Henry's End (3 page)

His smile was slow and more than slightly predatory as he bared overly white, straight teeth. “You have one fine ass,” he drawled with a prevalent southern accent.

“So I’ve been told,” Henry matched back his audacity.

The approaching bartender laughed, “This one is not going to be so easy, Edwin.” Turning to Henry, “What can I get you?”

“Gin & Tonic.”

“I haven’t seen you here before. Are you visiting?” Edwin was now shoulder to shoulder with Henry at the bar.

“No, but I just moved to the area a few months ago.”

The bartender set down Henry’s glass, “Five-fifty.”

As he went to reach for the twenty dollar bill he’d shoved with his ID into his back pocket, Henry felt a hand just above his wrist.

“I’ve got this,” Edwin shook his head, laying a ten on the bar. “Keep the change, Sean.”

“Thanks, Edwin.” Sean smiled brightly at the older man.

“Thank you,” Henry offered, pleased to get a free drink, but wondering how he was going to get out of it. Old guys were not his deal. Airmen, SEALS, Sailors, Marines – that was his weakness and San Diego had no shortage of them. “So, how long have you been in the area?” Henry attempted to make polite conversation over the din of the music.

Edwin leaned in, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Twenty-six years.”

“Wow, that’s as long as I’ve been alive.”

Edwin smiled and there was nothing lascivious or leering, “I’ve seen it all in this town.”

He was definitely aging movie star handsome, and Henry imagined he must’ve had a wild time when he was young with his leading man looks.

“I’ll bet you’ve got stories.” Henry smiled and took a sip of his drink.

“Sweetheart, I could bury half the politicians in this state and identify their dicks in a line-up!” he ended with a flourish, brushing away a lock of dyed black hair, the cuffs on his white silk shirt flowing open.

There was something so likable about him.
He’s everything I’m not
, Henry thought, o
ver-the-top, flamboyant, outspoken, fearless.
“I want to hear your stories,” Henry confessed. And suddenly the excitement was no longer on the dance floor for Henry, it was with this man, this treasure trove of local lore and wanton tales.

More than a little drunk after several hours of Edwin’s generosity as he regaled Henry with local legend, he was not upset to be leaving the club without a conquest, for he knew he’d found a friend in the most unlikely of characters, and that Edwin would be around a lot longer than his usual Friday night companions.

With plans to meet for pancakes Sunday morning, Henry felt closer to the scene around him than he did when he’d walked into the club. Oddly, tonight’s meeting had left him feeling like a true Hillcrest resident. As he reached his apartment, he was finally able to put his finger on what it was – he belonged. After being different his entire life, he was no longer different. He fit in. He blended in. No one was judging anything but his damn fine ass.

Locking up his bicycle, the cool breeze off the ocean chilled his skin and caused it to tingle as a slightly sweaty Henry removed his helmet and gloves. Taking in a deep breath of sea air, he stretched his muscles and made his way into The Menu Restaurant.

Walking in from the bright morning sunshine, Henry immediately swiped his Ray-Bans off his face, momentarily blinded as his eyes adjusted to the dark hues of wide planked wood paneled walls and terracotta tile floor. As soon as he regained his focus, his attention was drawn to the curved planked wood ceiling that made the space feel like an airplane hangar.

Waving from a table at the back, Henry made his way toward where Edwin sat, admiring the framed photos of San Diego sunsets and surfers decorating the walls.

“Good morning,” Henry greeted, happy to see the older man again.

“You rode a bicycle here? I would’ve picked you up if I’d known you didn’t have a car.”

Laughing, “I have a car and I spend way too much time in it during the week. I really don’t get to ride my bike enough and the weather was perfect for it this morning. It’s just really good for my head and my legs and my ass, too,” Henry added as an afterthought, knowing Edwin would appreciate it.

“But it’s far.” Edwin was shaking his head in disbelief.

Picking up a menu, “No, not too bad, seven or eight miles and the Ocean Beach Bike Path by Sea World brought me right here. I need to get out and ride more.”

After giving their orders to the waitress, Edwin looked seriously at Henry, “How would you like to ride your bike every night?”

“I’d love to. It would be like when I was back in college. My friend Schooner and I ran the track every night. I have never felt so good, both body and mind.”

“I can trump that,” Edwin bragged. “How about body, mind and heart.”

“I’m intrigued. Go on.” Edwin had piqued his curiosity.

“One of the things I do for the community is work for Auntie Helen’s Fluff and Fold laundry service.” Edwin locked eyes with Henry.

“I’ve heard of it. That’s the place in North Park that Gary Cheatham runs. I saw him on the news. What a great thing it is to take care of the laundry for people no longer well enough to do their own. That is really cool.” Cutting into his granola crusted French toast, Henry looked back up at Edwin. “So, you work with them?”

Nodding, “I’ve been helping Gary since it was operating out of his little one-car garage.”

With a smile, Henry shook his head, “Edwin, I have the feeling you will always continue to amaze me. So, what is it I can do to help?”

“Get on your bicycle and do pick-ups and drop-offs to clients.” Edwin was very matter of fact.

“I can absolutely do that. Actually, I would love to do that.” Just the thought made Henry feel as if he were a part of things, a member of San Diego’s gay community and doing his part. “When can I start?” Henry was eager to meet the people who needed his help.

“I’ll talk to Gary today and we’ll see if we can get you scheduled this week.” Edwin paused, his perfectly tweezed brows coming together to form an almost perfectly straight line. Cocking his head slightly, he looked up at Henry as he reached for the bright blue pack of Galoises sitting on the table, extracting a cigarette, and lighting it with dramatic flourish, “Did you say your friend’s name was Schooner? Is that like some Biff, Buff, Skippy type nickname?”

Laughing, Henry shook his head. “No, that is actually his real name.”

“What the hell were those parents thinking? They should be shot.”

Henry’s smile remained bright as he spoke of his good friend, “Believe it or not, it is the perfect name for him.”

“A large sailboat? Does he have a big mast?” Edwin laughed at his own joke, blowing a plume of white smoke toward the arched wooden ceiling.

“It’s ummm, sizable. He’s a big guy.”

“Tell me more. Were you two …”

“No,” Henry waved his hand. “He’s straight. And actually married with two kids, his wife just had their second baby.”

“So, you are friends with a married, straight guy?” Stubbing out the French cigarette, Edwin leaned into the table and looked Henry straight in the eye. “Why?”

Henry shook his head, laughing. “We’re an unlikely pair, but he’s like a brother to me. He’s never judged me or looked down on me for being gay. He didn’t care what other people thought about our friendship – and he lived in the all-guys jock dorm when we were in school. But he’s kind of a larger than life character, so no one was going to bust on him about it.”

“He’d have to be larger than life with a name like that.”

Smiling at his new friend, Henry laughed, “It actually fits him.”

Biking southbound on the Ocean Beach Bike Path, Henry made the split second decision not to go directly home. Meeting Edwin and now about to become part of Auntie Helen’s laundry crew, he realized that this weekend was the turning point. He was no longer just a commuter, he was now a resident of San Diego and a proud member of San Diego’s gay community. Up until this point, getting Monica’s old sales territory producing had been his singular focus, and he’d made good headway, enough to start exploring expanding the social areas of his life.

It was that decision that propelled Henry’s muscular legs to cycle down Nimitz Blvd. and hang a left onto Chatsworth Blvd., cycling with fervor toward Portal Loma, home of The Hole, a legendary gay dive bar famously known for its popularity with hot military men and sun-bleached surfers. Located across from the Naval Recruitment Center, Henry had, up until now, avoided The Hole, knowing it could easily become an addiction. The bars and clubs in his Hillcrest neighborhood were generally frequented by the ‘pose and be seen’ crowd, and although he might find a hook-up for the night, those men were not his Achilles’ heel. The military men of The Hole were another story and he knew it.

With his heart racing nearly as fast as his feet pounded the pedals, Henry locked up his bike and descended the staircase down into The Hole. Literally laughing out loud at the sign, “Only Sailors Get Blown Off Shore,” his smile was bright as he emerged onto the patio packed with gorgeous guys and everyday Joe’s. Peeling off his cycling gloves, he made his way to the bar where a bare-chested hunk of a bartender met him with a heart-stopping smile.

“Great day for cycling,” he acknowledged. “What can I get for you?”

Henry noticed everyone was drinking out of mini-pitchers. “What are you known for?” he yelled across the bar.

“Well, Sunday is our barbeque and beer day. Is this your first time here?”

Henry nodded at the tanned cutie. “It is.”

“OK, well I’m going to make you something special then.” He turned toward the bottle lined shelves, then over his shoulder called, “On the house.”

Vodka. Rum. Gin. Tequila. Triple Sec. Midori. Stabbing a pink straw into the pitcher, he slid it across the bar to Henry with a sex-on-a-stick smile. “Welcome to The Hole.”

“Wow. Thank you. What is this?” Henry took his first sip through the pink straw, immediately feeling the concoction of liquor coursing through his blood stream with a bang.

“It’s a Tokyo Tea. You should head out to the patio, that’s where all the action is.”

Leaving a healthy tip for his new favorite bartender, Henry negotiated his way through the crowd to the strains of Gloria Estefan’s
Everlasting Love
and out onto the circular tropical patio packed to the gills with bears and cubs and Marines. Oh my.

Sunglasses back firmly in place shading his eyes from the bright sun and inquiring eyes, Henry wished he had a wingman with him.

“Nice ass,” a bear, with a warm smile, commented.

“Thanks,” Henry looked down at his butt and realized he was wearing his second skin black bike shorts, leaving very little to the imaginations of the throngs of men surrounding him on the palm-lined patio.
Well, if I’m going to make a splash into San Diego gay life, this is the way to do it,
he smiled to himself
.

As he made his way over to a wooden railing to set down his mini-pitcher of Tokyo ‘kick-ass’ Tea, he saw a guy across the patio leaning against the bar, beer in hand. Tall and muscled, from both his regal bearing and short hair, as well as his observant eagle eyes scanning the crowd, Henry surmised that the guy was military. If he were to define his guess a little more, he’d venture to say he was a bona fide Marine. The man was hot, yet aloof, making him even hotter. He took no part in the conversations, laughter or dancing that was taking place all around him. Henry could feel his balls tighten just looking at the guy and had to turn away before he was sporting a semi in bike shorts and embarrassing himself publicly.

“New here?” a voice beside him asked.

Turning to see who was talking to him, Henry nodded at the guy. He appeared to be young, early twenties, maybe. Again, the short hair was a dead giveaway. Military. Yes! The place was crawling with them.

“Just moved here recently on business,” Henry offered as he took another sip of his now half-empty mini-pitcher.

“Oh, a pink straw,” the guy commented on his drink. “Someone behind the bar thought you were a hottie.”

Laughing, “Seriously, color-coded straws?” It was then that Henry began to observe the patterns in the straw colors and their respective sippers. “Hottie, I’ll take that.” He smiled to himself.