Ian hadn’t been sure what to expect inside. Tippy had told him that since it was a mixed group that she chose a place for everyone, Tippy long hand for what Ian had heard called a “bi-bar”.
She explained to him that the bar was divided in half, the bar on the right side was for straights and the bar on the left side was for the gays. There would be tables and chairs for everyone in their prospective, but the booths down the middle were for those who hadn’t made up their minds or just didn’t want to commit.
He had to admit that he expected something dark and sleazy, but this wasn’t like anything he had imagined. While the lighting was dark, the room and the carpet itself were light colored; all whites and gold. Everything was pristine, no smoke or the sound of shoes sticking to the floor as you walked across.
Ian panicked for a moment when a woman came up to him and said, “Oh yes, Mr. Justyn. Right this way, everything has been arranged for you.” He wondered which side Tippy had arranged for him to be on. He wanted to head straight for the straight side, but didn’t want Blake to feel uncomfortable or left out.
As he looked around the room, he couldn’t really determine which side had the straight people and which side had the gay. He actually found it quite relieving and was pleased that not only were they seated in the center booths, but at a place where he could watch the comings and comings. He laughed a little at what a voyeur he was becoming.
“What’s so funny?” Wella asked him.
“Nothing” he shook it off.
Drinks and “munchies” were immediately supplied for them without asking. Either Tippy had made good guesses or these people were just damned good. Wella and Blake began chirping and chatting and Ian enjoyed himself taking in the action of the room.
There was a middle aged couple chatting with a young muscle guy against the wall. Ian assumed they were trying to talk him into a three way. To the other side, he spotted a guy from one of the soaps on his own network making time with a redhead who seemed to be more interested in her own reflection in the mirror behind the soap stud.
The place was packed, but not so crowded that you couldn’t enjoy yourself. It was early, but Blake had informed him that they kept a count to keep the room to a minimum. At the peak hours of the night, even the people on the list couldn’t get in until someone left.
Blake and Wella were busy trying not to make spectacles of them selves pointing out the “names” in the club.
“Look over there!” Blake tried not to squeal. “No, don’t look. Okay now look. It’s Saxon Allen!” He flopped his arms across the tabletop and feigned a swoon. “I luuuuuuuv her!”
“Well, you got her attention.” Wella sipped her spritzer. “She’s looking this way.”
“Oh ma’god.” Blake froze. “I’ll die if she looks at me. I’ll just die!”
The trio turned their heads to the classic and classy blond bombshell standing by the bar with a hand on her hip. She looked intently, and then smiled coyly.
“She is looking this way.” Blake tried to whisper. “Saxon Allen, is looking this way.”
“Oh butch up, Blake.” Ian said placing his scotch firmly on the wood. “She’s just a human being, not the Goddess of Human Kind.”
“Maybe not in bars you go to…” Blake mumbled.
“Well, get ready to worship, Blake.” Wella sipped her drink again. “She seems to be headed this way.”
And there was no doubt. Saxon Allen had picked up her wine and was headed straight for them. Blake was trying not to hyperventilate. Wella was busy telling Ian that she was the front runner for this year’s Best Actress Oscar while trying to look like she wasn’t saying anything, and Ian just stood up to face her.
The paparazzi darling sauntered right up, placed her drink on the table and calmly said, “Someone never returns my phone calls.”
Ian looked at her. “Why would I deign to return your phone calls, Kleenex Girl?”
The blond threw back her head and laughed, then grabbed Ian by the velvet lapels and laid one on him. They lost track of how many times it had happened that night, but once again Blake and Wella were dumbfounded, mouths open, shocked beyond belief. Ian was too busy returning the kiss to notice.
Saxon finally broke the kiss and pushed Ian away. “I mean it Ian, I’m hurt. Why haven’t you returned my calls?”
“It was just two, not a thousand, and I kept meaning to, but I keep losing my phone.”
She gave him a look of disbelief. Blake found his tongue. “True. I have to have it replaced for him at least once a week. They won’t even give us insurance anymore.”
“And I keep meaning to have him pick up one of those raspberry things…” Ian tried to explain.
“Blackberry.” Wella shot in.
“Blackberry,” Ian took the correction. “Aren’t they bigger and harder to misplace?”
Saxon giggled. “You are such a dork!” She took a breath. “Who are your friends?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Ian introduced them. She looked a little hesitant to let Blake touch her hand, but he managed to not urinate on himself.
“And where’s Clare? She’s not going to jump out from under the table and claw my eyes out, is she?”
“Don’t worry,” He motioned for her to join them. “I had that fungus removed.”
“It’s not going to grow back again, is it?”
“Not this time. Several villages had to be sacrificed, and a few heavy rounds of nuclear anti-toxins were used liberally, but that unsightly stain has finally been permanently removed.” Ian took her hand as she seated herself beside him. He looked around a bit. “And where, pray tell, is your flavor of the month?”
Saxon rolled her eyes, “Under one of the tables for all I know. BUT, the movie is open and doing well, so after tonight, I am no longer obligated to see and be seen with that unsightly stain again.” She looked over at Wella. “I hate romantic comedies. You either get paired with a with a big ego and bad breath or a big hunk who really just wants to wear your panties.”
Blake patted her hand. “You and Julia Roberts have so much in common.”
“Why do you even bother?” Ian asked.
She smiled. “As I’m sure you are quickly learning, the social setting is where all the seeds of the really big deals are planted. Being a team player in public, is what it’s all about.”
“That’s what I’m told.” Ian said.
Suddenly a voice whined toward them. “Saxy, I’m bored!” slurred their way from a big muscle of a man.
Saxon looked at Ian and rolled her eyes. Ian turned to her “Saxy?”
“Better than Kleenex girl.” She kissed him quickly and stood up. “It was so nice to meet y’all.” She put her hands to her lips and giggled. “Okay, a little too much wine. Now are you going to call me? I’m keeping my promise!”
“I’d almost forgotten about that.” Ian smiled.
“No you didn’t and neither did I.” She leaned over and kissed him again. “Call me or I’ll have the Clare monster reanimated!”
“Call the office.” Blake popped in. “I’ll make sure you get through.”
Saxon smiled. “Actually…”
“I see the wheels turning.” Ian teased.
“I’m a natural blond.” She giggled. “I can’t help it.” Saxon put her arm under her whiny, weaving attractive flavor of the month’s arm. “Everyone, this is Jason Dunning. Jason these are actual human beings.”
“Hello, humans.” The man tried not to slur. “You may remember me as Hot Steel, from my WWF days.”
Saxon rolled her eyes again and tugged on the man. “Com’mon, let’s get you out of here.” They bobbled away, Saxon turning her head at the last minute and mouthed “Love you.”
The trio couldn’t help but hear her chide him. “Dammit Jason, you have semen on your chin. How am I supposed to be an effective beard if you keep getting drunk and blowing strangers in the john…”
Ian watched her go, smiling; at last a good memory. When he returned to reality Wella and Blake were both staring at him. “What?”
“Why didn’t you tell us you…knew Saxon Allen?” Wella asked.
“I didn’t think it was important.”
“Not important?” Blake practically had a hissy. “She is the actress right now.”
“I know.” Ian said. “But what does an old friend…”
“She looked liked more than a friend.” Wella looked him straight in the eye.
“We went to college together.”
“Oh come on…” Blake demanded. “You cannot tell me you don’t find that woman hot and sexy. I’m a flaming queen and I’d do her in a heartbeat.”
Ian laughed. “Sorry, it’s just hard to think of someone that way when you’ve seen her in your boxer shorts throwing up on herself.”
“So you have…” Wella started to say but Ian cut her off.
“Long story…not your business, and no we’ve never…” Ian just let it drop. “We’re old college buddies, nothing more.”
Wella and Blake looked at each other and smiled. “Uh huh.” Blake nudged Wella.
“But maybe now that this Clare monster is out of the picture…” Wella hinted.
“Oh please.” Ian sat straight up. “She’s like a sister.”
“Well,” Blake pushed the umbrella aside and sipped from his drink. “You are Southern.”
“Not that Southern!” Ian looked at them both. “Now I love you both, but let’s make a pact. I will not pimp for you and you sure as hell won’t pimp for me.”
Wella threw up her hands. “Fine. Just thought I’d make sure that you understood a possible opportunity. It’s my job.”
“Your job is to help me find and make opportunities for HRT Studios, not to commit incest on a sticky table at a night club.”
“This table’s not sticky.” Blake wiped his hand across it and looked at Wella. “Do you think this table is sticky?”
Wella slapped at Blake’s hand. “That’s not what I was reminding you of…dork…Miss Saxon is rumored to be in the process of starting her own production company. It’s the natural next step for her, and should she actually win that Oscar, every non-old college friend in town will be fighting for a piece of her action…if you get my drift.”
“Oh…” Ian got the point. “Sorry.” He frowned. “But I hate taking advantage of old friendships just to further my own career.”
“Ian, you are so adorkable.” Wella smiled. “That’s your job.”
Ian hadn’t realized how quickly he had knocked back his scotch, his sipping alcohol. He tried to get the attention of a waiter, but finally gave up and decided just to go to the bar and get one. He asked his cohorts if they needed another. They said they were fine but he would get them another any way, just so he didn’t feel like a lush.
He stood up and was hit with the dilemma of which side of the bar to go to. He looked to his left and then to his right, when Blake grabbed his hand and said, “Just go get a drink, you damned chicken.”
Ian bent over and smiled at him, “Be careful Baby Doll or Daddy will have to spank!” Ian hoisted himself and walked to the side that seemed to have an opening at the nearest bartender.
He was able to walk right up to where a bartender immediately said, “Yes, may I help you?”
Ian ordered a Chivas with water, a white wine spritzer and “one of those thick pink things with the umbrella in it”. The bartender laughed and began to put together the concoctions.
Another bartender appeared and leaned against the bar. “Hi, may I help you Mr. Justyn?”
It was happening a little too much and he was beginning to get paranoid. “Do I know you?” he asked.
The man leaned in a little further dropping his voice to a low suggestive tone, “No, but if you'd like to, I get off at two.”
Ian leaned in closer imitating the man’s tone and said, “And you’ll be getting off alone.”
The other bartender brushed the guy physically aside, and said, “Why don’t you have a seat, sir, and I’ll bring these over to you.”
“Thank you.” Ian turned to head back to his seat noticing that Blake had already started up a conversation with another man about his age and had joined him at his table. As he slid back into the booth he said to Wella, “So we’ve been abandoned.”
“Yes,” she said, “they grow up so fast.”
A rather attractive man leaned over to Wella and said, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I wondered if you would give me the honor of joining me on the dance floor?”
Wella looked at Ian and smiled. He waved his hands at her, mouthing “Go! Go!”
Suddenly, Ian found himself at the most exclusive club in the country totally exclusive. It didn’t help that the bartender brought a tray moments after Wella “boogied” away and began putting three drinks in front of him. He looked up at the bartender and said, “I do this so well, don’t I?”
The bartender smiled and assured him, “You’ll be just fine. Mr. Justyn.”
“Okay, stop! Stop!” Ian begged, “It’s getting creepy. How the hell does everyone know me? I swear I’ve never seen any of you before in my life!”
The bartender looked at him questionably. “You honestly don’t know?”
“No and it’s driving me crazy.”
“We are all required to read the trade magazines, sir, and are all given a list with pictures of anyone who is on the list for our shifts. We all know that you are Ian Justyn, a new development executive at HRT network, that you come from a small market affiliate where you produced several news programs with ratings spike big enough to gather the attention of the network itself in less than five years, and you are also one of the youngest execs at that network ever.” He swiped a small spot of water from the table with a napkin and put it on his tray. “You are currently the only development executive in the country under thirty.”
“I’m kind of impressed.” Ian looked at the guy.
“You are the talk of the town right now, Mr. Justyn.”
“I was talking about the service technique, not me.”
“Get used to it, Mr. Justyn.” He said as he accepted several bills to cover the drinks including a nice tip.
“Well, they are talking today, tomorrow they may be laughing.”
“That’s the name of the game, Mr. Justyn.”
“It’s all a little disconcerting…and please, call me Ian—and you can spread that around.”
He smiled, “Would it make you feel better if you knew my name?”
Ian was genuinely grateful. “Yes, yes it would.”
“Blue, my name is Blue Richards.”
“It’s nice to meet you Blue.” Ian put out his hand which the waiter took and shook. “I’m Ian Justyn, dork of the hour.”
“Small world,” Blue said. “Well, I’d better get back to my post, hope to chat with you later. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Yeah,” Ian said as he watched his new friend walk away. “Hey, Blue, is there a place I can catch a smoke?”
“Just go past the rest rooms over there, there’s a door at the end of the hallway. We have an overhang set up out back. Don’t worry about your table; it’s yours until you leave.”
“Thanks.” Ian tried to find his friends to tell him he was stepping out for a smoke, but gave up quickly and headed for a Marlboro. He found the rest room, slipped out the last door into the open air and pulled out a smoke.
He immediately recognized the big hulk of a man standing in the shadows, hands in the pockets of his blue slacks, biceps bulging and pecs straining the fabric of an expensive white shirt. Ian pointed at him and said, “Ripley, right?”
The man smiled at being remembered, “Yes, sir.” He pulled a hand out of his trouser pockets and flicked a lighter holding it out for Ian.
Ian cupped his hands around it, puffed until the cherry blazed and said, “Thank you.” He exhaled and looked at the man. “You’re not following me are you?”
“No, sir, we switch around the five stations every hour. Helps us follow the crowd and keep things in check. You are actually following me.”
“Sorry, I’ll try to not make a habit of it.” Ian said.
Ripley smiled a little. “Doesn’t bother me at all, sir.”
“Okay.” Ian wasn’t sure what to make of that. He turned and busied himself surveying the smoking crowd, noticing a woman with long dark hair that looked vaguely familiar. She had on a red halter-top dress cut down to there.
Ian noticed her returning his gaze, and he thought “Hmm, maybe I came to the right place.” He was just about to step a little toward her to gage her response when he heard his name called.
“Ian?”
He turned to see another face he recognized. “Marc?” They quickly ran together and embraced, slapping each other on the back.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Marc asked.
“Well, apparently you aren’t required to read the trades.” Ian joshed.
“Huh?” Marc said
They quickly caught up. Marc Torrey and Ian had been in a band together during and for a few years after college. They played what they laughingly called the “Knoxpatch circuit”, a few minor clubs in the Knoxville and Gatlinburg area. They had gained a little following but Ian left the band when he got the job in Bristol. They had lost contact.
It turns out that most of the band was still together, although they were now called “El Toro”. They had made their way across country and were the house band for the weekend at Open Fields.
They smoked their cigarettes and caught up on old times. “Hey, you got to sing with us next set, Ian.” Marc interjected out of the blue.
Ian shook his head, “I am strictly a shower singer these days.”
“Oh come on dude, you gotta do at least one song with us. Who knows, you might get discovered.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’ll make you change your mind…hey you still with Clair?” He asked.
“Oh God, no. She’s is Bristol, torturing some other fool I guess. What about you? You still with Angela?”
“Oh yeah, made an honest woman of her four years ago. We got twin boys, 19 months old.”
“Congratulations man.”
About that time, the door swung open and this time Marc’s name was called. “There you are. We need to get ready and start the next set.”
Marc turned to the man in the door, “Hey Hooper, look whose here!” Marc presented Ian and the two hugged and slapped each other on the back. “Hey, dude, wanna chat, but we got get our asses back inside. See you later. You comin, Torrey?”
Marc squished a freshly lit smoke on the ground, “Yeah, yeah be right there.” He turned back to Ian, “You coming back in to hear us?”
“Yeah, I’ll be in as soon as I finish this one” Ian waved his freshly lit Marlboro in the air.
“Cool”, Marc disappeared.
Ian inhaled is smoke deeply and looked to find the woman, but the red dressed vixen was gone.
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