Jon: Evie, gone out. Will be back tonight.
A WOMAN’S TOUCH
“Drinking alone?”
I climbed onto my usual stool at the bar. Spectrum had an ebb and flow to it. Tonight, it appeared as if the waters had rescinded. There was only one other person at the far end of the bar, nursing his beer. No DJ. No queens. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was another hole in the wall.
“Yeah. Jason’s watching his kid, and Amanda is busy having phone sex.”
Patrick froze in mid-shake, the tumbler high above his head. His eyebrow inched up his forehead. “Just because I’m your bartender doesn’t mean you need to shareeverythingwith me.”
“That’swhere you draw the line?”
Patrick smirked as he continued mixing my cocktail. The man’s body vibrated as he shook the silver cups like his arch-nemesis. When he finished, he cracked them open,pouring the clear liquid into a martini glass. With an orange wedge hanging off the side, he slid it in front of me.
He had always been handsome. The straight bartender in a predominantly gay establishment had a certain mystique to it. It didn’t help that he’d frequently show up in a leather harness or chaps. Unlike me, he had a firm stomach, still bearish, but it was obvious one of us did sit-ups. It certainly wasn’t me.
Patrick leaned back, his eyes fixated on me. “Something’s going on.”
I looked down, not understanding the statement. “Nothing’s going on.”
He reached for a white cloth, slinging it over his shoulder. “You know what this means?” He pointed to it as if the answer should be obvious. “This is the official bartender code for ‘Spill your problems.’”
“I’m fine.” Even I wasn’t convinced by my statement.
“The towelknows. You can resist all you want, but Iwillget the truth out of you. Nobody can outrun the towel.”
I almost laughed, but he crossed his arms, face dead serious. Was he relying on a stereotype, or did Patrick have some supernatural ability to coax the truth from his patrons? I wouldn’t be shocked to find out he was a superhero masquerading as a bartender. By the thickness of his biceps, it might be closer to the truth than I imagined.
“Fine!” I blurted out.
“Nobody resists.” He winked. The towel had won.
“Firefly is supposed to have a carnival, but all ourvolunteers are going to a baseball game in Boston. Without them… I stupidly told everybody I’d figure out a solution.”
“It’s just a carnival.” I could see the confusion on his face. It took a moment before he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter. “It’snotjust a carnival, is it? Does this have to do with a…” I must have given it away. “The guy from my bathroom?”
The heat in my cheeks had me drowning myself in my cocktail. Patrick’s superpowers were impressive indeed.
“His name is Tyler. I met him twenty years ago. We had a kiss under the fireworks and?—”
“You want the reunion to be epic. Now, I’m understanding. Can’t the people in Firefly help?”
“It’s a small town. There aren’t really enough people.”
Patrick’s lips pursed to the side. I don’t think he quite understood how much the men frequenting Spectrum wanted to feel that beard scratch their nether regions. His looks intensified as he brainstormed.
To my side, somebody pulled out a stool and took a seat. I glanced over to see a muscular man with short-cropped hair. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about him looked familiar. The eyebrows? Something about them… I don’t think I had ever admired another man’s eyebrows before.
“Scotch on the rocks.” A deep tenor. He knew exactly what he wanted.
“I know you’ve become a small-town country boy,” Patrick said. “But you know plenty of people outside of Firefly.” His eyes drifted to the new gentleman as hedropped a sphere of ice into a glass. Pouring, the man next to me put his finger on the back of the bottle, raising it until the glass filled.
“Good boy.”
“It’s not like I can ask the designers at work. A carnival run by corporate artists? Not exactly a riveting time.”
“I’m offended,” the man said.
