Broken Glass
Kel staggered into his hotel room some time between Tom Brokaw's nightly news report and Ed McMahon's over the top intro for Johnny Carson. He peeled out of his work clothes and stumbled to the bathroom to hose off the disappointment and anxieties of the day. While waiting for the shower to warm, he moved the lid off the back of the tank, and pulled out his icy cold bottle of champagne. He popped it open and took a nice, long drag, glurping around the sharp sweet-sour fizz until it nearly foamed out of his mouth. The bubbles went to his head, much faster than they had on previous nights. He knew they would, though - all he'd had to eat since his last black out was his now usual breakfast of milk and crackers, and a single bite of the apple Dix had forced him to take earlier that afternoon. And now Kel was long overdue for his first drink of the day. He would be far too drunk to go out. That was a pity - this was the very first Friday night where he didn't have to worry about getting home on time.
Kel looked at the bottle with irritation. He shouldn't have opened it. He should have been strong and waited until he'd gotten a couple of beers, just for the hell of it. Now he was stuck with the bottle, until it was emptied.
He emptied it. He turned his face up and poured the sticky sweetness down his throat, swallowing as fast as he could, pausing only twice for breath, and pouring it freely down otherwise, heedless of the excess spilling over the corners of his mouth to drip down his neck and chest and shoulders. He straightened up and swooned with drunkeness.
"Better," he said to the bottle in his hand.
His belly sloshed a little - too fast, too cold, too fizzy, too sweet, too boozy - and he gave it two hard smacks with the palm of his hand, just to hear it bubble, just to feel it harden in offense.
He started to get into the shower, but something pale and frightening fluttered in the corner of his eye. He turned - too fast! don't fall! - and saw the misting mirror. But what had he seen? A ghost, a poltergeist, some sort of malicious spirit, something that could flash in and out of the room in the blink of an eye. He turned back to the shower, amused and embarrassed.
But the thing was still there, moving in his peripheral. He stilled, and the thing stilled too.
And then he knew what it was.
He used his dirty undershirt to wipe the condensation off the mirror and stared at himself, and understood why Dix was so determined to feed him. There were circles under his eyes, and the natural hollows in his cheeks seemed a little less natural than they used to. His skin was a greyish color, blue and white where it should have been cream, waxen white where it should have been tinted pink and rosy, purplish where the light couldn't get in. He looked awful.
He turned his back on the mirror and got into the shower, where he turned the cool water almost completely off, to bring some heat and color back to his complexion. He lathered up as best he could, dizzy from drink and lack of food and a silly, childish scare in the mirror. The shower did the trick, though - when he stepped out and glanced in the mirror, he saw the steam-distorted reflection of a man. Not a familiar man, necessarily, but a man. It would do.
Kel weaved his way out of the bathroom and plopped down on the edge of the bed. He could hear a party going on a few doors down, and he'd already seen more than a few merry-makers trouping up and down the stairs when he first came home. He was the only person in the city - possibly the world - not merry making on this fine Friday night.
Not that he was in a state to drive anywhere. He could barely get to the bed in one piece. Too much wine in his craw meant no pub crawling for him.
"Lightweight."
The hotel room refused to honor him with a response.
A car horn tooted somewhere nearby. It sounded twice more before blaring balefully. Kel staggered to the window to see if he could find the source. It was a taxi cab, and it was pulling off. A girl downstairs cried out, and the cab stopped. A young lady went to the window and had a discussion with the driver, and then headed back towards the hotel. The car shifted and settled, as if the cabbie had put the parking break on. Then the hire light went off, and the normal sounds of partying resumed.
Kel turned back to his room and was suddenly disgusted with all his self pity and sorrow. Why shouldn't he take a cab somewhere? He could stand up straight enough to get into a movie theater, say, or a late night supper club. He could catch a comedy show somewhere, there were plenty of them. He could walk on the sand down by the water. He could do any number of things that wasn't sitting here crying over a fucked up relationship with someone who wanted Kelly to be something he couldn't.
He didn't have to pretend there was no Before, no After. He simply had to not let the Before beat him in the After. He could do that. He could.
Kel found an old but comfortable pair of jeans, soft and worn over the years, and slipped them on. He grabbed the first shirt he found and yanked it on, with hardly a thought to the color, and he picked up the brown wool coat he'd worn to work. It smelled vaguely of antiseptic, but it was better than onions. He shrugged it on, debated about a tie, and decided against. He wanted to be comfortable, and he wasn't dressing to impress. He yanked on his boots, and stomped downstairs to find out if someone in the office would call him a cab.
The cab he'd seen rushing the young lady was still out there, and the driver looked pretty irritable. A cluster of giggling boys and girls came tumbling out of one of the downstairs rooms, and hurried towards the cab. They were digging in wallets and trying to make deals with the cabbie, and Kel could hear the evening begin to breakdown for the friends and the cab driver both. They were goofy college kids, probably celebrating the passing of some horrific test. He always thought college would be this way, but it wasn't. He'd had no time for such frivolity, not when he had to spend all his time cramming for tests Stanford tried his best to keep him from taking -
He shook his head. He didn't want to go down that road, not when the goal was to have a good time if it killed him. Kel looked in his wallet. He had a few bills. Maybe... He approached the car tentatively. "Hi," he said.
The kids stopped their giggling and haggling and stared at him. He was The Man, he was there to break up their little party and restore order, and there was nothing they could do about it. A handsome young man with delicate mocha skin cleared his throat. "Yes?"
"It seems like you guys are having a hard time paying the fare."
The kids exchanged a look. The young man, clearly the leader in the group, shrugged. "We can handle it."
"Bullshit!" The whole cab bounced with the force of the cab driver's rage.
Kel smiled. "Let me tag along, and I'll add my funds to the pot, huh?" He carefully pulled a twenty dollar bill from his wallet, just to show he wasn't all talk, and waved his eyebrows.
This time, the girl with the distinctive voice who'd held up the cab in the first place spoke. "Let him in! Thanks, Mister!"
The door opened, and he found himself swept into the the jubilant embrace of the younger generation. The incoherent cackling resumed almost instantly, and the cab jerked into gear, and out of the hotel lot.
The trip was a little too long for Kelly. They sailed past Rampart Hospital and drove just as far again until finally, finally, the cab came to a stop in the middle of a fairly busy road, where a young happy crowd of kids could have their pick of bars. They pooled their money and shoved it at the still cranky driver, and tumbled out of the car in a breeze. Kel hiccuped and hoped he wouldn't be sick in the back of the cab.
"So right now, I still need... $7.24. You wanna get out, or are we gonna keep going?"
Kel looked at the various eateries, but he didn't see anything that appealed to him. He didn't see anyone that wasn't just scraping past the legal age. He saw a lot of people who weren't scraping past it. He sighed. This was a bad idea. A terrible waste of time and energy.
The loud girl screamed with delight, and two city blocks ground to a stop.
Well, maybe not a total waste.
"Well?" The cabbie was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
"There any... country western type places around here?"
The cabbie looked him up and down, and seemed to hesitate. "Well... maybe."
"Maybe?" The hell kind answer was that?
The driver shifted. "See, the thing is, Mister... they get kinda... well... freaky. If you know what I mean." The cabbie narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "These are the reputable places right here."
Kel smirked a little. "I can handle myself."
The driver looked at him again. "In a bunch of faggots? They'll tear you apart!"
Kel laughed hard, harder than he had since Before. "I'd rather take my chances with them than listen to a bunch of children scream and giggle into their sodas."
The cabbie seemed to weigh that, and, having found Kel's response marginally acceptable, turned back to the steering wheel and put the car in gear. "Okay, Mister, but don't say I didn't warn you."
"I won't."
When they stopped in front of the second bar, Kel understood the driver's reluctance to bring him to such a place. He could smell booze and jizz before he even stepped out of the car. He looked at the driver with horror, but the driver just stared straight ahead. "There's not another place?"
"What did I tell ya?"
Kel sighed and paid the fare. But he couldn't bring himself to get out of the car. "Nevermind. Let's just go back to the hotel."
The cabbie turned and looked at him. "Everybody's got a first time, buddy. Relax. Just don't let em see what you got in that wallet, and hide that fancy gold watch, and you should make it out okay."
Kelly looked at the cab driver. "Are they really that rough?"
The driver shrugged. "I hear they come on strong, and some of ‘em run a hustle. But if you're into that kinda thing..." The driver blushed and looked like he was trying hard not to shudder.
"I just want to get out of my room. Maybe get a beer."
The cabbie looked at him with the same intensity he had before bringing Kel out to this den of iniquity. Then he nodded, as if assured of Kel's stature as a real man. "They'll give you a beer. And you'll definitely be out of your room, no doubt about that. No doubt about that at all."
The words weren't particularly reassuring, but Kel got out of the cab anyway, and tipped the man generously. "For the trouble."
"Hey, no skin off my back," the driver said, but he took the money anyway, and drove off, leaving Kelly to stand alone on the sidewalk.
"Asshole," Kel whispered, and turned to see just how crazy the joint was.
Kel's fears were largely unfounded. The awful smell was only outside, which made Kel think maybe someone had been bounced recently, or maybe they just had the good taste to take their bullshit outside. The music was pleasantly twangy, without being bluegrass crazy or overly mournful, the tables were cleaned and polished, and the leather seating was supple and well kept. In short, it was nothing like the poor excuse for a bar where he'd made so many memories with Stanford.
Kel smiled, hopeful. Score one for the Sweetwater Saloon.
He strolled over to the bar and asked for a pint of whatever was on tap. The bartender was attentive and just a little flirty, but he closed the transaction quickly and didn't try to engage Kel.
Score two.
Kel eyed the back of the room, where he spotted several empty booths tucked away. It wasn't total seclusion like at his old haunt, but that was alright with him - it would offer enough of a shield to deter any pests. He made a beeline for one, and a waiter scurried ahead of him to clean the table off for him, before leaving him with a bowl of pretzels.
Score three.
Two sips into his ice cold beer, and he was feeling just fine. A little loopy, but happy and relaxed like he hadn't been for a while. He needed the change. He needed to get out.
He needed to hurl. Now.
So much for a nice evening. They'd probably toss him out as soon as they caught him in the men's room. Still, no need to advertise that he was too drunk to be there. He got to his feet, and was quite proud of how steadily he did so, and walked casually towards the signs that pointed to the restroom. He was relieved to find no one in there, and hurried into a stall. He was quickly and silently sick, and finished up before a much rowdier pair came in, making enough noise to wake the dead. He cleaned up, and winced when one of them was not so quickly or silently sick at the urinal, and ducked out of the restroom.
Casual. Casual. Don't draw attention to yourself, Kel. He made it back to his table without incident, and nursed his beer slowly. The glass was still cold, and the beer still had a nice head on it. It didn't feel quite so good going down a bile burned throat into an empty stomach, but he drank it all anyway. The next one would be better.
He approached the slowly crowding bar with slight trepidation, worried that the barkeep had been watching him all along and would rebuff his request for a second beer. Instead, he was offered the opportunity to open a tab.
Oh ho, yes.
With mug in hand, Kel turned towards his booth, and began picking his way past the line of thirsty, flirty boys.
"Hot damn, baby."
Kel paused and looked down at the long, thin character slouched at a low table near the bar. "Excuse me?"
The man licked his lips and smiled. The movement was lascivious, but the smile was surprisingly sweet and open. "You know," he said in a low, smooth drawl, "I've been watching you, and-" He paused and sat up, leaning forward, until his eyes were right at Kel's throat, and his smile grew even wider. "-and, I just gotta stop you and tell you, baby, you are one stone cold fox."
Kel stared at the man like he had three heads, as a curious sensation fluttered in his chest and furrowed its way up his neck, brushing over his ears, and glancing on his forehead before settling deep on his cheeks. "Um... thanks," he said, and forced himself to turn away from the stranger.
"Mmm, no, thank you."
Kel looked back at the man, whose eyes were no longer focused on the line of his throat, but on the seat of his jeans. Kel tugged on the back of his jacket, and hurried towards his booth. The staff might have been hands off, but it seemed that the clientele didn't share the staff's peaceable policy of drink and let drink.
He made it back to his booth otherwise unmolested. Maybe the patrons did share the staff's philosophy. Maybe that guy was an exception. Kel settled in and looked around the room for signs of other grabby handed, invasive folks, but he could find none. Everyone else seemed content to stay in their own parties, whether it was a party of one or twenty one. The obvious regulars up at the bar itself stuck close together, and made a cheerful din without trying to involve the folks that didn't go and involve themselves. The cruisers looking for action moved around the dance floor, making their figurative courting dance literal. And the quiet types who just wanted to get out and unwind before locking themselves away in their own four walled prisons sat and drank and paid and left.
Only one person seemed out of place, and that was the tall, cool drink with the fresh mouth. That one was drinking alone, but he stayed close to the barflies, though he didn't seem to have much interest in joining them. He also didn't seem to have any interest in joining the lonely hearts on the dance floor, though it was obvious he didn't want to drink alone. Obvious, because he'd turned himself in his seat to face Kelly from across the room. Obvious because every time Kel lifted his beer to his lips, across the room, the stranger did the same.
Obvious because the stranger sent a waiter over with a fresh schooner as Kel was draining the last of his pint.
Not another one of those. After that one guy's sugary pushiness and casual money dropping, the thought of taking a free drink from a mouthy stranger made Kel feel cheap and dirty. He had half a mind to send the mug back. But he was still thirsty. It didn't make a whole lot of sense to make the waiter walk all the way back to the bar to get a different beer, when this one was right here in front of Kel's face.
And anyway, there was no law that said Kel had to be polite just because some asshole bought him a beer. The guy wants to throw money down the drain? Fine by Kelly.
He accepted the drink from the waiter, but he was careful not to make any further eye contact with the hopeful stranger across the room. He just set the mug to one side and concentrated on finishing up his pint. Only when he'd drained his own drink to the last drop did he turn his attention to the fresh mug. The beer was the same tap he'd been ordering all night. Kel couldn't decide if that was smart or lazy. The beer wasn't as cold as he liked, but that was his own fault for letting it sit there so long, he supposed. Whatever the case, it was certainly cold enough to drink, which he did with great relish.
"Well, well, well, look who's here!" Kel paused mid gulp and opened his eyes to find the golden haired, green eyed salesman from San Diego standing over him. Scott looked at the empty pint glass on the table, then at the schooner at Kelly's lips, then into Kel's eyes, and smirked. "Been here a while, eh? Fish not biting down this way?" Without waiting for an invitation, Scott slid into the booth until his thigh was pressed hot and heavy against Kel's.
Kel set his mug down a little harder than he'd meant to, and winced at the slam on the table, and the shockwaves that reverberated up his arm. "What the fuck do you want?"
Scott's smirk didn't change, but the warmth in his eyes cooled a bit. "Just looking for a good time, like always. Thought I'd get a change of pace."
"Well I guess you'd better keep moving, since you've already had me once, right?"
Scott made no move to leave the booth. "I don't know. This is a pretty big change, to be honest. The music, the decor - even your attitude is a big change. Plus, I like your eyes. You remind me of an old friend." This last Scott said in a false whisper, as if in mock conspiracy.
"Look, buddy, I don't do repeats."
Scott raised an eyebrow. "How the hell do you keep afloat?"
Kel sighed and put his face in his hands. "I don't need this right now," he said, more to his hands (and the universe at large) than to the insistent jerk beside him.
"Don't need what?" Scott's breath was warm and wet on Kel's ear, in a most unpleasant way. He cringed, but Scott draped an arm around Kel's shoulders and made to pull him closer. "Come on, honey, don't be shy."
"Do you need some help?"
Kel dropped his hands and looked up at the voice over the table. The tall, cool drink who'd bought him his now abandoned schooner was standing there, eyebrows furrowed. Great. Now there's gonna be a pissing contest about who bought drinks first.
Scott leaned back in the booth, though he kept Kel pressed hard to his side. "We're fine."
"I wasn't asking you. I was asking the gentleman who came in alone."
Kel tried to worm an arm between himself and Scott. "Truth be told, I plan on going home alone tonight for once." The words surprised him, because, until he'd said them, he hadn't known it was true. But it was. For the first time since... Kel wanted to keep his body to himself. Having realized his need for privacy, he redoubled his efforts to get free.
"Come on, baby," Scott crooned, and squeezed a little harder.
"You want me to peel him off ya?"
Kel looked up, and wondered what the dark haired stranger expected in return. But he was too tipsy and too tired (and, though he was loathe to admit it, too weak in general) to push Scott off alone. "Would you?"
The dark haired man smiled briefly, a sweet, charming expression, before he turned deadly serious. "Off," he said sharply, and with one hand, bodily yanked Scott out of the booth.
Everyone in the bar turned to stare, and a few people scurried back to stay away from any wild punches. Scott jumped to his feet, obviously ready to rumble, but the dark haired man shook his head and held his hands up peacably. "Take it easy, buddy. There's plenty of fish in the sea. Go find one that wants to go home with you."
"Why don't you take your own advice, friend?"
"Oh, I plan to. Nobody's worth getting thrown in a drunk tank over."
Scott looked back at Kel in surprise, as if incarceration had never crossed his mind. "No, I suppose not."
"Right," the dark haired man said. "Besides, you can always pay for it, right?"
Scott snorted. "I did pay for it. I guess this is his night off..." He threw Kel a dirty look, before stalking off, leaving an ashamed Kelly to face his benefactor.
"You okay?" The dark haired man kneeled by the table, but he made no attempt to get in the booth.
"I'm fine," Kel bit off.
The stranger nodded and extended an impossibly long arm across the table. He pushed the schooner closer to Kel. "Enjoy your drink, gorgeous." He got to his feet and walked out of the bar, head held high, hands in pockets, whistling tunelessly.