Page 10 of Disco Witches of Fire Island

Unfortunately, with the dearth of commercially zoned property in the Pines, she was forced to lease a sordid little upstairs bar space from Scotty Black—a greedy and unpleasant man whom she, and many others, detested. Scotty, wanting to pocket as much money as he could from Dory, proffered a completely unfair agreement for the bar: he not only was asking an exorbitant price, but the contract was stuffed like a capon with stipulations, caveats, and red flags. Despite her lawyer’s pleas not to sign, she’d had no other options in the tiny harbor—Scotty Black owned everything. So, wanting to honor her father’s otherworldly wishes, Dory went ahead with the agreement.

Within a month of signing, she opened Asylum Harbor, a quaint little rough-and-tumble “cruise bar” where one could grab a hot boy and cold beer all within a matter of minutes. Dory’s bar quickly became a huge success, and by the late 1970s had been declared the best bar in Fire Island Pines. But then AIDS arrived, decimating the clientele and many of her dearest friends. With fewer and fewer customers showing up at Asylum Harbor, the threat of Scotty Black exercising some of those shady, contractual stipulations was becoming more and more real—including his right to close the bar for good.

Just as Dory and Elena arrived at her beach house, they heard the telephone ringing. Before they could get their shoes off, Saint D’Norman, a lean, fifty-something, gay Black man with a melon-bald head and a Steinway keyboard smile, walked over to Dory, dragging a receiver attached to an extremely long spiral telephone cord.

“It appears you have an important call, Dor.” Saint D’Norman rolled his ennui-ridden eyes. His years having worked as a nurse, not to mention membership in Dory and Howie’s secret dance coven, gave him an air of stoic amusement no matter what wasbefore him, be it a burnt appetizer or the apocalypse. As he handed Dory the telephone, he raised a single very aristocratic eyebrow. “It’s Howie. He sounds … um … overly excited.”

“Of course, my dear.” Dory shared a knowing smile with Saint D’Norman, her closest confident and, as needed, executive assistant/major domo. “Now, if you could show my granddaughter our dear Alan’s old room. She’ll adore the view.”

“Of course.” Saint D’Norman smiled and pointed to the stairs. “Just up there. I remember you when you were just a sneaky little dandelion. Look at you growing into a gorgeous sunflower!”

Once they were out of earshot, Dory lifted the phone. “Howie, darling, how are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks be to the goddess,” Howie’s voice buzzed through the earpiece. “It’s preseason madness, natch. Lots of owners with their hair transplants on fire …” He took a breath. “Dor, the reason I’m calling is, are you still looking for a bartender for Asylum Harbor?”

“I am. Do you know someone?”

“I think I do. Scotty Black pulled a fast one, and this poor kid named Joe found himself out here jobless, homeless, and with barely a penny to his name. We’re temporarily sheltering him in our attic like Shirley Temple inThe Little Princess.”

Dory certainly needed a bartender. She also despised how the tyrannical Scotty Black reveled at playing goddess with other people’s lives. Still, the bartender position was far too important to give away just for spite or to please one of her dearest friends.

“What’s he look like?” Dory said, getting down to business. “I need a real five-star stud.”

“Well, I haven’t seen him shirtless or anything. But he looks like the love child of Sal Mineo and Montgomery Cliff. Eyebrows like two large, melancholy chinchillas about to mate.”

“Mmm.” Dory had always been a fan of overwrought eyebrows.

“Appears to have a furry chest too—which is like hens’ teeth out here lately. His aura is all over the place—lots of blue and indigo among a torrent of dark bands. I sense something tragic happened in his past. What exactly—I can’t see it. I’m hoping when Max gets out here, he’ll be able to give him a solid read. The main thing is he’sgot this mesmerizing swirl of contradictions: butch but vulnerable, smart, sexy, sweet, and curious at the same time. He also yearns, Dory. Heyearns.”

“Ooh, I like that too,” Dory said. “One can’t be truly beautiful without yearning.”

“Exactly. Customers will either want to fuck him or adopt him.”

Dory lowered her voice. “What about the package?”

“Not that I’ve noticed …” Howie cleared his throat knowingly. “However, it appears as if he’s hiding a liverwurst sandwich down the front of his Levi’s. All the old geezers will be blowing their pensions on your best top-shelf liquor just to stare.”

Dory closed her eyes as an image of her father flashed across her brain. He was nodding his head.

“Have him at my bar at five,” Dory said. “If he’s half of what you say, the job is his.”

6.A Room of One’s Own

“Keep your dirty secrets in bedazzled boxes.”

—Disco Witch Manifesto #126

“Try this,” Ronnie said, handing Joe a skimpy, sleeveless Gold’s Gym T-shirt that had been cut off at the midriff.

While Howie and Lenny were setting up the attic, Joe had run back to Ronnie’s room at the Flotel to borrow something more appropriate to wear for his fivePMinterview.

“Where’d you get this?” Joe asked, squeezing himself into the shirt. “The kids’ department at Woolworths?”

“It’s not The First Pennsylvania Bank—it’s a gay bar. They wanna see your guns and your tits.”

Joe checked himself in the mirror. The shirt did make his arms looks bigger. It also exposed the furry treasure trail that perfectly bisected his stomach. “Wow … I look kinda good.”

“More thankinda! You’d give Tony Danza a run for his money. Now, let me see your tightest jeans—we may need to rip ’em in the crotch.”

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