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“Uh-huh. Yeah. I’ll let her know. Of course Renée’ll be thrilled. Thanks, Rick.” He hung up and beamed.
“Good news?” I began sorting the closest stack of documents alphabetically. Over the months I’d worked for Robert, I’d filled an entire filing cabinet and started a second with his backed up paperwork, photographs, fan notes, and more.
“You could say that.” Barry swung his feet down to the floor. “Rick, Tilt-a-Whirl’s owner, says Renée’s show is bringing in a good crowd, so they’re going to up her fee.”
“That’ll make it easier to get a show in Nashville like she’s always wanted, right? If she can demonstrate she’s a crowd-pleaser?”
Barry nodded, standing up and stretching. “Exactly. Her head’s gonna swell even bigger when she hears this news.”
“Better go tell her.”
“Naw, she’ll want to celebrate and then I won’t get anything done for the rest of the day.” He pulled a checkbook out of the middle desk drawer and started going through the stack of bills by the phone, writing out payments in a cramped hand.
We worked silently and efficiently. Robert’s voice came from somewhere near the kitchen, singing along to some song on the radio. The rhythm of our work—sort-file-restack-organize, and open-write-rip-lick—became almost meditative.
Robert’s comment about needing gay friends fluttered around in my head like a persistent moth diving for the flame of my attention. Worse, his little dig about Daniel being at Tilt-a-Whirl had planted a seed, and it grew rampantly in my mind.
“How often does Daniel go to Tilt-a-Whirl?” I asked Barry.
Barry lifted a pierced brow and tore another check free. “Often enough. Why?”
“Just wondering.” I stood to adjust the speed of the ceiling fan above, accidentally sending papers flying off in all directions. I knelt on the floor to retrieve them.
Barry didn’t offer anything more. There was no way I could ask what I really wanted to know: did Daniel dance? Did he just watch? Was he like Robert—easy and ready to go with anyone? Or was he picky? Did he have a boyfriend now? He hadn’t before, but things changed. What did he wear? Was he flamboyant at the club, like Robert? Or butch like Barry? I couldn’t imagine him wearing a scarf or a bunch of eyeliner. But if he showed up in a sleeveless tank like Barry wore when he tended bar, and I wasn’t there to see it, how could I forgive myself? What kind of gay boy would I be?
I cleared my throat. Barry glanced up at me, but I didn’t have anything to say, so he went back to work. Still the idea of going to the club didn’t let go of my mind. I tried to be logical about it, telling myself that going just to see Daniel wasn’t a good idea. I had a sort-of boyfriend and, if I went to Tilt-a-Whirl for any reason at all, it should be to support Renée.
If her new performances were drawing in larger crowds, I supposed Iwouldlike to see them live and not just on poor-quality videotape on Robert’s living room TV. I owed her that much.
I lifted my chin, coming into the homestretch of convincing myself to go. It’d been almost a year since my last trip to Tilt-a-Whirl. I was older now. I had Robert and Barry to look out for me. I could handle it.
I eyed Barry closely. He hadn’t been too impressed with me last year when I went to the club. “Hey, so, Robert wants me at the show tonight. Do you think that’ll be a problem?”
Barry didn’t look up from writing his check. “Do you think you’ll drink so much you nearly spew?”
I laughed. “I can hold my alcohol now. I promise.”
“Uh-huh.” Barry stood, imposing and serious. Leaning over the desk, he lifted my chin and looked into my eyes. “Huh.”
“Yeah?”
He shrugged and sat again. “Entry is eighteen-plus now, so I can’t stop you. But a word of warning: stay safe. You’re pretty, and some of the older guys will be aggressive. Especially if you’re alone.”
Pretty? Hearing it twice in less than an hour, I didn’t know what to think. It was better than “sweet” at least.
“I can take care of myself.” I puffed my chest out, trying to look bigger. I was a high school graduate now, an actual grown-up. I’d be fine.
“Right,” he agreed, unconvinced. “Watch who you trust. Got it?”
“Scout’s honor.”
Barry rubbed his hands over his shining, shaven dome. He shoved the bills aside and put the checkbook back in the desk drawer. “I gotta take a leak, and then I’ll tell my woman about her raise.” He squeezed my shoulder as he left the room.
After Robert’s glee-filled shriek sounded from the kitchen, and after I came out and danced to New Order with him to celebrate while Barry made an early dinner, I returned to the office alone. For the next hour, I filed and filed some more, trying not to think too much about the possibility of seeing Daniel at Tilt-a-Whirl that night. I was going there to celebrate with Renée, and to maybe meet some gay friends my age, not to further indulge in a pointless crush.
Right, Peter. Keep telling yourself that.
I groaned and scrubbed my hands through my hair.
