Page 19 of The Cowboy's Cabaret

“No, nothing.” He kicks at some apples littering the ground from the rot.

“I don’t know the specifics or anything yet, but I was talking to Dahlia about her school stuff and she had some ideas. She mentioned sometimes there are grants for programs. You know free money to help get stuff going? She mentioned maybe we could look into something like that for Big Al’s. She’s studying therapy, and she mentioned working with us to start a program here, like with horses. Would you be down to hear her out?” I stand arms crossed as his body tenses with each word.

“You fucking told her?” he bites out, meeting my eye line with anger, but I see the panic there as well.

“I trust her! All I said was we could use something new to help us out. She brought it up to me because of her thesis for school. Kinda seemed like a mutually beneficial thing, one we’d be stupid to ignore. I’m trying to help you.” I try to remember Jasper holds the world on his shoulders, even when he doesn’t need to. The constant pressure is the only explanation for the perpetual stick up his ass, but it doesn’t mean he gets to be a shit head all the time.

“I don’t need some therapy shit at the farm, it’s not what we do. We’re an orchard and small farm operation. What, I’m gonna have a bunch of kids being chased by therapists running around? In what way does that benefit this place?”

“Don’t be an asshole about it, it’s a suggestion. I was running this by you because you’re being a fucking dick lately and I figured if we had some solutions, maybe you’d lighten the fuck up. You’re shutting this down before you have any details. Why don’t you at least talk with Dahlia, hear her out? If you really want to save this place, you’d be wise to consider all your options instead of letting everything pile up on you.”

“Whatever. Bring her out here and we’ll talk. Tell her to leave big mouth at home though.” He turns on his heel and back to the main house. While I’m glad he’s inclined to talk to Dahlia, he’s going to get a swift kick in the ass if he talks to her with the same attitude.

I text Dahlia to find out when she’s free to come hang for a weekend here, encouraging her to bring Daphne along too. He didn’t specify a name for big mouth, and who am I to deny Dahlia bringing her best friend over.

When Dahlia’stext comes in a bit later, she’s eager to agree to the meeting. I smile at her excited messages asking if she’ll be able to ride the horses. Like always, she’s a ray of fucking sunshine and I can’t help but soak it up. Her final semester is officially underway and she’s working her ass off. Between her school work and my long days on the farm, our nightly conversations take place in bed, with me wishing she was in mine.

I let her know there is plenty of space if they want to crash for the weekend to really play into the cowgirl fantasy. Dahlia agrees to talk with Daphne about coming next week and sends about twenty different emojis too. She also sneaks in a request to see my art again, but I breeze past with a meme of a cat in a cowboy hat, since the subject of my work is far too obvious to miss.

FOURTEEN

here, queer, drinkin’ beer

Dahlia

Pride month isin full swing at Cunting Season and the energy is electric as the crowds pour in from the earlier street parade. The symphony of hand fans and laughter curl their way to the dressing rooms as I finish applying my black lipstick. Daphne lazes on the couch behind me in a rainbow bikini top and cutoffs matching my own.

Tonight’s event is a drag show to benefit the local youth homeless shelter. Next week, we’ll host the Beerlympics and a mechanical bull riding contest to finish out the month.

Safe to say, I’m getting my ass kicked, between the extra work here and school. Regardless, I picked up an extra bartending shift tonight since it’s a bigger event. My bartending prowess leaves something to be desired, but I make up for it with corny jokes and a willingness to learn.

Daphne sighs, fixing her top as the tiny triangles fight for their lives to cover her tits. “I have more boob than brain these days.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, babes. Heavy is the head that holds the tits.” I shrug.

Daphne looks at me confused. “I don’t think that’s how the saying goes and I don’t care.”

“You have anyone meeting you here tonight?” I’m fishing for information, but Daphne sees that shit a mile away.

“Not a soul. Maybe I’ll meet someone in the crowd.” She looks down at her red stiletto nails as she answers, and her distracted state has me curious.

I’m ready to tell her to spill her guts when Simone knocks on the door to let us know they're opening up the side bar. She flushes as she very obviously looks at Daphne’s chest.

When she leaves Daphne looks at me with a smile. “Baby’s first gay panic, methinks.”

We lock arms and head to our bar station and I tease, “Poor Daphne. Too hot for her own good, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” she says with a fiendish smile.

The beginningof the night is slammed with clubgoers ordering tonight’s mixed drink special, a Reverse Cowgirl. It’s easy enough to serve since we keep the mix of tequila, cranberry orange juice, and orange slices stocked in a large pitcher.

I’m sweating my ass off, but having fun since Daphne loves to be a little mean to the patrons. And by a little mean, I mean she has quite a few adoring regulars who would probably pay money for Daphne to spit on them.

I love that we’re so different—she’s larger than life and a little prickly, and she loves so hard. Our sexual preferences are at odds too. Daph is more dominant in general, certainly with sexual partners and I admire her fierceness. She loves to tease me for being a whore for praise, but can you blame me? Theemotionally neglected girl to woman with a praise kink pipeline is real. I’m yet another former gifted kid statistic.

“Our next performanceis a special one. Y’all put your hands together for Buckwild and Tammy O’Tits…” The DJ’s voice fades out as the opening notes to an EDM mix of “Fancy” by Reba McEntire fills the club. They’re our final performers tonight. Buckwild struts onto the stage in a plain white tank top and denim dad-style shorts. A fake cigarette hangs out of their mouth as they make their way along the crowdline.

Buckwild, also known as Nia, is one of the Drag Kings who perform here regularly. Nia is one of the kindest souls on earth and so unbelievably talented.