Angels To Fly

This was not Joe's first rodeo. Well, okay, it wasn't a rodeo at all. It was a gay bar on the outskirts of Dutchess county. It was the fifth on his list of gay bars in the county. It wasn't bad. It had all the necessities that he has come to know if the gay scene. Strobe lights. Thumbing, DJ-edits of popular pop music of the decade. Glitter. So much glitter. And a rainbow outside of the venue.

Outside of this location, if you asked Joe what a gay bar consist of, he'd say he knew nothing of the sort. On the weekdays, he didn't know this scene existed. On the weekdays, he was straight. Or so he forced himself to believe. But after one unsuccessful tinder date after another, it became harder to deny that he knew what he was doing with women. No. Perhaps he just was too awkward. Women talked a mile a minute. So passionately. He could only talk so passionately about baseball, movies, and screenwriting. None of the ladies he's met so far shared the same interest. They were all teachers or pre-law. He met one starving artist but she wanted to become an actor, not a screenwriter or director. She was gone and headed for the city before he could even text her for a second date.

When Joe centered his mind back on the scene in front of him, he took a glance at his class of gin and tonic and realized it was only a hard swallow away from being finished. It was almost midnight. Perhaps it was time to go. After all, this gay bar didn't stand out from any other and he wasn't bi or gay. It was just a place to pass the time. Nothing than tha -

"You look lost." The bass voice stated oh-so-casually. And British. Huh?

Joe tilted his head up to find the face to the voice and his breath hitched. An angel. Literally. One of the go-go dancers from the back of the venue, dressed only in white angel wings, tight white spandex shorts and a glob of glitter sweated at the corner of both eyes. "You could say that."

"How can I help?" He inquired, though it strangely did not sound like a come-on. It sounded sincere, which threw Joe off.

"I-I don't think so. I was actually going to take one last swing of my gin and get a move on." Joe did just that and was able to stand up when the Angel motioned a hand toward him as if about to push him back to stay in his spot. He didn't make contact but the motion of his hand compelled Joe to stay in place anyway.

"Wait a minute. You just told me a moment ago that you were lost. Now you are leaving? Do you know where you are going? I could call you a cab." The Angel, with his blond locks gelled back and his six-pack staring Joe in the face, craned his hand back to grab his phone in his back pocket. Joe shook his head when he realized what the blond was doing. "You don't have to do that. I don't live in Dutchess County now but I know the county pretty well. I went to high school around here."

"Must have been a blast," The blond uttered out a small chuckle. Joe couldn't stop himself from looking at admiring his soft grin...or that damn six-pack. How do men actually that? Joe could never.

"It wasn't. It was private. I'm sure you get the picture." A private, Roman Catholic school was a closeted gay man nightmare. And Joe lived it. Or did he? He was a total hetero. This was just a more upbeat location. The straight bars were too boring and Joe needed a happy-go-lucky destination for his mind as he thought of a new screenplay to write. Keep telling yourself that, Joseph.

"Most schools in England have Christian history. Not that anyone cares. You Americans are the few that still take the religious portion of the location seriously." The blond shrugged, taking a seat in the empty spot next to Joe at the bar.

"Why are you here?" Joe said abruptly, trying not to make his question sound so rude and it wasn't meant to be as such.

"Ah, yes. Why is a Brit here in upstate New York? As a go-go dancer? Easy. Au Pair by day, go-go dancer by night. Well -- night on the weekends." The blond lifted a finger to request a drink. The bartender knew what he wanted without a word. Why was Joe still here?

"Does the family you work for know what you do when you are not on the job?" Joe took a sip of his gin even though there was nothing left. Fuck. He hoped the blond didn't notice. Fuck. Why did he care so much what the blond thought of him?

"They don't need to. It's not their business. Besides, they encouraged me to have some fun. Make friends while I'm in the states. All they ask is that I don't do drugs or get plastered. Thankfully I don't drink much. One beer and I'm satisfied." The blond finally got his drink and took a long swing before looking back at Joe, anticipating the brunet to continue with their exchange. Were they actually making small talk?

Joe didn't know how to respond. He was straight but he couldn't keep his eyes away from the blond. There were countless men here, shirtless and more than willing to show a good time and here was one of them, right in front of him, and he was soft, making actual conversation instead of smooth talking into bed. Joe was taken aback, to say the least. He became an expert in turning guys down. But this one was different.

To continue the exchange, all Joe came out with was "I'm only in Dutchess County on the weekends too..."

The blond let out a loud sigh, leaning forward with an ear, "I'm sorry. I didn't hear you, mate." The brunet was about to repeat his dumb excuse for a comment when the blond interjected, "hey, weren't you about to leave? Let me call you a cab outside and you can tell me what you were going to say again."

There it is. There's the come-on. The blond was going to lure him outside and have his way with him. Joe couldn't do that. He wasn't supposed to be here. Yet Joe stood up and followed the other male outside the front doors as if being pulled by an invisible source.

Outside, the blond actually called him a cab. He gave him that soft smile as he asked for his address. Joe was so thankful because he said the address so timidly. Talking to the blond outside of the bar was even more intimidating. Joe honestly didn't know how he was doing it.

"Listen, I have a strange feeling that you won't set foot in here and I know we didn't say much but I still enjoyed the short exchange. Thanks for a good 15." The blond shot out his hand for Joe to take and shake. The brunet did with embarrassingly sweaty palms.

"15?"

"15-minute break, mate. I have to go back inside in about 5 minutes." The blond grabbed his beer that he placed in the cement while he placed the call and took another long swing. "I'm Ben, by the way. And you?"

"Joe." The brunet muttered. Ben repeated his name and Joe liked the sound of own name being said by the blond. Shit. No. No, he didn't.

"Well, Joe. Your cab should be here in less than 10. And I have to go back inside. As I said before, I don't think you'll be here again so..." From the other back pocket, Joe pulled out a sharpie. He shifted his wings a second later and plucked a feather off, "here's my number." Ben wrote it slowly so that it could be legible and handed it to Joe. "I was watching you throughout the night and you didn't move from the bar. You didn't even go on your phone. You just watched." The blond shrugged again, "I don't know. You interest me, Joe." The blond heard a bell to ring in the new day. That was Ben's cue to go back in. Ben reached out to give Joe the feather. Joe took it without a second thought and before Joe could pull away from blond's space, Ben pulled Joe in by the wrist so he could whisper in his ear, "I saw you looking -- staring. Don't let your past stop you from living your best life, mate."

Ben pulled away before Joe did, turning in a heel effortlessly. By the time Joe could process words, Ben was gone. And Joe was left waiting for a cab, an angel feather held tightly between his fingers.