Nighttime in the city was when everything felt truly alive. Drunks stumbled out of bars, hoping to walk straight enough to make it back home littered the streets. Their incomprehensible jabbering vexed him, but there was vicarious comfort in knowing someone had as pleasurable a night as Darzsa had.

Clicking heels against the pavement down Royal created a tune that added pep to Darzsa’s step. He crept up the stairs to his apartment, careful not to wake his neighbors. Down the hall Darzsa went, closing the door that never shut all the way. He started to undress, unbuckling his shoes, and unpinning his hair. On the vanity sat a bowl that he filled with water and began taking off his makeup. Mascara and liner ran down his face, cutting through the blush and mixing with his lipstick, creating strokes of watercolors on his face.

Stripped down to the bare bones, all was exposed before him. The faded scars from neighborhood boys’ parents engraved his chest. Those were replaced with mementos of passions from names he forgot.

Forgetting was easy for Darzsa. He had forgotten the look on his mother’s face the first time she caught him in her wardrobe trying on skirts. He had forgotten the profusion of blood pooling in his mouth after his father saw him behind their building, sharing his first kiss with the boy across the hall. He had forgotten the look on Daniel’s face when the train pulled away from the station, one-way ticket in hand to a distant relative Darzsa had only met once or twice.

One thing that he couldn’t forget was tonight and seeing Josiah again after all these years. The way he looked at him and talked to him. Nothing in him reminded him of the painful memories of home. Josiah truly was a new man in this new place, no longer running after Daniel and his friends. Young Jo grew up into a man who knew what he wanted, and tonight he made it known that Darzsa was on that list. Maybe it was seeing a familiar face in the unknown. Or was it something that he wanted to try for the thrill? That hand on Darzsa’s arm was enough to let him know that he intended to see what kind of man Josiah was going to be.

***

Many nights passed where Josiah came with the church mouse and sat in that corner. Darzsa would neglect his nightly duties and only happened to service that table, scaring the killjoy away to the bar. Without a care in the world about what was happening on stage, Darzsa preoccupied himself with his own show: learning the ins and outs of Josiah Adams.

“Another busy day at this factory? Building cars all day.” Darzsa swirled his finger around the rim of Josiah’s glass.

“Car sales have been copacetic, so I like getting paid for one of my favorite hobbies,” Josiah said. He reached for his glass and took a sip, studying Darzsa over the vanishing whiskey. “Isn’t that why you work here?”

“Goodness, no. Tolerating them is hardly a hobby of mine. The only consolation is that it’s one of the few gin wheels where any Bruno can be a babe. Also,” Darzsa tapped the glass, resting his hand against Josiah’s for a moment, “free hooch and various ways to pass the time.”

Darzsa waved at the bartender to bring over a bottle to replenish Josiah’s glass. Neither one acknowledged that Darzsa was in the middle of his shift and that it was his job to get the bottle, but incredulous looks aside, the bartender complied and dropped the bottle with a pointed thud.

“Would you like some more?” Darzsa poured a fifth and downed it in one gulp. His eyes flitted over Josiah’s dark suit, creating monochrome perfection and not a thread out of place. “So, tinkering with cars gets you these nice suits?”

Men paraded through that false door most nights, feigning working-class attire in their swanky tweed jackets and slacks. Darzsa could easily pick out the ones with the indents in their ring finger who slinked in for a night away from their wives. They left the luxury of their mansions and bungalows to get their fix, then shake the guilt with a new pair of Oxfords or a dress.

“You don’t always need a bouquet of orchids.” The glass traded hands, and Josiah clinked it against the bottle for Darzsa to fill it. “Right?”

Always a good host, Darzsa poured to Josiah’s content. Mr. Suits was right; looking expensive didn’t require a lot of money, and Darzsa had a closet full of clothes to prove it. “Of course, you wear them well. With all that money left over from buying cheap suits, you must spoil your doll real nice.”

Josiah sipped his drink, savoring every drop. The hesitation was confirmation enough for Darzsa, reaching for the glass, satisfied with Josiah’s silence. “I guess I could,” Josiah took another sip, “but I’d rather spend it on drinks from hosts who like cheap suits.”

Darzsa blinked at the crisp notes Josiah pulled out of this wallet and handed to him. These past few weeks getting reacquainted with Jo have been impressive—never a dull moment at work and some nifty eye candy.

“Any requests?” Darzsa pawned the bills from Josiah and tucked them into the hollow of his bosom.

“Surprise me.”

Darzsa signaled to the bartender again and was met with a harsher gaze when he returned to the table. “Don’t give me that look, Mathieu. You owe me anyway, gacon.” Mathieu owed Darzsa more than bringing a few bottles to the table after the last night they shared.

“I’m telling Pearl this is coming out of your pay, mezanmi,” Mathieu hissed.

“Wait,” Josiah withdrew a few more dollars out of his wallet, “for the drinks. And the trouble of bringing them over here.” He eased his hand onto Darzsa’s thigh and gently squeezed. “Thanks for the hard work.” Josiah winked and handed the bartender his tip.

Mathieu could have smashed the gin on the table, and Darzsa wouldn’t have noticed. All arrows pointed south to Josiah’s hand ensnared in the tassels hemming Darzsa’s yellow dress. Fingers pressed and spread above Darzsa’s knee. If Jo wanted more than the tease happening on stage, all he had to do was ask.

“Any higher, and that’ll cost you.”

Gin sloshed around the glass as Josiah filled and tilted it back. “I can afford it.” He slid his hand from Darzsa’s leg and poured more out. “Drink up.”

Darzsa already missed the heat gathering where he wanted Josiah’s hands. He knocked back the drink and let the warmth spread through his chest. This man was starting to drive him crazy.

The toxic aroma of Mitsuoko assaulted Darzsa’s nose; Pearl was close. Darzsa spotted her at the bar chatting up Mathieu, who caught Darzsa’s eye and bit back a smile. Mouchard. Tonight’s entertainment would have to be cut short due to Darzsa’s job getting in the way. Pearl locked eyes with Darzsa, and he sunk in his seat.

“Duty calls?” Josiah leaned over and asked.

Darzsa glid out of the chair and smoothed down his dress. “Until next time.”

He left a lingering touch on Josiah’s shoulder and crossed the room to tend to a table of strangers to keep busy. As the night progressed and every table was serviced, Darzsa’s mind was still on that table in the corner where a once family friend was becoming a new prospect.