little t&a

then i said "hi," like a spider to a fly

It was faster than Paul had expected, getting noticed. A few stares as he came in to CBGB, enough to spook him. He'd never been able to shake that feeling, that insidious feeling that people only ever stared at him because something was wrong with him, because up until he was twelve or so and started growing his hair out, that had been exactly the truth. Nothing had really changed. Plenty was still wrong with him. He'd just figured out how to cover it up, was all.

He wondered if they were feeling sorry for him, walking in alone this late at night, not too long before the club closed. Figuring he was some girl who just got dumped. Or maybe they just thought he had a nice set of tits.

Whatever. He ordered a drink from Carol's brother, just a rum and coke, and sat down at the very far corner of the bar. The crowds had thinned out extensively, the band starting to pack things up. Paul thought, briefly, that he might have screwed it all up with his timing. That he'd be driving home alone in another, what, hour, half-hour, whenever Hilly finally turned out the lights. Driving back home to Gene, if Gene had even stuck around. A hateful prospect, proving to Gene he couldn't even get fucked on his own. But then one of the guys that'd been looking his way when he first walked in stepped up to the bar and took a seat next to him, his smile easy and warm.

"Hey there."

"Hey."

"You come here often?" Before Paul could do more than wince in response at the tired old line, the guy grinned and continued. "Nah, you don't come here often. I'd have remembered."

"Just a couple times."

He was eying Paul's left hand. Paul held it up wryly, exposing the lack of a wedding ring. Lack of any rings. The ones he'd been wearing last Tuesday evening had slid off by the time he'd woken up the next morning.

"You're fine. Keep going."

"Keep going, huh?" The guy's lips tilted up. "That's not exactly getting my hopes up, honey."

Paul took a few sips of his drink, the rum and coke burning somewhere in his throat. It wasn't working right yet. He didn't know how to work this. No, rather, he didn't want to work this. Batting his eyes at Carol's brother yesterday hadn't felt degrading, but somehow this did.

"Sorry. Maybe you'll get somewhere."

The guy just looked amused.

"Kind of cold, aren't you? What's your name?"

"Paulie."

"Polly, that's sweet. I'm David. What do you do, Polly?"

"I'm in a band." Another swallow, this one feeling like lead. David wasn't bad-looking. Dark, straight hair, about as tall as he'd been. Skinny. Paul didn't go after men much. There wasn't a reason to, on-tour, when the women piled into the hotel rooms without any effort on his part. He'd fucked around with Peter some, and let Ace suck him off once or twice—but guys, in general, had been one-night stands in sorry discos. They never meant anything to him but regret in the aftermath.

"No kidding? What kind of band?"

"Just a rock band."

"A rock band, huh? That's new. Thought girl groups went out with the Supremes."

Paul flinched.

"We're not a girl group." And then, because the guy looked almost apologetic, he added, "We don't harmonize well enough for that."