I shouldn’t have snooped. I shouldn’t have cared. How was it my business? It wasn’t. But I’ve learned over time that there are two of me, and different personas show up in different situations. I could be sweet and loving, so sweet and loving that even Josh said it was too much. My mother still told me what a sweet child I’d been, always making friends with strangers and trying to cheer her up when Stupid Gary had made her cry. But the second persona—the Short-Tempered Ice Queen—was a persona of necessity. A scared boy with no confidence was fresh meat for a variety of predators, and I learned quickly that you could trust no bitch. Now that I wasn’t on constant alert like I had been in high school, I tried to find some happy medium between innocent and mean, but it was always a balancing act. I could be the nicest person you ever met—or the pettiest piece of shit you’d ever crossed.
Right now, I was being the pettiest piece of shit.
By now I had Oliver’s number, and I asked him where Eddie worked. I was worried he’d wonder why I wanted to know, but instead he provided me the name and address without questions. Some men weren’t complicated or particularly curious.
The bar, The Smoke, was located in Palms, and when I arrived, it didn’t immediately impress me. I was wondering if it’d be a gay bar, or at least one of those high-end cocktail bars that rich white gays went to. But it wasn’t like that at all. It was just your basic dive bar with barred windows and neon signs, located between a bodega and a Dominican hair salon. At least I wouldn’t stand out if I entered, so I zipped up my leather jacket and pushed through the front door.
The inside was larger than it looked on the outside—and a bit classier. The walls were all exposed brick, and the bar was expansive, spanning nearly the entire right wall. But there were booths and tables available, too, even though they were mostly occupied at eight o’ clock on a Friday night. I’d chosen Friday night because I wanted to be able to blend into a crowd if needed. I knew what I was doing was creepy and weird, so I’d like to remain as invisible as possible.
At the back of the bar was a small stage, though it was empty at the moment. There was also a door at the back that led to a small patio. It was the kind of place I would frequent if I weren’t trolling for dick all the time. I don’t know why I found it so irritating that Eddie worked somewhere tolerable. I would have had some thrill of petty satisfaction if he’d been trouncing around a kitschy gay bar where they sold overpriced drinks and played shitty music. But I’d known going into this that The Smoke was a place Oliver hung out, and Peaches didn’t seem like the type to date a high-octane queen who spent his nights flirting with shirtless men over martinis.
Then again, he had the looks to do just that.
Steeling myself for a possible confrontation, I slid up onto a barstool and glanced down the bar. There were two bartenders on staff: Eddie and a short squat black woman with her hair stuffed into a frizzy bun. I tapped the bar top and pulled out my phone as I waited for service, unable to keep my knee from jiggling. When I looked up, there he was—Eddie.
Peaches claimed Essie dressed across the gender spectrum, but tonight he didn’t seem to be wearing any make-up, and his clothing was passably butch if you could forgive the small golden hoop in each ear. I hated looking at him, because it didn’t seem fair that you could just look like that casually on any night of the week. He was probably a few inches over six feet and naturally blond, with the kind of frame only acquirable through exercise and the kind of skin you could only get with good genetics. I was shallow as fuck and I couldn’t find a flaw. It was like the Gods of Fuck You had reached into the heavens and pulled forth the most perfectly hateable ex they could find.
I really fucking hated him, even as he smiled at me. He didn’t recognize me, probably because I wasn’t wearing any eye shadow and I’d stuffed most of my hair under a wool hat. Even Josh had trouble recognizing me when I was slumming it, because without make-up and my contacts, I morphed into the awkward nerd who had been teased and ignored in middle school.
“Can I get something for you, hon?” he asked, so perky and accommodating.
Don’t call me hon, I thought even as I smiled back. “Hey. Eddie, right?”
“You know me?”
“Oliver recommended me this place.”
“You know Oliver?”
“Yeah. We know each other because I’m… I’m in a band, too. Anyway, he said you were pretty cool.”
“Hmm, that doesn’t sound like Oliver,” Eddie replied, then laughed. “I guess he only says nice things about me to other people.”
Not really. Fuck, Eddie had dimples. No one had the right to be this beautiful. I bet he’d coasted through life, looking like that. If I had his face, I’d have to beat off guys wanting to suck my dick. It was a wonder that it had taken Eddie this long to cheat; it would be hard not to. And while there was no proof that Eddie was cheater, it was easier for me to assume he was, especially now that I was looking at him.
“Maybe he thinks he’ll get something out of referring me,” I said.
“I give him enough free drinks as it is. You probably know how he is.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “Always looking for handouts.”
“Yeah.” I didn’t know what else to say. I wasn’t the best actor, and it was tiring to pretend I was just another friendly customer. I bet Josh would knock this out of the park and love every second of it. He’d been a drama nerd in high school, and his array of comedic accents always kept a room entertained. “You’re Peaches’s boyfriend, right? I think he mentioned that you were.”
Something shifted in Eddie’s expression, and his smile dimmed a notch. “I was, yes.”
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know.” I paused, wondering if Eddie would contribute further. But he didn’t. So I stumbled on. “Can I ask what happened?”
“Is there something you’d like to order?” Eddie asked, not giving an inch.
“Oh, right, sorry. Didn’t mean to intrude, uh…” I reached up and rubbed the back of my neck, avoiding Eddie’s blue gaze. “Whataya have on tap?”
Eddie pointed to the chalkboard behind him with a hole array of options. Right. I ordered a pint of Stella Artois.
“Do you want to start a tab?” Eddie asked.
“No, that’s fine. I’ll just pay now.”
In the end, my mission was mostly wasted. After giving me my drink and taking my money, Eddie was off to the next customer, and I was too afraid of pissing him off to flag him down again. The other bartender was the one who stopped by to ask me if I need anything else.
“Uh, I’ll take one more,” I said against my best interest. Two beers was hardly anything, right? I was waifish, but years of almost-alcoholism had built up a tolerance, and I was still capable of driving with three beers floating around in my veins. At least there was no one around to blow here, unless I really hated myself and Eddie was up for some rebound sex.
“Drinking alone’s not a good look,” the bartender told me with a lifted eyebrow. She was short and chubby to Eddie’s tall and lean, but they seemed to be chumming it up pretty well at the other end of the bar.
“Heh, yeah,” I replied, taking a sip of the new beer she provided and digging through my nearly empty wallet in hopes I could find the spare change. “I’ve worn a lot of looks I’m not proud of.”
“Just don’t drink too much. Drinking alone is one thing. Getting drunk alone is another.”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.” When the bartender took a step away, I decided to stop her. “Hey, so, you know Eddie, right?”
“I work with him, obviously. Do you know him?”
“No. I only know Peaches.”
“Oh.” She frowned and glanced over her shoulder at Eddie, who was not paying attention to their conversation. “I assume you know about the whole debacle that went down then?”
“Peaches told me that Eddie was hanging around some nudie photographer…?”
“He thinks Eddie cheated?”
“Not in those exact words, no. But I mean… it seems awfully suspicious.”
“Eddie wouldn’t cheat on Peaches. He’s physically incapable of doing something like that.”
“Everyone is capable of cheating.” Didn’t I fucking know.
“Not Eddie.” The bartender leaned her elbows on the bar, pinning me with an intense look. If she was close to Eddie, she was obviously going to vouch for him. But I’d thought with equal conviction that the guys I dated were good and loyal. I wouldn’t have dated them otherwise. But people were shit, and they hurt you no matter how much they promised not to. “I have mostly stayed out of it, and I haven’t talked to Peaches in a while, so I don’t know what he thinks. I know that Eddie is having just as much of a hard time with this as Peaches is, so if you see him, you can tell him that.”
That was hard for me to believe. Eddie was laughing at the other end of the bar, gesturing to some woman’s blue hair with the animation of someone who was doing just fine. Meanwhile, Peaches always looked like someone had killed his dog. Not that Peaches couldn’t laugh or smile, but his good moods wandered in and out, and his bad moods were far more reliable. I understood depression better than most, and Peaches fit the bill. Eddie… who the fuck knew. Even if he was depressed, he could put on an impressive farce. Which would also make him a good liar. Which would then make him a good cheater.
I didn’t trust him.
“I’ll let him know,” I replied.
“Tell him to get some goddamn therapy, too,” the bartender muttered before pushing away from the bar and heading elsewhere.
I finished up my second beer, resisted the urge to order another, left an adequate tip, and headed outside to my car. Once seated behind the wheel, I pulled out my phone.
Hey Peaches wyd?
There was no prompt response, so I started the engine and began my trip home. Halfway there, Peaches texted me back.
What the fuck does wyd mean?
I laughed out loud, then tried to swallow the bubble of affection in my throat. I liked Peaches’s total ignorance of pop and internet culture. I texted back, I wanna come over. That cool?
Yeah, sure. The twins are out and probably will be all night.
Be there in twenty then.
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