Identity Check

Chapter 3

He'd been at the house for a few day now and had happily agreed to a few drinks and meeting some of his house-mates's student friends. Then Nick had mentioned that, actually, this guy he knew, who happened to be gay too, had agreed to give Patrick some advice. He'd mentioned this as they left the house twenty minutes ago, too late for Patrick to object.

"He's not a random guy," Nick said. "He's a friend of mine. Russ is great. Am I right, Colin?"

"Russ? Oh yeah, he's fabulous. In fact I'm actually in love with him and tonight I intend to ask for his hand in marriage."

"Pack it in. He's a good guy, Pat, I promise."

Patrick looked at Nick for a moment, assessing that oh-so-innocent expression.

"Are you setting me up with him? Is this a blind date?"

"What? No! I'm sure you and Russ can both find your own dates. No. I just thought it might do you good to talk to him. He's our age and he's had the same kind of problems with his parents."

"He's Catholic too?"

"No, Jewish. Okay, here we are." Nick lead him into a bar. This early in the evening it had no loud music playing, so Patrick would be able to talk to the mysterious Russ. A shout of greeting came from a group of young people at a corner table and Nick and Colin waved back at them and headed over there.

Patrick followed more slowly, looking the group over. Three girls, three guys. Which one was Russ? Maybe he wasn't here yet. But Nick introduced them all, the names flashing past and only one of them sticking. "Russ," Nick said waving at a dark-haired, dark-eyed boy, who wore a polo shirt that showed off well developed arms. Russ didn't give Patrick the same grin and enthusiastic greeting as the others. His eyes widened for a moment, as if surprised about something, then he nodded.

"Beer kitty," one of the girls said, pointing at a clean glass stuffed with notes. "Everybody puts a twenty in." Colin, Nick and Patrick obliged. "And since you're still standing, you can go get the next round in."

Nick and Patrick went to the bar, where they gave the orders to the barman and grabbed a couple of trays while they waited.

"Well?" Nick said. "What do you think of Russ?"

"I haven't even talked to him yet! Will you be patient?"

"Sorry. By the way, did you order a drink for yourself?" Nick said. Patrick realised that he hadn't. So what should he order? He didn't have much experience drinking. Was he meant to order one of those sweet, fruity drinks the girls had asked for? Was that what a gay guy would drink? No, Russ had asked for a bottle of lager. When the barman came back, Patrick ordered the same.

They took the tray back to the table and handed around the drinks. Nick sat while Patrick took the trays back to the bar. When he returned to the table he found Russ had moved to the outside of a bench seat with a padded bar stool stood beside him. Mildly irritated at this manoeuvring, Patrick took 'his' seat beside Russ.

"Hi," he said, offering his hand and hoping his smile wasn't too nervous. Russ returned the shake but not the smile. "Look, I know what Nick asked you to do," Patrick said quietly. "But if you don't want to that's fine. I understand." Russ leaned in to hear him when he lowered his voice and Patrick caught a hint of good aftershave.

"It's fine," Russ said. "Do you actually want to talk? Nick seems to think you need to, but if he's just being big brotherly..."

Patrick laughed at that. "Yeah, he probably is. He's a bit protective."

"He said you're having problems with your parents because they're very religious."

"Yes. He said you have the same problem."

"Pretty much. I got plenty of points for going to medical school, but lost several million for being gay." He shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. Maybe only time can mend it."

Patrick nodded and took a sip of his beer. Of course Russ didn't have all the answers. He was just a kid too. A couple of years older than Patrick, but still young enough to be just as lost and confused. It was unfair to expect him to give Patrick some kind of counselling session. Who wanted to get into such heavy emotional stuff in a pub anyway? Maybe there were some things Russ could tell him though.

"Nick told me there's a bunch of gay clubs and bars here. Do you go to those?"

Russ smiled at last. "Of course. Yeah, it's not a bad little scene. Small and cosy."

"What are they like?" Patrick looked down, blushing. He sounded so stupid, so naïve. "I mean what sort of thing goes on there?"

"What do you think goes on?" Russ had a teasing expression that made Patrick grin.

"Sin and debauchery?"

"Sounds about right. No, really, they're bars and clubs. People drink and dance and get off with each other, just like anywhere. Some of them might have other stuff going on, but you stick to the bar and the dance floor for now and you'll be fine."

"I do like to dance," Patrick said.

"Then you'll fit right in." Russ's eyes travelled up and down Patrick. "Yeah." His voice took on a husky edge. "You'll fit right in." Then he caught himself and looked flustered when Patrick blushed. "So... well, you just have to see for yourself, really."

"I'd be kind of nervous going in one."

"You don't have to go on your own. It's probably better that you don't, at least at first."

"Why?"

"Well... Look, I'm going out with a group of friends on Friday. Come along with us if you want. You'll fit... um, you'll be fine. I promise, we'll all stick together as a group, we won't leave you on your own."

"Now you're being as protective as Nick."

"Maybe," he said in a quiet, serious voice. "But there are creeps around who'd take advantage of someone like you. Nice looking and inexperienced I mean."

Nice looking? A flutter in his stomach took Patrick by surprise. But then he focused on the rest of what Russ said and it made him nervous all over again. Russ must have seen that in his face.

"Sorry. But you'll learn how to spot the dodgy guys and keep yourself safe." He glanced at the rest of the group, all busy talking and then leaned in closer. "Speaking of safe, are you all clued up on safe sex?"

"Yeah." Patrick passed his beer bottle from hand to hand a couple of times. "Yeah, I think so."

"Only, Nick said you'd only had one boyfriend."

"He taught me about the condoms and stuff. How to use them. And I've read stuff." Stuff. God, he sounded like he was thirteen.

"Good." Russ nodded. "Maybe I'm more careful than most. Comes of being a medical student I suppose. But it only takes one exposure and you're screwed."

"I'll be careful," Patrick promised. Would it even arise? He didn't think he was going to be out picking up strangers every night; he was waiting for Simon. He'd be back soon.

"Most of the clubs give out free condoms. But it's best to make sure you always carry some." He patted the pocket of his jeans, which fit rather nicely. "For emergencies."

"Sexual emergencies?" Patrick grinned back, finding the idea funny.

"You'd be amazed how often..." Russ stopped and looked sheepish, perhaps worried he'd shock Patrick. How long would it be before Patrick could say things like that himself without a qualm? He had to get over this fear. Russ seemed like an okay guy, nothing to fear from him and so much to learn from him, if Patrick wanted to avoid not only danger, but also avoid making a fool of himself. He didn't want to wander around the gay bars gaping like a nun in an Ann Summers shop.

"Okay," Russ said. "So, Friday, if you're coming, meet me at the Central Station at eight o'clock."

Patrick had one last question. "What should I wear?"

"Don't stress about it. As long as you look hot they'll let you in. Except, no trainers."

*

As long as you look hot.

No pressure there then, Patrick thought, looking through his clothes. Were these all too casual for a nightclub? Would they keep him from getting past the doormen?

Black trousers would be the start of it - almost all his trousers were black. But which shirt? A black one? Yeah, just go dressed as a damn vampire, why don't you? He'd learnt to dress as much from his mother as his father. Marion dressed in a simple, elegant style, less is more the guiding principle. In that spirit, he tried on a simple long-sleeved dark green T-shirt. Would that work? He stood in front of the mirror, tucking the shirt into his trousers. Maybe. Good grief, he really was like a damn girl, wasn't he? Just wear whatever. Looks fine.

The only shoes that would work were his black dress shoes, so he put those on. His phone slipped into a pocket of his trousers, house keys in the other. Driving licence. He's be challenged for ID for sure. Money. His wallet was a bit bulky, so he emptied out the notes and put them in his pocket too. Should be enough. He'd been paid now for his first week of work. Hardly made him rich, but should cover a night out. He'd have to come home early if it didn't.

But early finish or not, tonight he intended to enjoy himself. Now if he could just stop these butterflies in his stomach. Ridiculous to be so nervous. Russ said the bars and clubs were fine. There wasn't some big orgy going on; they were just bars and clubs. Those butterflies went fluttering on when he thought about Russ.

Funny that.

*

When he got off the Metro and found Russ in the station Patrick was relieved to see he wore a similar outfit. So did the other young man he stood with.

"Hi, Patrick," Russ said, "This is Phil Jordan. Phil, Patrick Kavanagh."

"Hi, Phil," Patrick said holding out his hand. Now who's this? Russ's boyfriend, or just a friend?

Phil, a tall, skinny guy with light brown hair, stared and then shook Patrick's hand with enthusiasm. "Hell, Russ, you were right!"

"Right about what?" Patrick asked. Now he was close enough he could see that Phil's clothes were cheaper than his own or Russ's.

"Nothing," Russ said. "Shut up, Phil. Come on, let's go. The rest of the guys are already on their second pint."

"It's great to meet you, Patrick," Phil said as they walked after Russ who led them from the station. "Russ says you're new to the city."

"I'm new to all of this. You know, the scene and everything."

"You'll love it. There's a bunch of different bars and clubs, so you'll find the ones that suit you. What are you into?"

"Um, into?" The question seemed worrying, especially walking along in public, with raucous gangs of clearly straight men around.

"Dancing? Live music? Karaoke?"

"Oh, yeah, dancing."

"Excellent. Oh, kid, you and me are gonna burn up that dance floor tonight! This is great. Russ is a total buzzkill when it comes to dancing. He thinks he's too cool to dance."

"I heard that," Russ said from a few steps ahead.

"You two been friends for long?" Patrick asked.

"Yeah, I've been trying to shake him off for years," Russ said.

"We were at school together. And clearly he can't stand to be away from me, since he stayed home to do his degree locally."

Russ dropped back a step to walk beside them. "I did not. That was the course I wanted."

"Yeah, yeah. Tell it to the judge."

"Do you live at home, then?" Patrick asked Russ.

"No. I have a bedsit."

"Also known as the Roach Suite at the Flea Pit Motel," Phil said.

Russ shrugged. "Independent."

"What about you, Phil?"

"I live with my mum. You're living with your cousin, right?"

"And another boy. Classmates of Russ. That's how I met Russ."

"And that's how you met me." Phil patted him on the back. "So they have my eternal gratitude."

"Are you a student too?"

"Not me. I work for a living, unlike that wastrel." He nodded at Russ. "You?"

"I've got something temporary, but I'm still looking."

"I'll bet I could get you an interview where I work. It's just admin work, but if it suits you, the pay is okay."

It didn't sound like a dream job, but what else was he qualified for? Entry level admin work sounded about the best he could aim for right now.

"Thanks, Phil. That would be great."

"Okay, tooth me your details and I'll organise something. Don't want to talk about that tonight though. Boring. Tonight, we dance."

They stopped in front of a bar and, as he expected, Patrick had to show the doorman his driving licence. Thank god he'd passed his test a few weeks ago. How much of a dork would be look flashing a provisional licence? Satisfied, the doorman nodded him in, and with Russ ahead of him and Phil behind him, Patrick Kavanagh walked into a gay bar for the first time.

To be honest, he was kind of disappointed. No sin and debauchery appeared to be under way. Groups sat around tables or stood and talked. Far from being all men, there were women there too. Were they lesbians? One party almost certainly weren't. They looked like a hen party, all dressed in French Maid's outfits, carrying helium balloons. One of them wore a pink, satin sash proclaiming her the bride to be. Did they just not realise this was a gay bar? But that big rainbow flag outside must be a clue.

There were other clues too, when he looked closer. Some men sat in twos rather than groups and they sat a little closer than they would elsewhere. Heads closer, voices low enough to be unheard by anyone else. As he passed a standing group, he saw that one man had his hand in the back pocket of the jeans of the man beside him. Not doing anything, just resting there. And the men looked at each other more. He saw it and he felt it, catching the eyes of some as they looked at him when he passed.

"You're staring."

Patrick jumped at the sound of Phil's voice, so close to his ear that he felt a whisper of warm breath too. Yes, he had been staring. And he'd have fallen down the two steps right in front of him if Phil hadn't taken his arm to steady him.

"Sorry," Patrick said. "It's all so new. And yet... it's just a bar too."

"Exactly," Phil said, as if Patrick had just proved some important point.

"Why is that hen party in here?"

Phil shrugged. "We get women in. Some of them just want to have a girls night without blokes bothering them. Or they're like fag hags, they love the gays."

"Or they think we're a freak show," Russ said. Phil rolled his eyes.

"See what I mean? Buzzkill. Fellas!" He called to a standing group of young men. "Lookee, Russ lured us in some fresh meat!"

*

"How's it going?" Russ said, or nearly shouted, into Patrick's ear a couple of hours later. They were in a much noisier bar now. They'd had a couple of drinks in the first one, then set out on a pub crawl, apparently wanting to show Patrick every single venue in the "Pink Triangle".

"Great," Patrick called back, turning to the smiling Russ. They'd both had a few drinks, though Patrick noticed that Russ alternated beer and cola. He'd started to do the same himself, deciding he should keep his wits about him. So far nobody had tried to jump him, or feel him up, though he'd had plenty of looks, smiles and eye contact. It intrigued him, that men responded to him that way, and did so openly. But of course, he wasn't looking to respond himself. Not available.

Russ looked good when he smiled.

"You should smile more," Patrick said. God, he must be drunk to say such idiotic things.

"You want to give me something to smile about?" Russ slipped a hand around Patrick's waist.

"Guys!" Phil shouted, appearing in front of them. "Come on, this place is boring! Let's go to the Circle before I'm too pissed to dance. Come on!"

"It's still early," Russ said. His arm moved away from Patrick's waist.

"Cheaper earlier. Let's go." He grabbed their hands and pulled them away. Russ just rolled his eyes at Patrick. In a moment the whole group was outside in the warm night air.

"Circle!" Phil pointed down the street. "Ho!" He strode off. Patrick followed with Russ and the other boys.

"The Circle?" Patrick asked.

"The Seventh Circle," one of the other boys said. "It's a new place. Phil likes it, because it's really focused on dancing."

"As opposed to being a total meat market, like certain other places I could mention," another said.

"The Seventh Circle as in Dante's Inferno?" Patrick asked. "What kind of name is that?"

"One for the better educated class of poofs to appreciate," Russ said.

They caught up with Phil at the door to a club bearing a logo of seven concentric circles in the rainbow colours, the middle one, the seventh, deep red. Patrick wondered again about who gave the club such an alarming name.

Phil signed Patrick in and they handed over their entry fees. A sign over an inside door read: "Abandon hope all ye who enter here." Predictable. A couple of doormen frisked the group and waved them through. A short passage lay beyond that first door, sloping gently upwards, its plush carpet soft underfoot, the walls painted deep red. From the other end, music pounded.

"This place used to be a theatre," Phil called back over his shoulder to Patrick as he hurried on ahead. "Wait until you see the dance floor." He reached the doors at the end and pushed both open, flooding the passageway with pulsing music and lights.

Patrick's heart quickened and his mouth felt suddenly dry. This was... He hurried to catch Phil, still holding the doors open, and ducked under his arm. He found himself looking down into an auditorium. A semi-circle of stepped levels, intersected by three wide staircases, surrounded one half of a circular dance floor. The other half, where the stage must have been once, held a big DJ booth and sound systems, arranged around the edge of the floor. The great proscenium arch still soared overhead, painted blood red now and holding gyrating lights.

Bars lay to their left and right as they came through the door, but Phil didn't head for them. Instead he grabbed Patrick's hand and headed straight down the nearest staircase, carpeted in the same red as the passageway. Patrick didn't protest. He didn't want a drink. Screw that. He wanted to dance.

In a moment they were on the dance floor. Early still, barely ten-thirty, the floor wasn't full and Phil easily pulled him on through the other dancers to the middle of it.

From here Patrick could see the theatre's Grand Circle balcony still existed, sweeping around the semicircle. A metal grid closed it off and he couldn't see much beyond shadowy figures, guessed there must be another bar up there. But forget that. Dance floor - that's where he belonged.

And so did Phil. God, but Phil could dance! Patrick fell easily into synch with him. They might have been dancing together for years. Dance. Just dance. He didn't care if this was a gay club or a straight one. He just wanted to dance.

Why had he been so afraid? He felt safe here. Safer than anywhere else he'd ever been. He turned to see Phil's eyes fixed on him. Phil grinned and Patrick grinned back and dragged out the band that held his hair back. He shook his hair out and Phil whooped, making Patrick break up with laughter.

Patrick had come home.