The Tin Box (17 page)

“Wow,” William managed to say.

Colby’s face lit up with a slightly shy smile. “Really? I’ve had these clothes for a while and haven’t had a chance to wear them.”

“Why did you even care what I was wearing? Anyone would look dull and… and boring next to you.”

“You don’t. You look delicious. They’re gonna eat us up, Will.” Colby swept over, gave him a loud smooch on the cheek, and gestured toward the door. “Let’s go get ’em.”

C
OLBY
chatted pretty much nonstop all the way to Fresno. William didn’t mind—the talk helped settle his nerves. The bigger problem was the way his eyes kept wandering from the road to the dazzling creature beside him. He’d known Colby was good-looking all along, of course, but something about seeing him in more… adult clothing had switched some synapse in William’s brain.

William knew the way to Fresno, but Colby had to direct him once they got to the city. Their destination was in the northeast part of town, not far from the university. The club was called the Stockyard, and it didn’t look like much from the outside. It was at the end of a small strip mall, next door to a nail salon and two doors down from a store that sold discount cigarettes. The bar seemed to be the only business open this time of night, and the parking lot was fairly full.

They sat in the car for a few moments after William cut the engine. His hands still gripped the steering wheel tightly. “I’ve never been—”

“I know,” Colby interrupted. “Don’t worry. I used to come here once in a while to hook up with guys I’d met online. It’s laid back.”

William nodded woodenly but didn’t make any attempt to get out of the car.

“Will, I promise you. Nobody here’s gonna bite you. Unless you ask ’em really nicely.” Colby poked him in the side and opened the passenger door.

Driving an hour to Fresno and then sitting in the car was ridiculous. William gave himself a silent pep talk.
You can do this. You want to do this. Think how grateful Bill would have been for this opportunity.
It was the last thought that finally got him going.

His expectations about a gay bar were foiled as soon as he entered. There were no nearly naked men dancing on the counter or suspended in cages. No S&M orgies in the corner. No drag queens. And not a disco ball in sight. The small stage was empty, but a jukebox was playing something from the eighties. Huey Lewis, maybe. The bar looked pretty much like every other bar he’d been in, which made him feel relieved—and slightly disappointed.

As the parking lot had suggested, the Stockyard was fairly crowded. Most of the customers were men, mostly in their thirties and forties, although some were younger and a few, older. There were also a handful of women. People were laughing and drinking and having a good time. Jeans and tees were the most common outfits, but some guys were dressed up a little, like Colby, and some had opted for Western wear like cowboy boots and oversized belt buckles.

Colby led them to a vacant table for four, and the waiter showed up almost immediately. He was a tall man with an easy smile. “What’ll it be?” he asked, throwing Colby a wink.

Colby looked at William. “I’ll drive home. You need the alcohol more than I do.”

William asked for a Sierra Nevada and Colby wanted a Diet Coke. When the waiter returned with their drinks, Colby insisted on paying. “So, whattaya think, Will? Not scary, right?”

“Not especially. Actually, I’m surprised you come to a place that’s so… low-key.”

“Things are a little more lively here on weekends, but yeah. I did my time in plenty of wild clubs but… I don’t know. I got bored. This place is good if you wanna sit back with a friend and not worry someone’s gonna bash you if you hold hands or dance together.” He nodded at the bar, where a cute young guy with a fauxhawk was watching them. “Or meet new friends.”

There was a funny little twist in William’s stomach. “Hey, if you want to…. Don’t let me hold you back. I mean, if you see someone and you want to….” He let the sentence die of embarrassment.

Colby gave him an odd look, one William couldn’t read. “Sure. I won’t cockblock either. Just promise me if you hook up with some guy you won’t drive off and strand me here.” He said that with a smile, as if he was joking, but his eyes were shadowed.

Oh God, William thought. People had done that to Colby before—ditched him for someone else. “I wouldn’t do that,” he said softly.

Another odd expression flitted across Colby’s face before he smiled and took William’s hand for a quick squeeze. “I know.”

They sipped and looked around, and the guy at the bar kept staring. Just as William was going to find some excuse to leave the table, a trio of men with instruments appeared from somewhere and began setting up on the stage. “Live music?” William asked inanely.

“Yeah. Don’t get your hopes up. If they’re booked for a Tuesday they probably suck. I bet the main attraction for this band is the eye candy.” He gestured at the stage. “The lead singer is hot.”

He was right about the lead singer, a handsome guy with long black curls. He had shed his T-shirt, exposing a broad, sculpted chest, and all he wore was a pair of ragged and dangerously low-riding jeans. His eyeliner and red lipstick did nothing to detract from his masculinity.

“See?” Colby said. “You look like that and nobody gives a crap what you sound like.”

The band spent a few minutes warming up before launching into their first song. William didn’t recognize it, but Colby banged his forehead on the table. “Oh God. They’re playing Bon Jovi.”

William wasn’t sure whether he’d like Bon Jovi under other circumstances, but even his unpracticed ears could tell the singer was slightly off-key and had trouble hitting the high notes. Plus he sang at a different tempo than the guitarist and drummer played, forcing them to occasionally scramble to catch up. When they finished, everyone clapped. Maybe the audience was just glad the song was over. Or maybe they were applauding the light sheen of sweat that caused an interesting play of light over his muscles.

The next song made Colby groan—“He’s torturing Bowie!”—but William didn’t think it was as awful as the first. That opinion might have had something to do with his second beer.

After the third song, something vaguely heavy metalish, the bartender approached the stage. He had a brief discussion with the band that made the lead singer pout, but the bartender returned to his station looking satisfied. The band started up a new tune that was bouncy and had lyrics about love. The crowd cheered and people began to head to the dance floor.

Colby stood and bounced around the table. He held his hand out to William. “C’mon.”

“But I don’t know how—”

“Don’t care.” Colby dragged him out of the chair and to the now-crowded dance area. Then he began to dance. He was really good, moving his body in amazing ways. William plodded in place, feeling like an enormous dork, but every time he was ready to give up, Colby would place his hands on William’s hips and give them a shake, or would turn around to grind his butt against William’s groin. Well, he’d
try
to grind his butt against his groin, but because William was so much taller, the aim was a little off. But William didn’t mind. He kept on dancing, through that song and another and another, and somewhere along the line he realized he was having fun.

The band began a slow song. Colby grinned and pressed himself against William, wrapping his arms around William’s waist. Colby was sweaty—they were both sweaty—but that was fine. William thought he heard Colby sigh against his chest.

William had never danced with a man before. Had rarely danced with a woman. He’d never held a man in public like this either. He might have expected to feel uncomfortable. But he didn’t. Oh God, he really didn’t. Colby fit so nicely against him, so firm and strong, and his hair tickled William’s chin, and they moved so smoothly together, as if they’d been practicing for months.

Other couples circled them slowly. Mostly pairs of men but also a few pairs of women and one or two mixed-sex couples. Two men with short gray beards passed very close by, staring into each other’s eyes with as much love as William had ever seen. How could anybody believe there was something sick about that—something that needed to be cured? Dancing with Colby felt as natural as anything William had ever done.

The song came to end. “Hey guys, we’re taking five,” announced the singer. Colby didn’t immediately peel himself away. But he finally loosened his grip around William’s middle. William realized his own arms were still wrapped pretty tightly around Colby, and he let go.

“That was nice,” Colby drawled. He seemed calmer than usual, a dreamy look in his eyes. “You’re a natural.”

“Only because I let you lead.”

They were standing very close, almost touching. William caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. The guy with the fauxhawk was coming their way, his gaze set intently on Colby.
No cockblocking
, William scolded himself. He took a step back. “I’ve gotta use the bathroom.”

“Okay. Um, Will?”

Will stopped in his tracks, waiting.

“Don’t be too surprised if not everyone’s in there to take a piss.”

Oh. “I’ll try not to have a fit of the vapors,” William responded drily.

Colby laughed and shook his head. “Sometimes I forget how funny you can be.”

Mulling over whether that was a compliment, William searched for the men’s room. He found it after a few moments, but had to push his way down a hallway full of men to get there. The men were mostly making out, although a few pairs of them were doing a good bit more. He was blushing furiously by the time he entered the door marked “Bulls.” He wondered whether there was also a door somewhere marked “Cows,” and if so, what the bar’s female patrons thought of it.

He’d steeled himself after Colby’s warning, but the advance notice wasn’t quite enough to overcome his shock at finding a man leaning in the corner of the bathroom with his jeans pushed down to his thighs, a second man kneeling in front of him and enthusiastically bobbing his head. Neither of them paid any attention to William or to the half-dozen other men who were using the urinals or washing their hands.

William quickly averted his gaze and hurried to a vacant urinal.

He was zipping up when the man to his right said, “Hey.”

Not sure if he was the one being addressed—and a little scandalized if he was—William turned his head. The man was almost as tall as he was and considerably more muscular. He was older too. Late thirties, probably. His dark hair was cropped very short, maybe to hide a slightly receding hairline. He had a square face with a firm chin covered in dark stubble. His eyes were dark too, crinkled deeply at the corners, and his teeth were very white and even.

“Hi,” William responded, then escaped to the sinks.

The hallway crowds were even heavier. Moving through them, he felt a little like a salmon swimming upstream. Before he reached the main room, the band began again, the beat pounding in his body.

He was halfway to the dance floor when he spied Colby dancing with Fauxhawk.

That feeling in his gut? It couldn’t be jealousy. Jealousy would be stupid. Colby was only a friend, nothing more. He’d brought William here so William might meet more men, and if Colby met some too, good for him. The poor guy was lonely. He deserved a little company. And Fauxhawk was a nice match for him, physically at least. Just like Colby, he was very handsome and fit, and he moved almost as gracefully to the music.

Probably William’s stomach was churning because he’d done all that dancing. Another drink would settle it. He walked to the crowded bar and squeezed between two men. His height proved a real advantage in catching the bartender’s eye. “Sierra Nevada, please,” William said.

The bartender nodded and drew his beer. He slid it over and William handed him a five. William took a sip and turned. He’d find an empty table and relax. Engage in some good people-watching. It would be like doing field research. He smiled to himself, imagining a journal article title: “A Participant-Observer Study of a Central Californian Gay Bar.”

“Hey again.”

William stopped short, spilling a little beer. He’d almost walked into someone. The man from the urinals, and he was smiling. “I was going to ask if I could buy you a drink, but I guess I’m a little late. How about if I grab one for myself and we sit down together?” There was a very slight twang to his voice, just a hint of a Southern accent.

“Okay,” William replied, feeling incredibly lame. He wasn’t sure whether to find a table or to wait for the guy, but then someone jostled him and he moved farther away from the congestion.

“How ’bout that one?” The guy had returned with a beer, and he gestured at a table far from the dance floor.

“Sure.”

They had to take a circuitous route to get there, and when they reached their destination, the man sank into a chair with a satisfied little groan. William sat across from him.

“I’m Steve.”

“William.”

They shook hands across the table, which felt a little odd, but Steve didn’t seem at all rattled. “I can’t think of a way to ask this without sounding really clichéd, but you’re new around here, aren’t you?”