“I’m sorry,” I said, Helena roaring forward with an answering smile that was all teeth. “I think I need you to repeat that because I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“Darren Mayne.”
“What about Darren Mayne?”
“I need you,” he said slowly, “to seduce him.”
“Mike.”
“Helena.” Because he knew who he was dealing with now.
I tapped my fingers on his desk, fingernails clicking a distinct pattern. “What,” I said, “the fuck.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I know there’s no love lost between the two of you—”
“Understatement,” I snapped.
“—but I’m being backed into a corner here. I don’t have much else of a choice and I don’t know what else to do.”
“About what?”
“I’m going to lose the club.”
That… was not what I was expecting to hear.
“What? How?”
“The fucking revitalization project the city council is pushing at the behest of our glorious leader, Andrew Taylor. They’re deciding whether or not Jack It fits into the family-friendly front they want to portray to bump tourism.”
“You have a contract,” I said. “With the city. They can’t renege on that. You could bring a lawsuit against them if they tried.”
“That’s the fun part about contracts, princess,” Mike said. “Sometimes they expire. There are negotiations that take place where new demands are made and people get jacked trying to run their business.”
“Why wouldn’t they renew the contract?” I asked. “You’ve had it for years. And before you bought Jack It, this bar was still a gay bar. That’s not anything new.”
“I know,” he said. “But it doesn’t have shit to do with contract negotiations. It’s the revitalization project as a cover for a religious freedom bill.”
I blinked at him. “But that was shot down a couple of years ago. Jan Brewer vetoed it when it got to her desk. Signing it would have been career suicide. Look what happened with the governor from Indiana last year. I thought he was going to be tarred and feathered.” And maybe he should have been. I thought it was cute how quickly he backtracked when he realized the entire world could see what a douchenozzle he was.
“The fact remains we live in a red state,” Mike said. “And that Arizona is fucking backward when it comes to everything else. We broadcast a ‘fuck you’ mentality to the rest of the country. Arizona borders Mexico, and yet we don’t seem to like Mexicans very much, do we? That sheriff up in Maricopa County, Joe Arpaio, is as fascist as they come, and yet he gets elected over and over and over again. Do you know how many times he’s been sued because of discrimination? And he’s won. And Brewer is on her way out. Her successor will probably be Republican again. Taylor got reelected last year. There are already rumors that his people are preparing another version of the religious freedom bill to attempt to get it into law. Couple that with the SCOTUS ruling to legalize gay marriage, and those Tea Party fucks have to start getting their revenge somewhere.”
“What does that have to do with us?” I asked. “Or the bar? It’s not like we’d ever turn anyone away because they were gay or straight. That’s not how business works. Business is about providing services or goods in exchange for compensation. Fuck anyone that discriminates. They’re the ones losing money, not us.”
“That’s where the Renew Tucson project comes into play.” He turned his computer around, showing me a spreadsheet. “Look, the bar clears $40,000 per month if I’m lucky, more in the fall when the college kids come back and in the summer when there’s the Pride events. With that, there are the overhead costs, the operating costs, the upkeep, taxes, talent, employees, liquor, food. Everything chips away at that until we’re barely in the black. This used to be about coming out, having fun, getting shitfaced, and maybe hooking up. But now there’s Grindr and Tinder and whatever else come-fuck-me apps someone can think of. Attendance is down. It’s why we started a cover charge at the door last spring.”
“I still don’t see what this has to do with me. Or Darren. Or the whole seducing thing.”
“It’s a Hail Mary.” He spread his hands. “My last, wild chance.”
“And it’s dependent on me seducing the Homo Jock King,” I said. “This is the worst idea you’ve ever had. The fact that you would even ask me such a thing is borderline reprehensible. And that’s without mentioning it makes no fucking sense. Because, Mike? It makes no fucking sense.”
“Darren’s father is Andrew Taylor.”
“Well fuck,” I said succinctly. Because that was supposed to be a secret. “And you know this how?”
He shrugged. “People talk. I listen. You know how it goes.”
“I still don’t see what that has to do with me.”