Max

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Max

When I pushed open the door to the bar, it was like nothing had changed from last Friday night. All the same guys were there for happy hour. The only difference was the guys were all wearing slight variations on the same clothes they wore every weekend.

“Hey, Max.” The bartender waved, and I lifted my hand in return. Behind the bar, a wide-screen television was showing the latest football game, and the air smelled like old sweat mixed with disinfectant.

“So, who’s winning?” I asked Virgil, an older man who was always there, then I signaled to the bartender for a beer.

“Seahawks, damn it. Of course, I bet on the Cowboys to win in the office pool.” Virgil patted me on the shoulder, while the bartender placed a beer in front of me.

“Hey, you seen Marcus?” I asked, scanning the room for my buddy.

“He’s out back on the patio.” Virgil responded, and with a sinking feeling realized Marcus was probably smoking again, even though his doctor had told him to give ‘em up. I took my beer and sliced through the crowd of men, hoping I was wrong. Then, I saw him at a rear table holding a newspaper in front of him.

“Hey, Marcus.” I slid into the booth opposite him and sniffed the air.

“What the f**k are you doing?” Marcus squinted at me.

“Virgil said you were out back on the patio, so I was checking if you smelled like cigarettes.” I leaned back in the booth and placed my beer and phone on the table.

“Hell no, Max. You know I quit that shit.” Marcus grinned. I noticed his eyes were bloodshot, and his face was the color of a ripe tomato.

“You feeling alright?” I asked, then sipped my beer. Marcus had a heart attack six months ago at the ripe old age of forty-two, and was told to give up smoking, drinking, and to lose weight. So far, he’d quit the smokes, but instead of quitting the booze he’d given up beer in favor of carb-free cocktails, usually involving vodka and gin. His weight was a sensitive subject, but from where I was sitting, he’d probably gained a few pounds.

“Hey, Max, Marcus, look at this dude.” Ralph, the nighttime cook, slid into the booth next to Marcus, and handed him his cell.

“Damn.” Marcus’s eyes widened, then he handed it to me.

“No f*****g way.” I chuckled, wondering how the naked blond man managed to fit into his pants. “His d**k is huge.”

Ralph took the phone back, and winked. “Just the right size for me, boys.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Marcus shook his head, and I noticed Ralph’s face was as red as Marcus’s. Both men were in their early forties, and were reluctant to let go of the bad habits of their younger days. A bell rang, and Ralph got to his feet, and hustled back to the kitchen.

A few moments of silence passed, then Marcus opened his mouth to speak, but Chip, a younger dude who hung out at the bar sat next to me.

“Max, you should see this dude I’m going out with tonight. f*****g peach-perfect ass, black hair, bright blue eyes, his muscles i********: worthy.” Chip clapped me on the shoulder. “Thing is, I’ve got a problem. You see…”

“Um, you still owe me fifty bucks from two weeks ago, if that’s what you were working up to, Chip.”

Chip’s mouth opened and shut a few times, then without another word, he stood and walked out of the bar.

“Jeez, that was harsh.” Marcus muttered. I shook my head, remembering what it was like to be young, horny, and perpetually broke.

“So, whaddaya feel like doing tonight?”

Marcus asked the same thing every Friday afternoon.

“I don’t know, Marcus. What do you feel like doing?” A roar erupted from around the bar, and I guessed one of the teams had scored a touchdown.

“It’s the weekend, man. I don’t wanna watch movies at your house again like we did last Friday.” Marcus sipped his drink, something clear with a wedge of lime. “When’s the last time you had a date, Max?”

“If you’re asking me on a date, I’ll…”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That would be like dating my brother.” Marcus put his glass on the table, and I noticed his fingers had a slight tremor. From the looks of things, he definitely needed to cut back on the booze. “What about those guys we met at the bowling alley a few months ago?”

“What about them?” I replied, picked up my phone and clicked on the crosswords app I was addicted to.

“Oh, come on, Max. The skinny dude with red hair and his friend, the chunky guy from Petersburg. Don’t you remember?”

I kind of remembered, but didn’t care, so I shook my head no.

“Let me call them up, and maybe we could meet them here, or somewhere else. We’ve gotta do something besides getting drunk and watching our lives march on by without us.” Marcus slammed his empty glass on the table, and waved his hand to the bartender for another. “I want the thin guy.”

“He’s all yours, Marcus.” I drained my bottle of beer and got up from the table, but Marcus raised his voice.

“f**k this s**t, Max. You’re getting old. Don’t you want to meet someone, like, a real man, instead of jerking off to internet porn?”

Of course I did, but I was tired of rejection. I sank back down in the booth, and started peeling the label off the beer bottle.

“I didn’t care for those guys. To be honest, I’m giving up on all that s**t. Chasing guys, and nobody ever…”

The waiter set a full glass in front of Marcus. “You never will meet anyone, Max, if you don’t put yourself out there. Christ, man, maybe…”

“Stop.” I growled. “I’m not going out with those guys, or any other guys.”

Silence settled between us.

“So, what do you feel like doing tonight?” I mumbled, then signaled to the bartender for another beer.

“Well, we’re back to that, huh?” Marcus sighed. “I ask what do you wanna do, then you say to me, ‘I don’t feel like doing anything.’ Then we end up back at your house drinking and watching bad sci-fi movies.”

“Look, I’m just not…”

“The stocky guy liked you, I swear.”

“And what makes you say that?” I sighed, then shut my eyes and tried to remember what the man looked like.

“I could tell, that’s all. Let me call ‘em.” Marcus picked up his phone.

“You can call them if you want, but I want nothing to do with it.” The sound of pool balls cracking punctuated my statement.

“Oh come on, Max, we could…”

“No, you can. Call them up for yourself, but I don’t wanna go out with them.” My phone buzzed on the table, and when I flipped it over saw that my mother was calling. “It’s Mom. I gotta take this.”

I hurried outside to the patio, where a flock of twinks were puffing away on cigarettes in silence.

“Mom, what’s up?”

“Max, can you come home now?” She asked, and I wished I could get her used to text messaging.

“Yeah, sure.” I sighed. “Is something wrong?”

“Your cousins Ramon and Diego are here, plus Paula.” I heard the tea kettle whistle in the background. “Hold on.” Mom said, and put the phone down. She was always making this bizarre hibiscus and cinnamon tea she grew up drinking in Mexico. Tasted rancid. Moments later, she spoke again. “Paula and Ramon want to talk to you about something important.” Paula was Ramon’s wife.

I almost responded with, ‘let them wait,’ but realized this could be an excuse to get away from Marcus’s badgering about going out.

“I’ll be home in fifteen minutes, Ma.”

When I got back to the table, I slugged back half of the beer. My house was a two-minute walk from the bar, so I was pretty sure I hadn’t had too much to drink to make it home safely.

“You’re getting to be a real drag, Max.” Marcus sighed.

“I’m thirty-eight years old, and I’ve spent almost every weekend of my life trying to meet guys. Everybody’s on my case to settle down, find a boyfriend, get married. Jesus,” I punched my thigh, ”...don’t you think I want to meet someone?”

“I’m beginning to think you don’t.” Marcus leaned back in the booth and crossed his arms over his barrel chest.

“Look, go out, have a good time, and I hope you meet a twink with a horse c**k. Mom needs me at home, something to do with family stuff.” I finished the beer and threw a few dollar bills on the table. “Call me later if you want to hang out.”