�Oh. Uh huh. Well, it�s different all right.�
�Hey, it�s perfect for me, I�m not like most other boys anyway.� I don�t even bother to check for a reaction to this comment, as I know it�s perfectly lost on him.
�Hey pal, could you help me with this?� He stands two inches from me with his tie dangling around his neck. I notice the scent of his Polo cologne and how different it smells on him than on Mike. �My girlfriend usually does it for me. I can never get it to look as good as she does. I bet you could do it Grayce.� He says especially accenting the Y for my benefit.
I slowly tie his 100% silk Cerruti into a perfect full Windsor, making sure my hands make contact with his broad chest as often as possible.
�What�s a good place to go for dinner around here? I�m meeting my fianc�e and I want to take her somewhere nice.�
�Berghoffs is just a couple of blocks from here. They brew their own beer if you�re into the suds.� I help him into his jacket, brushing off non-existent lint and smoothing out invisible wrinkles from his big shoulders, arms and back.
�Oh yeah? I�ll keep that in mind.�
�Well, soldier, you�re good-to-go. I guess I�ll see you back here in a few hours. When you�re ready for your library requests just fill out a form and fax it up to me on twelve. The number is on your desk.�
�Hey, I�ll do that. Thanks Grayce.� (Accent on the Y again.)
�Prick.� I think to myself as I later exit out the lobby into a windy and cool Chicago spring evening.
* * * * *
I get to Shamrocks exactly a half-hour after I said I would. Looks like I was wrong about Mike though, he's chatting up not one but two babes down at the end of the bar. Even through the maze of suits, blue-collars and big haired, Escada-clad professional women downing vodka martinis, Mike is an easy target to spot. He's your average tall, broad, Dark Irish jock and has the square jawed, large featured good looks that have been getting him into bars since he was sixteen. At just over 21 now, he shows no sign of slowing down or getting bored with the whole scene, which kinda worries me.
"Hey buddy! Right on time. I can always count on you." Mike is just starting on his second beer, his empty glass still on the bar in front of him. I instantly deduce that the very tall brunette and the very petite blonde joined him somewhere during his first beer. His speed is beyond legendary but his accuracy is definitely in need of some fine-tuning. I'm sure that at this very moment he's silently patting himself on the back for having had the foresight to ask his girlfriend Danna to meet us at the party instead of here. He hates complications.
He moves aside to make room for me, strategically placing me next to the petite blonde. This is his way of signaling to me that he wants me to "run interference" while he works on her friend. "Ladies, this is my best buddy in the whole wide world, Grayce. That's Megan and this is Laurel." The girls exchange glances, obviously approving of Mike's taste in friends. Little tiny Megan smiles up at me and giggles a little tiny "hello". Laurel elegantly extends a perfectly manicured hand. I shake it and she immediately returns it to Mike�s side. If she plasters herself any closer to him, she�ll be in violation of several Illinois State obscenity laws. "Do you spell it g-r-a-c-e ?" she asks in a very studied Bond-Girl voice.
Mike interrupts. "No, he spells it g-r-a-Y-c-e so that nobody'll think he's gay."
The joke goes over huge with Megan. (not a good sign) Laurel is apparently far too sophisticated to be seen laughing out loud in public.
I ordered you a beer Grayce, here it comes." Tonio the bartender comes over with a Guinness in his hand and sets it down in front of me. He has done his little trick of making a shamrock design on the top with the spigot.
"Hey look everybody! TOM CRUISE is here!" the bartender shouts at the top of his lungs. This NEVER fails to embarrass the living shit out of me and he knows it. ONE person ONE time said I look like Tom Cruise (I actually look like Christian Slater) and now it's a permanent joke I can't seem to kill. "Como estas Grayce? We were all beginning to worry, you being more than 30 seconds late and all."
"Oh, stop Tonio, my spleen." I say as bitchily as I can manage without immediately giving myself away in front of mixed company. "Mike, we go through this every fucking time. You order me a Guinness, which I end up giving to you and I always end up having to order something else."
"Yeah some faggotty shit like a Tom Collins or an Amaretto something or other. I swear you're tryin' to get us kicked outta here."
"Oh yeah, this is a real hard-core Irish bar Mike. Take a look around this little bourgeois meat market. Our bartender is Mexican, the menu is German, the customers are Jewish and the Jukebox plays Duran Duran and Twisted Sister. There's not a Danny Boy in sight! I could order a Pink Lady here and nobody would bat a fucking eyelash."
Megan is quite amused at my little monologue, laughing as though I were Dennis Miller himself.
"You want a Tom Collins instead Grayce?"
"Por favor Tonio. And put some extra umbrellas in it for my buddy here."
This rouses another chorus of laughter from little, bubbly Megan. This is really not a good sign.
"Tonio, how's your wife doing?" I ask as he pours eight different drinks simultaneously.
