by Allan, S. H.
Dylan began to pull off John’s T-shirt, but the steering wheel and their relative positions made this a herculean task. Laughing, Dylan suggested they retire to the backseat. “More room,” he said.
They scrambled into the back, John taking one last look outside to make sure no one could see them. There was no one, just the moon and stars shining in the sky.
“Remember when we first started dating,” John said as they got comfortable and both their hands began roaming, “and I told you I’d do anything for you, even buy you the moon?”
Dylan’s eyes twinkled. He looked out the rear window. “It’s just a quarter moon tonight. You’re getting off cheap.”
MRS. GARDNER had been working on the books in the back room, but it was late and she wanted to go home. She shuffled through the dark shop, heading for the front door. She was fishing in her pockets for the keys when she paused. Something caught her eye. She looked out the window. What was going on? That was John Mackelby's car parked across the street, and there seemed to be movement within. She crept up to the window and peered out.
There was something white bobbing up and down in the backseat. Mrs. Gardner pressed her face to the window, cupping her hands around her eyes to get a better view. That was John’s—no, Dylan’s bare butt, going rapidly up and down. In sight and then out of sight. And those must be John’s legs sticking up. Eleanor Gardner’s mouth fell open. Right there, on Main Street! In front of her shop! For shame! Mind you, she thought, gay boys don’t have the same sense of decorum as regular folks. But still! How shocking! Disgusting!
As quick as her old legs would take her, Mrs. Gardner went over to the reception desk. The bottom drawer had her personal belongings, and she rustled around until she found the item she was looking for. She returned to the window, binoculars in hand. Her hands trembled as she got them up to her eyes and adjusted them.
Disgusting! Shocking!
Oh, don’t stop yet!
STEPHEN OSBORNE has been an improvisational comedian, a pizza restaurant manager, and a bookseller. Other than writing, his addictions include British television shows, reading mysteries, and (a recent addition) Broadway musicals. He lives in rural Illinois with Jadzia the One-Eyed Wonder Dog.
Visit him at Facebook: http://facebook.com/stephen.osborne2 and Twitter: http://twitter.com/southbendghosts. You can contact him at [email protected].
Reboot
S. H. Allan
JOSH FLOHR was sitting in his living room hunched over his laptop. He was deeply focused on programming a new algorithm to streamline data processing in his company’s SQL databases. He chewed his lip as he went through the debugging log, frustrated that the script wasn’t working correctly. He barely noticed when his boyfriend, Flynn, came into the room, a big smile on his face.
“Hey, Josh? Candice and Mike want to meet up in about half an hour at the Mug Shot to inhale some caffeine before they go to the opera.”
Josh looked up and blinked.
“I know, right? Who thought Mike would be cultured enough to go to the opera? He’s probably the one who needs the coffee. Anyway, I was thinking we could meet up and then maybe catch dinner and a flick after, just you and me.” Flynn looked hopeful.
Josh glanced at his program. “I don’t know…. I really should get this done by Monday, or I’ll be even more bogged down than usual.” He turned to meet Flynn’s eyes. “Maybe just dinner?”
Flynn looked disappointed. “C’mon, Josh, it’s Saturday. Do you really have to work? I can make it worth your while; we could come back here after for a special dessert featuring chocolate, caramel, and a whole lot of licking. Please?” He batted his eyelashes.
Josh laughed. “Oh God, stop that thing you’re doing with your eyes. I’ll go if you knock that off. It’s so disturbing, I may lose my appetite for dessert sauces.”
The other man grinned, and Josh’s heart skipped. Feeling all squiggly inside, Josh smiled at his boyfriend’s words and took a moment to linger. Even out of his rocker duds, dark-haired, dark-eyed, gorgeous Flynn looked rebellious and a little dangerous. Neither matched the sensitive and sweet person who lay inside. The public was used to tight black clothing; leather, chains, and studded things; guyliner, black lipstick, and nail polish; and brightly streaked hair. Wearing an old, loose pair of blue jeans and a faded T-shirt, sans makeup and accessories, Flynn was in camouflage and at his sexiest.
Josh stood and put his arms around his boyfriend. “You know, Mike is always at least half an hour late to everything. We could do a lot in an extra half an hour.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.
Flynn chuckled. “Yeah, okay. I can think of a few things.” Josh’s lover grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the bedroom. Josh stopped them long enough to hand Micro a chew toy and order her to stay; then his lover dragged him down the hall, both of them shedding clothes along the way.
“I’M JUST saying that it’s easier than being, say, a doctor or something.” Mike’s nasally voice was even more annoying when he was trying to assert opinion as fact.
“That’s like saying it’s easier being a brain surgeon than the president. ’Course there are jobs that are more difficult than others. That’s not the point. We’re talking about how hard a guy works, and being a musician is hard work.” Flynn’s voice was never annoying, but it was increasing in decibels.
Josh wanted to tune both of them out by chatting with Candice, but she was too busy listening to them. She had a big grin and wide eyes as she watched and kept score on a napkin. Seeing someone best her husband in an argument gave her some kind of vicarious, inexplicable thrill.
Josh took a sip of his Caffé Medici and watched the customers line up at the counter. Unlike coffee shops that catered to business people or students, Mug Shot’s clientele were eclectic. The shop was all the better for it, and he enjoyed people-watching there. He surveyed the line until his phone alerted him to a text message from his coworker Ian, a new systems operator who covered the weekend shift.
“yo dud. server crash. wont start right”
Josh opened his phone and texted, “Be more specific.”
“reboot but database no go”
He texted back, “You rebooted the physical server and now you can’t start up the SQL server?”
“thats what I sed”
Josh closed his eyes and took a moment to ground himself. That wasn’t at all what Ian had said. There were also a number of steps to get the main server up and running before starting SQL. “Did you rerun all the shell scripts after you rebooted?” Nearby, he could hear Flynn breathing faster. Josh glanced over and saw his partner dragging the handle of his teaspoon along a groove carved into the wooden tabletop. He appeared to be making the gouge larger.
Ian texted back, “u think im stupid?”
Well…, Josh thought, then checked himself. Ian was fairly new at being a systems operator.
He caught snatches of the conversation between the others. “You really think being a rock star is hard.” Mike managed to sound both condescending and sarcastic.
“You really think being an accountant is hard?” Flynn shot back.
Josh figured his boyfriend could defend himself and focused on how to help the rookie sysop. “Which script did you run last?” He didn’t use shortened speech when he texted. It was important to always be clear, especially with Ian.
“datarun.bat”
“Did you wait ten minutes after you ran the shell script to restart the SDI batch processes first?”
A long pause followed before Ian replied. “10 min?”
Josh sighed. The shop was warm and smelled of rich coffee and the cedar of the walls. The atmosphere was homey, the friendly people treating Flynn like everyone else, not a famous rock musician. Josh loved the place and wanted to enjoy it, not spend his time dealing with someone not really qualified for his job.
Mike was chuckling. “How hard can it be? You get to travel, you hang around in luxury hotel suites all day drinking champagne and eating
caviar, play a couple of hours in front of people who adore you—you don’t even have to sound good—and then party all night long with gorgeous women—sorry, men—hanging all over you. When you get back, you can sleep all day if you want to.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Man, you’re so fucking clueless. Yeah, all a big party. We don’t rehearse or write songs; there’re no long days or spending fucking hours on a bus with a bunch of sweaty assholes. Yeah, it’s fucking fabulous to be gone from home, my family, my friends, my dog; being away from my boyfriend all the time, no sex for weeks or sometimes months.” Flynn’s voice was growing louder. “I bet you and Candice would be all over that.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?” Flynn growled.
“Because we’re married.”
Josh heard that. Uh-oh.
On the other side of him, Candice snickered and stage whispered, “Ooo, come on, Flynn, step it up a notch! Put him in his place.”
Josh moved his coffee cup away from Flynn in case his boyfriend felt like throwing something. He also pushed Flynn’s tea out of the way for good measure.
Flynn’s voice was suddenly low and slow. “You fucking prick.” He breathed in deeply and calmed visibly. “I’m gay. Unless I switch teams—ugh.” He shuddered melodramatically. “I can’t get married. Doesn’t mean I don’t love Josh as much as you love Candice.”
“Sure it would be hard to be away from her,” Mike conceded, “but if I made that kind of money, she wouldn’t have to work, and I would just bring her with me.”
That, at last, invested Candice emotionally. She flushed and opened her mouth to respond, but Flynn spoke first. “You think Candice would put up with that? Really?” he snarled. “Josh isn’t my houseboy, he’s my partner. He’s got his own shit, like an awesome job he loves and kicks ass at, his own buds he hangs with. He’d hate being on the road all the time. And I wouldn’t want him to, ’cause he’d be miserable. Me and Mr. Happy hate being away from him, but Josh needs to have a life too. I can’t take that away from him. I won’t.”
Candice was bobbing her head with a scornful smirk on her face as Flynn talked. “Mmm-hmm. Tell it to the man,” she urged. Then she leaned over to Josh and whispered, “Is Mr. Happy his—?”
Josh’s phone beeped, saving him from replying.
“reran sh script. Still cant access db”
“Are you reading the reboot procedure list?” Josh asked Ian.
Another long pause followed. “what list”
Josh took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Start over.” The list hung right next to the server in question, a laminated card on a chain. “Go step by step through the list. Confirm that you do every item by checking it off with the attached grease pen. Make sure you wait for each process to complete before going on to the next step. Text me when you’re done.” He had to split that text into two, it was so long.
“All right, so you miss your boy toy.” Josh heard Mike’s words and cringed. Candice giggled. “You probably miss having your nerdy lover hanging off your arm in front of the press too.” The dig was directed at Flynn’s decision to make his homosexuality very public. He would never be closeted and felt that as a semicelebrity, it was his job to be a role model. Mike thought it was all a publicity stunt, which was asinine. But that was a different argument.
“I’m gonna ignore that ’cause you’re an idiot and an ass. And for the record, Josh is the hottest guy, nerd or not, who’s ever used a computer.” Josh couldn’t help smiling. He knew he wouldn’t win any beauty contests; even when wearing his boyfriend’s trendy clothes, he was ordinary-looking. But all that mattered was that Flynn, one of alternative rock’s hottest lead singers, thought Josh was sexy.
“Mike…,” Candice interjected, knowing enough was enough. Josh was pretty sure Mike was trying to get a rise out of Flynn, which really wasn’t too hard by that point. Mike couldn’t even claim his obnoxious behavior was due to being drunk. They were in a coffee shop drinking overpriced caffeinated beverages with pretentious names. Maybe he’d brought his own flask.
“Never mind. I gotta take a leak.” Flynn got up and stormed to the back of the shop.
Mike laughed victoriously, which irritated Josh, so he put the phone aside for a moment. “Mike, Flynn works very hard. Going out on tour is difficult for any musician, but these folks are not big rock stars. Bugs Are Nervous is a good alternative band with a large following, not the Hollywood crowd. They can’t afford to stay in really nice hotels and eat gourmet food.”
“You guys have plenty of money. I know Flynn makes a lot.”
“Mike!” Candice admonished.
Josh continued. “We aren’t hurting, because we both make good money; we’re well off but not rich—and Flynn earns every dime he makes.”
Mike was shaking his head.
“Mike, I’ve been on tour with him, and it’s grueling. They’re on the road all the time, sometimes having to sleep as they travel instead of staying in a hotel. Then they work eighteen-to-twenty-hour days, so they’re always exhausted.”
“What do they do with all that time?” Candice sounded genuinely curious.
“Well, when they first arrive at a concert location, they have to go over the concert hall/arena/whatever. The band meets with their manager, tours the venue, and discusses the set list. They meet with the opening band and figure out how to arrange two sets of equipment onstage to minimize how much has to be moved between sets. Each venue is different, so they have to do this every time. They then help set up the equipment, test, and adjust it. They practice a bit to get a feel for the acoustics. All of that takes hours and hours.”
Mike grimaced. “Sounds boring.”
“They’re too busy to be bored. Sometimes they have to leave to do a quick interview or even an unplugged gig at a local radio station after setting up and before the show.”
“Yeah, but that’s it, right? Then they go rock out?” Mike was still trying to win the argument without Flynn present.
“No. They do their own hair and makeup. Flynn meditates to get himself ready. He also listens to the first act to get a feel for the audience. Then they do their set, which is exhausting. You try singing and playing a heavy guitar while running around and dancing onstage. He’s really good at it and engages the audience to put on a good show. That takes a lot of work and skill.”
Mike rolled his eyes, and Candice punched him. “Go on, Josh.”
“After the show, they head backstage and go over the performance while it’s fresh. Often they have to entertain a local who won a radio contest. They help pack away the gear because they don’t really trust anyone else to keep their instruments safe. When possible, the band goes to a hotel and gets a few hours of sleep before hopping back on the bus at the crack of dawn.”
Mike had the decency to look uncomfortable, at least. Candice looked embarrassed. “I never really thought about all that.”
Josh nodded. “I didn’t really get how hard it was until I took some time off work to go travel with them for a couple of weeks. It’s really exhausting; I couldn’t do it. I think I lost twenty pounds just watching them work. I no longer complain about his hours, especially since he always finds time to call me before bed.”
Mike made a noncommittal sound just as Flynn rejoined them, his head cocked as though he had remembered something. “Mike, what did you mean by ‘You don’t even have to sound good’?”
Josh’s phone signaled another text, distracting him.
“dunno if scrip ran, froze” It hadn’t been more than ten minutes. How had Ian messed up already? He’d thought the procedure was idiot proof. Apparently not.
Josh sighed. “Which script are you on?”
“C’mon, Flynn. A rock st—a ‘rock musician’”—Mike’s words dripped with sarcasm—“doesn’t have to be able to sing—”
Helping Ian, Josh tuned out the conversation, only catching snippets.
“The bass and drums mostly drown out—” Mike s
tated.
“Are you serious?” Flynn’s voice was loud, catching Josh’s attention.
He heard Candice say something and, figuring she could handle it, texted Ian back. “How much time has it been since you started it?” Damn, was he going to have to go to work just to reboot a server hardly anyone used? He really didn’t want to go in today.
“dunno,” Ian replied.
“Well, you may need to run the shells scripts again.”
“I’m not saying that rock stars are bad singers, just that they don’t have to be good. In a studio, the—what are they called, sound engineers?—can play with the voice, make it on-key, make it sound good. Out at a show, they can’t do that, so they amp up the instruments so it’s mostly noise—” Mike’s voice was rising too. Candice’s was the only calm one in the storm.
“tryed that, dint work,” Ian texted.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You saying I can’t sing?” Flynn yelled.
Josh didn’t register Flynn’s anger, nor did he clue in as to why people were starting to stare. Ian was an idiot—that’s why the man had to work weekends. If Rosita had been at the office instead of Ian, Josh might have been able to enjoy a day off, maybe even turn off his phone.
“’Course not, just that there’s a reason you’re part of a band and Amy Winehouse is a solo artist—”
“going 2 reboot again” How many times had Ian done that now? Josh had lost count.
“Are you hearing this? Josh? Can you fucking believe what this asshole just said?”
Josh looked up. “What?” Flynn and Mike were both looking at him, Flynn red-faced and furious, Mike smugly annoyed. Even Candice was chewing on her bottom lip. Damn. What were they arguing about now? “Uh, Mike, Flynn works very hard. He gives his best.”
All of them looked surprised. Mike started to nod and Flynn exploded. “What the fuck, Josh? I give my best? I fucking work hard?” He jumped up, his chair falling backward on the floor. More heads turned.