Page 9 of A Straight Line

“You guys are here early,” I said.

I hoped the simple observation would be enough to get a conversation going and to further distract Simon from the events that had transpired moments before.

Simon craned his neck to look up at me. “Dan and Rafi said they were coming early to see if Vic and Harry needed any help. We thought it would be a nice gesture.”

Nice gesture. I laughed internally. All of my uncles’ friends would show up early so that they could have first dibs at the food and to gossip about everyone as they arrived. It just wasn’t a get-together with the elder gays unless a crack was made about everyone’s outfit as they stepped into the party. Simon was one of the worst offenders if memory served me well.

“Surprisingly, they haven’t made it,” I said.

Dan and Rafi not arriving super early to any party Harry and Vic threw was rare. Of course, both of them were slightly older than my uncles, so it was likely they weren’t moving as quickly as they once did. They’d probably show up when everyone else did, getting lost in the shuffle.

“That’s a shame,” Phil said as he laid a hand on Simon’s shoulder.

“No bother.” Simon fluttered a hand through the air. “Where are your uncles, Russ? They’ll obviously need our help since Dan and Rafi couldn’t be bothered, and—”

“They’re in the living room with the reporter from The Gazette.” I stopped him. “They’re doing that article about themselves and A Straight Line’s history in the community. So, they’re talking to her right now.”

Phil smiled.

“Oh, lord.” Simon laid a hand to his chest. “I hope Vic is telling the stories. Harry could never weave a yarn to save his—I’m sorry to speak that way about your uncle, Russ, but Harry blathers on about nothing whenever anyone asks him anything. We had your uncles over for dinner two weeks ago, and I mentioned that I was thinking about buying new place settings, and—”

“Russ doesn’t care, my love.” Phil squeezed Simon’s shoulder, mercifully putting an end to the blathering Simon was doing.

Simon looked up at Phil for a moment, cross, then looked over at me. With visible difficulty, he smiled.

“Of course,” He said, “your uncles probably have a list of things for you to do before the party starts. You don’t have time to listen to me.”

“I always have time for you, Simon.” I decided to be magnanimous. “But you know how Harry is. If I don’t stay on top of things, he’ll chew me a new one.”

Simon and Phil laughed easily, knowing that I was barely being hyperbolic.

“I’ll go check on them.” I patted Simon’s shoulder, then looked at his husband. “Keep this guy out of the food, will you?”

Simon huffed, but Phil gave me an amused smile. My request would be honored by Phil, or at least I felt safe enough to leave the two alone in the kitchen while I ventured to the living room. As I walked back into the hallway, I could hear Simon start hiss-whispering something to Phil. It was probably something catty about how I was dressed or the way I had spoken to him. I hate to use the term “catty old queen” regarding anyone, let alone friends of my uncles, but the term fit perfectly for Simon. When he got into a room with Harry, the cattiness was legendary. Epic poems have been written about the cattiness the two could produce in a single evening.

Actually, it wasn’t poems. More like limericks.

Further down the hall, I could hear the voices of my uncles, as well as the noise produced by the catering staff getting things ready outside. The writer from the newspaper was silent, or at least speaking quietly enough that I couldn’t hear her. However, from the sounds of things, Harry and Vic were regaling her with a story to answer one of her questions. As I approached the doorway to the living room, down the hallway by the front door, I stopped just shy of stepping out where my uncles and the writer could see me. Instead, I leaned against the wall, just before the doorway, and listened to their conversation. I wasn’t necessarily being nosy, but I was curious about what type of questions the writer was asking and how my uncles were answering. Making my presence known would change the way they all behaved.

“And that’s why we started serving fish on Fridays.” Harry finished whatever story he had just regaled the writer with.

A woman’s laughter drifted out of the living room and rang in my ears. Whatever the story had been about, it had obviously been a good one. Since I hadn’t heard it, I couldn’t comment on the validity of it.

“You are a delight, Harry.” The writer giggled. “I’m so glad I came today.”

“We’re so glad to have you.” Vic’s voice reached my ears.

“Thank you,” She replied, “Now, what was it like being the first—and only—gay bar in the area? I mean, this was in the 80s, and—”

“Nineteen-eighty.” Vic clarified. “Summer of, to be a little more precise.”

“Right.” The writer agreed. “That must have been a difficult time to open up a gay bar in…well, in such a rural area, right?”

“Let me tell you.” Harry groaned.

“You’ve done it now.” Vic chuckled.

More giggles from the writer.