Page 58 of Disco Witches of Fire Island

“I’m really sorry, Vince,” Joe said, softening his tone too. “I get it.”

“You know something? I don’t even care anymore. And I have you to thank for it—this bar cleaning really helped. Clean bar, clean head.” Vince forced a laugh. “I’m so over that bastard, I wouldn’t touch him again for all the dick in Drogheda. No, ma’am!” He heldhis smile a moment longer before he caught sight of his own reflection in the counter and his eyes glazed over. “Maybe we should also clean out the storage closet and line the top shelves with some doilies. Might look snappy, huh?”

Nope, poor Vince wasn’t anywhere near being over Ronnie. Joe knew the signs; he’d already spent two long years staring at his own heartbreak in a mirror. The stern forehead, the tight jaw, and the eyes—oh, the eyes—darting around as if the very air in front of him might hold an answer to the riddleWhere do you put the love for someone who is no longer there?

Joe grew even more resentful at his ex–best friend for what he had done to his brokenhearted bar manager. What an idiot Ronnie was. Not just an idiot—ungrateful as well. In Vince he had a decent man, someone who truly loved him. Someone who wasn’t sick or dying. Someone with whom he could have a future. Did Ronnie not get how few gay men had an opportunity like that anymore? It was so unfair. How dare he throw that all away on some rich, cheating douchebag?

“Vince, face it,” he began, attempting to copy Ronnie’s self-help-guru style of talking. “Men suck. Straight men, gay men. We all suck. And in my opinion, you may be the meanest manager in the history of food and beverage, but you’re a damn handsome fella, and you could do way better than that two-faced, gold-digging Ronnie Kaminski. He’s justa—”

“Cork it, Dear Abby,” Vince growled. “I’ll have none of that bad-mouthing.”

“But you just said—”

“I know what I said, but I don’t need your swaddling and burping, thank you very much. Just get back to work. Those Cuervo bottles better be so shiny I’m blinded!”

At that moment Dory Lieberman-Delagrange walked into the bar, holding Howie’s arm, the two deep in conversation. Howie held a clipboard with a checklist. Joe sighed in relief, not just because he hoped their visit would interrupt Vince’s demonic cleaning purge but also because he always felt lighter and safer in their presence for some reason, especially since he had gotten beyond all that silly disco witch gossip.

“Yes, that’s perfect” Dory exclaimed to Howie. “We’ll have the finger food up against the wall on the deck with four of the tall round cocktail tables set out there, and seven or eight more in here.”

Howie nodded and then threw his arms open toward Joe and Vince. “And look at these visions! How are the handsomest bartenders on all of Fire Island? Wait until you see Dory’s plans for the ACT UP benefit—it’s going to be phenomenal. We were out all day yesterday, postering every flat surface and telephone pole from here to the Grove.”

“Saw ’em last night,” Vince said. “You can’t swing a dead cat without hitting one of your fliers. I’m thinking we might need a couple of bruisers to manage the crowd.”

“As long as they’re shirtless and have admirers with checkbooks,” Dory said. “By the way, Vince, how is the bar doing in general? Saint D’Norman suggested receipts are still down?”

“He’s not wrong about receipts, I’m afraid.” Vince sucked air through his teeth. “The Invasion didn’t have any follow-through. Low Tea and High Tea have taken a worse toll than we expected. All the gay sheep wanna follow the crowd. If it gets much worse …” Vince didn’t need to finish his sentence.

“Well, I’m not counting this bar out yet,” Howie chimed in. “What you’ve done with this place is nothing less than miraculous. This time last year this place was a morgue—and not in a good way. It’s alive again!”

“Still not anywhere near where we need to be to stop Scotty Black from exercising his option to close us down,” Vince said.

“But there’s still a healthy crowd coming in just before dancing,” Howie said. “It’s not exactly wall to wall, but it’s a big improvement. Scotty just needs to give it more time.”

Vince couldn’t even force a fake smile. He merely downed the rest of a shot while Dory took a huge gulp off her Beefeaters and tonic. Even Howie sighed with a tone of surrender.

Joe slapped his hand on the counter. “Howie’s right,” he barked, trying to blow air into Howie’s deflated rallying cry. “Maybe this ACT UP benefit will get some younger guys in here.”

Howie beamed. “Exactly. If you can get some of those hot, white T-shirt and black combat boot boys in here, you never know. It could become the hip new thing.”

“Not a bad idea,” Vince said. “Maybe put up some of those Silence Equals Death posters.”

Just as all four started to look on the bright side, the sound of someone running up the wooden steps caused them all to turn toward the door. There, Lenny stood, huffing and puffing, with an enraged look on his face.

“What is it, Lenny?” Howie begged in a panic. “Are you okay?”

Lenny nodded and waved, taking deep breaths, unable to form words. Joe ran over to him with a glass of water. Lenny drank, then sat on a stool.

“Thanks, Joseph. I’m fine. It’s …”Deep breath.“It’s …”Deep breath.“The benefit posters. They’ve been … torn down.”

“What?” Dory said, alarmed. “How many?”

“All of ’em!” Lenny barked. “There’s not a trace anywhere on the island. I even called Babs over in the Grove. There too. Gone. Someone doesn’t want this benefit to happen.”

‘Who would do something like that?” Dory said. “We’re just trying to help end the AIDS crisis.”

“We all know who’s behind it,” Joe blurted, his body tense with rage. “Why don’t we just say his name? Scotty Bl—”

“Easy, lad!” Vince checked the door, then lowered his voice. “Keep your head. Island politics is no joke out here. We’re still in business with him.”

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