Page 10 of A Straight Line

“Well strap one on, missy,” Harry began, making me cover my mouth to stifle a laugh, “because as soon as we made our intentions known to the City Council, the County Clerk, and the Secretary of State—to get our license, you know—not to mention the ABD—we were given trouble. This had to be inspected. That had to be inspected. Then we needed a final inspection. Paperwork got lost, shuffled around—”

“Most people were at least respectful, though,” Vic added. “Even if begrudgingly. Most of the officials did their jobs, mind you.”

“Yes, well,” Harry said, “they still gave us the run-around the best they could when they could. We were a week from opening before we were given the green flag to get things moving. Then the assholes told us that we’d have a final inspection the day before we opened. I tell you—”

“I’m sure it’s a standard thing,” Vic added diplomatically.

“Well,” Harry said, almost out of breath from the frenzy he was whipping himself into, “we worked night and day that final week, and had just finished sweeping the floor when the inspector showed up. He did all he could to find something wrong, but Vic, Bang Bang, and I—Bang Bang Baisemoi, our star drag performer?—well, we had done everything perfectly. He couldn’t find enough to fail us, so we were given the go-ahead. Showed that sonofabitch, didn’t we, Vic?”

“He was just being thorough,” Vic added diplomatically once more.

“Oh, screw that.” Harry sniped. “He wanted to fail us so bad I could smell it on him. But there wasn’t anything to fail us for, and he had to give us the thumbs up. So, on a Thursday evening at six o’clock, we found out that Bang Bang would be putting butts in the seats the following night as planned.”

“Wow.” The writer gasped. “That’s a close call.”

“I should say,” Harry replied. “But we had our bar, we had the green light, and we had each other. We sat down and had a drink to celebrate. The three of us were happier than pigs in shit.”

“I can imagine.” The writer responded.

“Then a goddamn brick came through the window,” Harry growled. “Completely shattered the front window. The one you can still see under the awning by the front door? Shattered it into a million pieces. Well, we all jumped up, raced to the door—once we got over being startled, of course—and saw a pickup speeding away, tires squealing.”

I waited to hear Vic correct Harry, but he said nothing. The reporter was quiet as well.

“Well, as you can imagine,” Harry said, “we were fit to be tied. There we were, feeling like celebrating the fact that we’d get to open on time, and our damned front window is in pieces.”

“Oh my gosh.” The reporter gasped. “That’s awful!”

“Tell me about it,” Harry said, “But the three of us pooled the last bit of energy we had, drove over to the nearest hardware store down there in, uh, in—”

“Cedar Rapids.” Vic offered.

“—Cedar Rapids,” Harry continued, “and got the glass and things we’d need to fix it. When we got back, we patched that window up good as new. We didn’t get to bed until well after midnight, but A Straight Line made its debut the following night. Homophobes be damned!”

Silence filled the house. The catering staff clamored outside.

“That’s quite a story.” The reporter finally responded. “I didn’t know that part of the bar’s history.”

“Well,” Harry said, “a lot of people don’t know all we went through to bring a safe place to the LGBTQ-plus community around here. But we did it. And we’re proud that, forty years later, we’re passing it off into capable hands that will continue its legacy.”

Before I knew it, the interview was coming to an end—which was a good thing, since the start of the party was nearing—and the reporter was getting up to make her exit. Vic and Harry said their pleasant “thank yous” and “our pleasures,” and the reporter said she could see herself out. They all fussed over each other a moment longer, so I took the opportunity to put my back against the wall, hoping the reporter would walk right past me and out the front door. I didn’t want the reporter to think I was eavesdropping, though that was essentially what I had been doing. She didn’t know I was Harry’s and Vic’s nephew, so there was no telling what she’d assume.

Fortunately, the reporter did as I had wanted and exited the living room, her back to me as she ambled towards the front door. I was about to breathe a sigh of relief as she opened the door and stepped out of the house. However, at the last second, she turned to close the door behind herself, and her eyes rose, locking with mine. I gave her a weak smile and wave as she stared at me, completely confused, but she carried on her way. The door shut, and she was gone, and I was left to push away from the wall and step around the doorjamb into the living room.

Harry and Vic were on the couch, talking to each other quietly, looking happy to have a moment to themselves when I entered the room. I almost turned around and left the same way I entered, just so they could have a few more moments of peace, but realized that would just look strange if they looked up and saw me leaving. So, I stood there, waiting for them to notice me. It didn’t take long before Harry looked up at me, a smile on his face.

“That bitch Simon in the kitchen?” He asked.

I laughed. “Yeah. Phil’s watching him.”

“I heard his shrill little voice the moment he stepped in the back door,” Harry said. “All the way across the damn house, at that.”

“Harry.” Vic shook his head admonishingly, though the curve at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Be nice to our guests tonight.”

“If I must.” Harry waved him off as his eyes came to rest on mine once more. “What are you doing, Russ?”

“Just waiting on you guys to get done and tell me what to do to help.” I shrugged. “I never heard that story about the brick coming through the window at the bar before. Why didn’t—”

“Because,” Simon’s voice chimed from behind me, “he told it wrong.”