Page 66 of Disco Witches of Fire Island

“What is it?” Joe let the tip of his finger touch Fergal’s, eliciting a smile.

“Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

Vince groaned like he had stabbed himself with broken glass. “Ah Jaysus feckin’ Christ! Get the hell outta here already! The both of you! Please. Before I have to rip my ears off! Go! Now! Feck off! And use protection!”

As they walked back to 44 and¼Picketty Ruff, holding hands, the butterflies in Joe’s stomach were dive-bombing one another as he absorbed the hugeness of what was happening—he was going on a date with someone he really, really liked for the first time since Elliot. But then he began to wonder why Fergal was being so quiet all of a sudden. Was he having second thoughts? Was he struggling to trust Joe? Joehadphysically attacked Fergal—twice.Stop thinking so negatively,Joe told himself.Do some of Ronnie’s positive thinking.

As they arrived in front of his house, Joe saw there was something different about it. For one thing, the lighting inside the windows looked dimmer than usual, like someone had unscrewed some of the lightbulbs. And instead of one of Howie’s nonstop retro DJ mixtapes, he heard the strains of Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time” being played.

“Something weird’s going on,” Joe said, unsure whether they should go inside.

“Um, this is your surprise,” Fergal said like he was apologizing.

Joe turned to look at Fergal’s face for more clues. “I don’t understand.”

The screen door swung open, and there were Howie and Lenny, smiling and wearing button-down shirts with clip-on bow ties, suit jackets, and aprons over their shorts, as if they were half-dressed waiters in a fancy restaurant.

“Welcome to Chateau Picketty Ruff!” Howie declared with a ridiculously thick French accent (by way of Far Rockaway, Queens).

“What is all this?” Joe said to Fergal.

Fergal cracked his knuckles and looked even more nervous. “I wanted to take you out for a really nice dinner—you know, something a little special. But I forgot I don’t get paid until the end of the week. The Leviathan is nutso expensive, and I’ve heard the food isn’t that good anyway. But I didn’t want to cancel, so Howie and Lenny said they had a more affordable idea. I hope you’re not disappointed.” The tips of his ears had turned pink.

Joe smiled and squeezed Fergal’s hand. “Not at all. This is amazing.”

“Magnifique!” Howie proclaimed, deepening his accent. “C’est bon! I shall now go make Monsieur Fergal zee cocktail while Monsieur Joseph freshens up before zee din-nay?”

“What are you even saying?” Joe laughed.

Howie leaned into Joe’s ear and whispered, sans accent, “Go shower up and clean all the important nooks and crannies, if you know what I mean.” He winked.

“Gotcha,” Joe said, feeling his cheeks grow warm. “I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes.”

While Howie and Lenny’s did their French waiter routine with Fergal, Joe showered up and then headed to the attic to pull on his best pair of shorts and the expensive polo he had bought for Trey Winkle’s awful party. The punch stain was still faintly there, but Lenny’s secret laundry treatment had managed to render it almost invisible. This first date would be the perfect memory to rechristen it. Before heading back downstairs, he took a deep breath and looked in the mirror. “You’re gonna be okay,” he said to his reflection.

As soon as he stepped onto the back deck, he was hit with a blast of incandescence. Twinkling Christmas lights had been strung along the banisters and throughout the mulberry tree. White candles covered every surface, and a huge bouquet of white hydrangeas sat in the center of the picnic table, which was covered in a glowing white chintz tablecloth.

“Wow, Howie,” Joe exclaimed. “This place looks …”

“Great, right?” Howie said. “I call it Chez Max. Max always makes us dine out here at least twice a week when the weather is nice.”

“You know it’s just a first date,” Fergal said. “It’s not like we’re getting married.”

“Yet!” Lenny yelled from the kitchen.

Fergal’s face flushed again, which made Joe smile so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Now you two enjoy our evening’s special cocktail.” Howie handed them each a phosphorescent green beverage in a tall glass goblet with a silver stag horn stem.

“What are these?” Joe asked, sniffing like the pro mixologist he aspired to be. “A kind of mojito?”

“It’s a secret.” Howie winked. “Just a little fresh basil, some beach nettle, seaweed, tequila, and other thingamajigs I like to use. Old Guatemalan recipe of Max’s. Trust me, you’ll like it. Now, I’m making like magic ink and disappearing.” Howie scuttled back through the kitchen door, leaving them alone.

Joe took a sip of the green cocktail and was instantly struck by its unusual deliciousness. He recognized some of the flavors, but there were other ingredients that were completely alien.

“Hey, this shit’s incredible,” Fergal said.

“It is!” Joe agreed, then laughed. “Although, knowing Howie, it’s probably some sort of folk medicine aphrodisiac.”

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