1
Demarco observed the undulating swell of fresh man-meat at B.J.'s. He sat snug to the bar attempting to flag one of the shirtless bartenders. It was Tuesday, and Tuesday Tunes was in full swing... the bar packed with titillating twinks, brawny bears, and the occasional papa politico.
He had arrived early, per his and Alec's old routine, but the drink he'd ordered then, before the onslaught, was now only melting ice and a sadly twisted cherry stem. The hour was past ten, and getting a server's attention at this point required one of two things—divine beauty, or flashing the big bucks.
Demarco reached into his wallet and pulled out a folded fifty-dollar bill, holding it up nonchalantly like a tiny flag between his left middle and forefingers.
He missed seeing Alec. It was late February, roughly two months since his best friend's impromptu relocation to Montana. He missed their fraternal banter on nights like this... Tuesdays, at B.J.'s, alone.
The current sing-along wasI Don't Know How to Love HimfromJesus Christ Superstar—a real dud.
They need to pick some more up-tempo numbers for these gigs, he thought.
Demarco lifted his currency flag a little higher and glanced down the never-ending bar where his eyes spotted a familiar face. Chad, the young man Alec had busted his former boyfriend, Mac, copulating with... in the employee bathroom. He was shirtless, naturally, chatting it up with some hot number, and he grinned coyly at the man while he poured with both hands.
Mac was gone. He no longer worked at B.J.'s, succumbing to drugs again when Alec had dumped him. Chad was now a lead bartender and/or manager in his stead... Eve to Mac's Margo. Mac had jested about the boy being ambitious. He was right.
Ah, they grow up so fast.
That and the turnover rate for bartenders in Dupont Circle was staggering... no different from any other gay neighborhood—the Castro, South Beach, Chelsea... Inevitable, but still.
Demarco waved his flag and Chad gave him a distant nod to let him know that he'd seen him.
The songs shifted, seamlessly blending from Andrew Lloyd Webber intoSomewhere That's GreenfromLittle Shop of Horrors—yet another less-than-upbeat number.
What the fuck am I still doing here?
But he knew why he was there... because there was nowhere else to go, and he was alone. He had lost his one true friend, Alec, to his mountain man, Tyler, months earlier. And now, like Alec, he felt stuck in that same rut, unable to escape—repeating patterns as a gay thirty-something... solo in the city.
Maybe not consciously, but somehow in his ambitious quest for status, he had chosen wealth over happiness. Scratch that. He wasn't unhappy or rich. He was comfortable... just alone.
He often hobnobbed with prestigious political and celebrity gays but—as fun as it may sound—those events frequently left him feeling unfulfilled and a tad shallow. Even if he did manage to bed or date someone, it never ventured into relationship-land. The anathema of his profession always interfered—directly or indirectly.
Recently, there had perhaps been another fleeting opportunity. A couple of months back, before Christmas—when Alec had first taken that initial brave leap into the wilderness—there had been a Secret Service man he was flirting with. He did not know the man's name, but he had seen him at two different work-related gatherings in the space of a week, and there was chemistry. The man was blond, broad, and bold, but on both occasions Demarco was on-the-clock and business had again taken precedence, leaving him only with the faint whiff of pheromones... and his bedtime fantasies.
He checked his phone to see if Reed had texted him with a possible gig, or that maybe Alec had skyped from his cozy cabin on Beulah Mountain.
Really? Beulah Mountain. You can't make this stuff up.
"Tom Collins?" Chad asked.
Demarco looked up from his phone and smiled. "Please."
"We know each other, right?" Chad asked.
"It depends on what you mean by know," Demarco said. "I'm here every Tuesday. Been so, for more years than I care to remember.You'rethe newbie. What is this, your third month?"
"Yeah. Tuesdays are usually my day off. I'm head bartender now," Chad said, popping a Maraschino cherry into a highball glass and sliding it to Demarco.
"Moving on up... muy rápido. Congratulations on the promotion."
"Thanks... I think," Chad said, scrunching his brow a little. He was cute. No surprise at all that Mac fell for him.
"How's Mac?"
Chad looked at Demarco, confused, and then his eyes widened with realization. "Oh, I know who you are. You're friends with the guy... the guy who—"
"—walked in on you fucking his boyfriend in the employee bathroom."
