Chapter 2
OUT ON THE FLOOR
MICHAEL
Touching Mick sent a thrill through me like it always did, and I locked the sensation away in the box where I hid all my Mick-related thoughts and feelings.
Clutching him tightly, I manoeuvred us towards the bar.
The nights when Mick came to Le Duce were both joyful and agonising, and alcohol was definitely required.
This den of iniquity didn’t have a license to sell booze, but considering everything that went on here, it was the least of their problems.
“Simon, darling.” I leaned over and pecked a kiss on the barman’s cheek. “How are you?”
“All the better for seeing you, gorgeous.” His cockney accent, blond hair, and thick glasses reminded me of Michael Caine.
“What’ll it be for my favourite customer?” He flashed a flirty smile.
“You old charmer,” I said, returning his grin. “A gin and tonic for me–easy on the tonic. And a… beer.” I stage-whispered the word and added a shudder for good measure. “For my young friend.”
Mick giggled in a way that he could only get away with in a place like this. The sound made my foolish heart flutter.
“There you go, darlin’.” Simon placed our drinks on the bar with a flourish. “Pound, please.”
“A pound?” Mick looked scandalised. “For two drinks? That’s daylight robbery!”
“It’s night time,” Simon said with a wink.
“You know what I mean,” Mick snarled. “How do you get away with charging that much? It’s fucking criminal.”
“You’re very welcome to piss off and go somewhere else, you know, but most of the queer clubs around here are run by gangsters, and I wouldn’t complain about the price of a pint there, if I were you.
Which would be a lot more than I charge, I might add.
Or you could try your luck with the straights, but I wouldn’t advise that either, dear. ”
Simon’s voice had gone from bitchy to angry, so I focused on getting Mick out of the line of fire. I placed my hand over his to calm him.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it, love.
” Grabbing a note from my wallet, I handed it over and threw an apologetic smile at Simon.
Mick still had a face like thunder, but he took his drink and moved away.
Turning back to the bar, I called over my shoulder to Simon, “Don’t mind him, lovie.
He’s a baby and doesn’t know what he’s going on about. ”
Simon nodded but didn’t smile back. “Mind that he watches who he speaks to like that. He’ll get a hiding if he’s not careful.”
“Darling,” I said, resting my hand on Mick’s shoulder when I’d caught up to him. “Your pretty face will get you out of most of the trouble your big gob gets you into, but you need to watch yourself.”
His cheeks darkened. “I know. It’s just that I don't like being taken for a ride.”
“That’s not what I heard.” I smiled into my gin and tonic as Mick’s face darkened again. He was so prone to blushing, and it made him so pretty I couldn’t help giving him a reason to do it. Even if it meant reminding myself of all the people he’d slept with who weren’t me.
“I still say it’s too much to pay.” He chose to ignore my flirty comment. Probably for the best. I didn’t much fancy talking about his conquests.
“They shouldn’t take advantage of us just because we ain’t got many places to go,” he grumbled.
The poor lamb really wasn’t used to going out in London.
Le Duce was a reasonably safe bar that let us behave as we liked.
They could charge whatever they wanted, and people would still come.
To be honest, with what they had to pay to gangsters and dodgy coppers just to stay open, a quid for two drinks was pretty reasonable.
“Well it’s my money, and if I want to spend it on pretty boys in pretty suits, then who are you to tell me not to?”
His blush had started to recede, but it deepened again, and my belly flipped. I could watch that pink flower spread over his freckled cheeks all day long.
I ought to reign it back a bit. Flirting with Mick was fine, expected even, because I flirted with everyone.
Except I wasn’t secretly in love with everyone.
No, that was just Mick, and if he ever found out he’d run for the hills, or worse–let me down gently and tell me how special I was to him as a friend.
Too much flirting or affection would give the game away.
On the other hand, if I cut it out altogether, that would seem strange.
All my friends were well aware that I’d flirt with a dustbin if left in front of one for long enough.
Getting the flirting level just right was a tricky balancing act. If I were a sensible man, I’d put some distance between Mick and me and let my heart mend itself. But nobody in my life had ever accused me of being sensible.
The dual-edged sword of wanting someone I couldn’t have meant I’d rather spend time with him as a friend than not have him at all. His visits to the club weren’t as frequent as I’d have liked, so I treasured each one.
In the last couple of months, I’d found ways of stealing time with him, without making it obvious.
I’d invited him for dinner with Damian, Seb, and me once, deliberately choosing a venue in East London because he worked around there.
It had become a standing appointment every third Monday of the month.
I’d just neglected to tell Seb and Damian and made excuses for them every time.
I’d even created a cousin who lived in Chadwell Heath, giving me an excuse to bump into him in his favourite pub on the occasional Sunday.
I was pathetic.
Drinks in hand, we wandered further into the dingy cellar where tables set into shadowy alcoves along the edges of the room.
“Cheers.” Mick inclined his pint of watered-down beer, and I clinked it with my drink. I took a sip and winced. Simon had been generous with gin, but considering the quality of the spirit, I wasn’t sure if that was kind or cruel.
“Where are your handsome chums tonight?” I asked although I didn’t want them to join us. I was selfish and I wanted as much time with him as I could get.
He pointed his thumb over his shoulder in the vague direction of the dancers. Among the writhing bodies were Eric and Tommy wrapped around each other and smiling like they’d won the Pools. Tommy said something in Eric’s ear, and Eric threw his head back in laughter. It was nice to see.
They were a lot more confident in here than they had been on their first visit.
It must have been a year or so ago–some time last summer–when the trio had walked in here huddled together, eyes wide in amazement and fear.
My friend Damian had spotted them right away and decided to take them under his wing.
Someone needed to; the three of them were like lambs to the slaughter.
Mick was still watching his friends dance, not that I could blame him–they made a very pretty picture. I was glad the three of them felt comfortable here. There were few places in this world where men like us could be free, and it was important they’d found this sanctuary.
Despite the relative freedom of this place, Mick looked downright miserable, and I hated it. I wanted to rid him of anything that stole the pretty smile from his lips.
“Cheer up, it might never happen,” I said and then regretted uttering the useless platitude.
“That’s what I’m worried about.” He gestured at the loving embrace his friends were wrapped in. “That never happening to me.”
My heart broke. I wanted to be that for him. Failing that, I wanted him to find love and happiness with someone who knew how wonderful he was. It was unlikely to work out that way, even for someone as loveable as Mick. Happy endings weren’t common for men like us.
“Oh don’t be daft, sweetie. I know for a fact that any one of the men in here would give his left bollock for a chance to be with you.”
He spat out a bitter laugh. “Hardly.” Forgetting it was warm and weak, he took a gulp of his pint and grimaced. “Not for anything more than a shag at any rate.”
“That’s the most any of us can hope for, dear.”
“I know that. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it. My brother takes a girl dancing once, and my mum is planning the wedding. But I have to be grateful for a stranger tossing me off in the bog. I know that’s how it is, but I’m fed up with it.”
He had every right to be annoyed, but I didn’t see the world changing any time soon.
“You’re young, and you see those two with their storybook ending and think the world’s getting better for men like us.
But it’s not, darling. Not really. It’s the same horrible world out there that would lock you up for holding a fella’s hand in the street.
Stop dreaming of a perfect world and make the best of the one you’re living in. ”
At the end of my rant, he was staring at me like I’d run over his pet dog. I had been a bit harsh.
“That’s fucking depressing.”
“That’s life, sweetheart.” I tried to inject humour and sympathy into my words, but they still came out sour.
“What’s the point then?” he asked.
“The point of what?”
“Life? If you’re so certain nothing is going to change, and we’ll always be second-class citizens and we can never find love or happiness, what the fuck is the point?”
He had me there, this was depressing. He looked bloody livid, and I tried to think of a genuine answer.
“Everything else, I suppose. The things that make you smile. The things that make all the shit we go through worthwhile.”
“Like what?” he challenged, his face still stony.
“Friends.” I smiled at him, but he didn’t return it. I tried, “Football?”
His lip twitched. I couldn’t stand sport of any kind, but I was dimly aware of him supporting West Ham.
“Food?” I carried on the silly game of alliteration in the hope it would make him laugh. He screwed up his face and shrugged, but his resolve was cracking.
“Fucking!” I announced triumphantly, and it worked–he laughed loudly.
“Alright, I’ll drink to that!”
“Ah! There’s another one: booze!”
“But that doesn’t begin with an F!”