“Just tell me it doesn’t require its own comb and products.”
Will rolled his eyes. “Says the ‘influencer’ who gets free products. Share the wealth, dude.”
“No one saysdudeanymore. This isn’t Malibu.”
“I say it like I see it.” Will shrugged. “How’s the class going? The kids all talk about it. You are beloved, if you can believe it.”
Patrick returned to packing his dance bag. He always had to bring extra shoe brushes when he taught at the high school. Anita and some of their dance friends had donated proper footwear, but none of the kids ever remembered shoe brushes.
Will scratched at his facial hair. “You free? School is out, and I could use a drink.”
When he had been competing internationally, Patrick would not drink for a week or two leading up to the comp. Best physical form and whatnot. He was older and wiser now. “Why not?”
****
They ended up at the Caf, a dive-y sort of bar across the street from the high school. Patrick was pretty sure it had not been updated since the 1970s. The ancient jukebox was covered in a thick film of old cigarette smoke and spilled booze, and the neon lights flickered persistently like a mosquito that refused to be swatted. Four o’clock on a school night was clearly not its busy time.
He noticed a blonde woman in a Phillies hat nursing something bright blue with an umbrella, a risky choice in a place like this, and the two ageless school librarians perched precariously on two of the red leatherette barstools, already two Yuenglings deep and spitting laughter.
“You guys still come here?” He followed Will to a table in the middle of the room by the bar. No surprise that the silverware stuck to the table.
Will had a craggy, handsome sort of face that straightened out when he smiled. “Yeah, my boyfriend doesn’t get it either. But it’s cheap and nearby.” He signaled the bartender, a guy of short stature and long white hair that he tied back in a ponytail. The bartender filled two pints with Yuengling and left them at the edge of the bar.
Foamy goodness, yes please.Patrick brought them over to their table. “How’s life, Will?”
Will sipped the beer and licked the foam from his upper lip. “Not too bad. Job’s good, Bobby and I are getting along pretty well. Can’t complain. Small-town life, am I right?”
Patrick tugged at the collar of his shirt. No matter how far he tried to escape, Lewis pulled him back. Not just Lewis, of course. “How about your mom?”
Will barked a laugh. “The ballbuster? She’s amazing. She’s been lobbying the township for extra money so she can finally have a detective on staff.”
“Do we need a detective in Lewis?”
Will shrugged again and downed half of his lager. “Beats me. The world is changing, right? Listen to any true crime podcast, and you’ll see nefarious activity everywhere. My mom was telling me about some drug smuggling thing over the Maryland border she’s worried about, and even ballroom isn’t safe, right? I heard about that poor woman in New Jersey.” Will polished off the rest of his beer and signaled the ponytailed bartender for a second. “You’d think people who did ballroom would be chill, like you and Anita.”
Patrick sipped thoughtfully at his beer. The two librarians at the bar were now slapping each other jokingly and calling for Bushmills. “Would you really call Anita chill?”
Will snickered and went up to the bar for his second pint. “Trouble in paradise?”
“What are you talking about?” Patrick looked over Will’s head at the black-and-white TV behind the bar. He thought all rabbit-ear TVs had died the death of disco.
Will hit him on the shoulder. “You and Anita? You two having problems?”
A lump settled in Patrick’s stomach. Maybe he should drink some more beer. “We’re not together.”
Will whistled loudly, drawing the attention of the librarians. Much as Patrick had tried, he never could tell the difference between them, though one had pointier eyebrows than the other. Pointy Eyebrows leered at Will. “Forbes!” she called out, slurring theR. “Who’s your handsome friend?”
“Maeve, it’s Patrick O’Leary.” Will gestured with his beer. “Remember Patrick? He did ballroom dance and soccer.”
Patrick nodded to the ladies, who were shimmying in an uncoordinated way. Were all former teenagers reduced to their high school hobbies?
Pointy Eyebrows’ friend wolf whistled.
“Maybe we should go,” Patrick whispered.
“They’re harmless,” Will replied. “Besides, you’ve barely touched your beer.”
Patrick sipped at the beer, which tasted suddenly stale. There was no way the librarians were involved in sending him those photos, right? Will was right. One bad turn, and he saw suspects everywhere.
