Page 16 of A Straight Line

Denny continued to smile at me as we stood there, facing each other with not much else to say. Bird was shuffling things around, organizing his booth, ignoring us still. Gazing into Denny’s eyes, I didn’t like what I saw. Handsome face. Dark hair and eyes. Eyes that a person could fall into and never find their way out. Denny definitely favored Felix. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the caterer and her minions were marching away from the gazebo towards the house. I didn’t want to pull my phone out to check the time right in front of Denny—it could have been perceived as rude—so I settled for looking up at the sky, as though a human sundial.

“Well,” I said, “I guess I should get back inside. I’m sure Harry and Vic will have a few things for me to do.”

“Right, right.” Denny grinned. “Well, uh, I’ll save a dance for you.”

I managed to keep a neutral expression on my face, though the proposition bothered me for various reasons.

“Great,” I said. “Uh, see you guys later on.”

Waving over my shoulder, I turned on my heels and strode back towards the house, hoping I wasn’t marching away like I was going off to war—or that I was trying to get away. However, Denny was too good looking and far too charming—if not a bit awkward—for me to tolerate for long. I needed space. And air. Something in my gut was flip-flopping, and I didn’t like it. When I entered the house, the caterer and her staff were shooing the elder gays out of the house. Apparently, they had everything under control. We’ll get the door and greet the guests, the caterer announced loudly over Harry’s protestations.

Once the elder gays started being herded towards the back door, I slipped into the hallway to avoid being corralled with everyone else. Being shoved into the pack and stuffed through the doorway would do nothing for my nerves—or my suddenly racing pulse. So, I once again found myself standing in the empty hallway, staring at the memories on the wall. Staring at the pictures Harry and Vic had taken and hung over the years always calmed my nerves. A few minutes to reflect quietly on the history of my uncles and their bar was just what I needed to slow my heart rate and catch my breath. I needed a moment of silence before everyone started arriving for the party.

I don’t know how long I stood there, alone, staring at the pictures on display, but it could have only been minutes. None of the staff had made their way to the front door—which I had a clear view of from my position—to watch for party attendees. When Vic popped out of the doorway to the kitchen, glancing around with concern, I knew that he was looking for me. I just gave him a small smile before turning my eyes back to the pictures. Vic stood there for a moment, observing me, an understanding we always had passing between us silently.

“You know,” He finally broke the silence, “the DJ booth is kind of new to us. Sure, we have a DJ at the bar three nights a week now—gotta get butts out of seats and on the dance floor, after all—but when the bar opened, we weren’t that fancy.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, maybe a little fancy for the time,” Vic said, “We had a 1980 Rock-Ola Max Jukebox. Three plays for a quarter. Two bucks would have you dancing all night. It held one-hundred and sixty vinyl records—fancy as hell for a little gay bar in the middle of nowhere in 1980, let me tell you.”

I smiled as I stared at a picture of Vic and Harry in San Francisco with Alcatraz off in the distance behind them.

“It came in handy the night that cinderblock came through the window,” Vic continued. “Patching things up and cleaning up all the mess wasn’t nearly as bad with the Village People and Sister Sledge playing in the background.”

“You’re so old, Vic.” I teased.

“Well, you’ve never been a liar,” He said, “just a bit of a snot.”

I laughed as my eyes drifted over to a picture of Harry, Vic, Bang—Morty—and…Robert? They were all on a pontoon boat. Possibly on the Mississippi. The river was too big to be the Wapsipinicon.

“Morty met Robert that night,” Vic said, seeing where my eyes had landed. “Did you know that? Of course, not. You never really even met Robert. Anyway, that night, a fiery cinderblock wasn’t the one thing that showed up at the bar.”

“Robert?”

“Yes,” Vic said, “we had finished up repairing the window, and we were cleaning up. Night had settled in, but we had the front door open so we could enjoy the cool air. That probably wasn’t the smartest decision, all things considered. Some hillbilly throws a fiery cinderblock through your window—just leave the door open for the next guy, right?”

I laughed nervously.

“But it wasn’t another backward thinking homophobe who came through the door. It was Robert. He was driving from Minneapolis to St. Louis that night. Traveling salesman. The last of a dying breed, Russ.”

“You are old,” I mumbled.

Vic ignored me. “Tall, dark, handsome, but a bit older than the rest of us. He seemed ancient at the time. Time means nothing when you’re relatively young. Well, he had been driving that night, and when he got to Littleburg, A Straight Line was the only place with a light on. And he was desperately in need of a place to…do some business.”

A chuckle escaped my throat.

“Well, Morty recognized him as queer immediately. I think so, anyway.” Vic smiled. “I’m pretty sure they spent the night together. None of my business, of course, but as a queer, I have to respect the hell out of two men jumping on an opportunity like that.”

“Get it, Morty,” I said.

Vic smiled. “After that night, Robert got to Littleburg as often as he could—in between deals, of course. After a time, he decided that he needed to find a job nearby where he wouldn’t have to travel so much. And he and Morty became inseparable. A greater, more sordid love story’s never been told before. You know, Morty was not one to be locked down in his younger years. He had a new guy at least once a week. Once Robert came into the picture? Forget about it. His days began and ended with that man. It was sweet. All of us guys could hope for something that wonderful.”

I just stood there doing anything but looking at my uncle.

“Having someone to call your own—whatever that looks like—is human, Russ,” Vic said quietly. “There’s nothing wrong with finding someone who is your first and last thing each day.”

“Vic—”