Page 19 of A Straight Line

Denny sauntered over and let the remaining standing elders choose lawn chairs from the selection so they could have a seat.

“I may not have the heart, but I’ve got the imagination and desire.” Simon looked over at Denny and patted his chest right over his heart.

“Checking to see if the Viagra you brought is still in your pocket, Si?” Uncle Harry snipped. “It’s still there. It’s been there since nineteen-ninety-seven for God’s sake. It’s as useless as that thing between your legs.”

The elders were laughing hysterically once again. Denny stood there, now empty-handed, smiling down at the elders as they formed a semi-circle of lawn chairs to continue their little roasting session. Once they’d all been thoroughly scorched, they’d move on to judging party attendees as they arrived. For now, they only had each other to pick on, and they were perfectly content with that. I just hoped that none of them would turn their quips towards me. Of course, being the nephew of Harry and Vic had some perks, one of which being that none of their friends were ever too catty towards me. It was a surefire way to not get invited to the next party, after all.

“Denny, love,” Felix piped up, “are there more chairs in the garage?”

“Of course, there are.” Harry scoffed. “We weren’t expecting everyone to just stand around forever. Or sit in the grass.”

Felix rolled his eyes but kept any comment he had to himself.

“Yeah,” Denny said. “Quite a few. Want me to bring them out?”

“Please,” Felix beamed up at his grandson. “But first, would you fetch me a drink? Harry is being a terrible host and—”

“I’ll get you a drink,” I said, wanting something to do besides be the wallflower of the party, “Would anybody else like one?”

Nine elder gays all voiced their approval of the idea.

“How about beers all around?” Uncle Vic suggested. “We can move on to the hard stuff later?”

“Honey,” Simon said, “I always end my night with a hard one.”

“Yeah,” Felix replied, “if he can find some other guy who can get it up.”

More cackling. Denny laughed at the men and their feisty friendship.

“Uh,” I said, “nine beers it is.”

As I made my way towards the troughs, my path took me right by Uncle Harry, and he reached out to grab my arm gently. When I looked at him, he was gesturing for me to lean down.

“Yeah?” I asked as I bent to listen.

“After you get us a drink, would you mind helping Denny?” He requested. “I hate to have him doing all of the work. Felix will use it as leverage next time he throws a party.”

“Okay. Sure,” I said.

“Then will you talk to Kristal?” He saw my confusion. “The caterer? Ask her if they brought any folding chairs, would you? I have a feeling we’ll need them.”

I looked around at the group of nine men, Denny, and Bird.

“I think we’ll have enough, Harry.” I laughed.

“Oh, honey.” He patted my forearm as I straightened up. “Wait until the sun starts to set. There’ll be queers coming out of the woodwork.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I said.

Harry swatted at me as I headed towards the troughs to collect beers and the elders continued cackling and roasting each other.

Inside the troughs filled with ice, I found that the beer of choice for the party was the old Iowan staple. Pabst Blue Ribbon. A quick glance at the other troughs let me know there were light beers available—this was a party for queers after all—and there were wine coolers and other fruity drinks in another. Another trough held bottles of water and sodas of different varieties. I wasn’t sure where the “hard stuff” was being kept, but I assumed that bottles of liquor and mixers were being set out in the kitchen or tucked away in the cabinets by the catering staff. Having a table full of bottles at a party, sitting out in the hot sun, is just a bad idea. Especially when you have drunk people dancing around, likely to bump into things and send them toppling to the ground.

Somehow, I managed to dig out nine cans of Pabst—or “PBR” as they say in Iowa—and cradled them in my arms so that I could make one trip to the troughs for the elders. When I returned to their semi-circle of cattiness, they were all deeply involved in a discussion about the newest, hottest guys in Hollywood. All of the names being thrown around belonged to men much too young for any of the elder gays, but they were having harmless fun, so I didn’t feel the need to remind any of them of the fact. I passed out cans of beers, getting a quick “thank you” from each man before they returned their attention to the conversation at hand.

Once the beers were passed around, and I was certain that the elders would be content for a few minutes with their lawn chairs, beers, and conversation, I headed towards the garage. I slipped my phone out of my pocket to check the time, and it was just a little after seven o’clock. No other guests had arrived yet, or if they had, they were in the house bothering the catering staff. My heart sunk a little as I slid my phone back into my pocket. If no one showed up for the last hurrah for the bar, Harry and Vic would be absolutely heartbroken.

Having their nearest, dearest, and oldest friends over made them happy, but having the younger gays that had seen the invitation at the bar show up would make the party even more memorable for them. It would remind them that their bar and their decades of service to the community actually meant something to the next generation of queers coming up in the world. To be completely blown off by the younger people of the community would be devastating—even if they said nothing about it. I found myself hoping that Uncle Harry was right about more people showing up to the party. Queers coming out of the woodwork would absolutely make my uncles’ night.