Sunday, May 01, 2011

Clark's

Four a.m.

Kubrick calls it the “Gay Devastation.” This is where gay men go in Chicago when they have let go of hope of finding comfort or mutual contact in the arms of a lover or a stranger. When the gay man has become truly devastated after hours and hours in a club he comes to eat.

Four a.m.

Clark’s on Belmont.

Kubrick calls it the Gay Devastation.

A cute red-headed waiter sashayed over, flirt and confidence in his set. Sin, Krueger and Kubrick ordered eggs. I got French toast, ignoring the fact that even that small amount of egg would cause me trouble later.

“What was in that shot?” I asked Krueger.

“Firewater.”

“What exactly is firewater?”

“Grappa. It’s a leftover when we make wine. It’s like 100
proof.”

“Of course.”

“So did you enjoy the dancer?”

I vaguely recalled the dancer and the dance. I turned to Kubrick.

“Who was that girl?”

“Which one?”

“The one that was all over you?”

“Oh, her. Yeah, she was really into me, and I tried to explain to her that I was gay but she didn’t seem to be getting the picture at all. Also, men are weird.”

“Men are weird?”

“Yes, apparently straight men have some sort of code that I was not aware of?”

“How so?”

“Well, while I was dancing with the cute blonde you saw me with, a guy comes over and nudges my arm, like this,” Kubrick slid his arm up against mine, bumping elbows with me and giving me meaningful eyes while raising eyebrows.

“I thought he might be trying to pick me up so after the song ended I went and found him and tried chatting him up. He was very confused, and I told him I thought he was into me after the whole nudge thing on the dance floor.”

“Right…”
“Well, apparently, as he explained it, it was just his way of congratulating me.”

“What?”

“For dancing with such a hot girl, he felt I needed to be congratulated so he came up to me while I was dancing and did the arm nudge thing.”

“That is weird.”

“That’s what I thought.”

The cute waiter brought us our breakfasts and spread his pretty lithe arms wide, and asked in the best breathy Mae West tones, “Is there ANYTHING else I can get you?”

Both Kubrick and I gave him a look up and down before sending him off. However we were both smitten with this attractive, boyish charm of a lovely waiter.

“You should ask him out.” I said to Kubrick. Or maybe I thought it; either way I had a plan. Since Sin and Krueger were so kind as to give us a ride home, I insisted on paying for the breakfast. I signalled to our sugary sweet waiter and he sashayed his hips back toward us.

“And what can I do for you?” he asked again, all open arms and eyes for Kubrick.

“I’d like the check please. Also, on top of the check I would like your phone number. Your phone number being on the check is going to be very important. It will very much affect your tip. So do be a doll and bring that back.” I said to him.

“Oh, yes ma’am.” He said to me and sashayed away. He returned a few minutes later with a check, his phone number right where it should be, and we left a large tip, Krueger smiling his devil’s smile as we worked our way back out to the car and to our homes. When Kubrick and I got in we looked
for the dog who we had abandoned so much earlier in the night, but he was gone, nowhere to be found. Obviously still mad at us for going out instead of staying home with him.

“You should send that nice waiter a message.”

“On it,” Kubrick said.

We both got large glasses of water and passed out into separate beds.

The dog came out around 8 a.m. to wake me up and judge me. I
awoke with a hangover to beat the band, a “like” sticker on my chest, a
throbbing in my stomach where food used to be, vague remembrances of an
evening, and a dying curiosity to find out what happened with Kubrick and the
waiter.

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