Stockroom Secrets Chapter 14 by Mark Peters

Stockroom Secrets

by

Mark 'Ponyboy' Peters

Chapter Fourteen

It was early afternoon when I made it home and as I walked toward the back door of the house, I found my mother out in the back yard working on her vegetable garden. I changed course and walked over to her, before taking a seat on the logs that made up the border of the raised garden.

'Everything okay?' she asked me, as she straightened up and then stretched.

'Yeah,' I replied. For a long moment she sat there studying me. I got the feeling she was weighing up in her own mind whether she should say anything further.

'I trust you, Gray,' she eventually said, 'but I need to know that you're being careful.'

'I am, mum. And I know you care, but I promise you that I'm not doing anything that you need to be worried about.'

'That's good to know. And what about these good guys you've been telling me about? Can I trust them also?'

'I reckon so.'

'Who are they? Will you at least tell me that? And are you, let's say, involved with any of them?'

'What do you mean, like, boyfriends or something?'

'Or something . . .'

'No mum, they're just friends, that's all,' I answered, as I reached into my pocket for my phone. I quickly found the photo of Raffa that I had just taken and turned my phone around to show her.

'That's Raffa. Rafael de Silva, who I work with. That's who I've just been talking to.'

'De Silva? Does his father have the real estate agency on Ford Street?'

'I have no idea. I'll have to ask him. Is it important? He is a year or so older than me and has had some similar experiences . . . if you know what I mean?'

Mum nodded.

'The other friend, the one who I got a text from earlier, is Chris Hopwood. He was in the same year as me at school but went to the high school over on eastside.'

Another nod.

'They're on my side, mum. And they've both been guys I've been able to lean on. I'm lucky they are around.'

'I'm glad they are there for you, Gray. I really am. And I guess they will understand these things much better than some old fogey like me, or your dad.'

'Don't sell yourself short, mum. Uncle Bryan tells me you've  been a rock for him, it's just . . . I guess it's just a bit hard for a guy to talk to his mum about this sort of thing . . . and even harder to talk to his dad.'

She gave a little laugh at that.

'And speaking of dad,' I added. 'You haven't said anything to him, have you?'

'No. I promised you that I wouldn't, and I meant it.'

'And what about Olly?'

'No . . . but he is asking questions. It might be best if you have a chat with him soon and break it to him gently.'

That worried me, but I guess having him find out the truth about me was going to be inevitable. Maybe it would be better to simply face this head on, right now while my father wasn't at home, and hope that Olly was old enough and mature enough to understand.

'Is he inside?' I asked.

'Yes. He's a smart kid, Gray. Nearly as smart as you. He'll be fine.'

'I hope so,' I replied.

A few minutes later I found Olly in the living room watching a game of football on the television.

'Hey, bro! Who's winning?' I asked as I sat down beside him on the lounge.

'Not my team,' he grumbled. 'We're getting smashed!'

'Oh well. You can't win them all.'

'We can hardly win anything,' he said with a sigh.

For a few minutes we watched the game in silence. He got excited when his team came close to scoring, only to slam his clenched hands down onto the lounge when the attempt at goal sailed way over the top of the goal posts.

'Aaarrrggghhh!' he yelled, which caused me to chuckle.

When the opposing team quickly moved the ball down over the half way line a few moments later he seemed to lose interest and twisted in his seat to face me.

'So, where have you been today?' he demanded.

'Just talking with a friend downtown. Why?'

'You said the other day you didn't have a girlfriend? Have you got a boyfriend then?'

'What?'

'Well, if people don't have girlfriends, then they must have boyfriends, right?'

For an instant I was speechless, as he sat there with his eyes boring into me.

'What about you? What do you have? A girlfriend, or a boyfriend?' I asked.

'I'm just a kid. I just have friends. Some are girls. Some are boys. But I don't kiss any of them!'

'I see.'

'But you're not a kid any more,' Olly said, as he suddenly pulled his legs up onto the lounge and folding them beneath himself, then fully turning my way. 'You're grown up. So, what do you have?'

Mum said he was smart. I just didn't realise how smart he had become.

'Does it really matter what I have?' I asked him. 'I mean, what difference would it make if I had a girlfriend or a boyfriend? Would you care?'

'Not me. No. I wouldn't care.'

'Well, that's good to know.'

'But Dad might care, though. I mean, if you had a boyfriend that'd mean you're just like Uncle Bryan, and dad calls him names all the time . . . unless mum is around . . . because he's a . . .'

'Because he's a what?'

'Because he's a poof,' he whispered. 'That's what dad said.'

'You heard that, eh?'

'Yeah,' he said, while nodding.

'Well, that's not a very nice thing to say, you know. If you want to say that a person is like that, then what you should say is that they are gay. Do you understand that?'

'I . . . I think so.'

'And you should know that there's nothing wrong with someone being gay. That's just how they are.'

'Okay.'

'That's good.'

Just then the sound of cheers came from the television, once again grabbing Olly's attention. When he put his head in his hands, however, I figured the news wasn't good. His team was down by another goal.

When he turned his attention back towards me he was thoughtful for a minute, but then said, 'You haven't answered my question, though. Girlfriend or boyfriend?'

'Well, to be honest, I don't have either.'

'Oh,' he said, while sounding disappointed.

'But if I did have one or the other . . .' I said, while leaning in closer and talking softly, 'I'd prefer to have a boyfriend.'

He looked at me and blinked a couple of times. I could almost hear the cogs turning in his brain.

'I knew it! That's cool, but I bet Dad's gonna be pissed,' he whispered.

'Only if he finds out,' I whispered back. 'You can keep a secret, can't you?'

'Hell yeah!' he replied, before throwing himself at me and hugging me half to death.

 *   *   *   *   *

The following morning it was back to work. I'd been asked by the Personnel Manager on Friday to come in, as she wasn't sure what Mike's plans were, or whether he would even be showing up, but when I arrived I found him at the loading dock signing off on an early delivery.

'Good morning, Gray,' he said to me once he was done.

'Hey, Mike.'

'We need this week's advertising stock brought down from upstairs as quickly as we can get it, so the floor staff can finish setting up their displays,' he said. 'Can you start with that today? It really needed to have been done Friday.'

There was no please or thank you, and his tone wasn't overly friendly, so it looked like things between us were still going to be on the frosty side. I knew that I would have to tread carefully, though, with there already being something from last week that I apparently didn't do. It might have been helpful if I'd been told about that.

'Sure,' I replied, then turned to leave. I glanced back at him after I had gone a short distance, only to see him staring after me. He shook his head slightly, then turned his attention back to some paperwork in front of him.

The advertising stock for the store was all packed into a separate section for each week in the upstairs storage area. When I got there I noticed some mannequins at the far end of the upper floor that hadn't been packed away as they should be, and my mind immediately flashed back to when Hoppy and I had been tasked with the clean up last week, and had then needed another clean up after we'd had a bit of fun.

I was tempted to go and pack the mannequins away but figured it would be best if I only did what was needed for now. I could always come back and do that afterwards.

I quickly found the advertising stock for this week, which looked to me to be the largest pile there was, so I started pulling it out and stacking it onto the rollers which ran almost the full length of the floor, making it easy to move the stock quickly. From there it needed to be piled onto the conveyor belt to be taken down to the lower level, then packed onto trolleys for distribution within the store.

It all takes time, along with a bit of muscle, but for the most part the work wasn't too hard, even if it did still raise a sweat.

At one stage, while loading stock onto trolleys at the bottom of the conveyor, Raffa came past as he was taking some empty cartons to be crushed. He stopped and said hello and we chatted for a few minutes, but he needed to get back out onto the shop floor, so we arranged to take our lunch break at the same time and meet outside the store and find somewhere quiet where we could talk.

For the most part Mike stayed well clear of me, which I thought was a good thing, but I had a feeling that there was something simmering just beneath the surface of his gruff facade, waiting to be set off by the slightest trigger.

It took a few hours but I managed to transfer all the stock downstairs and load it onto trolleys for the various department staff to collect and take out onto the shop floor to set up their displays for the week. Afterwards I spent a little time tidying things upstairs again, including moving the mannequins that hadn't been packed away.

A few other people came and went, some looking for stock, others rummaging around in the fittings area for shelves or brackets, but thankfully nobody took much notice of me. Hopefully that was a sign that I had already become yesterday's news, but I figured only time would tell.

Just as I finished with the mannequins, I heard a noise and looked up to see two guys approaching me. I knew who they were. They were a bit older than me and mates of Tom Goodwin, and I was immediately on edge as they approached, whispering to each other and grinning.

What had me worried the most was that on this floor the only way out was either back down the main stairs, which were currently blocked by two assholes, or to go down the fire escape steps behind me and out through the fire exit, which would set off alarms and have people running. Maybe that's just what I would need to do if things suddenly got out of control.

'Well, well. Look what we have here,' one of them said as they reached me and came to a stop. 'The little fag is all alone.'

His name was Troy Shorten. Like many of the people I worked with, I'd never had a lot to do with him, but I had taken an instant dislike to him from the first time I’d met him. He was another football player, as was his companion, whose name was Dan Thompson.

I straightened up and looked at them as they stopped not away far from me.

'Nice quiet spot you have up here all to yourself,' Dan said.

'What do you want?' I asked.

'Word on the street is that you like threesomes,' replied Troy, then for effect he pointed to each of us, starting with Dan and finishing with me as he counted to three.

'Fuck off!' I replied.

'Now is that any way to treat your work colleagues?' Dan asked. The smirk on his face being far from friendly.

I took a step back and quickly glanced around me, looking for something with which I might be able to defend myself if it came to that.

'Yeah, we're just wanting to be friendly,' added Troy.

I reached out and picked up the closest thing I could see that might be of some help; an arm off one of the mannequins. As I raised it, prepared to use it as a club if I had to, Troy stepped back.

'Be careful what you wish for, faggot,' he snarled.

'I sure as hell won't be wishing for anything to do with either of you pair,' I replied, my voice and hands shaking slightly, just as I heard some footsteps coming our way.

Troy and Dan spun around at the approaching sound and stepped aside. I looked up just in time to see Mike reach the top of the main stairs and come towards us, and he looked pissed as he took in the sight before him.

'Just what the fuck is going on here?' Mike demanded. I'm sure the sight of me holding a plaster arm, ready to defend myself, would be all he needed to get an answer to that question.

To be continued . . .

Authors Note:

Hi there. It has been a while since I have posted anything new on Nifty. I guess life gets in the way sometimes.
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