Scott thanked her and made his way toward the bar, but there was no one at it. He got the attention of the bartender, who stopped cleaning and came over.
“Have you seen a guy, like, five foot nine, thin, dark hair, green eyes?” he said.
“Uh,” the bartender said, squinting. “I don’t remember the color of his eyes, chief —” (here he gave Scott the classicAre you a homo?look) “— but I did just see that guy, yeah.”
“Cool, did you see where he went?”
“I know where he went. I sent him downstairs to the club’s cash bar, ‘cause my vodka selections weren’t up to his standards.”
“Great, thanks,” Scott said, and made his way to the hallway, then downstairs.
Underneath the reception hall was a lounge with glass walls that looked out onto the club’s patio. Here there was another, much longer bar, and several televisions on the wall all tuned to ESPN. It was mostly deserted down here, except for a couple of wedding guests tucked into the corner who were making out, two tired-looking club employees sitting at a table in their green polos, and Carver waiting at the bar.
Scott walked up next to him and touched him on the arm. Carver turned to him, then exhaled. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” Scott said. This bartender looked even less interested than the last one — she was standing at the other end of the bar, refusing to make eye contact with either of them. “How’s, uh, it going?” He felt flushed and clumsy, suddenly.
“It’s fine,” Carver said. He added, more loudly, “I’d love a drink.”
The bartender finally put her phone down and walked over. “Hi, what can I get you?”
“Double vodka soda with Elit.”
“Got it,” she said. To Scott: “Anything for you?”
“I’m good,” he said.
She walked away again.
“They didn’t even have regular Stoli upstairs,” Carver said.
“Whoa,” Scott said, smiling. “It’s like a third-world country in here.”
Carver snorted, then turned to face him, leaning against the bar. Scott straightened up and slipped his hands in his pockets. Carver’s face was stony, but his posture was seductive — he was so committed to being a walking mindfuck. Scott tried not to look at him, but couldn’t help doing so.
“I think we should talk about last night,” Scott ventured in an undertone.
“Here?”
“I don’t know when I’m gonna get the chance otherwise.”
Carver nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay. Well.” Scott cleared his throat. “Did it mean something to you?” he said, keeping an eye on the bartender, who was down at the end of the bar looking at her phone again.
“Good question,” Carver said, not looking at him and keeping an eye on the rest of the room. “Why don’t you tell me what it meant to you, first?”
“Why do I have to go first, man?”
Carver still didn’t look at him, but held up his right hand and subtly indicated his wedding band.
“Right. Yeah. Look, I think you know what it meant to me, ‘cause I think you felt what I felt last night.” Scott dragged in a breath, feeling prickly heat in his armpits. “It was real.”
Carver’s expression didn’t change, but he started to blink more rapidly. “Prove it.”
“Prove what?”
“Prove I felt what you felt.”
