. “Okay. We’ll go with that.” He was staring at his closet while he was talking, so to that I quickly strolled over. Like a Band-Aid over a healing wound, I ripped it open and prepared myself for the stinging pain. Or a dead person to fall down on top of me. Like his grandmother, who really must’ve helped with the decorating, I kept telling myself. Because, seriously, it was more like Martha Stewart Dying than Living. But what was in there was no dead woman. Unfortunately, because that would’ve made things a bit easier.

southeRn FRied 129 “Huh,” I said. “I don’t get it. Were you married to, a, uh, to a woman before? I mean, that’s okay. Some people take to the whole gay thing later in life.” Again he kicked me in the ass. “Do I suck dick like a man who took to the whole gay thing later in life?” In fact, he sucked dick like it was the first thing he sucked on after his pacifier. Which is to say, expertly. And for years. Then the lightbulb went off above my head. Well, inside the closet, anyway, illuminating one long row of dresses and skirts and blouses, wigs on the top shelf, shoes on the bottom, boas dangling to the side. “Oh, please, not boas, too,” I groaned, hands instinctively rummaging through it all. To be fair, at least his taste in clothes was better than his taste in furniture. Or paint. Or curtains. And definitely than in potpourri. “Drag, like fried chicken, Trip, is a staple in the South,” he explained, looking nervously at me. “I’m just keeping up with the Joneses.” “Which Jones, Shirley or Star?” I chided, earning yet a third kick in the pants. “I do it for charity, Trip. There’s a bar in Charleston. Sunday nights, all the tips go to gay homeless youth.” I continued fanning through it all, guessing by his vast wardrobe that he’d been doing Sundays for many years. With some Saturdays thrown in for good measure. “What’s your drag name, if you don’t mind me asking?” I inquired, over my shoulder. He joined me, standing to my side now, also fanning through it all. “Portia de Chevy,” he replied. “A little bit classy and a lit bit backwater.” “Nice,” I told him, then froze, mid-fan. “Wait. Model 2.0?” I turned to look at him. “No fucking way.” “Way,” came his reply. “As in the only way. Especially if you’re going to be hanging around these parts. Because too many people will recognize you now.” Then he threw the salt in the wound.

130 Rob Rosen And, damn, I wished I’d left that Band-Aid on. “Especially if you want to free Beau and set all this shit right.” I sighed, my shoulders slumping. He’d won. “Can I at least have the red wig?” He shook his head from side to side. “That’s Portia’s. She’s a spicy one, she is.” I reached up and took down a blonde one, long, wavy, very German old time movie star. “Hey, I’ve got a classy/backwater name myself.” He looked at me, expectantly. I turned and smiled. “Portia, meet Marlene. Marlene D. Trick. Emphasis on the trick.” He nudged me. “Naturally.” Then he winked and smirked. “It’s for the best, Marlene.” Sadly, he was right. Sadly for me, that is. Because I had a feeling I wasn’t going to make a very pretty woman. Though, of course, I was soon enough about to find out. “Pick out something pretty,” he added. “I’ll be right back.” He ran out of the bedroom. I decided on something slutty. Low-cut, black, with silver epaulets and safety pins running down the side. He shot back in, and I jumped. Mainly because he was holding up a massive pair of chain cutters. “Okay, okay, I’ll pick something else,” I whimpered. He chuckled. “No, these are for Beau. The outfit is fine, but not for where we’re going.” I gulped. “Back to Robert E.’s? So soon?” “No time like the present. Especially since we know where Beau is. I mean, if we wait any longer, they might move him. Or do something worse.” My gulp repeated. He was right, of course. And with the chain cutters, we had a shot at rescuing him. “But in drag?” He grinned. “No silly.” I breathed a sigh of release. “Oh, thank goodness.” His grin widened. “I meant, not for me. For you, definitely.” He grabbed the slutty outfit out of my hand and replaced it with something more demure. “Because Robert E. knows what you look like. And if he knows about you, then so do his goons. I

southeRn FRied 131 doubt they know who I am, so maybe they won’t harm a cute little stable boy and his older, more homely sister.” And this time it was his turn to get a kick in the pants. “The homely part remains to be seen.” He tossed the outfit on the bed and ordered, “Then let’s see.” Unsurely, I put it all on, skirt, blouse, stockings – two pairs, to cover all the leg hair – then jacket, wig, and sensible shortheeled shoes. It was comfortable enough, if not completely alien, to be wearing it all. Zeb applied the make-up, which took longer than expected. I had a feeling, after the third try, and mounds of base, that homely was going to be an understatement. Still, twenty minutes after we started, he stood up, wiped the sweat off his brow, and said, “Have a look.” Slowly, I stood up and turned around, inching toward the mirror, until I was standing before it, Model 2.0 complete. “My own dearly-departed grandmother wouldn’t have recognized me,” I moaned. “Well,” he said, hand over mouth to stifle a laugh, “that’s, uh, that’s a relief, right? Then neither will Robert E. or anyone else. Glass half-full, Marlene. Glass half-full.” I turned and sighed. “Better make it glass-way-full, of vodka, because suddenly I need a drink.” Again he ran from the room and again he returned with his hand held high. Only this time it was with a decanter with a strange looking orange liquid sloshing about. “Homemade,” he proclaimed, his other hand proffering a glass. “Your granny’s favorite, too. Came right from her own orchards.” He poured. I sniffed and sipped. “Blech. Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell is this shit?” “Peach brandy. The recipe came from your great grandmother, I was told,” he replied, hand on hip. “Tastes like it was made by her, too. Like it fermented, twice over. Thrice, maybe.” Still, I finished it and then another shot. Then I looked in the mirror again. “Better,” I said, turning this

132 Rob Rosen way and that, the booze taking all the edges off. “That’s because it’s forty percent alcohol. One more shot and you’ll think you’re the real Marlene.” Which wasn’t the least bit helpful, but I was, at least, more relaxed. And it did explain why Granny was always sitting on the veranda, rocking and smiling. Now I knew why. Peach brandy. Blech. Still, I took the bottle with me. Just in case. It was now getting late, the sun making its final strangle-hold on the day. We piled in Zeb’s car and were off, parking in the same spot as last time. Only, unlike last time, there were now three cars in the driveway, the pick-up, the black Mercedes, and one that looked oddly familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. “Guess who’s back from work?” Zeb groaned. The house was lit up. The garage was black as the night that was fast approaching. No dogs this time. Yippy for us. Five more minutes and we had added cover: darkness. Then we tiptoed through the same path as before, poking our heads up into the window on the side of the garage. “Looks empty,” I whispered. He reached for the doorknob. “Then let’s go inside and check.” And so we did. And so it was. Empty. Beau included. The chains were there, as was the lock, but no big brother in sight. “Think he’s in the house now?” Zeb asked. I nodded that that seemed a reasonable idea and led him back outside, walking as noiselessly as possible. There was a window on the side of the house that looked into the living room. As we’d done with the garage, we popped our heads up and took a gander inside. Robert E. was there, as were two of his goons, but no Beau. Though, sadly, there was one more guest, the owner of the third car. It made sense why I recognized it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whispered, kicking my too-tight shoes into the ground. “Should’ve known that Roy wasn’t working alone; he’s not that smart,” Zeb whispered back. “Now you know who was

southeRn FRied 133 passing the notes. Makes sense, I reckon.” “But I was just starting to trust him,” I whined. “Fucking butler.” Though, oddly, it did make some sense, like he said. Jeeves had been working there since just before I was born and just after Beau was. He’d been a plant all those years. But for what? What kind of information was he relaying to the Pellinghams? I mean, Granny threw teas and garden parties; not exactly classified stuff.” “The butler’s always guilty, Marlene,” he said, elbowing me in the ribs. We ducked back down and ran to the car. But I wasn’t done yet; I had one more thing I needed to find out. And, if my hunch proved correct, another talk with Jeeves would be necessary. Zeb watched as I flipped open my cellphone and dialed. He picked up on the first ring and started talking right away. “Just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” Beau practically hissed. “He let you go?” He snickered. “Guess you got some of the brains in the family. Yes, he let me go. He had to. I told him about the insurance. I told him what little I knew. And I told him I had no interest in fucking up his life. Then I told him you didn’t know anything either and that you were going home. Guess Daddy somehow managed to corroborate that and then promptly set me free. So, did you go home?” I paused, wondering how to proceed. “No, not exactly. But he thinks I did. And I’m about to make it so he thinks I’m not coming back any time soon.” “Why?” he asked. “Why the fuck not? Just go already. Go like you did before and stay away like you did before. I don’t need you in my life; I don’t want you in my life. Our granny’s gone. There’s no need for you to stay here.” “But, you have it all…” He hung up. “… wrong.” My heart thumped and then promptly broke in two.

134 Rob Rosen “Sorry, Trip,” Zeb said, rubbing my shoulders. I nodded, though it wasn’t as simple as Beau was having me believe. There was something to his voice. Less hatred and more panic. “You know that Shakespeare line, Zeb?” “Which one? Guy wrote a lot of shit. A rose by any other name? That one?” I smiled. “The one that starts, me thinks he doth protest too much.” Zeb shook his head. “Nope. Maybe try singing a few bars for me.” I gave him a push and tousled his hair. “Fucker. Anyway, Beau wants me gone, but I think there’s some kind of back story to it all. Something we’re missing in all this. It’s like he’s trying too hard to get me to go. I mean, he doesn’t even know me. And, regardless of what Granny told him, he can’t possibly hate me as much he seems to.” The mere thought that he actually did was too much to bear. Though I didn’t think so. Really and truly, I didn’t think that it was true. It was his voice. The way he said it. There was a pain there. I heard it. Felt it. Then I remembered the second call I needed to make to ensure both our safety. I dialed. “Good evening, Jeeves,” I said. “Walter,” he corrected. “And I’m busy right now.” I willed my bile down. “I’m sure you are, Walter,” I told him. “It’s just that I’m back in New York and won’t be returning for awhile. My workload has piled up these last several days and we have a major client that’s balking.” “What about the mansion? Beau?” “The mansion’s not going anywhere and Granny’s lawyer can keep looking for Beau in the meanwhile,” I said, tossing in the line that was certain to offer us maximum protection: “I’ll be back in the fall, maybe late November. We can straighten everything out then.” “I’ll tell Pearl,” he said, trying and failing to hide his delight. “See you then.” He clicked off. I grinned, as did Zeb. “Nice one,” he told me

southeRn FRied 135 as we both got back inside the car. “Late November. After the elections. That should take the heat off of you and Beau. Not like they unelect someone just because of who their kids are. But what if one of them calls your office looking for you?” I shrugged. “I’ll tell the receptionist to inform anyone that asks that I’m working from home and to take a message. Meanwhile, as far as work is concerned, I’m on an extended leave of absence.” He reached over and grabbed my hand, his smile doing little to cover what he was really thinking. “And, uh, and then what?” “You mean, do I stay at the mansion or do I leave it for Beau to live in or do we sell it and I go back to New York?” He nodded. “Yes, yes, and yes.” I leaned over and kissed him. “I don’t know, Zeb. I honestly don’t know,” I whispered, caressing his cheek, his chin, my forehead pressed to his forehead. “Right now, I have to figure out why Granny had two spies living in her house. And why she knew about Beau and I didn’t. And why she lied to him all these years. And why he was picking peaches when he should’ve been living high off the hog.” I pulled away and reached down to the floor for the bottle I’d left there. “And speaking of peaches,” I said, taking a deep and much-needed swig. “Blech. It doesn’t get any better each time you drink it, does it?” He laughed and cranked up the car. “It’s an acquired taste, boss. Like pickled pig’s feet or chitlins.” I took another swig. “Oh, hell no. I already ate the skin; you can forget about the feet and definitely not the intestines.” I shuddered at the thought. “Doesn’t anybody around here eat plain, old meat?” He reached over and down, speeding into the dark night. “Don’t know,” he said, with a squeeze on my crotch. “Nobody’s offered me any plain, old meat in quite some time.” I set the bottle down and unzipped my dress, which sounded

136 Rob Rosen very weird, even for me. “Nothing plain or old about this meat, Zeb. Tender and succulent.” “Emphasis on the suck, boss.” “Major emphasis, Zeb. Major.” Though our drag encounter of the weird kind was shortlived. Jeeves pulled out of the driveway and sped past us. Just out of curiosity, I told Zeb, “Let’s follow him.” He giggled. “Yes, ma’am.” He stayed a couple of car lengths behind, so as not to call attention to ourselves. “What’s the plan?” I looked down at my dress and then at the bottle. “He’s not going back to the mansion; he’s done for the night. Pearl always told me that he stops by some bar on the way home. A snifter of brandy helps him fall asleep, she said. But that was ten years ago.” Zeb strummed the steering wheel and nodded. “Old habits die hard,” he said. “And we still have a half a bottle of brandy ourselves.” I nodded, too. “Shame that my disguise should go to waste. Maybe this is our chance to see just how good it is. And maybe garner some information. There’s that two birds, one stone thing again.” “Worth a shot,” he agreed. Eventually, we pulled in to a small bar off the side of the road. Jeeves was just getting out of his car. Zeb ducked in the back seat as I slid over and rolled down the window. “Excuse me,” I said, loud enough to get his attention, and sounding as much like a girl as I could muster. Jeeves turned, squinted into the night, and walked a few steps toward our car. “Yes? Can I help you?” I gulped. That was about all I had worked out. Guess the skirt was a tad too tight. “I, uh, I was hoping to borrow your cell phone.” I paused, willing my brain to jump two spaces ahead. “My, uh, my battery seems to have died.” He tilted his head, again squinting, trying to make me out. Thankfully, it was dark, the parking lot lights minimal at best.

southeRn FRied 137 Still, he reached into his back pocket and removed his phone. He closed the gap between us and handed it over. His soul might’ve been dead, but this being the South, chivalry was not. “Of course,” he said. “Here you go.” He backed a foot away, nodded, and turned his face to the side while I fake-dialed. Then I had a rather lovely, if not entire whispered fake-conversation, all while Zeb tittered in the back seat. “Don’t forget about our brandy,” he whispered, before I fake-hung-up. “Got it,” I whispered back. Then I turned to Jeeves again. “Thank you so much,” I said, handing him back his phone. “I had to call a friend. We were supposed to get together for a drink, but I, uh, I’m running way too late and had to cancel.” I glanced up and shot him my best come-hither look. Thankfully, he camehither. “No problem at all,” he said. “And as for a drink, this is a bar right here.” He pointed to the building behind him. “Would you care to join me inside?” My mind raced. Then Zeb kicked the back of my seat. “Oh, I, uh, well, that would be nice, but I hate bars. I’m, uh, I’m allergic to cigarette smoke.” Then I reached over and down and lifted up the bottle of booze. “I have this, though. Homemade peach brandy.” Then I went all sultry-like. I think. Well, hoped. “Do you, do you live around here maybe?” Again he closed the gap between us, clearly checking me out. Best guess, he didn’t get many proposals such as that one, and so he readily agreed. “I do love peach brandy,” he practically purred. Blech. Both to him and the brandy. “As a matter of fact, I only live a few miles from here. Perhaps we can go there for a nightcap?” I nodded, eyes wide. I’d just been picked up by my granny’s butler, in drag, with my boyfriend hiding in the back seat. And here I thought New York City was full of crazy adventures. Or misadventures. It was still too early to tell. In any case, Zeb was once again kicking my seat. “Oh, uh, yes. That would be nice. I’ll follow you there.”

138 Rob Rosen He nodded, smiled, and returned to his car. We both revved up our engines and were off. “Now what, Einstein?” I asked, over my shoulder. He reached between the front seats and popped open the glove compartment. The pill bottle was once again removed. “Worked on the dogs before,” he said, breaking one in half before chucking it into the bottle of brandy. “Just don’t drink any, whatever you do.” “You want me to slip Jeeves a mickey?” I asked, stifling back a giggle. He giggled in return. “It should work pretty quickly. Then you can snoop around and he’ll never be the wiser. I mean, if he’s been spying all these years, maybe he has some notes hanging around. Worth a try, anyway.” “Dangerous,” I said. “Not while he’s out like a light,” he replied. I smiled. “No, I mean us. As a team. We’re dangerous.” Then I glanced down at my ensemble, adding, “Think he’ll buy it?” He patted me on the back. “Just keep the lights down low and the distance between you high, and make sure he drinks fast.” He swirled the bottle’s contents around. “Real fast.” And then we were pulling up to the apartment building, my heart galloping through a furlong. “Wish me luck,” I sighed, between pursed lips, as I hopped out. We met at the flight of stairs. “Walter,” he said, hand held out. “Marlene,” I told him, handshake demure and ladylike.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” said he, leading me

up the stairs, the bottle of brandy held tight in my grip. “Thank you,” I cooed, stomach gurgling, knees buckling. Then into the belly of the beast we went. Again. I mean, I’d made it nearly thirty years without seeing the inside of his apartment, and now it’d been twice in less than a week. I owed it to fucked up karma. Must’ve punted a kitty cat through a goalpost

southeRn FRied 139 in a past life, or something. Anyway, he ushered me inside, hand on the small of my back. I jumped, blushed, and quickly found the kitchen and two glasses. He accepted the huge shot I poured and promptly clinked glasses with me. “To new friends,” he toasted. If he only knew, right? More like to old enemies. Still, I smiled and faked a sip, eyeing him as I did so. Thankfully, he chugged his down and walked over to the countertop to pour himself another one. All while I deftly tossed mine into a nearby potted plant. Then and only then did I finally exhale. He turned around and filled my glass, sipping on his seconds as he offered me a seat in the living room. I accepted as he sat across from me on the sofa, grinning like a man who’d just won the lottery. Thankfully, the place was dimly lit. But, groan, he reached over and turned on a lamp. I reached over and turned it off. “I, uh, I just had eye surgery. Bright light is painful.” He nodded, taking another big sip. “Well, you’re entirely too young for glaucoma or cataracts, my dear. I hope it wasn’t anything…” Then he stifled a massive yawn. “… oh, excuse me, too serious.” I shook my head, thinking fast. “Laser eye surgery. Now I’m twenty-twenty again.” Phew. Again he yawned, taking another healthy sip. “Excuse me. Guess I’m more tired than I thought.” “Long day?” I asked, waiting expectantly for him to conk out. He nodded, eyes already getting droopy. “Work problems.” Then I nodded. “What kind of work are you in, Walter?” His head tilted back. He jerked it forward. “Depends,” he replied, with a crooked smile. “Two jobs. Second one might be ending soon. First one, too.” Now he was slurring. Just a few more minutes and I’d be home free. “Shame, I… I liked the first.” His head tilted back again, but this time it stayed there. “Family,” he managed, and then was out like a light. I stood up and stared down at him. “Walter?” I said. “Walter?”

140 Rob Rosen louder this time. I waited a minute. No response. Just heavy breathing. I grabbed his legs and swung them around onto the sofa, then removed his shoes and propped his head on a pillow. He snored, peacefully. “Family, huh, Jeeves?” I whispered, a pang in my chest. “Not supposed to spy on your family.” Though spying on enemies is a different matter entirely. I walked around, opening draws, cabinets. Not too surprisingly, place was immaculate, everything neatly arranged. Same for the bathroom, the bedroom. Even his boxers were folded in tight, little stacks, socks rolled into perfect balls. But I had to hurry; Zeb was waiting. Last room was the den, which doubled as his office. Computer on, printer on, filing cabinets unlocked. I crossed my fingers and had a look. “Thank God,” I whispered, though whispering was fairly unnecessary by that point. The filing cabinet was full of folders, row after row of them, all stuffed with notes that started from his first year with Granny and ended with that very day. I couldn’t steal them or read them all; it would’ve taken hours and hours. Instead, I scanned as much as I could into his scanner, about a fifty pages worth, mostly from the beginning and the end. Then I emailed them to myself before I deleted the sent file and the scanned files just afterward. All in all, it took about ten minutes. Then I went back to the living room. Jeeves was just as I’d left him. I smiled and wrote him a note: Thanks for the fun evening. Pleasure to meet you. I let myself out. I figured, just in case we ran into each other again with me as Marlene, it would be best for him to have a good impression of me. I tucked the note under his arm. Then I stared at him again. Okay, time for a little admission here. Yes, I hated him, but, truth be told, when I was a teenager, all alone, yearning for some love, from a man, I used to fantasize that he’d catch me jacking off and, uh, well, join me. There’s a thin line between love and hate, after all, and it’s easy to cross it with a hard dick in your hand. Yeah, yeah, don’t be so shocked. Jeeves was a strapping man back then. Tall and lean, broad shoulders, chiseled face. Very

southeRn FRied 141 Rock Hudson with a southern drawl. Ice-cold and dry as bone, but still dreamy, just the same. And he was still good looking, especially like he was now, all helpless, stern features relaxed in sleep, graying temples, big, strong hands. I ran my fingers across his crow’s feet. Then I turned to go. Then I turned back. I mean, when would I ever get a chance like this again. And it was just a peek. Honestly. Just the top button of his dress shirt. And the one below that. Just out of curiosity. Because I’d never seen any flash of skin below that before. Not in all those years we were together. Jeeves had a thick matting of chest hair, black sprinkled with gray. I parted the material, my breath suddenly ragged, prick pulsing. “You’ve kept good care of yourself, old man,” I whispered, admiring his dense pecs, thick, pink nipples, whirls of hair around both of them. “Okay, just one more button and I’m out of here.” Well, one and then another. He was still lean, just the slightest paunch, hairy belly, defined, very un-Jeeves like. See, I’d always imagined that he’d be hairless. And definitely not tattooed just below his bellybutton. “Well, well, we’re just full of surprises, Jeeves, aren’t we?” I gulped as I stared down at his crotch. Then I looked at the window, knowing that Zeb would be waiting and worried. I ran over and opened it up. Zeb’s head popped out of the driver’s side window as he looked up. I shot him a thumb’s up and then motioned with my hands that I’d be right down. He grinned and waved. Then I turned back around. “Guess this makes us somewhat even, Jeeves,” I said, buttoning him back up. Because fun was fun, but I needed to get back to Zeb. Besides, I now had some closure. Finally. On something. Again I turned and headed out, waiting a minute for my cock to go semi again, and ran back down the stairs. Zeb was standing by the car door now, smiling. Oh, how I felt it: guilt, guilt, guilt. But well-worth it. At least I had one dreamy moment with Jeeves to last a lifetime. Now back to hating him again. “Find out anything?” he asked, eagerly.

142 Rob Rosen I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, those pills are strong.”

He nodded. “They’re meant for a horse, boss.”

Or a jackass. “In any case, we have lots of reading to do

tonight.” He reached over and down, reawakening the beast. “Just reading?” I groaned, buckets of come brimming near the surface. “Well, not just, Zeb.” I leaned in and kissed him, hard. “Definitely not just.”

ChAPteR 9 Hoppin’ John We made it back to Zeb’s house as the sky was turning from royal blue to inky black. It was a hot, sticky, southern night, tree frogs croaking up an amphibian symphony that carried on the warm breeze. We had a lot to get done, primarily printing and reading all of the notes I’d emailed to myself. Still, I was horny as all fuck from my encounter with Jeeves, single-sided and fairly innocent though it was. “Ever have sex with a woman before, Zeb?” I asked him, before we’d reached his front door. He laughed. “You know how you feel about that peach brandy?” he asked. “Blech?” I replied. He touched fingertip to nose. “Exactly. Blech. Sexually speaking, I mean.” He turned to me and smiled. “Why? Are we calling Stella back here for a little ménage a no fucking way?” Then I laughed and turned back around, walking to the middle of his small, front lawn, surrounded on all sides by thick forest. The moon was bright overhead, illuminating me in a warm, silver glow. “What about a boy dressed like a girl?” I asked, devilishly. He moved to the edge of the lawn and cocked his head. “What about a boy dressed like a girl what?” he asked. I unbuttoned my blouse, slowly, one button at a time, before dropping the feather-light material to the grass. Then I shimmied out of my skirt, kicking it on top of the blouse, leaving me in my heels, my wig, my panties and padded bra. And, yes, even I find that sentence terrifying. He shook his head. “Nope,” he replied. “Can’t say as I have. You?” he moved in closer, closer still.

144 Rob Rosen I slid my fingers inside the elastic band of the panties, then pushed the sides down. The silk dropped to the ground. I kicked them off, my cock like a tree limb, jutting out, swaying in the breeze. “You mean, fuck a boy dressed like a girl or get fucked by a boy while dressed like a girl?” “Either.” I shook my head. “Not yet.” Then I sat down, the grass cool on my bare ass. I spread my legs, heels digging in, cock jutting out, steely stiff. “But no time like the present.” He scratched his chin and pretended to think about it. “True,” he eventually said. “But why not throw one more kink into it? I mean, there’s still another option.” He turned and ran into the house before I could guess the third alternative. Truth be told, I think I was at my kink-limit: stroking my cock outside in a wig and heels and padded bra, not to mention about ten pounds of makeup. Still, when he came out in a wig, heels, padded bra and not much else but a smile on his face and a rubber on his stiffy, I realized I still had another notch to go. “See,” he said, running over. “Now you can say you’ve been fucked by a boy dressed like a girl while you were dressed like a girl, bare-assed on that boygirls front lawn.” I lifted my legs up and winked my asshole at him. “Uh, yeah; I probably won’t be admitting that any time soon.” I leaned back on my elbows. “Still, the idea does seem to have some merit.” He got on his knees and lubed up my hole with a bottle that had been tucked into his bra. “The fucking part?” He slid it in, just the head, while I gave my cock a stroke. I sighed, eyelids fluttering. “Exactly.” He held my calves and glided in all the way home, every nerve ending in my body shooting off Fourth of July fireworks, the biggest burst when he leaned in and down and kissed me. “You feel good,” he moaned into my mouth. “Ditto,” I said, gripping my pole. He pulled out and then shoved it in again, out and in, smiling at me now as his lips hovered just above mine. “I’m glad you’re

southeRn FRied 145 my boss,” he whispered, with a crooked grin. I nodded, picking up the pace on my cock. “And I’m glad you’re my boyfriend.” He paused and stared me in the eyes, deep, deep down, like soul deep. “Me too, Trip,” he said, with a sigh, as his cock ground in to the hilt. “Hottest boyfriend dressed like a girlfriend on my front lawn ever.” My head began to swim, a river of sweat pouring down my face and back. “Sweet, if not weird,” I panted, balls rising now as he began to pound away at me. “Now come with me Portia de Chevy.” He rocked his cock into my ass. “I thought you’d never ask, Marlene.” We howled into the night while he piston-fucked me, my cock bursting a split second later, thick wads of come that spewed onto my bra, all while he filled me with his heavy load. Drained, he collapsed on top of me, our lips at last joined again, tongues winding together, my hands on his sweat-soaked back, his dick sliding out of me. Then he pulled an inch away and laughed. “What?” I asked, gasping for breath. “You are one hot drag mess, Marlene,” he said, another kiss added, then another. “Takes one to know one, Portia,” I told him, in between hungry sucks and slurps on his full lips. He put his forehead against mine. “Then I’m glad that I’m taken by you.” He kissed my nose. “But can we please get you out of that makeup; a raccoon might see you and think he struck gold.” I laughed and jumped up. He led me to the shower and left me there while he cooked dinner. Still damp and all boyed-up again, I found him in his bed, two bowls sitting on a tray. “Yum,” I said, taking a deep whiff. “What’s that?” He smiled and stuck his finger inside his meal, a quick suck on

146 Rob Rosen his finger, a wink at me. “Hoppin’ John,” he informed. “And what in the world is that?” I asked. He merely sighed. “Hoppin’ John, Trip. Black-eyed peas, rice, salt, bacon, and onions. Pearl uses fat back, sometimes hamhocks. Me, I like the bacon.” “Healthier, huh? Makes John hop all that much higher, I take it?” He shrugged. “Lesser of three evils.” He grabbed a spoonful. “You gonna eat it or continue with this line of questioning?” I jumped into bed, my towel thrown to the floor, both of us naked and chowing down. “Delicious,” I said, in between eager bites. “Smokey, salty, tangy, with just a slight kick.” “Tabasco,” he informed. “Pearl taught me that, too.” I frowned. Ten years of missed lessons. Ten years of not learning how to cook. Of time with what little family I had. Of being a southerner in the South. With him, Zeb. My heart throbbed at the thought. “Sad,” I finally said, with another bite of my dinner. “I missed out on so much.” I paused, sighed. “But why?” It was the million dollar question. And one I wasn’t any closer to finding the answer to, it seemed. “She was protecting you,” he said, mouth full. “From what?” I asked, my spoon clinking in the bowl. “Let’s find out.” He hopped out of the bed and flicked on his computer, which sat on a desk by the window. The printer came to life next. I joined him and logged in to my email. Minutes later, the attachments were printing and we’d finished our yummy dinners. I read the first half, the notes from when Jeeves had come to the mansion; Zeb read the second half, the recent stuff. He huhed and I ohed, both of us shifting in our seats, rifling through it all at breakneck speed. “Fuck,” I cursed when I’d finished. “Fuck,” he echoed, a minute later.

“Blackmail,” we both said, eyes wide, shocked that we’d

southeRn FRied 147 reached the same conclusion, seeing as we were reading notes from many, many years apart. “You first,” he said, since you were at the beginning. I propped my pillow up and turned his way. “Well, the notes, they’re not for Jeeves, I think. He must take them and send copies or faxes or scans to the Pellinghams. Like weekly briefings. Granny’s comings and goings. My parents, when they were alive. He talks about their deaths, the funeral, what was said, who said it, who was looking after me.” Zeb nodded. “And the blackmail?” I nodded and pointed to the page I found it on. “After my parent’s funeral, he says he doesn’t want to spy anymore, wants to leave the mansion. Says he’s done enough for them already. Wants to go back to working at some law firm. Practically begs for it.” I turned to Zeb again. “Jeeves isn’t a butler; he’s a lawyer. No wonder he’s always so bitter. What a waste of a life.” “But what was he being blackmailed for?” Zeb asked. “And how did the Pellinghams get the information? What a weird connection.” I shrugged. “Jeeves doesn’t mention it, just alludes to the fact that the Pellinghams have something over on him. But it must be pretty horrible, considering he’s now been a butler for close to thirty years.” I squelched back a sob. How awful. Even for the likes of Jeeves. Then I continued. “But the notes, they start off boring enough, just logs, like I said, but after the funeral, after then, that’s when Jeeves seems to get antsy, pleading to be able to leave. But why then?” Suddenly, a cold chill rose up my spine. Zeb stared at me, sensing what I was thinking. “Your parents, they died in a car accident, right?” I nodded, yet again. “Right.” “Did your Granny ever tell you how it happened?” I stared at him. “Icy roads. They went into a ditch, smacked their heads, died instantly, no pain.” The chill spread, my feet jerking, hair standing on end.

148 Rob Rosen “Icy roads? In South Carolina?”

I gulped. “It happens, right?”

“Rarely. Very rarely. And Jeeves getting all antsy after the

funeral, he must’ve seen or heard something to the contrary. But what? And how are we going to find out? It’s been nearly thirty years, like you said. No way are we going to find the information on the Internet.” His foot kicked his bowl. But then he snapped his fingers, smiling all of a sudden. “Hoppin’ John,” he yipped. “You can’t still be hungry, Zeb. That stuff ’s heavy as a brick.” I backpedaled. “A, uh, tasty brick, I mean.” He socked me one in the arm, playfully. “No. Jake.” I shrugged, tilted my head like a confused puppy. “Jake!” he repeated, louder. “His given name is John. He just goes by Jake.” “Jake? The pool man?” I asked. “What, you’re hungry and horny?” He sighed. “Oh, you don’t know. I forget that you’ve only been around a short while.” I frowned. “Yeah, it does seem a lot longer though, doesn’t it?” He was all smiles now. “Only in the nicest of ways, Trip,” he said, patting me in the place he’d just hit me. “Anyway, Jake’s not mentioned in my section of notes. Plus, he’s not at the mansion as much as the others. Probably just a worker, like me. Not a spy.” I patted his thigh. “And you’re going where with all this?” “Jake’s uncle is the sheriff around here,” he replied, smugly, arms folded over dense pecs. It was then that I got what he was getting at. “And we might not be able to find out about the accident…” “… but Jake’s uncle can. Seeing as the accident happened in the same county,” he said, correctly finishing my sentence. I grinned, then frowned. “But why would Jake want to help us?” Again he hit me. “Uh, Trip, need I remind you of that

southeRn FRied 149 nickname I keep calling you?” I giggled. “Thunder Dick?” The hit repeated. “I’ve never called you that.” I rubbed my arm, which was now getting red. “Not yet.” He sighed. “Not yet, boss.” The lightbulb above my head pulsed, shimmering, however figuratively. “Ah. Boss. Right,” I said. “And you can’t say no to the boss.” He smiled, teeth white, eyes crinkled. “Yup. And, besides, we still have our secret weapon.” I gave it a tug. “What’s so secret about Thunder Dick?” I ducked down before he could hit me yet again. “You’re cute, but frustrating, Trip,” he said, then added, “Stella. Stella’s our secret weapon. Remember?” “Stella? The handyman? Woman, I mean?” I scratched my head. “But she’s gay. And he’s straight. And neither of those things is much of a secret.” Thankfully, he sighed rather than hit me. “He’s straight. She’s bi. Remember? And he likes her, always has. Best guess: he’s so damn hot and can get any woman he wants.” I snickered. “Any woman but Stella, the handyman.” He touched fingertip to nose. “Exactly. And if anyone can get Jake hoppin’, it’s her.” It was then I remembered what else he’d already said. “Hey, you said that Jake wasn’t mentioned in the notes. But who was?” The nod returned. “Everyone else. Same kind of weekly log as you saw. Notes on who said what and who went where. Mostly your granny, but he mentions Roy and Betty, too. Jeeves and the two of them were all being blackmailed, both of the others working for your granny and reporting back to Jeeves, who then reported to the Pellinghams.” “But what was there to report? Granny tended to her gardens or drank iced tea on the veranda.”

150 Rob Rosen He shrugged. “Yep, that about covered it. Only, he also added that no one in the household heard her saying anything to you or to Beau.” “Beau?” I practically shouted. “Beau,” he echoed. “They all new about him. Only, Jeeves doesn’t mention what they knew about him. Or if they knew his relationship to her. Just that they knew he was around. And they were listening for anything unusual. Anything she said to him or he said to her, or either one of them to you.” “And?” I asked. “Nope, nothing. Not from him or your granny. Not once, not ever. Whatever it was the Pellinghams were watching out for, they never got an earful of it from Jeeves.” I sighed and fell back into the pillow. “But what were they watching out for? And what did it have to do with me and Beau? Or my parents, for that matter? And what was everyone being blackmailed for? And why by the Pellinghams?” My sigh repeated, my fists slamming into the mattress. “Seems like every question we come across leads to two more.” He stroked my hand. “I’m off tomorrow, and Stella doesn’t work until late in the morning. We’ll call her now and see if she can come over on her way to the mansion. Then we’ll see about finding out about your parents. Maybe this all revolves around them. Or at least your mother and Robert E; that seems like the only connection I can see.” He jumped out of the bed, empty bowls in hand, then returned with his cell phone. He was talking to her a second later. Then he hung up and jumped back into bed with me. “She’ll be over in the morning, right?” I asked, praying as much. “Yup. Then we’ll see about enlisting her help again. My guess, she’s not going to be thrilled about the whole seducing Jake angle.” I held his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Ah, but you forget

southeRn FRied 151 what they call me.” He smiled, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree. “Thunder Dick?” I nodded. “Well, yes, that.” “And boss,” he correctly added. “Especially that,” I agreed, praying that Stella would never find the need to call me Thunder Dick. §§§§ Thankfully, that next morning, boss was sufficient. That and a promise to contact Granny’s attorney and change the stipulations of her will, which she assumed I’d have the ability to do once the estate went into mine and Beau’s names. Meaning, instead of being indebted to us for ten years, as Granny had stipulated, she’d now only have five. Provided she’d be able to get Jake to contact his uncle and get us information. “Don’t worry,” she said. “He’ll do it.” “And we know this how?” I had to ask. She pushed her ample bosoms together and shot me a sly, if not disconcerting, wink. “Gets ‘em every time.” ‘Em not being me or Zeb, who grimaced and forced a nod. “Uh, yeah. I’m sure,” I said. In any case, she agreed. And we were in like Flynn. Then we told her everything we’d discovered up until that point. “Fucking Pelinghams,” she spat. “Think they own the world.” “Or at least half of Granny’s staff,” I corrected. “Which suddenly makes a lot of sense,” she said. “Those three always did come across as being overly inquisitive, if you ask me. Always hovering about when your granny was on the phone, striking up odd conversations that were laden with questions. I’d hear them, yammering on while I was working on projects. Just thought it was your granny, eager for a conversation. Now I know better.” I hung my head down and exhaled long and low and deep.

152 Rob Rosen “Sure would like to know what they were up to. What the Pellinghams have on Jeeves and Roy and Betty. What kind of information they were looking for from them.” She smiled, which looked sort of scary. “One mission at a time, boss,” she said, rather cryptically. “But let’s just say I might have a second plan if the first one works out okay.” I shrugged. Heck, the first one was terrifying enough. Because it meant investigating my parent’s death. And I’d barely gotten used to Granny’s. Meaning, the second I could wait for. Especially if that smile of hers proved to be as scary as it seemed. Gave me goosepimples just looking at it. “Think she can do it?” Zeb asked me, a minute after she pulled away from his house, both of us standing on his porch watching her speed down the road. “You see those tits of hers?” I asked. He shivered. “I tried not to,” he replied. “But Jake won’t know what hit him.” Which is just what happened. Only, not how any of us were expecting. §§§§ They came knocking later that day, just before the sun dipped into the horizon, the sky a brilliantly gay pink, Zeb and I tanning out back, which is about all we’d manage to accomplish. No judgments, please. And, yes, I said they. Zeb answered the door, with me close behind him. “Oh, uh, hi, Stella. Hi, Jake.” She barged in. “Cut the crap; he knows.” “What, uh, what do you mean?” I asked, moving aside, the four of us in the living room as Zeb shut the door behind them. “The tits didn’t work,” she practically growled. Jake snickered. “Well, mostly.” A faint flush of red spread up his neck. “Mostly,” she echoed, though I could’ve sworn I detected a

southeRn FRied 153 slight smile. “But the boss thing did. And we already lost one this week; two wouldn’t do any of us any good.” “Least of all me, the boss,” I couldn’t help but make note. They all nodded. “Anyway,” she continued, “he wouldn’t go to his uncle until I told him the back story, what led us to the line of questioning. Besides, he loved your granny, despite his outburst at the reading of the funeral. The two of them were drinking buddies. Why else would he need to clean the pool five days a week when no one swam in it?” She walked across the room and fell into the couch. “The two of them drank iced tea and bourbon half the day.” Jake nodded and sat next to her. Closely next to her. “I loved your granny, Trip. She was like family to me, and I want to help.” Her nod mirrored his, a smile looming on her horizon as the sun finally disappeared into its. “In fact, he already has.” My heart skipped a beat. And not the happy kind of skipping either; more like a lightning bolt to the chest kind, searing through me all of a sudden. “He called his uncle?” I asked. The pair of them nodded. “I told him you were writing a book and just needed the facts,” Jake told us. “And?” I asked, with a gulp as Zeb held my hand. “And,” he continued, “he’s going to call me with them when he gets off work.” He looked at his watch. “In about ten minutes or so.” Zeb knew what that meant. And it didn’t bode well for me, because, “Peach brandy?” he asked, figuring that would take the edge off as he headed for the kitchen. See, not good. Not good at all. Seriously, that shit is nasty. Both glasses of it that I drank. Already starting in on the third when Jake’s cellphone rang, my heart skipping, yet again. Which couldn’t have been healthy for it, really. He answered, said hello, listened, uh-huhed, hung up. A two minute conversation that I knew would forever change my life. Two minutes before I exhaled. “Well?” I asked, expectantly.

154 Rob Rosen He looked from Stella to Zeb and back to me, eyes wide. “Um,” he managed, scratching his chin, knee bouncing. “Um.” “You said that already,” I blurted out, pacing now. “I know,” he said. “It’s just that it’s not good news. And I don’t know you well enough, or at all, and I’m um-ing. Okay?” “Okay, I said. “Still, please tell me anyway.” I gulped down the rest of the peach brandy and found a chair to sit on. “Go.” He paused. “Your parents,” he said, almost in a whisper. “They died in a car accident.” Again I exhaled. “I know that,” I whispered back, my voice shaking. He paused again. Nodded. Knee bouncing again. “Yeah, well, but not from skidding on ice. In fact, it wasn’t even raining. Or all that cold, it seems.” Again he paused, clearly uncomfortable. Then he sighed and let it fly. “Their car exploded.” Any my skipping heart stopped completely. “An accidental explosion?” I managed. He just shook his head. “The report said it looked suspicious. Like the wiring had been tampered with. But it was hard to tell. The fire was too strong, too hot, melted everything together. Still, they investigated it like it was a… a, uh…” “Murder,” I said, finishing his train of thought, the word causing my world to drop out from beneath me. “Double homicide,” he said. “Hush-hush investigation, seeing as who your grandparents were, and how tongues wag around these parts.” “Meaning, no one ever heard anything,” I reiterated. “So I never heard it either. Until now.” Zeb came over and put his hand on my shoulder. I leaned my head on it. “And let me guess,” I continued. “They never found out for sure if it was an accident or not. Or who could’ve done it.” He didn’t agree. Not right away. “Only one suspect, in fact,” he replied, head tilted down now, staring at the floor. Anywhere but at me. “Only one person who had access to the car just

southeRn FRied 155 before… uh, just before.” I gulped, my anger rising. “The chauffeur,” I said. “Jeeves.”

“Walter, right,” he said. “But he had an alibi.”

“Which was?” I asked, my eyes closed, squinting tightly

together. He sighed. “Robert E. Pellingham. His roommate in college and again in law school.” My eyes popped open. “What a coincidence,” I grumbled. But it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. Not by a fucking long shot.

ChAPteR 10 Collard Greens “We’ll just need disguises,” Stella said, a few minutes after the shock of Jake’s report had worn off. Uh, mostly off. This was her dreaded second plan, as if we hadn’t had enough of those already. She’d already unleashed it on us. Twice. And it made me queasy listening to it both times. “You don’t happen to have any on hand, do you?” “Disguises?” I asked, trying, and failing, to suppress a shit­ eatin’ grin. “What’s with the shit-eatin’ grin?” she asked. Zeb elbowed me in the ribs. “Nothing. He just, uh, likes disguises, is all,” he explained. “And I, uh, I think we might have some handy. Somewhere. Handy.” Jake sighed. “Please don’t tell us. If those smiles are any indication, we don’t want to know the details. So just get them and let’s get a move on.” He rolled his hands, one over the other, indicating that we should hurry. “But what about you?” I asked. “Stella makes sense, us in disguise makes sense, but you, you don’t make a bit of sense. And they might know you. In fact, I’m sure they will, what with all the spying they’ve been doing all this time.” “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Stella and I both have our own businesses. In fact, we both have other clients in common already, besides your granny.” She nodded. “He’s right. He cleans the pool; I build the pool house.” Zeb piped in next, and rather too quickly for my liking. “Dibs on being Jake’s assistant.” And now it was my turn to elbow him in the ribs. “And what

158 Rob Rosen do you know about cleaning pools?” “I’ve cleaned my bathtub before,” he replied. “A pool is just, uh, a really big bathtub, right?” Jake merely sighed, yet again. “No one’s cleaning pools, you two. Or building pool houses. That’s just a ruse to get us inside. So we can look around. And hopefully find the key to this whole mess. If Jeeves was sending in reports, then they must have some sort of file, something that will point us to the answer.” “Right,” Stella agreed. “And I already called Robert E.’s office; he’s in court all day. The only ones at the house right now are the help, if anybody.” I scratched my head. “But why would the help just let us in?” Jake smiled, so bright it was a wonder we didn’t go instantly blind. Or hard. Take your pick. He reached inside his back pocket and handed me a sheet of paper. “Yeah, we thought of that,” he replied, waiting for me to read it. “It’s a contract,” I said, handing it back to him. “When did you get a contract to do work for Robert E.?” He sighed. Stella sighed. Even my loving boyfriend sighed. “Oh,” I ohed. “You didn’t. It’s a, um, it’s a fake contract.” “Bravo, Einstein,” said Jake. “Boss,” I reminded him, though I was still holding on to Thunder Dick. “Bravo, boss,” he said. “And they’ll never know. We just hand it to them, keep them busy, and snoop around.” “Who does what?” I couldn’t help but ask. He shrugged. “Let’s just get in; then we’ll see how it goes from there.” “Sounds like a Plan B-minus,” I tossed in. “Why?” he asked. “What could go wrong?” Yes, yes, I know. My head was swimming at that remark, too. Still, he was awfully pretty when he said it, so I chose to ignore him. Though what could go wrong went wrong almost

southeRn FRied 159 immediately. And, no, I didn’t mean the reappearance of our drag alter-egos. “You’re kidding?” Stella coughed, when we came out a short while later. “Those are your disguises?” Jake asked. Zeb frowned. “What kind of disguises were the both of you thinking of ?” Stella tried to stifle a laugh. Though she didn’t try very hard. “Uh, hats and sunglasses, maybe a fake moustache?” I looked to Zeb and he looked at me. “Oh,” we both said, in unison. Jake stood up and walked to the door. “Yeah, oh,” he said, making his way outside, with Stella close behind. “Come on, Thelma and Louise,” he hollered over his shoulder. “Portia and Marlene,” I yelled back, the two of us running after them, high heels clacking as we made our way to Zeb’s car. Well, teetered was more like it. Hopefully, that old rule held true: drag queens wobble, but they don’t fall down. Anyway, that thing that went wrong almost immediately, well, here’s the immediately. As in, Port immediately greeted us at the door, and not the hired help. As in, handing him a fake contract would’ve immediately got us landed in jail, or worse. As in, we immediately needed a third plan. And guess what we didn’t immediately have? Yep, smart guess. Though our rain cloud had a silver lining. And, yes, as it turned out, we weren’t the only ones who noticed that Jake was so awfully pretty. “Well, howdy do,” said Port, ogling our pool boy, southern drawl dripping out of his gaping maw like honey from a bee’s ass. “Uh, howdy,” said Jake, clearly out of his element. Because, need I remind you, he was now surrounded by three gay men, two of which were in drag, and one handyman woman. It was more like happy hour at The Stud. “We, uh, we were, uh…”

160 Rob Rosen Thankfully, Stella came to the rescue. “We’re expanding our business and visiting the finer homes in the neighborhood.” She handed him her card. “We do general contractor work, light construction, pool maintenance, landscaping, and the like.” She craned her neck from side to side and up and down. “Your home is lovely; we’d like to make it even lovelier.” But if Port was listening, he wasn’t showing it. In fact, his eyes were glued to Jake, never once blinking. Disturbing, if not downright beneficial. For us, I mean. Well, us minus Jake. Who we quickly sacrificed like a lamb to the slaughter. “Our coworker, Jake, here,” I piped in, “does wonders with a pool.” The spell was broken with a blink, then two, from our host. “He does, does he?” Port stroked his chin while he leaned against the door frame. “Just so happens, we’re having problems with our pool. Nasty algae infestation. Would you like to take a look at it?” Picture the big, bad wolf, and you wouldn’t be far off the mark. And, luckily for us, he didn’t recognize Little Red Ridinghood, namely his past trick, Zeb. Meaning, our disguises had worked. Phew. “Uh, sure,” replied Jake. “That would be great. And maybe my associates can have a look around, draw up a list of projects we could discuss.” But again, we were obviously invisible, waved away like a bad odor as Port led Jake inside. “Right this way, Jake,” he cooed. “The pool is back here.” And speaking of backs, that’s just where Port’s hand was, on Jake’s back. Lower back. As in just above his shapely ass. The lamb, it seemed, was getting felt up. In any case, the three of us stood inside now, closing the door behind us. “We’ll just have a look around,” I said, my voice falling on deaf ears. “You two go right on ahead,” I whispered, feeling just a tad bit guilty about my pool boy. “Now what?” I added, when they were out of sight. “Now we split up,” said Stella, handing us each some paper and a pen. “Just pretend you’re taking measurements if someone

southeRn FRied 161 should see you. Close and lock doors whenever you can. Meet back here in thirty minutes, just to be on the safe side.” And so that’s what we did. I went upstairs, Stella toward the kitchen, Zeb for the rear of the house. Place was big, too, but it wasn’t Granny’s mansion, so if there was hired help about, I didn’t run into any of them. Still, when I went into a room, I locked the door behind me, just as Stella had advised. Upstairs was the master bedroom, a guest bedroom, and a study. Big rooms, richly appointed. Clearly, Robert E. didn’t believe in scrimping. Then again, this was old southern money, and I guessed he’d inherited much of what I was looking at. And look I did, under beds, in closets, in drawers, behind, under, to the side of every place I could imagine he’d hide anything. Sadly, there was nothing to find, not even a dust-bunny. That is until I made found myself inside the study. See, here’s where my background came in handy. And, no, not the gay dude who can shop like a demon at a Bloomingdale’s one day sale kind of background. I mean, my southern rooted background, growing up in a mansion, surrounded by furniture that came down through several generations. Now then, if you’ve ever watched Antiques Roadshow on PBS, you’ll know exactly what I’m getting at. But, since I don’t know you well enough, I’ll assume you’re not as culturally gifted as, say, moi. Or as conceited. In any case, back before safes and metal filing cabinets, back in the days during and just after the Civil War, which both my family and Port’s go back to, documents and things of value were concealed in furniture, hidden behind spring-loaded wooden doors or in desk or cabinet drawers that couldn’t easily be seen by the naked eye. Naturally, I moved to the metal filing cabinet first. It was unlocked, as I thought it might be. See, back in the day, as in way, way back, you’d make it easy on the thief so that they’d think they got away with something and stop looking for what you were really hiding. In other words, I had access to Robert E.’s filing cabinet and I might stop looking for anything else. Only, of course, I didn’t.

162 Rob Rosen The filing cabinet, I was quick to discover, just had his day to day papers. Bills, deeds, general paperwork, a few old cases of his, nothing having to do with my family or with Beau. His computer wasn’t so open to me, however. It was on, but locked behind a password. In any case, if he was really up to no good, like behind my parent’s death, then his computer isn’t where he’d store the information. That’s the first place the police would look, the first thing they’d confiscate. And so, with ten minutes left to spare, I moved my fingers gently around his desk, which was easily a hundred years old, if not a great deal older. Sure enough, you could slide a front panel up to reveal a hidden drawer. Inside of this were several gold pocket watches, old gold coins, a few pieces of Civil War items. Things a thief would salivate over. Things a thief would steal and think they hit the mother load, and then promptly skedaddle. Only, I knew better. These were purposely put there just for that very reason, I assumed. They were a ruse, a decoy. Cunning, yes, unless you watched Antiques Roadshow. Like religion. Like, again, moi. So I gently slid the hidden drawer out. Behind this was a pine wood backing. But the backing wasn’t aligned with the rear of the desk. In fact, there were at least two inches still to go. Meaning, there was a hidden space. I knocked on the pine wood. “Hollow,” I whispered, with a hushed giggle. My mind raced through episode after PBS episode, until it landed on just the right one. I smiled and removed the drawer next to the drawer I’d taken out. Sure enough, I found a springloaded latch. Flip the latch, and the pine backing I’d found could be slid to the right. And, presto, there was one final drawer that could be slid out. No gold in this one. No gems or cash. Nothing but paper. Stacks of paper, in fact, all neatly folded. With trembling hands and my breath lodged in my throat, I unfolded the top sheet. It took me a few seconds to realize what it was, havening never actually seen one before. “A police rap sheet,” I whispered, reading through it. “Betty’s.” I shook my head, a spark rising up my back. See, Betty wasn’t

southeRn FRied 163 a maid just like Jeeves wasn’t a butler. At least not by trade. And Betty had belonged to the oldest trade around. Yep, prim and proper and stiff Betty had served a year in prison for, of all things, prostitution. And you could be a lot of things in the South and still get ahead, but a prostitute wasn’t one of them. And certainly not if you served time for it. Not even McDonald’s would hire you then. And every sheet after that one was yet another rap sheet, at least fifty of them. But I only had a few minutes left, so I quickly eyed them all, looking for the names I recognized, namely Jeeves and Roy. The latter I found soon enough. The gardener, as it turned out, was a car thief with several arrests, all in his youth, but the former wasn’t anywhere to be found in the stack. Meaning, I assumed, Robert E. had something else on him; and since they were college roommates, it must’ve gone all the way back to then. Still, I knew what the stack of sheets meant. “The Pellinghams must have people spying for them all over the city, the state, the South.” All of them reporting back, I figured. And, if all of them were working for powerful people like my Granny, the information they had was way valuable. Enough to get you elected and keep you elected. And who cared if a butler or a maid tattled? Especially when they had a record. In other words, they had all those poor people over a barrel. But that didn’t explain my parent’s death. It didn’t explain Beau’s animosity. It didn’t explain why I was kept away for so long. All it told me was that we were up against a great pile of power. Which, of course, made me want to topple that pile all the more. Time was up, however. I returned the papers just as I’d found them and raced back downstairs, my friends, minus Jake, already at the designated spot. I piped in first and told them what I’d found, Stella and Zeb shaking their heads back and forth. “What did you guys find?” I asked, expectantly. Stella sighed. “The kitchen and dining room didn’t yield anything. Just a cook who didn’t even blink when I walked in.”

164 Rob Rosen Zeb smiled, though. “Port must be living here now, when he’s not using that apartment of his. He’s got a room in the back of the house.” I nodded. “Which explains why he answered the door. But did you find out anything else?” His smile diminished some. “Um, I hate PBS, Trip.”

“Uh, okay. And?”

“And Port has a desk that looks over a hundred years old in

his room.” Stella’s sigh returned. “Meaning, you didn’t know about the secret drawers, right?” “Right,” he said, with a shrug. “But it stands to reason, if there’s one secret drawer in this house, there’s more. Divide the evidence up, just in case. Seems the smart thing to do, if you ask me.” “And these guys are assholes,” Stella added, “but they’re definitely anything but dumb.” Just then, Jake reappeared, suddenly shirtless, grimacing as Port followed close behind. The lamb, it seemed, had been put to work. Poor little lamb. Poor little, glistening, muscley, eyepopping lamb. I cleared my throat and forced my eyes not to pop as much. “Jake,” I coughed out. “Marlene,” he replied, in between gritted teeth. “Looks like the Pellinghams have a new pool man.” Port’s grin blossomed. And, if I wasn’t mistaken, so had the bulge in his shorts. “Yes, we do,” he eagerly agreed. “But you ladies aren’t needed any further. My father already has a contractor on call.” “We’ll charge less,” I tried. “And do a better job.” He shook his head. “Just Jake, thank you.” “But…” “Just Jake,” he echoed, louder this time. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

southeRn FRied 165 And with that, he promptly showed us out, the door slamming behind us as we stood on the front porch. “Why are you shirtless?” Zeb thought to ask, once outside. Jake frowned and promptly put said shirt back on. “I’d rather not talk about it. Suffice it to say, I have a new client once a week, beginning tomorrow.” He started walking back to our car, whispering over his shoulder, “Did you find out anything that makes this dirty feeling I’m feeling at least worth something?” We all got inside the car before filling him in. “So you can come back tomorrow, but we can’t. And a pool boy snooping in the den would look strange,” I grumbled. We sat in silence, trying to think of something, anything, to get us back inside. “Collard greens!” Zeb shouted, causing us all to jump. “Collard greens?” I couldn’t help but ask. “What, are we heading back to Popeye’s for inspiration again?” “No,” he/she replied. “Port loves collard greens.” I sighed, flipping off my wig, which was starting to give me a

headache. Either him or it. Take your pick. “Less cryptic, please.” He reached over to the glove compartment and pulled out the horse tranquilizers again. “This less cryptic for you, Marlene?” I laughed. “They sure do come in handy, don’t they?” He nodded and drove off. “For a horse,” Zeb replied. “Or someone hung like one.” Jake coughed from the back seat. “Please, I don’t even want to know.” He sighed. “God, I really do feel dirty. And not just sweaty dirty either.” Knowing Port as I now knew him, I knew what Jake was getting at. And so, in silence, we headed back to Zeb’s. Stella and Jake started toward her car when we got there, but then Jake snapped his fingers. “Wait, I need to be at the Pellingham’s first thing in the morning.” He turned to Zeb. “Will you have the collard greens ready when we meet up here again?”

166 Rob Rosen “Uh,” was all Zeb could say. Jake frowned. “Let me guess. You don’t know how to cook collards, right?” Zeb shrugged. “Hey, I came up with the idea. My part’s over with.” He poked Jake in his brawny arm. “Tag, you’re it.” Jake turned to Stella. “You feel like a little shopping?” He smiled and winked, causing my tummy to go all twisty. Surprisingly, it looked like he had the same effect on my handyman woman. “There’s a Piggly Wiggly not far from here.” Again she headed to her car. “Hop in.” Then she smiled and winked, and again my tummy went all twisty. Mainly because I’d never seen her smile that brightly in the short while I’d known her. Or at all. And it was sort of all black-widow-spider-scary. In any case, he quickly hopped in and they tore off. “Huh,” said Zeb, watching them speed down the road. “I know that look.” I squinted at him, fists on my hips. “Which one? Hers or his?” He coughed. “Uh, hers?”

I socked him one in the arm. “Fucker.” Then I grinned. “He

does seem to have that effect on people, doesn’t he?” He moved out of striking distance. “Yep.” Then he led me back inside, both of us quickly in his bathroom, cold-creaming all that make-up off. “I’m worried, Zeb,” I quickly admitted. He smiled. “Don’t worry, boss,” he giggled. “Just because you like dressing up in women’s clothing doesn’t make you a tranny.” I couldn’t help but giggle, too, especially as I unbuttoned my blouse and unhooked my bra. “No,” I replied. “About them. Us. This. I mean, drugging a senator’s grandson and breaking into a senator’s son’s house, it’s not exactly what they taught us in the Boy Scouts.” He shimmied out of his skirt and pulled off his fake eyelashes. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” He rubbed the lipstick off my

southeRn FRied 167 lips. “Still, there’s safety in numbers, Trip. And when you’re drugging a senator’s grandson and breaking into a senator’s son’s house, especially if it means bringing down that senator, then four is better than two. Plus, there’s no other way inside now.” I started in on his ruby lips, the red coming off in smeared clumps. “Doesn’t make it any easier, though. I mean, if something should go wrong…” He put his fingers to my lips. “Nothing will go wrong,” he said, with a smile. “The pills have worked twice now; they’ll work this time, too. Worse thing that could happen is that we come up empty-handed with that other desk. Best thing, we find out something new. Something about Beau or your parents. Then we bring those bastards to justice.” His smile was contagious. As was his fervor. “Hard to argue with a half-naked tranny.” He leaned in and gave me a deep, soulful kiss. “That’s the spirit,” he whispered. And then we heard the car pull up. We quickly removed the rest of our outfits and put on a couple of robes. Running to the 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 100­ watt 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 the emails, not letters, aren’t so threatening. In fact, it’s almost like she’s pleading with them to leave him alone. And me, too.” Stella grimaced. “So she sent you away and lied to him, to protect you both. Made Beau keep on the down-low, no money, no last name connected to the Pellinghams, until she died. Probably because she knew she wouldn’t be able to control him once she was gone, so naming him a Pellingham in the will evened the playing field a bit. Can’t kill Beau if enough people know about him, know who he is.” Jake continued. “But your granny did too good a job with Beau. He wants nothing to do with any of you, which is why he’s still not coming forward, even though he has the birth certificate and the rights to half of your granny’s estate.” I shook my head. “No, I don’t buy that. It was his birthright. He knew that. Granny had to tell him. In fact, if he found her that easy, he already knew it.” Then I remembered the funeral, the way he’d gone crazy, jumping in the grave and shouting. “Not yet, he yelled at her funeral. Why not yet?” “She was the only family he had?” Zeb guessed. That hurt, but it was effectively true. Still, it didn’t sound right. “No, there has to be a piece missing to all this. Some reason he’s still in hiding. Keeping his distance from me. I mean, he might really hate me.” I forced back a sob at saying that. “But, he’s not stupid. He could hate me and still claim his share. Still even bring the Pellinghams down with that birth certificate. But he’s not. In fact, like I told Zeb, I get the feeling he’s protesting it all too much. Protesting me. Still keeping me away, even when he doesn’t have to anymore.” Zeb piped in. “Does you granny make any mention of any

southeRn FRied 175 of that?” Again I shook my head. “Nope. In fact, she’s reporting back to the Pellinghams, just like all the rest of them are. Telling them that no one knows about Beau except Beau himself and that I’m still being kept away. It’s like, so long as me and Beau are kept apart, then the peace is maintained. No more deaths.” I swallowed hard. “Accidental or otherwise.” “Fuck the peace,” I heard. Only, it wasn’t any of the four of us who said it. We all turned our heads as one, all of us jumping as we stared down the barrel of the gun. “Port!” I yelled. He was wobbly and bleary-eyed. “Have we met?’ He eyed me, suspiciously. I think. Hard to tell, seeing as his eyes were having a difficult time focusing. “Not officially,” I replied. Though I had spied on him having sex and had been in his bedroom without him knowing it. Don’t know how more officially unofficial you could get than that. He squinted, the gun held up higher in his floppy grip. “You’re Trip Jackson,” he said, forcing an uneven smile. “Ah, so the cat’s out of the bag then. Too bad the senator’s dogs are dead, or they could catch it.” He laughed at his apparent wit. “Fuck,” I whispered. “We killed the senator’s dogs.” Stella nodded. “Too bad the grandson is still breathing; then we would’ve been three for three.” Port squinted again. “Zeb? That you?” Zeb nodded and waved. “Hi, Port,” he said. “Funny seeing you here.” “I’m not laughing,” Port slurred. “Well,” said Zeb. “Not ha-ha funny then. And we were just leaving, anyway.” Port moved deeper inside the room, the gun pointing to each of us in turn. Wobbling, but pointing. A dangerous combination, to be sure. “No, you’re not. In fact, I already called my dad; he’s

176 Rob Rosen on his way here. And who could blame us for shooting four people who were breaking and entering. And your fingerprints are all over that desk.” Damn if he wasn’t lucid, if not slurring and teetering while being so. Stella leaned in and whispered in my ear. “It’ll take about a half an hour for Robert E. to make it here; think of something to distract Port.” Thankfully, I still had a secret weapon. Though, once used, it meant a whole new set of troubles. Still, in less than thirty minutes, we were all going to die, so I figured I’d have to take my chances. “Uh, Port,” I began. “Your family, they know you’re gay?” He snickered and shot me a wicked glower. “Oh, they know all right. Why do you think they got me living here?” I nodded. “You mean instead of your apartment?” He shot Zeb the same evil sneer. “So what? Nobody would care about that.” I shrugged. “Probably right. Not unless they got there and found that gay porn stash of yours.” The gun tilted downward, his jaw suddenly going slack. “Again, s… so what? I can have the apartment emptied out before you can do anything. Dead men tell no tales, you know.” The gun got raised again, his bravado quickly returning. Only, the apartment wasn’t my secret weapon. “No,” I said. “But iPhones sure as hell can.” I lifted mine up and played him that little clip of his, the one I’d taped behind the fence of him and Roy. “Getting fucked by an ex-con and implicating a senator in nefarious deeds, Port? Not good during a reelection year. Or for your daddy, who’s about to run for office, I hear.” I punched out an email while he watched, real terror suddenly washing over his face, even though the email was my own. “I just emailed the video to a friend of mine, Port. If anything happens to us, it makes it to the press.” Stella let out a raspy laugh. “Then no more apartment for you, no more political aspirations for them, no more good name for

southeRn FRied 177 any of you.” “And no more easy money,” added Zeb, which was the final turn of the knife in Port’s back. “You let us go,” I said, “and that video doesn’t get released. Promise.” The gun dropped down, as did the smile on his face. “But Dad’s on the way already.” Jake piped in next. “Tell him we drugged you and escaped. Trust me, he’ll take one look at those mega-diluted pupils of yours and believe you in a heartbeat.” Port weighed his options, of which he now had very few, and waved us out. “Go. But if that video surfaces, trust me, you’ll wish I’d already killed you.” Needless to say, he didn’t have to say it twice. Meaning, we were running past him and down the stairs in no time flat, out the door and in our car and zooming east. Looking out of our rearview mirror, we saw Robert E. pulling into his driveway. “Talk about the nick of time,” I said, exhaling for the first time in almost a minute. Stella tapped me on the shoulder. “But now what?” she asked. “They’ll be after all four of us. None of our houses are safe. And we don’t really have anything to go to the police with. It’ll be our word against theirs. And theirs carries a lot more weight, need I remind you.” I frowned. “Way to rain on my gay pride parade, Stella,” I said, glumly. But she was right. Even if I did release the video and came forward with what we had, it wouldn’t be enough. And the senator being who he was, the video would probably just disappear, anyway. They’d claim it was shot illegally. Or photoshopped. Or whatever they could think of to make it go away. And the election was just around the corner. “We need harder evidence than what we’ve uncovered,” I admitted. “Something concrete.” “But what?” Zeb asked, still speeding down the dusty road.

178 Rob Rosen “There’s still one person who can help,” I said. “One person that can tie all this together for us, fill in all the remaining pieces.” “But your granny’s dead,” Jake needlessly reminded me.

I grimaced. “Not Granny,” I said, though, right about then, I

missed her all the more. “Jeeves.” They all groaned, loudly. Me, of course, the loudest. But he was our only hope. He was there from the beginning of all this. He had to know everything we’d already found out. Plus a whole lot more. Only problem was, if he really did help kill my parents, it wasn’t like he’d want to help us now. And we still didn’t know what Robert E. was holding over his head. So there was more background work to be done. More snooping around. And an even more dire need to find Beau, because all of us were loose ends now. All of us in mortal danger. All of us a threat to the Pellinghams. And, of course, to their pending elections.

ChAPteR 11 Peach Cobbler We drove a few miles out of town to a rundown diner. Very backwoods. Few cars in the parking lot meant fewer people to spot us and recognize us. I called Pearl before we walked inside. I just needed to make sure she was safe and sound. Well, safe, anyway. “You okay, sugar?” she asked, right off the bat, an edge to her voice. “Fine and dandy,” I replied, trying to keep my voice even. See, I could never lie to her. And get away with it. “Why, do you have reason to believe otherwise?” She paused. “Probably nothing,” she replied. “Just, you’ve been getting calls these last couple of days. People looking for you. Friends of yours.” “Which friends?” I asked, swallowing hard. “Don’t know. Just folks saying they’s your friends and asking where you are. So I told ‘em.” “You told them I was in New York, right?” Not that it mattered anymore, seeing as the Pellinghams knew exactly where I was now. And it certainly wasn’t in New York. “Right,” she said. “New York.” The edge was still there. She didn’t believe me. “Only…” “Only you ain’t in New York, is you, boy?” She sighed. I couldn’t see her, but I could tell that she was standing with her hand on her hip, tapping her foot as she waited for an answer. “Is you?” I sighed in return. “No, ma’am.”

180 Rob Rosen “And you’s in trouble?” “Yes, ma’am.” I suddenly felt all of five years old again. “And you need my help?”

“You read me like a book, Pearl.”

“Short book,” she chided. “What you need, Trip? And no

sugar-coating it. With your granny gone, I’m next in line; so spill.” And spill I did. All of it. Minus the sex. Of which there was strangely a lot of, all things considered. Strangely and thankfully. “Well?” I said, humbly. “Boy, you not only in trouble, you’s in a mess of it. A big heapin’ mess of it.” “And so are Zeb, Jake, and Stella, who are with me. Probably you, too. And, uh, Roy, Betty, and Jeeves, I’d imagine, if things don’t turn out okay.” She sighed, yet again. Only this one was more out of her losing her patience. “So, basically the entire mansion, Trip. And all in just under a week. Record timing, boy. Record timing.” The sigh repeated. She was softening now. I could tell. “So what is it you need from me?” “Uh, know any good motels?” She didn’t bother with the sigh this time. “Boy, now you know I got me a spare bedroom at my place.” “But there are four of us,” I reminded her. She chuckled. “Guess you all is about to get better acquainted then.” I looked at Stella and Jake, who were paying way more attention to each other than to the conversation. “Too late,” I said. “Besides, it’s not safe for you if we do that.” The laughter grew. “Ain’t no white politician stepped foot on my street ever, boy. And they ain’t about to start now. Now, anything else you need from me? Seeing as you done left with half the staff, I have a feeling I’m about to get busy. Busier, I mean. So let’s hear it.”

southeRn FRied 181 I did think of one thing. “Do you know where Jeeves went to college?” She paused, obviously thinking about it. “I reckon so,” she finally replied. “Emory University, I believe. Over in Decatur, Georgia. About five hours from here. Anything else?” I grinned. “Nope. Just, thanks. And I, uh, I love you.” Her laugh returned. “Damn right you do, boy. And don’t you forget it. Oh, and remember what your granny always said: don’t go looking for trouble; shit will find you all on its own. And speaking of shit, tell Zeb I’ll look after the horses. For now.” And with that, click, she hung up. I looked over at my friends. Stella was now punching away on her cellphone “Robert E. went to Emory for his undergrad,” she said. “I know,” I told her. “Pearl said that Jeeves did, too. Which is where they must’ve been roommates. So now what do we do with that bit of information?” She shrugged. “Have some lunch and then drive to Decatur, I guess. The library over there must have back issues of the college paper. All we need to do is read up on the years they were there and find a connection from then to now. Some kind of bad link, I’d imagine. Something those Pellinghams kept out of the city or state papers, I’m sure.” I nodded. “Sounds good.” Well, maybe not good, per se. But it was a plan. And it didn’t involve any breaking or entering. Or horse tranquilizers. Though, truth be told, those did indeed come in handy. Who knew? We sat at a table for four. By then, we were starving. Over lunch, we rehashed what we knew. And what we didn’t. Sadly, there was a still a lot in the latter column. Hopefully, soon, we could put an end to that. “Anything else?” asked the waitress when we were done. “Dessert?” we all asked. She shot us a withered smile. “Peach pie, peach ice-cream, peach pudding, or peach cobbler?”

182 Rob Rosen “Uh,” I uhed, “no cherry or strawberry anything?” I was still smarting from all that peach brandy. “This is the South, hon,” she replied. “And it’s peach pickin’ season. You want strawberries, come back in a month.” I groaned. “I’ll take the cobbler.” Zeb sighed and ordered the cobbler as well. As did my other friends. A la mode, with peach ice-cream. Might as well go wholehog, we figured. In any case, it was delicious. And homemade. And a heck of a lot better than peach brandy. Full now, we left. We had a long drive ahead of us, after all, and it was getting late. Though, to be honest, the thought of leaving and driving five hours away was a welcome relief. At least we were free from those nasty Pellinghams for a spell. However briefly. There was little to see along the way, just endless miles of road. We could’ve been anywhere; one highway looks just like all the others, I suppose. Though, five hours later, Atlanta loomed ahead in the distance. An oasis in an otherwise bleak, southern desert, so to speak. It wasn’t New York, but still it filled my heart with something resembling hope. We skirted the city, our necks craned upward at all the glass and steel, at the smaller brick buildings, older remnants of the city, at newly built condos for the downtown dwellers. It was all sleek and clean looking. Like I said, not New York. Not by a mile. More like a genteel version of it. And it passed by us all too quickly. We followed the signs to Decatur, driving through upscale, small suburbs, past rolling green lawns, beautiful brick houses, trendy shops and sidewalk cafes. Even a gay bar, its rainbow flag flapping in the mild breeze. I smiled at the sight of it. Like a beacon in the night. Which, by the way, was fast approaching. “Better find us a motel,” I said to Zeb. “Uh, Trip,” he said, playfully squeezing my knee. “You’re rich now, remember?”

southeRn FRied 183 Stella tapped me on the shoulder from her seat behind me. “And rich people don’t sleep in motels,” she added. Jake pointed out the window to a beautiful Victorian-looking house, the wood painted purple, the shutters blue, with rounded steeples, trellises laden with winding ivy, and a lawn brimming with color. Very fairy tale. And I just love fairies. “Sissy’s bed and breakfast,” I read off the dangling shingle as we slowed down to a stop. “Hey,” said Stella. “You two are sissies. Must be a sign.” I looked at Zeb and he looked at me. “She has a point,” he said. “However slightly insulting it might be.” She snickered. “Don’t shoot the messenger.” “Please, no mention of shooting,” I said, wincing, as I opened the passenger side door. “Come on, staff,” I said, with a flick of my index finger. “And bring the bags around.” They all hopped out and followed. “What bags?” asked Zeb. I knocked on the door and whispered, “It’s what the master says to the underlings.” One of the said underlings elbowed me in the ribs. Judging by the force, I’d say it was Stella. But before I could say anything, the door swung open. “Afternoon, ya’ll,” said the proprietor, a stately woman in her early seventies or well-preserved eighties. In the South, it’s sometimes hard to tell. “What can I do you for?” I nodded and smiled. “We were just passing through, ma’am, and were wondering if you had two spare rooms for the night.” Her smile grew bright, revealing perfect teeth, her eyes twinkling. “Well, sure I do, sugar, this being a bed and breakfast, and all.” She looked behind me. “But where’s your luggage?” A slight flush of red worked its way up my neck. “Um, we weren’t planning on this long of a trip, ma’am. Kind of got sidetracked. We should’ve been home hours ago.” She hesitated. “Where is home?” She asked because one’s home can often be one’s calling card, I figured. It’s the same question Granny would’ve asked.

184 Rob Rosen And so I told her. And her eyes grew even wider, her face suddenly growing pale, mouth slightly open. “Can’t be,” she murmured. “What can’t be, ma’am?” I asked, my heart suddenly racing. “What’s your name, sugar?” she asked, a question for a question. I smiled. “Trip Jackson, ma’am.” She sighed and fanned her face. “Thank the Lord,” she said. “For a minute there, I thought you were your daddy. You two are the spitting image of each other.” She paused and clutched her pearls. Yes, they really do do that in the South. “God rest his soul,” she quickly added. And that flush of mine burnished its way across my face. “You, you knew my father?” The door opened wider. “Hon, your granny and I go way back.” The pause returned, her face cast downward. “Sorry, sugar, I heard the news. I mean, went way back.” She motioned for us to come on in, which we gladly did. Then she closed the door behind us. “Your granny was one hell of a woman, Trip.” I looked at the charming living room in front of us and then to her. “Yes, ma’am, I know.” The smile remained in full-force. “But where are my manners,” she said. “Let me give ya’ll the grand tour.” Which she did, my three cohorts introducing themselves as she led us this way and that. And what a beautiful home, too. It was once hers and her husbands, but when he died, she needed the extra income, so she moved to the bottom floor and rented out the rooms on the top. Apparently, it was enough to keep her head above water. As for my granny, Mary had lived not far from the mansion in her early twenties. And as for my parents, she’d been at their wedding. And, sadly, their funeral. Weird, but it made me have an instant connection with her. After all, other than Jeeves, I really didn’t know anyone that had known my parents. And, all things considered, namely that it was looking like Jeeves had possibly killed them, maybe it was best if I kept his name off that

southeRn FRied 185 exceedingly short list. “And these are your rooms,” she said, at the end of the tour, indicating one room on each side of the hall, both with a fourposter, queen sized bed and decorated with a very southern lady’s touch. In other words, we were being laced and embroidered to death. Still, since I was speaking figuratively, we were quite happy with the accommodations. “Dinner is in an hour. It’s just the five of us tonight. No other guests are booked until the weekend.” And with that, she turned and walked away, sensible heels clicking down the hallway. Zeb and I looked at Stella and Jake. They looked like mice that suddenly had access to the cheese. Or they were just horny. Probably the latter. “See you in an hour,” Stella said, quickly shutting the door behind them. “And probably hear you sooner than that,” I whispered, shutting our door behind us. And then we hopped onto our bed, both with contented sighs. “Pretty weird week,” he said, his fingers caressing mine. “Gross understatement, Zeb,” I replied.

He paused. “Do you, do you think he did it?”

My pause was longer. “As much as I hate him, Zeb, Jeeves has

always been family. Always. And I can’t see Granny keeping him on if he did. I mean, he was accused of it and she never fired him. So, no, I don’t think so. At least I pray he didn’t.” I gulped. “Still, I hope we find out tomorrow and put an end to all this.” He rolled over and our eyes met, my tummy, as usual, swirling with butterflies. “Not an end to all this,” he cooed, a warm, perfect kiss placed on my lips. He pulled an inch away, eyes still locked, searching, drilling down deep inside me. “I know this isn’t perfect timing, but, uh…” And those butterflies of mine went full-on swarm, eager to break free. “… I, uh, may be in love with my boss.” And damn if those butterflies didn’t start winging their way around that room right there and then. I kissed him, hard, harder still. “Please don’t tell the stable boy union,” I whispered into his

186 Rob Rosen mouth. “Because the boss is definitely in love with his employee, too.” He laughed and squeezed my hand. “The union is okay with that.” He rolled on top of me. “In fact, they encourage it.” “Good union,” I said, my hands working their way into the back of his jeans. He sighed as my index finger tickled his hole. “Best union ever.” “Amen,” I sighed back, our lips again shoved together, his body writhing on mine as the tip of my finger poked its way inside of him. “Not on the bed,” he whispered. “Why not?” I whispered back, knuckle-deep now. “Have you ever tried to get spooge out of a crocheted blanket before?” I winked at him. “Got it.” He rolled off of me. “Shower,” I grunted, the both of us shucking off clothes as we tore to the bathroom, where we were quickly overwhelmed with passion and the stink of lilac and lavender, which seemed to permeate almost every square inch of the tiny, purple room. “Smells like old lady,” he said, pulling me under the spray. “I hope you’re talking about the bathroom,” said I, already tugging at his steely rod. “For now,” he replied, soaping up my cock with enough potpourri-infused soap to cover up the stench of the entire Savannah River. Then he held his nose. “Uh oh.” I laughed, my fist working in double-time. “Too late?” He nodded and matched me stroke for stroke. “Uh huh. Now you smell like the garden behind my house.” His head tilted back, the water rushing over his handsome, stubbled face, his legs quaking a split second later as he shot. And shot some more. His moans bounced off the purple tile, my groans joining them a split second later as both of our hefty

southeRn FRied 187 loads got washed down the drain. He pulled me in to him, smiling brightly as the full moon. “Did I mention that I love you?” I nodded. “I believe we covered that,” I said. “Did I mention that I love you back?” He nodded, too. “I think so. Better say it again, just in case.” I kissed his neck, nibbled on his ear, his warm body pressed up snugly to mine. “I love you, Zeb.” And damn if it didn’t feel awesome saying it. Then I looked up to the ceiling with a happy grin. You sure do know how to hire ‘em, Granny. We were dressed and at the dining room table soon thereafter. Stella and Jake joined us a minute later. It was hard to tell which couple was glowing more. Or which stunk more like old lady. Though neither said as much. Mainly because we didn’t need to. “Phewee,” said Sissy, walking in with a plate of cheese and crackers. “I’m changing the soap in those bathrooms as soon as ya’ll skedaddle.” Four faces blushed red as four sets of hands reached for the crackers, all eyes cast around the room and not on one another. Or Sissy, who just shrugged, and added, “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.” And so it was. And, man, was it like heaven. A southern, artery-clogging heaven of pork chops and spiced-up greens and honeyed yams, downed with sweet iced-tea and biscuits so light that you could practically float on them. And not a peach in sight. Thank goodness. But we were exhausted after we finished with it all, and said our thanks to Sissy and our early goodnights. After all, we needed to be fresh for tomorrow’s library investigation. Because finding information from thirty years prior wasn’t going to be easy. Or fun. The four of us hugged Sissy in turn and then returned to our bedrooms. Zeb and I hopped in bed and watched the small television off to the side. The news was on, the upcoming election at the forefront, seeing as the candidates were all starting to throw their names in the hat now. And there, soon enough, were the Pellinghams: the senior Senator and his lawyer son, both

188 Rob Rosen of them running for seats, the elder in South Carolina for the Senate, the younger in Georgia for the House. Needless to say, the conservative Republicans were ecstatic. Zeb and I, of course, were downright glum. “Time’s running out,” I sighed. He rubbed my arm. “The election is months away, Trip,” he said. “This will all be over long before then. And we’ll have what we need to derail those assholes.” Again I sighed. “Not if tomorrow doesn’t go well,” I said. “It will,” he said, wisely changing the channel. “It will.” §§§§ Morning came soon enough, with large cups of coffee and homemade pastries, all set up for us on the veranda, the sun already warm, the breeze rustling the water oaks behind the house. I smiled at my friends as we sat down and sipped away. Sissy came out, wiping her hands on her apron. “Ya’ll look well-rested,” she said. In fact, we all looked well-fucked, but far be it from me to point out the blatantly obvious. “Sorry we can’t stay longer,” I said, really and truly meaning it. “But we have some, uh, errands to run before we make it on home.” She nodded and smiled. “Come back any time, sugar,” she said, the smile growing big and wide, making me miss Granny all the more. My heart thumped inside my chest. “Yes, ma’am. Will do.” We quickly finished our breakfast, hugged Sissy goodbye, and were on our way. The University wasn’t far away. The road was thick with greenery on either side, soon parting to reveal stately marble buildings, students everywhere, enjoying the warm sun as they studied on lawns and stoops and benches. Granny should’ve sent me here, I thought, the sadness rising from my chest. “There’s the main library,” said Stella. “I’ve been here before, years ago. They have a great selection of pre-Civil-War architecture books and blue prints. Which sure does help in my

southeRn FRied 189 line of work.” She pointed to some parking spaces off to the side of the building. “Plus, I know where they keep all the microfilm. If the old college newspapers are anywhere, they’ll be there.” I said a silent prayer as we hopped out, the four of us running up the marble steps and inside the old building, our footsteps echoing down the hallway as we followed Stella to a set of elevators and down, down, down into the bowels of the library. “Cryptish,” I said, with a shiver. “Dry and cold,” Stella said. “Better for the film.” She pointed to the lack of windows. “And no sunshine to fade anything.” I nodded and approached the counter, explaining what we needed. The student-worker nodded and set the four of us up on four machines. She returned a short while later, the canisters set down to the side of each of us. “Each one represents one year of the college newspaper for the years you asked for,” she told us, quickly offering a tutorial on how the machines worked. And then she was off, leaving us to our own devices. Stella had what would be their freshman year, Jake their sophomore, Zeb their junior, and me their senior. We were looking for anything that stuck out, that named either Jeeves or Robert E. in anything nefarious, blackmailable. We sighed right on down the line, our hands cranking the film, the long-forgotten pages illuminated as they slid past, the minutes ticking by, slow as a snail on the back of a slug. But eventually we hit on something. Something small but telling. “Look,” whisper-shouted Stella. We all jumped up and joined her at her machine, each of us looking into the lens. My heart went pitter-patter. It was a picture of Jeeves and Robert E., both young and handsome, smiling brightly for the camera. The caption was simple. “Roommates Walt Smithy and Robbie Pellingham pledge Pi Alpha Sigma,” I read, then scanned the article on pledge week. “Well, they were indeed roommates and joined the same fraternity,” I said. “That’s a start.”

190 Rob Rosen Stella nodded. “Roommates would know a lot about each other. Things that could haunt you down the road.” We all echoed her nod and went back to our machines. An hour went by before anything else presented itself. And this was a much bigger anything. In fact, it was a something. “Look,” I whispered. “Quick.” They all jumped up and joined me at my machine. The film was locked to an article on an event that took place close to the end of their senior year. The picture was merely a fraternity house, the headline reading, Rape at the Pi Alpha Sigma House. “Our boys were brothers there by then,” I said, after they’d all read the article. “But it doesn’t mention any names,” said Zeb. “It just says that it happened after a big party in one of the rooms. The girl was drunk and barely lucid. All she could remember was a tattoo. Not a name or a face. For some reason, just the tattoo.” I gulped, my face draining of blood. “A rebel flag tattoo,” I said. “So what?” said Stella. “It’s the South. Rebel flag tattoos are common. More so back then.” I nodded and gulped yet again. “Jeeves has a rebel flag tattoo.” And then my white face turned crimson. Yes, I remembered the one I saw when I’d undressed my horse-tranquilized butler. “Just below his bellybutton,” I squeaked out. “I suppose, if the rape included oral penetration, it’s something you’d remember.” The others grimaced. “And, uh, how do you know about this tattoo?” Jake asked. “Swimming,” I quickly blurted out. “Back when I was a kid, we all went swimming together.” I forced a smile. “I remember the tattoo from then.” The gulp tripled. “Jeeves is a murderer and a rapist?” I asked, belly twisting into knots. Stella strummed her hand on my chair. “Well, the rape is definitely something you could blackmail someone over.” She continued scanning the remainder of the film. With little left of the year, it didn’t take too long. Then she looked up and frowned.

southeRn FRied 191 “No one was ever charged. Without a name or a face, the tattoo wasn’t enough. In the end, no one believed a drunk girl; and none of the brothers ever came forward or implicated one of their own. Go figure.” I flicked the machine off. “But if Robert E. knew something, knew that Jeeves had done it, he could bend him to his wishes. Blackmail him for years to come. Force him to go from being a lawyer to a butler, if need be. Because if it came out that he was a rapist, his lawyer days would’ve been over anyway.” Now everyone was nodding, and Jake piped in next. “So when Robert E. gets your mom pregnant with Beau, he blackmails Jeeves to work at the mansion, to make sure word doesn’t get out. When it looks like your mom is going to go find Beau, Jeeves tinkers with the car and kills your parents. Your granny is scared for you and Beau as a result and keeps the two of you apart years later, so no one else gets killed,” he said, rattling it all off. But then his nod turned to a shake. “Doesn’t sound like your granny, though.” Stella sighed. “Nope, not one bit. No way would she keep Jeeves on staff for all these years, treat him like family like she did. Maybe she didn’t know about the rape, but she knew he was a suspect in your parent’s death.” Her sigh repeated. “Plus, we all know Jeeves. Does anyone peg him for a rapist or a murderer?” She looked at us, waiting for a show of hands. None were raised. “Me neither,” she said. “And I’m sure your granny didn’t either, Trip.” “So now what do we do?” asked Zeb. “We can’t prove the blackmail or Jeeves’ innocence.” And now it was his turn to sigh. “Too bad your granny is gone, Trip. She’s the only person who’d know more than we do now, the only person who was around back then and might have the answers.” “No,” I suddenly said, the familiar lightbulb turning on over my head, which instantly pulsed and glowed. “No?” Stella asked. “What do you mean no?” “Sissy,” I replied, already heading toward the elevator, my

192 Rob Rosen friends following close behind. “Sissy was there. She lived near Granny. She knew my parents. She was around when all this shit went down. And she was friends with all of them.” We took the outside stairs two at a time, all of us running now. “And she’s nearby,” said Stella. “And not a five hour car ride away.” We tore for the car. “Exactly,” I agreed. “Now step on it, Zeb.” We hopped in and he sped out of the parking lot. “Stepping on it, boss,” he whooped. “We’ll be there quick as a wink.” Which we were, screeching to a stop out in front before running to her front door. Needless to say, she was surprised to see us. Doubly so when I started pelting her with questions as we sat in her living room, drinking our, not surprisingly, peach iced tea. “Did you know that my mom was pregnant before she had me?” was the obvious first one, quickly followed by, “Do you know Granny’s butler, Walter? Do you know about a rape at Emory while he was in college? Did Granny know about it? Did Granny suspect him of killing my parents? Did word get out that he was investigated for it?” She sat there, eyes wide, tea set down on an embroidered coaster. “Well now,” she said, clearing her throat. “That was a lot to take in all at one time, wasn’t it?” She forced a smile as she looked at each of us in turn. “Sorry,” I apologized, with a heavy sigh. “We just, uh, we just found out about a lot of things all of a sudden and don’t know anyone else who was around at that time.” “Except me,” she said. “Except you,” I agreed. Her sigh echoed mine. She took another sip of tea and then nodded. “That was a long time ago, ya’ll, but, yes, I knew about some of what you’re asking about.” Her eyes locked on to mine. “Not that your granny was one to share things about her personal life, you understand, but the community was even smaller back then. And some things you just couldn’t keep a secret.”

southeRn FRied 193 “Which things?” I asked, my stomach now gurgling. Her nod repeated itself. “Your mamma was a fine woman, Trip,” she began. “But back then, there wasn’t, well, there wasn’t the education we have now. The protection. And that sort of thing happened more often than any of us cared to admit.” “So you knew she had another baby?” I asked. “Suspected, yes. One minute she was dating that Pellingham boy, the next she was gone. Less than a year later she comes back with your daddy. Wasn’t too hard to put two and two together.” “And what was Robert E. like?” Stella asked. Her smile faltered. “Have you met him?” she asked. Stella shook her head. “Not personally, no.” “Lucky you,” Sissy replied. “All those Pellinghams, chips on their shoulders the size of boulders. Ladies included. And that Robert E. is and was the worst of them all. Still, he was handsome and charming. Couldn’t rightly blame your mama for what she saw in him. Like I always say, though, a skunk is cute as the dickens, but that don’t mean I want to go up and pet one.” I chuckled, understanding what she was getting at. “And Walter Smithy?” Strangely, now she chuckled. It wasn’t something I’d think of doing regarding the likes of him. “Just as handsome as that best friend of his, only with a good soul inside of him.” The chuckle became a snort. “Now him I’d like to have pet.” I choked on my tea. “Him? Walter?” She shrugged. “He was a looker, back in the day. And sweet as a bee’s behind, pardon the expression.” “Walter Smithy?” Jake asked. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same guy?” Her nod returned. “The same one, yes.” Her chuckling abruptly stopped. “He changed after your parent’s death, Trip. The spark went out of him. All the joy. But I’ll tell you one thing, he didn’t have nothing to do with their death. Your granny told

194 Rob Rosen me so herself right after the funeral. Warned me about it in case the police came asking.” “But they didn’t, right?” I asked. “Because he had an alibi. Robert E.” Again with the shrug. “Yes, exactly. My, you’re all regular Nancy Drews and the Hardy Boys, huh? In any case, if your granny didn’t think he did it, then he didn’t do it. Because if she had a grain of a suspicion, he wouldn’t have stayed on at the mansion. In fact, he’d be long dead, too. Because she would’ve killed him herself, let me tell you.” And then it was my turn to chuckle. “Sounds like Granny.” I paused. “And then, the rape a few years earlier? Did you hear about that, too?” She lifted up her tea and took another sip. “I do know about that, yes, but why do you ask? I mean, how on earth could that be related to your granny?” It was Stella’s turn again. “The rape occurred in the same fraternity house that Walter and Robert E. were brothers in. We think that Robert E. blackmailed Walter over it. Perhaps has been blackmailing him ever since then, in fact.” Sissy frowned. “I didn’t now any of that,” she said. “But I do know the girl that was raped. She’s a distant cousin of mine.” “Is?” I asked, with a gulp. “So she’s still alive?” Sissy’s frown turned upside down. “Very much so. Alive and kicking, in fact. Lives not too far from you all. Maybe a half hour away from the mansion.” I looked to my friends and they looked at me. “Do you think we could have her address?” I asked. She eyed me, unsure of how to reply. “You want to ask her about a decades-old rape? Why forever for, my dear?” “It’s a long story,” I told her. “But suffice it to say, many lives hang in the balance, including our own.” My friends nodded. “But we need to know if Walter was involved.” Again she stared at each of us in turn. I knew I’d thrown

southeRn FRied 195 her a curve ball, but I had little choice; this was a piece to that miserable puzzle of ours that had seemingly been swept under the rug. Thankfully, she took the pitch and swung at it. “I’ll call her and ask, ya’ll. It’s the best I can do.” She stood, straightened her slacks, and walked out of the room. “Nerve-wracking,” I whispered as we waited. “Definitely,” Zeb whispered back, squeezing my hand in support. I gratefully squeezed back as Stella and even Jake reached over to pat my shoulder. “Here she comes,” he soon added. “Fingers crossed.” And in she walked, neither smiling nor frowning as a lone bead of sweat trickled down my forehead. “Please say she’ll see us,” I pled. The smile on her face at last broke free. “It took some maneuvering on my part, but the old bag owes me, so, yes, she’ll see you.” Sissy allowed herself a small clap. “But good luck with that one. Jenny makes a lemon seem sweet in comparison.” She handed us the address. “Now then, anything else I can do you for?” I was already up and hugging her before she got the last word out. “You’ve done more than enough, Sissy,” I said. My friends hugged her as well. “Any time, ya’ll,” she said, as she showed us to the door. “And like I said, good luck.” And luck is exactly what we’d need. §§§§ Jenny greeted us at the door later that day. “You have five minutes,” she said, lips pursed, eyes in a squint. She looked and sounded like Nancy Grace, CNN’s resident loony, only with bigger hair and an unfiltered Marlboro dangling from between her well-manicured fingers. A chill ran up my spine despite the broiling, late-afternoon heat. Sissy, I figured, was being kind when she compared Jenny to a lemon. In fact, it was an insult to lemons everywhere.

196 Rob Rosen In any case, we were shown inside, the door clicking behind us, Jenny’s short heels clicking, too. We were taken to the kitchen table. No iced tea offered this time. Not even, blech, any peach brandy. Not even a smile. Just Jenny, arms akimbo, looking mighty pissed at the intrusion. “Thank you for seeing us,” I began. “Don’t thank me,” said she. “I owed Sissy a favor. Now we’re even.” She looked at her watch. “And you’re down to four minutes.” And so I spit it out. No sense beating around the bush. Especially since this bush was so full of thorns. “We’d like to know if you think Walter Smithy was the man who raped you back when you were in college.” Even though Sissy had warned Jenny, it still appeared that I’d taken her by surprise. Her arms briefly fell to her sides and her face went semi-slack. “That’s not a name I’ve heard in a long time,” she finally said. “So you knew him?” I asked. She didn’t reply, her gaze a million miles away now. But she shook it off soon enough. “No,” she said. “Only by name.” Her steely demeanor returned. “He was accused of… it?” Stella asked. “They all were,” Jenny replied. “All the brothers, but him especially.” “Because?” asked Jake. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Because they found me in his room. Little good that information did me, though” “Let me guess,” Zeb tossed in. “He had an alibi. Namely his roommate.” All in all, it was a smart guess. She nodded, anger clearly boiling at the surface now. “The roommate claimed they left the party early. Earlier than when I arrived there. Conveniently earlier.” “So you didn’t believe him?” I asked.

southeRn FRied 197 “It didn’t matter. His last name was all he needed.”

“Pellingham,” said Stella.

“Pellingham,” Jenny echoed. “He said they weren’t there and

so they weren’t there.” Again Jake spoke up. “Even though the boy whose room you were in had the tattoo you described?” Her eyes squinted even tighter. “How on earth are you coming up with all this information?” she practically growled. “I mean, it’s ancient history.” As I said to Sissy, “It’s a long story.” I cast my eyes to my watch. “And our four minutes are up.” She shrugged, her shoulders loosening as she slumped into a chair. “Doesn’t matter anyway,” she said. “But, no, the tattoo didn’t count for anything. Lots of folks have that same tattoo. And without a face to identify, it didn’t go anywhere. In the end, no one believed me. I was just a drunk girl in a place I shouldn’t have been to begin with.” We stood up to leave. But it was then I thought of one more question. “But how did you end up in their room then? Especially if they weren’t there?” “Ah,” she said, also standing up. “The million dollar question. And for that I have no answer. See, I can’t remember. I just woke up there, alone, the party long-over. It was close to midnight. Late for back then. The roommates returned at about one in the morning, I was told.” “But the rape you remembered?” Stella asked, as gently as possible. “And the tattoo?” Jenny nodded, walking us to the front door, hurriedly now. “Hazily, but yes. It’s not something easily forgotten. Drunk or not.” She opened the front door. “Please don’t come back here,” she added, escorting us out. “That’s the last time I want to remember that night. Ever.” And with that, our five minutes were long up. The door again went click, with us on the other side of it. We walked back to

198 Rob Rosen the car and continued the conversation. “So,” I said. “Two alibis from Robert E. that saved Jeeves both times. And Robert E., to boot. What do we make of that?” “Like Jenny said, convenient,” offered Jake. “Too convenient,” said I. “And where were they, supposedly, until one in the morning?” “And why did they skip the party?” added Zeb. “And how did Jenny end up in their room?” Stella piled on. I looked at each of them and lifted up my cell phone. “I hate to do it, but I’m going to have to go to the source now. We’re out of any other options.” “Robert E.?” asked Stella, with a shake of her head and a frown. “Jeeves,” I corrected her. “And not in disguise. Just me. Alone.” Zeb once again squeezed my hand. “But what if he is a rapist? Or a murderer? Or both?” he asked, with a noticeable gulp that made his Adam’s apple bob. “It could be dangerous.” I nodded. “Could be, but I don’t think so. If he was dangerous, Granny wouldn’t have had him around me since I was a baby. No way, no how.” Though the way and the how was barreling down on us. Rushing headlong like a bullet. And, yes, I’m speaking literally for a change. Too bad, huh?

ChAPteR 12 Pecan Pie I called him as we drove. He picked up, my name obviously appearing on his cell. “How’s New York?” he asked, dryly. “Cut the crap,” I replied. “By now you know I’m not in New York.” “And how would I know that?” he asked, smugly. “Because your old roommate must’ve told you, I’d think. Told you too keep an eye out for me.” He coughed, then paused for a moment. “My boy, I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.” I snickered. “Jeeves, just so you know, I don’t think you killed my parents or raped that girl at Emory. Now do you have a clue what I’m talking about?” Again he coughed, louder this time, but still managed to say, “Meet me at my apartment in thirty minutes.” “Deal,” I readily agreed. “But if you call Robert E. right now, I’ll know. And we’re watching you, so nothing funny.” I flicked my phone shut and stared out at the road as Zeb sped to Jeeves’ apartment house, my mind racing faster than the car. “Risky,” said Stella. “Neither of those things you closed with are true.” “But he doesn’t know that,” I countered with. “And he must think we’re holding more cards then we are, seeing as I know about the murders and the rape.” She nodded. “Smart move on your part, boss. But what will we be doing while you’re talking with the supposed nonmurderer, non-rapist?” “I don’t know,” I replied. “It could take a while. Plus, it might

200 Rob Rosen not be smart for him to catch sight of the three of you. So maybe just head over to Pearl’s for now. That’s the one place you’re safe.” I turned around and smiled at Stella and Jake. “I’ll call you to come and get me or have Jeeves bring me over there once the meeting is over.” Zeb groaned. “I’d feel better waiting for you.” My smile brightened. “I know. And thanks. But if he wants to harm me, he will, whether you’re downstairs or not. This way, we won’t spook him. And we need him now; he’s really our only hope.” Sad, but true. Again Zeb groaned, but relented. “Point taken.” Heart taken, too, I thought. Then I called Pearl and told her to head on home and wait for the troops. A short while later, we pulled up to Jeeves’ building and I was let out. My cohorts pulled away with a wave and thumbs up, with Jeeves driving up not three minutes later. “Show time,” I whispered, legs fairly trembling. Then I looked up to the heavens and added, “You better be looking out for me now, Granny.” He nodded as he approached and led me upstairs. And then, once again, I was inside his apartment. Only, this time I didn’t have any tricks up my sleeve. Not even, blech, any peach brandy, which, truth be told, I could’ve used right at that very moment. “You know what you’re up against, don’t you, Trip?” he asked right off the bat, a world-weary frown cast wide across his face. “The Pellinghams,” I glumly replied. “Yes, I know.” He nodded. “Smart, Trip,” he said, a hint of a smile appearing. “I always knew you were. Your Granny didn’t raise no idiots.” “Or hire any,” I was quick to add. “Though treacherous is not the same as stupid.” He sighed, his smile just as quickly fading. “We all had our reasons, Trip.” “Blackmail,” I said, spitting the word out. Again he nodded. “Blackmail, yes. And I won’t even hazard a guess as to how you found out about all of this. But I will give

southeRn FRied 201 you a piece of advice: if you just go back to New York until after the election, you and the others, Beau included, we’ll all be a hell of a lot safer. In fact, all of us will, you, your friends, the entire mansion staff, everyone.” I picked up on the Beau part. “You knew he was my brother all along?” “Of course. As you said, Robbie and I were college roommates.” “And law school roommates, too,” I tossed in. His sigh returned. “Yes, and that.” His gaze met mine, his eyes so full of sadness as to break your very heart. Though, by then, mine was steely cold. “In any case, I knew about Beau. But he was forgotten about by everyone once he was given up for adoption. Then you came along and Robbie eased up a bit.” “And you were almost home-free. Almost able to go back to work as a lawyer.” “Until your mother decided to try and get the baby back,” he said. “That I had to tell Robbie about.” My skin was sizzling at the comment, my brain shooting off fireworks. “And then my parents… they were killed.” He shook his head. “Not killed, died. Tragically, but accidentally.” My hands were now balled up into fists. “Their car exploded accidentally? How often does that happen?” And his head kept right on shaking. “It doesn’t matter how often. Once was enough. In any case, as you said on the phone, I didn’t have anything to do with it. And I did have an alibi, as you well know. I was at Robbie’s lake house the two days leading up to the explosion. And your parent’s car was driving fine before then.” I waited, collecting my thoughts, trying to quell that anger that was rising up like lava inside a volcano. “Walter,” I said, a few seconds later, gritting my teeth until my jaw ached. “Doesn’t it seem odd to you that Robbie was your alibi for both a murder

202 Rob Rosen and rape?” “We were best friends,” he replied, an edge to his voice. “Were?” “Well, it would look odd for him to stay friends with a butler.” I sighed. “A job that he made you take. Blackmailed you to take,” I countered with. “So, did you rape Jenny then?” He paused before answering, which made my stomach tie further up into knots. “We left before the party. I took Robbie to the bus station and then I drove around for a bit.” “So you weren’t together the whole time?” “He was… he frequently took the bus to go see your mother. He had to do it secretly so that nobody knew. Your granny and his parents weren’t eager for them to see each other. Your granny most of all.” And for good reason. “Did you see him get on the bus, Walter?” He shook his head. “No. But he did. As he’d done before. And I couldn’t go back to the house until after the party because we weren’t together and he didn’t want anyone to know that he was gone. In case it got back to his parents.” That burning skin of mine was now itching. “And then several years later, just before my parents died, were you together that whole time up at the lake?” “No, he… he had to get back. For work.” “So, both times, the rape and my parents’ deaths, it appeared like it could’ve been you who was guilty, and then both times he provides the alibi and forces you to stay on at the mansion to spy, right? Or else he recants the alibis, right?” Jeeves simply nodded. “Looks like you weren’t too good at picking out best friends, I’d say.” “But we were best friends,” he said, plaintively. “Best friends who stuck by each other.” “And Granny knew you had nothing to do with the deaths

southeRn FRied 203 because you were in fact at the lake house. Did she know about the rape? Did she know about the years of spying?” He looked away. “No, Trip,” he whispered. “Not about the rape. Not about the spying. We were… we were family.” I snickered, despite myself. “Some family,” I said. “But I have a feeling only you were telling the truth.” He looked back my way. “Robbie would never have hurt your mother, Trip. He loved her. Which is why he made those frequent trips to see her.” I ignored the comment, which made me even more sick to my stomach. “So you were his alibi, too. For the rape and the murders. But, in fact, you weren’t with him when they occurred?” He shook his head. “He didn’t do it, Trip. He didn’t rape anyone or kill anyone.” “And the blackmailing?” His head stopped shaking. “That was more his father’s doing. He was looking out for his career. I was referred for the job at the mansion by him. It was supposed to be temporary, some spying before his campaign. Your granny, she threw large parties. People drank; people talked. He needed a fly on the wall.” “And Beau?” I asked. “And he needed to keep tabs on Beau, too. For a time, until the adoption went through. Just before the car accident happened, I was going to be allowed back at the firm. Then after the accident, they didn’t think it prudent, especially since I was being investigated. Then Beau resurfaced and my job at the mansion became permanent. By then, it didn’t much matter. I could never have gone back to law after so long an absence.” “And Senator Pellingham was reelected, again and again, and now Robbie is up for election after a long and lucrative legal career. Which he owes to you.” And it was then I played what I hoped was my trump card. Because, like I said, treachery is not the same as stupidity. And the Pellinghams were a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. “And he owes his career to all the

204 Rob Rosen others, too,” I added, waiting for a telltale sign that my hunch proved correct. Thank goodness, or thank my guardian granny angel, but I got one, a sign. In spades. “You, you mean the others at the mansion? Roy and Betty?” I grinned. “Tip of the iceberg, Walter.” He rose and leaned in, eyes wide. “What… what others then?” My smile widened. My spades, it turned out, were lining up into a flush. “The Pellinghams have spies everywhere, Walter. Excons they blackmail to do their dirty work. Dozens and dozens of them in all the finer homes throughout the South.” He sat back down. “Oh,” he squeaked out. “I see.” He looked back my way, reiterating what I’d already said. “And those alibis of his, the ones that saved me…” “… they also saved him, Walter,” I said, finishing his sentence. “And if Beau had returned as a baby, and the press found out that Robert E. was the father, out of wedlock, then his father’s career would have been in jeopardy, as would Robert E.’s, and down would come the Pellingham name.” I paused to let him take it in, before adding. “Didn’t you think it was an odd coincidence that the rape occurred in your room?” “It could’ve happened in any of the rooms,” he replied. “They didn’t have locks on the doors. Any of the brothers could’ve taken her back there, knowing we were gone.” Just out of curiosity, I thought to ask, “And how many of them had rebel flag tattoos?” His fingers tapped nervously on the table. “I… I don’t know.” “None that you know of you mean, right?”

He nodded. “None that I know of.”

“And let me guess, Robbie was with you when you go it,

right?” He continued nodding. “Yes, he was. I’d only had it for a week before the party. He... he dared me to get it. Back then, only

southeRn FRied 205 sailors and drunks got tattoos. It wasn’t like today.” “Meaning, you didn’t share the fact that you had one with too many people?” I gulped. I knew I was on to something. And now, at last, I realized I was getting through. He whimpered, which put a pang in my chest. “Only he knew about it, Trip.” I continued with that line of questioning. “And the girl, Jenny, have you seen her since college?” His nod returned. “In passing, over the years. She doesn’t live too far from here. But if she recognized me, she didn’t let it show. Since she only ever saw me in pictures, the ones the police showed her, ones of many of all the brothers, she probably had no idea it was me when I encountered her.” “Lucky you,” I said, my chuckle returning as I recalled my own encounter with her. But he wasn’t laughing. “Why do you ask if I’ve seen her?” “Just a hunch, Walter,” I said. “But if I’m correct, and I think I am, then I think we can clear all this up. All of it. And then you can sell the cars and leave the mansion and start all over again.” He gulped and looked away. “Thank you,” he said, over his shoulder. “Don’t thank me yet,” I said, with an angry edge to my voice. Because, trust me, I wasn’t forgiving or forgetting what he had done. “This will cost you,” I quickly added. He turned back around. “But you’re rich now; you don’t need whatever I could afford to give you.” “Not money,” I said. “Information.” He turned back around, his eyes still watering. “I told you everything I know.” “Really?” I asked. “Do you know where Beau is?” He stood up now, pacing around the room. Because he knew that I knew about everything he’d thus far told me. But this, this he was certain was the one piece of information I had yet

206 Rob Rosen to discover. And so we both had trump cards. Still, mine was a face card and his some middling number. And this he knew, too, because eventually I’d find Beau or he’d find me. And Jeeves would still be a lowly butler and one that was still being blackmailed. He stopped pacing and turned to look at me. “She would’ve kept Beau, you know.” I simply nodded. “It was Robbie who convinced her. Told her it would ruin her life, not to mention his. And your Granny’s good name. They’d all be whispered about.” “I know,” I told him. “I’m not blaming her. It was the times.” And Robert E., of course. He walked toward me again. “I already know that you found his trailer,” he told me. “But he had that when he came here, came here knowing about your mother from his adoptive parents. So your granny wasn’t hard to find. And, of course, she knew about him, too. Knew he’d some day return. So she had a place waiting for him. Just in case. Hidden. Or so she thought.” I glared at him. “You knew about it, too. And you told Robbie.” “If I didn’t, the others would have anyway,” he justified. But he wasn’t fooling anyone. Least of all me. “In any case, she put him up and paid him in cash, a little here, a little there.” And now I knew the whole story. “Because she knew they’d be watching him. Knew he was in danger as soon as he acted like he knew that he was Pellingham. Or a Jackson. Because if he admitted to being a Jackson, or if anyone suspected that he was, then the Pellingham connection would be found out, too. People knew that my mother dated Robert E. And putting two and two together wouldn’t be all that difficult.” “Exactly,” he agreed. “So he had an apartment and some money and that was it. And it was enough.” I jumped up and slammed my fists on the table. “He fucking picked peaches for a living, you idiot,” I yelled. “How on God’s green earth would that be enough? Enough for whom?” He looked away. “It was the best for everyone.” He glanced

southeRn FRied 207 my way. “Ah,” I said. “And so I was never allowed to return home, in case I found out. And I would’ve spilled the beans for sure. Would’ve tried to get close to him. Would’ve ruined all you and she put in place.” “And then everyone would have been at risk. Especially Beau.” I sat back down, fighting back the tears now. “So she turned him against me, just in case I ever tried to get close.” “She was saving you both, Trip,” he said. “In the best way she knew how.” A tear streaked down my face. “Give me the address, Walter. Give me the address and I’ll fix this. I promise, I’ll fix this. And no one will get hurt.” No one, except the Pellinghams. God and Granny willing. He walked out of the room and returned with a slip of paper. He held it in his hand and stared down at me. “If you’re wrong, Trip, if you can’t fix it, and you bring them down without some sort of exit strategy, then we’re all dead. Me and you, everyone at the mansion, Beau. Dead or missing or destroyed.” I snatched the paper from his hand. “As Granny always said, Walter, better to live dangerously in the light than hide like a coward in the shadows.” He shuddered, his shoulders slumping. “Let’s fix it,” he whispered. “She also always said, better late then never.” I smiled. “I think she was referring to drinking her nightcaps, though.” He hazarded a smile as well. “Still, it holds true for this situation. So let’s get a move on. I’m tired of never.” And for the first time since I’d been back, he looked young again. Well, younger, at any rate. Like the Jeeves I’d left when I was a teenager. Only happier. Sort if. I mean, it was hard to tell with Jeeves, what with that stick forever buried up his ass. But I had one more thing to do before we left for Jenny’s, because that’s where we were headed again. I took out my cell

208 Rob Rosen and dialed Zeb’s. They were all now at Pearl’s, Pearl included. Seeing as Beau knew the staff, and probably had an inkling of trust in them, and not an ounce in me, I figured it was best for them to get him and bring him over to our side of things, before the shit hit the fan. Because once it hit, even he wasn’t safe, birth certificate or no birth certificate; they’d have to get him, to keep him silent. Because he’d been kidnapped by them, his very life threatened, and was related to them, to boot, his story could never get out. Not if the Pellinghams wanted to get elected. “What will you be doing?” Zeb asked, after he agreed to my plan. “We’re going back to Jenny’s,” I told him, with a moan. He laughed. “If I’d known you were such a glutton for punishment, I would have brought out my whip a lot sooner.” “Please tell me it’s part of one of your showgirl outfits,” I said. “Okay,” he replied. “We’ll go with that.” Then he added, “But I’d bring something with you, to sweeten her up. Otherwise, I have a feeling you’re gonna have a thick slab of wood slammed in your face. And I love your face way too much to see that happen.” Again I moaned. “Something tells me she’s not a sweets kind of person.” He giggled, knowingly. “You’ll think of something, Thunder Dick.” “Please tell me the staff isn’t standing behind you right now.” Then I heard Stella. “We’re in the other room.” Only she sounded like she was right behind him. In any case, I already had an idea. Better than sweets. At least when it came to Jenny. “Fine,” I said. “Just go get him, please. And hurry.” And with that, they were gone and so were we. It was a short drive, of course, and we stopped along the way to pick up our gifts, what I hoped would literally get our feet in the door. Especially after she’d said that she never wanted to see

southeRn FRied 209 us again. Needless to say, she wasn’t happy at our arrival. “You’re joking, right?” she hacked. I held out the pecan pie for her, the one I’d picked up at Granny’s favorite bakery. “Best in the South,” I cooed. She smirked and reached for her mouth, her dentures held out a split second later. “Nice try,” she gummed. So out of the bag I removed two mega-large cartons of Marlboros. “Better?” She eyed them, covetously. “Close, but no, uh, cigarette.” She went to shut the door. But my bag wasn’t empty just yet. See, I’d also stopped at an ATM along the way. “This is much better for your health, huh?” I asked, fanning a large stack of bills. Because, as everyone had been saying, I was rich now. The door stopped, mid-slam. “Five more minutes. Decaf to wash the pie down with.” She let us in. “And hand over the ciggies.” I handed everything over and stepped inside. She closed the door behind us and sat us down at the kitchen table. Thankfully, she didn’t recognize Walter, whom I merely introduced as my work associate, Jeeves. He cringed, but otherwise allowed it. She served us the pie and the coffee. After all, she might’ve been a bitch, but she was a southern bitch; and manners always win out. Plus, she was momentarily distracted by the cigarettes. Though it was the money that got us in. As I had a feeling it would. “Don’t take it the wrong way, ma’am,” I said, pointing at the hefty pile of cash. “But it appears that you’re easily bribed.” She coughed, a deep smoker’s cough. Then she laughed, a deep smoker’s laugh. “Hard to take that any other way, don’t you think?” I shrugged. “I’m just trying to prove a point here.” She looked at her watch. “You know the drill, sugar.” “Right,” I said. “Four minutes and counting.” I took a bite of my pie. It was delicious, dense with pecans, the crust like heaven. Granny, you see, knew her pies. The coffee, however, was, not

210 Rob Rosen surprisingly, nasty. I swallowed and continued. “I just forgot to ask you something before.” She eyed me, suspiciously. “Uh huh. What’s that?” “Who found you after the, uh… well, you know. After it happened. I can’t recall hearing you say. Nor was it mentioned in the article I read.” She squinted and puffed at her newly lit cigarette while I took another bite of pie. Jeeves leaned in for the answer, mouth open, eyes wide. “Found me?” she asked, nervously. “One of the brothers, I think. I guess someone called the police and then they took me to the hospital. Why?” “So you told the police what happened in the hospital just after you arrived?” She took a deep drag of her cigarette, eyeing the cash on the table. “I was, I was still drunk. And in shock. It was the next day when I was able to tell it all. Hard to recall.” I nodded. “And did you have any visitors during that time?” She crushed the cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. “I think your time’s up,” she rasped. I looked at my watch. “I still have a minute left. Humor me, please, ma’am.” “I can’t remember. It was a long time ago,” she said. “Huh,” I said. “So you can’t remember who raped you, what he looked like, who found you, how you got to the hospital, when the police interrogated you, or if you had any visitors. Yet, the tattoo you clearly remembered. Which seems odd to me. I mean, I’d think if you could remember that, then you could remember a face, right?” She was shaking now, a second cigarette lit, her eyes darting around the room. “Like I said, it stood out. At the time.” “Even though you were drunk?” I asked. “And in shock?” She paused, eyeing the both of us now, seemingly unsure of how to answer. It was then that Jeeves spoke up, breaking the

southeRn FRied 211 silence that had formed. “How much did he pay you?” he asked, his voice even, calm. She looked away. “Who? No one paid me. I was raped.” She was now manic, screeching at us. “Jenny,” I said, as politely as possible. “I’m not saying you weren’t raped. In fact, I’m sure you were. But the tattoo, how much did he pay you to tell the police about it? Five hundred? A thousand? Enough to help ease the pain just a little bit.” She didn’t answer, just merely shut her eyes good and tight. “You know, the boy who lived in that room had a rebel flag tattoo. Only, he wasn’t at the party that night. He came back after you’d been taken to the hospital. He was never arrested, but he was still a prisoner afterward, his life altered as much as yours was. For the worse.” “Much worse,” added Jeeves, lifting up his shirt. She opened her eyes, which landed on the tattoo. “You,” she croaked out, with a whimper. ‘The reason you didn’t recognize me, ma’am, the reason you never have, even after you’ve past by me a handful of times over the years, is because you never officially ever saw me, except in pictures. Because I didn’t do that… that to you.” She sighed, deeply. “Please, put your shirt back down,” she managed. “Please.” He did as she asked. “He paid you to tell the police about it.” She nodded. “He said no one would want me. As a wife, as a girlfriend. Not even to work for them. In the South, back then, he was right.” “And the money would help,” I added. She nodded. “Five thousand was a small fortune back then. Much of it went toward counseling.” She gazed at us, a look of relief washing over her. Clearly, this had weighed heavily on her over the years. “But I can’t testify now. Not against him. He’s too powerful. They’ll never believe me. Especially after all this time.” Jeeves stood up. “It doesn’t matter, ma’am. I’m just glad you

212 Rob Rosen told us now. It… it changes everything.” He looked at me and smiled. “Lots of stupid things were done and said back then. And, by the looks of things, only he got anything out of it.” I nodded. “But he’s not the only one who’s rich and powerful now. And sometimes knowledge is better than money. And that we have in droves, Walter.” I sat back down and jabbed my fork into my dessert. “That and one hell of a good pecan pie.” He, too, sat back down and ate with gusto. “Your Granny only bought the best.” I grinned. “She wasn’t too shabby with the hiring, either.” He laughed and looked up at Jenny, who was now slicing a large piece for herself. She sat down and joined us. “Fuck the dentures,” she said, greedily digging in. “And if he thinks he’s getting my vote, he’s got another thing coming to him.” lot.

Oh, he had a lot of things coming to him. A whole hell of a Then again, so did we.

ChAPteR 13 Peach Brandy and Boiled Peanuts, Yet Again Jeeves and I drove in silence, him at the wheel, speeding down a narrow road, heading toward our destinies. First we’d get Beau, then we bring down the Pellinghams. It should’ve been that simple. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. Only, of course, it wasn’t. Mainly because we didn’t get to Beau first. My cell broke the silence. “Tsk, tsk,” said the voice on the other end. “Who’s this?” I asked, my nerves so rattled they felt like a ride at Six Flags. “Never trust a spy,” came the cryptic response. “At least one with a fly on the wall.” I looked over at Jeeves. “Your, uh, your apartment is bugged,” I told him, with a grimace. He came to a screeching halt. “Fuck,” he cursed. The voice on the other end laughed. “Very unlike Walt to use such foul language.” “Yeah, well it’s been a long day.” The laughter stopped. “And it’s about to get a lot longer.” “What do you want, Robbie?” I asked. “Want?” he asked. “I already have everything I need, boy. I have your brother, your maid, your pool boy, your contractor, and your boyfriend. All right here, safe and sound.” “You can’t kill them all,” I said, forcing myself to breath now. “Kill? Why would I do that?” he asked, menacingly. “I could just destroy them, financially, personally. You and that butler of yours, too. All of them. And nobody would know it came from me. Easy as that.” I heard a snap on the other end of the line.

214 Rob Rosen “And what can I do to stop all that?” I asked, hand so sweaty it was a wonder I could still hold the cell. “Go back to New York, Trip,” he said. “Forget about all of this. Take your brother with you, sell the mansion, pay off the staff. It’s a win/win situation for everyone.” “Except for my parents,” I spat. “They didn’t win. I thought you loved her, Robbie?” He paused. “Bad shit happens to good people, boy. It’s the way of the world.” “Fine,” I said. “Let them go and I’ll do as you’re asking.” Again he laughed. “Also the way of the world, boy; nothing is that easy. You come here, hand over the birth certificate, and we watch you and Beau get on a plane.” “Deal,” I said. But he was still laughing. “Nope, still too easy, boy. Plus, Pearl and Walt come to work for me until after the election. Just so I can keep tabs.” And still I said, “Deal,” even though I didn’t mean it the first or the second time. And I certainly didn’t think Pearl would agree to work for the Pellinghams. And if she did, they wouldn’t be alive too far into her servitude. Which, all things considered, wasn’t such a bad idea, I supposed. “Fine,” he said. “Bring Beau’s birth certificate to my son’s apartment. After that, we’ll all meet up at the airport in Savannah. I already took the liberty of buying you and Beau two flights to JFK. Once the planes take off, Pearl and Walt work for me for the time being. After the election, they’re all yours again. And then we can put all this behind us. And if you should think of going to the press after the election, I’ll recant Walt’s alibis and make sure your staff never finds work again. Anywhere. Ever. And, trust me, I have enough dirt on your granny now to ruin her good name, too. So, you take me down or my father down, it’ll be like one giant house of cards. Tumble, tumble, tumble. Got it?” “Got it,” I sighed.

southeRn FRied 215 “Good.” Then click. I turned to look at Jeeves, who was frowning more than usual. Though I did have a last-ditch plan up my sleeves. “Do you think he’ll really let us all go after we’re all together in one place?” I asked, rhetorically. He shook his head. “If you had asked me that same question a few hours ago, I would’ve said yes. Now I’m not so sure. But what choice do we have?” The slightest grin made its way up my face. “As Granny used to say, we have two choices, the bad one and mine. And I’ll go with mine.” “Meaning?” he asked, echoing my smile with one of his own. “Head over to Beau’s house. The secret one. We’ll start from there,” I said. “But the birth certificate won’t be there,” he said. “They would’ve looked already.” I shrugged. “Not what I’m after. Yet.” I winked at him. “Just head over there. And pray I’m on to something. Otherwise, it’s going to be a long flight to New York.” He nodded, put the car in gear, and drove off. We arrived a short while later. Naturally, the place was empty. Then again, it wasn’t Beau’s home we were headed to; it was Zeb’s car, which had been left behind when they were all kidnapped. “What are you getting out of there?” Jeeves asked me, standing behind me as I rummaged around. “These!” I yipped. He took them from me. “Horse tranquilizers and, what’s that, peach brandy? What if they don’t like peach brandy? Very few people do, apart from your granny and me.” “Trust me, I know,” I told him. “But this is only half of it. There’s one more quick stop we have to make before we head over to Port’s.” And that we pulled up to fifteen minutes later. “Billy Ray’s

216 Rob Rosen peanut stand?” he asked. “You lost me, Trip.” I grinned. “As Granny always said, to catch the best fish, you gotta have the best bait.” “Since when are boiled peanuts bait?” he asked. “They’re not,” I replied, hopping out. “Wait here.” Ten minutes later, Billy Ray and a half dozen bags of peanuts were in the back seat. “Walter,” I said. “Meet the bait.” We were flying down the road quick as a wink, the windows rolled down, the air hitting my face. I smiled. If they were playing to my weakness, then I was playing to theirs. And the biggest kink in their chain was Port. Billy Ray knocked on his door not fifteen minutes later, wearing his usual Daisy Duke’s and nothing more than a beguiling smile. In his hands he held the peanuts, three bags in each, the brandy bottle sitting by his foot. Port opened the door, naturally expecting us. “Surprise, surprise,” I whispered from behind a wide, old oak, our car out of sight, Jeeves behind another oak to my side. I looked to my partner in crime and shot my thumb up in the air. “This will be his easiest sale ever,” I said, also in a whisper. In fact, it was. All six bags and the bottle of peach brandy. That and a number on a piece of paper handed to our lithe, little friend before the door was closed and Billy Ray made his way back toward us. He jumped behind my tree and smiled big and wide. “Seems he’s a fan of my nuts,” he said. Welcome to the club, I thought. I shook his hand and told him thanks. He wasn’t mad that he had to find his own way home. And with the money I’d given him, he could afford to close up shop for a good week. Then it was our turn, making sure Port had little to no time to sample the goods he’d just bought. We knocked and he opened the door. “What took you so long?” he asked, gruffly. “It took me some time to find the birth certificate,” I told him. “Now let’s go.”

southeRn FRied 217 He shook his head. “No need. Everyone’s coming here.” Which made sense, I supposed. I mean, with all the illegalities about to go down, better if they took place away from Robert E.’s house. Screw the son, right? After all, it seemed like everyone else was. So we were ushered in and told to have a seat in the living room. A highly uncomfortable half an hour later, we were joined by Robert E., the senator, a smattering of body guards, Beau, and half the mansion staff: Zeb, Pearl, Jake, and Stella. Which made Port’s humble apartment a rather tight fit. Beau, of course, was the least happy to see me and Jeeves. “I told you to go back North,” he said, with a tight grimace. “What, and miss this joyous reunion?” I replied, smugly. Then I put the second part of my plan into action. Before Robert E. could ask for the document I didn’t have, I lifted my nose up into the air and asked. “Are those boiled peanuts I smell?” Jeeves chimed in next. “Looks like Billy Ray’s,” he fairly moaned. “Best damn boiled peanuts in South Carolina.” The guards took the bait first, both of them grabbing for a bag. “Salted for me,” I said. “Same here,” said Jeeves. The guards turned to their bosses, who shrugged. “Fine, but be quick about it. We don’t got all day for this. Besides, I’m halfstarved myself.” We took our two bags from the guards, the other four were shared between the Pellingham gang. The Jackson side of things looked at us like we’d done lost our marbles, and stood behind me and Jeeves. Though, of course, nobody passed up Billy Ray’s nuts. Because, yes, they were that stellar. But the peach brandy, was only poured for their side. We abstained. After all, we all knew what was in it. “Now, down to business,” said Robert E., half the nuts eaten, all the brandy drunken. “Hand over the birth certificate.” Beau snickered. “This I’d like to see.” Thankfully, I don’t

218 Rob Rosen think they heard him. Not over all the yawning coming from their side of things. “Um,” I hemmed and then hawed. “We’ll give it to you at the airport. You understand. Just trying to keep things on the up and up.” I held up a folded piece of paper I had in my pocket. “We’ll give it to you before security.” “Yeah, right,” whispered Beau, who quickly got a poking in his ribs from Stella. The guns came out next. Theirs. We, sadly, only had our wits about us to use as weapons. Scary as that sounds. “Now,” said the eldest Pellingham, who up until then had been silent. “Hand it over, boy.” I looked at him, then to his son, then to his grandson. What a dynasty, right? Though it was then I remembered something Jeeves had said. I held up the folded piece of paper and nodded at Robert E. “Did you really love my mama?” His gun quivered in his hand, his eyes going just a tad droopy. “She was a beautiful woman, your mama was.” I frowned. “Yes, yes she was. Though I’ve only ever seen her in pictures, you know.” His frown mirrored my own, hanging low on his face. “I, uh, I know.” He sighed. “It was such a terrible accident.” Which meant that another one of my hunches was proving correct. “So you did love her,” I said. “And if Walt here didn’t fiddle with their car, and you didn’t fiddle with their car…” My face turned to the eldest of the family. “… then who do you think did?” As loopy as he appeared to be getting, his face also turned in that direction. “Pa?” he said. “You told me you were in Charleston when the accident happened.” The senator, shaking his head, the cloud of tranquilizers apparently making its way to his brain, replied, “That girl was nothing but trouble, Robbie. Her and her mama would’ve ruined our family name.”

southeRn FRied 219 Robert E.’s gun got lowered. “No,” he whispered, hand trembling. I cringed, a knot forming in my belly that could’ve docked an oil tanker. “Yes,” I groaned. And, at last, the truth has come out. Though it hadn’t set me free. Figuratively speaking. Then the first guard went down in a heap, body crumpling in on itself. The second guard turned to help the first, but his eyes quickly rolled back inside his head, and then he too was a lump on the floor. “The peanuts,” Port managed, just before he keeled over. “And the peach brandy,” I tossed in, just as the other two Pellinghams went down for the count. “Huh,” Stella said. “Reminds me of a riddle.” Jake snickered. “How many horse tranquilizers does it take to do in a family of lousy Republicans?” She shrugged. “Oh, you’ve heard that one already?” Zeb walked over and gave me a bear hug. “Thanks for rescuing us,” he said. “And, um, and sorry for what you just went through.” Jeeves nodded. “I… I really thought it was an accident. He loved her. I knew he did.” My heart thumped in my chest, a tear welling up. “But not as much as the senator loved his good name. Or that mansion he sleeps in. And not like we have proof, anyway.” Beau moved for the door. “This is just a temporary reprieve, assholes. When they wake up, they’re gonna be twice as pissed as before. You should’ve left when you had the chance. Because, evidence or no evidence, we’re all dead now.” “Wait,” I yelled as his hand clamped down on the doorknob. “Please don’t go. You’re all wrong about us, about me. Granny purposely kept us all apart. She was trying to protect us from them.” He shrugged and turned the knob just the same. “So what, Little Brother. Too little, too late. Looks like all that protection

220 Rob Rosen was for naught.” He sighed and opened the door, and was gone a split second later. Zeb looked at me first. “He has a point, you know. All we have is a bunch of letters and some raunchy video footage, enough to only ruin Port, really. Nothing to tie the other two to the murder of your parents or to the blackmails. It would be our word against theirs. And their word is law around these parts.” He looked at the knocked out bad guys in question. “And when they wake up, there will be nothing and no one to protect any of us. They’ll bring us all down, either in name or worse.” Then, as if being surrounded by a bunch of passed out bad guys wasn’t strange enough, Jeeves started to laugh. Loudly. “Some sort of weird Tourettes reaction?” I asked. He fought to catch his breath. “Fuck no,” he managed, the laughter picking up speed. “Tourettes,” Stella said, with a nod. “Definitely.” Wheezing, he managed to gain control of himself. “No,” he said. “Bitter irony.” “Please explain,” said Jake as he walked around and collected the guns. Which, all things considered, was about the smartest thing any of us had done in quite some time. Jeeves nodded. “It’s just… all these years… they were blackmailing me for things I didn’t do.” My nod echoed his. “You didn’t rape that girl at the fraternity house. And you didn’t kill my parents.” “No,” he agreed. “But I still needed an alibi for both events. The girl was raped in my room. I was in charge of your parent’s car.” “And?” said Pearl, her arms over her ample chest, clearly over all this. With good reason. Again he nodded. “And, all this time, they really had nothing on me.” Then he glanced around at our motley crew. “But…” I snapped my fingers. “But you were Robbie’s roommate. For years.”

southeRn FRied 221 Zeb smiled, which fairly lit up the room, if not my still pounding heart. “And you had plenty on them.” “Plenty,” he agreed. And now it was my turn to smile. “Any that could cost an election?” He paused, clearly teetering on the brink of something. “Ask her,” he finally said, finger pointing to the last person in the room I ever expected him to be pointing at. “Pearl?” I said, forcing down a gulp the size of a nice-sized plum. She sighed and walked over to the senator. “He was a fine looking man in his youth, Trip. Was sweeter than honey, when he set his mind to it.” She looked up at me with the saddest expression I’d ever seen on anyone’s face before. “I didn’t know about the others,” she said. “Not until you told me. I thought it was only me all along.” My eyes went wide. “You… you spied? On Granny?” Jeeves walked up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder. “She had to, Trip.” Pearl nodded. “I had me an extra mouth to feed, sugar.” “You’re joking,” I coughed out. “Please tell me you’re joking.” She shook her head. “Wish I could, boy. See, that’s who I worked for before your granny. Came highly recommended, too. After the baby was born, I mean.” “And you spied?” I managed, not sure if I was more sad than mad. Her head kept on shaking back and forth. “Nope. Not a lick.” The faintest of grins rose up on her face. “Well, he thought I was. Only, I was feeding him a bunch of bull. Meaning, he paid for that baby of his with…” Her grin grew to a laugh. “… with stuff I done seen on my favorite soap.” Okay, that I had to laugh at. “Wait, not One Life to Live?” She kicked the downed senator lightly in his side. “Damn

222 Rob Rosen idiot must’ve thought your granny lived in Llanview with all I was feeding him. Smart as a whip, but gullible as a five-year-old. Luckily for us.” I thought of all of Pearl’s kids. “Wait, Vicky, your oldest?” And, now that I thought of it, lightest in complexion. “The one that went to The University of North Carolina?” “Yes, Trip.” She glanced down at the senator again. “All paid for by this one here.” She looked back up at me. “I had to do it, boy. I had nothing. And back then it was his word against mine whether or not he was the father.” “But not today,” Stella chimed in. Then she walked over and yanked out a few strands of the Senator’s hair. What few he had left. With the root follicle still intact, which I knew they’d need down at the lab. “Today we got DNA.” Pearl moved away from the Senator and back over to me. “I didn’t know, Trip. Not about any of it. He said it was just me. I had no reason not to believe him.” I only had to think it over a second. I mean, I never did have a mother, not by the legal sense of the word. But I always had Pearl. I held my arms out and pulled her in. Mostly. I mean, she did most of the pulling. And squeezing. “Can’t. Breathe.” I croaked out. She laughed and backed away, a stream of tears rolling down her cheeks. “Sorry, sugar.” Her smile was contagious. “And I’m gonna make it right, boy. Promise.” Jake was already walking to the front door. “Right, yeah. But later, please. Before these assholes wake up and come looking for us.” We all turned and looked at said assholes. Again I laughed, seeing as Billy Ray’s nuts were at least half eaten, as was most of the peach brandy. “Well, that’s not about to happen any time soon,” I said, leading my staff out of Port’s apartment. And, of course, keying every Pellingham car waiting outside.

ChAPteR 14 Southern Comfort Well, here’s where we’re gonna jump ahead some. Back into the nitty gritty of all this mess. See, many months went by after 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 shrivel­ dicked 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, check. No blood, check. I squinted one eye open. And there he lay. Hole, check. Blood, check. 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 his turn to pause. “But are you? Okay, I mean?” A warm flush road up my belly and exploded in my chest. “Right as rain. You?” “Same.” The pause returned. “But, I’m, uh, in the hospital. Can you come down to County General?” I jumped up. “Now? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” “Chill, Little Brother,” he said. “Just come down. Room twosix-four.” “I’m on my way.” I clicked off the phone. “Come on. Beau’s in the hospital. Hurry!” And then everyone was hopping up, and a minute later we were piling into the Mercedes, Jeeves at the wheel. He sped all the way there, my nerves a tangled, frayed mess. Thankfully, we didn’t have far to go, all of us rushing inside and up the elevator. We stopped dead in our tracks when we reached the room. “Hi, ya’ll,” she said. “Betty!” I exclaimed. “What’s… what’s going on?” She looked wiped out, her hair a fright, plastered to her forehead. But she was smiling so big and bright that I just about had to squint to take her in. We all made our way inside the room, filling it up to the brim. “Um, just wait,” she told me. “He’s on

230 Rob Rosen his way back.” “Who?” I asked, utterly and completely confused. Which made six of us, Zeb and Stella and Jake and Jeeves and Pearl included. “Us,” we heard a split second later, and turned to find Beau, wheeling in yet another surprise. “Meet your niece, Little Brother.” Well now, wouldn’t you know it, I started bawling right there and then. As did pretty much everyone in the room. Everyone except the baby, who was just about the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. And it was then, at long last, that the final pieces to the puzzle fell into place. “Not yet, you kept yelling at the funeral.” Beau frowned just a little and stared at the baby. “You knew about this back then. You wanted her to meet your daughter, right?” He nodded, the smile making a triumphant return. “She was afraid the line was going to stop with me and you, Trip. She thought that once she went, so would the mansion and her name and everything it meant to her.” I nodded, ruefully. “I know. I was afraid of the same thing.” Again I stared from the baby back to him. “You never really did hate me then, did you? You were just protecting Betty and the baby. Because if I stirred up trouble, it could hurt all of you? And you weren’t living in the mansion from time to time to be near Granny, right? You wanted to be near Betty.” He smiled. “Smart, for such a pain in the ass.” He shrugged. “But, no, I only hated you a little while, until I figured out what Granny was up to, keeping us apart like she did. Protecting us from the Pellinghams. She knew they’d somehow killed your parents, Trip. And no way was she going to let that happen to us.” I turned to Betty. “That’s why you looked so nervous when I brought up Granny’s jewelry box.” Her smile faltered. “I knew the birth certificate was in there. I had to steal it, Trip. I’m… I’m so sorry. But we still have the jewelry. You can have it all back.”

southeRn FRied 231 I walked in and bent down, kissing her on the forehead. “No,” I whispered. “They’re for your little girl. All of it. That would’ve made Granny mighty happy.” She nodded and sighed. “Ask me what we named her, Trip.” I smiled and reached for her hand. “What did you name her, Betty?” “Mary,” she told me, her face lighting up. “After your granny.” And that stream of tears of mine returned. “Thank you,” I said, squeezing her hand in mine. Then I turned and walked over to my brother. I grabbed him up and pulled him in tight. And, man, did he feel good there. Better than playing catch with him or building us a few sand castles. Better by a country mile. And not an ounce of resistance from him, either. “Fucker,” I said. “Ditto,” he replied, arms wrapped around me just as tightly. I pulled an inch away. “Can I hold her?” I asked. He nodded. “Not going to drop her, are you?” He laughed and let go of me, then bent down and lifted the baby up before placing her gently in my arms, the others craning in for a look at her beautiful, round face. “She looks just like you,” Zeb said, his hand on the small of my back. “She has your nose.” Pearl reached in and tickled her chin, my old friend’s face so wet it shined. “Oh yeah, child, this here’s a Jackson for sure.” I stared down at the newest addition. “You hear that, Mary? You’re a Jackson.” I leaned in, face to face. “Lord help you on that one, kiddo; we’re a final kettle of fish, we are.” She opened her eyes and took me in, a smile appearing that just about broke my heart. But we weren’t done with the surprises just yet. It was Jake’s turn next as he tapped me on the shoulder. “I, uh, don’t want to startle you, so better hold on to that little niece of yours.” I looked up and locked eyes with him. Thankfully, he was smiling. “Oh, God, now what?”

232 Rob Rosen He shrugged and reached over to hold Stella’s hand. “Well, looks like you owe me a hundred and ten thousand dollars.” Needless to say, I handed the baby over to her father. Though I quickly figured out what he was telling me. “The will,” I said. “The will,” Jake repeated. “Your granny left me three thousand dollars. Three thousand dollars unless I settle down and find a wife. If I do so within one year’s time, that amount will increase to one hundred thousand. Enough to start a family. Plus ten more thousand for every child my future wife gives birth to.” He was repeating it verbatim. I turned to look at Stella, who was blushing from ear to ear. “You’re pregnant?” I asked, dumbfounded. “And engaged,” she lifted up her hand, the diamond sparkling atop her finger. And damn if those tears of mine didn’t go full-on flood. “Looks like the mansion’s gonna need a couple of new cribs.” She nodded. “And if you don’t mind, since you already fired Roy…” “The ten acres to the far west of the property,” I said. “You, you want them?” She winked at me. “It will save you a trip to Crate & Barrel,” she said. “For a wedding present, I mean.” I walked the half a foot over to her and put my arms around her waist. “All yours, Stella. No exceptions. You and Jake will own it forever.” Jake moved in and joined us. “Thanks, boss,” he said, his face as wet as any of ours. “You’re welcome, staff,” I told the two of them, half sobbing, half laughing. Then the whole group joined us, arms draped over shoulders. Pearl spoke up next. “And I ain’t raising either of ‘em, boy. No, sir.” She laughed, good and hard. “But I do plan on spoiling them something rotten.”

southeRn FRied 233 “Amen,” said Jeeves.

“Amen,” said Zeb.

“Amen,” said Jake.

“Amen,” said Stella.

“Amen,” said I, staring up at the ceiling with a sly wink to

Granny. “Amen to that.”

About the AuthoR ROB ROSEN and his husband Kenny call San Francisco home, but he lived in the deep, deep South for 15 years. He’s written short stories for well over 150 anthologies and has three other novels to his credit: Sparkle: The Queerest Book You’ll Ever Love, Divas Las Vegas, winner of the 2010 TLA Gaybies for Best Gay Fiction, and Hot Lava. His love of Popeyes fried chicken, however, is no work of fiction. Please visit him at his website, www.therobrosen.com