Page 72 of Disco Witches of Fire Island

“I don’t think I’ve hated someone this much since junior high school,” Joe said.

“Join the club.” Vince sneered as he ripped open a Budweiser. “But ACT UP needs their money, so let’s keep it pleasant. But go extra light on the pour.”

Joe nodded, happy to cheat the man who had treated his best friend so terribly. But then, as those dramatic Fire Island fates would have it, Ronnie Kaminski—having taken Joe’s suggestion to “run into” Vince at the benefit—walked into the bar dressed in his best Ocean Pacific board shorts and Phillies tank top. Oblivious to Trey, he tossed Vince a nervous smile.

“What fresh hell is this?” Vince coldly muttered. “Get him out of here.”

Joe realized he had completely miscalculated Vince’s reaction. “Wow,” Joe said. “Lots of surprises today—”

“You set this up, didn’t ya? Ya little bucket of snot.” Vince threw his dirty bar rag into the sink, then stormed over to the far end of the bar.

Joe, seeing the hope drain from Ronnie’s face, waved his friend over to the bar. “I think I made a mistake,” he said. “I’m really sorry. Maybe you should come back another time.”

“So he still hates me, huh?” Ronnie said. “I knew it.”

“He doesn’t hate you.” Joe handed him a shot of tequila. “He just can’t figure out how to stop feeling brokenhearted, I guess.”

“Why does this summer suck so much?” Ronnie knocked back the drink as if his tonsils were on fire.

“Speaking of sucking.” Joe made sure his lips were unreadable from across the room. “Your asshole ex is here too.”

He pointed the soda gun toward where Trey Winkle and his friends had set up their judgment station. Having caught Ronnie looking at him, Trey smiled snarkily, then whispered something to his friends that ignited a round of sniggering.

“Fuck me!” Ronnie groaned. “First I get rejected by the man I love, and then that stuck-up jack-off laughs at me?”

“Ignore him,” Joe said, mixing a tequila sunrise with one hand and knocking the heads off two draft beers with the other. “You probably should leave anyway. You don’t want Scotty Black to find you here.”

“That’s true. I don’t need to get fired on top of everything else.”

“Do me one favor before you go,” Joe whispered. “Maybe it’s too soon for Vince, but on your way out just say a quick hello. I think maybe if he hears your voice—”

“Are you crazy? He hasn’t even looked over since I walked in.”

“I know. But what can it hurt? Just say one of your affirmation things first.”

“That shit isn’t working anymore. I keep chanting over and over, ‘Vince is still in love with me. Vince is still in love with me.’ ” But my subconscious keeps saying, a lot louder,You blew it, douchebag. He hates you.” He choked back tears. “Fuck this. I’m out of here.”

As soon as Ronnie turned to make his escape, Trey Winkle and his friends walked directly over, blocking his exit.

“Look who’s here,” Trey said, turning to his clones. “Gentlemen, you remember Ron here? He used to hang out at my place?” He gestured to Joe. “This charming young bartender is his best friend, Joseph—you’re part Iranian or something, right?”

“Armenian,” Joe said flatly. “You ordering something or what? The bar is pretty busy.”

“Of course,” Trey said. “Three vodka martinis, if you would. Extra dirty. A bar like this wouldn’t have Grey Goose, would it? Or is your top shelf just nottopenough?”

Trey’s pun caused his friends to snort.

“Yeah, we have Grey Goose.” Joe’s annoyance grew. “But with today’s open bar your choices are Absolut, Absolut, or, um, Absolut. Of course you might find something you like on ourbottomshelf, which happens to be Popov. You know Popov, right? It sorta rhymes withjerk off, which I’m sure you hear all the time.” Ronnie’s eyes warned Joe to cool it. “Anyway,” Joe said, lightening up, “Grey Goose would be full price.”

“That’s fine.” Trey tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the bar like it was a napkin.

Joe briefly considered blasting Trey with a stream of Coke from the soda gun, but then saw that Ronnie was on the brink of tears. Joe knew Trey would probably love to see Ronnie cry. He’d get to brag to his hideous friends how the muscle-head hotel porter was wandering the island bawling his eyes out over having been dumped by him.

“Hey, Ronnie,” Joe said loudly, “you have to get back to work, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I probably should.” Ronnie’s sad eyes were barely able to look up.

“Don’t let us keep you,” Trey said, still blocking Ronnie’s way. “Those toilets won’t clean themselves.”

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