4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

METHODS TO MY MADNESS

When Jordy and I made it to the studio shortly after dawn, chaos was the only word to describe the scene laid out before us. Producers and stagehands were running around like chickens with their heads cut off. As we approached a set that was lit up like the Fourth of July, Brenda/Carole so it'll be hard enough convincing the viewers that the relationship is real. If you wait another week, it's going to feel forced."

Jordan found me shortly after Brenda/Carole headed back inside. "You want to tell me what that was about?"

I sighed, resting my elbows on my knees and covering my face with my hands. "She thinks I should stage a romance arc for the series. She suggested you."

Jordan swallowed, but he didn't freak out like I'd expected. Instead, he knelt in front of me and squeezed my knee. "If it will help, I will."

"No," I said. He opened his mouth to object, but I pulled away from him and shook my head. "No, Jordan."

"I'm just saying, I don't mind. We've kissed before. We usually sleep in the same bed. It's not a big deal. We'll flirt for a couple of weeks, and when we get back home, it can just be a story we laugh about."

"I can't, Jordy." I tried to give him a smile, but my heart wasn't in it. "If, by the grace of God, this show somehow winds up being a success, we'll always have this 'remember when you two dated' cloud hanging over our heads. Interviews, meet and greets; we'd never hear the end of it. I can't lose you. You're too important."

I expected some clever little quip, carefully crafted to cut down my self-confidence, but he just nodded, giving me a half-smile. "Same." He paused, mulling over our options. "So, who was option two?"

"Who do you think? Mr. Fucking Mayor."

"Well, I'm sure he'd be up for it."

"I'm sure he would." I held out a hand and waited for him to help me up. As we made our way out of the alley, life bustled on around us. Along the red brick road, most of the vendor stalls were already erected, and merchants busied themselves lining their wares along surface areas.

The square still had that pre-carnival scent. Freshly cut grass. Cotton candy wafting all around. Popcorn that would soon be formed into caramel-fused balls. The townsfolk and visitors hadn't wrecked the place yet. There was no stale scent of rot coming from overfilled bins. No dried vomit near the rides. I wanted to bottle the moment and lock it away forever.

Across the street, Brenda/Carole was standing with a group of tradesmen who were assembling the stage.

"I bet she's trying to bribe one of them," I said, scowling.

"For your sake, I hope not. I don't think there's a man under the age of sixty in that group."

"Neither is my father, but that didn't stop you from eyefucking him at the table last night."

It was Jordan's turn to scowl, and he poured his whole heart into it. "The difference being, I have a daddy fetish. You don't."

"Daddy fetish or not, you keep your hands off of my—"

"Oh, shit," Jordan interrupted me, pointing at Brenda/Carole, now locked in a friendly discussion with a man wearing impossibly tight slacks. It took me a second to realize what was happening. The second I spotted Rivers, I thought I was going to be sick. She was probably pitching the idea to him right there in front of everyone. Rivers must have felt my eyes burning holes into him, because he looked up and stared directly at me. He lifted his arm, waving as he took a step toward us. Thankfully, Brenda/Carole grabbed him by the wrist and held him in place. Rivers held up a finger, motioning for me to wait for him.

The events of the morning must have been catching up with me, because it was getting harder to breathe. It felt as if someone had launched me into the air from a circus cannon. Feeling weightless and stuck in an endless tailspin, I just needed a moment to catch my breath. To reflect. A moment without Rivers Rivera's stupid, perfect little eyes boring into me from twenty yards away. I grabbed Jordy by the arm and hauled him down the sidewalk.

We sped down the red brick road, my eyes flickering every which way like a crystal meth user entering his sixth consecutive day of sleeplessness. I tried to find a place where we could wait out Hurricane Rivers, but it seemed our options were limited. There was the karate dojo, but with windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, he'd easily spot us. Rinna's Crafts and Cutlery was always an option, but Rivers heard me singing Lisa Rinna's praises the day before. It would probably be the first place he looked. In the end, I decided on a place he'd never think to check. A place so dire, even Satan himself wouldn't visit. Swallowing the last of my pride, I pulled Jordan into Foote's Feet.

As the door shut behind us, I whirled around and locked it, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. I flicked the light switch, hoping Rivers might think the store closed early for Muscadine Madness preparations. Seconds later, footsteps echoed across the room.

Evelyn Foote was not a sight for sore eyes. In fact, she was positively terrifying. The woman couldn't have weighed more than ninety pounds, and her hair was a ridiculous hue of orange, giving her an uncanny resemblance to a clown at a child's birthday party. Green eyeshadow was haphazardly slathered across her eyelids, and her lips were coated with so much dark-red lipstick, she could have given a drag queen a run for their money.

I knew we didn't have much time. Brenda/Carole wasn't one to mince words, so Rivers would be on the hunt soon. The thought of my Muscadine King knowing his one-time queen was so pathetic that he now relied on a chain-vaping, pill-popping lunatic to find a date struck up levels of shame I hadn't felt in years.

In the center of the store, right in front of the picture window, was an oversized paper-mache shoe. I needed a hiding place, and it looked as good a place as any, so I dove into the shoe's opening with all the grace of a beached whale, praying the paper-mache didn't buckle under my weight. Once inside, I flagged Jordan over, but he just stood there, staring stupidly at me. I peeked over the side of the shoe and glared at him.

"You get in this orthopedic pump this instant."

"Is that thing even structurally sound? It looks like it's being held together by a string and prayer."

"I said now , Jordy!"

"Don't you think you're being a bit dramatic? This is what I was warning you about at the beginning of our trip."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"About you being so over-the-top and not acting your age. You’re unhinged."

"I am a loud and proud gay man. I don't know how many times I have to remind you. And I refuse to change my entire personality to appease the cishets. Let them call me immature. I don't care. I'd rather sparkle than be beige and boring. Just get in this goddamn shoe!"

Sighing, he trudged toward me at a sloth's pace and began his ascent of Mount Footemore. In the paper-mache pump, we hid side-by-side, snug as two bugs in a rug.

Evelyn Foote peeked over the side of the shoe, seemingly distraught. "Can I help you two with anything?"

"Just a bit of privacy, please," I said.

Jordan smiled up at her and waved. "Hi there," he greeted. "Love the hair."

She eyed the oversized shoe, shaking her head. "Perhaps we could—"

"Love the green eyeshadow, too. You're giving me Poison Ivy from Batman Forever vibes, and I'm absolutely here for it," he said.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" she asked, reaching down and grabbing me by the wrist in an attempt to remove me from the shoe.

"That's assault," I said, jerking my hand away from her.

"It's just… Vivian isn't a toy, dear."

"Vivian?" I said.

"I named her after my dearly departed best friend, Vivian VanDamme. You remember her, Phillip. She was the minister at Tallulah Episcopalian. Perhaps you boys would be more comfortable on one of our many festive benches." She extended an arm grandly to her right as if she was a showcase model on The Price is Right . When I peeked over the side of the shoe, I spotted two small benches. Calling them 'festive' was a stretch. The seats were painted an abysmal shade of periwinkle, and small, dark, purple polka-dots had been dolloped across with no rhyme or reason for their placement. I assumed the dots were supposed to be muscadines, but they just looked like some botched artistic depiction of chicken pox.

"We're fine in here," I promised, shooing her away with the flick of my wrist.

"It's just, Vivian is fragile. She's only made of paper, you see."

"Are you calling me overweight?" I said.

"Heavens, no. Not at all."

"I think you were," I said, inclining a few inches.

“I don’t understand your new accent,” Evelyn pointed out for no other reason than wanting to see the world burn.

"You are, though," Jordan said. "We've discussed this. It's only twenty pounds, but it suits you. There's nothing wrong with it." He smiled warmly at me. "You're just as beautiful as ever." Though his tone was genuine, he'd be getting an earful later.

"As I was saying," I said through gritted teeth. "I don't care for your tone. In fact, I have half a mind to file a complaint with Mayor—"

"Rivers," Evelyn called out as the locked shop door rattled behind her. "Goodness, the door must be stuck. Hold on, Mr. Mayor. I'll be right over. I just need to handle this shoe business."

"Don't even think of opening that door," I practically shouted, stopping her in her tracks. She paused, turning back in our direction as her bottom lip quivered.

"Sweetie, if you two could just step out of the shoe, I'm sure we can resolve this peacefully." She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, her shoulders squared, her hands fisted at her side. "There's no need to harm Vivian."

"Don't you dare let him in this building!"

"What do you expect me to do? Send him away?"

"Just—I need…"

"Tell him you just saw us head over to that karate place," Jordy suggested. "Say Phillip wanted to check out the owner's ass or something. Phillip's a man-whore, so it won't come as a surprise that he's lusting over the guy."

As Evelyn's shoes clacked heavily against the floor, I glared at Jordan. "I will kill you, Jordan Miller. Don't think I won't smother you in your sleep."

He snickered before leaning over and pecking me on the cheek. "Nah. You're a big softy, Phillip Firecracker."

"So is the pillow on my bed. You'll be finding out later tonight."

"Is that right?" a new voice said.

Motherfucking motherfucker! No. No, no, no!

"Rivers," Jordan called, waving up at the mayor, who was staring down at us. "Good to see you."

"So," he said, arching an eyebrow at me. "You're going to have Jordan biting your pillow tonight?"

I was going to kill him. That's what was happening. Right there, in Evelyn Foote's paper-mache homage to her dead best friend, Rivers was going to lose his life. Maybe Vivian would be there to greet him at the gates.

"Why are you following us? Stalk much, Pippi Longstalking?" I said.

"That Bernadette lady told me I needed to come and find you. She said you had a proposition for me. I told her it sounded sort of tawdry." He tossed me another of his stupid, unrequested winks. "But I'm not opposed."

"Who the hell is this Bernadette everyone keeps going on about?" I glared at him, hoping my anger was clear. "And the only thing I'm proposing is your untimely death." Why wasn't he leaving? "You can go, Rivers. I don't need you."

He flinched. "Oh. Okay, well…" He paused, staring down at me with a curious expression. Regret, maybe? Embarrassment? Whatever it was, the look didn't suit him. "She said you did." He attempted a smile, but it was clear his heart wasn't in it. "If you change your mind, I've got the rest of the day open. I'll be around the square if you need me." With that, he turned and made his way out of the store.

"Was that really necessary?" Jordan scolded. "He walked out of here looking like you killed his puppy."

Before regret had the chance to flood through me, Evelyn glared down at us. "Alright," she said, her voice much sterner than before. "I'm going to have to insist that you remove yourself from Vivan's crevice.

I gagged. "Jesus, Foote. Could you think of a less lascivious way of framing that demand?" I hoisted one leg over the side of the pump, gripping the edge for support. There was a distinct tearing sound that filled the room, and the next thing I knew, Jordan and I were lying on the floor. The dismembered remains of Vivian VanDamme's effigy were shredded and scattered around us.

"I think," Evelyn started, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. "I think you should both leave. Please, don't come back."

"What if I need shoes?" I hissed.

"You can buy them at the Wal-Mart. I'm sorry, Phillip, but you're banned. If I see you in here again, I'll call the authorities."

I stood, taking a step toward her. "Your edit on this docuseries will be brutal. You will be shown no mercy."

"It’s probably not the best idea to threaten an innocent bystander, Phillip," Jordan said, grabbing me by the wrist and tugging. "Come on, let's just leave."

"No mercy!" I shrieked again, holding a fist in the air.

There was a broom propped against the wall, and Evelyn walked slowly toward it. She took the broom by the handle and held it up like a baseball bat. "I said, out!"

As we exited the shop, I turned to Jordan and scowled. "This is your fault. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but I know the fault lies squarely on your shoulders."

He stalled, facing me and cocking his head to the side. I wasn't sure what treachery he was planning on throwing my way, but from the glint of terrorism floating in his eyes, I knew I would hate it. "The next time you speak to me like that, I'll fuck your dad out of spite. Watch your tone."

I gaped at him. “You’re—”

“Fired. Yeah, Phillip. I know.”

Across the square, Rivers was helping a game booth vendor line up a selection of glass bottles. Try as I might, I couldn't understand his ridiculous behavior. The way his eyes lingered every time he caught sight of me. The stupid, almost flirtatious tone in his voice. If he had been anyone else, I'd have thought he might be interested. This was Rivers Rivera, though. Men like Rivers don't notice men like me. Not with my pudgy tummy or receding hairline. Not with the crinkles—not wrinkles—forming in the corners of my eyes. Besides, Rivers was straight. Probably.

On one hand, I wanted Rivers to leave me the hell alone. I needed him to stop chasing me down and staring at me with those unnecessarily dreamy eyes. But on the other hand—the one with its tiny little voice that whispered his name on an endless loop—I kind of wanted him to keep staring.

I'd need Jordy to schedule an appointment with a shrink the moment we touched down in London. Clearly, I was in the midst of a psychotic episode.