Chapter 2

Two

D oug

Doug stepped back and took in the glory of the Goth Dog Rescue booth.

He wished he’d had time to airbrush a sign for the top of the pop-up canopy, but for now, they’d just use the one Dinah had been using that had the name spelled out in a basic font, and then had an illustrated dog face on the side. At least the dog had a mohawk.

“We’re going to make a killing today,” Dinah said, hip-bumping Doug. “I cannot thank you enough for coming onboard.”

Doug smiled at her and shrugged. “No thanks necessary. You’re letting me stay with you and giving me an outlet for my art, which keeps me out of trouble, honestly.”

Dinah Shaw was Doug’s cousin’s girlfriend and she ran Goth Dog Rescue out of her family’s urban farm. The rescue had been running on donations up ’til now, with a little help from the homemade dog treats Dinah made. Thankfully, Bay Area folks were happy to support the cause, but shortly after moving in with the Shaws, Doug had had a drunken revelation while partying with his cousins Marianne and Matt, and Matt’s husband Zack, at the Shaws’ farm.

Goth Dog Accessories.

He was a whiz with a sewing machine, an airbrush, a riveter, and plenty of other tools, as well as having a knack for turning leftover stuff into works of art, which could be sold for additional funds to go to the rescue. They were starting out with collars, airbrushed bodysuits, and wall signs with the new logo he’d designed, plus he’d brought his equipment so he could personalize all of the items. He had loads of ideas, but today was their test run.

“I bet we sell out by noon,” Dinah said, looking at her watch. “You got this for a minute? I’m going to go check on Cecily.”

Dinah’s sister raised goats on the farm. She used the milk they produced to make soaps and body lotions. She had her own booth at today’s fair, as well as selling her goods weekly at the local farmer’s market. Dinah would be going between the booths today to help out with sales, which was fine. Doug was comfortable with the sales point and the pitches about their goods and the dog rescue.

He was taking one last look at their set-up when he heard a crash and muffled swearing from the booth next door to theirs.

“Need a hand?” he called out, moving quickly. The booth had large mesh panels affixed to the sides of a canopy, as well as tables in a U-shape to display intricate nature paintings on pieces of wood of all sizes. The owner of the booth had a silver cargo trailer at the back of his space, and that seemed to be where the muffled cursing was coming from. Doug peeked around the side and was greeted by a back covered in plaid flannel.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low to hopefully not spook the guy, but that failed.

The man stood and tried to turn, swore again, smacked his head, and stumbled backward.

“Whoa.” Doug caught the larger man’s weight as he fell backward out of the trailer, which thankfully wasn’t too high off the ground. He steadied the man as he got his feet under him. “You all right, man?”

“What are you doing back here?”

The voice didn’t quite match the appearance, which was serving grumpy lumberjack or maybe curmudgeonly stuck-in-the-’90s grunge fan. No, the man’s voice was soft-spoken, despite his gruff expression. He did not appear thankful or welcoming.

Doug pulled his hands back as the man angrily stepped out of his grasp, but then the guy crumbled a bit, his hand going to his lower back, and he leaned against the trailer while letting out a long breath.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Doug said, trying to let his shiny personality warm up this interaction. “I recognized someone speaking my language and thought I’d offer assistance.”

The guy turned without straightening to his full height, which appeared to be a couple of inches taller than Doug’s five-nine.

“English?” The guy lifted his lip à la Billy Idol. He had a dark blond buzz cut that looked as if it was a few weeks past a haircut and a matching beard that could use some taming, but his hazel-green eyes were sharp, as if he was accustomed to being on alert. Former military maybe? Doug glanced at the trailer again and… ah . USMC sticker.

“Ah, no, well, I meant Frustrated Male. That is, if male is how you identify. I shouldn’t assume.” Doug gave a nervous laugh. He usually didn’t have trouble winning over new folks, but this one seemed to have a fortress up meant to keep cheeriness away. “I’m already set up, so I thought I’d see if you needed any help?”

The guy winced, and then managed to stand upright. “I’m fine. I…I was looking for something. It’s a tight fit in that trailer.”

“Sure, for someone your size.” Doug knew he shouldn’t be taking the opportunity to admire the tight fit of the man’s pants. He really should be a better human than this, but here we are . “Would you like me to look?” It was better to be helpful than to ogle, right?

The guy cursed again and planted his hands on his hips. “It’s the thing for the credit cards. Forget it. They’re about to open the gates. I’ll get along without it.”

Doug felt bad for the guy. “If you have Venmo, they have a tap function now. I could show you.”

“I’m good.” The guy stood and moved to the rear of his booth, where he could see all the customers but not necessarily chat with them.

“Okay. Is this your first event? It’s my first time. My roommate has been doing this for a while, but I’m new.” Big smile, big smile. How can he resist? And not even from a queer perspective. Doug was just the kind of guy who made everyone smile. Well, unless you were of the goth-hating variety, what with his shaggy, dyed-black hair and his daily use of makeup. Today he’d dressed in tight black pants with zippers up and down the legs, lime green Dr. Martens, and a Misfits tee with the arms cut low on the sides. “I’m so glad we got a spot for this market. It’s gorgeous here.”

Doug had a habit of turning on the verbal hose and blasting folks with it when he first met them, and this guy was apparently his latest victim.

But the man didn’t respond. He stood there staring at Doug, bewildered, until the first group of customers started filtering into their aisle.

“Welp, if you need anything,” Doug said, realizing he’d definitely overdone it, backing up toward his booth. “And have a great day…?”

The guy nodded at him with a frown, missing Doug’s attempt at asking his name, and then he started adjusting his paintings. Doug checked out the ones hanging nearest the wall separating their booths as he passed by, and he was suddenly transfixed.

The guy had taken pieces of fresh-cut wood with the bark still on the outside, and he’d painted lovely forest scenes with flowers and sunshine, mushrooms and moonlight…there were even some fairy houses hidden in the shadows of giant redwoods. Oh, Doug would definitely be buying one before the end of the day. There was an almost whimsical quality to his work, as if it would appeal to nature lovers and children alike.

Doug turned to say something, but the guy was pounding his thumbs into his phone, his forehead creased with an almost caricaturish depth from his scowl. Doug glanced around once more to see if the guy had a name on his booth, but there was nothing.

“Dougie! You’ve got customers!”

Dinah was bouncing on her toes as two women stood at their designated pay station, their arms loaded with collars, bodysuits, and dog bowls. They each held leashes with black and white King Charles Cavaliers attached. Such cute pups. Doug had always been a big animal lover, and living with the Shaw sisters had been paradise. Between the farm animals and the foster dogs, there was always a critter to cuddle with, something he desperately needed in his life. Who could survive without cuddles ?

“Awesome. Would you like any of that personalized?”

“Oh my goodness, yes, please! Could you? For Mugsy and Mojo?”

Doug grinned at the names. “Absolutely.” He went around the table to the station he’d set up for personalizing. It was behind their booth, so he didn’t get paint anywhere it shouldn’t be. “We can put them aside to dry, and you can come back before you leave the market to pick them up.”

They were thrilled. Doug got to work with his airbrush, adding their names in script to the two bodysuits. Then he did the collars and the bowls. He was so busy, he didn’t notice that the neighbor was standing behind his booth, watching him.

He removed his mask and started to say something, but then his neighbor had a customer. Before he knew it, Doug had spent the two hours personalizing items for their customers.

“Phew,” Dinah said as she took a drink of her homebrewed peach tea. “It’s only eleven forty-five and we’ve already sold out of bodysuits and bowls.”

Doug stood to look at their inventory, and he wrinkled his nose. “That sucks. I mean, I’m glad we sold a lot, but I hate to see empty shelves. Hey, if you don’t mind staying out there, let me get out those doggie t-shirts I ordered and I’ll start airbrushing them. They’ll dry quick and we can hang those up. Hopefully those will be popular too.”

Dinah looked down the aisle to see that Cecily had two customers. “Let me just check with Cecily. Maybe we should think about combining our booths so I can help both of you.”

“Or we could clone you,” Doug said with a shrug. “I swear, I’ll have way more stock next time. At least we know the stuff sells.”

Dinah squeezed his shoulder. “You are a gift, Doug. With this money, we can afford for Marianne to do more rescue flights, and we won’t have to max out the credit cards to keep the fosters fed, not to mention the vet bills. That last litter of pups we took in all had respiratory infections, and that cost a pretty penny in medication.”

“You guys are doing such great work. I’m happy to contribute whatever I can. The fruits of my labor are yours.”

“At least there are some perks to the job. You get to pet cute pups all day,” she said, as Doug’s gaze drifted once more to their sullen neighbor.

He didn’t interact with the customers unless they specifically asked him questions, but he seemed to have a steady stream of folks admiring his work. Doug started picturing ways to highlight the gorgeous paintings. Weave green moss into the mesh he’d used to hang the paintings; add some fairy lights, especially since it was darker in the back corners, which made it difficult to see the intricate details in his paintings. Doug wanted to offer suggestions, but he doubted they would be welcome.

It took him another two hours to spray paint the dog shirts he’d brought, and by the time he had them all hung up, the rest of his inventory was sold out, and Dinah’s treats were gone as well. She’d gone over to help Cecily, who was also just about out of soaps and lotions. This was wild . Doug was wondering how much money they’d made versus their costs?—

“Oh, rats. I’m so sorry!”

Doug turned to look into his neighbor’s booth in time to see that a woman had bumped the mesh and one of the panels had pulled away from the canopy, which caused a few of the smaller paintings to fall onto the ground. The man was trying to hold up the mesh and bend down to pick up the paintings at the same time. The woman was older and distracted, and she wandered away from the booth to leave the owner to deal with her clumsy mess.

“How can I help?” He reached for the mesh. The guy made what Doug thought might be an appreciative grunt? If that was a thing. But then he bent down to pick up the paintings, and he cried out, his hand going to his lower back again as he caught himself on a table with his forearm. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

“Oh man, leave those. I’ll grab them.” Doug managed to get the mesh fastened quickly, and he went to the guy’s side. “Let me help you,” he said softly.

He could tell his neighbor didn’t want to accept his help, but he dropped his left hand into Doug’s extended right one, clasped it hard, and leaned heavily on Doug to climb back to his feet.

“Can you get me to the trailer? Please?”

That soft voice attempted to hide the pain this man was in, and Doug wanted to give him his dignity however he could. He helped the man to the back of his booth and over to the doors of the trailer. The man used his keys to open the padlock while leaning on Doug, and then he opened the doors. He turned and took Doug’s other arm so he could lower himself to a sitting position on the trailer’s ledge.

“What can I get you? Ice? Water? Some anti-inflammatories?”

The guy was taking shallow breaths. He pointed to a water bottle on the back table of his booth. Doug reached for it and handed it over. The guy took a sip and then a few deep breaths.

“You okay for a second? Let me go grab those paintings.”

Doug went to step away, but the guy kept hold of his arm for a minute.

“Thank you,” he said, locking Doug in place with those sharp eyes.

“Sure, man.” Doug went to pick up the paintings. He brushed them off with a napkin he’d had in his pocket to hopefully get the dust off without messing up the man’s work. He readjusted the ones that were knocked askew and was about to return to his fallen neighbor when another customer came up to the table with two paintings.

“Oh, um…” He turned to his wounded neighbor, who handed him his phone.

“Do you mind? I just need a minute.”

Doug knew it had taken him a lot to ask for help.“Sure, how would you like to pay?”

The woman held out a credit card. “I only have a credit card. I don’t use apps.”

Doug smiled, determined to make this sale go through. She had about three hundred dollars’ worth of art there. “Give me a second?”

He went and knelt beside the proprietor. “Hey, I know you said you couldn’t find your card reader,” he said quietly. “But would you like me to set up tap pay for you through your app?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Doug nodded. “It’ll allow you to take credit cards, and this lady has two of your big paintings.”

“Okay. Can you—” He winced and took another sharp breath. “Can you show me?”

“Absolutely.” He had the guy open his app, and then Doug took over, walking him through the easy steps. He pulled out his own wallet, removed his Visa, and did a test payment for a dollar, and it went through with a flourish of sparkles on the guy’s phone.

Doug’s phone immediately sent him a notification. Payment to Luther Sorenson.

Niiiice. Intelligence acquired.

“All set. Let me handle this for you.”

“Thank you.”

The guy’s cheeks were rosy above his beard. The color would have made Doug happy, except that it seemed more from exertion than from a bashful flush.

Doug checked the woman out, wrapped her wood paintings carefully, and placed them in one of the paper bags his neighbor had on the table.

She waved to Doug as she left, thankfully heading next door where, hopefully, she’d spend a little more cash for the puppers.

“Here,” Doug said, handing the handsome man his phone, grateful to see he was breathing a little easier. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“I…no, thank you. You saved my ass.”

“Saving your ass was my absolute pleasure,” Doug said with a play bow. “How’s the…is it your back? Injured in the Corps?”

Luther sat up a little straighter. “How’d you—” When Doug pointed to the sticker on his trailer, he nodded. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Damn. Sorry to hear.” He stood at attention. “Senior Airman Doug Cross, at your service.” He held out a hand, this time to shake like mens.

“Air Force, huh?” Luther accepted the handshake and looked Doug up and down. “You out?”

“Hells yeah. I was a reluctant enlistee. Daddy’s expectations. Did six and split. Was recruited by a civilian contractor for my…” He wiggled his fingers above an imaginary keyboard and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I’m so over the military-industrial complex. Now I pick and choose my clients, I make art and music, and leave the house looking like this.” He gestured to himself with a laugh.

Somewhere in that little diatribe, Luther must have taken offense to something he’d said. His curious expression closed off and his nostrils flared.

“Right. Well, thank you.” He stood and gave Doug a look like their conversation was over.

“Right.” For some reason, Doug hated that he was being dismissed. He’d thought maybe they could at least talk shop a little, maybe swap arty-farty hacks, but no. Luther stood from his trailer, took a deep breath, and went back to reorganizing his paintings to fill in the gaps. “Well, let me know if you want any help tearing down?—”

“I’m good,” Luther said without turning around.

“Right.” Dougie, you need to learn when to shut up . “Your work is phenomenal,” he said, as he was about to leave.

He almost missed the quiet, “Yours, too.”

Okay, okay, so maybe he hadn’t won this encounter…but perhaps next month?

Doug looked at his phone and realized the market was closed now. A quick gander at their booth let him know that they’d sold most of everything they’d brought.

“Hot patootie, bless my soul,” he said, as he high-fived Dinah.

She responded by singing the rest of the line from the Rocky Horror song. “Are you ready for the tally?”

A shiver ran through him. “Hit me.”

She looked down at her phone, tapped the screen, and then held it out.

“That’s not including the payments to the other apps. This is just credit cards.”

They’d made over six thousand dollars.

They both screamed simultaneously and hugged each other while they hopped up and down in a circle.

“I bet we made another few hundred on the other apps,” she said quietly, realizing their carrying on had attracted notice. “And we had to turn people away because we sold out!”

“And imagine how much we could do if we bring puppers!”

They’d talked about having a few of the rescue pups in a pen to lure folks in, but Dinah thought they should bring a couple of Goth Dog volunteers if they were going to do that.

“I bet we could get Nell to come at the very least.” Nell was Doug’s cousin Matt’s daughter and an active volunteer in the Goth Dog community.

They continued to plot as they tore down their booth and packed everything into the back of Dinah’s black minivan. The back windows were covered with ’80s new wave band stickers and a huge Goth Dog decal in the middle. It didn’t take long before they were done. Doug kept trying to catch a glimpse of Luther, but he was nowhere to be seen. He was happy to see that he’d sold a large amount of the paintings he’d brought, especially the small ones. He’d meant to pick one up. Damn. Next time?

He spotted Luther returning with a bag from the mini donut truck and thought, ah…the guy has a sweet tooth. Maybe he could whip up a little peace offering for their next visit. He still didn’t know what he’d said to cause the abrupt termination of their conversation. If Luther had been injured in the Marines, he most likely shared the sentiment that the majority of veterans had when dealing with the VA: No one gave a shit about broken soldiers, and they sure as hell weren’t going to help you start a new life.

Doug regularly volunteered with and donated to veterans’ organizations. He’d been grateful to get out relatively unscathed and with a skill set that made him a hot commodity. It was now his choice whether or not he wanted to utilize those skills, and right now, he’d chosen to do what made him happy. Which reminded him…

“Hey, do you mind if I help you unload tomorrow morning? I’ve got a gig in Berkeley tonight.”

She clapped her hands. “Yes, you do, and we’re all coming to watch!”

Part of the allure of coming to the Bay Area was to be near his cousins while he made art, but he was also interested in the music scene, and he’d auditioned recently for the East Bay Goth Punks. They’d been grateful to find a vocalist who could also play guitar and keys. Their sets consisted of ’80s punk and new wave tunes, all super fun, and they hoped to start writing originals.

Doug was hoping he could encourage them to branch out a bit, once they were used to him, but for now he was just stoked to have musicians to jam with. He hadn’t been in a band since high school. The Air Force hadn’t given him the space, and, well, during the time he’d spent with the civilian contractor, he’d been practically sequestered. He’d made a shitload of money and had no life. It was time to refill the creative well.

He sighed and smiled. He’d landed in a great situation here. He was finally getting to spend time with Marianne and her brother Matt’s family, he had a fantastic place to stay with the best housemates he’d ever had, and he was able to work on his art and music while taking on a minimum number of cybersecurity clients. He was living the life he’d dreamed of back in high school while towing the Dwight Cross line: God, Air Force, and country. Nowhere in there was there room for individuality and happiness.

“Then let’s get to it!”

He gave one last lingering glance in Luther’s direction as they drove Dinah’s minivan down the aisle, and he winced when he saw the painstakingly slow way Luther was moving as he packed up his gear. Doug should have offered to help again, he should have insisted…but no. He hadn’t made a friend that day, which surprisingly overshadowed his success a bit.

And wasn’t that an epic bummer.