The Bar Watcher (31 page)

*

The symphony was wonderful, and Toby was totally enthralled. I could almost feel him absorbing every note of music as though he were a very large sponge. When the concert ended with the
1812 Overture
, it looked as though he were close to tears. (Yeah—like I wasn't).

As we rose from our seats and made our way down our row to the aisle, shoulders touching, arms at our sides, Toby moved his hand slightly forward to grab mine.

“Thank you, Dick,” he said. “That was probably one of the most wonderful experiences I've ever had in my whole life.” It made me oddly sad to realize he truly meant it.
Ah, Toby.

We didn't talk much on the way back to the car; Toby was still on cloud nine. He'd picked up three programs from seats we passed on our way out, in addition to his own, apparently so he'd have spares in case he wore his out from looking at it.

You're a good kid, Toby Brown
, I thought.

As we pulled out of the parking garage and onto the street, Toby broke his silence.

“Would you like to stop somewhere for a drink, Dick? I really don't want the night to end just yet.”

“Sure,” I said. “Anyplace special?”

“There's a place not too far from here—The Stardust, I think it's called. I always thought it was kind of a froo-froo name for a gay bar, but we can try it, if you'd like.”

“Sure.”

I'd been there a couple of times, and he was right about the froo-froo; it catered to the sort of piss-elegant clientele Chris always referred to as the “ribbon clerk crowd.” I don't think I'd care to go in there if I were out by myself cruising, but with Toby with me I didn't mind.

We found a parking place not too far away and walked in to find the place only about half-full. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing to check us out, and I heard someone at the end of the bar say “Oh, Mary!” when Toby, who'd been behind me, stepped around to my side.

We took two stools fairly close to the door and ordered a cranberry juice, rocks, and a Whiskey Old Fashioned, sweet. A few minutes later, the door opened, and a good-looking guy built like a truck driver strode in, looking pretty much out of place. He wore something like a silk referee's shirt, with wide white and black stripes, and tight black pants that displayed a noticeable bulge.

He started past us then suddenly stopped.

“Hey, Toby! How's it hangin'?”

“Fine, Stan. How's it with you?”

“Not bad. Not bad.” He struck a
West Side Story
Jets pose and adjusted his crotch. On a closer look, I judged the bulge was probably two pairs of rolled-up socks.

He stood there until Toby said, “Oh, yeah. Dick, this is Stan. Stan, Dick.”

We shook hands, and he looked me over carefully from head to foot, his jaw moving slowly back and forth as he chewed his gum, like he was inspecting a motorcycle someone was trying to sell. Toby just watched him impassively, until Stan said, “Well, I just come in to see if my boy Stevie's here. If he ain't, I'm heading out to Thorson's Woods to pick up a little action.”

Still, he didn't move until Toby said, “See you later, Stan.”

Stan took the hint—“Yeah, see ya later”—and moved about five stools down the bar.

“Not one of your favorite people, I gather,” I said.

Toby shrugged. “We work together. I try to avoid him whenever I can, but he's always hitting on me. That's bad enough, but somebody told me he has a lover. He shouldn't do that.”

I shrugged. “Maybe they have an open relationship.”

He looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, it happens,” I said.

“Not with me, it doesn't.”

The door opened again, and a young guy came in, noticed Stan and turned to go. Too late.

“Hey, there you are, sweetcakes!” Stan called. “Come on over here.”

The young man—Stevie?—straightened up, turned and walked reluctantly over to Stan.

“I told you I didn't want to see you anymore,” he said quietly.

“Why, fer chrissakes?” Stan asked, grasping Stevie's sleeve with one hand while pulling out the barstool next to him with the other. Stevie plunked himself down.

“Because you've got a lover,” he said. “And you used me to rub his nose in the fact you don't give a shit for him. And for you to take me home and not even tell me he was there! That was mean, Stan, really mean.”

Stan leaned closer.

“That fat old fart's not my lover, baby. I told you that. I just let him think he is. He's a fat, ugly old queen. If he's stupid enough to think anybody might actually be able to love him, that's his problem. I let him blow me a couple times a month, if I feel like it, and he thinks that's love. But he pays. He's almost out of money now, and when it's gone, I'm gone.”

He laughed. Stevie did not join in. I looked at Toby, who was staring into his cranberry juice, completely expressionless. I wanted to suggest that we leave, but didn't.

“You're sick, you know that?” Stevie said.

Stan leaned closer, although he didn't lower his volume. Others in the bar were beginning to notice, and I unconsciously began to watch them. I'd never done that before, and wondered why the hell I hadn't.

There were two I definitely recognized, another one I was pretty sure I'd seen in Venture, although I couldn't remember when. A couple others looked familiar. The rest I didn't recognize, but that didn't mean anything.

And there was one small man I couldn't see clearly, standing against the wall in the shadows.

“Sick, huh?” Stan was saying. “Well, I'm healthy enough to give you a two-hour pony ride whenever you want it, right, Stevie? You sure like that pony, don't you, baby? It's all yours.”

Stevie stood.

“I've got to go,” he said, but Stan grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back down. He got up again, and Stan reached for him again.

I looked around for the bartender, but he'd apparently gone to the storeroom for something. Everyone else seemed to be studiously pretending they weren't watching and listening to every word.

That's when I got off of my own stool and walked over to stand between Stan and Stevie.

“He said he's got to go,” I said. “So, let him go.”

Stan looked up at me in surprise, and his jaw stopped moving in mid-chew. He let go of the younger man's arm, to Stevie's obvious relief. Stevie shot me a grateful glance then turned and left without looking back.

Stan seemed unconcerned, his jaws moving again and his gaze traveling up and down my body.

“You're a tough one, aren't you?” he asked, not belligerently.

I just turned and started back to my stool.

“You want t' dump pretty boy, there, I can show you what a real man can do for you…or maybe a three-way?”

I ignored him and sat back down, turning my attention to Toby, who was still staring into his cranberry juice.

“I'm sorry, Toby.”

He turned to me with a soft smile that reminded me of the smile John Peterson had given me—that painting of a saint I'd seen somewhere—and said, “I wasn't paying attention. I was listening to music in my head.”

I put my hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe we should go.”

“We don't have to. Not yet. I'm not going to have somebody like that spoil a great night.” He smiled. “And it has been great.”

I let myself relax a bit.

“Yeah, it has.”

I tried to keep one eye on the door to see who came in or left—especially who left. A few minutes later, I felt Stan standing behind us. Toby and I both turned slightly to face him.

“You two take it easy,” he said. “I'm off to the woods for a little huntin'—lot of wild ass out there just waitin' for a blast from Stan's big gun.” He groped himself, laughed and walked out.

I kept my eye on the door, but no one followed him, and I was relieved until I looked around the bar again. The little man against the wall was gone. The back door to the bar was just swinging shut. Shit!

I wanted to get up and follow him, but I couldn't. Toby didn't know anything about what was going on, and I couldn't spring it on him now.

“You know,” he said, apparently unaware of my distraction, “when I was a kid, I used to go hunting with my dad. Not for fun, but because we really needed the meat for food. I hated it! Every single time I had to shoot some poor animal, it tore me apart. But like I said, it wasn't a matter of choice. We did what we had to do. I did it, but I never liked it.”

I thought again of what a rough life Toby must have had as a kid. I wished I had known him then.

Noticing I'd finished my Old Fashioned, he drained his cranberry juice and said, “Maybe we should go…it's getting late.”

We left the bar and started back to the car.

“Would you like to come over for a while?” I asked.

He smiled. “I'd like to Dick but…can we take a rain check? I'm still hearing the music, and I want to hold on to it as long as I can. You'd be too much of a…distraction, if you know what I mean,” he said, and his smile turned into a sexily wicked grin.

I returned his grin. “I'll have to admit, I'd sure do my best.”

*

I dropped Toby off in front of his place and headed home. I was about six blocks away when whatever had been simmering in the back of my mind since we'd left the bar suddenly bubbled to the surface.

Thorson Woods!

Thorson Woods was a notorious cruising area. Technically, it was a city park, and it spread over the slopes of the same range of foothills that, about a mile to the north, turned into the bluff the two queens had sailed off in the classic Packard. Stan had told the whole fucking bar he was going to Thorson Woods! And the guy in the shadows had left the bar right after Stan!

I knew it was just a hunch—the chance that the bar watcher had been in the Stardust at that exact time was incalculably remote, but what if he
had
been there? If he had, he'd definitely have heard Stan wave his First Class Prick credentials in front of the entire world. Stan might not yet have become a World Class Prick like D'Allesandro or Comstock, but from his little display at the bar, he was rising fast in the ranks.

How could anyone be so deliberately mean-spirited toward someone who loved him, for whatever the reason? Everybody is worthy of being loved. It doesn't matter what you look like, or what you weigh, or how much hair you have, or how old you are. We all deserve to be loved.

Yes, Dick, we know
, my mind said, not unkindly.

I made a quick and totally illegal U-turn and headed for Riverside Drive. I could tell when I reached the edge of the Woods because suddenly both sides of Riverside were sprinkled with parked cars. I found a parking place near one of the primary walking trails and got out.

The Woods were crisscrossed with trails, but a few were particularly popular for their accessibility to totally secluded areas. I headed up the main trail then took one of the branches that led to the most popular cruising spots. Though it was well after midnight, and there were no streetlights, it was a fairly bright night, and I could easily make out forms standing by the edge of the trail, or lounging up against trees. The lights from cigarettes dotted the night like fireflies.

Faces were another matter. Shit! Any one of them could have been the guy from the bar. I was pretty sure I'd be able to spot Stan from that shirt—those black and white stripes would stand out like neon even in this light.

On a hunch, I took a side trail that led to the highest point in the Woods. Not so many guys here—most never bothered to come this far. But I knew there was an area up there called “the grotto” that attracted those into group sex, and Stan struck me as being a group sex kind of guy.

The path was steep and rocky, so I had to watch my step, particularly in the darker areas where trees blocked out what light there was. I reached the grotto to find maybe three or four guys busily engaged in the activities that had drawn them there. One guy, on his knees in front of another, noticed me and stopped what he was doing long enough to motion me over to join them. I didn't see Stan among the participants, so I managed to resist my crotch's suggestion that I take him up on his offer. I just waved and turned back down the hill.

I was just turning a small bend in the path when I saw, coming up the hill, someone in a white-and-black shirt. I knew who was wearing it.

I stepped just off the path, where I could watch him but he couldn't see me. Then I noticed someone else coming up the path behind him.
Looks like things are picking up at the grotto
, I told myself.

The guy behind Stan was closing the gap between them, and I suddenly got a strange feeling in my stomach. Stan gave no indication he knew the guy was there. They weren't close enough for me to make out faces or much detail, but then I saw the guy behind Stan stop, bend over, and pick up what appeared to be a very large rock.