Chapter 20 #2
The sound of clapping timed perfectly from the front of the bar. It was muffled by the door, but there all the same.
Benny thumbed over his shoulder toward it.
“That’s what’s out there right now waiting for you—the reason why you’re willing to play dress up while other people drink their beer—it’s the sounds of the living.
” Benny dropped his hand quick, before Jack could get a word out, and did something he probably should have only done for show.
He smacked Jack’s ass with a playfulness that made its own little sound.
“Now,” Benny continued. “Go make those sounds louder. Maybe shake your ass a little while you’re at it.”
A knock rapped against the door.
Dewey called out that it was time.
Jack, for a second, didn’t move.
Then, right when Benny worried that he’d gone too far, the bartender gave him one, deep nod.
“Yes sir.”
* * *
Who knew Cassidy's regulars had such strong opinions about his nipples?
Jack hadn't thought they would.
But, boy, did they ever.
And they voiced them all during the five outfits Jack showcased down Cassidy’s makeshift runway.
“Some people like knowing they’re there, others don’t,” a man named Cotton had called out during the outfit that had sported star-shaped pasties. “You can’t be mad at that.”
Ms. Peggy hadn’t been mad, but she had been vocal.
“What do you mean some people don’t like knowing that nipples are there?” she’d yelled back. “Nipples are part of God’s plan and if anyone has a problem with that then they need to go to church and talk about it!”
Cotton hadn’t had a comeback to that, but his friend had pointed out that not all nipples were created equal and some might make people feel a certain which way.
Jack, who’d been standing on stage for the beginning talks about the nipple conundrum, had been about to defend his own when Callum had spoken up first.
“I’m not about to nipple shame anyone, but I’ve gotta say, I think Jack’s are mighty fine. If they make anyone feel any certain way I’d have to think that it wouldn’t be a bad feeling. Am I right?”
He’d given the question to Ethan, who had at that point adopted a stern expression.
“Objectively speaking, I think Jack’s nipples are pretty good looking,” he’d decided. “Not too big, not too small, but somehow not generic either? Kind of like they have their own personality.”
Someone had scoffed at that.
“How can nipples have their own personality?” another man Jack hadn’t recognized asked. “They’re nipples.”
“No, like, I get what Ethan is saying,” Dixon had swooped in. “Like, I could pick Jack’s nipples out of a line up now if I needed to. And not, like, in a bad way.”
An unsettling silence had quickly washed over the crowd at that.
It was unsettling because Jack had known in that moment that everyone was taking another look at said nipples.
Even Benny could be seen eyeing them with a new vested interest from his spot next to the bar.
Finally, Cotton—the original nipple questioner—had relented.
“I guess I’d pick the outfit before this one then,” he’d called out. “The one with the open sequin jacket thing. Maybe with the tail too.”
The rest of the patrons had eventually agreed that nips out was the call. The tail, however, was only heavily favored until Jack walked out sporting short black spandex shorts with a starfish patch sewn over the crotch.
No one had cared about his nipples then.
Instead, Dewey had been the one to call out a question.
“Damn, Jack, what’s your leg routine?”
The bar had decided sometime after that on three outfits, each one with nipples out and legs highlighted.
Jack took the conversations as constructive. When he caught Benny checking out his starfish as he walked past him back to the office, he decided he’d take that response in particular as a compliment.
The last outfit Jack came out wearing garnered a soft few boos.
It was his normal T-shirt—which fully covered his nipples—and jeans. The glitter, though he’d tried his damnedest in the bathroom, still spread boldly across his face.
Benny ushered him back on stage to say a few words of thanks.
Jack was pleasantly surprised to see that only one of their regulars—who’d had to relieve her babysitter—had left since their whole hot mess fashion show had started.
In fact, most patrons were still laughing and chatting as he took to the stage, he hoped, for the last time that night.
“Well, thanks for objectifying me tonight for a good cause. Even if I never get the King of Arbor Bay title, I hope I’ll at least make Cassidy’s proud.
” Jack caught Santana making a phone motion with her hand.
He smirked. “And while this is the end of my non-generic nipple show, I’ve been asked to request a group selfie to post on our socials.
You know, to prove that whatever blackmail pictures you took tonight of me were, in fact, authentic. ”
“Cheers to that,” someone yelled.
Laughter filled the room, chairs scraped, and regulars, newcomers, and supporters of both gathered around the stage and Jack for a picture. Dewey had a trident, Ethan had on the wig, and Ms. Peggy had a pint glass in each hand.
Jack hadn’t realized it, but he’d made a space at his side for Benny to run into as soon as he’d set the camera timer.
“Alright everyone, let’s yell something meaningful,” he said as the beeping started.
Dewey thrust the plastic trident into the air.
“Screw that!” he yelled. “Everyone yell ‘nipples!’”
And that’s just what the group did.
Jack even put his arm around Benny’s waist and yelled it too.
Then the camera snapped the picture and, slowly, everyone made their way back to their tables.
Santana, seemingly caught in an unending loop of giggling, walked with Dixon back to the bar to look at the pictures they’d taken.
Benny was also smiling, following Jack to the table he’d parked his cell phone and water at.
If he hadn’t been so focused on how Benny’s lips had a little bit of glitter on them, Jack might have missed how quickly the man’s smile went from upright to downturned.
His gaze flickered over to a corner table, not in the main strip but still with a view of the stage.
“I didn't know Derrick Kennerly was back in town,” Benny whispered. “I-I also didn't know he was in here tonight.”
Jack felt his eyebrow rise at the abrupt demeanor change. He shrugged.
“Yeah, he came in with Dewey. They work together. He moved back to town not too long ago. Why? What's wrong?”
Benny placed his hands on each side of his face and dragged them down slowly. Though when he answered, it was the fastest Jack had ever heard him talk.
And that was saying something.
“Remember that really awkward and embarrassing story of how I lost my virginity on the boat and how I posted that story on the blog and it really blew up? It was Derrick. I mean it was with Derrick. He's the guy on the boat and, one thing I didn’t actually tell you or anyone because it’s one of those things that makes your stomach go cold when you think about it too much, is that he actually messaged me about the post when it first went viral.
He told me to take it down and even though I changed the names he said he didn’t want to ever be associated with someone like me and— Oh my God, is he going for the microphone? ”
The sound of feedback made thirty or so heads turn toward the stage.
Derrick Kennerly sure as shit had gone for the microphone.
And the sonofabitch had turned it on.
“Hey, everyone. This night was fun, right?”
Like Jack’s nipples, he was objectively attractive. In Jack’s humble opinion, unlike his nipples, he didn’t think Derrick was a man he would want to pick out of a line up.
Maybe that feeling was in part because Jack knew he was about to become a problem. Especially considering there was already a slur to his words.
“Jack and Benny make the greatest little couple, don't they?” he continued, despite the lack of response.
“I mean, we all know Jack. He's kind of a quiet dude, likes Alabama football instead of Auburn, which that’s not nothing, and he can make a pretty mean drink or two.
But, let me tell you something you probably don't know about our famous little Benny here.”
Jack was already planning the fastest way to get to him.
“That's enough, Derrick,” he said.
But Derrick’s mouth was faster.
“Benny lost his virginity to me and then talked about it on his blog. Sure, he changed the names, but it wasn't hard for my friends to put it together. And you know what? I don’t mind a little—a little press, but he acted like I was the one who—who was shit at it. When him? He made us stop like five times because he wasn’t sure how it was going to work.
At one point stopped for a damn snack break and I had to think about anyone fucking else so I didn’t lose my damn hard-on and—”
The only reason Jack’s fist didn’t reach Derrick’s face was because Callum had already grabbed the man by the collar.
“That’s enough, Derrick,” he said, voice dropping into a new, dangerous low.
Derrick tried to resist but Callum slung him right into Jack’s chest. A few other patrons stood, ready.
“Looks like we're cutting you off, buddy,” Jack growled out. “Santana, call our friend here a designated driver. Now.”
Sanatana already had her phone up to her ear and nodded.
Together with Callum, Jack dragged Derrick outside without further fanfare.
Dave Right, a retired Army vet who absolutely hated mean drunks, was the voluntary designated driver on call for the night. He arrived in less than five minutes and manhandled a complaining Derrick into the backseat of his Ford in record time.
It was only when the taillights disappeared from view that Callum strung together a series of words so bad that Jack instinctively looked around for his mother and a bar of soap with his mouth’s name on it.
“This is going to wreck him,” Callum said after coming up for air. He lowered his voice. The anger in it was gone.