10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

EULAH FELIZ IS A STRONG, VIRILE WOMAN

We made it to the city square twenty minutes later. Though the fair didn't open for another three hours, there were already swarms of people congregating on the courthouse lawn. I wasn't sure if they were actual picnic-goers, or if Brenda/Carole had just kidnapped testy Tallulahns to use as window dressing for the show. Blankets and breakfast picnic baskets dotted the blades of grass like patchwork. Rivers guided us through, dipping and dodging around the other residents, his hand holding mine. In the distance, Brenda- maybe she's this Bernadette person people keep mentioning -Carole and the camera crew were already filming. He led me to a vacant blanket and basket near the crew, his hand pressed against the small of my back as he eased me to the ground. I wasn't sure when I'd become an invalid, or when Rivers Rivera had assumed the role of seeing-eye-human, but I didn't pull away from his touch.

He pulled a smorgasbord from the basket, laying pre-planned breakfast dishes out like an all you can eat buffet. There were scrambled eggs that looked drier than dust, bacon fried so black I feared I may chip a tooth, and an assortment of cut fruits that seemed to be at the last of their lifespan. The centerpiece, however, was a sight for sore eyes. Two takeaway containers sat at the bottom of the bag, and when he set one in front of me, I couldn't have kept the smile off my face if I'd tried. It was an old dietary staple; tried and true. Two waffles smothered in honey, with a healthy dollop of cotton candy in the center.

"Rivers? Cotton candy waffles?"

He cleared his throat. "I just thought you might like something familiar."

Without waiting for a fork, I scooped up the ball of cotton candy and popped it into my mouth. "How the hell do you know about my unhealthy breakfast food addiction?"

"What you said the other day, about me not noticing you when we were younger," he said.

"Yeah?"

"I noticed you, Phillip." A rush of warmth fluttered across his cheeks. "I noticed you a lot."

"I might have noticed you a little, too." I opened Rivers' Styrofoam container and picked up the fluff of cotton candy, dragging it through a puddle of honey. He opened his mouth to object, just as I'd hoped, and I used the moment to my advantage. Reaching forward, I shoved spun sugar into his mouth, eliciting a moan. I must have let my finger linger a moment longer than I should, because when he closed his eyes, his lips closed around my finger. His eyes shot open, staring right into mine.

"Fuck yes," Brenda/Carole hissed, slapping the cameraman on the back. "Go for it, Lake!"

Rivers blinked at me, and his eyes crossed when he stared down at my half-devoured finger. The muscles in his throat worked, as if he was swallowing down the last of his courage. His tongue tickled the tip of my finger, like he was knocking on some nonexistent door, waiting for me to tell him it was okay to enter. The quick nod I gave was all the approval he needed. His lips tightened around my finger, his tongue swirling around the tip. Pulling back, his lips slid against my skin. Never once did he break eye contact. Not as he slowly pulled away. Not as his cheeks hollowed in while he sucked. Certainly not when he leaned forward, swallowing me back down to the knuckle.

"Oh my fucking God," I whispered.

He shelled his tongue around my finger, scraping my skin with his teeth. When he reached the end, he released, an action that produced an audible pop. His tongue darted out and journeyed across his lips, as if he was chasing the flavor of me. I pressed my thighs together by instinct, seeking friction.

He tilted his head back and forth, popping his neck on both sides. When he was done, he turned his attention back to his waffle, stabbing it with a plastic spork. Once he'd hacked away a sliver, he popped it in his mouth and chewed obnoxiously.

"You alright there, Firecracker?" he teased with a mouthful of waffle. "Looking a little red in the cheeks."

"Shut up." I pressed my thighs even closer.

He stared down, arching an eyebrow when he noticed what I was doing. A smile crept across his face, and he laughed softly. "Careful. Don't want Sheriff Harris arresting you for lewd and lascivious behavior."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," I said, scowling. "Shut up and eat your damn waffle."

Over breakfast, Rivers filled me in on the ins and outs of mayoral life, though I hadn't requested a play-by-play. I'd feigned interest for the most part, but around the forty-minute mark of his lore lesson on Tallulah's city council, I simply couldn't take it anymore. I laid my napkin on top of my plate, telling him I'd rather walk into oncoming traffic than sit through a lecture. As I rushed toward the street—Brenda/Carole her face, the embodiment of confusion. "A client? Phillip Firecracker?"

I gave her a pleading look with my eyes. She must have sensed my desperation, because without a second thought, she offered me a clipped nod.

"Signed up last week," she said, beaming with pride.

"Did he now?"

Another nod. "Sure did." And then I caught sight of something else flashing across her face. The same opportunistic look they all got. Eulah was grinning ear to ear, peeking over my shoulder, trying to spot the camera crew. She didn't have to wait long, as the studio's door slammed open yet again, and Brenda/Carole stormed toward us like the most vicious of tropical storms.

"Where the hell do you get off?" she asked, taking a hit off her vape and intentionally blowing the steam into my face. Today's selection wasn't nearly as aromatic as the ones from before. There was a thick, musky smell that reminded me of body odor someone had attempted to mask with an ungodly amount of cologne. "You don't end a scene and skip around town on a whim without letting me know. That's not how this works. Time is money, and you're costing me both." She took another hit off her vape as she reached into her jeans and pulled out a loose pill from her pocket, swallowing it. "You want to change locations? You run it by me first, understood?"

"Sorry," I said, mainly because I really was, but also because she looked like she could drop-kick my ass from Texas to Tennessee in one go. "Won't happen again."

She clapped her palm against my shoulder. "We've got to work together, okay? We're a team. Hell, who knows, if this pans out, there may even be a chance at a second season. We have to trust each other."

I swallowed the mouthful of saliva pooling in my mouth. "I promise. From here on out." A second season? Would it be in Tallulah? Did that mean I'd get to come back and spend more time with my mayor?

The mayor!

Not mine. He isn't mine. Jesus, Phillip, pull yourself together.

As the crew set up for their shot, Rivers walked to the back of the establishment, toward a hanging curtain that led to the changing rooms. When he was behind it, revelation struck. I didn't have any yoga clothes with me. Thankfully, Eulah assured me she had "the perfect outfit." Ten minutes later, as I stared on in horror at my reflection, I realized her sense of fashion was about as useful as an evangelical championing human rights.

She'd given me a hot pink pair of yoga pants that clung to me like a second skin. Normally, I'd have been fine with that. My ass was my greatest asset, after all. But then I'd caught sight of the photograph plastered across the fabric now covering my butt. It was an image of Eulah wearing a neon-green headband. In the portrait, she was flashing a toothy grin, and beside it, there were a set of words that made the mid-morning waffle I'd devoured rise in my esophagus.

"You'll be yellin' 'Eulah' in no time," the image said. Then, because my life was simply one catastrophe after another, I noticed the front of the yoga pants.

No. Not in this lifetime or the next.

The entire length of my penis was on display. Every inch. Even the curve of the head was fully outlined. I was pretty sure if I looked hard enough, I could count each and every pubic hair. There was a woman's poncho that had been carelessly flung over the side of a chair. I didn't know who it belonged to, and at that moment, I didn't give a damn. It could have been covered with lice for all I knew, but pubic lice sounded more enticing than giving all ten viewers—and Rivers Rivera—a peak at my whosits and whatsits.

I fastened the poncho around my waist like the world's most poorly designed skirt; so loose around the edges I had to tie a knot in the fabric just to keep it up. To complete the ensemble, she'd given me a shiny silver crop top that covered little more than my nipples.

All in all, it wasn't the worst outfit I'd ever worn. On the bright side, Rivers hadn't brought any clothes with him either, so he'd probably been given something similar to wear. Taking one last look at the abomination in the mirror, I sighed.

Stepping out of the dressing room, I expected to see Rivers' VPL. Instead, sitting in a lotus position, Eulah was breathing heavily. Her eyes were closed as she meditated, and between her legs, the outline of her vulva was on display. I would have offered her my poncho, but at that moment, I was more concerned about my visible penis than the outlined image of her vagina.

Shortly after, Rivers popped out of his changing room. My eyes dipped down, but instead of unbearably tight Lycra, he was wearing a pair of faded sweats that had been cut off above the knee. He had on a red Nike t-shirt that said 'you're faster than you think,' and as I opened my mouth to point out the fact that he was essentially admitting to being a one-pump-chump, he smirked and threw me a wink.

"Don't worry," he said. "This shirt couldn't be further from the truth."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," I said, averting my gaze toward Eulah. Without warning, his hand crashed against my poncho-covered ass.

"Here's hoping I get the chance to show you. You look adorable, by the way," he said before sauntering off, leaving me in a state of bewilderment.

"Alright, boys," Eulah called, eyes still squinched tight. "Are we ready to begin?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Rivers said with a knowing smile. Ahead of us, Brenda/Carole was making wild hand gestures, telling us to amp up the drama, but I wasn't sure how I was supposed to make a yoga session entertaining for the mindless masses.

"Good," she said, attempting to stand. Unfortunately, being eighty-something-years-old, she wasn't terribly limber. As she hoisted herself up, she took a bit of a topple, falling flat on her ass and banging her head on a sign that said, "Namaste, please remember to pay."

Rivers hobbled hurriedly toward her on his knees. "Miss Eulah? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said as blood gushed down her face. "Don't worry your pretty little head about me, baby." She reached for one of the rolled-up towels on the floor and wrapped it around her head like a turban. "See? All better. Where were we?"

"We never started," I said. "And you should probably let Rivers take you to get that checked. You could bleed out."

"Don't be such a fuddy-duddy," she scoffed. "I'll be just fine."

"Aren't you anemic?" Rivers said.

"What's it to ya?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm perfectly capable of teaching yoga with a disability. Are you calling me unfit?"

"No ma'am, I'm just worried—"

"Well, you can keep that worry to yourself," she said, stumbling back to her mat. "I've been doing this since before you even latched onto your mother's nipple. I am a strong, virile woman, and I won't be told otherwise."

"I don't think 'virile' means what you think it means," I pointed out.

"And I don't think you've been relevant for over a decade, but you don't hear me saying anything." She closed her eyes and drew in a long, languid breath. "Now, for starters, we'll fall into Tumultuous Tomato."

"Sorry, what?" I said.

"Tumultuous Tomato," she said, as if repeating the words would somehow make them make sense.

"Is that a baseball team? I'm useless when it comes to the art of sport." When I glanced over at Rivers, he was lying on his side, knees tucked between his arms, and he rolled back and forth like a seesaw. "What the hell are you doing?"

He stopped his bizarre rocking motion long enough to peek up at me and smile. "Tumultuous Tomato. It's not my favorite either, but it definitely loosens up your back."

Again, I wasn't claiming to be a yoga expert, but I was pretty sure Tumultuous Tomato wasn't an actual pose. Rivers was still eyeing me daringly, ready to call me out, I was sure. With heavy apprehension, I dropped to the ground and mirrored their poses.

After three minutes of rocking back and forth, Eulah finally sat upright. "Good. That's just great. Now, we'll ascend to Glory be the Goddess pose."

"To what be the who ?" I said.

"Glory be the Goddess," Rivers repeated for her, standing up. As he held his arms to the sky, palms lifted in praise, my eyes locked on his ass. It didn't have any right looking as delicious as it did in those sweats. I didn't know how long I'd been staring, but the sound of his throat clearing pulled me out of the moment, our eyes locking in the full-length mirror ahead of us.

"You alright back there?" he said.

"Shut up and do your stupid Goddess pose," I said, flinging my hands in the air to match him. "Some of us are trying to get our cardio in. God, Rivers, not everything's about you, you sociopath."

"That so?" He cocked his hip to the side, arching his back. "You keep saying I'm not the sun, and that everybody doesn't orbit me, but you seem really interested in my full moon." He raised an eyebrow. "Baby."

I huffed at him, trying to downplay the shiver that shot straight down my spine.

"This is one of my favorites," Eulah said, rocking back and forth. "I learned it from these two little gay boys who used to come in here. Tatum and Scotty. Well, not from Scotty—that poor boy was always too busy looking at the other men's butts to say much of anything. Tatum, though. Oh, that boy was a real charmer. Said he modeled the pose after the Goddess herself, whatever that heck means. It feels really good on the back, so I kept it in the repertoire." After another two or three minutes spent holding the idiotic pose, Eulah clapped her hands and squeaked. "Alright boys, time for the Prophet's Mourner."

I sighed and stared at Rivers. "Do I even want to know?"

He bent over and picked up his mat. "Actually, I think you might like this one. Do you want to be the prophet or the mourner?"

"Well," I said, having no fight left in me, "I've been mourning the distance I'd put between myself and this town all week, so mourner sounds appropriate."

He wriggled his eyebrows before flinging his yoga mat beside mine. "Good," he said. "That's what I was hoping to hear." There was a glint of mayhem in his eyes, and though I didn't know what pose I'd just agreed to, I knew I would regret it with everything inside of me. That prediction proved accurate when Rivers stood in front of me, placed his hand on my shoulder, and gently pushed me down. He was handling me like a hookup, shoving me onto my knees until my face was inches from his crotch.

Oh, my fucking God.

It was right in front of me. An unmistakable lump. A bump clothed in nothing but sheer desire and poly-cotton blend. My mouth watered, and I thanked the stars for the man or woman who invented sweatpants. Rivers reached for my hand, guiding me toward his stomach and pressing my palm flush against his abdomen. Next, he looped one leg over my shoulder, resting the back of his thigh on me, and reached down to cup my cheek.

What the hell was going on?

"Now," Eulah said, "if that ain't the finest demonstration of the Prophet's Mourner, my name isn't Eulah Feliz."

"Your name is Eulah Smith," Rivers said, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I know, dear. I just wanted to make Phillip feel better about his abysmal performance today."

"What the hell kind of pose is this?" I said as Rivers' stroked my cheek.

"My new favorite," Rivers said. "And just wait, it only gets better from here."