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It was the strangest interview Lucius had ever had.
“Now, how are you about really listening to customers?” Mr. Bonnet was in a fuchsia suit, sitting on a bar stool with Lucius perched on another beside him.
“Loads of experience,” he said readily. “People really talk to bartenders.”
“They do, don’t they?” Mr. Bonnet nodded like this was grave truth. “Do you think you help them?”
“Oh sure.” He did help them get drunk. “Always had a helping spirit.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Now! Let’s do a little roleplaying shall we?”
“Uh...”
The job was advertised at three times Lucius’ current hourly pay. Considering he was still living with his last ex, who had become something of a low level drug dealer in the last two months and not the fun kind, he was closer to letting this weird rich dude make him wear a maid costume then he’d like to admit.
“Get behind the bar and let’s pretend it’s a busy Friday night!”
“Right! Right, absolutely.” Relief coursed through him as he moved around the bar.
The place was well stocked at least. Even the well liquor was pretty good stuff. They had all kinds of glasses instead of just two like his current shitty gig that tried to pass it off as ‘charming’ instead of cheap.
“I’m with a big table,” Mr. Bonnet gestured around the room. There were a few other people there, a cluster of other employees playing a game of cards, seemingly oblivious to the situation. “I’ve got a large order. Ready?”
There was a pencil and pen next to the register. He picked them up and did a little half-bow, half-curtsy thing. Now Lucius was being weird. Great. This place was contagious.
“Ready,” he declared.
“All right, we’d like a vodka cranberry, a dry martini, two IPAs and a Cosmo,” Mr. Bonnet tapped the bar, “and make it snappy!”
Lucius turned his back on the man to start picking out glasses. He could do this. He’d bar-tended his way through college and now through his college debt. None of the drinks were hard. It had just been a very long week, he’d gotten off a ten-hour shift right before coming here and hadn’t been sleeping well the last few days. He worked faster than he had in a long time, mixing and shaking, trying to keep a customer service smile on the whole time. He was pretty sure it looked like a horrific parody of himself.
Putting down a vodka cranberry, the martini and drawing the beers all went fine. It was the Cosmo where his tired brain failed him. It wasn’t until he was pouring it that he realized it was the wrong color. He’d used orange juice instead of cranberry and possibly rum instead of vodka. Shit, shit, shit. He tried to find a way to dump it, an excuse to to start over, but there was no crowd to hide in.
With a sinking heart, he set it gingerly on the bar.
“Bonnet,” one of the poker players had gotten up. A smaller man, shaved bald, who could easily have been one of Lucius' old bullies all grown up by the looks of it.
“I’m a little busy,” Mr. Bonnet sighed, picking up the vodka cranberry and giving it a small sip. “Good...”
“We were wondering- oh, hey cocktails.” The man didn’t even look at Lucius, but he zeroed in on the all-wrong Cosmo, picked it up and drank it in one long gulp. “Anyway, we were thinking about the first number and none of us can actually tap dance.”
“No?” Bonnet frowned. “Come to think of it, neither can I. All right, we’ll work on it. I’m open to suggestions, but right now I’m in the middle of something. How was that Cosmo?”
“Perfect.” The man glanced over at Lucius and then away, a small suggestion of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “What if we did fire eating instead?”
“Can you eat fire?” Bonnet turned to the man, seemingly forgetting Lucius entirely.
“How hard can it be to learn?” The man shrugged.
“I...don’t know?”
“Hey, John!” The man called out. “Can you eat fire?”
“Does a vindaloo count?”
"Don't think so!"
“I’ll let you two sort that out,” Bonnet decided. “Get back to me if it’s viable.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Bonnet’s attention returned to Lucius. “Right, these all seem up to snuff. And I saw on your resume that you do a bit of graphic design.”
“It’s my passion,” he said flatly.
“Maybe you can help me with a few things. You know, I’ve been thinking about doing something about a sign. Might make it easier to find the place if we had a really good one.”
Lucius tuned Bonnet out as he rambled on. The gist was that he had apparently gotten the job. He looked back to the crowd of people around the table. The bald man caught his eye and tipped him a wink then a thumbs up. It had been intentional. Lucius could’ve cried. It was the kindest thing anyone had done for him in a long time.
“Last question,” Bonnet said and for the first time, he sounded like a normal interviewer, serious and intent. “You do know this is a gay bar?”
“I’d noticed,” he pointed to one of many pride flags around the place. “It’s a bit of a giveaway.”
“And that won’t bother you?”
“I’m wearing an ascot,” Lucius said incredulously.
“You could be a very dapper homophobe. You don’t have to tell me anything about yourself, I just want to be sure you’ll be comfortable here and work well with our patrons.”
“Your kind of patrons are my bread and butter,” Lucius assured him.
“Then you’re hired.”
There was paperwork and such and by the time they were done, everyone had cleared out. The next night, Lucius turned up in his tight jeans, a very low v-neck t-shirt and a red crushed velvet jacket and provided what had been called in many performance reviews a ‘fair to middling’ job behind the bar. Bonnet seemed to either not notice or care that his new bartender moved at about half-speed or had more barbs than kindnesses to offer.
“You’re a hit!” Bonnet crowed to him instead as the bar filled up. “Who knew I was hiring a comedian? Can you get me an old fashioned? I always have one before a performance.”
Vaguely, Lucius was aware that there was a stage and there was likely live music or some dance acts or something, but he hadn’t been in a headspace to take in the details. Which meant he was caught entirely unaware by the squeal of a mic being turned on an hour or so later.
“Hello!” Someone that sounded not entirely like Bonnet crackled over the speakers. “Welcome. Thank you all for coming. Please enjoy a night of....acts! Things! Places! Not places....anyway! It’s the Friday Night Spectacular!”
What followed was one of the most surreal experiences of Lucius’ entire life, and he had once done shrooms in an abandoned amusement park with a professional James Dean impersonator. A parade of drag queens with a varying range of skill trooped across the stage, and instead of doing nice normal things that he’d seen on television like pretend to sing to songs or dance, they pulled out an entire circus. There was knife throwing and a chainsaw, a bird puppet and a red glitter cannon shot at close range into Leda House’s face to really disturbing effect.
In the mix was his bald savior. She was a decent juggler and had good comedic timing with her partner, a queen that easily out-massed her two to one. Their outfits were matching checkered print and big blond wigs. They joked through their act and covered misses by making even bigger, more intentional mistakes. Lucius forgot to make a drink through the entire thing and then had to actually motor to catch up.
The customers seemed to like whatever it was that had just happened, ordering more drinks and talking and laughing when the lights came back up. With three more hours on his shift, Lucius watched the crowd dwindle then build again when one of the performers tugged a karaoke machine on stage. A happy crowd was a tipping crowd. Between the cash jar on the bar and the incredible increase in his hourly rate, Lucius ended the night with more money than he normally made in a week. He was starting to clean off the bar-top and do the calculations about how many nights it would take to get him out of his apartment when the performers re-emerged from the back.
“How’d the night treat you?” The bald one plopped on a stool right in front of him.
“Very good.” Lucius treated him to a smile. “I liked your juggling.”
“Really?” the man’s face lit up. It wasn’t hard to find that beautiful. He had a hell of a smile and his eyes were a gorgeous clear blue. “I thought maybe you’d be too sophisticated for us. Bonnet said you’ve got a fancy degree.”
“I have an expensive piece of paper. And I don’t know how to juggle. Or...do whatever that person was doing with a chainsaw.”
“Roach says it’s a performance piece,” the man confided. “I think she makes it up right before the show goes on with whatever she finds around.”
“That would make a lot of sense. I did think the ceramic pineapple was a nice touch. Have you been doing drag long?”
“Long time. I met my drag mother while I was working at a carnival. Great lady, better than any of us put together. Took me awhile to figure out the act though. Met Frenchie and John a few years back and they were always learning new things, trying them out.”
“It’s working for you,” Lucius leaned over the bar. “You’re pretty cute, you know that?”
“In the dress or out of it?” The question was suspicious, history there that Lucius was not interested in unpacking at the moment.
“Yes,” he answered quickly. “And I really do owe you one.”
“Nah, would’ve done it even if you weren’t....” the man trailed off and cleared his throat.
“If I wasn’t what?” Lucius raised an eyebrow.
“My type,” he sighed out. “I like a taller man, okay? Is that a crime?”
“It’s not only not a crime, but I would happily commit one with you if you can show me the nearest spot where we could get really indecent,” he purred.
“Aren’t you still on shift?” Those beautifully clear blue eyes got very wide.
“Mr. Bonnet, I’m done here!” he called out without looking away from the man’s face.
“Good!” A voice called from the back room. “Good night, Lucius!”
“Not anymore.” He turned his smile up to eleven.
“There’s a broom closet that’s pretty big...”
At least it smelled better than some of the places he hooked up, if a little less space. Still, more than enough room to get on his knees and enjoy himself immensely. The man wasn’t a hair tugger or the kind that didn't know what to do with himself. He just set one hand on the back of Lucius’ head and made a series of truly delicious moaning noises. When he finished, he produced a crumbled handful of napkins and handed them to Lucius.
“How thoughtful,” Lucius touched it to his lips.
“You gotta get up before I can get down.” There were surprisingly strong hands under his arms, tugging him upwards. “Wanna make out first though?”
“You know what? I really do.”
They kissed for a long time in the quiet darkness. Eventually, Lucius was the one with his back against the wall. It was excellent head, a little sloppy, but focused and hot. They didn’t exit right away either. Apparently there was more kissing on the menu, which was really lovely.
“Mm, is it too late to ask your name?” Lucius asked between gasping breaths.
“Pete,” he laughed.
“You’re a hell of a kisser, Pete.”
“Not so bad yourself. Hey, you wanna get a hamburger? I’m starving after that.”
“Yeah, okay,” he decided. “I could eat.”
Pete took him to a 24-hour diner that had leaned hard into the fifties retro thing twenty years ago and since declined into a cracked red vinyl nightmare.
“They do great fries here,” Pete explained.
“This is where slashers are born,” Lucius hissed. “And I am not final girl material.”
“Bet you’d make a good scream queen though.”
“...maybe.”
The food was actually really good. The kind of meal that left your hands gleaming with grease and your brain satisfied like you’d just killed and eaten a mammoth. They talked the whole time. It turned out Pete had an encyclopedic knowledge of slasher films and was tickled as Lucius slowly revealed just how many he’d watched while decrying any interest. They split the check with no argument and made their way back outside. The night had turned a little crisp, the first bite of winter sneaking in.
“You far from here?” Pete asked.
“I can walk it. You?”
“Same.”
They lingered there and finally Lucius broke,
“I had a really good time tonight.”
“Me too,” Pete said with clear relief. “I’m off on Wednesdays. Do you like tacos?”
“I’m a human with a mouth, of course I love tacos.”
“There’s a spot by the water. Food truck kind of thing. I keep meaning to go. Be nice to have company.”
“Name a time.”
Lucius returned to his increasingly hostile apartment with a lightness of heart. He ignored his roommate snoring on the couch and went straight to his bedroom, locking the door. There were commissions to work on and laundry to do, but he undressed and got straight into bed, holding the feeling close to himself.
They saw each other before the date, of course. Pete, in drag where she was apparently also named Pete, co-hosted a Monday night cooking class at the bar. Well, she said co-host, but she was clearly there to aid Roach by fetching bowls and knives and taking the students’ money. Lucius made a batch of vodka tonics to go with the pierogi at the end.
“You should try it.” Pete brought him a bowl.
“No thanks, I saw the process,” he wrinkled his nose.
“Your loss.” Pete leaned against the bar. “Saw you on your tablet. Doing something fun?”
“I wish.” He thought he’d hidden it a little better, but it wasn’t like Bonnet was around. “Working on commissions.”
“What kind?”
“I have a particular set of artistic skills.” He glanced at Pete. She did juggle in a dress for a living, maybe she wouldn’t be too judgey. “I do erotic art of the male form.”
“Yeah?” Pete turned to face him, still eating. “Like what?”
“Mostly cocks,” he said in a low confessional tone. “I’m a bit of a cock connoisseur.”
“You can’t say that and not show me.”
“I think we are still at work.”
“If Bonnet didn’t want dicks in the workplace, he'd have made a lot of mistakes,” Pete laughed.
“I think he’s a man made of mistakes. But maybe not that one,” he conceded. He moved through a few pictures and found one that he was really proud of. It was a detailed line drawing done for a dynamite client who wanted to immortalize her husband’s impressive dick for all time.
“You did that?” Pete leaned over so far, her high heels left the ground. “Hey, Roach! You have to see this.”
“Oh, um-”
“What’s that?” Roach came over, still holding an enormous mixing bowl. Its contents were an off putting shade of pink. “Oh, wow, you did that?”
“Isn’t it great?” Pete grinned without any sarcasm.
“It’s better than great,” Roach decided. “Can you do me?”
“Not for free,” Pete hissed. “He’s an artist.”
“Oh, no, of course,” Roach nodded. “What’s your fee?”
Lucius told them and Pete’s face fell. With a sigh, Lucius started to amend it. People never really understood how much work these things took. It was time, energy and trying to keep his ancient tablet and stylus from going the way of the dodo.
“That’s way too low,” Pete said firmly. “You’ve got to value yourself.”
“Yeah, man,” Roach tsked. “You’ve got an art degree, right?”
“Yes?”
“So charge like it. I make Bonnet pay me double for class nights and I missed graduating from CIA by like ten credits. You’ve got talented hands, make ‘em work for you.”
“Okay then. Who am I to say no to more money?”
Apparently the ladies of the Revenge were a bunch of gossips. By Wednesday morning, he had five commissions from the staff and another from a friend of Pete’s.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Lucius told him over dinner. They were at a picnic table under strings of fairy lights. The waterfront wasn’t very glamorous. It had been slated for redo for over a decade, but for now it was wobbly tables on broken cobblestone with a view of commercial tankards chugging slowly down the river.
“You did the work, I just made sure people saw it.” Pete picked a bit of lettuce out of his taco. He wasn’t a big vegetable fan apparently. “Made Bonnet look a little shifty. He’s definitely going to rope you into doing that mural now.”
“I think the city has ordinances against that kind of thing. You showed him?”
“Nah, just told him you did good work. You’ll have to find something not dick related.”
“That’s against my artistic ethos.”
“Uh huh. Want to try some of my chicken? How’d you pick art school anyway?”
“Sure,” he leaned forward and Pete held out one end for him to bite. He chewed through it before answering. “S’good. I dunno. I liked art in high school. I could just do what I wanted most of the time. My mother wanted me to go for English, but I didn’t want reading to become a chore.”
“So she wasn’t supportive?”
“She got over it. I know she wishes I had a more brag-worthy job, but she at least doesn’t say it out loud. Most of the time. Of course, she’s also waiting for me to bring home a nice girl.”
“Little sheltered, your mother?”
“Wee bit,” he agreed. “What about you?”
“Oh, my parents are both dead. I think, anyway. Dad, I know for sure. Saw an obit for someone my Mom’s age with her name a few years back.”
“That sucks.”
“Just life, isn’t it? Anyway, I made enough friends along the way to make up for it. You want to split an ice cream?”
“Absolutely.”
When they’d scraped the last of the paper cup clean, Pete gave him a sidelong glance and cleared his throat. “Do you....would you come back to my place? My roommates are out. Just be the two of us.”
“I think I can squeeze you into my schedule.”
Pete’s apartment was messy, but in a nice way. There was a cluster of chairs near the biggest window with a spindly table piled high in magazines, a basket of knitting shoved in next to the TV and a couch draped with costume pieces. The coffee table was holding up an enormous makeup case, some of its contents spilled out around it.
“I’m this one.” Pete pushed through a door and into a nicely sized bedroom that boasted a skylight instead of a window. The bed had been neatly made, laundry nowhere in sight, except for an empty bin and some evidence of things shoved under the bed.
“Did you clean up for me?” Lucius couldn’t stop the smile spreading over his face.
“Don’t get used to it,” he warned, even as he lit a candle.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
It was nice to stretch out on a bed. They rolled around, making a mess of Pete’s neatly tucked corners. The broom closet hadn’t been an aberration, Pete really was some kind of kisser and generous with his talents. They fucked energetically and Pete was good at that too. He listened, took direction and didn’t try to reinvent the wheel.
“You can stay,” Pete said tentatively afterwards. “I’d like it. If you did.”
“I’d like that too. Give me some warning next time and I might pack pajamas.”
“Why?” Pete got under the covers, still very naked.
“Excellent argument.”
He woke up alone, but he could hear voices outside the door. There was no way anything of Pete’s was going to fit him, so he pulled his pants back on along with his shirt and ventured outside. On the couch, John was laying flat, laughing hysterically while Frenchie straddled his chest.
“It’s just one more! Quit it!” Frenchie was laughing too. They were both down to boxers and shirts. John had a really impressive tattoo on his calf of a rainbow of spools unraveling into a string tangle over the knob of his ankle. “Stop squirming or I’m gonna get you in the eye!”
“Mercy!” John was ineffectually batting at Frenchie’s hands. “I’m under attack!”
“They do this once a month,” Pete said from the kitchen. “You want a coffee?”
“Please,” he moved away rapidly. “Lots of milk. Like more than a sane amount. Coffee flavored milk.”
“You got it. Nice to make you a drink for once.”
There weren’t chairs in the kitchen, so they both leaned against the counter. Frenchie apparently was triumphant, raising his hand in victory, so Lucius could finally see he was wielding tweezers.
“John gets these odd long hairs in his eyebrows,” Pete explained, shaking his head. “They drive Frenchie bonkers.”
“Are they....”
“You’re guess is as good as mine. I’ve been living with them for years and they’ve never told me one or another. Separate bedrooms, but they're in one or the other most nights.”
“Huh.” Lucius sipped his coffee. “Do you like museums?”
“Haven’t been in one since I was a kid, on a field trip.”
“Want to go? There’s an exhibit I want to see. Historical gay photography.”
Frenchie tossed the tweezers into the case, lay back down on top of John and turned on the television. It was cartoons, nothing Lucius recognized.
“I won’t understand it.” Pete said quietly.
“I think you’d be surprised. Some things don’t need explaining. How about Sunday morning? I’ll have you back in time for Drag Bingo.”
“Long as I don’t have to be up before ten.”
“Doesn’t even open until eleven.”
He hung out for a few hours, eating their cereal and joining in the cartoon watching. It was a little like what he’d imagined college would be like, instead of the lonely slog it had turned into. Frenchie was sorting through the makeup box, bickering with Pete over who exactly had broken a very nice blush palette while John started hand sewing something. They all included Lucius, asking him questions or shoving things in his direction to weigh in on. It was disorientingly nice and he was almost grateful to come back to his roommate screaming at someone on the phone to center him back to real life.
He worked on commissions for the rest of the week in between shifts at the Revenge and by the time Sunday morning rolled around, he was almost too tired to go out. It was only Pete’s tentative ‘I’m up, where are we meeting?’ text that dragged him out of bed.
They met up and took the subway. Pete let him hang onto the pole and wrapped an arm around Lucius' waist to steady himself. It was weirdly nice and Lucius relaxed into it, his tension of the week drawing away. It was early enough that the museum wasn’t mobbed, and they had the exhibit room almost to themselves for the most part. Which didn’t stop Pete from whispering like they were in church.
“I never thought about people like us from back then.” He was staring at a picture of two men shoulder to shoulder, holding hands from the 1920s. “I guess I knew we were always around.”
“They don’t show us our history in school,” Lucius agreed. “It’s something, isn’t it?”
“They look happy.”
“Maybe they were. Even if it was just at that moment.”
“Seems like every time I see some period movie, it’s all about dying and wanting what you can’t have.”
“It’s shit, isn’t it?” Lucius hummed, admiring two women dancing cheek-to-cheek.
“Yeah. Where’s our Hallmark movies?”
“Let’s not go too far.”
“John loves those things.”
They wound up getting hot dogs from a cart for lunch. Pete had a truly astounding amount of coleslaw while Lucius tried and failed to avoid ketchup stains.
“I should probably tell you that I don’t do monogamy,” Lucius tried to sound casual. “It’s a nice idea, but it doesn’t work for me.”
“Huh. How does that work?”
“I pick someone. Go home with them. We use a condom and they are fully informed that I have a partner full-time. I’m a very ethical slut.”
“Okay.” Pete was quiet for a disturbingly long time and Lucius considered jumping into traffic to make it stop. “I'm more of a one-dick-at-a-time kind of guy, but you can do what you want if it makes you happy. We'll keep fucking, right?”
“Oh, yes,” Lucius said enthusiastically. He felt like he’d been on a roller coaster.
“Works for me then.”
And it did seem to work. They went out once or twice a week and then went back to Pete’s place more often than not after. Lucius never offered up his own and Pete never pushed it. It was good to have something regular. Sometimes Lucius turned down a date and made it clear he was going to hook up with someone else. Pete would give him a dirty wink and wish him luck.
Things at work were going all right too. Bonnet was an alright boss, if a little too prone to oversharing. It was hard to take him seriously, but he didn’t require that anyone did. As long as they were at least pretending to work, he mostly left them to it.
On the fifth Friday show since Lucius started, he finally had enough of the terrible fumbling introductions and, on a whim, abandoned the bar.
“Give me the mic, Leda,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Oh thank God.” She handed it over. “I’ve got too many things in my head just before a show to be doing this.”
“Give it to me,” Lucius repeated.
“It’s yours.” She moved away, but he was aware of her eyes on him.
It was possible that he’d been thinking about how he’d do this for a few weeks. Just an idle thought about what would sound good. He’d had his few lines in high school plays, but it had always been too much effort for not enough pay off.
“Good evening friends, strangers, and even stranger friends.” This was easier than a musical, he realized. He didn’t have to be on stage, no one could see him if he wanted to do a little shimmy as he talked. “Welcome back to the show that never over promises and yet still manages to under deliver: The Friday Night Spectacular! With your host, that shining light of the absurd, the ringmaster of the unhinged, it’s Leda HOUSE!”
He wasn’t sure if anyone had appreciated it until afterwards when Leda had come to him, still in wig and full makeup with a grin,
“What do you think of training up the barback to make a few drinks?”
“The Swede?” he frowned. “Why?”
“Because I want you announcing from here on out. And I had some ideas for flyers that I’d rather you put your time towards. I mean, you’ll still mostly be bartending, but a few hours here or there for promotional materials would be perfect.”
“Yes,” he clutched at the rag he’d been using to barely clean glasses. “I could do that.”
“And the mural too,” Leda nodded and then drifted back off into the audience.
Which was why he wound up sketching on a Saturday afternoon, sitting on the edge of the stage with his tablet. Bonnet had marked out the space for the mural outside and they’d agreed on a big eye done in drag makeup, which was proving to be a bit of a challenge. He kept starting over, worrying over the proportions and the color. It was a different style, less realism, more cartoony.
“Fire inspector!” came the sudden cry from the front of the building. “Coming this way!”
“What are we worried about?” Lucius frowned. The place was one of the cleanest he’d ever worked.
There was a general stampede and not much time for explanation apparently. Buttons started flailing and trying to pick up a scattering of props around the stage. In the process, he managed to smack Lucius on the back with what felt like the oar from their sailing number and he fell off the stage in an ignominious heap.
He could feel something stabbing him in the ribs. At first he was sure he’d broken a bone, but he sat up and found it was almost worse. The stylus that he’d saved up for and nursed through several close encounters had finally met its end.
“Never mind!” someone else called out. “False alarm!”
“Are you alright?” John loomed over him, one big hand hanging down. Lucius took it and was hauled up to his feet.
“Fine. Mostly.”
“Aw, no, your pencil thing.”
“It’s fine,” he clutched the broken pieces in his hand. “I’ll just get another one.”
It would set him back a little and he wasn’t sure when he could go to the store, but it would be fine. He had a little more free cash these days. It would be fine.
“What happened?” Pete edged in around John.
“It’s nothing,” he mumbled. “Really.”
Pete took his hand, unfurling his fingers around the stylus. “Sorry, babe.”
“You didn’t do it. It’s fine.”
“I’ll take care of the bits.” Gently, Pete pried them away and put them in his pocket. “How about I run and get you pizza from the place you like. Extra large meat lovers, huh?”
“I’d like that.”
Once he’d eaten and taken some Tylenol for his aching ribs, Lucius was mostly over it. Mostly. It did put a sour taste in his mouth for the rest of the night and he was a little sullen with everyone, even the queens he usually gave preferential treatment. He turned down a night at Pete’s, preferring to wallow a little. For a brief moment, he considered fucking his roommate just to really get into a sad groove. Luckily it passed.
He stayed up too late and wound up nearly oversleeping, which was impressive considering his shift started at 4pm. By the time he made it in the door, he had to throw himself into Drag Bingo preparations. Then he was teaching the Swede for the fifth time which drinks had lemons and which drinks had limes and arguing with him about why orange slices weren’t an acceptable catchall until they were sick of each other.
Drag Bingo was loud that night and he had to fight the temptation to sink under the bar with his hands over his ears for a power nap. He let the Swede take over the actual drink making, only intervening if he’d cooked up a truly heinous concoction.
“Come on now.” Pete showed up at his elbow, fully de-dragged.
“Bingo?”
“It ended twenty minutes ago, space cadet,” he patted his arm. “You’re going to come home with me tonight, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
They didn’t fuck around. Pete just stripped them both, shoved Lucius onto what was nominally his side of the bed, handed him painkillers and a glass of water, waited until he gulped them down then shut off the light.
“Thanks,” he whispered.
“Go to sleep.” Pete reached out and took his hand.
They’d never held hands before. It was nice.
In the morning, he woke up alone as usual. Pete talked a big game about sleeping in, but he was regular as clockwork. Seven hours and his eyes popped open and he was fully online, ready for the day. Scrubbing at his face, Lucius stumbled out of bed and into the flannel pants he’d started storing in one of Pete’s overflowing drawers. In the living room, John and Frenchie were curled up in their respective chairs by the window, both of them thumbing through magazines and making quiet comments to each other.
“He just went out,” John said when he spotted him. “We're having a donut breakfast.”
“I picked the right morning to mooch.” Lucius felt better already and sat down on the couch. When Pete arrived, he drew the cold in with him, but he immediately handed Lucius his coffee and blueberry doughnut so all was forgiven.
“I got something else for you.” Pete sank down on the couch beside him. “It’s... here, just take it.”
A slender white stick was thrust unceremoniously into Lucius’ hand.
“Is this...is this my stylus?” It didn’t look exactly the same. There were definitely some odd welded spots here and there.
“I fixed it. I mean, I think I did. It was hard to test the pressure thing you liked about it, but it worked okay on Frenchie’s tablet. I mean- you were probably just going to get a new one that does more stuff, it’s stupid. You don’t have to take it.”
Carefully setting it down, Lucius turned and kissed him within an inch of his life. “I think I may love you, you dear sweet man.”
“Oh,” Pete flushed. “It’s uh, it’s mutual. Am I your boyfriend?”
“Yes,” Lucius said ardently. “You are very much my boyfriend. I didn’t know you were so clever with things like this.”
“I used to fix the rides in the carnival. I guess some of it stuck with me.”
“And he’s helping make an LED gown,” Frenchie added from across the room. Right, they had an audience.
“Would my boyfriend be interested in going back to the bedroom?” Lucius offered.
“Yes, he would. Very much.”
It was only a month or so later that Lucius came home to find the door of his apartment hanging off its hinges and two cops taking his roommate’s statement. The place was trashed, noticeably more so than usual.
“We got robbed, Luc,” his roommate told him, tears in his eyes. “Can you believe it?”
“Honestly, yes, that tracks.”
They’d gotten into his room too. His locks still hung from their chains, they’d just knocked the whole door off its rusty hinges. All of his things were strewn around the rooms. Clothes, pencils, and books carelessly tossed around. He sat down on his mattress, which had been ripped bare of the things he’d used to make it seem palatable. At least he’d brought his bag with him, toting his tablet and cash from tips for the last week.
With nerveless hands, he brought up his contact list. The phone only rang once.
“Hey, babe, what’s up?”
“I’m going to be late for dinner,” he said flatly. “Someone robbed us. Or at least they tried to. I think they got my roommate’s stash. They mostly ruined my shit for no good reason.”
“One second.” There was a brief scuffle on Pete’s end of the phone, some hissed whispers. “Sit tight. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“We?”
“Me, Frenchie and John. Just sit tight.”
“Okay.” He fell back on the mattress. “I can do that.”
They arrived with empty duffel bags that usually carried around sequins and ruffles. Pete sat down next to him on the bed.
“You’re going to come stay with us for a while. I know you like your space, but you can’t stay here.”
“I was going to move soon,” he muttered.
“Sure,” Pete squeezed his shoulder. “And you still can, but I’m not a fan of you spending another night here.”
“Me either,” he allowed. He sat up and found half of his room already shoved in their enormous drag bags. “Wow, you guys are fast.”
John and Frenchie exchanged a wordless glance.
“We’re motivated,” Frenchie settled on. “No offense, but I think this place has tetanus. And norovirus. And chicken pox.”
“It looked nicer in here before this happened,” he protested.
“Go get your bathroom stuff,” John suggested and handed him a bag.
They packed him up in under thirty minutes. The furniture, they all agreed, was a loss. The police were gone and his roommate was listening grimly to someone on the phone. He didn’t look up and Lucius left his currently useless key on the counter. John had a car, a hatchback that they shoveled everything into. They rode home with John and Frenchie singing duets for ‘practice’ while Lucius rested his head on Pete’s shoulder.
“It’ll be all right.” Pete put his arm around him. “You’re all right.”
“I know,” he said and was surprised to find it was the truth. “Thanks.”
Living with Pete, and by extension John and Frenchie, was far better than he ever would’ve imagined. There was very little drama between them, edges worn away by long friendship. It was a little low on privacy, but they found ways to create it. The sitting nook was for quiet conversations. Couch meant you were open for noise. A closed door was always respected. Also everyone actually did their chores, so everything was much cleaner. No one expected him to deal with the bathroom or the dishes, and he was instead assigned permanently to vacuuming and dusting while in residence, which he actually enjoyed.
“We had a chore wheel,” Frenchie explained. “But it got out of hand. It’s easier if everyone just has to concentrate on their one or two things and stick with them.”
No one asked after his comings and goings unless he’d made a commitment to something. It wasn’t hard not to take hook ups home, he hadn’t really been in the habit of that anyway. As long as he was quiet when he got back, Pete didn’t care when he crawled into bed.
It was nice enough that one night, just before they fell asleep, Lucius asked,
“Can I just stay here?”
“Yeah, babe,” Pete reached across the bed and took his hand. “I’d like that a lot.”
It unlocked his mural issue too. Hanging around Pete more during the day, he saw him do his makeup more often. The way the lashes flexed upward and the eyeliner winged out made him change his sketches.
“I like this.” Bonnet clutched the print out of the proposal. “It’s really an arresting shade of blue.”
“Is it?” Lucius asked lightly. He had taken several photos of Pete to narrow in on the exact range of his eyes.
“Let’s go for it. What will you need?”
It was a massive project and Lucius spent long afternoons sketching it out and then filling the outline with paint. Pete sometimes brought him lunch and they’d sit on the sidewalk with the sun on their faces. When it was done, Bonnet made a whole deal over it. He insisted they hold a party, toasting with their regular patrons and handing around business cards with Lucius’ information on them.
“I was wondering,” Bonnet approached him, shifting a little nervously. “If I could commission something personal.”
“I think I have to draw a line at drawing my boss’ cock, sorry.”
“No! No. It’s just that I was thinking about getting a tattoo. Of a pirate ship. No cocks, please.”
“Oh! From your act,” Lucius said with some relief. “Wait, you want to put my art on your body? Permanently?”
“I’m hardly going to trust a stranger with it.”
Touched, Lucius worked on the piece with extra effort. He even did some research on tattoo art and settled on a watercolor technique. When he showed Bonnet, he stared at it for a long time.
“It’s perfect,” he deemed with a catch in his throat. “I hope they can replicate it.”
“It’s their job.”
“Yes, of course.” He held the sketch carefully. He was such an odd man, building up this ramshackle place and its odd characters around him like armor, but almost always alone somehow.
“Oh no.” Lucius had a sinking feeling in his gut. “You’re going to go by yourself to get it done, aren’t you?”
“Yes?”
Goddamnit. He was going to have to do something to show a fragment of gratitude for everything Bonnet had given him.
“I could come with you,” he offered with a sigh.
“Oh would you?” The man lit up. “That would be great.”
To Lucius' surprise, Bonnet wasn’t a wimp about it. He was tight-lipped as the work started and his breathing was audible, but he didn’t make a sound. It was sort of heartbreaking in a way Lucius wouldn’t admit to anyone. On impulse, he took one of Bonnet’s hands in his own.
“Don’t squeeze too hard, I’m delicate, Mr. Bonnet,” he warned.
“I won’t,” Bonnet laughed weakly. “All things considered, you might as well call me Stede.”
“I hope you know that’s a horrible name. Who does that to a child? Stede. Jesus.”
“Please don’t make him laugh,” the artist scolded.
“It was my grandfather’s name,” Stede said once all was calm again. “Horrible person by all accounts, but I like to think I’ve made it my own.”
“Suppose that’s all we can do.”
After Stede’s shirt was put gingerly back on and they returned to the bar for the night, it was never quite the same again. Now Lucius had noticed how lonely the fool was, surrounded by his circus. With resigned annoyance, he made himself more available to Stede and to Leda. If he became less and less a bartender and more and more a catch-all assistant, at least it was reflected in his pay. He learned how to tie up corsets and pin wigs to help out during numbers with quick changes. The crowd sometimes cheered because he was on the PA and recited his now traditional opening lines. His student loans actually got smaller. A stressful afternoon trip to Ikea got him a draftsman’s desk in their bedroom and a bureau of his own again.
Life was good and thriving in that goodness, Lucius became a bit of a protective spirit of the Revenge. When Eddy first crash landed into their lives, it had been Lucius who got online and ran down their company, reading a very bloody Wikipedia article to the others in warning. It had been Lucius that kept a careful eye on the budding relationship, putting in his two cents when it seemed like they needed it.
Days after their big splashy engagement (“If you ever do that to me, I will kill you,” Lucius told Pete. “Yeah, no, I knew that,” Pete rolled his eyes), it was Lucius who spotted the leather clad menace lurking near the front door.
He sent a casual text, slid the half-built Long Island iced tea to the Swede to finish and walked casually over to him.
“Hey there,” he gave him his best ‘they’re making me smile for minimum wage’ expression. “You know you’re not welcome here, right?”
“It’s a free country,” Izzy Hands growled. Which might’ve been intimidating if the man didn’t look utterly lost.
“Sure it is, which means you’re free to leave here before our bouncers show up.”
“I’ve got money. I can get a drink if I like.”
“Mmm, no,” Lucius took a step toward him, hoping Izzy would take a hint and step back, but the fucker held his ground. “You can’t. Leda made a little sign with your face with an X through it and everything. She doesn’t know how to use Photoshop, so she did it with MS Paint, but sometimes art transcends its medium.”
“I know my rights,” Izzy drew himself up.
“Good, then you know you have the right to remain silent, which would be a gift to everyone involved.”
“Listen to me you fucking prick, I’m just here to have a drink.”
The soundtrack changed. The Kraken would take the stage soon. She had a new number that involved precision with a whip and a lot of black latex. Divining what he had from stories about Izzy, Lucius was reasonably sure it might cause the man to go entirely feral or have a stroke.
“I told you, we can’t serve you. Also, I think booze is probably not what you need. Therapy is probably at the top of that list, but I’m not qualified to offer that. So...” he reached into his side pocket and drew out two joints. Buttons always had the good stuff and could be generous if coaxed correctly. “How about you smoke these with me in the alleyway and we don’t get anyone arrested tonight?”
“Fuck you.”
“I'm trying to be nice to you, you maniac,” Lucius turned his eyes up to the heavens. “Don’t you want it to stop hurting? Just for a fucking minute?”
Izzy stared daggers at him, but working with Eddy had made Lucius’ already tough armor impenetrable for such things.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Darling, I’m the king of breakups and I can tell when one of my subjects is in a bad way.” He waved the joints at him again. “Smoke up, get out or get arrested for trespassing.”
“Give me that.” Izzy grabbed the joint from his hand.
“Good choice.” Flashing a hand signal behind his back, he heard the bouncers ease their approach.
The alley was well lit for a place where a dumpster and a family of rats lived. Security was something Eddy took seriously, and it did make things far more pleasant when having a sneaky smoke. Sending off a quick text, Lucius settled in his favorite spot, just inside the glow of the light above the door.
“Got a light?” Izzy asked begrudgingly.
Lucius produced a match book, lit one and held the flame out for Izzy before lighting his own. He took a long drag, held it, then blew it out in a perfect smoke ring. John had taught him that after everyone else had gone to bed one night.
In the unyielding blue-white light, Lucius could see the tight lines of Izzy’s face release one by one under the influence. The way he slumped against the brick all at once, some strings cut from the puppet.
“So,” Lucius took another drag. “What were we hoping to accomplish tonight?”
Izzy opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again.
“No plan? Yeah, I’ve been there. You just turn up and hang around hoping for something. Anything.”
“We didn’t break up. There was nothing to breakup.” Izzy stared at the glowing tip of his joint. “He- she was my boss.”
“Good save.” He suppressed an eye roll. “I don’t think whatever you two had going on was just boss and employee. Leda cuts my checks and I’ve never stalked her, even a little. I mean, I get the stalking thing. I did it once. I was twenty, heartbroken, and I thought I was in love. Did some very ill-advised shit. None of it worked, by the way.”
“Twenty years,” Izzy spat. “Twenty years of doing what I was told and beyond. Made sure they were watered, fed, held back their hair when they retched their guts out in a gutter, and made sure they weren't talking to themselves too obviously in front of the wrong people. Smoothed over every business relationship when they broke it and kept the sharks away from their money. How do you just walk away from all that?”
“Pretty easily, apparently,” Lucius sighed. “Just plain old all-consuming love. Those two love each other a truly disgusting amount. They actually do sit and stare into each other's eyes sometimes. I thought that was made up in books. We timed it once and they made it almost six minutes, no words, just meaningful looks. It was kind of impressive.”
“It's an obsession. Love doesn’t exist.”
“Wow, that is some very deep bitterness. Like existentially deep. Like do-not-look-in-this-big-black-hole-because-it’s-filled-with-all-my-demons kind of deep.”
“I don’t have demons.” Izzy took another toke of the joint, blowing the smoke out of his nose like a dragon.
“I think you might be the most possessed person I’ve ever met,” Lucius argued. “Listen, do you want some advice?”
“Fuck no.”
“Too bad. Everyone gets one free whether they want it or not.” He took his time and blew another smoke ring. Izzy, notably, did not leave. “I think the best way to get over them is to do something new. Try someone new.”
“I don’t need anyone.”
“What you need,” Lucius carefully stubbed out his joint, “is to touch grass. Just like..buy a shirt in a color. Any color. I might even give you a lighter shade of gray if the rainbow is too scary. Then go to a gay club and dance with someone. Be nice to them and try to get laid.”
Then, overly emboldened with smoke and adrenaline, Lucius reached over and gave Izzy a hard slap on the chest with his open hand. “That’s an order, sailor.”
Izzy didn’t reply. He was staring at Lucius' hand which Lucius very carefully took back. With a flick of his wrist, Izzy discarded the joint and started walking down the alley. He stopped near the end and turned around again, giving Lucius a fathomless stare, then pivoted and marched off.
The door behind Lucius opened slowly. Jim peered around it and waited until Izzy had been out of sight for more than a minute. Then they turned to Lucius and smacked his arm.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“Maybe?” The pot made him giddy and he laughed. “What a rush though. Thanks for having my back.”
“You should’ve just let Ivan and Fang drag him off and beat the shit out of him.”
“What fun would that be?” He leaned over and brushed a kiss over Jim’s cheek, laughing again as they rolled their eyes at him. “My knight in a trench coat.”
“Come back in here. I want a whiskey sour that doesn’t have an orange slice in it.”
“You got it.”
The week passed normally enough. Stede had some scheme to bring in more greenery to their windowless bar, so Lucius spent a lot of time in garden centers letting very patient professionals explain how difficult that would be using live plants. Then he spent even longer trailing after Stede in very expensive stores buying very large fake plants.
“If I had that much money, I’d just put in windows,” he told Pete.
He was on his knees in front of him, straightening out tangled fringe. The show hadn’t started yet, so they could hear the low buzz of the early birds and the lights were still on. They had escaped from the changing room to the side of the stage for more elbow room.
“If you had that much money, you wouldn’t own a club,” Pete laughed. He reached down and smoothed a few bits of hair off Lucius’ forehead. “Probably just move to a beach, read, drink and fuck all day on the beach.”
“Not on the beach, babe. Have you ever gotten sand caught under your balls? Total horror show.”
The hand in his hair froze. “Holy shit.”
“What?” Lucius stopped moving. “What is it?”
“Just...look, he’s kind of hovering near the front door. Off to the side though.”
Slowly, Lucius turned and the breath caught in his throat. Izzy Hands was standing awkwardly at the back of the bar, almost unrecognizable. Not a bit of leather in sight. Just a pair of black jeans and a soft looking v-neck shirt that was just a warm enough gray to look like it had once met blue.
“Holy shit,” Lucius breathed out.
“I always knew you were talented, but I didn’t think you were magical,” Pete agreed. “What did you do to him?”
“I just...told him to wear a color, go to a gay bar and try to get laid. I didn’t mean here!”
“He listened though.”
They watched as Izzy very slowly made his way to the bar and took an uneasy seat on one stool. He was scanning, looking for someone, but not towards the stage where he knew the Kraken would show. Just around the bar.
“Oh, shit.” Lucius stood up slowly.
“He’s looking for you,” Pete realized. “Babe...”
“Eddy would murder me.”
“She’s got her panties in a twist about Stede’s daughter visiting. Bet she’ll just be happy someone’s got the situation under control.”
“I don’t think I’ve got it under control,” Lucius swallowed thickly.
“Are you kidding? That fucker is in a t-shirt after one conversation with you. You’re fantastic at this.”
“Okay...okay, I’m going to do it.” He took Pete’s hand. “I’m totally going to do it. I’m going to go dom the shit out of him.”
“You are pretty cute when you get all bossy. Bring some of that home for me, okay?” Pete squeezed his hand. “But uh, when I said I’d consider a third once in a while...not this one.”
“Oh, no. This is a one-man job,” Lucius agreed. “Thank you for encouraging me in all my bad ideas, babe.”
“You’re welcome. Go get him.”
“On it.” Though he did stop to give Pete a very thorough kiss. “You’re the best.”
“I know. I’m going to have Jim tail you.”
“Absolutely, yes,” he said fervently, “I don’t have a death wish. I’ll string him along until the show is over. We can get all our actual jobs done tonight.”
He took a second to catch his breath, then slid back behind the bar. The Swede was standing stock still, pouring far too much vodka into a glass as he stared at Izzy. Lucius tipped the bottle back up with one finger and then gently moved him aside.
“I’ve got this one. How about you make some rum punches? I see the usuals at table three and you know they like to get a pitcher.”
That dealt with, he oozed down the bar and came to a stop in front of Izzy. He rested his elbows on the bar, set his chin in one hand and smiled at him.
“You’re a good listener. I like the shirt.”
“Thanks.” Izzy didn’t make eye contact.
“Here’s how I think the night should go. I’m going to get you a drink, my choice. You down that and if you can just sit there and enjoy the show, I’ll go home with you.”
“Who says that’s what I want?” There was that far-too-intense eye contact.
“‘No’ is a complete sentence. You want off this bus, it stops wherever you want.”
“Just like that?” Izzy eyed him suspiciously. Jesus, what had happened to this guy?
“Just like that,” he confirmed. “But if you’re game, I’ll make it worth your time.”
“I’ll take the drink.” Looking away again. This was going to be an interesting night.
It was a drink Lucius had made a thousand times, but he took his time. He wanted it just right. Right being very pink, upright in a martini glass.
“What the fuck is this?”
“That is a Cosmo.” Lucius set it down. “Drink up. You get two. I don’t deal with drunk crying over whiskey dicks.”
Like it might detonate, Izzy slowly lifted the drink and took a sip. Satisfied, Lucius moved away to tend to other customers. He didn’t forget for a single second what was going on, but he still served drinks (ish, it wasn’t like he’d ever gotten diligent about it), got on the PA, announced acts and tried not to panic. Izzy never left his barstool. He did finish the Cosmo, didn’t ask for another. Just sat there, apparently staring into space. Even when the Kraken got on, he didn’t turn, though even from backstage, Lucius could make out the tension ratcheting up in his shoulders.
As soon as the curtain went down, Lucius returned to him.
“How was the drink?”
“Sour.”
“Suits you then. Are we going to your place?”
“Yeah,” Izzy said, his raspy voice almost getting lost in the post-show hubbub.
“Okay, a few ground rules. We’re gonna kiss, I don’t do any of that emotionally frigid bullshit. You’re not going to insult me at any point or I walk. I’m not interested in insulting you either. Your safeword is just ‘no’. You say no, it stops. I say no, it stops. Sounds like you might need practice with the word from both angles. We’re sticking to hands only, absolutely no blood. You get what you ask for, and you’ve got to be specific. No guessing games. Agreed?”
Izzy rubbed his hands against his thighs and then nodded once. “Agreed.”
“Let’s go then.”
“Now?”
“Now.” In a move that he may have practiced a few times when no one was around until it looked smooth, Lucius planted his hands and launched himself over the bar to land neatly on the other side. “Move, Hands.”
Izzy, to his credit, moved. They got out onto the sidewalk under the gaze of the watchful eye mural.
“Kiss me and then go get your car. You can pick me up here, fuck knows where you parked. Probably like four blocks away, to give yourself time to chicken out,” Lucius guessed.
“How’d you know that?”
“Because it’s what I would’ve done,” he admitted. “Come on now. We don’t have all night.”
Like he was pushing through molasses, Izzy stepped into Lucius’ space. It was pretty clear he wasn’t going to make the move, so Lucius grabbed his bicep which was...nicely firm actually, then leaned down and kissed him with a gentleness that made the man squirm. Encouraging.
“Good boy,” Lucius whispered, and he could feel the tremors under his hand. “Go get the car.”
“....Fine.” Izzy didn’t move until Lucius released his arm. Then he was off, probably trying to look casual, but not carrying it off well.
In his pocket, Lucius' phone pinged wildly. He sighed, took it out and read through the barrage of texts.
Frenchie: 👀👀👀👀
Stede: What are you doing? This seems highly inadvisable. Is he wearing blue?!
Eddy: oh jesus fucking christ. be careful.
He only replied to Eddy.
Lucius: No promises. This guy has so many stress fractures that I think he’ll shatter if I miss. Worried more about him than me.
Eddy: he’s tough.
Lucius: I bet you fifty bucks that I make him cry.
Eddy: i don’t want any details, including tears. just watch yourself
Lucius: Awww, leather mommy loves me! ❤️
Eddy: if you weren’t stede’s friend, i'd make you regret you were ever born
Lucius: Just like my real mommy!
Eddy: nm, you two deserve each other.
Lucius: 🖤🖤 Don’t worry, my heart belongs with one man. Just going to have some fun and maybe glue a few pieces of a broken plate back together like one of those Japanese ones with the gold paint. Kintsugi. 🍆🍑kintsugi.
Eddy: you got a good heart, kid. obnoxious, but good
The sound of an engine got Lucius’ attention and he shoved his phone back in his pocket. The car came around the corner and he waited to see if it would pass him by. Instead, it slowed and came to a complete stop in front of him. He gave the eye on the wall a pat for good luck, then crossed over and opened the passenger door, sliding over an expensively smooth leather seat.
“Ready?” He asked as he buckled his seatbelt.
“Yeah.” Izzy hit the gas. “I think I am.”
Lucius dropped a hand to Izzy’s thigh. Also very firm. Jesus.
“Good,” he smiled out the passenger window. “Let’s go have an adventure then.”