Page 77 of Constantly Cotton
“Oh my God,” he said. He stared at Cotton. “A full ride? Did you even apply to this place?”
“No,” Cotton said, although hehadapplied to a few junior colleges in the area, for reasons. For missing Jason Constance beyond-all-reason reasons, which were, as far as he was concerned, perfectly legit. “I never even heard of the place until now.”
“Well, itisnursing school,” Henry said. “A three-year vocational program, with the option for a BA if you want to take that track. And this Jessica Constance person sure seems to want to give you a scholarship, with student housing inclu—”
“Wait, what?” Cotton asked. He hadn’t gotten to the signature at the end; he’d been too stuck on the too-good-to-be-true in the middle.
Henry paused, thought for a moment, went back to reread the person on the header, and then flipped the page over to read the signature. “This JessicaConstanceperson,” he said, his voice dripping with meaning. “Does that name mean anything to you, Cotton Carey?”
Cotton bit his lip, trying to keep the smile from taking over his entire body. Signs. Jason had promised him signs. A letter from his sister offering him an education in nursing—something Jason thought he could do and love doing it—seemed like more of a giant neon beacon, but it wasdefinitelya sign.
“Yes,” Cotton said, failing his battle against the smile. “Yes, it does.”
SCHOOL DIDN’Tstart until January, which gave Cotton a few months to say goodbye, and he used them to get his shit together. He spent time taking placement tests on a laptop he used his savings for, as well as taking some online science refreshers from the local adult outreach programs. Nothing that would get him units, but enough to make him remember all the stuff he thought he’d forgotten in high school.
And he spent time being there for his friends—consolingthemover breakups, being the workout buddy they needed, doing the dishes and cleaning house to help pay the rent nobody would let him pitch in for. He felt useful and needed and loved, and it was funny how this should have made it harder to leave, but it didn’t. It made him realize he could leave and the love would still be there. Thepeoplewould still be there. He’d still have Henry’s cell number, and John’s, and Lance’s, and even Jackson Rivers’s. Leaving here was not like getting kicked out of the house. He wasn’t being cut off from his support system, he was being supported to go out on his own.
He spent Christmas at the flophouse, but John had a big party at a local park clubhouse a couple of days beforehand for all his boys, and that was fun too. The clubhouse itself wasn’t fancy—linoleum floors and folding chairs—but John and Dex, his second-in-command, had worked hard to decorate it nicely, with gold foil and glitter and red velvet and a big tree with presents underneath for all the models and the people who worked with them. And even the kids of some of the former models and staff. It wasn’t a “porn” party; it was a work party, and everyone dressed in their best slacks and chinos and put on their best sweaters to go eat cold shrimp on the boss’s dime and be with their friends.
Cotton knew a lot of places had parties like this, but he wondered if any of them were as warm or as kind. Sure, there were going to be guys hooking up at the end of the night, but they did that shit all the time. While they were there, they got to be young professionals who took each other seriously and talked about school and their other jobs and their families and boyfriends—and some girlfriends—and generally celebrated without excess.
There couldn’t be any excess. All of John’s models were over eighteen, but about a quarter of them weren’t over twenty-one, so it was pretty much soda only. Since John and Galen were in recovery, that was appropriate too.
Cotton got a lot of pats on the back and “We’ll miss you, man”s, which sort of made the moment bittersweet, but also, mostly sweet. He’d been cared for here. His family at the flophouse, his family with this company, it hadn’t been bullshit. He’d been loved. He’d left an imprint other than his porn videos. People would remember his kindness and his smile.
It was funny how he hadn’t realized what had made him stay there until he was ready to leave.
At the end of the party, John called the whole staff to the front of the clubhouse to make a speech, which he hadn’t done since Cotton had started working for him. He stood, Dex on his right, Galen on his left, wrapped in a sweater on the frosty lawn in front of the parking lot and shivering.
“So,” he said, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable as he bounced on his toes, “our friend Cotton here is going off to college, and that happens a lot with my guys, and I’m always glad to see it. I mean, I worked damned hard to build up a porn company, but Dex and me, we also worked to build up an ‘after-porn’ company. We wanted our guys to have options when they were done making pretty movies for us to enjoy, and you all know that. Some of you even work there.”
He winked and there was generalized laughter before he went on. He’d been working to buy a retail franchise so he could hire from the model pool for life after porn—apparently he had a thing for pet stores. “And while I think you’re all meant for great things—and you all deserve the best happy ever afters in the world—there are some of you….” His voice dropped, and he searched Cotton’s eyes out, his own eyes growing bright in the soda lamp that watched over the lawn. “Some of you,” he repeated, his voice growing husky, “that I worried about more than others. And one of those boys is getting ready to fly, and at first I was thinking that I was the only one who wanted to do something big for him as he left. But the more you all talked to me, the more we realized that all of us were so damned proud of him that we wanted to do something big.”
John paused and Cotton looked around and realized that his roommates were all gathered around him, including Billy and his new cop boyfriend. They huddled close enough to jostle, to put their hands on his shoulder, or, in Chale’s and Vinnie’s case, to make “Eeeeeeeee….” sounds of excitement like little kids.
And everybody—everybody—was looking at him.
And John kept talking. “As we were looking for something big to do, we realized our boy was going far away with no means of transportation to get him back home if he needed to return. So we pitched in and got him a present so he could go out and make the world a better place.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key fob, which he clicked.
A small Nissan Sentra, not brand-new but not on death’s door either, lit up in front of the curb near where they were standing.
“Cotton,” John said, holding out the fob, “come get your present, kid. And promise you’ll come visit when you can.”
Cotton couldn’t remember a whole lot of that night, but he knew he was crying for a good long time after that.
A week later, his roommates—his brothers—helped him pack the car with his bedding, his laptop, and his clothes, and then they all hugged him hard before sending him on his way.
SCHOOL WASN’Teasy, but then, he hadn’t expected it to be. While his dorm roommate—a fresh-from-high-school kid named Brad who was really excited by the ease with which his classmates could buy beer—spent a lot of his time getting drunk and getting laid, Cotton spent his time remembering how to be a student. He read the textbooks, did the homework, and went for the extra credit. Hedidremember—in fact he remembered how to be agoodstudent, but now he had a goal beyond pleasing his parents.
He was out to please himself.
After two weeks, he left his last class of the day feeling exhilarated and exhausted… and strangely let down. It wasn’t that he’d thought the whole thing was a ruse for him to see Jason. He was very cognizant that this was a chance for him to do well, to earn a good life for himself, to keep growing.
But… well, he thought he’d at least see Jason alittle.
And beyond that, while he did have some homework, he also was coming to realize that he had room to breathe. He didn’t have to spend every waking hour swimming for his life. His newly awakened academic skills were reminding him that he could do this, and he could do it without quite so much sweat.
He sort of wished he had someone to spend the weekend with.