Why Cliff chooses this strange bar out of the many other queer ones in the downtown area is beyond my understanding. Perhaps he likes to feel young and fresh among the old and wrinkled male walruses inside, or maybe he enjoys the rainbow lights and handsome bartender who looks exactly like the British actor Ben Barnes. Who knows? Not that it really matters since we are here on business. Strictly business.
We sit near the bar at a three-person, circular table. Cliff wears a flashy, silver sports coat. A white rose in its left lapel. Beneath the jacket is a blinding-white dress shirt. The young man looks smashing, much better than my khakis, sky blue dress shirt, and penny loafers. He orders us martinis from a winking Ben, extra olives.
“I’m so glad you’re off this evening,” he begins, cro
