Maybe if bars could still run happy-hour discounts, more people would be in Dandy’s piano bar for Donnie’s birthday. The few customers are strung out along the short length of Dandy’s white-lacquered bar, each with one arm outstretched to the glass; when one elbow bends, all the other elbows follow, as if they were attached by a towline. Donnie’s friends are grouped around the far end of the bar, near the buffet laid out on the counter in front of the silent piano. They’ve been there since six, start of the traditional happy hour, but happy hour was banned long ago.
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Peter died of AIDS on Saturday. Billy hung himself on Sunday. Peter had been sick for a long time, though that didn’t stop him from having a good time. A couple of years ago he started what was probably the worst little whorehouse in Chicago. Peter, the madam, ran Creme de la Creme from his one-bedroom apartment. All the girls were guys, and they all took pains to act like well-dressed ladies, but to a man they rarely if ever scraped a razor below the Adam’s apple. Any trick nuzzling up to a plunging neckline got a faceful of chest hair and inhaled the bouquet of Brut. Despite this, or maybe because of it, the customers were always happy at Creme de la Creme, but since no one ever paid, the business was not a financial success. Peter kept his day job until he became too sick to work.
Del has thrown birthday parties before. The Bac-os on the deviled eggs were his idea. He’s made all the calls, invited all the friends. Continually looking toward the door, he catches the eye of one of the drinkers down the bar, a younger man in a large-billed cap way too big for his small, very round head. There’s a two-day stubble on his chin, which hangs over a shallow chest thin as wicker. Del starts in right away. “Hey guy, can you play ‘Chopsticks’?”
“No. No ‘Chopsticks.’ Absolutely not.”
“Fine then, you take the bottom. I can go either way.”
“Me too.” He holds the magazine up and announces, “The reviews are in.”
“I’ve always wanted to be in movies,” he tells the party, now clustered around the magazine reading the review. Del adds, “And all he had to do was wave his magic wand.” Richard laughs graciously and admits he’s never done much acting before. Del says he’s seen the video. “Some of the scenes were embarrassing, guy, I mean, the wooden acting, just terrible.” But Big Dick differs: “I thought I did a good job, I mean, I thought I was pretty natural.”
