She smiled beautifully. “Oh, my lovelies. You are all so wonderful.” Her face dropped into a sneer as she looked at a guy up front. “Except for you, honey,” she said with faux disdain. “You were just sad and pathetic and just sat there. Kind of like you did last night too.”
The crowd laughed. The guy she was picking on blushed and shook his head ruefully, in on the joke.
There was still time. I could still run. I just needed to—
“Oh no, you don’t,” Charlie said as he grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the seat. “You keep your ass right where it is until you are told otherwise.”
“But, Daddy,” I said, my whine coming from a panicky place. It did not sound cute at all.
“But, pretty boys and voluptuous girls,” Helena said, “there is one thing left before we clear to dance our asses off for the rest of the night. Isn’t that right, Charlie?”
“That’s right, Helena,” he said, pulling the microphone out of thin air, still holding me back. Every single goddamn person in the room turned to look up at us. Including Mr. Yes Please. I tried not to look at him. “One thing left, though you might want to hurry because he’s starting to get a bit… fidgety.”
“Oooooh,” Helena moaned into the mike, playing it up. “Just the way I like him.” She licked the microphone and the crowd hooted at her. “Boys and girls,” she said, “today is a very, very special day. Do you see that delicious hunk of man sitting next to Charlie up there? That is my very best friend in all the world. And do you know what today is?” She grinned up at me, all teeth.
“Oh, you skank,” I mumbled. Mr. Yes Please was staring at me again, a serious look in his eyes, Eric seemingly forgotten. I blushed even further as another spotlight turned on me. It was bright. I was sweating and turning red. So not attractive.
“It’s his thirtieth birthday!” Helena shouted. “Paul, get your hot ass down here!”
The crowd started cheering, really only because Helena told them to. Or maybe they were just that damn excited about my life being totally and completely over, given that I was now the oldest thing in the world. I thought again about making a run for it—screw Mr. Yes Please; he wouldn’t want a geriatric specimen such as me, anyway—but even before I could get to my feet and hightail it the fuck out, Charlie grabbed my arm. “Oh no, you don’t,” he growled at me in the deep, manly man voice of his. “Helena went to a lot of work to keep this secret, and I’m not going to let that go to waste. I’m getting pretty tired of seeing you standing in the shadows, boy. You deserve to be up in front of everyone so they can all see the real you.”
“Now you’re after-school-specialing all over my face,” I said weakly, still hearing the cheers from below.
He chuckled. “Once upon a time that may have been so, but I’m just an old fart now.” But then his gaze grew steely and I shivered a bit. “However,” he said grimly, “I’m not too old to put you over my lap to give you the spanking you deserve if you don’t get your butt down there now.” And as if on cue, two shirtless barbacks appeared (thankfully, neither were Eric; I’m pretty sure he wanted to scratch my eyes out). They grinned down at me with grins that almost made me think I was about to get a hand job, but instead they grabbed me by the arms. I gave a very unmanly squawk as I was pulled down the stairs, Charlie calling after me that I’d better be a good boy or I’d answer to him later.
Before I knew it, I was down the stairs and out into the crowd, which parted in front of me as if commanded. Everyone was still clapping and hollering at me, and I couldn’t help but think I was about to be sacrificed so all the gays could keep their ethereal beauty. I realized I’d probably seen Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom one too many times when I saw Helena standing on the stage, and I expected her to reach for my heart and start chanting, “Kali-maaaaa! Kali-maaaaaa!”
But that was all completely forgotten for one brief, shining moment when I saw him.
As I was being dragged down the middle of the gay bar by two shirtless hunks (Oh, the things that happen to me, I thought to myself), I scanned the crowd frantically, trying to find a sympathetic face who’d help me escape my capture and flee with me. All I saw, for the most part, were drunken grins staring back at me, happy and wide. No one looked like they had my weapons of choice on them (ninja stars and/or nunchucks—don’t ask), so I figured my escape could only be accomplished by sheer force of will and hand-to-hand combat. Since the last time I’d punched anything was a wall at work, after I accidentally tripped over my own feet and slammed into it with my fists, I figured fighting was out. I was about to offer each of the barbacks the seven dollars I had in my wallet (and, for some reason, an expired coupon for a loaf of bread; why I thought I needed the carbs at the time, I’ll never know. I felt like an old Jewish lady for having it there), but that all went far, far away when Mr. Yes Please became Mr. Right Fucking Now Please.
Our gazes locked again like it was meant to be. He was only about five feet away now, and even in the dark, I could see his eyes were a chocolate brown, just like his hair. He grinned at me, a smile I thought was for me and only me, even as stupid twinkie barback Eric tried to get his attention with his whiskey-wet hair. The dimples came out to play as everything disappeared around me, the noise of the crowd fading to nothing until it was just me and Mr. Right Fucking Now Please staring at each other like we were the only people in the world. I could hear my own breath in my ears and I saw his lips move slowly, forming a single word: “Paul.”
And, of course, I looked away. I had to. No one had ever looked at me like that before. It wasn’t real. I knew it wasn’t a real thing. It couldn’t be, at least not for me.
So I just pushed it away.
I was forced onto the stage, and while the cheers started to die down, Helena reached out and grabbed my hand and squeezed. Without moving her lips from that big, showgirl of a smile, she muttered, “On a scale of one to ten, how pissed are you?”
“Seventy-two,” I murmured back, trying to smile, but most likely looking like I was sneering. I have a weird smile. Oh, and I’m also not the most photogenic person in the world, so I’m sure all the photos that were being taken with phones and cameras would later need to be destroyed given how I probably looked like I was gassy and holding it in.
“Thank God it’s that low,” she said, her smile going wider. She raised the microphone again as one of the barbacks appeared with two more shots. They looked red, which meant they were probably fruity and I wouldn’t have to spit it out on Eric, though he deserved it for trying to crawl inside Dimples. The lights were in my eyes. “Okay, boys and girls,” Helena shouted into the mic as she handed me one of the shots. “You all know what to do! Ready? Haaaaaaaappy birthday to youuuuuuuuu….”
Is there anything more embarrassing or awkward than having “Happy Birthday” sung to you? Think about it. You’re the center of attention for fifteen to twenty seconds while people sing horribly off-key at your face (with some wit most likely adding in his or her own words to make the song even longer: “Happy birthday to you, cha, cha, cha”). What are you supposed to do during that time? Do you sit there with an idiotic grin on your face while people sing about the day you came out of your mother’s vagina? Do you look down at your hands? Do you sing along with them, only to realize it’s sort of dumb to sing “Happy birthday to me”? And don’t even get me started about the way people clap when it’s over and smile at each o
ther, like they’re thinking what wonderful people they are for singing to you like that, like those fifteen to twenty seconds absolved them of all their sins.
So the entire bar sang to me and I stood up on the stage, looking like I had to fart. When it was finished, I was bright red and sweating like a roasted pig. My only consolation was the fact that I was able to take the entire shot down by the end. Helena thanked people for coming out to the show and the crowd began to disperse, giving way for the barbacks to clear the stage so it could be converted back to the dance floor.
“We love you!” a group of Muscle Maries told Helena.
“Thank you, baby dolls,” was her reply with a lascivious smirk.
“You bitch,” I told her once her adoring fans had gone out to the patio.
She snorted. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?” She grabbed my hand and started pulling me across the floor. I looked for the hot guy, but he was nowhere to be found. I knew I was sort of okay with that. He was probably out back with the rest of the crowd or at the bar. Hell, maybe he’d even left already with all his hot friends and they were going back to their frat to bang some hoes and brag about how they worked up the courage to go inside a gay bar. Whatever was going on with him couldn’t have been what I thought it was. I was just being stupid. Things didn’t work out like that for me.
“It was like you flung battery acid at my face,” I snarled at her as I followed her back up the stairs.