Page 8 of The Associate

“This was the real deal. Dubliner looking for a good time. I told him about this place.”

“I appreciate the referral, G, but don’t look for a kickback,” said Dwayne. The joke might have landed with Gio if he wasn’t all that interested in Conor, and the bartender seemed to sense the growing tension. “You remember what he had on? I’ll keep a lookout, and an ear out for foreign accents.”

Gio gave as detailed a description from memory and pointed his beer bottle toward the far end of the bar, his stakeout spot. Dwayne said he’d direct anyone matching Conor that way, but, “If he’s hot, I can’t promise somebody won’t intercept him.”

“I’ll worry about that.” Gio pulled on his beer, thinking of Irish cream.

* * * *

Riding in the back of a taxi over the bridge toward the city’s burgeoning arts neighborhood, Conor fought constant thoughts of his father’s funeral. He hoped the day wasn’t soon in coming, but after his last conversation with his da, thoughts of mourners’ possible reactions to him invaded his mind.

We heard you were grinding in some gay bar when your father passed, Conor Jacob Malloy.That any way to honor your poor da’s memory?

Well, to be fair, it was his idea…

“Conor, you’re gruesome. Stop it,” he chided himself.

The driver turned his head, his breath visible on the transparent partition. “You say something?”

“No, sorry. I’m good.” Conor rested back in his seat. If the blackness persisted, he might as well tell the man to U-turn once he reached the other side. Nothing brought down the vibe of a queer bar at the start of a weekend like a moody gay. He imagined, too, if he showed back at the house after fifteen minutes his bedridden da would only throw him out again.

JT’s had changed little on the exterior, so Conor noticed when the cab pulled into the parking lot. Once a seafood restaurant with a shanty motif, the business changed hands right around the time Hugh Malloy opened Lonnegan’s. The thought warmed Conor. Two drinking establishments on opposite sides of the river, each catering to specific clientele, had helped him come to terms with his identity. Where his first kiss happened in his father’s pub, Conor remembered the exact location of his first same-sex kiss—in the far stall of the men’s room. The man’s name, however, was lost to time. To think more about it, he wasn’t sure he caught it that night.

In seedier days, when the staff had been lax about checking IDs, the stalls had lacked doors. Some joked that JT’s catered to a variety of fetishes, but Conor guessed it had been that way to eliminate a door’s use as a weapon. With the surrounding neighborhood in the midst of a renaissance, he anticipated walking into a more respectable atmosphere.

Respectable, perhaps. Loud, expected. Crowded, yes. Conor examined the queue waiting to get in and chose patience. Good to see a thriving business, at least. He recalled the times Lonnegan’s enjoyed near capacity patronage—typically St. Patrick’s Day and other ‘drinking holidays.’ At times when they flirted with a violation from the fire marshal, Hugh served anyone with a dollar to spend. His da hated to turn away good customers.

Conor thought, too, of the action he missed while living in Ireland. He’d moved out of the country a decade ago, and had skipped JT’s on his few visits home since. The face belonging to his men’s room kiss was a blur in the back of his mind. The man could have walked past him right now with Conor none the wiser.

No matter, though. He was here tonight by Joe’s quasi-invitation. Once he entered the club proper and his vision adjusted to the dark, Conor scanned the main bar for a sign of Joe’s unique profile.

JT’s all-male staff wore aqua-green tanks and tight white shorts that glowed with a bluish tint under the lighting. One server carrying a tray of empty glasses high over his head with one hand paused in his path toward the kitchen and winked at Conor. “You look lost.”

“I’m meeting someone,” Conor said, his voice raised to be heard over the lively pop music. “His name is Joe?”

The served guffawed. “Yeah, honey, that narrows it down.”

Worth a shot. Conor watched the young man’s bubble butt wiggle as he dance-stepped away. He looked for thinning patches in the crowd and created his own path to the bar. Might as well have a drink while he roamed the perimeter.

He spotted Joe at the far corner, leaning an elbow on the polished wood and watching the collective shuffle on the LED-lighted floor. As though sensing Conor’s approach, Joe turned his head and smiled. Dimples formed on either side of his lips, adding to the man’s physical charm.

Up close, Conor saw they looked deep enough to get the tip of his tongue caught in one.

Dial it back, his conscience warned.Maybe get a last name before you get a room?

“You made it!” Joe signaled for the bartender. “Lemme buy you one.”

“You don’t have to—”

Joe silenced him with a hard, but not harsh, glare. “I said I’d buy the first round when we met, right? What’re you drinking?”

Conor pointed at the bottle in Joe’s hand, nodding his thanks when the bartender popped the cap off a dewy one for him. When the current song morphed into a new one and the crowd’s enthusiasm crested, it drowned out their attempts at conversation. Joe beckoned for Conor to follow him, and burrowed them out of the club toward the exit leading to the back deck.

Here, the club’s volume muted as the door closed behind them, but vibrations from the sound system thrummed along the wooden slats under their feet. JT’s spacious back deck ran the length of the building and bordered the river. A smattering of people hung out, either huddled in twos for intimate talk or smoking and flicking ash over the railing. Before them, city lights glittered underneath a cloudless, dark sky.

“It’s nice out here,” Joe said, his voice a bit raspy and working back to normal. “One of my favorite parts about JT’s.”

Conor agreed. “Amazing view.”

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