Page 113 of The Bartender Special

“It's me,” Benny panic-interrupted. “Does that mean I can’t come in?”

The much less cranky voice of Dewey Royce came through next.

“Enter at your own risk, Benny! He’s a live wire right now.”

Benny tried really hard not to straight-up guffaw like a cartoon, but no dice. He let loose the moment he stepped inside.

“I'm not okay with this,” Jack deadpanned. “Not one bit.”

Benny could see why.

Jack was standing on a turned-over beer crate set up in front of the full-length mirror Santana had dragged in from her apartment and was looking absolutely fabulous.

Benny wanted to pat himself on the back for his suggestion that they give the crowd a taste of what they could be enjoying all night if they stayed for the next few hours. Which was Jack Knox parading around in the most ridiculous outfits that Benny could find.

Most of them, pro-nipple.

The bartender’s opening number was no exception.

Gold and sparkling scale-patterned tights that hugged everything, a long white net-like jacket that left nothing beneath it to the imagination, and a royal crown nestled into a white wig that curled just above his hips.

Jack Knox was a modern-day Fabio with a fish fetish.

And Benny loved every inch of it.

It absolutely helped that Jack was holding his plastic trident in one hand and the light dusting of glitter on his cheeks seemed to match it.

Benny couldn’t help his mirth.

“I think this is amazing,” he breathed out.

Dewey, who had taken little to no convincing into helping Jack for the night, was standing at his side, also smiling.

“If you would have asked me the last time I was in here for a drink if I thought I'd be helping Jack Knox put on glitter, I would have asked how drunk you were.”

Jack rolled his eyes.

Hard.

“Go ahead and get on, Dewey,” he growled. “This glitter and I need a second.”

Dewey was a smart man and scooted by Benny without complaint. He called after him, “Don't forget we're both going to have to help him with the tail and tunic after the casualwear walk! It requires a crotch snap!”

Dewey’s laughter could still be heard as he rounded the corner.

Jack turned to face himself in the mirror.

He started muttering the second Benny closed the door.

“You know, when you told me The Drinking Spot’s secret weapon was some fancy new specialty drink selection, I thought we’d be working on our own menu upgrade. Not stringing me up in netting and letting Ms. Peggy rate what looks the best on my ass.”

Benny moved between him and the mirror. He placed both hands on his biceps, surprised that the crocheted jacket was as soft as it was.

“The Drinking Spot might have discounted drinks and renovated rooms and fancy décor, but you know what they don’t have?” Benny didn't give him room to answer. “Personality. There’s no connection with the people. No soul. Cassidy's Place has that. We just have to remind Arbor Bay.”

“And me dressing up as a merman proves we have soul?”

There was that skeptical look again.