Page 19 of The County Fair Queen

"He lives with you, right? You're telling me you two have never…"

As much as I didn't care for the assumption, it wasn't anything I hadn't heard before. Even with it being a familiar topic—usually at Aunt Lurlene's insistence—it didn't make it any less offensive. People assumed that because we were both gay, we were lovers. While our friendship may have been forged afteran ill-fated hookup, our relationship was purely platonic. Sure, we normally shared a bed, but it was never sexual. We were both cuddle whores who offered each other a platonic outlet to compensate for our lackluster love lives.

"Not happening," I insisted, picking at my cuticle.

She sighed and shoved her vape in her pocket. "Well, if it's not him, it'll have to be Lake."

That got my attention. "If you think I'm going anywhere near Rivers, you're fucking high."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small white pill before dry-swallowing it with ease. "Not yet, but I'm getting there. Listen, kid, I'm just trying to make this series a success. I need it just as much as you do. Showbiz is a boy's club. No matter how high we climb on that damn ladder, the glass ceiling just keeps getting higher and higher." She exhaled heavily, shaking her head as if this was something she'd been struggling with her entire life. Given the state of the world, she probably had. I knew I couldn't consider myself a feminist while leaving her high and dry, so as much as I loathed this current topic, I relented, giving a resigned nod. "I'll give you some time to think it over, but we need to try to get the ball rolling ASAP. We've only got two weeks; 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.

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