Page 112 of Sweet T
Less than a half an hour later, the tavern was packed again. Dex and Sam were still there, and they had another dart tournament going. Chuck and Brody had joined, peripherally maintaining the buffet, which was pretty much self-service, anyway. Both boards were lit up with at least ten people. Tucker remained at the bar, though, happily ringing up sales.
The cast started trickling in around eleven-thirty, looking a little weary with their freshly washed faces. When Evan and Cassie entered with Sebastian, the whole place erupted in applause.
“Long live the King,” someone shouted.
“Long live the Fool,” said another.
Cassie went to Titus, Pedro, and Barb at Shelly’s end of the bar. Sebastian sat in his usual spot on Tucker’s end. Evan, clad in a tank top and shorts, went to put his bag behind the bar. Tucker took it for him.
“Hey, sexy.” Tucker gave Evan a quick squeeze and a peck. “You look tired. Maybe a little hungover still?”
“A little. But I need to help you. I invited all these people.”
“No, you don’t. We’ve got it covered.” Tucker opened a Budweiser and put it in Evan’s hand. “Relax. This is your night, my dear. Enjoy it.”
“Thank you...” Evan grinned. “... for being you.”
“You’re welcome. I’d give you the moon if I could fit it in my pocket.”
“No need. I prefer what’s already in your pocket.”
“OK, lovebirds, break it up.” Ben said, approaching with an empty tray. “I need two Killians, two Sweetwaters, a Cosmo, a vodka tonic, two Fireball shots, and three margaritas–one mango, one strawberry, one regular.”
“Jesus Christ.” Tucker reached for the Christian Brothers brandy and poured Sebastian a healthy snifter. “If you two will excuse me for a moment. Shel,” he hollered. “I need some help!”
“We’re fine.” Sebastian raised his glass. “Take your time, dear boy. If money goes before, always do lie open.”
Evan sat down beside Sebastian. “Are you telling my boyfriend to be a whore?”
“Receptive would be my choice of words. You’re so crass, Evan, with your muscles, and your tank top, and your tattoos.”
“Yeah?”
“Bestial,” Sebastian continued, sipping his brandy. “Like Stanley Kowalski. Provocative.”
“Uh, oh.” Evan said. “Methinks my beloved director may have had a sip before we left the theatre.”
“Two.” Sebastian held up three fingers.
“Should I be worried?”
Sebastian smiled. “No. I’m just celebrating. We pulled it off, Ev. No easy feat introducing the Bard to Bedrock.”
“I don’t–”
“The Flintstones? Never mind. And no, I’m not coming on to you. Aside from the occasional solo—” Sebastian gave a brief, masturbatory gesture with one fist. “—I am well beyond the pas de deux of bedroom ballet. No. Maybe when Gerald and I meet again in another realm. Otherwise, I am sated.”
“OK. So, what are we talking about?”
“How old are you, Evan?”
“Twenty-one.”
Sebastian nodded, then pointed toward Tucker, whose back was to them. “I’m talking about Tucker. Men like him come no more handsome, nor sweet.”
“I’m well aware.”
“Are you?” Sebastian slurred. “What about Atlanta?”