Manny chuckles as he pours me a pint (a proper ale, not some pissy lager). I won’t insult him by pretending he’ll charge me for it. “Can’t believe I finally convinced you to follow me here. Your dad owes me twenty quid.”
“Well, I know how much you can’t live without me,” I joke. “Someone has to keep you honest.”
“Fuck off,” he laughs. He’s practically glowing. I already knew he was thriving since making the move here, but seeing it in person is always a joy. “It’s good to see you, man.”
“You too.” I raise my glass, and fuck, it’s good. Jet lag has been kicking my arse since I landed six hours ago, and I haven’t eaten since the dry sandwich I had on the plane, but sleep and food can wait. I’ve needed this.
Manny sets both hands on the wood and brass counter, one of the signature touches of the Scoundrel. I already know what’s coming, but I’m going to put it off for as long as possible.
“You called Reed yet?”
Or not. “No.”
He just shakes his head like he expected that answer, and I’m briefly saved any follow-ups when a customer steps up and orders two glasses of wine.
It gives me a chance to take a fresh look at the place.
Along the walls, green glass sconces cast a golden glow over the room, warming the deep forest walls and mismatched leather stools. The mission was to bring home here, and we damn well made sure to keep it on the right side of nostalgia without dipping into parody.
There are places where the paint extends too far, or a panel was cut an eighth too short, but sitting here, I can feel the care seeping in from the floor and extending to the ceiling. With the reclaimed wood trim and back bar, it’s every bit a right proper pub.
“I see you haven’t run this place into the ground yet,” I say, when Manny makes his way back.
He wears his pride out in the open, as he absolutely should.
I’m proud of him. He’s never been one to rest on his laurels, and it makes me want to be better. Disciplined.
Just as my brother wanted.
“It’s gone better than I could have hoped,” he replies, crossing his arms over his chest. “The whole building’s embraced it.”
Establishing a local had been a priority from day one. It’s a relief to know it worked.
“You working today?” he asks.
“Just a bit,” I say, attempting to wrangle my hair into order. It’s grown longer than I usually let it. “I have to publish this week’s audio, edit a few others, and set up the studio.” It won’t take long. Soundproofing the closet only requires a dozen panels, and I can run the mic through my laptop until I have the time to rig up something more permanent.
If I even need it. The permanent state of this move isn’t guaranteed yet. “Then I’ll sleep, I promise.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go running back to London on some post-nut epiphany. I only just got you here.”
Manny is one of the few people who know I record audio erotica and the only member of my family I’ve trusted with the truth.
Ask them, and I’m lazy, irresponsible, and more likely to follow a skirt than a profit-and-loss statement. That’s not who I am anymore, but I’d rather let them believe the lie than try to turn me into someone I’m not.
I’m not ashamed, but no amount of explaining that it’s a creative exercise I enjoy will erase the sexual aspect if they don’t respect the work.
Or if they don’t respect me.
I slip my hand into my pocket and pull out the proverbial stone that’s been weighing me down for the last week. It’s probably not too late to change my mind, but then what was the point of getting on a plane in the first place?
This is what I wanted.
“What’s that, then?” Manny asks, and I push the invite over to him. “Ah,” he says, pushing it back to me. “You ready to see him?”
“It’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” Mending fences is what brought me here, but this particular fence might want to stay broken. “Turns out Darce already put my name down.Witha plus one. It appears her not so subtle hints that I need a girlfriend haven’t been enough.”
“Can you blame her? You’ve been avoiding anything serious for years.” A customer calls out for a refill, and Manny nods, reaching for a fresh glass but keeping close. “Am I pulling my tux out, then?”
