Page 34 of We Could Be So Good
“I don’t want to stop you from... you know.”
“Yes, I do know.” Nick rolls his eyes. “And you aren’t stopping me. Didn’t we have this conversation last week?”
“No, last week you told me that you weren’t going to go, um, make new friends and then come home and make omelets. Which still makes no sense, by the way.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“That we go to one of those places, you meet someone and go home with them, and I’ll go read a book in a coffee shop for a few hours.”
“A few hours,” Nick repeats, his mouth curved in a smile that makes Andy feel like he’s melting. “Don’t give me that much credit. Ten minutes in the john is more than enough.”
“Fine, then,” Andy says, trying and utterly failing not to think about the images that conjures up. “You’ll do your thing, I’ll finish my drink, and then we’ll go home.”
Nick stares at him. “You’re serious.”
“Yes, Nicholas, I’m serious.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s clear that you aren’t going to go out without me.”
“You’re that dedicated to me getting my dick sucked.”
Andy is going todie. “It’s a mission of mercy. Somebody has to look after it.”
It’s dark, but Andy thinks Nick is blushing. “I’ll think about it,” he says, like it’s this huge concession. “But you aren’t coming with me. What if someone recognizes you?”
“What if someone recognizesyou?”
“First of all,” Nick whispers, “you’re the one who was in the gossip columns not even two weeks ago.”
“Do you think Walter Winchell is at a queer bar tonight?” Andy asks innocently.
“Not the point! Secondly, I’m actually—you know—so if I see someone there who knows me by name, it’s fair, I guess.”
“I’m sure these places are very well lit and have no shadowy, secluded corners whatsoever,” Andy whispers back. “I’m sure every bar of the sort we’re discussing is basically like stepping into Macy’s window.”
Nick sighs and passes his hand over his jaw. For a minute he doesn’t meet Andy’s eye. “You’re going to harass me until I agree, aren’t you.”
“You’re finally catching on,” Andy says, beaming proudly at him.
“Jesus. Fine. Finish your drink and let’s get out of here.”
***
The bar is on West Tenth, right past the place where the streets in the Village completely forsake the grid pattern and leave Andy with no hope of knowing where he is. There’s nothing out front to indicate that it’s different from any other bar. Andy isn’t quite sure what he was expecting, but he’s seen bars with the infamous“Raided Premises” police signs posted out front, a warning—or possibly enticement—that arrests for public morals offenses had taken place. This bar looks totally unremarkable.
On the inside, it’s almost identical to the bar they just left: low lighting, polished wood bar top, hundreds of bottles behind the bar, balding and unfriendly bartender.
Only when Andy looks more closely can he make out subtle differences. At O’Connell’s, there were a handful of women, mostly from theChronicle. Here there are none. At O’Connell’s, everyone wore a suit, but here there are a few young men in jeans and short-sleeved shirts.
Most of the men are minding their own business—nursing drinks, smoking, reading papers—just like at any bar. But when Andy pays attention, he notices the glances, the same sort of glances that he’s becoming uncomfortably adept at identifying. There’s a way men have of quickly looking at another man—assessing, appraising, covert—and then waiting for the look to be returned. Those looks are thick on the ground here.
“What do we do?” Andy asks.
Nick’s been in a bad mood since leaving O’Connell’s and Andy almost suggested that they drop the plan and go home. He remembers the way Nick has spoken of what he does with the men he picks up; there’s often something grim and a little resigned in his tone, and maybe that’s just because he doesn’t want to talk about it with Andy, but at the moment Andy can’t help but think Nick doesn’t seem terribly enthusiastic.
Now Nick shoots Andy an unimpressed look. “Well, what you do is sit at the bar and read your book. What I do is best left undiscussed.”
