In the Stacs

Marilyn again surveyed the charred scene and stepped backward, her hand still on the police, 'do not cross' tape. The sun dazzled her eyes, as she had forgotten her glasses in the car. She walked to one side of it, and fumbled with the rope.

The figure in dark clothing was respectful distance away and started to move slightly faster, but made no noise whatsoever, and only when the two large, heavy signs threatened to come tumbling down upon Marilyn, did a black leather glove reached out on the other side of the car, and steadied the sign.

Marilyn heard a rumbling voice from within the helmet.

"Let me give you a hand with that, Mrs. Marshall."

Marilyn tilted her head like a dog that had heard a familiar, yet altered voice.

The strong, leather gauntleted figure easily lifted the clapboard sign and held it above, creating a square eclipse. It grumbled to her, "What do you want it."

Marilyn pointed to the entry point to the police barricade.

The figure set the sign up, and turned it so that it pointed toward the parking lot.

The lettering read:

"We will rebuild, and continue to serve the community.

--Orchards Paperbacks"

The figure laughed a long laugh, and then Marilyn knew who it was. The motorcycle helmet came off and sweat dripped off Trinity's brow.

"Way to go, Mrs. Marshall. Don't let the bastards beat you down."

Marilyn smiled at Trinity.

"I was just coming by to see if there was anything left, and then I saw you pull up." Trinity said, thumbing her gauntlet to the Tap Tavern across the street.

Marilyn looked at in, and then at her.

"I wasn't aware we had a lesbian bar in Vancouver," Marilyn said.

Trinity laughed heartily, "Just North Bank, but that place is a pit. I've got a friend of mine that works over there, and her mom owns the place."

"Really," Marilyn said. "I've never been in there."

"Well I don't think it's your kind of place, really. You strike me as an uptown girl," Trinity replied.

"These old bones don't get out too much, honestly. Just out to see Thomas, and a little Chinese now and then," Marilyn noted.

"Well Violet and I were hoping to change that, actually. There is a business meeting, really a brainstorming session tonight. We were hoping for some ideas from established business people. I guess, maybe with the fire, you might have some free time."

Marilyn looked at her coldly.

"Or not," Trinity offered.

"Where is this meeting at?" Marilyn inquired.

"The Holland restaurant, downtown. We've got the back room." Trinity said.

"What time?" Marilyn asked.

"Seven-thirty." Trinity replied. "Can we count on you?"

"If nothing else," Marilyn said, "I'll need more brochures for the new bookstore."

"That's the bomb, Mrs. Marshall. I knew we could count on you!" Trinity said, excitedly.

Marilyn could not suppress a small smirk from the corner of her mouth.

"Maybe you could invite them authors you were talking about?" Trinity asked.

"I believe that should be, 'invite those authors', and I'll speak with one of them. One, I know will be making some donations to the group in the form of e-books to be auctioned off."

"Damn, girl, you work fast. We were just in there on Saturday." Trinity said.

"I have some pull with them. I can swing a mean cane," She said with a smile.

"I bet. Penny's a lucky little girl." Trinity grinned.

"Penny?" Marilyn inquired desperately attempting to look innocent.

"Oh don't play that with me, woman. It wouldn't surprise me if you had a full stock dungeon and paddled her tight little ass every night."

"Trinity," Marilyn said coldly, "such things should not be left to speculation."

"Maybe we can get you to donate a caning for an auction," Trinity said, completely without shame.

Marilyn cocked an eyebrow.

"Well the idea of a slave auction was being kicked around. No reason why the Dom's can't go on the block as well," Trinity explained.

"So you'd put your behind up on the auction block, Trinity? Hmm? It might be worth it just so I can give you and that smart mouth a good drubbing," Marilyn growled. She lifted her cane by the crook and snapped it into the palm of her hand with a resounding smack.

Trinity bit at her lips, watching not Marilyn, but the cane.

"I guess, um, we'd have to talk to Violet about that," Trinity said, quietly.

"You tell little Miss Violet that Penny and I will be there tonight, you understand?" Marilyn said, quietly.

"Yes ma'am," Trinity said quickly, and quietly.

"I didn't hear you, girl. It wouldn't do for me to have to do this in public, now would it?" Marilyn hissed.

"No ma'am," Trinity said, louder.

"Good, good. Now tell me a little more about the Tap over there, would you?"

"What do you mean?" Trinity said, slipping out of submission mode.

"Your friend over there, does she work nights?" Marilyn asked.

"Nope. Mom closes. She goes to school in the morning, and then opens at ten. I go over for lunch once a week, usually today, when it's empty. That's why I always come over here on Mondays."

Marilyn nodded and then probed a bit, "so mom owns the bar, huh?"

"Yeah," Trinity said. "I've met her a couple of times, she's okay. Her name is Ann. She's had this steady boyfriend for a few years now and I guess gives her good business advice, enough that she could get the kid through college."

"Where's you're friends dad?" Marilyn asked.

"Well she doesn't really know who he is," Trinity said, matter-of-factly, "it's on of those out of wedlock things, but I'm thinking it must be the boyfriend, they're all touchy feely. Never met him, though. She doesn't talk about these things, I think she's ashamed of him or something."

"That seems a shame, Trinity. I understand that life happens, but it must not be easy not know your dad." Marilyn said.

"I don't know," Trinity said. "It never hurt me none. I have a good life, a good woman, I'm an aunt, or an uncle or something like that. I've got happiness, so I'm not so sure I needed a dad."

"Yes," Marilyn said, "but you're a strong woman. Not everyone is that way."

"Hey now," Trinity said, protesting mirthily, "smell isn't everything."

Marilyn did not even bother dignifying this with an answer, but did back off the questions regarding the ladies in The Tap, instead asking simply, "quiet place, is it?"

"Yeah, mostly. I don't know, I only go there on the off days – Mondays and Sundays. I hate crowds, and I'd rather spend the time with Vi Y'know." Trinity drawled.

"I imagine your work schedule is pretty challenging, not to mention working with your lover. Doesn't give you a lot of away time." Marilyn stated.

"Well the thing is, we're out at work and stuff, so we rarely work with each other, so that's cool. We can sometimes have lunch with each other, and sometimes we don't. She goes to see her parents on Mondays, and I go out, have a beer, and buy some books or something like that. I remember the social worker that owned the store before you did. I remember when this strip mall came in," Trinity paused, pulled her lips over her teeth, and then licked them softly. She gestured to the burnt husk of the restaurant. "I went to this pizza parlor when I was eight years old for my birthday. They lit a candle on my pizza. I had to wear a dress, but I was still happy."

Marilyn watched as the big woman spoke. Not many people could, or would wear leather in the dog days of August, but Trinity could, and Trinity did because she could. Marilyn saw a potential with her, an iteration of a dream past, a wanton desire to do something with her life that somehow she passed up. It was a long, held-back sadness.

"How come you never became a nurse?" Marilyn asked.

"I hate school," Trinity replied blankly. "I like helping people. I like making them smile. I wish to this day I that could make Tom laugh, not for you, but for me. I like making the old people laugh. It's a good thing."

"Violet is a lucky woman," Marilyn said.

"She says so. I think she's full of shit, myself, but then I always have. Even when she was a charge nurse busting my ass for juggling coffee cups in the dining room, she was full of shit then. I saw her at leather night over at the Egyptian Room, and she bought me a beer. I think it was a Mea Culpa of some sort," Trinity put her hand on Marilyn's Cadillac. "I was sort of embarrassed, but I was already scheduled, it was stand up night, and I was the emcee. I'd juggle beer glasses, spoons, and make bad jokes about having menstrual cycles and people getting their rings stuck in my cunt. Violet laughed so hard she spewed beer out of her nose. It was one of my better nights."

"So you're a comedian," Marilyn said, dryly.

"A straight line like that from a dyke like you, c'mon sister, give me something to work with," Trinity said, a wry smile on her lips. "I never went real far. I do some of the local clubs, but really, I want a gig in Vegas. Doesn't have to be a showstopper, hell it could be a warm-up. I don't care. Maybe some comedy magic. I learned some stuff from Karol Fox and Eugene Berger's books. Making people laugh makes me laugh."

"Interesting," Marilyn said.

"You? You can't have been a bookseller before Tom. You were someone's schoolteacher and I bet you have fifteen gazillion grandkids," Trinity initiated.

"Not a one. I have the odd habit of writing Haiku on Friday nights when I'm all alone, and drinking single malt whisky."

"No shit. I love Haiku. Pity Violet would kill me if I wanted to stay in your stable," Trinity said, looking into the older woman's eyes.

"I'd make you wear a dress. You'd hate it. Besides, I'm new to the scene," Marilyn replied with a sly smile.

"Bullshit. I've seen you growl at some dumb son-of-a-bitch in the store. I can see what you're capable of Mrs. Marshall."

Marilyn dropped her voice a handful of decibels and made the big woman strain to hear her. With a single flip of her wrist, she drew the rattan cane up into the air, and grabbed it neatly just above where the rubber bottom was affixed. Her wrist moved like lightening, and the crook of the cane snapped against the wheel well of the car, striking the rubber with a sick thudding noise. "You have no idea what I'm capable of, Trinity. The same devotion that I give to Thomas is the same amount of forethought, the same amount of concern and love that I give to everyone, in anything that I do."

Trinity looked like a two by four hit her. She repeated what she had said earlier in the conversation, "Penny's a lucky girl."

"Maybe," she said. "Maybe, just maybe, Trinity, I'm the lucky one. This heat is wretched, you know, Trinity. I should be heading home."

Trinity nodded although she didn't look as if the heat was affecting her at all.

"So you'll be there tonight, right?" Trinity asked, unbuckling the helmet to her motorcycle and affixing it on her head.

"I think so, unless Penny has a burning desire not to." Marilyn said.

"All right!" Trinity exclaimed and held out her fist.

Marilyn looked at it cautiously.

"You're supposed to hit it. One of those funny new fangled social customs," Trinity explained.

Marilyn tapped at it with her fist and Trinity grinned.

As she peeled out of the parking lot, Marilyn read the license plate, "FUNEDYK".

***

Will brooded over the electronic mail, and even after Chris scolded him for trying to read more into it than was there, he still did not relent.

"She was drunk, obviously," He said.

"Oh my lord," Chris said, swishing his nails. "I don't know about this children business, I don't like stretch marks, not one little bit. A baby would ruin my figure."

Will rubbed his eyes and then asked Chris softly, "babe, could you get me a beer?"

Chris returned with two, and met Will in the hallway as he was moving from his office to the living room. It was where the two of them went when they wanted to talk, which was a good deal of the time. They sat in the long part of the sectional, on a larger-than-life plush couch that they both used for a whole lot more than watching television on. They sat in the middle, next to each other, and had the television down very low. Will was a news junkie, and would often lie on the couch just listening with his eyes closed, waiting for Chris to come home from a performance.

Will opened one of the beers and handed it to Chris, knowing that Chris would ask him anyway as Chris would do anything to avoid chipping a nail. Chris waited until Will opened his and then both men took a long, drink of the Canadian blue-labeled pilsner.

"I needed that," Will say.

Chris softly rubbed his nose and lips into the nape of Will's neck and smelt the big man's powerful musk. Will could not help but shudder, Chris's lips were ice cold from the beer.

"She's trying, I guess," Chris said.

"I was wanting more. I wanted some sort of, something. I wanted..." Will started.

"To be yelled at." Chris said, shutting him up.

"Huh?"

"For a long time," Chris said, "you've been ashamed of being gay."

Will's face went pale. He looked at Chris, right now the calm one, the centered one, all traces of effeminacy gone.

"I...I..." Will started. Softly Chris put his finger on Will's lips.

"It's happened to everyone. I got lucky and figured out I was a girly-man when I was a few years old, and have played it up ever since. It's a lot harder for you macho men. Seriously, how many people at work know you're marrying a guy?"

"Everyone," Will said proudly. "First I said that I was getting married to Chris and someone then asked if it was Christy or Christine or what, and then I said Christopher."

Chris smiled broadly, "that's my husband, the romantic. You know what they said when I told them that I was going to propose?"

"No," Will said.

"I got a wide variety of responses. A lot of them apparently thought I was loose and slept around a lot, and were very surprised. Some of them that know me fairly well were very happy for me, and my makeup guy, he was ecstatic. He and I talk a lot, and he's in a good, safe, long-term relationship now. I have your picture on my mirror, that one that we took when we did Niagara Falls. You and I against the dawn I have that blown up to 8 x 10."

Will winced, "I look horrible in that picture. My hairs all over the place, I look like Telly Sevalaus without the sucker."

"It's you though, that's one thing I like about you, that you're a bit rough, a bit imperfect. When I'm on stage I have to be perfect, for the audience. That kind of pressure can be daunting. Live theatre isn't like a movie that you can re-take repeatedly, or a television show that you can edit and hack to bits. It's a real challenge for the actor, and that's one reason I like it so much."

"Right, but sometimes, Chris you do that to yourself. You play this little femmy thing. You've backed yourself into a corner with that behavior. If you tried to butch up now, people would say you'd lost your sense of humor," Will responded.

"This is why I say you have some shame about being gay. I think that all gay people do. I deflect it with humor and effeminacy, but it's there. Our society uses the word, 'queer' as a derogatory room, like people used, 'nigger' seventy years ago. We're the new popular hated class. That little swarray at Starbucks should have proved that to you." Chris said.

"I can't help but think that painting my nails in a public place, just might have had something to do with it," Will said.

"What? Just because it clashed with your shirt. I just don't understand at all, you're getting so I have to dress you every day." Chris swished. Will understood he had touched a bit of a nerve.

"You like being you," Will said. "I don't always like being me. I'm jealous of you a lot, Chris."

"I love you for being you, though, dammit!" Chris roared, his tears starting to flow. "You don't need to be anyone else for me. You were the only friend I had that visited me in the hospital when I got beaten up, and I realized then, that you loved me."

Will licked his cracked, dry lips and then sucked on the beer can. Softly he said, "I loved you a lot longer than that, Chris."

Chris's eyes got big.

Will continued, "I remember when you and I first got shacked up, everyone asked me what it was like, living with the queer guy. They asked me if I was gay, and only when I threatened to beat the shit out of two of them at once did they back off. I guess you're right, I do have some shame about being gay. I think there was a part of me that always knew, though. I can't tell you how many of the local high schoolers I lusted after. We would do these sleepovers and be running around in bvd's all night. I had to pretend I was asleep most of the time, and just sort of watch them move around at night."

"What about all those girls you made a big show of parading around, huh?" Chris poked him.

"Most were just friends, and a couple were lesbians. I told the other guys in the dorm I was trying to set a good example for you," Will said.

"You scamp," Chris said, fluttering his nails once more, "here all this time I thought you were being a perfect gentleman and taking them out to hotels and proper places. The girls never told me anything bad about you, so I just figured that you were one of the good guys. I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Will!"

"I am one of the good guys," Will defended himself. Softly his hands went down and gently stroked Chris's knee.

"I know. You were never mean to me, never cruel. Maybe you didn't understand all the guys I was shagging, but you weren't, well, rude. Goodness knows I was young and attractive then, and getting laid was as easy as falling off a log."

"Like it's hard for you to get laid now," Will said, his brush of a moustache nuzzling toward Chris's neck.

Chris squirmed and his face lit up with a soft tinge of pinkness and he softly pushed at Will's face, as you might a puppy when you played with them.

Will growled firmly, and grabbed the nailed hand with on of his hands and leaned over, pinning Chris with his weight, softly licking and suckling on Chris's neck. "How good did you say your makeup artist was?"

"Oh he's real good. The best in the..." Chris gasped as Will's teeth sank into Chris's nape, sucking on the flesh, marking it in a matter of seconds with a hickie the size of a shot glass.

"Will!" Chris squealed with angst.

"Paint my nails will yah," Will said in a mock effort at dominance. He leaned heavily on Chris, pushing him into the incredibly padded sofa, pinning him. His hands softly ran up Chris's shirt, softly stroking the gently tuft of blonde tummy hair, and then tenderly fingered Chris's aureoles.

Chris's sculpted nails softly scratched at Will's head, and the two men's tongues played with each other for several minutes.

It didn't take long for both men to feel arousal, and the prospect of having an early evening intimacy looked good until the phone rang. Will looked at Chris with a scowl.

"Oh just get rid of them," Chris said. "I've got a need, and as I like to say, where there's a Will, there's a way."

Will smiled at him, kissed him on the lips, and then reached for the phone on the end corner of the coffee table.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello Will," Marilyn said.

Will rolled his eyes and shook his head, "Hello Ma."

Chris softly pleaded with his eyes for Marilyn to be kind, he bit his lip, and his libido faded as if he had seen a picture of Nancy Reagan naked.

"Yeah ma, I got your email," he said. Marilyn peppered odd questions at him. He answered most of these in a series of grunts, 'yeah's and 'no's. She made mention that she had seen his father and that was oddly out of her schedule.

He inquired how he was doing, and then became curious when she said that everything was all right. He knew his mother, and her feelings, and could sense when she was hiding something or trying to shield him. He asked her how she was doing. Her answers were noncommittal, and nondescript.