Page 7 of Bi-Partisan

“Oh, yes,” Mina exclaims. “That’s perfect. Good call, babe.” She reaches her hand over the back of the couch toward Chloe, who takes it and allows Mina to pull her down to kiss her cheek.

“It’s not a little much?” I ask. “I mean, it was part of a costume.”

“Oh, is that why it was hanging with a cape?” Chloe deadpans.

“No, it’s perfect,” Mina insists. “It’s a Saturday night and we’re going to a swanky gay bar. That shirt is practically tame. I’m wearing leather pants for god’s sake.” She stands and holds her coat open to gesture to her outfit.

I hadn’t really paid that close attention to her outfit when she came in since her coat covered most of it, but she is in fact wearing leather pants that look so tight they can’t possibly be comfortable. And now that I’m looking, her top looks like something I could only describe as a corset with a sheer overlay. Okay, yeah, a silk shirt is pretty tame in comparison. But then again, Mina has always been adventurous with her wardrobe. I glance over the couch back at Chloe, who’s taken off her coat, presumably to rifle through my closet, to see she’s equally dressed up in a tight velvet dress with sleeves. So I wouldn’t be out of place, but it’s still not something I would usually wear.

Then again, tonight is all about experimentation, isn’t it?

Taking a deep breath, I stand and make my way around the couch to go change in my bedroom.

“Oh, and lose the undershirt,” Mina calls after me.

“Why?” I call back.

“Just trust me!”

The contrast in temperature of the bar compared to the street is almost stifling. Once we make it past the bouncer checking IDs and reminding us of the no photography policy, I immediately shed my wool peacoat and the plain black baseball hat I wore to partially obscure my face while we waited in line to get inside. I remember seeing online that the bar has a coat check, and clearly Mina is having the same thought because she grabs my elbow and gestures to a doorway marked “coat check.” I nod, then start leading the way, my usual job in crowds since I’m six feet tall and therefore the easiest to spot in case anyone gets separated.

As we make our way through the crowd, my eyes scan the room. The Lavender Gimlet isn’t exactly what I expected it to be. I know it’s supposed to be speakeasy-inspired, but I hadn’t expected the place to take that theme quite as seriously. The space is dark and decorated in dark woods, brocade wallpaper, and glitzy wall sconces. The staff are all dressed in 1920s fashion, including the coat check person dressed in a flapper dress and feather headband. And with the crowd of people dancing in the center of the space, the whole place looks like it came straight out of a scene in The Great Gatsby. The only thing taking me out of the feeling like I’ve traveled back in time is the music—which is currently a remix of a Lady Gaga song—and the fact that all the staff have pins of various pride flags and pronouns on their name badges. It makes for a weird dichotomy of old and new.

With our coat check claim tickets tucked away in my pocket, we head to the bar, me in the lead again. We find a clear spot, and while the bartenders are busy serving other people, I turn and duck a bit so Mina and Chloe can hear me over the music. “What do y’all want? First round on me.”

“Usual,” Mina shouts at the same time Chloe says, “Negroni.”

I nod, and turn back to the bar just as a frankly gorgeous man in a tight white button-down, sleeves rolled up, and suspenders slides over and leans on the bar top. I falter for a moment, my eyes snagging on his forearms, then the small patch of chest hair visible due to the sheer number of buttons the man has undone, before getting a hold on myself and looking him in the eye.

“What can I get you?” the man—Eric according to the tag pinned to his suspender—asks as he flashes a devastating grin.

I put on my best smile—I might as well lean into this from the start, right?—and order a whiskey sour for myself, then Mina’s cabernet sauvignon and Chloe’s Negroni.

“Oh, you’re not from here, are you, handsome?” he asks.

“Jamie,” I offer up. “And no, I’m from North Carolina.”

Eric grins again, and okay, yeah, maybe my bisexuality is a little more than theoretical. “Well, Jamie from North Carolina, I’ll get those drinks for you.”

When he returns a few minutes later, I hand the girls their drinks, then fish out my wallet and hand over my card.

“Tab open or closed, Jamie?”

“Leave it open, Eric,” I say, and he hums.

“Mmm, I could get used to hearing my name in that accent.”

I hear a faint snicker behind me and make a mental note to jab Mina in the ribs later.

“Come find me when you need a refill,” Eric says, shooting me a quick wink—which definitely makes me feel some kind of way—before moving onto the next customer.

I pick up my drink and spin to find Mina and Chloe sipping their drinks and giving me nearly identical knowing looks. “Shut up.”

Mina throws her head back with a laugh and loops an arm through mine. “Baby bi’s first phone number from a guy. Proud of you.”

“What?” I furrow my brow. “He didn’t—”

“Look at the napkin.” Chloe gestures to the napkin stuck to the bottom of my glass.

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