Authors: K.Z. Snow
one-eighty on the proposed “Clarinet Polka” duet.
About five or six weeks ago, shortly after his
dinner date with Jonah, he’d once again played
past the past.
Bob had alternately voiced his appreciation
and asked if Dare could handle it. As it turned out,
Dare handled the duet just fine, thanks in large part
to Bob’s goofy but effective encouragements.
“See?” Bob had said during their first
practice session, after he’d played the Mickey
Mouse Club theme song on his glockenspiel. “It’s
a happy sound.
Happy
. You gotta keep that in
mind, reorientate your attitude. The glock should
make you think of marching bands and Disneyland
and pretty dancing fairies. And before you fly into
a snit, I mean storybook fairies. Unless it makes
you happier to think of the other kind. Which is
okay by me, as long as it keeps your sunny side
up.”
“I’m happy just learning a new song,”
Dare
had answered, which was true. The more his
confidence in his playing grew, the more he
welcomed challenges. “And seeing
you
happy.”
Which was also true.
“Well, then it looks like we’re a couple of
goddamned happy Barneys,” Bob had said. “Now
let’s concentrate on learning this son-of-a-bitchin’
song so we don’t get booed off the stage into Sad
Land.”
Now, as Dare slipped into his coat, satisfied
he had the new duet down pat, Carver called out,
“Hey, good luck. And have a good time.”
“Thanks, bro.” When was the last time he’d
called Carver bro? Damn, his effervescence was
getting out of hand.
“Say hi to Jonah for me.”
“Will do.” Dare turned, his hand resting on
the door latch. “Just don’t try to get in his pants, or
I’ll paint dots on your eggs and hang them from
your rearview mirror.”
“You and what chorus line?”
Laughing, Dare swung out the door, clarinet
and music in hand, comb and breath freshener in
pocket. Should he have grabbed some condoms?
No, of course not. He was past the point of
preparing for one-offs. He and Jonah didn’t need
to couple on the sly in cramped, skeezy spaces—
although Dare allowed it might be fun. Buoyant
with the thought of just about everything—the
holiday time he’d be spending with his parents and
Jonah, the new phase of his relationship with
Carver, the cleanness of snow and the romance of
weddings and the prospect of seeing Bob Lempke
bounce while he tickled Lucille—Dare climbed
into his aging car and motored toward GG’s
reception.
He had somewhat mixed feelings about it.
Considering how busy he and Jonah were going to
be, this wouldn’t be much of a date for them. But
hell, the band’s appearance would make happy
Barneys out of a whole lot of people. Ultimately,
that was what mattered.
And the fact he and Jonah would be sleeping
together tonight.
Besides, Dare would still get to ogle his
sweetie, who’d be gussied up and thoroughly
buttlicious in his new $200 charcoal wool
trousers. As far as Dare was concerned, Jonah
could wear a pink yin-yang T-shirt with sparkles
as long as his pants hugged his ass just right.
Dare had finally taken the plunge, so to speak,
with the most tender passion he’d ever exercised.
Now he worshiped that gorgeous and oh-so-
responsive part of Jonah’s anatomy more than
ever.
He mentally ran through the Doodles’
playlist. Bob had decided to switch things up a bit
for GG’s reception. He insisted on opening with
the “Wedding March,” then swinging into the
“Beer Barrel,” then going straight to the new duet
so Dare wouldn’t have time to fret about it.
Dare appreciated the consideration, but he
wasn’t fretting. If anything, he was looking
forward to showing off in front of his boyfriend.
His boyfriend.
He never thought he could love a word so
much, take such pride or find such comfort in it.
On his way from the parking lot to the hall,
Dare noticed he actually had a bounce in his step.
He chuckled to himself.
The day’s only unpleasant surprise came
when Bob handed out red ties in the dressing
room. Dare could hardly believe it, but the band
actually had something of a dressing room this
time. Hal and GG had managed to score a small
but classy hotel ballroom for the reception.
Dare grimaced as he lifted the thing, which
Bob had unceremoniously thrown over his
shoulder. “You’re kidding me. I thought we were
supposed to look classy today.”
“Ain’t nothin’
un
classy about a tie, little
boy.”
“It’s my fault,” Ernie said. “We coulda got
away with red carnation boutonnieres, except for
flowers make me sneeze. And it coulda got
crushed by my neck strap.”
“But why do we have to wear red
anything
?”
Dare asked. He’d enjoyed having that shirt button
undone.
“We can’t look like waiters at a wake, for
chrissakes,” Bob said petulantly. “It’s the holiday
season.”
“Actually,” Max told Dare, “he started
jonesing for color the minute he saw himself in the
mirror.”
“What do you expect?” Junior chimed in.
“Bob’s a po—”
“Gentleman of Polish heritage,” Max cut in,
before Junior had a chance to offend Dare’s
twenty-first-century sensibilities.
“And you’re all full of shit.” Bob had never
put much stock in the art of repartee. At least his
mood changed, eyes gleaming with reverence, as
soon as he lifted Lucille out of her case.
Smiling at the familiar scene, Dare wondered
if Rose, Bob’s wife, ever got jealous.
“Hey, you madmen ready to rock ’n’ roll?”
Jonah. Framed by the dressing room door,
looking pretty as a picture. Dare’s mouth
immediately stretched into a lunatic smile. Okay,
so maybe Jonah was as pretty as a well-groomed
wire-haired terrier, not a sophisticated model or
circuit-party boy, but damned if his eyes weren’t
alight and his face wasn’t aglow and his goin’-to-
a-wedding clothes didn’t follow the lines of his
body like Dare’s fingers did every time they were
alone together.
Both of them instantly caught each other’s
gaze. Jonah’s grin softened.
“No, we ain’t ready to rock and roll,” Bob
said haughtily. “We don’t play pagan music.” His
beady eyes shifted slyly. “But we
are
ready to
polka
!” he shouted, rolling his head back and
throwing his arms into the air.
“Don’t use it up before you get on stage,”
Max drolly advised.
Dare and Jonah laughed while Junior and
Ernie shook their heads in resignation.
After a parting glance at Dare, one laden with
promise, Jonah left the room and the Doodles soon
followed.
Aside from the smell of food making his
stomach growl, Dare cruised through the first set,
“Clarinet Polka” included, without a hitch. A
number of guests even cheered the performance,
and Jonah was one of them. He and Dare beamed
at each other through the forest of silvery branches
and curling strings of white lights that lent an air of
enchantment
to
the
ballroom.
Apparently
determined to make his approval known, Jonah
raised his hands to clap over his head after he’d
cut loose with a whistle.
Dare hadn’t allowed his eyes to seek out
Jonah while he was playing. The man had become
a major distraction for him. Put Jonah in a pair of
exquisitely tailored pants, and his power to fuck
with Dare’s concentration reached unprecedented
heights.
During the band’s first break, Jonah was busy
visiting with the guests, particularly his Uncle
Rusty. Dare had met him the day before. He was an
easygoing building contractor with a dry sense of
humor and a live-and-let-live attitude. Other
people bustled to and from the buffet table and bar.
Dare slipped back into the dressing room,
where someone—probably the Doodles’ wives,
who were all in attendance—had set up trays of
food for the band. Nice. No standing in the buffet
line. Dare filled a plate with dips—spinach,
artichoke, guacamole—along with sourdough
bread chunks and whole-grain crackers. He loved
dips.
Bob watched him with a slight smirk.
“Wha?” Dare said, food garbling the
question.
“You know, it’s kinda cute.”
Dare frowned, clueless, and kept chewing.
He swallowed, lifted one of the napkins with
which he’d blanketed the front of his clothing, and
wiped his mouth. “Am I supposed to know what
you’re talking about?”
“You and JoJo. I never thought I’d say this,
but it’s really kinda cute the way you act around
each other. Makes my heart go pitty-pat.”
“Quit slinging shit. Don’t you have a ham
sandwich to attack or something?”
Bob just kept smirking.
Soon they were back in the spotlight, doing
what they did best. Next to ribbing each other.
Bob had bumped the “Fascination Waltz” to
this, the second set. Although by now Dare could
play it with his eyes closed, he didn’t want to risk
Bob’s wrath. Good thing, too, or he would’ve
missed an extraordinary event that coincided with
the first few notes of the song.
With measured steps, Jonah approached the
stage and looked up at Dare. He smiled in a way
Dare hadn’t seen before—with an affection so
deep, and so mingled with admiration, Dare’s
playing stuttered. Then Jonah bent forward in a
courtly bow. When he straightened, he extended a
hand. Equally bewitched and bewildered, Dare
lowered the clarinet from his mouth. Through his
peripheral vision, he saw Bob moving. Not
bouncing, not strolling around like a puffed-up
concertina player in some cheesy bistro, but
scowling and emphatically motioning with his
head.
Suddenly, Dare could just about hear Bob’s
voice:
Are you blind, dense, or just plain rude?
Get down there! He’s asking you to dance!
Without giving a second thought to the other
guests’ reactions—because, hell, this was GG’s
reception, and she certainly wouldn’t mind—Dare
got down there. Bob kept playing “Fascination” as
his clarinetist stepped into Jonah Day’s arms, as
they smiled into each other’s glistening eyes.
“You still owe me, you know,” Jonah said
into Dare’s ear.
“I know.” They never did get to dance on
their first official date, except horizontally. But
when Dare thought about owing Jonah, other things
came to mind. Much more important things.
Yes, I
owe you. Do I ever.
So they waltzed, heads resting together and
bodies close. It felt so natural, Dare couldn’t be
bothered thinking about anything else. Like how the
guests might react. At one point he caught a
glimpse of GG grinning, her hands clasped to her
ruffled bodice. It was a blazing affirmation… and
for a moment it made Dare feel like a storybook
prince. Then he realized he and Jonah didn’t
require affirmation. From anybody.
He let his eyelids lower, shutting everything
out but his partner and the music. Jonah led
beautifully, no crooked seams in his steps. The two
of them seemed to float as one around the dance
floor.
What was it GG had told them just last week?
“Caring is the greatest healer.
But
”
—and here
she’d raised a crooked, cautionary forefinger
—
“only if it’s patient and knows its limitations.
Give yourselves time, and don’t be ashamed to
look beyond each other for help.”
Her message had been clear enough, probably
because Dare and Jonah had already discussed this
truth. Neither one of them could singlehandedly
undo the damage that had been done to the other.
Neither could make all the fractures knit and