Ian pulled back from the hug and said, “You’re no more of a dope than the rest of us. We’re just here trying to help each other make it through and have a little bit of fun along the way.” Then he stopped and looked up at the sky before looking back at me. He said, “Damn, I’m really not trying to be profound, but shit like that comes out of my mouth once in awhile.”
We both laughed, and I said, “I gotta go for now. It was a good practice. I’m looking forward to the next game.”
Ian said, “I think it’s fair to say the entire team is looking forward to the next game.”
As I climbed the steps toward the house, I realized I still had the glove on my left hand. I curled the fingers of my right hand into a fist and pounded it into the glove. When I reached the top of the hill, just before climbing on to the porch, I bent over like I was scooping a grounder.
Ian called from his house, “Don’t miss that ground ball, stud!”
10
Ian
I could barely hear Reggie’s voice on the phone because of all the background noise. He was saying, “I think you really should come down here and join me, Ian. There’s somebody here worth seeing.”
“Where’s here?” I asked.
“The Toolbox, where else? Just throw on some decent clothes, and make yourself look sharp and sweet and get down here. You can’t say no.”
The Toolbox was our favorite gay bar. It had a laid-back, relaxed atmosphere and was just a little bit rough around the edges. Reggie was difficult to turn down when he requested my presence, and he was right often enough that I had to consider the option even if my first inclination was to say no. I answered, “Okay, give me about twenty minutes, and I’ll be there.”
It was 9:00 p.m. on a Tuesday night, and I was comfortably settled on the couch catching up on cooking competition shows. I was wearing the old worn jeans that I put on to work in the garden, and my T-Shirt had holes in unflattering places. I climb the stairs and rummaged through the closet for other options.
I could easily dress as the charming nerd. I had a whole series of plaid button-down shirts with khakis to match and even non-prescription glasses to complete the look. I gave it a few minutes thought, and then I said, “No,” out loud to myself.
Instead, I chose to be a little bit more edgy, at least for me. I chose my tightest pair of jeans and a T-Shirt from the last softball world series that clung to my chest in all of the right spots. Checking everything out in the mirror and running a brush through my hair, I was pleased with what I saw looking back.
I locked the kitchen door, and slipped the phone into my pocket trying my best to avoid an unsightly bulge in the wrong place. Glancing over to Blake’s house, I noticed that the downstairs light was on. He was probably doing the same thing I was doing when Reggie called. I smiled thinking about what it would be like to cuddle up against his tall frame for a quiet night of TV. Something told me the action might not remain so quiet as the evening wore on.
It was a beautiful night out. The day was warm for spring in Milwaukee, and the night was cool but not cold. A full moon lit up the sky.
The area around the Toolbox was hopping for a Tuesday night. Traffic was backed up at the stop lights, and parking wasn’t going to be easy to find. I drove around and around the block before finally finding an empty parallel space that I could just squeeze into about three blocks away from the bar.
I stuck the car key fob into my pocket and tossed my house keys into the glove compartment as I exited the car. As I walked down the street and neared the Toolbox, I was aware of more than a few guys giving me the once over, and some of the looks lingered. Unless there was reason to suspect someone of creepy behavior, it was always a good feeling to be the subject of an appreciative gaze.
The Toolbox was packed even up next to the pool tables in the back. I stood just inside the door by the front of the bar and scanned the crowd to see if I could pick out Reggie. He was at a small round table about halfway back talking with someone. As I approached, there was no mistaking the red hair even from behind. It was Connor.
Reggie caught my eye just as I was approaching. He said, “Hey, Ian, you know Connor. We were just having a good conversation.”
Connor stood and reached out a hand to shake. I shook vigorously and gave him a one-armed hug. He said, “You know, you guys got pretty damn lucky with that ringer in our game.”
I smiled and said, “You know, I think that was only the second ball I’ve ever seen him hit over the fence. I think he kind of got lucky.”
Connor said, “I’m sorry I won’t be here for the rematch. I’m going to be away for awhile. I’m sure Reggie can give you the details.”
Then he leaned forward and shared a quick peck on the lips with Reggie. It didn’t last long, but it was a kiss, and they both looked pleased with the result. “Have a great trip, Connor,” said Reggie.
Connor clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Later, Reggie. Save a place for me,” and then he was making his way to the door.
After he left, I said, “Well, that looked nice and cozy.” I seated myself on a chair opposite Reggie.
He said, “I”m taking a second look. It seems like the fair thing to do. I think he’s mellowed out.”
“Do you have a date set up?” I asked.
Reggie sighed and slumped down between his shoulders. “What sucks about it is he’s going out of town for work. That’s what he meant about missing the rematch. He won’t be back until the fall.”
I said, “Well then you can concentrate on your game without distraction.”
Reggie laughed and said, “Well, I guess there is that.” He asked, “Can I grab you a drink from the bar? You look like you need one, Ian.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “I do? I think I’m fine, but I won’t turn it down. How about a gin and tonic instead of a beer?”
He said, “One gay man’s special coming up,” and he disappeared into the crowd at the bar.
I looked around and didn’t see many people that I knew. There were a lot of familiar faces that I saw at other times at the Toolbox, but not many I had actually met in the past. I wouldn’t be able to place many names with faces.
When Reggie returned with the drink, I asked, “So who is this guy that I’m supposed to meet? Was it Connor?”
He shook his head and said, “No, it wasn’t Connor. Now stand up so I can take a look at you.”
I stood as commanded, and Reggie gave me an appreciative nod as he checked out my clothes. He said, “You look good, but then you always look good. Anyway, there was this guy who was hitting on me, and he was hot, but he wasn’t really my type. So I said to myself, ‘He’s really more of Ian’s type, so I should give my buddy a call.’”
“And where is he?” I asked.
Reggie pulled his phone from his pocket, looked at the time, and said, “He should be back in less than five minutes.”
“You arranged a specific time?” I asked.
Reggie held a finger to his lips and said, “Sshhh, he works at one of the restaurants just down the street, and he said he needed to talk to the chef about his work schedule. I told him what time I thought you would be here, and he promised to come back.”
After he drained the last of his beer, Reggie looked up toward the door and said, “There he is now.” He held his hand over his head and gestured for someone to join us.
A tall, skinny guy joined us at the table. I took one look at him, and we both started to laugh. Nearly in unison, I asked, “This is who you wanted me to meet?”
A perplexed look crossed Reggie’s face. “Yeah, is there something I’m not getting here?”
The other man started to talk, and I held a up a hand. “Here, let me take care of it. Reggie, this is Gary Winston. We went to high school together up on the East Side.”
“So you know each other?” asked Reggie.
Gary put a hand on my shoulder and said, “You might say we know each other intimately.” We both burst out laughing again.
Gary stopped laughing just enough to say, “No, we didn’t. We just made moony eyes at each other in advanced placement English class. And we thought nobody else noticed.”
I said, “Until the day the truth went up in a post-it on the bulletin board just like something you would see in second grade.”
“What was that?” asked Reggie.
Gary said, “Just Ian plus Gary on a big index-card-sized post-it note. Do you remember Mrs. Carlson when she found out, Ian?” He started snickering again.
I said, “She turned beet red. Then she tore it off the board and said, ‘Someone is being childish. I do not allow this type of childish behavior in an advanced class.’ The whole class tittered, and we both were totally embarrassed.”
Reggie asked, “Why were you embarrassed? I mean this is the twenty-first century…”
I said, “It wasn’t that. We just thought the whole thing was a secret. It was so much a secret that we didn’t talk to each other about it, but yeah, some of those looks we shared. It really was kinda sexy as hell.”
Gary smiled and said, “Well, to be honest, Ian, you really are still sexy as hell.”
I smiled and said, “Well, thank you. Then in college we went beyond the looks, and, well, the rest is history.”
Reggie looked from me to Gary and back again. He said, “Well, you should understand that I wanna hear details.”
At the perfect moment, we were interrupted. Sally Benz, one of the co-owners of the bar walked up to us. I was originally introduced to her through Reggie. She said, “One of the guys said I should talk to you, Reggie.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Something serious?”
She motioned with her hand as she shook her head. “Oh no, no, nothing like that. We’ve got a hole in our bartending staff schedule. One of the guys left to go to grad school in Madison. I’ve been trying to drop word around to see if I uncover anybody good from the community before I need to advertise.”
“Do you need a lot of experience?” I asked.
Sally said, “That’s always great, of course, if we can get it, but experience can be really hard to find. What I need most is a body that will be a solid worker and show up on time and not call in sick at the last minute.” She paused for a moment and said, “Of course, in a place like this, good looks don’t hurt.”
There was silence among the three of us, and I was thinking. Sally started to walk away saying, “Thanks anyway, guys,” and then Reggie reached out for her elbow.
He said, “Hold up. There’s something grinding away in Ian’s head. I can see it.”
I said, “I think I might have the perfect guy for you, Sally.”
Her eyes perked up. “Seriously? You’re not pulling my leg?”
“Well, I have to talk to him of course.”
Both Gary and Reggie looked at me with huge question marks written across their faces. I asked, “Do you have a phone number that he can call, Sally?”
She said, “Yeah, let me scribble it down for you. Have you got something to write with. I could do the old scribbling on a napkin bit.”
I dug a pen out of my pocket. It might have been one of the geekiest things to do, but I always made sure I carried around something to write with. Sally tore a hole in the napkin at first, and then she lightened up on the grip and got the numbers written out at legible size.
I said, “Tomorrow you’ll either hear from him, or I’ll give you a call to let you know he’s not interested.”
Sally leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek. She said, “You guys are the best. If I get a bartender out of this, you all get three rounds free on the house.”
Gary piped up and said, “We’ll take it!”
Sally ambled off and Reggie leaned in. “Who are you thinking about, Ian?”
I said, “Blake’s looking for a job.”
“Seriously?” asked Reggie. Then I could see him think it through and consider it. Gary watched both of us and finally Reggie said, “You know, I can see it. You don’t think those guys will eat him alive, though, do you?”
I said, “Maybe it will be good for him to learn a few survival skills.”
11
Blake
Ian sounded reluctant to talk very much about the bartending job. I wasn’t sure exactly why. In the off-season from baseball, I spent a couple of winters stringing together a whole range of odd-jobs. I hung drywall. I wrapped Christmas gifts. I did bicycle delivery. I waited tables. I even worked the Halloween shifts at an amusement park. Bartending was new to me, but it didn’t seem like a huge stretch…until just a couple of hours before my scheduled meeting with the owner.
That’s when I realized it was a gay bar. Of course it was a gay bar. I knew that’s where Reggie and Ian liked to hang out. I just naively didn’t put two and two together to come up with four.
I honestly didn’t know for sure if customers would assume that I was gay just because I worked there. I could count the number of gay bars I set foot in on one hand. A girl I knew in high school took me to my first one two days after we both graduated from high school. In retrospect, maybe she figured me out before I did. I couldn’t stop staring at the half-dressed guys. She had a fake ID and bought our drinks.
I almost decided to skip the interview, but then I decided to suck it up and go downtown to meet with the owner of the Toolbox. When I stepped through the door, at first it just looked like any ordinary bar. Then I noticed the suggestive neon signs and the posters for everything from symphony concerts to free STD testing.
I heard a voice from the back call, “Hey, are you Blake?”
I peered into the distance and saw a middle-aged woman strolling toward me. She had a bar rag thrown over her shoulder. She was relatively short, maybe five feet five inches, and almost skinny in build. I said, “Yeah, I’m Blake Powell. I came to talk about the bartending job.”
As she approached me, she said, “I’m Sally. I’m one of the owners here.” Then she took a long look at me from head to foot and back up again. She walked up close to me and tugged lightly at my T-Shirt. She said, “I think you might want to tighten up the fabric and the jeans, but yeah, I can see it.”
“See what?” I asked.
“You slinging beers and mixing gin and tonics from behind the bar. That is the job you are asking about, right?”
I grinned as she tugged at the shirt again pulling it tight across my chest. “Yeah, the bartending job. I’ll definitely work hard at it. I can give references.”
Sally smiled. “Ian’s probably the best reference you can get in my book. He’s a good man. I met him through his friend, Reggie. He has helped out with our taxes for free. He’s a smart one.”
I looked down and said, “So you think I should wear a tighter T-Shirt.”
She said, “The more it clings, the higher the tips. So, it’s up to you, but wearing something that fits loose is just leaving money on the bar. I usually like the bartender to wear one of our Toolbox T-Shirts, and I suggest a size smaller than you normally wear.”
* * *
By the time I walked out the door of the Toolbox, I had agreed to start work immediately that evening. Sally suggested that I work early in the evening and shadow Claw.
I asked, “Claw?” She said, “Oh, his name is Levi, but all of the customers just know him as Claw. Don’t worry, he’s not nearly as dangerous as the name sounds.”
Levi turned out to be a great guy, and I was just short of being a walking disaster area. At least that’s what I saw from my point of view. He had a cheat sheet on the ingredients in various drinks that he rarely used. He had me just hand deliver drinks that he mixed to customers, and I managed to spill at least three on myself.
Two more ended up in the laps of customers followed by snarky comments of, “Go right ahead. If you wanna rub it out of the jeans for me, I don’t mind.”
All things considered, though, everyone was great.
Claw was patient, and the customers were appreciative. A tall, skinny guy asked, “Did Sally just import you from California? We don’t have guys who look like you in Wisconsin. Do you mind if I give that bicep a quick squeeze?”
I ended my first shift at 9:00 p.m. before the Toolbox really got busy. Sally was in the back crunching numbers and ordering supplies. She looked up when I walked into her office and asked, “So how was it?” She wrinkled her nose and said, “Smells like you lost control of at least one gin and tonic.”
I said, “I need a lot of practice, but I want to give it all a try if you can handle that.”
Sally said, “I heard a lot of positives. Some of those guys out there have been coming here for years, and a few of them stopped back in the office to mention you.”
I opened my eyes wider. “They did? I hope it was good stuff.”
She laughed. “Yep, it was mostly all good stuff. I heard over and over how great you look. That’s no surprise.”
I started to blush. “They treat me like I’m a model.”
With a nod, Sally said, “Well, you could be.” Then she said, “Most importantly, they said you were mellow and didn’t seem to get upset easily about anything. Working at a bar on the best night can try anybody’s patience. So far you’ve handled it well, Blake.” Then she reached out a hand to shake and said, “Welcome to the team.”
It took me awhile to get the hang of some of the drinks, but over the next couple of days I kept working with Claw, and he said, “We won’t put you out solo for a little while, but you learn fast.”
He talked at the same time as he measured and poured drinks. Claw was only about five feet eight inches, but he was solid. He was muscular and built like a bouncer. I guessed that he might have been a wrestler at some point in the past.
Complete Game: The League, Book 1 Page 7
