Free I'm Your Man by Timothy James Beck

glanced at him, looking for any sign that indicated a cover, and found none. He said nothing to me, but simply raised his eyebrows once in acknowledgment of my presence. I nodded my head in response and stepped inside.
    There were televisions mounted throughout the bar, playing everything from soundless performances of music videos to clips from MGM musicals and Saturday Night Live skits, none of which matched the music I heard from the jukebox across the room. Through a doorway to the right, I could see two well-built men, one leaning against a wall with a beer poised phallically on his groin, the other stretching over a pool table, carefully lining up his shot. There must have been several tables in the second room; although he hadn’t shot, I could hear the clacking of billiard balls from other directions and the “thunk” of an occasional ball dropping into a pocket.
    I walked to the bar. The bartender, a shorter version of Michael Jordan, greeted me with a smile and said, “What can I get you?”
    â€œSam Adams,” I answered.
    â€œYou got it.” He popped the top. “Glass?”
    â€œNo, thank you.”
    â€œNo, thank you,” he said as he put the change I left with the rest of his tips. “You’re obviously not from here.”
    â€œPeople from Baltimore don’t tip?”
    â€œNot that much. I’d welcome you to Charm City, but I’m sure someone as cute as you has already been welcomed.” That removed all doubts. I was definitely in a gay bar. He went on. “I can at least be the first to welcome you to Shenanigans.”
    I stopped midturn and said, “Shenanigans? That name sounds familiar. Are you famous for something?”
    â€œDo you watch soaps?”
    â€œNo,” I answered. Which was honest enough; I hadn’t watched Secret Splendor since Daniel and I broke up.
    â€œOur owner is a big Days of Our Lives fan and named this place after a bar they wrote out of their storyline in the eighties. His little homage to days of our lives gone by.”
    â€œGood times,” I said, and heard him laugh as I made my way to a table. At least I could be sure Secret Splendor tapes wouldn’t be popping up on Shenanigans’ TVs, the way they did in a couple of bars in Manhattan.
    I decided to put my people-watching skills to better use than nostalgia over Daniel, settling in to check out the bar’s patrons. I was reminded of those beer commercials with young, vibrant, beautiful people having fun and laughing. Shenanigans was nothing like that. Everyone I saw struck me as ordinary. Perhaps I was used to Manhattan bars, the majority of which were designed to be featured in magazines as the next hot spot, only to be shut down and renamed a month later. I liked the idea of a bar that stayed around long enough to have a floor that felt a little gritty, lighting dimmed by a few burned-out bulbs, and regulars who knew I wasn’t one of them but still gave off no attitude.
    I saw a man come out of the poolroom and sit at a table across the room. He saw me squinting at him and raised his glass in my direction. I realized that I’d started an exchange I hadn’t intended. He picked up his napkin and wrapped it around his drink, then crossed the room toward me. As he got closer, I thought of how Lillith always said, There are no accidents. Maybe I did mean to start an exchange with him. He was attractive, with shaggy blond hair, brown eyes, and a five o’clock shadow.
    â€œHey,” he said. “May I join you?”
    â€œHave a seat. I’m Blaine.”
    â€œTodd. You come here a lot?” he asked.
    â€œNo. I’m in town on business. Do you?”
    â€œNo, I’m here for work, too. Where you from?”
    â€œI live in Manhattan, but I’m from the Midwest,” I answered. “How about you?”
    â€œMiami. I work for an import-export company. What do you do?”
    â€œI’m in