Second Chances in New Port Stephen - Chapter 32

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Second Chances in New Port Stephen - Chapter 32

Now that they were inside the club proper, Nick took a look at their surroundings, although it
was so dimly lit he had a hard time making out any details. He had an impression of a small but
lively crowd, with couples and
bigger groups of friends talking loudly to each other over the pounding bass. An attempt had
been made to decorate for the holidays; strings of Christmas lights and gaudy tinsel bunting
were draped along the black walls, then petered out halfway around the room. A few dollar-
store cartoon Rudolphs and Santas were taped to the mirror behind the bar. A plastic blue-and-
white menorah sat next to the cash register, which felt like a paltry gesture to New Port
Stephen’s Jewish population; by Nick’s calculations, Hanukkah had wrapped up a week ago.

-- 124 of 228 --

There was a dance floor to the right bathed in a rainbow of colors. There was no DJ, just
speakers mounted along the walls that pumped out the music. No seating to speak of, only a
handful of tiny high-top tables that people clustered around to lean on. They joined the pack at
the end of the bar.
Nick made the mistake of resting his elbows on the bar’s worn surface, which turned out to be a
sticky mess. A quick reshuffle, and he stuck his hands into his pockets instead. Fuck, it was
impossible to look cool. Why had he worn khakis? And why was it so hot in this place? He was
already sweating.
As far as the clientele went, Nick was surprised to see it ran the gamut. There were men and
women and probably people in between. Some were as young as the guys outside had been,
and some looked closer to Nick’s dad’s age. Plenty of folks in the middle. White, Black, brown,
one Asian woman who gave Nick a nod of recognition even though he’d never seen her before
in his life… it was like looking at a cross section of the south Florida census.
Eli must have noticed it too. “Now this fucking rules, actually. Bars in New York tend to attract
only one kind of queer, you know? There’s a bar for leather daddies, a bar for Dominican guys, a
bar for college students. Like, super specific gays. But this place is the only game in town. You’d
never see this kind of melting pot in the city unless you went to a Beyoncé concert, and even
then, it’s only the ones with the—” He made a rubbing fingers gesture that meant money.
“It is pretty cool.” Nick could count the number of times on one hand he’d been in a bar where
white people made up less than 90 percent of the attendance. Here, it was more like 60/40,
which, for Florida, was pretty good.
The Nelly song ended, and something else that Nick didn’t recognize right off the bat replaced
it. LeAnn Rimes, possibly? Some girl singing her heart out. What a random playlist.
Eli leaned close to hiss into his ear. “This. Is. Amazing! It’s like we stumbled upon some lost
civilization that never moved past 2009. Why is Florida so behind the rest of the world? It’s ten
to fifteen years out of date, consistently. It’s giving monoculture.” A group of four or five guys
received their drinks and started making their way to the neon-lit dance floor, giving Eli plenty
of time to stare at their outfits. “Nick, are you seeing this? That actual man is wearing a white
belt. With Vans!”
“You said you weren’t going to scathe,” Nick reminded him.
“I’m not being scathing! I’m just reporting on what is right in front of my eyes. I mean, that guy
put on that belt and those shoes of his own free will before leaving his house tonight. No one
was twisting his arm.”

-- 125 of 228 --

More barflies cleared out, clutching their plastic cups of cocktails. Nick saw one of the guys was
wearing a strappy leather harness thing over his shirt, but his companions were all dressed like
they’d just come from church. He tried not to stare.