The One With The Sausage Fest
In spite of all his grumbling, Zac brought his A game to our second private party the following Saturday. It was at a house in one of those suburbs where every house looks the same, and we arrived in our firemen outfits, ready to start a few fires rather than put them out. Zac even conceded to give a few lap dances; it probably didn’t hurt that the women at this party were even more smoking hot than the ones at the first.
All in all, it went well, and it ended far earlier than we were used to getting off work on a Saturday night. Eduardo had the night off, and he’d invited the two of us out to a bar since we effectively had the night off, too. The private parties weren’t nearly as exhausting as a normal night at the club, so we agreed to meet him there after we finished the party.
Eduardo had given us the bar’s address the night before, and as soon as we got back to our apartment, Zac called a cab. It would be there soon, but it wouldn’t take either of us long to get cleaned up and change clothes. To save time, I decided to keep the white t-shirt and red suspenders, but I paired them with a pair of ripped jeans instead of the costume pants. It wasn’t a bad look, and I was ready with a little time to spare before the cab arrived. I headed to the kitchen to get a drink of water and wait.
“What the actual fuck are you wearing?” Zac asked, having appeared in the doorway to the kitchen with absolutely no warning. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, leaning against the doorjamb, one bushy eyebrow arched.
“What?” I replied, looking down at my outfit. “I thought it looked good.”
“If this is your way of telling me you’re a flamer, it’s very effective,” he replied.
I rolled my eyes. “You were wearing the very same thing earlier.”
“As a costume,” he said, drawing the word out like he was talking to an idiot. “I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that shit like I thought it was a fashion statement.”
“Zac, the only fashion statement I’ve ever seen you make is ‘I haven’t done laundry in a month and I don’t care.’”
He seemed oddly proud of that as he walked away to answer his ringing phone. From his bedroom, he yelled that the cab was here. He came back out a moment later, stuffing his wallet into a pair of jeans that were almost too tight for it to fit. I wanted to be angry at him for once again implying that I was gay, but unlike him, I didn’t see it as that much of an insult.
Neither of us could stay in a bad mood for long, though. It was our night off and we were actually going to drink. Working in a bar, oddly, didn’t lead to all that much alcohol consumption.
The cab deposited us in front of an obviously packed club only a few minutes later. There was a long line outside the door, and I was thankful to spot Eduardo at the front of it, chatting with the bouncer. As we made our way down the line, I couldn’t help but noticing that it was nearly all men. Zac didn’t seem to notice, so I decided to keep my mouth shut. This was either going to be hilarious or disastrous—or both.
“Taylor, Zac!” Eduardo called out, waving his arm. “I’m glad you guys are here. You’re on the list, no worries.” To the bouncer, he added, “Don’t worry, Rick. They’re with me—Taylor Wright and Zac Hanson.”
The bouncer scanned his list, and to the dismay of everyone else in line, we were ushered quickly into the bar, and my suspicions were confirmed.
It was a gay bar.
The décor was fairly understated, with only one disco ball and minimal glitter, but the music was Lady Gaga and the crowd was ninety percent male. I turned to Zac and the look of horror on his face was obvious even in the low light.
“Taylor,” he spat out. “This is… it’s a fucking…”
“It appears to be,” I replied, nodding. Eduardo had already scurried away to greet someone he evidently knew.
“It’s a fucking sausage fest,” he groaned. “I’m out of here.”
He spun around to leave, and I grabbed his arm. The displeasure in his eyes only gave me a moment’s pause before I spoke. “Come on, Zac. He got us in here for free, and judging by the way he seems to know everyone, we probably won’t have to pay for drinks, either.”
“Not with money,” Zac said, “but if you feel like sucking some dick for a free drink, that’s all you buddy. I’ll stay sober.” He punctuated his sarcastic tone with an eye roll and shake of his head.
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, so you’re not getting laid tonight. But you can sit down, play nice and have a few drinks, can’t you? It won’t kill you.”
Zac still looked less than happy, but he seemed to at least be contemplating it.
“Come on, for me?” I asked, giving him my best puppy dog eyes. “At least so I don’t have to explain why you bailed so quickly?”
“Ugh, fine,” he replied, still shooting me a glare that said he wasn’t happy to stay and probably wouldn’t make the night very pleasant.
I had to practically drag Zac to the table where Eduardo was waiting for us. He’d accumulated a group of friends during our little argument, but he’d also ordered the first round of drinks. Zac threw back his shot quickly and slammed the shot glass down on the table with way more force than necessary, but no one else seemed to notice his little tantrum. I was thankful for that.
“So,” Zac said, staring pointedly at Eduardo. “How did you, uh, find this place?”
“Oh, my college roomie is the bartender,” he replied. “He gets all my drinks for free, so you boys can thank him for those. I like it here, though. It’s more low key than most gay bars, you know?”
Zac’s jaw tensed and I shot him a warning look. Whatever he was planning to say could not possibly be good. Eduardo was quickly distracted, though, when another of his friends walked up and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. The whole group of them soon walked away to go dance, leaving Zac and I alone at the table.
“Did you know he was…gay?” His voice dropped to a low whisper. As if anyone in the bar would hear him, or care even if they did.
I shrugged. “I guess. You didn’t know?”
“Obviously not,” Zac replied, “or I wouldn’t have agreed to a night out with him. Jesus, Tay. Did it not even occur to you that the sort of bar a gay guy would invite us to might be, oh I don’t know, a gay bar?! At least you fit in, though, in that fucking Village People outfit of yours.” He chortled.
“How about you say that a little louder, Zac? Because I’m sure one of those big bears over there would just love to kick your homophobic ass,” I said, nodding toward a group of guys standing at the bar. “Although, judging by the way that one’s looking at you, kicking might not be the first thing on his mind when it comes to your ass.”
I couldn’t quite make out Zac’s mumbled reply over the music, but I was pretty sure it involved the words “flaming” and “motherfucking.”
“If you think your ass will be safe without me for a few minutes, I’ll go get another round of drinks, okay?” I asked, plastering a big smile on my face.
“Please do,” he replied. “The only way I can deal with this is if I get alcohol-poisoning wasted.”
I had no intention of letting Zac get quite that drunk, but I knew a few drinks would loosen him up. I may have flirted just a little bit with the bartender as I informed him that I was one of Eduardo’s co-workers. It worked, and soon I was on my way back to our table with a few more shots and a beer for each of us.
The rest of the night passed by in a blur. We downed more shots than either of us could count. Eduardo’s bartender friend evidently decided to show off his mixing skills on us, and the drinks were a little fruitier than Zac probably would have chosen for himself, but after a few of them he stopped complaining and started actually having a good time. He still chose to stay seated at the table when Eduardo drug me onto the dance floor, though. It was just as well; he wouldn’t have liked the amount of glitter that somehow managed to find its way onto my body by the end of a couple songs, anyway.
To my surprise, Zac didn’t beg to leave and we ended up staying until closing time. I was still picking bits of glitter and confetti off my shirt and out of my hair when we made our way outside to call a cab.
“It’s a fucking twenty minute wait,” Zac complained, looking like he wanted to throw his phone at the brick wall of the building. “We might as well start walking. We’ll meet the cab before they get here.”
“Okay,” I replied with a shrug, flinging a large piece of glitter in his general direction as I followed him down the sidewalk.
“Are you just oozing glitter now, Tay?” He asked, swatting it away. “You really are a fairy.”
“Maybe I am,” I replied, giggling. Zac sped up, and I scurried to catch up with him. “Fairies can grant wishes, right? Or is that just genies?”
“Well, seeing as how both are fictional…”
Just for that, I flicked a really big piece of confetti at him. It landed right in his hair and he didn’t even notice.
“How fucking drunk are you?” Zac asked.
“Pretty trashed,” I admitted, leaning against him a little. He didn’t push me away, but that was probably only because he was just as drunk as I was. “So, three wishes?”
Zac rolled his eyes. “I wish you’d blow me.”
It took a second for my booze-addled mind to process that one and realize that coming from Zac, that was definitely nothing more than an insult. Still, I couldn’t resist turning it into a joke. He’d somehow managed to escape being hit on at the bar, so I figured it was my turn to make him uncomfortable.
“Sucky sucky, five dolla,” I replied, giggling.
“So you’re not only a whore, you’re a cheap whore? Good to know.”
I shoved him, which nearly sent both of us flying off the sidewalk. “Please, you know you’re not my type anyway.”
“I wasn’t aware that whores had types, Tay.”
“I do have some standards,” I huffed, crossing my arms.
“Okay, okay,” Zac said, holding his hands out in a sign of defeat. He had to be seriously drunk if he didn’t realize I was only pretending to be mad. Just to freak him out more, I reached for his outstretched hands, batting my eyelashes at him as I held onto his hands gently.
“I was just kidding, sweetie,” I slurred at him.
Zac’s response was drowned out by the whoop of a cop car’s siren. We both jumped and whirled around until we saw the car slowing to a stop at the curb near us. The window rolled down and a cop whose face I couldn’t quite make out said, “Isn’t it a little late for you… gentlemen to be out?”
“We were waiting for our cab,” Zac said.
“Looked like you were walking somewhere,” the cop countered, opening the car door and stepping out.
That was definitely a bad sign.
“You boys been drinking?” He asked, not waiting for an answer before adding, “Let me see some ID before I let you two go on… wherever it is you say you’re going.”
Zac snarled, but he fished his wallet out of his pants anyway. I felt around in my pockets for mine, and came up empty handed. Thinking back, I realized that not only had I not paid for a single drink, but I hadn’t even flashed my ID at the bouncer. The last time I’d seen my wallet at all was before we left the apartment for the private party.
Zac, the first cop and a second cop I was pretty sure had materialized out of thin air were all staring at me expectantly.
“I, umm, I think I left it in my other pants.”
“Alright, boys,” the cop said, staring me down. I tried not to laugh at his comically large mustache and bushy eyebrows, and I’m pretty sure I failed. “Here’s the deal. In this neighborhood, this time of morning, there’s only one reason two guys like you would be on the street.”
“What, exactly, are you implying?” Zac asked, his nostrils flaring.
The cop seemed unimpressed. “All I’m saying is it looked a hell of a lot like you were picking this fellow here up.”
“Picking him—are you fucking serious?!”
And suddenly, there was the bad side of drunk Zac. The cop had a good half a foot and thirty pounds of donuts on him, but when Zac’s temper came to the party, I was pretty sure he thought he could take down an entire football team. He made it two full steps closer to him before the other cop stepped in and yanked him back, slamming a pair of cuffs on his wrists while Zac was still spitting fire and rambling about disgusting, perverted pigs.
I stepped in to calm Zac down, or at least apologize on his behalf, but somehow, I tripped and stumbled into my very own set of handcuffs, too.
We were both shoved unceremoniously into the back of the cruiser, while Mr. Mustache rambled about our rights, how we needed to sober up and get our story straight and how he ought to slap us both with a drunk and disorderly at the very least.
I sighed and leaned my head back against the worn leather seat. As we pulled away from the curb, I could only think one thing…
Not again.