Date: Sat, 30 Mar 2013 18:04:14 -0700 (PDT)
From: Jerlar <jetdesk2@yahoo.com>
Subject: Porterville 1

This story contains graphic sexual scenes between males. If material of
this nature offends you then you should not read this story.  Additionally,
if you are under 18 years of age in most states you are not allowed to read
this story by law.
  This story is purely a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to person's
living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely
coincidental.
  The author claims all copyrights to this story and no duplication or
publication of this story is allowed, except by the web sites to which it
has been posted, without the consent of the author.


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Mark Stevens


Porterville 1_c


	Britt Williams drove slowly through the small Oklahoma town of
Porterville. He parked his car in front of the post office. Shutting the
engine of his car off, he swung the door open and stood to his feet. He
looked around him. Some things never change, he thought. Although he had
been gone nearly twenty years, with the exception of coming home once a
year to visit his mother, he could close his eyes and feel like he was back
living there in Porterville, felt like he had never left home at all.
	Being an author now of a dozen or so books was the main reason he
had returned to his hometown. For quite some time, now, he had been toying
with the idea of writing a story about people who lived in a small
town. His publisher had liked the idea very much and had talked Britt into
accepting an advance for the book and into returning to his hometown to
gather the information he needed to write the story.
	At first, Britt didn't want to return to Porterville. He had been
going through a rough time and really, wasn't keen on coming home, let
alone writing a story. When he had discovered Bruce four years ago, he had
fallen for him with everything he had. From the moment Bruce walked into
his life, Britt had loved him with every ounce of his soul. After a few
months of dating, they had decided to move in together, and it looked as if
they would be together the rest of their lives. At least Britt thought
so. The next four years were the happiest years of his life. That's why
when Bruce told him two months ago that he had found someone else that made
him happier than Britt, and that he thought it best they both move on,
Britt had been crushed. For two weeks, he never left his apartment, and
refused to even think about any writing commitments he had. During this
time he thought he was going to die, and many times, wished he could have.
	So, when his publisher approached him a month ago with the idea of
doing the Porterville story, he had no interest in coming to town and
researching for story material. It had taken Carl almost a month to talk
him into coming home.
	"Just go check it out," Carl told him. "You know what it takes for
good reading material, Britt. If you find yourself dead-ended, then we'll
cut our losses and you come home. Besides, Britt, you need something to
help you forget about that good for nothing that doesn't have a clue what
he gave up when he walked out on you. Just promise to think about it, all
right?"
	Carl had won out in the end, and that was why Britt was in
Porterville today, standing in front of the post office. He had decided
that perhaps Carl was right, that just maybe being back home, and keeping
busy researching material would make him forget all about Bruce.
	A voice suddenly brought Britt to the present. "Is that you, Britt
Williams?"
	His thoughts interrupted, Britt studied the stout gray haired woman
stopping in front of him. He recognized Edith Wilson, his English teacher
from back in his high school days. He smiled at her as he took her out
stretched hand between his own fingers. "Miss Wilson, how in the world are
you?"
	"I'm retired now," she told him. "Walking to the post office these
days seems to be the height of my excitement. Everything else just seems to
take care of its self."
	"Retired? That doesn't seem possible."
	"You remember you've been away from this place for years, do you
not?"
	"It has been a while," Britt agreed. "Almost twenty, if I haven't
lost count."
	"You've become quite a writer. I've read everything you've
written," she told him, her eyes twinkling.
	"Little did I know or appreciate how valuable your teachings would
be. At least not at the time."
	"Nonsense, you were always a good student, Britt. Trust me, I had
some real characters during my thirty-four years in the classroom. You
always had it together, always walked with a purpose, as I remember. And,
it has paid off for you. Literally, I might add."
	"Thank you. Coming from you, Miss Wilson, that is a great
compliment."
	"So, are you just back for a visit? To see your mother? Or do you
have something up your writer's sleeve?"
	Britt laughed. "Well, yes, I am going to be staying with Mom. It's
been almost a year since I've been home. I have another reason for coming
back. I've been entertaining the thought for quite some time about writing
a book on life in a small town. My publisher loves the idea and he sent me
here to do some research and come up with a fictional story, yet based,
maybe, on some of the lives here in Porterville."
	"How exciting, I must say. How long do you plan to be in town?"
	"I'm really not certain. It will depend, I guess, on where things
lead from here."
	"Good. Personally, I hope you end of spending quite a bit of time
here. I'm sure your mother will love it as well."
	Britt smiled, thinking of his mother. "Maybe she will. Who knows,
about her?"
	When Britt had told Catherine Williams his intentions of coming
home and gathering facts for a new story, he had been surprised at her
response. Ever since he had expressed the desire for writing, she had
always been there, backing him up all the way. When he had told her his
reason for coming back to Porterville, she had not been very happy. "Are
you sure that's wise?" she had asked her son.
	"What's that, Mom? Wise that I come back home and visit you and my
hometown?"
	"All I'm saying, Britt, is that maybe some people will frown on you
digging into the past. Sometimes it's just better to leave things alone,
and just concentrate on the here and now, along with the future."
	"Mom, what are you saying? Do you think any of the people in this
small town have anything to hide? I don't think so. Most of these people
have lived here their entire lives, and everyone else around them knows
everyone else's entire life story."
	"That sounds boring," his mother had said. "If that's the way it
really is, then why are you even coming back? I'm sure you could write a
better story, conceiving lives and characters from somewhere in the depths
of your brain."
	"Mom, if I didn't know better, I would think you don't want me to
come home. Are you afraid of what might turn up? Do you have a sordid
past?" This last he had said in teasing, trying to lighten the moment up
between them.
	"Of course not," she had answered over the phone. "I just say
people might not approve of you nosing into their affairs, their
lives. That's all."
	"Well, good luck with whatever it is you are here to do," Edith
Wilson said, giving Britt's shoulder a pat.
	"Thanks, Miss Wilson. Who knows, I might drop by and take you out
for a meal while I'm here. After all, I know you have lived your entire
life here, so I'm sure you carry a world of knowledge around with you."
	"What, a handsome young man like you taking an old lady like me out
for dinner?" Again, her eyes held a twinkle as she added, "Any time. Just
give me a call."
	"I'll do that, Miss Wilson. It was great seeing you." Britt gave
her a smile and watched as she made her way down the sidewalk.
	He turned and headed up the steps of the post office. Coming inside
the lobby, he walked over to the window. He didn't recognize the man
standing there.
	"Can I help you?" The man asked with a smile.
	"Yes, my name's Britt Williams. I'm going to be staying at my
mothers for a time, and I want my mail delivered to her address. Catherine
Williams."
	 "Britt, is that you?" The question was asked by an older gentleman
coming up behind the counter.
	"How are you, Mr. Thompson?" he greeted the postmaster.
	"So you're going to be staying with us a while, are you?"
	Britt took the card handed him by the clerk. "Yes, I'm going to be
staying at my mother's."
	"So what's a famous author like you, doing here in Porterville?"
	"Killing two birds, I guess. Want to spend some time with my
mother, and I'm also going to be working on a new book."
	"Well, I guess Porterville is as quite a town as you can get. Guess
that's good, huh?"
	Britt finished filling out the address card and handed it back to
the clerk. "That's for certain, Mr. Thompson. Thank you," he said to the
clerk. "Be seeing you around, Mr. Thompson.
	Britt hurried back to his car and drove to the house where he had
spent all his growing up years. His father had died four years ago, and his
mother had remained in the home place.
	A few minutes later, he pulled into the drive and hurried up to the
door. He stuck his head inside the door and called, "Mom, you home?"
	"In here," Catherine Williams called from the kitchen. She turned
from the sink as he came inside the big kitchen where he had eaten many
delicious meals when he was younger.
	"Hey, Mom, how's it going?" He gave her a hug and kissed her cheek.
	"It's good to see you, Britt!"
	"It's good to be here."
	"You're welcomed here any time you want to come." Whether she meant
for it to or not, her words sounded somewhat like a reproach to Britt's
ears.
	"That's good, Mom. I'm going to be here so long this visit you are
going to get so tired of me being around."
	"I doubt that. Let me look at you." She stepped back and looked him
over from head to toe. "Are you eating right? You seem too skinny."
	"I'm fine, Mom."
	"You're better off, you know."
	"Better off?"
	"With Bruce out of your life. I never did like him, you know."
	Britt nodded. "I know."
	"You deserve better, Britt."
	"That's what you keep telling me."
	"Well, find the right one and I will be happy. That's all I want,
is for you to be happy."
	"I know, Mom."
	Britt headed for the door. "Is my old room ready? I've brought a
few things to put in it."
	"It's clean and ready for you."
	Britt brought his clothes and laptop computer in and headed down
the hall to his old room. It was at the end of the hall, and it felt
somewhat strange, yet at the same time, familiar as he came inside the
room. He looked around. It still looked the same as it had twenty years ago
when he had struck out on his own, fresh out of college and ready to make
his mark in the world.
	A few minutes later, he rejoined his mother who was sitting some
food on the kitchen table.
	She looked up as he came in the room. "Are you hungry? I've cooked
us a meal of sorts."
	"Sure," he assured her. He washed his hands at the kitchen sink and
sat down at the table.
	Over their food, his mother brought up the main reason he had
returned to Porterville. "So, you think you're going to find something to
write about, do you?"
	To himself, Britt thought, Damn, here we go again! Aloud he said,
"You never know, Mom, what will turn up. Who knows, maybe nothing. If that
happens, then I guess I'll just have a good visit with you. Would that be
all right?"
	"Britt, you are always welcomed here. I love having you home, you
know that."  Catherine Williams took a sip from her tea glass. "In fact, I
wish you would come home more often. It always seems as if you just get
here, then you're off again."
	Finished eating, Britt pushed his plate to the side. "I know I've
sort of neglected you, and I'm sorry for that. I will try and do better."
	"Nonsense," his mother replied. "I know you're very busy with your
writing and all. I know it's a full time job for you." She looked past him,
staring into space for a few seconds. "I just don't want you upsetting
people's lives by digging into the past. Like I have already told you,
sometimes it's just best to leave things the way they are, in the past."
	He finished his tea. Sitting the glass down, Britt looked across
the table at his mother. "You keep saying that, Mom. Just what is it you
are afraid I'm going to `dig up' as you put it?"
	She shook her head. "I don't know. Everyone has a secret or two
they don't want out in the open, I'm sure."
	Britt smiled. "What about you, Mom, do you have any secrets?"
	"My life's an open book, always has been," she assured him.
	"What about your son?"
	"What about you?"
	"How many people have you told I'm gay?"
	"That's no one's business," she said.
	"Are you ashamed of the fact I am?"
	"Britt, all I have ever wanted was for you to be completely
happy. I think you know that."
	"Do the people here in town know that I'm gay? Have you ever
mentioned it to any of your friends?"
	"A few of my closest friends know. Other than that, I don't feel
it's anyone else's business."
	"Good. Just in case it comes up while I am here in town, and if
someone confronts me, I just want you to know that I will be completely
honest in what I say. Are you okay with that?"
	"Of course."
	Britt got up from the table. "If you will excuse me, I'm going down
to the newspaper office. There's some researching I need to do, so might as
well get started."
	"Will you be back in time for dinner?"
	Britt was thoughtful for a few seconds. Finally, he said, "Tell you
what, Mom, I will be here this evening. I think it would be nice to spend
my first evening home with you. After this, however, let's play it by ear,
okay? I don't want you to tie yourself down being here and waiting on
me. Just go about your normal activities."
	"Very well. Three days a week I meet with the ladies at the Center
and do quilting. That's Monday, Wednesday, and Friday."
	"Good, just do what you usually do, and I will try now and then to
not get too bogged down where we'll spend some time together. This book is
very important, but not nearly as important as you."
	Catherine felt her cheeks grow warm, and even though she tried to
hide the way she felt, she was pleased by his words. "You certainly have a
way with words, don't you?"
	Britt laughed. "That goes with the territory. Later, Mom."
	He hurried down the hall to his room, dug out a notebook from his
bag and headed out to his car. Even though it was early June, the weather
had already turned hot, with plenty of humidity to make it seem even
hotter.
	Britt backed his car out into the street and headed for the
business district of Porterville. The courthouse was in the middle of the
square surrounded by different businesses on each side. One such place of
establishment was The Beacon, which was the local town newspaper. Britt had
decided to start there with his research, then perhaps going to the
courthouse after that.
	A few minutes later, he was "downtown". He found a parking spot
just down from the office of The Beacon. He hurried inside the building
where a cool office and a very pleasant woman greeted him with a smile.
	"May I help you?"
	"I hope so. My name is"
	"Britt Williams," she finished before he could say his name.
	"That's right. And who, might I ask, might you be?"
	She smiled at him again and held out her hand. "I'm Alice
Cooper. It's so nice to meet you. I've heard so much about you, and I've
read all of your books."
	Britt was thoughtful for a moment or two. Finally, he said,
"Cooper, are you any relation to Tom Cooper?"
	She nodded. "He was my father."
	"Was?"
	"Yes. He died when I was seven."
	"I'm sorry. Your mother's name is Margaret, right?"
	"That's right."
	"Is she still living?"
	"Yes, however, she isn't able to stay by herself any longer, so a
couple of years ago I moved back to be with her. Her mind is not real clear
some days."
	"That's good of you. I've often wondered how I will handle
something like this. Although my mother is in excellent health, she is
getting up in years, and I'm not sure what I will do."
	"Guess you could write here as well as anywhere else."
	"Maybe, who knows?" Britt took a chair in front of Alice's
desk. "Which brings me to why I am here. You see, Alice, I'm needing to do
some research for a new book, and thought I'd start here at The Beacon."
	She was plainly surprised and puzzled. "Here?" she asked.
	Britt nodded. "That's right. You see, my publisher has been after
me to write a story about small town life, so to speak. He knows I come
from a relatively small place, and he would like for me to write a
fictional story based on actual happenings."
	"That sounds exciting," she said, folding her arms in front of
her. "This boring town, however? You think you can find something here to
write about? I've been here most of my life, and it seems too peaceful for
much of a story line."
	Britt laughed. "You sound like my mother. When she found out what I
was going to do, she told me she thought everyone already knew everything
there was to know about everyone else. She also thought perhaps they might
not appreciate having their story in print. What do you think?"
	"Oh, I think everyone will love it. After all, even though you will
probably change the names and that sort of thing, I would think most people
would be thrilled to have their lives written about."
	"Well, guess we'll see."
	"So, how can the newspaper be of help to you?"
	"I thought I would start by looking into past issues. How far back
do you go?"
	"Well, actual paper copies aren't as popular as they use to be,
although we do still have some. We go back about twenty-five or so years on
those. However, everything, and I do mean everything that has ever been
printed from this office is on computer file here. In fact, when I first
started this job, that is what Sam Taylor had me do. I spent months getting
everything that was on the old `fiche' files transferred to computer
files. Sam decided he would keep additional paper copies twenty-five years
back for whatever reason."
	A man in his middle sixties came up from the back of the
building. "What about Sam Taylor?" he asked.
	Britt recognized the newspaper publisher. He held out his
hand. "Sam, it's good to see you."
	Sam squinted his eyes a bit. "Is that you, Britt Williams?"
	"In the flesh. How the hell have you been?"
	"Can't complain, I guess. What brings you back this way? Finally
decided to give your mother some of your valuable time?"
	"I see she's been talking to you about me," Britt grinned.
	"She's a good woman, your mother. She misses you."
	"I know, and I wish I could change that, but I know for a fact she
won't move to the big city, and I can't make a living here in Porterville."
	"I hear you're a big time writer now. Wrote several books, they
say."
	"Maybe you should check the library out. I have heard from a
reliable source that everyone of them are on a shelf there."
	"Don't have much time for that sort of reading. The paper keeps me
busy reading the stuff here I have to."
	When Alice could get a word in, she told Sam the reason for Britt's
visit to the newspaper.
	"You don't say," he declared when she had finished. "So, you're
going to write a book about the people of Porterville, are you?"
	"Maybe. Depends on what I come up in my search. Is it all right
with you if I search some of your past publishing's?"
	"I guess it would be all right. After all, everything I have is
open to public viewing. How far back do you want to go?"
	"How far back do you have?"
	Sam didn't have to even think about it. "1901. You want to start
from the very beginning?"
	"Might as well," Britt answered. "Are your files on disk or CD?"
	Alice laughed. "Get real here, Britt. We do have computers, but all
the files are on discs. Trust me, I know. I entered every last one of
them."
	"Do you have a spare computer, or do I need to go get my lap top?"
	"There's one in the file room," Sam answered.
	"Do you have a problem with me copying some of them if they sound
interesting, Sam? You have my word, if I use any of your material, proper
credit will be given you."
	Sam shook his head and said, "I have no problem at all. I might
suggest that you bring your laptop down here just in case you find anything
of interest. I would rather you not take any of the files out of here."
	"I appreciate it, Sam. I think I'll go pick my computer up before I
even get started. By the way, what time do you guys get out of here?"
	"Around five or so," Alice answered.
	"I'm usually around most of the time until six or after," Sam said.
	Britt looked at his watch. It was two-thirty. If he hurried home to
his mother's, he would be able to get two to three hours under his
belt. Heading for the door, he called over his shoulder, "I'll be back
shortly. Thanks for your help."
	Before three o'clock arrived, Britt was seated at a big ancient
looking, dust-covered desk in the file room of The Beacon. A box containing
many years of files was beside his computer.
	As he pushed the first disc in, Britt felt a flutter of excitement
course its way through his body. What he was looking for, he had no
idea. Where this story would head was also a mystery to him. The plot was
nowhere in the confines of his mind, at least not yet.
	As he opened the first few files, Britt found himself being caught
up in the rapid growth of Porterville's history. According to the early
newspaper accounts, Samson Porter and Amelia Sands were married June
fifteenth, 1900 and moved out in the general direction of the soon to be
founded Porterville shortly after their marriage. They and a few of their
friends found their way into new unclaimed territory and soon staked their
claim on land. During the week of September tenth, three businesses and the
still operating United States Post Office opened for business.
	"Well, this is interesting data," Britt thought to himself. "Just
not interesting enough to write about, I don't think."
	He had read several more files and had even written some things in
his notebook when he was startled by Sam Taylor's sudden appearance in the
doorway.
	"Find anything interesting?" Sam asked.
	"Not much I didn't already know," Britt admitted. "It is
interesting reading some of this stuff. Some I have heard all my life, but
some, especially the dates they happened, I didn't know before."
	"I hope you're not too disappointed, Britt. Like I told you
earlier, this is a pretty quiet little town, and not much has happened over
the past hundred years worthy enough of telling."
	"You could be right, Sam. You could be right."
	Britt looked at his watch. He was surprised to find it was nearly
six o'clock. No wonder Sam was standing in the doorway. He was wanting to
call it a day. "Give me a couple more minutes, Sam, and I'll be out of here
for the day."
	"No problem. I've got a few more things to do in the press room."
He turned and disappeared, and Britt made a note where to begin his search
the next day when he started once again looking for what, he really wasn't
sure.
	A few minutes later he called out, "Goodnight, Sam", and walked
through the empty front office and out to his car.
	When Britt arrived at his mother's, once more he found her in the
kitchen. She smiled as he came into the room. "I was wondering just when
you'd return. Dinner won't be ready for half an hour."
	"Good. I've been working all afternoon in Sam Taylor's dusty file
room. I think I will take a quick shower."
	"There's plenty of time."
	Britt went down the hall to his room, and once inside, placed his
laptop on his old study desk. He discovered his mother had unpacked his
bags while he was gone, and his things had been placed in drawers, the very
same way she had kept them when he was living at home. He couldn't help but
smile as the thought went across his mind that here he was, back at home,
however short a time it would be, he was almost forty-two years old, and
still his mother unpacked and put his clothes away.
	He pulled some clean clothes from the drawers and headed down the
hall for the bathroom. He adjusted the water, and as the steam from the
shower slowly made its way inside the room, Britt stripped out of his
clothes and stepped inside under the hot spray. He hadn't realized just how
tense his body was after its afternoon of searching and looking up
facts. As the strong needles massaged his skin, he began to feel the
tension gradually leave his body. By the time he had rinsed his body and
dried off with one of his mother's giant bath towels, he was once more
feeling like he was going to survive.
	Britt stood before the wide mirror behind the sink. He studied his
reflection. Not bad, he thought, for someone pushing fifty. Not bad at all,
he decided. He had not a trace of a gray in the thick brown hair on top his
head. The shadows that had surrounded his eyes after Bruce had left were
finally gone. He looked at his body. He had always tried to take care of
himself, stay in good condition. So, what had he done to drive Bruce away?
For weeks he had been plagued by those thoughts until finally he had
convinced himself it was nothing he had done. Bruce had just been ready to
move on, and that was the only real explanation there was.
	Britt thought about what his mother had said earlier at the lunch
table. About there being someone out there for him. The right someone, as
she had put it. Was she right? Britt wondered. Was there another gay guy
out there willing to love him for whom he was, what he was, and willing to
commit for a lifetime? That's all he wanted in a guy, that he love him
unconditionally, and that he was willing to commit to a relationship. He
had had his share of one night stands, even relationships, if that's what
you'd call them, lasting for a week or two, or perhaps a month at a
time. He was through with all that. What Britt Williams wanted was simply
one man to love for the rest of his life, and for that one man to love him
in return. There had to be someone somewhere wanting and needing the same
thing.
	Britt dressed in a hurry, and soon rejoined his mother back in the
kitchen. "Smells good," he smiled.
	"It's ready. Would you like something to drink with your meal other
than tea?"
	"What do you have, Mom?"
	"A little wine is about all I keep in the house these days."
	"Red wine?"
	She nodded, and he told her he'd take a glass.
	She poured two glasses and set them on the table. "Everything's
ready, let's eat."
	Over their meal, Britt talked a little about his afternoon. He had
decided that he was not going to bring much up about it, only perhaps
answer any questions she might ask about the project, and that's pretty
much what he did. He told her about the early accounts in the newspapers
about Samson Porter founding Porterville, and that was about all he
said. Other than that, they ate their meal in peace, enjoying the other's
company.
	The meal over, Britt helped his mother clean up the kitchen. When
the dishes were done, he followed her into the living room. Taking a seat
in one of the big oversized chairs that had been in his mother's living
room for as long as he could remember, he said, "So, Mom, what is it you do
with your evenings?"
	"I sew some, read a lot, especially when my favorite author has a
new book out on the market." Her eyes twinkled as she made the last
comment.
	Britt laughed. "That's good. I'm sure your `favorite author'
appreciates all the support you can give him."
	They visited for an hour or so, then Britt asked if she minded if
he stepped out for a while. "I'd really like to get some fresh air."
	"Britt, you do whatever you need to do. I don't need you
entertaining me. I'm use to doing for myself."
	"I know, Mom, I know. I just didn't want you to think I was coming
to town and then ignoring you."
	Catherine Williams laid the needlepoint she had been working on in
her lap. Looking at her son, she said, "Listen to me, Britt Williams. I
know you take your writing seriously, and I know you put all you have into
your writing, so, please, don't apologize for anything you might do or say
while you are here, all right? Just be yourself, do what you have to do. Am
I clear?"
	Britt nodded. "Very clear. That's good, because, even though I
would like it another way, I will be tied up a lot while I am here,
especially if I do find a definite avenue I want to pursue."
	"I understand, and it's perfectly all right."
	Britt stood to his feet. "Thanks for understanding. I think I'll go
out and see who all is out on a night like this. Who knows, might find some
good strong leads while I'm out."
	"Well, while you are out looking for these `leads' as you call
them, try and enjoy a little time for your self too."
	"I will, Mom. Don't wait up for me."
	As Britt pulled into the parking of the Fox Den a short time later,
he could hear the loud music, and it sounded as if quite a lot of activity
was going on behind the doors. He locked his car and walked up the walk,
stepping inside the club. He found the music much louder, and alcohol and
cigarette smoke heavy in the air. There were some empty stools around the
bar, and he grabbed on to one. He ordered a beer and sat back, looking
around him. There were two pool tables, and each table had a game going. He
didn't know any of the guys playing pool. There were couples either sitting
around tables or in booths, but he didn't recognize any of them either.
	"New in town?" It was the bartender, and he was asking the question
to Britt.
	"Not really," Britt answered. "Was born and raised here, but don't
get back very often." Britt took a swig from his bottle. "Name's
Williams. Britt Williams."
	"Got family living here in Porterville?"
	Britt nodded. "My mother lives here. Catherine Williams."
	"I know her. She's quite a classy lady."
	Britt smiled, hearing his mother described that way. ""I guess she
is," he agreed.
	Someone sat down on the stool next to him.
	"Hey, Devon," the bartender greeted the newcomer. "The usual?"
	"Bill, how's it going? Yeah, you know what I want."
	Britt ordered another beer. He smiled at the fellow called Devon
and said, "Can I buy you a drink?"
	Devon looked surprised. Then he said, "Sure, why the hell not?"
	Britt held out his hand. "Britt Williams here."
	The fellow hesitated the briefest of a second before he took the
hand offered him. "Devon McKenzie."
	It was Britt's turn to be surprised. "Not The Devon McKenzie?" he
asked, laying a bill down on the bar.
	Devon McKenzie tipped his bottle and swallowed some of the cold
liquid in the bottle. Sitting it down on the bar, he said, "Just Devon
McKenzie is good enough for me."
	"Elaine McKenzie is your mother, right?"
	Devon nodded. "That's right. How do you know her?"
	"I was born and raised here. My mother still lives here. Out on
Cherry Lane Road," Britt added.
	"I know her." Devon looked closely at Britt. I can't say I know
you, but your name sounds familiar. Have you been away from here very
long?"
	"Almost twenty years," Britt answered.
	"You're lucky. I have never left here. What year did you graduate
from high school?"
	"Eighty-two," Britt said with a grin. "A lifetime ago."
	"Eighty-nine for me. Guess I was just far enough behind that I
can't remember you."
	"I went away to college the fall of eighty-two, and by eighty-six I
was completely away from here."
	"What do you do?" Devon asked. He finished his beer and ordered
another.
	"I'm a writer," Britt replied. He finished his own drink and
ordered another as well.
	"That's why your name sounded familiar. Here, Bill, take my money,"
Devon McKenzie said, pushing a twenty toward Bill. "Britt Williams. The
writer," he added.
	"And you're Devon McKenzie, son of John McKenzie, CEO of Porter
Textile Company, and of Elaine Porter, McKenzie, whose great grandfather
founded the town of Porterville."
	"I see you have your facts," Devon remarked.
	"I hope I do," Britt told him. "You see, I'm back in Porterville
for a specific reason. My publisher wants me to come up with a story line
for a new book that deals with small town life."
	Devon's face showed shock value. "Here in Porterville? You have to
be kidding. What, if anything ever, could make this hick town exciting
enough to write about?"
	"You don't seem very happy to be here."
	Devon tipped his bottle and drank over half of his beer before
answering. When he sat his bottle back down on the bar, he said, "Let's
just say I've never had the balls to leave."
	"The balls? Is someone or something keeping you here?"
	"Oh, you might say that." There was strong emotion in his voice. He
continued, "Between the family business, and my mother, that's two pretty
strong forces for starters."
	"No brothers or sisters?" Britt asked.
	"Nope, just me to carry on the family business. I've heard those
words so damn many times."
	"You're not happy in the business? Britt asked. He studied his
empty bottle wondering if he should order another one, or just sit back and
relax a bit first.
	"What the hell is this, twenty questions?"
	"Sorry, didn't mean to rile you," Britt apologized. "Like I told
you earlier, I'm here to work on a story, and I'm just trying to get the
facts of Porterville straight in my mind, that's all. "Sorry," he repeated
once more.
	Britt was surprised when he felt Devon's hand covering his
own. "I'm the one who's sorry, Britt. Didn't mean to be so edgy."
	Britt didn't try to pull away. Instead, he said, "It's okay. I
really am serious. I didn't mean to upset you. Hell, I have no friends in
the town, and I could sure use one. All the people I know living here are
much older than me and hardly classified as friends."
	Devon suddenly removed his hand. "I'd like that," he said. "I could
use a good friend."
	"You've never left here, you should have lots of friends," Britt
remarked.
	"Not really. Usually if anyone wants anything from me, it's always
something I can do for them, whether it's a job, or a donation, something
like that."
	In spite of himself, Britt felt his face become flushed. "Devon, I
would like being your friend. As for wanting something from you, I've made
no bones about it, I'm here to try and come up with a fictional story based
on small town facts, and if that offends you, then, please, tell me up
front."
	Devon called for the bartender. "Let me buy my new friend here
another beer," he said.
	Britt grinned. "Okay, but I need to warn you, your new friend is
getting a little tipsy here."
	"Good. I like a friend who's tipsy." Devon paid for the drinks and
said, "Britt, there's a booth over there. Shall we take it?  It's a little
more private, and a hell of a lot more comfortable."
	Britt followed Devon McKenzie across the room and sat down across
from him in the booth. His head was swimming a bit, but he was enjoying
finding out about his "new friend". He took his bottle, held it out, and
gave a toast. "To good friends."
	"Good friends," Devon echoed, returning the toast.
	"It's hard to believe someone your age has not at least left this
town, for even just a short time," Britt said.
	"Oh, I've been away on short trips," Devon told him. "I've been
away enough to know there is much more out there than here in this hell
hole."
	"Tell me what you've seen," Britt invited.
	Devon was quiet for a moment before he said anything. "Well, for
one thing, I have been away enough to see things, and I know when a guy
finds me interesting. Am I correct, Britt, in assuming that you find me
attractive? Your eyes certainly seem to be saying as much."
	For the second time in less than an hour, Britt felt his face go
hot. God, I must be drunk, he thought. He wondered if he had heard
right. Finally, deciding to take a chance, he said a simple, "Yes."
	"Yes?"
	"I find you very attractive, very hot. I was pretty sure you were
gay the way you placed your hand over mine at the bar, but thought it best
not to say anything."
	"Why?"
	"Why? My God, Devon, I am sitting here drinking with probably one
of the most influential men in Porterville, and I'm wondering if he's
making a pass at me. Don't you think I realize his status in the town, in
society? I don't want to do anything to embarrass him."
	"What about yourself, Britt?" Devon asked quietly.
	"What about me?"
	"Do the people in town know your life style? How about your mother,
does she know?"
	"As for my mother, yes, she knows. As for the town, I really don't
know, and I'm really not concerned with what they think, long as they don't
mistreat my mother because of me, of who I am."
	"I can certainly understand that," Devon said.
	"What about your friends? And your family, do they know?"
	"Like I told you earlier, I have no close friends, so to speak
of. As for my parents, they are pretty certain I am gay, but they don't
discuss it. My mother is constantly setting me up with dates if only to
make it look like I am out there in the social world. She tells all her
friends that I just haven't found the right person yet."
	"That has to be hard," Britt sympathized. "I'm lucky in that
respect, I guess." "You are lucky," Devon agreed. He was thoughtful a
moment or two. Finally, he said, "Britt, may I ask you a personal
question?"
	"Fire away."
	"Is there anyone special in your life at the moment?"
	Britt shook his head. "No one. I thought I was going to have
someone to share the rest of my life with, but he decided he loved someone
else more than he loved me."
	"I'm sorry to hear that." Devon reached over and placed both his
hands on Britt's. "I hope this doesn't offend you, but he must have been an
asshole to let someone like you slip away from him."
	"For weeks after he left I blamed myself for Bruce's leaving. I was
sure it was because of something about me, or something I had done. I began
to doubt my self worth, thinking I could not hold any man's interest, that
I wasn't worthy of love."
	"That's bullshit, plain and simple," Devon declared. "You have so
much to offer."
	"So, how long have you known you were gay?" Britt asked.
	"Ever since I was old enough to admire other guys," Devon answered
with a grin. "From about the age of seven or eight, I guess. How about
you?"
	"About the same, I guess. When I was in high school, I dated a few
girls, just to make it look like I thought it should. I even took a girl to
the high school prom. Then in college I also dated now and then, but
usually I tried to throw myself completely into my studies, using that as
an excuse not to date."
	"Been there, done that," Devon agreed. "I know exactly what you're
saying."
	The evening flew by as Britt and Devon exchanged information with
each other. As Britt listened to Devon tell about his life, he felt like he
was listening to a repeat of his own. He was surprised to discover the many
ways they were both alike. Before it seemed possible, the bar was closing,
and they walked out to their cars. Devon stopped in front of his
vehicle. He reached out to give Britt a handshake. "I have really enjoyed
this evening, Britt."
	"Likewise," Britt answered, returning the handshake. He released
Devin's hand and said, "I'll see you around town, I'm sure."
	"Oh, you can count on it."
	"Night, Devon."
	"Goodnight, Britt Williams."
	Britt watched as Devon McKenzie drove off in his car. When his tail
lights disappeared from sight, Britt turned toward his vehicle. Just as he
reached to open his car door, he felt something touch the toe of his
shoe. He looked down and discovered a black object on the pavement. When he
picked it up, he saw that it was a man's wallet. When he opened it up,
Devon McKenzie's photo stared back at him.
	"Devon's wallet," he said speaking the words aloud. "Must have
slipped from his pocket," he decided.
	Britt sat behind the wheel of his car and tossed the wallet on the
seat beside him. He would get hold of Devon the next day and return it to
him.
	Britt pulled into his mother's drive a short time later and hurried
up the walk. He let himself in with his key. Catherine Williams had left a
light on in the hall, same as she always had, as far back as Britt could
remember. He locked the door, turned off the lamp, and hurried down the
hall just as if nothing had changed, that twenty years hadn't passed.