“No—”
“Hmm. So maybe you don’t know me as well as—”
“When you give me shit,” the fucker went on, “you get these little crinkles in the corners of your eyes.” He pointed to the spot on his own face. “But I figured if I turned to look at you, you’d be all ‘Oooh, Jay, you’re such a bad driver.Meow meow meow.’”
“Meow meow meow?”
“When you bitch about my driving, you sound like Sigmund, Belinda’s flatulent, grumpy-ass Maine coon.”
My lips parted in shock. “That… might be the most comprehensive insult anyone has ever given me.”
“I like to be thoro— Hey, what’s that?”
“What?”
“That.” He nudged his chin toward a neon pink-and-white billboard on the side of the highway ringed with enormous flickering lightbulbs. “I can’t make out the words. The flashing lights are blinding me.”
“It says ‘Visit Missouri’s Famous Hole Inn the Wall Pleasure Emporium and Corn Museum.’”
“You have to see it for yourself.”
“Oh, no. Pretty sure I donot—”
“No, the next sign.” Jay tilted his chin again, and I glanced out my window to find a whole row of billboards just like the first, strung the whole length of a field.
“Adult Entertainment!” I read. “Live music! Fun for the whole family!” Then, perhaps most mystifying of all, “Corncob crafts that will delight and astound you!” I shook my head. “What astounds me is how they think corncob crafts have anything to do with adult entertainment orpleasure.”
“Guess it depends on what they’re making out of corncobs, hmm?” Jay wiggled his eyebrows.
“Huh?”
“Aww. Don’t strain yourself.” He snorted and reached over to pat my hand. “It’ll all make sense when you’re older, honey.” He paused. “Or maybe possibly bottom-ier.”
Maybe possibly?
Bottom-ier?
I stared at him for half a second before I managed to croak, “Okay, so can we talk about this?”
“Talk about…corncobs?” Jay frowned. “I don’t actually have a corncob dildo, Rafe, but if you’re looking for a recommendation, Oak probably—”
“Not that! Talk about…this!” I waved my hand in a circle to indicate his whole being, the very air around him. “The fact that you’re gay. That you’re making corncob jokes.”
He snickered. “That’s, like, a new level on the Kinsey scale. It goes from ‘mostly straight’ right up to ‘gay enough to understand corncob jokes.’”
I looked at him steadily for a minute, and he relented with a sigh.
“What is there to say? I’m gay. I’ve known I was gay since I was… I dunno, fourteen? I just never came out, not to anyone, until a few years ago.”
“You know people would have supported you, right?Iwould have—”
“Yeah, I know. Idoknow. But… my family wasn’t like yours, with Beale and Gage being gay, and your parents being cool with it when you came out, so coming out felt like a big huge deal to me. Maybe even more than it did for you?” He shrugged. “And… okay, real talk. From the time I decided I wanted a career in music, I had my dad quoting me stats on how few people ever make it in the industry and telling me I should get a business degree instead, and I… I didn’t really believe I could come out until I got famous. I felt like if I cracked open the closet door, if I toldanyone, I’d start to want things I couldn’t afford to want. So I decided to be patient. I figured…” He darted a look at me. “Well. It doesn’t matter anymore what I figured. Suffice it to say, when Ididget famous… I figured out pretty quick that didn’t make coming out any easier. In fact, it brings a whole other set of problems.”
“So you dated women instead? Like Olivia Merry?”
“No. That was…” He shook his head. “That was a whole other thing. I didn’t actually date anyone until three years ago when I was on my first tour.” He cleared his throat. “Or something like that.”
Right around the time I was marrying Aimee, I realized with a sour feeling in my stomach. Well, at least one of us was getting some action that summer.
