Bear, Otter, & the Kid 03 - The Art of Breathing (39 page)

“It’s dirt.”

“You know, there’s a hugely varied ecosystem here that survives—”

“Nice try,” I tell her. “You almost had me there appealing to my scientific side, but then my phone just buzzed with an extreme heat warning.”

“What, 110? That’s nothing. It’s a dry heat. Remember the humidity in New Hampshire?
That
was excruciating.”

“Where are we?” Dom asks from the backseat, his voice rough with sleep and extraordinarily hot. Damn fucking feelings and hormones.

“Almost there,” Kori says. I can’t tell if she sounds happy about it or not. “Another ten minutes and we’ll be at Sandy’s. He should be off work now, so we should be good to go directly to his house.”

“You excited to be home?” I ask her. I don’t know what sort of answer I’m expecting. Hopefully a reasonably honest one. I know Corey and Kori. I know Kori comes out when Corey’s nervous or scared or worried. Kori is comfort. Kori is safe and warm. Kori is who Corey turns to when things get hard. I don’t think it’s him hiding behind her, more him putting on a different face against the world. Kori may be quiet and may look frail, but she’s got steel in her bones. I’m worried that she’s made an appearance now. I don’t know how coming home to Tucson might be for her. I can imagine, though, especially if it’s anything like coming back to Seafare was.

Something flashes across her eyes, but I can’t quite catch it. It almost looks like anger. Or fear. But it’s gone too fast. “Sure,” she says. “Should be great.”

I don’t believe her in the slightest.

S
ANDY
LIVES
in an adobe house in a quiet neighborhood. There’re some potted plants hanging outside (probably gasping their final breaths as they’re baked in the fiery sunlight) and a birdbath in the front yard, but so far nothing that says the best drag queen in the history of the world, as Kori touted. Granted, I suppose that because a person is a drag queen doesn’t mean the outside of their house has to look like a drag queen too. After all, I don’t look anything like the Green Monstrosity. At least I hope I don’t.

There’s a sensible electric car (I approve) in the carport, and the license plate says QWN4LFE (which I approve of immensely—why can’t Bear have a license plate that proclaims him a queen for life? It would certainly make sense). As we get out of the SUV, the front door opens and I almost expect there to be an explosion of glitter and feathers from a pink boa. Instead, a slight man walks out, thin and tall. I could say he’s blandly handsome, with his short blond hair and brown eyes, but the smile on his face has a wicked curve to it, and I can see the glint in his eyes.

It seems Helena Handbasket is never too far under the surface.

“Baby dolls,” Sandy says warmly. “I am so very happy you made it okay.” He walks over to Kori and hugs her tightly, lifting Kori off the ground and twirling her around. He whispers something in her ear, something meant for just the two of them, and I see Kori stiffen for a moment. She shakes her head and shrugs as Sandy kisses her cheek. “We’ll figure it out,” he says.

He turns to me. “Little Twinkie Tyson!” he says, and he wraps me in a hug as well. “You look even more delicious in person.” He peeks over my shoulder. “God, if I had that ass when I was your age, I probably would have done porn. You ever think of doing porn? Pretty sure you’d make a buck or two. People would be jerking off to you left and right. Probably already do.”

I flush furiously. “Uh… no. No porn. Not yet.”

He tosses his head back and laughs. It’s a sweet sound. “‘Not yet,’ he says. Well, honey, if that’s what you’re looking for, I’m sure I could hook you up.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Somehow, I don’t think it’d fly back home if I were in porn. I’m pretty sure Otter and Bear would shit themselves. And what if they
like
porn (gross!) and somehow stumble across it and see me getting my ass—

Wow. I need to stop that train of thought right now. I blame Tucson. There has to be something in the air that makes you think really dirty things.

Sandy does a double take as Dom climbs out of the backseat. Dom stretches and his shirt rises up slightly, a thin strip of skin showing through, and I can almost
hear
Helena Handbasket roaring forward. Gone is the blandly handsome Sandy with a sweet smile. Gone, too, apparently, are any bones, judging by the way he’s able to slink and slide his way over to Dom. Dom has a small grin on his face, as if this man already amuses him greatly.

“Well, well,
well
,” Sandy purrs. “What
do
we have here?” He presses up against Dom’s side, laying his head on his shoulder. “Where, my large luscious piece of man cake, have you
been
all my life? I bet you could bench-press three of me without breaking a sweat, but lucky you, there’s only one of me and trust me when I say I’m more than enough man for you to handle.”

Uh. Wait.
What
?

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dom says, patting Sandy on the top of the head.

“That
voice
!” Sandy squeaks. “Please tell me that
you’ve
done porn and where I can buy it. Take my money. Take
all
my money.”

“I haven’t done porn,” Dom says, much to the detriment of the entire world, I’m sure. “I don’t know how well that’d go over with the department.”

Sandy’s eyes go dramatically wide. “You’re the police officer? Honey, I don’t think that’s a problem for your department. Haven’t you ever seen
C.O.P.S: Cum On Perverted Suspects
? Those cops had no problem shoving their nightsticks up each other’s asses.”

“I must have missed that one,” Dom says. “And I don’t quite know if they were real cops.”

“It’s all about the fantasy, baby doll,” Sandy says. “And you are eight feet of living, breathing, ridiculously ripped fantasy. I simply must make you part of my show tomorrow night at the club. Tell me, are you comfortable enough in your heterosexuality to take off your shirt and pants on stage and be completely and salaciously objectified by dozens of screaming homos? I’m pretty sure I have a sparkly pair of boy panties you can wear. Though I will say, if your cock is as big as the rest of you, you’ll probably be poking out. But, incentives, of course. I’ll make sure you’re in for a cut of the tips, which will probably amount to six dollars and forty-two cents.”

“That much, huh?” he asks with a smile. “How could I say no to that?”

“You filthy whore,” I hiss before I’m able to stop myself. And there’s the image of the sparkly boy-panty thing that needed to go away, like, yesterday. I’m not into that sort of thing. Well, at least my mind isn’t. My penis thinks it’s a grand idea. Stupid fucking penis.

Everyone stares at me, but not before Sandy and Kori exchange a look that makes me want to kick out their kneecaps. “Um. I said let’s go indoors. Isn’t it too hot out? It feels too hot.”

“Of course,” Sandy says coyly, like the evil host that he is. “I’m so used to it, I didn’t even notice. You poor little twinkie. I’m going to take such good care of you in Casa de Helena that you won’t ever want to leave.” He winks at me knowingly, and I almost run screaming in the opposite direction.

Knowing my luck, I’d trip and fall into a cactus.

T
HE
INSIDE
of Sandy’s house is delightfully kitschy, yet surprisingly tasteful (I know, I know. I just thought there’d be piles of wigs all over and a three-foot black dildo on the coffee table or something—apparently I don’t know many drag queens). There are splashes of colors everywhere, from the green couch to the blue-and-red walls. The floors are hardwood, covered here and there with thick white rugs. There’s a stain on one, hidden back toward the corner of the living room.

“Yes,” Sandy says with a frown. “
That
.”

“What’s it from?” Kori asks.

“The hellhound known as Wheels,” he says with a look of extreme distaste. “Paul’s dog. I love the little mutt to death, but he is not normal. I’m quite certain he vomited there on purpose, because I wouldn’t let him go outside when it was raining. Trust me when I say that Wheels is a vindictive creature with malice in his heart.”

“Why Wheels?” I ask. “That’s an odd name.”

“He was hit by a car when he was a puppy,” Sandy says. “Lost both back legs and his tail. He has a little cart hooked up to his butt so he can run around. Paul adopted him that way and gave him the name.”

“A two-legged dog?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Named Wheels.”

“Right.”

“I need to meet Paul,” I tell Kori. “Like, now. Any man that picks a disabled dog on purpose has to be an amazing human being.”

“Oh,” Sandy says, “that’s right! Kori told me you were a hippie.”

“I don’t think I said it quite like that,” Kori says hurriedly.

“Yes, you did,” Sandy says. “What was it you said? I truly enjoyed it. Ah, yes! You said Tyson was a left-wing vegetarian hippie twink one step away from blowing up animal-testing labs and SeaWorld all for the sake of saving what he calls his animal companions.” He squints his eyes at me. “He doesn’t look like a hippie, though. He looks like he should be on some college gay-for-pay site.”

“Oh no,” Kori groans, covering her face.

“
Hippie
?” I exclaim angrily. “I’m not a goddamn hippie! And the orcas at SeaWorld are
forced
into tiny tanks and brutally beaten and underfed to teach them tricks to perform for some obese family from Ohio on vacation who eat deep-fried Oreos covered in bacon gravy while not even concerned that their
entertainment
is being
tortured
!”

“Tyson’s a little… vocal… when it comes to his convictions,” Dom says.

“That’s an understatement, sex giant,” Sandy says, eyes wide. “Holy PETA brainwash, Batman.”

“I’m not a hippie,” I mutter.

“Kind of a hippie,” Kori says. “But in a good way.”

“There’s no good way to be a hippie,” I tell her. “Especially beach hippies.”

“We had some problems with beach hippies,” Kori tells Sandy. “They didn’t know how to chant and threw rocks into windows.”

“Goddamn beach hippies!” Apparently, I’m still not over that.

“I had to arrest these two,” Dom tells Sandy.

“
Did
you?” Helena Handbasket purrs. “In uniform and with handcuffs? Those lucky little bastards.”

“It wasn’t as much fun as it sounds,” I point out. “The cuffs hurt.”

“That’s how you know you’re having a little fun,” Dom says with a wink, and I can do nothing but gape at him, because I want to know who this man is and what he’s done with my big, silent, stoic Dominic.

“You’ll meet Paul and Vince tomorrow for Saturday brunch,” Sandy says. “We figured we’d give you a bit to get settled in.”

“You have enough rooms?” Dom asks. “We can get a hotel.”

“A hotel?” Sandy asks. “Of course not. We’ll just have to bunk up a bit. But since we’re all such good friends, I don’t think that’s an issue, do you?” He smiles at Kori. “You’ll be in my bed, darling, but don’t get any ideas. I’ve given my heart to Jesus.”

“Poor Jesus,” Kori says.

“Mouthy little bitch,” Sandy says. “And as for you two, you’ll be in the spare bedroom. It’s really small, but the Realtor described it to me as cozy when I bought the place, and since I was trying to get in his pants, I didn’t mind.”

“Both of us?” I ask, my voice high-pitched. “Are there two beds?”

He laughs. “No, dear. It’s not 1950 and you’re not a housewife. One bed. It’s a queen, natch. But given Officer Hands-on here’s size, it’s still going to be tight. That shouldn’t be a problem, should it? Kori tells me you two are old friends. Usually, I use that room for guests who somehow end up drunk at my house after the bar closes and feel slightly amorous. But don’t worry, it’s totally clean and ready for your enjoyment. I aim to please.” He says this all with a completely innocent look on his face. And even though I’ve only known him for fifteen minutes, I can still tell it’s complete and utter bullshit. He knows
exactly
what he’s doing. That bright fire in his eyes is all Helena.

Dom shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “That’s fine with me.”

“You snore,” I accuse him weakly, as if this will be any justification for when I end up sleeping on the couch. Or in the car. Or running back to Bear so he can hide me in the bathtub.

“How would you know?” he fires back. “You haven’t been around to find out.”

Yowza. And just what in God’s name is
that
supposed to mean?

“Well, this is just peachy,” Sandy beams. “Sounds like everything will work out just fine. Oh my, I just
adore
having houseguests! Kori, shall we retire to powder our noses before the evening’s festivities? We can have some girl time.” He glances at Dom and me. “Boys, your bedroom is at the end of the hall. There’s a bathroom next door with towels all fluffed and ready for your enjoyment. Feel free to get a little wet. I promise, there’re no cameras set up in the shower.”

With that, he grabs Kori by the arm and drags her out of the room.

Motherfucker.

C
OZY
MY
goddamn ass.

This room is fucking
tiny
.

There’s a queen bed, all right, but it takes up most of the space with hardly any room to move around. A small window lets in the burning sunlight that promises to scorch my skin off. The only other furniture in the room is a small nightstand on the far side of the bed. Atop the nightstand is a fishbowl filled with condoms. Littered next to the bowl are at least ten different kinds of lube called such ridiculous names as “Butt Butter” and “Boy-Ease” (one makes me never want to eat popcorn again, the other wants me to make sure this isn’t actually an episode of
To Catch A Predator
). A tassel of something leathery hangs out from one of the drawers on the nightstand. I’m pretty sure cows didn’t evolve to have their hides used on an ass filled with butt butter.