The Outhouseby Thomas Harper
Jared Whitehouse, prom king, captain of the football team, track star, and class valedictorian had a secret. And ooooh, what a nasty, little secret it was. Just a year out of high school, with an impressive freshmen football season behind him, he'd do anything to keep his secret hidden. Tall and slender with jet black hair, brown eyes like chocolate drops, and a set of Cindy Crawford dimples, Jared didn't have any trouble impressing the ladies. Except for Trisha Branfall.
With flat, cocoa colored hair and unspectacular, green eyes, Trisha was average height, average weight, got average grades, and waddled through a boringly average existence. Football stars and especially, highly-attractive football stars didn't interest her in the least. Or so she'd say. The only aspect of Trisha's life that wasn't average was her instincts. She could tell when someone was up to something just by looking into their eyes. And she had looked into Jared's intoxicating eyes a lot.
Jared stood behind a cash register. "Hey Trish, give me a hand here," he called out with a hint of irritation in his voice. He and Trish worked as baristas at La Copa, an upscale coffee house frequented mostly by the college-age children of St. Paul's wealthiest. It was ritzy, quaint, and pricey. Very pricey. The well-read went to Nina's Coffee Cafe for a cup, the well-off went to La Copa.
A group of smartly dressed, young men approached Jared. There were four of them but only one caught his eye -- the one in front -- 5' 8" with extra fine, sandy brown hair and a Christian Slater face guarding a light scar just below the left ear. Jared couldn't stop staring at the scar.
Watching them approach out of the corner of his eye, he hollered toward the back of the shop, "Come on, Trish, quit goofing around. I need your help." Actually, he didn't need her help at all. He could take care of four customers by himself easily. But for some reason, he didn't want to leave the counter to make their drinks. Something about this guy had him mesmerized. "Bienvenue à La Copa."
"Oh. French. How quaint. Yeah, look, why don't you cut with the accoutrements and just take my order." Pink sweater was being overly blasé, as though it were an act.
Just then, Trisha knocked open the kitchen door and stomped next to Jared. "Four people? You can't handle four people? I have dishes to do. I don't want to be here all night." She started to return back to the kitchen and then stopped. Rotating slowly, she glanced at the young man with the pink sweater and then at Jared. "Ahhhh," she said with a look of recognition. "I see."
Jared whirled his head around to look Trisha. "What do you mean you see?"
She smiled. "Just that. I see. I get it. I understand why you wanted my help."
Pink sweater put one hand on his hip and the other on top of the cash register. "Ummm, we're still here!" He raised the cash register hand and waved a finger in front of Jared's face. "Maybe you'd like to have your precious little whine session later? Yeah? Is that a good idea?"
"Just a minute," Jared said, glaring at pink sweater. "I'll be with you in a minute." He then turned back to Trisha. "Now tell me what you understand."
"I'm not going to say it here." She nodded slightly toward the customers and whispered, "not in front of them."
"Say what?" Jared said. Pointing at pink sweater he added, "I don't give a damn what these guys think." Then he realized what he'd said. With a touch of fear on his face, he turned toward the customers and said, "I-I mean, I don't care whether you hear what she says..."
Pink sweater interrupts him. "Uummm, yeah. You seem to think we care about your little fraccas. Actually, though, we just want to get a drink. Is that something you think you could help us with?"
"OK," Trisha screams, "I'll say it. I think you're checking him out." While Jared went pale, pink sweater raised his eyebrows, checked out Jared from head to toe, and grinned. Trisha smiled. "And it looks like he's OK with it."
"Th-th-that's absurd," Jared said, somehow managing to take nearly thirty seconds to do it. "I wasn't checking out..."
Pink sweater glanced at his white gold, Chopard Imperiale watch and winked at Jared. "I have to get going, handsome." He placed a business card in Jared's outstreched hand. "I hope you can make it."
Trisha grabbed the business card from Jared's hand and turned it over. It had just one word on it. Outhouse. "I knew it!" she screamed. "I knew you had to be gay. I've seen you with girls before, but something was off. You didn't seem, I don't know, comfortable. Yeah, that's it. You didn't seem comfortable with them."
"You're really starting to piss me off, Trisha," he said and yanked back the card. "Outhouse? What the hell's the Outhouse?"
"Oh yeah, like you don't know." She rolled her eyes. "THE OUT-house. OUT! The new gay bar, over on Grand."
Jared dropped the business card as though it were on fire. "Holy crap! He WAS coming on to me."
"So, are you going to meet him there?"
"Just drop it!" He pounded his fist on the counter. "Didn't you say you still had dishes to do?"
Trisha rolled her eyes and turned back toward the kitchen. "OK, but it doesn't bother me whether you're gay or not," she said as she disappeared behind the door. A few seconds later, she poked her head back out. "And by the way, I know what you have in your locket. I saw your rainbow ribbon."
Jared moved to the kitchen door, held it open and looked right into Trisha's eyes. "L-look, you don't know what you're talking about. It's not rainbow..." He took a deep breath? "Could you do me a favor? Could you close by yourself tonight?"
She kissed the tip of her index finger and placed it on his cheek, right next to the dimple. "Yeah, go ahead. I'm fine here."
"Thank you. I owe you."
"Don't worry about it. Just have fun at the Outhouse."
"I'm not going to the," he started to say. "Ah, never mind."
But Jared WAS going to the Outhouse. He DID have a rainbow ribbon inside his heart-shaped locket. And he WAS hoping to meet the young man with the pink sweater.
Located on Summit Avenue, La Copa was just a few blocks away from the Outhouse. Hoping to lose the butterflies that had managed to congregate in his stomach, Jared decided to walk. It took him about fifteen minutes and he did feel a lot better when he arrived.
Wondering whether he was doing the right thing, Jared listened to the lively beat of the music and watched the flashing colorful lights from the front door. Taking a huge breath, he climbed the small stairway and stepped inside. Would the boy with the pink sweater even be here? He took a quick scan of the bar. Nope. Wait a minute. Over there. On the other side of the bar. Wasn't that the guy who was with pink sweater at La Copa? He was pretty sure it was.
Encouraging himself onward, he marched across the d floor and nearly tackled pink sweater as he exited the men's room. "Mmmm," pink sweater said, "I was hoping you'd come. My name's Troy. What's your's?"
"Jared," he said as Troy's friends walked over to where the two were talking. "Ummm, look," Jared continued, "I was hoping we could be alone and talk."
"Anything you want, lover." Troy waved his friends away and signaled for Jared to follow him through a door marked 'Employees Only' just behind the bar. The door opened onto a small office with a desk, chairs, bookcases, and a brown, leather couch. He sat down on the edge of the couch and patted his hand playfully for Jared to sit next to him. Jared complied. Troy placed his hand on Jared's leg.
"This isn't what you think," Jared said.
"You know I'm gay, don't you?"
"Yes.
"And you know this is a gay bar right?"
"Yes."
"Then how is this not what I think?"
"Because I'm not gay. I'm here because of that scar just below your ear."
Troy pulled back and gasped. A look of recognition crossed his face and he began to shake. "Please leave me alone. I haven't done anything to you."
"I know," Jared said, holding his eyes low. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to apologize." He raised his eyes to peer into Troy's. "I'm sorry what my friends did to you that night. I'm sorry I just sat and watched them. I know that I can never change that, but I'll do whatever you say to make it up to you."
Troy reached out and held Jared's tense hands. "You want to know what I'd like you to do?"
"Yes," Jared whispered, barely audible.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," Jared said louder, with more confidence.
"Then be my friend. That's all I want from you," Troy said as he brushed away a tear crawling down Jared's cheek.
