by Xavier Mayne
Carlos winked and went to see to the needs of the group at the other end of the bar.
Five minutes to six. Drew took another drink. He would probably need a few more of these.
“So are you meeting a lady here tonight, or drinking to forget you don’t have one?” Carlos asked as he returned, mopping the bar with a gleaming white rag as he came.
“In fact, I am meeting someone here,” Drew replied.
Carlos’s eyebrow popped up. “Must be someone special. Never seen the jacket before.”
Drew was wearing his interview outfit, the only decent professional clothing he had. “Just a friend,” he blurted. “A friend.”
Carlos’s other eyebrow rose as well. “A ‘friend,’ is it?” he asked.
“Yes, a friend.” Drew sat up a little straighter in a doomed bid to recover his dignity.
“Mm-hmm.” Carlos nodded in the way people do who are too polite to call bullshit but too impolite to leave well enough alone.
Drew’s cheeks caught fire. He should not have suggested this place. A random barista wouldn’t be raising his damn eyebrows like this.
A creak from the far end of the room signaled the opening of the door. Silhouetted in the early evening light, a tall figure stood for a moment in the doorway.
There he was.
Drew knew instantly it was him. He could make out no features, no distinguishing characteristics from his online profile, but he knew.
The figure moved into the room with a purposeful stride.
“Daaaaamn…,” murmured Carlos, devoting no fewer than five syllables to the man who took shape as he approached the bar.
“Drew?” The voice was deep and confident.
“Fox,” Drew replied, getting to his feet and extending a hand. He was somewhat surprised by the sound of his own voice, as it had dropped half an octave in response to Fox’s.
Fox’s grip was sure and strong, his hand soft and warm. Drew smiled and motioned for Fox to sit.
They were really doing this.
AT A quarter to six, Fox slowly drove past the battered wooden door he was certain could not be the entrance to any reputable—or even operating—business. But the words “The Barrel Proof,” in wrought iron letters nailed somewhat haphazardly to the wall next to the door, seemed to indicate that this was indeed the place Drew had suggested they meet.
Having gone to the university, Fox was familiar with the neighborhoods that ringed the campus: the terrace of faculty houses above, the rows of student rentals below. He had spent his time on fraternity row and thus had not ventured much into the rather gritty streets that lay to the south, in the dead zone between the city proper and the campus that supplied it with business and finance majors.
He circled the block, searching for a parking spot where his car would be safe. He kept his BMW in showroom condition to impress the women he dated, a task made easier by the fact that it stayed safely in his building’s underground parking garage during the week. Fox commuted by subway and brought the Beamer out only on weekends for date nights. It had been touched up on Friday, as usual, by the detailing crew he had used for several years.
On his second lap around the block, he found that a space had opened up directly in front of the bar, which would allow him to be nearby should his alarm go off. He slipped into the spot and turned off the engine.
His phone buzzed. Message from Chad, the pop-up read. Hey buddy good luck toni—the message began before being cut off by the edge of the notification box. Fox dismissed it without opening the message itself—Chad would think he hadn’t received it.
He gazed through the passenger-side door at the bar, wondering what he would find inside.
It was five minutes to six.
Fox had an ironclad rule about arriving precisely two minutes after the appointed time—earlier seemed too eager, later seemed lazy. He checked his phone for any important messages or email, then scanned the news quickly. He hated being surprised by small talk about a current event he hadn’t heard of. He swiped through the headlines, then checked the time again.
Six o’clock.
He opened the door and stepped out of his car. He checked as he walked around to the curb to ensure he was the appropriate distance from the curb, and that nothing would block the passenger door.
Which would be important when he opened it to let his date step in. As if he were on a date. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Get a fucking grip, Fox. This is not a date.
One more glance at his watch. It was 6:02. Go time.
The door of the bar gave a mournful creak as he pulled it open.
Moving from the late afternoon sun into the darkened interior of the bar left him temporarily blind, so he stood for a moment to let his eyes adjust. Once he could see well enough, he scanned the room.
There he was.
From across the entire bar, even in his twilight vision, he knew it was Drew. Fox walked the length of the room in a few strides.
“Drew?” he said. With no small horror, he heard his “first impression” voice resonate through the room in the deep timbre he used to impress his dates. Like he was on a date. Shit.
“Fox,” the man replied, jumping up and holding out his hand. Fox was relieved to hear that Drew’s voice was also low and resonant.
He gave his best business grip, and Drew smiled and motioned for him to sit.
They were really doing this.
Chapter SEVEN
DREW HAD never before seen anyone’s mouth actually drop open in surprise, but Carlos put an end to his streak by standing dumbstruck and gaping as Fox sat down. He sat, Drew noted, on the next stool over, leaving an empty one between them. Which he would only do if he wanted to be sure everyone knew they were not here on a date.
“Drew,” Carlos asked once he had regained the faculty of speech, “who’s your friend?”
Mortified at the patently hungry look on Carlos’s face, Drew flushed. “Carlos, this is Fox. Fox, this is Carlos—the guy whose only redeeming quality is his access to the top-shelf hooch.”
If Fox noticed Carlos’s frankly lustful look, he gave no sign. “Pleased to meet you, Carlos.” He smiled winningly and reached across the bar for a handshake as if he were meeting a new business associate rather than a bartender in a dive bourbon joint.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Carlos replied, with a wink that made Drew cringe on the inside.
“How about we get something to drink?” Drew asked, desperately trying to keep his voice level and calm.
Thankfully, that seemed to snap Carlos out of his Fox-induced reverie. “I have just the thing,” he said in a voice that practically smoldered. He reached high up behind the bar, to the literal top shelf, and retrieved a bottle that bore no distinguishing marks at all. “Now this, gentlemen, is a little something no one else has even dreamed of, much less tasted.” He set two heavy tumblers on the bar and poured a half inch into each. “It’s the best possible way to start your adventure this evening.”
Drew could have done without the insinuation, but he desperately needed the libation.
Carlos picked up the glasses and held them to the light. “As you can see, the color is much deeper than the amber you’re likely to find in a finished bourbon. This is a barrel tasting from an unlicensed still outside Lexington. Their rep came through here last week, and I persuaded him to leave the bottle behind.” A wink in Drew’s direction clarified the kind of persuasion Carlos had employed. “You’re the first to try it.”
“Unlicensed in the sense that it’s likely to blind us with methyl alcohol?” Drew asked. He glanced at Fox, who looked similarly suspicious.
“No, unlicensed in the sense that Kentucky is a regulatory backwater, and this distillery’s license to wholesale their bourbon hasn’t been approved yet. They’ve passed all their inspections, but the last signature hasn’t been put on the official paperwork. So they can only give out barrel proof samples, which is what I am now—graciously, I might point out—attempt
ing to share with you.” He narrowed his gaze at Drew. “Which you will drink if you have any gratitude in you at all.”
“Yes, sir,” Drew said, taking a tumbler. He nodded at Fox to do the same.
“To unmarked samples from unlicensed distilleries that probably won’t result in blindness,” Fox said, raising his glass.
Drew smiled as he raised his glass as well. Then they both sipped the risky spirit. It burned its way down Drew’s throat, leaving a wonderfully scorched afterglow that tasted of charred oak and possibility. He watched Fox’s face to see his reaction and was gratified to find him smiling.
“That’s amazing,” Fox said, holding the glass up to the light. “I’ve never tasted anything quite like it.”
“Which is what I was saying,” Carlos replied in gracious vindication. He turned and replaced the bottle on its special shelf. “You gentlemen enjoy.” He locked insinuating eyes with Drew for an uncomfortably long time, then picked up his rag and headed down the bar once again.
“Sorry,” Drew said, turning to Fox. “Carlos is a bit of a character.”
Fox grinned. “Which is not at all what I would have expected, what with this being a rough-around-the-edges bourbon bar in a dicey neighborhood.” He took another sip. “But this,” he said after he’d swallowed, “this makes me think I’ve never really tasted bourbon before. It’s really incredible.”
Drew beamed. “I’m glad you like it.” He took another sip himself.
They sat for a moment, contemplating the burnt sienna liquid.
“So, did you go on any dates that the AI set up for you?” Fox asked, all of a sudden.
“A couple,” Drew replied.
“What did you think?”
Drew pondered this for a moment. If this were a date—and it wasn’t—he would have hesitated to say anything negative about anything, especially in the first five minutes. But as this was not a date—and it certainly wasn’t—he pushed that hesitation to the side.
“The last one was… a little creepy, honestly.” He expected Fox to be surprised by this, but if he was he didn’t let it show. He simply nodded.
“Mine too,” he said, then shook his head meditatively. “I’ve tried to put my finger on it, but I can’t quite….” He looked, plainly baffled, into the middle distance. “All I can come up with is that she was… too… I don’t know—”
“Perfect?” Drew prompted.
“That’s it,” Fox replied, slapping his hand on the bar. “It was like we’d grown up together or something. Like we were too close already.”
Drew felt a shiver of recognition run down his spine. “I know exactly what you mean. She would have been exactly what I was looking for in a sister, but the idea of dating?” He shuddered.
Fox laughed. “I’m really glad to hear you say that. I didn’t tell anyone about that date. I was starting to think maybe all those years of dating the wrong women had finally resulted in my not being able to recognize the right one when the AI brain brought her right to me.”
“I was starting to think I didn’t even know what I wanted anymore. The last one was basically everything I thought I wanted in a woman, and yet… nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I’m pretty sure she felt the same.”
“Mine was so relieved when I finally admitted how awful a date it was, we shared a good laugh about it before getting the hell away from each other.”
“Seems like the whole AI dating thing may not be ready for prime time,” Drew summed up.
“That seems a little hasty,” Fox objected. “After all, if it hadn’t hooked us up I’d be sitting home tonight wondering if I should get a cat and start blogging about how much I love celibacy. Instead, I’m in a bar I would never in a million years have parked in front of, much less entered, drinking this high-proof goodness. I think it’s worked out pretty well, actually.”
Drew felt pleased and flattered and a little warm—from the bourbon, surely—and he raised his glass to Fox. “To computer fuckups that end with bourbon.”
“Hear, hear,” Fox chimed in.
They touched their glasses together and tipped back the remaining precious bourbon.
Carlos wandered casually back to their end of the bar—though Drew noticed his eyes rarely left Fox even as he served other customers—and offered up another rare product of the distiller’s art. By their third, Drew was starting to feel warm in the chest and a little light in the head.
“I’m starting to think,” Fox said after they’d emptied the third set of glasses, “that this is a pretty nice way to spend a Saturday night.”
“I’m sure the parts of it I remember tomorrow will be a delight to reflect upon,” Drew added with a laugh.
“Wow, you are a lightweight,” Fox said with a wry chuckle.
“I’m fine right now, but if we’re gonna drink our dinner, I should probably slow down a bit.”
“Ah, dinner.” Fox checked his watch. “It occurs to me that I didn’t cancel my standing reservation.”
“You have a standing reservation?” To Drew this seemed unspeakably exotic.
“It makes date planning easier,” Fox replied. “I’m perfectly happy to go somewhere else if she feels strongly about it, but I find having a place already arranged takes that awkward negotiation off the table. And Table has amazing food.”
Drew recalled a review of Table he’d read in a local weekly paper. They gave it five stars and five dollar signs, showing that sometimes you get what you pay dearly for. “Wow. You live in a completely different world.” He looked Fox up and down, seeing dollar signs all over his sharply tailored suit. “You gonna call and cancel?”
Fox tipped his head to one side as if considering this question carefully. “No, I don’t think so. I think you and I are going to have dinner.”
“’Fraid not, buddy,” Drew said. “I’m a starving grad student. Free bourbon is about my limit when it comes to dining out.”
Fox looked at his watch. “At this point they’re going to charge me for the table whether I show up or not—though if I don’t, they’ll give it to someone waiting at the bar and make double on it. So dinner tonight is my treat.” He stood up, smiling confidently.
“I can’t let you do that,” Drew objected.
“Of course you can. You hosted me at the finest bourbon dive in the city, so dinner is the least I can do.”
“But the bourbon didn’t cost me anything.”
Fox glanced over at Carlos. “I imagine your friend Carlos would welcome a particular form of payment you perhaps haven’t thought to offer. I see how he looks at you.” A sly grin appeared on his face.
Drew’s cheeks sizzled with embarrassment. Fox stopped halfway through pulling his suit jacket on to look stupefied. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”
Oh, this gets worse and worse. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice that he was staring at you the entire time, not me.”
“No way.” Fox turned and looked at Carlos, who smiled back and gave a rather sultry nod. He whipped back around, an expression of frank alarm on his face. “Okay, you may be right.”
“Yes, I may be. And I may also be right when I say that tall, athletic, improbably handsome gingers are precisely poor Carlos’s type.”
Fox stole a glance back at Carlos, then turned his scandalized face toward Drew once again. “Should I tell him I’m straight?”
“Only if you want to inflame him further,” Drew replied with a laugh. “To him a straight man is pretty much any guy who hasn’t had quite enough bourbon.”
Fox’s eyebrows shot even higher. “Then I guess we should go before he pours us another. Who knows what might happen?” He laughed raucously and turned on his heel to leave.
Drew followed, but swung wide to hit the end of the bar where Carlos stood. He leaned across. “Thanks, buddy.”
Carlos grinned. “You sure it’s time to go? One more drink is all it would take….”
“I think he’d still be straight, but thanks for the offer.”
&
nbsp; “Just trying to help a brother out.”
“That’s not really the kind of help I need.”
Carlos shrugged. “You do you, man. But if he needs someone to do him, you bring him back here, okay?”
Drew laughed. “It’s a deal.”
“Thank you, Carlos,” Fox called from the door.
Carlos beamed and waved pleasantly, though Drew was able to catch a few of the explicit words he muttered through his smile. It was not, he decided, a message he would relay to Fox.
They stepped out into the evening air. Fox crossed the sidewalk and opened the passenger door of his car. He stood back and waited for Drew to step in.
Drew stopped in his tracks. “I can manage a car door.”
“Sorry, force of habit,” Fox said with a smile. “Though I’m happy to open a door for anyone who calls me ‘improbably handsome’.”
“Shit,” Drew said under his breath as he ducked into the car. Fox closed it behind him with a soft thump, and he found himself ensconced in the Germanic quietude of a car that had to have cost more than the house his parents lived in.
Fox trotted around to the driver’s side and was soon sitting next to him. With quick but precise motions, he pulled the car out onto the street. Drew’s head pressed back into the soft leather headrest at the sudden application of considerable horsepower.
“Have you been to Table?” Fox asked casually as he slalomed, knifelike, through traffic.
“I have not,” Drew replied. “It’s not the kind of place people like me frequent.”
Fox gave him a subtle side-eye. “And who are people like you?”
“Grad students. My people eat ramen twenty-nine days out of thirty.”
“And on the thirtieth day?”
“We cook lentils to impress a date.”
Fox nodded slowly. “And yet you remain single. Shocking.”
“Fuck you,” Drew cracked. “My lentils are on point. Though I can’t help but notice that your fancy-pants German automobile hasn’t landed you anything either.”
“We should join forces. Your lentils, my car.”