The City of Rossford

In the library Fenn and Tom were drinking large mugs of coffee. The door was open and from the living room they could hear Bryant and Todd arguing about how to build the playhouse for Dylan.

“We should be doing that, I suppose,” Tom noted.

“No,” Fenn decided. “We shouldn’t.”

“He’s our kid,” Tom reminded him.

Fenn shrugged, and twisted to get a better view out of the window.

“Is that Layla?”

“Your sight really is getting worse,” Tom told him. “It’s Layla and… it’s Will.”

Bryant ran into the room excitedly, shaking a hammer.

“It’s Will! It’s Will!”

They both looked at him.

“I guess you already saw that.”

When they continued to look at him, he said, “Well, maybe that means they’ll get back together. I mean, wouldn’t that be something? Every couple has hurdles. And you overcome them. Like my hurdle with Chad is… being a little older.”

“And you getting your hair colored is how you overcome it?”

Bryant frowned at Fenn.

“I do not color my hair.”

“Well, it’s not me leaving the Just For Men boxes in my trash.”

Bryant amended, “I don’t color my hair… often. It’s just… a little help.”

“He leaves them here,” Fenn said. “So that Chad doesn’t find them there.”

“Chad is almost fourteen years younger than me,” Bryant said. “And even if he forgets, I don’t.”

“I bet he remembers whenever you get attacks of arthritis during adventurous sex.”

Bryant raised an eyebrow, but Tom said, sympathetically:

“Bryant, I’m sure you don’t need hair color. You’re hardly forty.”

“I saw a little grey,” Bryant admitted, “and I hate those guys that keep denying they’re getting old and walk around with wrinkles and a head full of grey hair and try to tell you they’re thirty-eight.”

Tom shook his head and buffed his fingernails against his shirt. “I think you’re only as old as you feel. Me and Lee have a great love life. I eat right, run everyday, work out four times a week. Heck, I feel twenty-eight. I actually forget what my real age is.”

“It’s forty-seven,” Fenn said shortly, and he took out a cigarette.

Bryant snorted and covered his mouth.

“You’re a curmudgeon, Fenn,” Bryant said, picking up the hammer and turning around to leave. “But an equal opportunity one.”

Fenn opened his mouth and sighed, the light tendril of cigarette smoke framing his face.

“I just like to keep it real.”

“I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you, Captain,” Shelley Latham said.

“Did you have a good Thanksgiving?” Sheridan asked, shutting the door behind him, and hanging up his cap.

“Did you really come to ask about my week?”

Sheridan blinked. “Yes,” he said. “Actually. Well, I just came because I needed to come.”

When Shelley sat on the bed and laughed, Sheridan said, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

And then he laughed too.

“I needed a laugh,” Sheridan told her, sitting down.

“Has it been a rough time?” she stroked his hair.

Sheridan thought of telling her about Robin’s wish, and then decided against it.

“It isn’t turning out to be a very Christmassey season,” Sheridan decided. “We should just leave it at that. Evetything’s… Nothing’s like it should be.”

“Let’s see,” Shelley lay back on the bed. “At Thanksgiving, my grandfather told Bryant that he had turned Sean queer and it was his fault that the family name was going to die out, because only his daughters had kids. Considering that the family name is Babcock, who gives a shit, you know? Anyway, this made me laugh, because all you can do is laugh. And then Uncle Bryant—who everyone calls BJ—”

“Are you serious?”

“Bryant Jacob. BJ.”

“BJ the gay uncle,” Sheridan reflected with a chuckle.

“He hates it,” Shelley shuddered with a grin. “And you know he’s all elegant and shit, and then he just flies into a rage when someone calls him BJ. And like, Uncle Bryant’s the nicest guy in the world, so you’re not ready for it. Well, anyway, after Granddad tells him that shit, Bryant says something back and my aunt Josephine is like, ‘you tell him BJ!’ and that’s when I laugh and the shit hits the fan and he announces to everyone that I have failed his course. And it was just… it was embarrassing for everybody. Except my great uncle.”

“Your great uncle?”

“Yes,” Shelley said. “He’s the reason we’re all here. He’s the pastor at Saint Agatha’s and he used to teach here. Bryant came to work here because of him, and then Sean came because of Bryant and then I came because of Sean and Bryant and… well, after going back home for Thanksgiving, I’m really thinking of staying.”

“Rossford is an armpit.”

“You don’t know how fucking nice Rossford, Indiana is. You know I got this one friend from East Carmel, and he was telling me about this girl he knew, a Black stripper who takes her clothes off for this Amish guy who comes up from Nappanee.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes, Sher. And that’s the whole thing. In this area you got Black strippers doing it for Amish guys and you could never say that about Philadelphia. I mean, that shit doesn’t happen in Chicago. That makes Rossford a crossroads. And don’t we have a pornography studio here?”

“Yes!” Sheridan said. “And guess what? I met the guy who runs it?”

“Really?” Shelley sat up.

Sheridan nodded.

“Is he hot?”

“He’s kinda ordinary,” Sheridan shrugged. “My best friend works for him?”

“Doing porn.”

“No,” Sheridan said. “He does odd jobs for him.”

“How…” Shelley pondered, “does one get that type of job?”

Sheridan thought of telling the elaborate story of Chay’s family, but decided against it and only said, “He gave me a hundred dollars.”

“What for?”

“Just because. I was with Chay. It was the other day at this wedding—”

“The wedding that was broken up!”

“How’d you know? Oh, yeah. Your uncle was there.”

“Right,” Shelley said. “He’s friends with the bride’s uncle. Layla? Fenn?”

“Right.”

Suddenly Sheridan turned red.

“What?” Shelley said.

When Sheridan went redder, she ribbed him.

“Dish. Now. Or no nookie for you.”

“There’s going to be nookie for me?”

“Not if you don’t spill…. Now.”

“Well, the guy who broke up the wedding? He’s my brother. He used to be the bride’s boyfriend. He’s still in love with her.”

“Well, fuck, this is a small world.”

“Or a small town.”

Shelley nodded. She laughed low to herself, and then she leaned over her bed, reached into the drawer and brandished a red wrapped condom.

“And now…” she said, “the nookie.”

“So, you’re staying?” Layla said as they sat by the fountain, across from the Abercrombie and Fitch.

“Yes. I don’t want to go anywhere else.”

“You’re going to be this constant presence in my life?”

“Yes, just like herpes.”

Layla looked at him.

“Well, that’s the way you sounded.”

“No,” Layla said. “I’m glad to have you around. Its just you’ve really fucked up my life. And Kevin’s mother came by the house and called three and four types of bitches.

“And you took it?”

“Under the circumstances I felt sort of obliged to.”

Will nodded and Layla reflected.

“I never really liked Kevin that much, now that I think about it. And I would be his wife if you hadn’t ruined things.”

Suddenly a small train commanded by a bored teenager and carrying small, equally bored toddlers came rolling by with an electronic choo choo, and as it passed, Layla said, “Now that is damned annoying.”

“Not as annoying as the smell from that Abercrombie.”

“I know. That’s the strongest cologne in the world and… could I just say the black and white poster of the shirtless white dude… Not my type at all.”

“I hope not,” Will said, smiling.

“No,” Layla looked at him. “I can’t see you taking your shirt off and doing a smoldering pose.”

“That’s more a Brendan thing.”

“You think so? I can’t see him… Well, that poster does look like Bren. Bren’s actually kind of hot, isn’t he?”

“He’s good looking,” Will conceded.

“I never really thought of him that way.”

“If you told him that it would be like the ultimate Christmas gift.”

“And a cheap one,” Layla agreed.

“We split up for a stupid reason.”

“It wasn’t stupid then,” Layla said. “But… almost eight years later, it is stupid. I agree.”

Will chuckled.

“What?”

“You were always so… stoical,” said Will. “There’s a lot of your uncle in you.”

“I prefer to think there’s a lot of me in him,” said Layla.

And then she touched Will’s hand.

“Will?”

“Hum?”

“Take me somewhere? The mall’s getting old and I’m tired, and that two times life size Brendan staring down at me with the frosted hair is sort of fucking my shit up. Take me somewhere.”

Standing up, Will took her hand, squeezed it, and as she rose he said, “Follow me.”

“Hey, hand me the popcorn,” Chad said.

Sean nodded and did so while Chad said, “I like our apartment and everything, but I’m wondering if it’s not time for us to get a house. You know?”

“Why? Cause it says you all are settled?”

Chad shrugged pleasantly as he laced the popcorn around the large tree.

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Well, I think you should only get a house if you want one. It shouldn’t be some type of gesture.”

“It’s a good investment,” Chad said. “And like you said, it says we’re together in this. It says we’re settled and we’re not… up for grabs.”

Sean began sticking red globes on the tree. He’d always appreciated a well appointed Christmas tree, but the specifics of how to actually do it eluded him.

“It’s not Bryant who thinks you’re up for grabs.”

Chad looked at him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything…”

Chad continued to look at him.

“I think,” Sean explained, “what I was asking, is do you want a house just because you’re trying to tell yourself you and Bryant are in it for the long haul?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

They looked at each other for a long time and then Sean said, “I’m pretty sure you do.”

“Yes, I do.” Chad smiled tightly grabbing a string of lights. “And I’d be really happy if you didn’t bring it up again. That’s in the past. This is the present.

“And Bryant coming home is in the future, so why don’t you help me finish this tree so he can be surprised?”

They looked at each other a little longer, Chad challenging Sean to speak. Then Sean shrugged, said, “Sure,” and in silence, they continued dressing the tree.

Father Slaughter opened the grille and looked through it.

“Well, this doesn’t make any sense. Why don’t you just come out,” he said.

“Well, I’m already in and… Your church is so much bigger than mine.”

“I think it’s better too,” The old priest added. “Is this going to be a formal confession, or do you need my wise council, Daniel?”

Dan Malloy said, “I think I need your wise council.”

While the old priest poured the tea, Dan said, “I always thought I would be like you. Wise—”

“You’re too kind.”

“And happy in my life.”

Father Frank nodded, and then he sat down across from Dan, pressing his fingertips together.

“And now you’re not happy?”

“A friend of mine came back.”

“Yes.”

“He left the priesthood. He left our priesthood, I mean,” Dan said. “He became Episcopalian.”

“You mean that Mc.Donald fellow?”

“Yes.”

“Well, from what I hear he’d be happier there. And we don’t need the scandal.”

Dan blinked.

“What did you hear?”

“I have two gay nephews. I hear far more than most priests.”

“Oh,” Dan said with a small smile. He sipped his tea.

“Well, he left because… He thought he was in love. I mean he was in love, and he thought he would stay in love.”

“Are you in love?”

“I’ve been in love.”

“Yes, that’s nice,” the old priest dismissed this. “But are you currently in love.”

“No,” Dan said. “At least I don’t think so.”

Frank Slaughter raised an eyebrow.

“It’s simply that… I’m in my late forties. When I went into the priesthood I thought of my late forties as old. My early forties for that matter. Now, it’s just… I don’t feel very close to dying—”

“Let’s hope not.”

“I feel very much alive and… I feel like the years can stretch on and on and on.”

Dan sighed.

“The truth is, I don’t know if I want to spend the rest of my life knowing I’m not going to have someone to love.”

“That was…”

“Yes, it was.”

The faint sound of the traffic from the strip came through the beige curtains.

“I completely wasn’t… It was.”

“We don’t have to talk.”

She had always wondered about this hotel, or one of the many hotels on the strip between town and the suburbs where out of town people stayed. So this was what it was like, nothing like the sleazy hotels on Meridian. She could get used to this.

“No… We don’t have to talk,” he agreed. “We don’t. But… It was.”

She confessed: “It was unbelievable.”

Silence.

He cleared his throat.

“Are you sorry that it happened?” he murmured.

On the other side of the bed, Layla Lawden sat up, looked down at his chest and touching it, said, “Will, I can’t be sorry. I’m not even surprised.”