That first night when Beckett approached me at the bar, I thought he’d ask about Brooklyn—I was used to that—but he didn’t. He asked about me instead, and now we were on our third date, talking each other’s ears off.
“I’ve been working for this woman, Tracey. She’s a headache. She wants to do a denim line, and I want to cut off my ears every time she brings it up. She’s been on the circuit with these T-shirts—they’re basically like fifty-fifties, and she acts like she invented the damn shit.” I rambled on while Beckett looked totally enthralled. “She’s always trying to get in on stuff after it’s already been done. It’s one thing to know what’s trendy, but it’s real talent to know what’sgoingto be trendy… I think.”
“Yeah, I get that. It’s the same in my job,” he said. “You have to be creative with these programs, stay five steps ahead of the shitheads writing viruses. If you don’t like Tracey, why don’t you do your own thing?”
“I am. I mean, I’m always sketching. I just need the money right now. I have to stick it out with her for a while until I can get my own studio. She got some Japanese denim in last week and came up to me saying we needed to do a high-waisted bell-bottom. I said, ‘You mean like the jeans that are in every single store right now?’ She’s seriously stifling my creativity. She’s sucking the life out of me.”
“That’s a bummer. Don’t let it discourage you. I saw some of your designs last weekend, and they’re totally deck.”
“Deck?”
“Yeah, like fresh.”
“Uh-huh. Thanks.” I nodded, wondering how I’d missed the memo.Damn hipsters.“Do they have food here?”
“I don’t think so. You hungry? Want to go to 4505?”
“Yeah, let’s do it.”
4505 Burgers & BBQ on Divisadero was a casual meat-fest. I had a root beer float, and Beckett and I shared a half a platter of ribs. There was meat and BBQ sauce in his beard through our entire meal, and it didn’t bother me one bit. I found it charming. Again, all new and shiny feelings. I had only slept with two guys in my entire life and neither was memorable at all, so at twenty-four, I felt inexperienced. But Beckett was sweet and easy to be around.
Afterward, walking toward my apartment, we popped into a local hole-in-the-wall bar to grab one last drink before I invited him up, though he didn’t know yet that I had planned to finally have him over. It was only eleven, and I knew Brooklyn would be out until two in the morning at least.
The bar—which by the way had no name—was a cool little place to get in one last drink. The bartenders dressed up inStar Warscostumes… always. It was just their thing. Tonight the bartender was Han Solo. When Brooklyn or I referred to the bar, which only had a neon sign with bright yellow letters reading Cocktails, we called it the Star Wars bar.
Beckett and I sat at a table across from the bar top. I ordered a glass of wine.
He, of course, ordered thehoppiest IPA then said, “Hoppy makes me happy.”
I laughed as the bartender walked away.
“Bad joke?” he said.
“I’ll let it slide.”
Only a few loners were sitting at the bar, but the music coming from a jukebox in the corner was really loud.
“They should turn it down, huh?” I yelled.
“You want me to ask?” Beckett yelled back.
“Would you?”
“No problem.” He got up and headed toward the bar.
I saw him exchanging words with the bartender, then a man sitting at the end started talking to Beckett as well. I stared down at my drink and wondered if more alcohol was a good idea. When Beckett came back, the music was still hauntingly loud, playing “Bad Love” by Eric Clapton. I felt as if we were in a cheesy motorcycle movie. Beckett was bobbing his head to the beat and smiling. His demeanor had changed.
“What did they say?” I yelled.
“He said it’s a fixed volume. They can’t change it!”
“What? That’s insane! I’ve been in here other times and the music wasn’t this loud!”
“But it’s Clapton.” He was still bobbing his head.
I appreciated his enthusiasm, but I didn’t feel like yelling over Clapton while I was trying to get to know Beckett. “What did the other guy say?”
“The guy at the bar?”
