34. The Familiar Face

Hunter

It was the end of Hunter’s fourth year as a Junior Associate at the firm, and he had just left a division-wide meeting where his promotion to Associate was officially announced. The room filled with applause and congratulatory remarks. Erin invited him to a welcome dinner that evening with the rest of the associates.

“Hunter, isn’t your brother a senior associate?” someone asked over dinner.

“Uh, yeah. Chad—but, he’s in the public sector,” Hunter replied.

“Ah, one of the pub sec guys. We play them in softball every spring. You should join the team.”

“Chad’s on that team,” he responded with a laugh. “He’s a baseball nut. It’s not my thing.”

“Lawrence Turner is down at the corner there,” someone else said, and everyone turned to view the back of Lawrence Turner’s head.

“Didn’t we invite him, Erin?” someone asked her.

She shrugged. “We always do, but he can never make it. I never expect VPs to make anything.”

“Who is he with? … Probably a business meeting,” they whispered.

Everyone seemed to be interested but Hunter. He didn’t hate his job, but he didn’t exactly care. He avoided their social outings as much as he could—although he made sure to attend at least one each month to keep up with workplace politics. He stuck around for a couple of drinks at the bar before sneaking out once he became invisible. He sighed when the fresh air hit his face. The car he had ordered on his phone was taking too long, so he decided to walk and enjoy the evening.

“Hey, get your ass back in here!” he heard a man yell from an alleyway as Hunter walked by.

“Chill out, man. Give me two minutes,” a young guy called back, leaning against a building with a vape in his mouth.

Logan?The guy was tall, lean, and had messy, dark hair. Something about his side profile and stance reminded him of Logan. He wanted to stop and stare for a moment, but instead continued walking. His heart sped up. Did he dare pass by again and take another look at him? He stopped at the opposite corner, stared at his phone for a few seconds, and walked back the way he came.

The guy was no longer there. The red brick building had five floors with a bar down on the basement level. Hunter walked down the stone steps and flashed his ID at the bouncer by the door. Once inside, his eyes darted around. He didn’t find who he was looking for, but he did see the man who had called out to him in the alley.

There were a couple of people at the bar, and about ten more patrons scattered about the place. He rolled up his sleeves and grabbed a sticky, plastic menu off the old, wooden counter. The bartender lifted his chin with a raised eyebrow. He had blue tips at the ends of his hair with silvery gray roots.

“Uhm—rum and Coke, please,” Hunter said, adjusting himself on the cheap bar stool. The man nodded and started to prepare his drink.

Hunter wasn’t sure what he was doing there or where that guy went but figured a drink or two somewhere new wouldn’t hurt. The man with the blue hair placed the drink on the counter a few minutes later, and Hunter whipped out his card.

“Open or closed, hun?”

“Uhm, open,” Hunter said, taking in the lively music and the colorfully tacky decor. He noticed two men at the end of the bar, looked behind him to see three men sitting at a table and another at the jukebox. A small rainbow flag near the cash register caught his eyes and a large rainbow mural painted on the wall at the far end of the dance floor burned his retinas.

Hit with a pang of anxiety, he wiped a napkin across his forehead. There was no way he could be seen at a gay bar. In his mind, the conversations around him suddenly sounded jovial and flamboyant.

Oh, fuck,he thought. He threw his drink back, guzzling it down in several large gulps. Squeezing his eyes shut, he let out a sharp exhale.

“Want another?” the guy from outside appeared in front of him. Hunter felt his breath escape him. He had dark eyebrows, light blue eyes, and an angled jawline. He didn’t look like Logan as much as Hunter had thought, but he was definitely handsome in his own way. “Rum and Coke?”

Although stunned, Hunter managed to nod. When the guy turned away, he could see a lot of Logan in his body type and stride; his side profile was the most similar.

“Fuck, took you long enough,” the man with the blue hair said to Logan’s clone. “I’ve been dying to shit for twenty minutes. You said a quick smoke.”

“Sorry, Benji.” He smiled at him as he made Hunter’s rum and Coke.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Hunter decided to stay a bit longer and took a seat away from the bar at a small round table near the wall where he’d have a better view. The bar became busier as the night went on and more men flooded in. The map on his phone told him he was at a bar called The Neighborhood, 3.8 stars and Gay Friendly. Figuring no one from work would see him there, it wouldn’t matter if he stayed a while.

He swiped through pictures on the site, trying to see if he could find the attractive bartender in any of them, wishing he at least knew his name, listening closely for someone to call out his name. He didn’t dare ask the server, who came around every so often asking if he wanted more drinks. Avoiding conversation, he tried his hardest not to make eye contact with any of the men there.

The people at the table in front of him left, and he watched as the guy came out from behind the bar, collected the glasses, and wiped down the tables.

“Another beer?” he asked Hunter as he passed by and gathered his empty bottle. Hunter nodded and quickly looked down at his phone.

At half-past 1 A.M., the last large group of people stumbled their way out the door.

Benji, with the blue hair, came by, gathered his beer bottle, and wiped down the table. “You get stood up or something?” Benji asked, with concern and empathy in his voice.

“No,” Hunter said, thinking about how silly it seemed for him to be there alone.

“Alright,” he said, almost as if he didn’t believe him. “Another?”

“No, I’m going to head out.”

“No problem, hun. Close out up front with—” Benji said. Hunter was confused, he barely heard what he said. Did he say Gay? Tray? Jay? He nodded and walked up to the bar.

“Closing out? … Richardson?” the guy asked him. Hunter nodded, digging his hands in his pocket. The guy placed a receipt and his card on the counter. “Here you go. See you next time.” The young guy turned away and wiped down the counter at the opposite end.

Without a word, Hunter added a $100 tip to the bill and walked out of the bar.

Hunter awoke the next morning with a tingle in his chest, something he hadn’t felt in quite a while. The bartender consumed his thoughts, his eyes, his lips, his smile. Hunter wondered how he kissed, what he smelled like, and if it was anything like Logan. He hadn’t seen Logan in years. Both he and his wife had completely vanished from social media. It was probably for the best; he’d spent too many hours looking at pictures of their lives together.

I can be there around noon, Neil texted him. Neil hadn’t worked at the firm since their internship that first summer, but they’d stayed in touch over the years, mostly for drugs and partying. He also made sure Hunter didn’t have another down-hill spiral. Neil was the key person to plan the events and refreshments for Chad’s bachelor party before his wedding a couple of years back. That was right before Chad moved out of his mother’s penthouse condo, leaving it to Hunter. Chad and his new wife bought a brownstone off Park Avenue near the park, with his parents’ help.

Dinner tonight?Hunter received a text from a woman named Reagan he had been on one coffee and one lunch date with.

Sure. You pick, and I’ll meet you there,he replied.

“Thanks for dinner,” Reagan said as they walked out of the restaurant, the evening chillier than expected. Reagan had full red hair and freckles he’d seen more and more of with each date. “You could’ve let me pay.”

“No way. Not with me, not ever.”

She clasped her purse nervously and looked up at him with hopeful, brown eyes. “So, do you want to go to your place or maybe mine?”

He paused and then looked at his phone. “It’s past eleven. It’s getting late, and I have to be up early tomorrow.”

“It’s Saturday night,” she said, baffled. “There’s no work tomorrow.”

“I promised my brother I’d help him with something in the morning,” Hunter lied.

“Gotcha. Sure,” she said smiling, nodding her head as she looked down at her feet. Hunter took her hand and pulled her into him.

“Don’t worry,” He held her tightly with a hand around her waist and trailed it down toward her ass. “There are so many things I’d love to do to you,” he huffed before giving her a kiss so intense it made her wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down even more.

“Wow,” she said, in a trance.

Hunter scoured his mind for what to say. “You’re incredible, and I don’t want to rush anything.” If only.

The Neighborhood Bar was six blocks away from the restaurant Reagan picked out. Hunter waited in line outside, amazed at its popularity while praying no one he knew would see him.

“Hey, Richardson!” someone called out.

Fuck. He didn’t turn his head.

“Richardson!” It was Benji, with the blue hair, on the sidewalk smoking a cigarette. “Come get your ass in here … Yes, you. Get out of that line.”

Hunter followed him around the building, up the alleyway, and through the back door.

“You’re back, huh? Entertainment was that good?” Benji asked with a raised brow.

“Why is it so busy tonight?”

“Queen Karaoke. No one famous, just wannabes—you know what I mean?” Benji said as they walked down the steps, through a storage room, and past a smelly bathroom. “Thanks for the tip last night. Anyone who tips like that ain’t waiting in no line. You need to come right in and sit your cute little ass down.”

Hunter wasn’t sure what to say but was grateful to be behind closed doors.

“Don’t worry, I’m not hitting on you—you’re not my type. But you sure are cute,” Benji said, turning his head to look him up and down.

“Thanks,” Hunter chuckled. He wasn’t sure how to bring up the guy from last night. He figured he’d find out if he was there soon enough, his heart pounding with excitement.

“Let’s get you a stool cause I’m sure these hoes have left no room for nobody,” Benji complained. “I hate Saturday nights but love Saturday money.”

Behind the counter, two unfamiliar bartenders were busy serving drinks. The crowded venue buzzed with excitement as a drag queen belted out a song on stage. Benji sat him on the stool near the entrance to the bar counter, and Hunter felt a touch on his arm from behind.

“Hey, you’re back,” Logan’s lookalike said, passing by. “Rum and Coke or beer?”

Hunter’s heart clenched and he cleared his throat. “Beer.” A few seconds later, he had a bottle of beer placed in front of him. “Thanks,” he said awkwardly, not making much eye contact while handing him his card. Their fingers touched for a split second and Hunter quickly pulled his hand away.

“Open, right?”

Hunter nodded, his lips curling into a faint smile. He spent the first hour at the bar, the sound of laughter and loud conversations surrounding him, while trying to enjoy his beer without being bumped into by drunken patrons. He’d discreetly steal glances at the bartender, unintentionally locking eyes with him once and maintaining the gaze for longer than he intended.

“Need something?” the guy asked him, and Hunter whiffled his head. He spent the second hour avoiding conversation with drunk men who tried to talk to him. He wanted to say something to the bartender—anything at all.

At a quarter past one, the party was far from over, but Hunter figured it was time for him to make his move. “Hey,” he called out, signaling at the guy as he served a drink at the other end of the bar. Hunter had finally worked up the courage to start a conversation. Young-Logan came over a few moments later.

“Closing out?” he asked Hunter with a friendly smile.

“Yeah,” was all Hunter said. I’m such an idiot. He hadn’t been this nervous in years. He left another $100 tip, cash this time, and went straight home.