The Bar Watcher (18 page)

By this time, every pair of eyes in the place was glued on poor George, who was obviously so embarrassed and angry he didn't know what to do. I saw Mario pushing through the now silent crowd.

“Okay, guys,” he said, “that's enough. Take it outside.”

“Take it outside is fucking right!” Lynn yelled. “You bet your ass we'll take it outside.” He reached out and grabbed George by the sleeve, yanking so hard he tore the material.

“Lynn, for Christ's sake!” George said, and Mario reached out to remove Lynn's hand.

“I said that's enough,” Mario said calmly to Lynn. “Now get out of here before I throw you out.”

George gave me a fleeting, embarrassed glance and followed Lynn through the crowd, which parted as if by magic. Mario just gave me a poker-faced look and shook his head.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the place slowly resumed its normal noise level, until it was as though nothing at all had happened. I turned my attention back to Toby.

“Sorry about that,” I said.

He shook his head. “Hey, you didn't have anything to do with it.” Then he was quiet a moment before saying, “I can never understand how can people treat each other the way they do. I can't stand violence.”

“Well,” I said, “some people just let others walk all over them.”

“Yeah, but they shouldn't,” Toby said. There was a pause, and then: “And you know those two?”

“I know George,” I said. “George Atkins. The other one's name is Lynn, but I can't remember his last name and would just as soon not. What a sorry excuse for a human being!”

We were quiet again for a minute until Toby said, “Are you ready to go?”

Our eyes met and little ESP messages went darting back and forth between us.

“I think so,” I said.

We finished our drinks, carried the glasses to the bar; I waved goodbye to Mario and to Jared, who was deep in conversation with the
Wet Dreams
hunk, and we left.

“Do you mind if we went to your place?” Toby asked.

No, Toby, I don't mind at all,
I thought.

“Sure,” I said.

Chapter 9

Think about all the times you've had sex in your life. Now think about how many of those times—or people—you can really remember. Sex is always fun, and sometimes it can be really intense, but most of the time you're having sex, and the guy you're having sex with is having sex, but you're not really having it together. That's one of the major dividers that separate tricks from lovers.

But every now and then, if you're really lucky, there's a Toby.

Toby was incredible. He seemed to sense exactly what to do and when to do it. And always, every minute, I was absolutely sure he really, sincerely meant it. Yet while I really hated to admit it, there was that weird incest element. Toby made me feel—well, the word that pops to mind is
butch
, but that doesn't really do it. I can be butch with a lot of guys. It wasn't so much a matter of “Me Tarzan, you Jane” as it was “Me Tarzan, you Boy,” if that makes any sense. This was more a matter of being the leader, the protector…

I don't know. Like I say, weird.

Sex with Jared was always fantastic—but that was just it. Jared was a walking sex fantasy—it was largely sex for the mind. If you could imagine it, Jared would be willing to do it with you. With Toby, you were aware that sex could sometimes be more than just a great meshing of body parts. In short, to this jaded Scorpio Toby was about as close to perfection as I'd come in quite a while.

But as we all learn at a pretty early age, the gods keep perfection for themselves—we mortals can come close, but only so close. So, while I was absolutely sure Toby was somebody's—hell, a lot of guys'—Mr. Right, I knew he wasn't mine. Maybe I could take the incest analogy only so far.

But then, as we were lying in bed afterwards, Toby leaned over and kissed me and said, “I'm sorry, Dick, but I've got to be getting home.”

That brought me back in a hurry, you can bet.

“Can't you spend the night? It's almost three already.” Hearing myself say that rather surprised me—usually I didn't care if they stayed or not.

He smiled, his face only inches from mine.

“I wish I could, Dick, but I've got to get some sleep, and I couldn't sleep here.” He noticed my look of puzzlement and smiled again. “It's got nothing to do with you—it's kind of hard to explain.”

“You could try,” I said.
Jeesus, Hardesty
, I thought instantly,
what's wrong with you? Stop being such a wimp!

Toby looked just slightly embarrassed as he said, “I always keep the foot of my bed two feet higher than the head—it helps blood circulation. And all my supplements are at home. And I want to be at the gym when it opens—sex is great, but it takes a lot out of me, and exercise is the only thing that will put it back.”

He kissed me again then rolled over and sat up on the edge of the bed, reaching down to pick up his shorts.

“Can I use your phone?” he asked. “I'll take a cab home…my car's in the shop until Monday.”

I threw off the sheet and sat on my edge of the bed.

“No way! I'll drive you back.”

“You're sure? Calling a cab won't be any trouble, and that way you can get some sleep.”

We both stood up on our respective sides of the bed, adjusting our shorts, and in unison leaned back down for our pants.

“I can sleep when I get back,” I said. I really didn't want to let him go. Why?

Innocence! That was it! I somehow sensed inside that hunk's body there was an almost childlike innocence—and an indefinable aura that he'd been hurt because of it. That must have been what triggered my Hardesty-the-Protector reactions. But altruism aside, Toby was also damned good sex.

God, what ingrates humans are. You hope and pray for just one night with someone as good as Toby, and then when you get it, you're not satisfied because you want more.

We got dressed, spent two or three minutes at the door locked so tightly together it was as if we were trying to fuse ourselves into one being, and then went downstairs to the car.

“Would you like to have brunch after the gym?” I asked, then immediately thought,
You're pushing it, Hardesty!

He turned slightly to look at me with a soft smile.

“Thanks, but I can't. I almost never eat in restaurants. I have a pretty strict food regimen, I'm afraid. But can I call you next week sometime?”

“Sure,” I said. “There's a piece of paper and a pen in the glove compartment—I'll give you my number.”

“Great,” he said, reaching to get them.

*

On the way back home, I had a one of my little Hardesty-to-Hardesty talks.

Think you'll ever grow up, Hardesty?
I asked myself. I was thinking of how, as a kid, I'd made myself self-appointed guardian of the smaller kids, protecting them from the local bullies.

God, I hope not!
I replied.

Why don't you just slip a note under his door with little hearts and smiley faces all over it, sissy-boy?

And why don't you go fuck yourself?
I thought, a little defensively.

And of course, I already knew that, while I might possibly learn to sleep with my feet two feet above my head, the carnivore in me was far too firmly entrenched to give up pork chops, hamburgers, steak, chicken, fish…

Okay, I get it
, my mind chimed in.

*

I managed to sleep till almost noon on Sunday, got up, put my bathrobe on, put on a pot of coffee, then stepped out into the hall to go get the Sunday paper, which the delivery guy invariably left outside the custodian's closet next door. Maybe if I had it delivered every day he'd remember which door was mine.

Curious as I was about Jared and his hot friend, and what he'd thought of the confrontation at Venture, I managed to keep myself away from the phone. He was probably still asleep, anyway. Read the paper, drank coffee, fought down the urge for a morning cigarette, did the crossword puzzle, and was just thinking about making breakfast when the phone rang.

“Dick Hardesty.”

“Hi, Dick,” Jared's cheerful voice replied. “Wondered if you'd like to go out for brunch?”

“Saved by the bell!” I said. “You just caught me in time. When and where?”

“How about Calypso's? I think they serve until two-thirty. What time is good for you?”

I glanced at my wrist and realized I hadn't put my watch on yet, so looked at the clock beside the refrigerator.

“Ah, I can be there by about quarter-till. Will you be alone, or…”

Jared laughed. “I was just going to ask you the same thing! I'll be alone.”

“Me, too,” I said.

“Pity,” he said. Then: “See you at one-forty-five then. Bye.”

I hung up, took the last swig of coffee left in the cup—cold, of course—and headed for the shower.

*

Calypso's has two things going for it—a nice enclosed patio and a great Sunday brunch—but the clientele tended toward those with one foot in the closet and one hand on the doorknob. None of the usual brunch-bar boisterousness, since openly using the g-word was frowned upon. I hate games like that, so despite the good food, I seldom went there.

Jared was just walking up to the entrance as I got out of my car. He saw me, waved, and waited for me to join him. The place was pretty well filled, as always, but the main wave of brunchers was ebbing.

“In or out?” I asked Jared as we stood by the maître d's podium.

“How about a little in and out?” he said with a wicked grin.

“Get off the table, Mable, the quarter's for the beer,” I said, laughing. “We can talk about ins and outs later. Let's see if we can get something on the patio first, okay?”

“Fine by me,” he said as the maître d' came up, giving Jared an appreciative once-over.

Luckily, a table had just been vacated on the patio, so after a very brief wait while it was cleaned and set up, we were seated, and had our drink orders taken.

“So,” Jared said, leaning back in his chair, “how was last night?”

I grinned. “You first.”

“Our new district manager,” Jared said, anticipating my question while leaning forward to pick up his napkin from the table. “The guy has a great future.”

“So I noticed,” I said. “How in the hell do you manage to find these guys?”

He shrugged. “They find me, mostly,” he said with not a hint of ego. “Stan—the district manager—is a new hire, and he's going around to the various branches in the area, learning the ropes. He rode with me on my shift Friday, and asked if I'd show him around town after work. Well, we didn't actually see much Friday, so we tried again on Saturday.”

I strongly suspected Jared showed him a lot more than the town.

“And where is he now?” I asked.

“On his way back to the wife and kids in Pecksburg.”

“Ah.”

He nodded. “Ah. And what about that number you were with?”

The waiter came with our drinks, and we decided, in the interest of the hour, to order. When he'd left, and we'd had a sip of our drinks, I said, “Toby. A really nice kid.”

“He sure looks like more than a kid to me.”

I grinned. “Long story.”

“Going to see him again?”

“I sure hope so.”

Jared gave me a cocked-eyebrow look. “Well, if you'd ever care for a three-way…” he said with another wicked grin.

“Be still, my beating heart,” I said, and we both laughed.

The waiter brought small fruit compotes, which we ate largely in silence.

“What did you think of that little brouhaha?” he asked finally.

“You mean at Venture?”

“Yeah, you were pretty close to the action.”

“Yeah,” I said, finishing my compote and nudging the bowl toward the center of the table to make it easier to reach my drink. “I know the two guys. George Atkins and Lynn something. George is a really nice guy, but that cunt he's with defies description.”

“Why in the hell do they stay together?” Jared asked.

I sighed. “Because George is too nice a guy to kick the son of a bitch out, and Lynn knows it.”

Jared nodded solemnly. “Well, he wouldn't last ten minutes around me,” he said, “and he should be damned grateful I wasn't close enough to get to him when he pulled that little number. It looked like you were going to make a move, but Prince Charming held you back.”

Before I could reply, the waiter arrived with our food.

*

The only thing nicer than a great Sunday brunch with Jared is spending most of the rest of the afternoon in bed with Jared. I didn't for one minute even think of comparisons between Jared's brand of sex and Toby's. Apples are apples and oranges are oranges—and both are delicious.