Southern Fried (13 page)

Portnoy. The latter was a family name. Still, talk about cruel and

unusual punishment. No mention of Beau, though. Probably just

a coincidence, all of this, I supposed. It was, after all, a common

enough southern name. Still, the dates all worked, and Granny

most certainly knew the Senator, had to have, in fact.

But now what? I couldn’t walk into either of their offices

and start asking questions. One look at me and security would

be called, right quick. Gay and coming from the North? I mean

really, talk about your double wammies. Might as well lie and say

I was Jewish, too. At least the secretary would get a good laugh

before I was promptly thrown out on my gay, northern, almost-

Jewish ass.

And what would my line of questioning be, anyway? “Hello,

Senator. Did your son father an illegitimate child with my mother?

Because I’d like to find that child and play catch with him, build

us a few sand castles. You can even take pictures. Get yourself

some of the gay vote.”

As if.

Nope. That route was closed off before the road even got

started. Besides, there was no mention of Beau in any of their

bios, and what was the likelihood that they’d be willing to admit

to him now? Anyway, the odds of Beau being
that
Pellingham

were unlikely at best, despite how good a made-for-TV-movie

it would be. Very Lifetime. I pictured it with Harry Hamlin and

Valerie Bertinelli.

In other words, I’d just have to find Beau and hope he’d maybe

know how he came to be. And be willing to share it with me. And

then maybe go play catch and build us some sand castles. Maybe

southeRn FRied
77

down on Hilton Head or Tybee Island. I know, that’s a whole hell

of a lot of maybes, but better to dream alligator-smile-big than

not at all, as Granny used to say.

So I headed on home, the windows rolled down, the late

afternoon sun pouring in, burning my arm as I strummed my

fingers on the outside of the old Cadillac. The radio was blaring a

nice country tune. Something about someone losing her man and

then something about a shotgun. Very uplifting stuff. I smiled as I

drove, staring at the worn down houses, single roomed dwellings,

barely shacks, at people rocking on their front porches, smoking,

gulping down bottles of Coke. This was the South. My South.

And then I spotted something even more quintessential.

“Boiled peanuts,” I yipped, pulling off to the side of the road,

my car kicking up dust as it crept up to the stand.

I hopped out, the smell of them overpowering, the giant

metal pot boiling over, steaming, hundreds of peanuts bobbing

atop the surface. Only, this wasn’t what my eyes were glued to.

No sir, no how. Not even fucking close.

“Afternoon,” he said, sitting on the stool behind the stand.

He was in his early twenties, short, thin, scruffy, wearing nothing

but denim shorts, flip-flops, and a shit-eating grin.

“Afternoon,” I replied, just slightly breathless.

“Want some?” he asked, with a sly wink, sending a bevy of

bats loose inside my belly.

“Um, uh, yeah. What flavors you got?” I replied, my arms

resting on the old wooden countertop, staring down at him, his

legs splayed, hands resting atop hairy thighs.

“Got ‘em all. Just depends, I suppose.” The smile grew, as

did the tenting in my pants. “How do you like your nuts?” He

laughed. “I mean, you like ‘em salty, sweet, hot and spicy?”

I coughed, my crotch pushing against the stand. “Big and

salty, I guess,” I rasped.

He stood up, etched belly tightening as he did so. Then he

reached beneath the counter and handed me two bags. “Biggest

78 Rob Rosen

and saltiest I got,” he said. “Five bucks.” Then he stared right

at me, eyes boring on through. “You know, you look awfully

familiar. Like I recognize you, but I don’t. Know what I mean?”

Honestly, I hadn’t a clue. Still, he sure was nice to look at.

Sinew for days, all in a fiercely compact body. Like an Adonis

start-up kit. “Haven’t been through these parts in nearly ten

years, so it’s doubtful. Guess I just look like someone else.”

He nodded as I handed him the fiver, his pinky tickling my

pinky for the briefest of seconds. “Yup. That must be it. Still, got

me a regular customer comes by here ‘bout once a week. Buys

them same salty nuts, sometimes the jalapeno flavor.” He paused

and scratched his mane of hair. “Beau somethin’ or another.”

It was then that my fiercely beating heart leapt from my chest.

“Beau Pellingham?” I managed, if not just barely.

He nodded and pointed his index finger at me. “That’s him.

Feller looks a lot like you. You related to him somehow?”

I nodded, too. “Somehow. Only, I haven’t seen him for quite

some time. Do you know where I could find him, by any chance?”

He continued with his nodding, steel gray eyes locked in

on mine. “This time of year?” He paused and appeared to be

thinking it over. “Peach pickin’ time, ain’t it?” I shrugged. He

continued. “Yep, I believe he picks down at the Peachtree Grove

right about now.”

Which, of course, didn’t make any sense. Not that anything

that had to do with Beau did, mind you. I mean, he came from

money. And lots of it. Granny would never let any kin of hers

pick peaches for a living. Not that any of them would have to, I’d

think. Heck, Granny owned her own orchards, peaches included.

“What did you mean about this time of year? What does he do

the rest of the year?”

He eyes me suspiciously. “You’re his kin; don’t you know?”

I pulled out my wallet and handed him a twenty. “I’ll take four

more bags. The sugar coated ones. The sweet ones.” His smiled

returned, his hand atop mine, lingering once again. Then I added,

“Like I said, I haven’t seen him in a long while. Just curious, is

southeRn FRied
79

all.”

He took my money and placed it inside a dented metal box,

then sat back down, fanning himself, legs splayed wide. “Well

now, guess he does odd jobs, far as I can recall. Little of this,

little of that. Just trying to get by, I reckon.” He laughed. “That

makes two of us. Hard enough ‘round these parts.” He paused

again, hand creeping up his leg, index finger patting his bulge.

“You sure do look like him, though. Only, you’re, well, even nicer

lookin’.”

I blushed, a flush of crimson rising up my neck, sizzling

beneath ample quantities of sweat that now poured on down.

“Thanks,” I squeaked out. “Same here. I mean, you too. I, uh,

mean, you’re nice-looking, too.” I was eloquent as ever.

He smiled, winked again, free hand running across his tight

chest, then over a six pack of abs with a seemingly extra set of

cans. “Helps with the tips when you’re pleasant to the eyes, I

reckon.”

I took out my wallet and plopped down a ten, ample tipping

for the amply pleasant looking. “What other kind of nuts do you

have?” My prick pulsed.

“Oh now, got me some really big nuts hidden away. Been

boiling all day out here. Must be salty as all hell by now.” His

grin exploded, teeth white as sun-bleached bone. “You wanna see

‘em?” he semi-whispered, semi-rasped.

I merely nodded, gulped, leaned in. His eyes stayed laser-

locked on mine, my body wet with sweat. Both his hands went

to his narrow waist, fingers unbuttoning the top button of his

shorts, an auburn bush poking out. “These here nuts is more

expensive then those other kinds,” he informed, sliding down the

zipper, just as a car whizzed by, then another, the zipper all the

way down now, the shaft of his willy exposed.

I dropped down another ten. “That enough?”

He nodded. “Yessum, that ought to do it. You just stand there

and watch now, on account of these here nuts is just about ready

to blow.” He shimmied out of his shorts, kicking them to the dirt,

80 Rob Rosen

massive balls hanging several inches over the edge of the stool,

steely cock pressed up tight to his belly. He pulled on his hairy

sac. “See, biggest, sweatiest nuts this side of the Chattahoochee.”

My mouth watered. “And probably the other side, too,” I

corrected him.

Again he winked. “I reckon so,” he agreed, spitting into the

palm of his hand before lubing up his billy club of a prick, which

looked even larger when compared to his rather short stature.

Then he began to stroke it, watching me all the while, mouth in a

pant. Which made two of us.

The sun began its gradual descent, turning him a golden

orange as those giant balls of his bounced and swayed, his pace

quickening, dick nothing but a blur now. He tossed his head back,

eyes shut good and tight, a soft moan escaping from between his

lips as he exploded in a torrent. Which wasn’t too surprising, as

balls that big carry around a lot of extra come. And a lot of extra

come is just what came flying out. Ropes and ropes of it, a geyser

of hot spunk that landed,
splat
,
splat
,
splat
in the dirt, thick wads of it. Then, with an extra
splat
for good measure, he opened his

eyes and stared up at me. “You enjoy those nuts of yours, good

buddy. And come back any time. I’m always here, boiling away.”

He shot me a wicked-ass wink.

I cleared my throat and tossed in an extra five. For the show

and
the information. Well, mostly for the show. “I’ll do that. And

thanks.”

I heard him slipping back into his shorts as I made it back to

the car, my prick mega-rigid now. Then I sped on home, fairly

ready to explode as I took the stairs two at a time. Luckily, I

looked out my bedroom window before I got undressed. Zeb

was locking up the stables in what little remained of the day’s

light. I rapped on the glass and motioned him up. He smiled and

gave me a great, big smile.
Hurry
, I mouthed.

Thankfully, that’s just what he did, bounding in and hopping

into bed with me. “That’s a lot of boiled peanuts you got there,”

he said, hand already gratefully working my now-vertical tool.

southeRn FRied
81

That blush of mine returned. “Hope you like them salty and

sweet. Two of them are for you.”

He laughed. “Yep. And judging from this here granite boner

I got here, I’d say you found them over at Billy Ray’s stand. Boy’s

a born salesman, ain’t he?” He looked up at me and smiled, my

prick so swollen with blood it was a miracle I didn’t pass out

from the lack of it anyplace else. “Biggest nuts this side of the

Chattahoochee.”

I shot at the word. “Saltiest, too, I hear.” I moaned, body

trembling as I doused the sheets. Then I eagerly returned

the favor, two big messes that would need to be cleaned up.

Eventually.

We collapsed in my bed, sticky, sweaty, and satiated. He

stroked my hand, both of us staring up at the ceiling. “You were

gone quite awhile. Discover anything worthwhile?”

I nodded, my leg draped over his leg. Truth be told, what I

discovered was that I was quickly growing very fond of him.

Though that’s not what I told him, not just yet. “Think so,” I

replied, instead. “Looks like my mom was sent away a couple of

years before I was born, had an illegitimate baby, probably Beau,

then came back with a man who would soon become my father.”

“So you got yourself a half-brother,” he tossed in. “Pretty

cool, huh?”

I sighed. “Cool if not utterly confusing.” I turned to look at

him. “I mean, he meets me and tells me off, meaning he knows

about me, but never contacts me before Granny’s funeral. Then

I find out that he picks peaches and does odd jobs, secretly

squatting in my bedroom whenever he’s able to.”

“Meaning he’s broke,” Zeb added.

“But how can that be? Granny knew he was her grandson.

She showered me with money, so why not Beau?”

“Confusing,” he repeated.

“Definitely,” I agreed.

He snuggled up even closer to me, stifling a yawn. “Know

82 Rob Rosen

what I think?” he said, but didn’t wait for my reply. “I think only

your Granny knew that Beau was her grandson. Trust me, no one

picks peaches that doesn’t have to; it ain’t much fun. Could also

explain why he didn’t treat you like the long-lost brother that you

more than likely are.”

“Makes sense,” I said, with a groan. “And doesn’t make any

at all.”

“Nope,” he agreed, squeezing my hand. “Not a lick. So now

what?”

Again I groaned, and not the good kind of groan. “I don’t

suppose you know Senator Pellingham, do you?”

He sat up and looked at me with the oddest expression. “Well,

now that you mention it.”

Then I sat up. “Huh?”

He grinned. “Um, I do have a connection to him, sort of.

Why do you ask?” And so I told him about the possible Beau

connection. And then he said, “Yup, see,
that
makes sense.”

“
That
makes sense? Why does
that
make sense?” I was