October, 1996

FOR EMMETT, HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS (SADLY)

Emmett Honeycutt got down from the 18 wheeler's front seat, nodding politely at the driver. "Thanks again, I'm sure." Emmett tried not to let his lip curl.

"Hey, boy, what Ah had you do for me last night, I ain't no faggy, married seventeen years, but ever since Vacation Bible camp, Ah like havin' mah thing sucked-The trucker's harried rationalization was aborted as Emmett hurriedly shut the door of the cab and landed on his tippietoes in front of a Gulf station in where was it?—Ah yes, Pittsburgh.

After Daddy had pointed his gun at Emmett's head, the day after graduation (September, but Emmett had had to go to summer school for American Government class) and bid him to leave town, Aunt Lulah had given her hopeful nephew enough to get to New York ("Where you'll be more comfortable, darlin' though God knows what goes on there.") but someone had annexed Emmett's cash while he was slumbering on the Greyhound passing through Biloxi.

So it had been travel by thumb, paying by mouth (ugh) this far, and now Emmett was exhausted. Might as well spend a night or two in Pennsylvania, and try for the Big Apple tomorrow.

Emmett looked up and down the street. Where to mince off to? Could he actually ask where the queer street was? Oh dear. Emmett had about eighty-six cents in his pocket.

"You look confused, Missy."

Emmett bounced, and turned around. There was the most beautiful boy he'd ever seen. Dark hair, full lips, very arrogant looking. Nice jacket—Armani, but Emmett's practiced eye could see that it was thrift store purchased. But there, he was carrying a textbook on business writing. A student.

Emmett smiled uncertainty. He knew nothing of Pittsburgh boys. Back in Hazelhurst, Mississippi, the men all wanted satisfaction, either by blowing you, beating you up, or one right after the other.

"Are you new to town? I saw you dance out of that trucker's cab. He looked kind of toothless." The beautiful boy smirked as he said this.

"Y-yes, I was hitchhiking, we—"

"No, I didn't believe you two were related." The beautiful boy turned his head lazily, and from down the street came a smaller kid, dark hair in a hopeless bowl cut, dressed in sadly, an ugly McDonald's uniform. You wouldn't think the two individuals would know each other, but the fry cook ran right up to the man-model, and they kissed, right on the mouth, right in the street where anyone could see…Boy the North was different!

The Mickey-Dees boy looked at Emmett questioningly. "New friend, Brian?"

"Mikey, I just saw this poor queen jump—or should I call him a princess…so young. This princess just jumped out of a hideous oil rig, with semen leaking from his mouth."

Emmett bridled haughtily. The semen, if there was any lingering, had died in his mouth four hours ago. "I-I should be moving on." Emmett did his best icy Barbara Stanwyck, and turned to leave.

"Hi. I'm Michael" Howdy Doody the fry cook said, sticking out his hand. "Welcome to Pittsburgh."

Emmett smiled and took the (greasy) hand and pumped it. But really, he had to be going. He could tell that Brian, the pretty one was primed with another insult.

"Where are you moving on to, Lady Jane?" Brian asked, as if he'd read Emmett's mind. "Are you teaching at a beauty arts academy here, or something?"

"I-I was on my way to New York but I ran out of –"Oh, it was so humiliating. To Emmett's horror, he felt his eyes welling up. It was over, wasn't it? His family hated him, the state of Mississippi hated him, shit the Deep South hated him and now…

Astonishingly, the adorable, insulting boy came over and put his arm around Emmett's shoulder. "I don't think you have any idea of where you're going, so we'll decide. Let's go get you some grits at the Liberty Diner…Mikey's mom can get them for you gratis."

Emmett wasn't sure that they could make decent grits this side of the Mason-Dixon line, but it seemed he had little choice. He linked his other arm with Mikey, trying to ignore the effect the grease stains would have on his mauve angora sweater, and the three walked on.

FINALLY MY ASS OUT OF THE GREASY MORASS

Ted Schmidt left the interview jubilantly. Thank God. Mr. Werthshafter didn't seem to notice, or ask any questions about Ted's personal life, and finally he was going to have a job. Finally.

For the past eight months, Ted had been a McDonald's cashier, and he knew why a lot of his interviews with accounting and finance firms had gone badly…they didn't like fags. Not that Ted was so "fey" but somehow people just knew.

Michael had gotten Ted into Mickey Dees, and it was wonderful working together…Ted really liked Michael a lot. But Michael's latest trick had turned him on to a possible stock boy job at the Big Q, which paid at least a dollar fifty an hour more than he was making at the fast food joint…and Ted would have been alone with all the bitter Pitt rednecks, doing the "Want Fries With That" again and again.

Now Ted could put his M.B.A. to use, and move out of the cramped apartment that he and Mike and Brian were sharing. It was a one-bedroom that they'd turned into a three-bedroom by putting curtains over the dining room and breakfast nook…but Brian, on scholarship at Carnegie Mellon, was horrible to live with…fussy.

Ted opened the door of the Liberty Diner, and looked towards the booth where his roomies sat, eager to tell them the news…who was that tall drink of water with curly red hair?

"Ted!" Mikey shouted. "Meet Emmett!"