Pete went grocery shopping at his regular store and stocked the fridge. He didn't feel half a million bucks richer. He'd planned to call Carlos later tonight to tell him about his eventful day, but he desperately felt like a beer. It had been a big day, and he'd earned the refreshment. Why call his boyfriend on the phone when he could visit him at work?
He changed into civvies: a black Judas Priest t-shirt of Carlos's that had somehow ended up in his laundry hamper, a pair of tight black denim jeans, and his cherry-red 8-hole Doc Marten boots. He tied a flannel shirt around his waist and threw a baseball cap onto his head. He checked himself in the mirror before leaving. On the way down in the elevator, he ran his fingers through his long red hair.
He arrived at Eternal around six. Carlos was behind the bar, and it was a quiet night. "Hey, bartender," he smiled out of the corner of his mouth, "pour me a cold one, and don't skimp on the suds." He sidled up to the bar attempting a John Wayne impression. It was terrible.
Carlos grinned, leaning across the bar to kiss his boyfriend. He selected a clean glass and began to pour Pete's favourite brew. Pete passed a $10 note across the counter and, just in case a CCTV camera was watching, Carlos returned two $5 bills as change.
"Long day in the office?" asked Carlos.
Pete had a story to tell. "Not quite as long as I'd expected. I left a little bit early." He looked around the room. "Hey, can you take a break?"
Carlos nodded. "Yeah, think so." He waved to Adahlia, tonight's bar manager, gesturing to her to take over for a few minutes. She recognised Pete and came over to give him a tight friendly hug. She was so happy that her dear friend Carlos had finally come out of the deep funk he was in after Gorilla died, and she knew Pete was a large part of the reason why. She loved him dearly for that.
Pete felt her sizeable goth tiddies pressing into his upper body, but women did absolutely nothing for him. He received the gesture exactly as it was intended -- as an expression of friendship.
Pete and his boyfriend sat at a table close to the bar. Carlos had a glass of water in front of him. It was goth night at Eternal, and the drum machine and dark bass of Sisters of Mercy were pumping out of the speakers. It was quiet now, but it'd get busier later. Reticent, skinny, androgynous men wore thick mascara; their black fingernails held fragile glasses of deep red wine. They mixed with bold, confident women; their huge, fat racks amplified by tight corsets.
Carlos scanned the room. He knew that goth women saw men as prey. For a brief moment, he imagined a corseted chick pounding the fuck out of a goth femboy with a strap-on from behind... in his mind, he heard the femboy's high-pitched moans and squeals as her plastic cock drove home... he imagined her reaching down to slap his balls and pour scorn on his clitty...
(Once, he'd actually walked in on a pegging in Eternal's men's bathroom. While he didn't see any of the action, it was obvious just from the sound what was happening inside the cubicle. That poor guy, whoever he was, got obliterated that night.)
He wondered what it'd feel like if Adahlia fucked him hard in the ass. He looked over at the bar. She was leaning forward as she poured a glass of red wine for a goth; the hapless dude couldn't take his eyes off her.
Fuck, her titties were on fire. She'd sucked Carlos's dick a few times, but that was a long time ago, way before Gorilla. He imagined her fucking him. He'd love to feel her breasts pressing into his back as she reached around to pinch his nipples and tease his straining cock. He was already moaning on the inside, just thinking about it.
As Pete began to speak, he had no idea where his boyfriend's mind had just gone. "I need to tell you all about today, Carlos. But first, do you want the good news or the bad news?"
Carlos winced as his daydream fantasy dissolved into thin air. "I hate it when people ask me that question. It usually means there's bad news, and then there's even more bad news. So give me the bad news first."
"OK. I got fired."
Carlos blinked in disbelief. "What the fuck?"
Pete nodded. "As of today, I am no longer a law school intern." He knew that, strictly speaking, he hadn't been fired, but he wanted to freak Carlos out for a second.
Carlos nearly panicked. "What the fuck did you do?" He remembered the time he deliberately got himself fired from a shitty office job he hated. He went to work that day dressed like a slut who'd been out on the town the night before. He teased his thirsty supervisor mercilessly before delivering the coup de grace -- he unzipped his pants on the office floor. He flopped his cock out and demanded his supervisor blow him in front of his co-workers. He didn't last until lunchtime before security took his ID pass and frogmarched him out of the building.
"So I asked them for time off work for the tour," said Pete. "They said no, and I guess it's fair to say things escalated from there. But it's not all bad. In fact, there really is some good news, Carlos."
Carlos felt anxious. "OK, I'm ready. Tell me."
Pete spoke quickly. "I didn't get fired, I quit, and they paid me half a million bucks to leave."
"No fucking way," Carlos breathed.
Silently, Pete opened his wallet and produced the check. Carlos's eyes boggled in disbelief. He'd never seen that much money in his life. Not even close.
"Fuck me dead, Pete, that's a lot of money." Carlos knew there was a story to be heard. "Wait here." He raced behind the bar to pour himself a beer of his own. He brought it back to the table, but his first sip was mainly froth. He'd poured it way too fast, partly because he couldn't peel his eyes from Adahlia's rack, but mainly because he desperately wanted to hear Pete's tale. "OK, dude, tell me what happened."
Despite everything, Pete still bore the moral and ethical marks of a good lawyer. "I can't tell you everything. I signed an NDA, and I'm bound to honour that commitment. I can't tell anyone what occurred in that room today, not even my boyfriend. And, by the way, keeping confidentiality protects us, too. I mean, let's say someone at the firm wants to sue me, it goes to court, and they call you as a witness..."
Carlos got the point immediately. He nodded to show he understood.
"So let's just say they fucked up bad," said Pete.
They gazed at each other across the table as they drank their beers. It dawned on Carlos that everything Pete had worked for in his professional life was gone. "Do you have any regrets?" he asked. "I mean, you've worked hard and you've studied hard, and now..." He wasn't sure how to finish his sentence, but he knew Pete would get his meaning.
Pete looked uncertain. He sipped his beer thoughtfully and returned the glass to the table. "Depends, I guess. I mean, nobody has regrets about half a million bucks landing in their bank account, do they? And there's nothing holding me back from going on tour anymore. And I don't think I'll be lying on my deathbed one day looking back on my life regretting not being a lawyer."
Carlos wondered why Pete would've been asked to sign an NDA. Something serious must've happened for the firm to buy Pete's silence, but he could only speculate what it might have been. He thought hard before framing his next question. "But are you happy with the dollars you got, Pete? Feels like you've given up everything you've studied for."
"Yeah, I know, that's true, but right now, I couldn't give a fuck. I feel free. The firm knew I had a bright future, which is obvious by how many zeroes are on the check they cut me, but in this moment, I've got no regrets how today panned out. I don't have to go to class anymore, and we're about to go on tour. Why would I feel down about any of this?"
"But that money won't last forever, Pete. Spare a thought for me. Like, I've got myself a sexy, smart and talented boyfriend whose high-priced law salary might've bought us a penthouse in Manhattan one day, but I guess that won't happen anymore." He pouted sexily. "I thought you were going to be my breadwinner."
Pete leaned across the table and grabbed Carlos's hand. "You're gonna be *my* breadwinner, dude. We're gonna be rockstars. One day, your sexy face is gonna be on the cover of every music magazine in the world. Dudes around the world are gonna sneak your magazine cover into the bathroom and jack off all over it. We'll still get that penthouse, but in a different way."
