Page 46 of Grumpy Bear

“Haven’t the eighties been flogged to death?”

“Most of these men are over forty. They still get a kick out of it. The themes and the costumes get more elaborate as the season progresses, culminating at the Halloween party. But we have to start ’em out with something simple. Something they can pull together from what they packed.”

“I’m fucked, then. All I’ve got is a couple of goth band T-shirts.”

“I got you, boo. You can wear something of mine. I brought like a gazillion pairs of short-shorts that I purposefully buy too small for my junk. Come to the bunkhouse in like thirty minutes.”

The bunkhouse was exactly what I’d pictured when I thought of a sleepaway camp. It was one long open room with bunk beds, trunks, and lockers. It was like the barracks in just about any movie with a basic training scene crossed with a slumber party. It was humid with the scent of dude and too much body spray, and unlike the military, it was a disaster. Duffle bags and knapsacks had exploded, disgorging clothes into piles in the corners.

Austin had pulled together anything florescent or fitness related and draped the items over the beds. I arrived to discover most of the guys were going as collective extras from Olivia Newton-John’s “Let’s Get Physical” video, with the exception of Gunner and his boyfriend Hank who had both gone in a punk direction. Hank wore a studded leather vest with his preppy blond hair spiked in a style reminiscent of Billy Idol. Gunner had commandeered the black workout gear and combined it with combat boots and a torn pair of fishnets. With fingerless gym gloves, he pulled off an immediately recognizable early Madonna “Lucky Star” getup. If Madonna were a Viking who couldn’t resist kissing Billy Idol every time his lips twisted in his trademark snarl.

They were pregaming pretty hard and cheered when I joined them. Shots of Fireball were called for. Dressed in a WHAM! T-shirt and some shiny short-shorts that might have been underwear, I was pretty buzzed by the time our sloppy caravan of golf carts arrived at The Cubby Hole.

The main floor of the bar was on the second level with a long steep flight of steps leading up to the wraparound deck, which made it feel like a giant treehouse once you ascended. I felt the bass thumping through the boards, and we entered to find a full-blown dance club scene already in progress. It was like the lowest rent, small-town gay bar on the edge of town but on the best night, packed with bodies.

Coleman was behind the bar, popping some canned PBRs for three middle-aged guys in full leather gear. There were always those gay men who interpreted any costume occasion as an opportunity to drag out their leather.

Trey was working alongside him, hair streaked with golden spray-in highlights, gelled up in some quasi Duran Duran look. As I watched, he leaned in close to tell Coleman something over the loud music, his mouth right up against Coleman’s ear.

Coleman nodded and then immediately moved away to wait on another customer. He still wore his work T-shirt, looking like a gorgeous boss and the only adult in the room. Like somebody’s sexy dad chaperoning a party.

He spotted me. I felt suddenly ludicrous in the twinky George Michael attire Austin had insisted was hot. Coleman’s resting scowl held as he raked his eyes over me, but two seconds later his beard split open with the brightest toothy smile I’d seen on him so far. Not the tight fake one he flashed for guests. His eyes fucking twinkled—I didn’t know his face did that—and it was unselfconsciously, totally for me.

The first bars of Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” rang out, the crowd of dancing bears roared, and Austin, looking like the world’s beefiest aerobics instructor, dragged me into the middle of it all.

I think he was surprised I could throw down. He’d only ever heard me play acoustic guitar. He didn’t know I had moves. It wasn’t my favorite kind of performance, but I’d been blessed with some rhythm.

Besides, it was nice to be included, to have new friends, to feel so quickly embraced. I hadn’t had that in a long time. It was one of the things I’d hoped to find when I’d left LA to start a new life back in the South.

Austin leaned in, his breath hot on my neck. “Sawyer hasn’t taken his eyes off you since we walked in.”

I shook my head, failing to suppress a grin. “Whatever.”

Austin obscenely licked the air.

I allowed several strange men to tamely bump and grind on me for a couple of songs, aware Coleman was watching. Having lost a lot of my inhibitions, I invited him to join me on the dance floor with some cheesy rope-pulling motions.

He smirked in horror, shaking his head from side to side. Hell no. Not gonna happen. It was clear the boss wouldn’t be caught dead busting a move in front of his staff and guests.

I shot him a pout and turned to a willing partner wearing a hair band mullet wig. At least I thought it was a wig, but this was North Georgia…

My happy buzz sweated out to exhaustion pretty quickly. It had been a long day. I leaned against the wall near the bar, people watching and hoping Coleman might sidle over since I was close.

He appeared beside me. “Having fun?”

“Yeah. Definitely.” Our elbows were touching. “I think I’m officially pooped though.”

“Well, Trey’s gonna close the bar, and Jim’s still around. I was thinking about slipping out of here. You want to come with?”

“Your place or mine?”

“I don’t see FEMA showing up anytime soon, so…” Well, look at that. The kiss might not have happened, but we’d experienced a breakthrough in the banter department during our time at the swimming hole.

We weaved through the thinning crowd, me first. There was a group of hard-core partiers still at level ten on the dance floor, and I narrowly avoided getting run down by a couple of men in matching Cub Scout hats doing a cheer routine to an extended remix of Toni Basil’s “Hey Mickey.”

I felt Coleman’s hand at the small of my back, protectively steering me out the door. And with that simple touch came a lot of overt stares and appraisals from everyone around us. Considering who Coleman was here, we might as well have had a spotlight on us.

I had no doubt people were speculating. I mean, we did look like a couple leaving together.