The other night, Archie* wanted to take me out for a celebratory cocktail - his celebration, not mine, but who am I to turn down a cocktail? - so we headed to a gay bar around the corner from the tenement. Now, keep in mind that I am a married woman. For me, a gay bar is like a license to let loose. Put me in a room full of gay men and you've just given me a free pass for a wild night of shameless flirting. In a gay bar I can be as seductive, as dazzling, as gregarious as I want to be, because none of the boys have any interest in me. I can bat my eyelashes, laugh loudly and dance the night away without worrying for a second that I've given someone the wrong idea or that I'm asking for attention that I really don't want. I love gay bars.
We settle ourselves on a couple of bar stools and order two dirty gin martini's from the bartender. Minutes later, we're approached by a second bartender, a tall bartender, a gorgeous bartender with lustrous hair, full lips, broad shoulders and bedroom eyes. He just wants to make sure we've been taken care of and he makes us promise that if we need anything, we will yell for him. And then he starts chatting with us and he lingers, just a moment too long, making conversation. As soon as he walks away I jump on Archie.
"OH MY GOD HE'S GORGEOUS AND HE TOTALLY WANTS YOU."
"He's so hot! Do you really think he likes me? He's soooo hot." Archie has become a drooling, incoherent 12-year-old. That's what gorgeous men do to him.
"Um, yes! He was totally flirting with you!" And then in a sing-song voice: "He wants to marry you. He wants to have your baaaaabies." I am also a chattering, incoherent 12-year-0ld.
Archie is squealing. And panting.
"Five bucks if you get his number."
Panting. Squealing. More panting. "Ok. Ok. This is why you're my best friend. You put money on the table, so now I have to do it."
As soon as the first bartender drops our drinks off, Talldarkandgorgeous is back, to make sure we're happy. "Need anything else? Extra napkins?" His biceps are pulsating. "Extra olives? A foot rub?"
Archie and I start giggling. We're drunk on fantasy. Archie, no doubt, imagining a stellar romp in the sack and me, well, I'm picturing their wedding, the dress I'll wear, how I'll rent out my womb so they can have a child of their own. This is love at first sight and I am going to play Cupid.
"I'm Trish. This is Archie."
"Justin*. It's nice to meet you." He shakes my hand and then takes Archie's. I watch, on the edge of my seat, as their fingers meet. Their eyes lock. The energy between them is palatable. I grab Archie's knee under the table and squeeze. Justin walks away and Archie and I press our foreheads together in ecstasy.
"HE SO WANTS YOU OH MY GOD."
"I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW I'M DYING!"
"ASK FOR HIS NUMBER."
"HOW?? I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY!"
So we start plotting. Whispering about how Archie will coyly, cleverly acquire this beautiful man's phone number. Archie is uncharacteristically nervous. That's how gorgeous this guy is. I mean, Archie always dates gorgeous guys, but this guy is an Adonis. We come up with a plan and we calm down a little, our conversation developing a natural flow. All the while, Justin is dropping by to check on us, joke with us, tease us, and shamelessly, relentlessly flirt. Before we have a chance to finish our martini's, Justin has brought us shots of something pink, sweet and wonderful. They're double shots, on the house. Just because, he says. A few minutes later, he's back with more. This time he takes a shot with us, proposing a toast to "New Friendships". We are giddy with the attention. Me, because it is fun to be fussed over by a gorgeous boy, especially if that boy prefers other boys, and Archie because, he's going home with a number! (It is that obvious.) When Archie wants to smoke a cigarette, I offer to stay and watch our stools, but Justin says no way, I should go, and he makes little signs out of napkins, to reserve our spots at the bar for us. I follow Archie outside and not thirty seconds later, Justin is outside too. I want very badly to get these two together, so I start asking Justin all about himself, to get the conversation going and also because Archie is too love struck to speak. Justin and I have a great conversation, and because I can, because it's safe, I'm totally flirting with him. Laughing at his jokes, complimenting him, batting my eyelashes, saying witty things. You know. The usual.
The three of us head back inside, Archie and I squeezing each others hands because HOLY CRAP THIS IS A NIGHT TO REMEMBER, THE NIGHT ARCHIE MET THE MAN OF HIS DREAMS. Even though we swore to only have one drink and now we've had a drink and a couple of shots, we settle at the bar and order two more martinis. We can't leave now. Not before Archie gets the digits. Justin makes the drinks right in front of us and makes us extra - now we each have a full martini glass and a tumbler-full of gin. Dear God. And the three of us are giggling and laughing and having a wonderful time. Justin is flirting, I'm flirting, Archie is grinning so wide his face is about to crack. Archie mentions that I live just down the street and Justin says he works every Saturday and Sunday and we should come in more often! Why haven't we been in before? I ask him what else he does and he says, nothing, he just works at the bar twice a week and auditions the rest of the week. I'm floored. You only have to work here two nights a week? And you make enough to live? I want to be a bartender! How do I get a job as a bartender! And Justin says, "You just walk into any bar, say you want to work there and make sure the manager can see that gorgeous rack of yours."
"Did you just say I should show the manager my boobs?"
"Well, no. Don't be a slut about it. Just, you know..." and then he pulls his shirt off and picks up an ice cube. "You know, you shouldn't like, -" as he's talking, he starts running the ice cube up his perfectly sculpted, naked chest and around his nipples. He's trying to be sexy, and it is sexy, but it's also funny. He's doing a comedy routine. (Or else we're just that drunk.) He's prancing around behind the bar, swaying his hips like a girl and in a high, breathy voice, saying all the things he thinks I should NOT say, were I to interview for a bartending job. "Hey, looking for a bartender? Because I have lots of special bartending skills. I'm really good at making drinks, with my rack, I'm really pretty, and I have a great rack..." he bends over towards us and pushes his arms together, as if to create cleavage. I'm laughing so hard I can barely breathe. Now in his regular voice, "You know. Don't do that. Just be yourself." He smiles, winks, and walks away.
I'm bent over with laughter, still, but Archie looks dubious.
"Oh my god. He is really funny. Weird, but funny!" I say, catching my breath.
"Um, yeah, Trish. And he's straight."
"What? No, he's not. He's been flirting with you all night! He just took his shirt off and pranced around for you."
"Gay men don't use the word 'rack'."
"What?"
"He said you have a 'gorgeous rack'. A 'great rack'. A gay man would never say that."
"Oh, whatever. Straight guys don't bartend at gay bars."
Archie waves at bartender #1 and he comes over.
"Hey, we're just wondering. Is Justin gay or straight?"
Bartender #1 smiles. "Straight. And his girlfriend just broke up with him a couple of weeks ago. Maybe you can help him out, sweetheart." And he looks right at me.
"No. No. No, nonononono." I hold up my left hand. "Married! I'm married. Married. Happily."
"Oh, too bad. He's been flirting with you all night."
"Me?? No, no, no. He's been flirting with Archie all night!"
"No, honey. He's been flirting with you. I'm gay, though." And he winks at Archie. Unfortunately, he's short and round and funny looking and not at all Archie's type.
Archie sighs, a huge, heavy sigh. "Well, I'm glad I didn't ask for his number. And hey, at least we got all those free shots." He looks disappointed. I think he's trying to cheer himself up.
"Oh my god." I bury my face in my hands. I'm completely humiliated. Here, I've been acting like a trollop for the last two hours, all because I thought I was safe, I thought it was harmless, I thought I was helping a friend. And really, I've been doing THE EXACT OPPOSITE. I've made a complete ass of myself. So much for that free pass to a wild night.
So. Embarrassing. Seriously.
*Names have been changed to protect the innocent.
