Second Chances in New Port Stephen - Chapter 31

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Second Chances in New Port Stephen - Chapter 31

The Anvil, New Port Stephen’s hottest (and only) spot for gay nightlife, was sandwiched
between a ceiling fan outlet and a tattoo parlor. But now, a little past ten, everything in the
Southern Breeze Shopping Plaza was shuttered and dark except for the Anvil and the
freestanding Denny’s that took up the middle of the parking lot.
Nick parked next to a pickup truck that boasted two bumper stickers on the rear fender: I’D
RATHER BE FISHING and a rainbow pride COEXIST logo. It occurred to him, not for the first time,
that being gay in Florida must be a real trip. He knew queer people were everywhere, but sitting
in the parking lot out back of the Denny’s, surveying the dozen or so cars clustered around the
Anvil, he realized he didn’t know any of them personally. Except for Eli, of course.
Eli had actually dressed up for the occasion: black jeans, sharp Chelsea boots (Eli had to inform
him of that term, and then proceeded to mock him for not knowing it), a collared shirt with a
violet floral print, freshly ironed. His hair was styled with some kind of nice-smelling pomade,
and his mustache looked like he’d given it a trim. Next to him, Nick felt woefully underdressed in
his slacks and polo. He should never have made that crack about fashion.
“Before we go in,” Eli said, “if anyone gets racist with you, give me the signal and we’ll leave,
okay? White gays are the worst. I can say that because I am one.”
Nick made a face. “What’s the signal?”
“I don’t know. Wave your arms around? Or whatever works in awkward small-town situations,”
Eli said as they approached the nondescript front door. Nick couldn’t see a pride flag anywhere
on the exterior. The only thing that
denoted the purpose of the business was the thump of music that could be felt even on the
sidewalk out front.
Well, that and the two guys who were milling around outside, sharing a cigarette. They looked
very young, too young to be at a bar, but then again, everyone looked young to Nick. He’d
noticed somewhere around his midthirties that every movie star seemed to be an absolute

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child. The first time he’d gotten an application at the Manatee from a potential employee who’d
been born after 9/11, he’d had to put his head between his knees and take five deep breaths.
Nick reached the door first and held it open for Eli. “Just try to contain your big city snobbery,
okay? Gentle ribbing is fine, but let the good people of the Anvil enjoy their evening unscathed,
hm?”
Eli mock-gasped. “I would never scathe,” he said, sweeping through the doorway with a tiny
smirk.
Once inside, they were asked to present ID to the doorman, which delighted Eli to no end, as it
had apparently been years since he’d last been carded. “Can you believe it?” he said to Nick
over the loud music. “We lucked out. It must be a theme night.” He pointed upward to indicate
the song that was playing, bobbing his head along with the beat. Nick listened for a moment,
picking out the familiar lyrics of Nelly’s classic hit “Hot in Herre.” “Early aughts realness!”
The doorman, a bald white guy sitting on a high stool, gave Eli a strange look as he took Nick’s
ID. “What’s a theme night?” he said.
Nick let his eyes close. “Oh god.”
Even unseen, Eli was practically vibrating with excitement; it was palpable. “You’re telling me
this is just a normal night? Just a regular Friday night playing Nelly?”
“Yeah?” The doorman passed the ID back to Nick’s outstretched hand.
Nick took Eli by the arm, steering him toward the bar before he could piss off the guy who
probably doubled as the bouncer. “Come on, let’s get something to drink. You want a seltzer?”
“Sure, sounds good.”