More Than He Bargained For
Thank you to Sir @redpilledredneckdad for this prompt.
Tony knew the night club from back to front. Behind the bar, the staff rooms, even where the money was stored. He did not work at the night club–he had just been railed in every part of it. Employees and customers alike loved his bubbly nature and forward behavior. When he asked if they would be interested in topping, no one passed the opportunity up. So it naturally came as a surprise when one night, he found a new bartender tending to the drinks.
“When did you start?” Tony leaned up to the counter and got straight to the point.
The bartender chuckled. “Just today. You’re Tony I presume?”
Tony cocked an eyebrow, “How’d you know?”
“I was warned about you,” the bartender joked. Tony wondered what he had been warned about. That he was a very cute and attractive twink? That he got rave reviews? That outside of his nightlife, he had a doctorate in French Literature, attended Pro-Choice rallies, and hosted a bake shop on the weekends?
“I was told you were a menace.”
Tony guessed the bartender was in his thirties, somewhere between an otter and a cub. Hot, but not what he was looking for tonight. “Who said that? Danny or Jake?”
“I took a blood oath.” The bartender took one hand to his heart as if to illustrate. “I swore to God himself.”
“Fair, fair.” Tony was surprised by how much personality the bartender had, given he was clothed in a polished, yet standard suit. The bartender stuck out in the night club; he was an Adam in the garden after he had eaten the apple.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
The bartender’s casual smile twisted slightly. “I can get you one of those.”
“Really?” Tony liked where this was going. Although instead of pointing out another customer like Tony had expected, the bartender assembled a quick drink. Tony turned away to scan the dance floor after the glass disappeared under the counter. Tony was momentarily distracted by the sound of a zipper but remained focused. Once he turned back around, the finished product was placed right in front of him. It was clear with a yellowy tint.
Tony reached into the pocket of his skin-tight slacks for his credit card. The bartender shook his head in response.
“No need, it’s on the house.”
Tony frowned. “There’s never been free drinks here before.”
“It’s my first day, don’t you wanna celebrate?” the bartender quickly replied.
Unconvinced but not enough to reject a free drink, Tony brought the glass down and clinked it onto the counter. He then took a cautious sip, surprised by the icy condensation that sprinkled onto his bare chest. The dance music and rainbow lights behind him dulled, as if the world was focusing in on just Tony.
The bartender watched closely, his grin widening. “Thoughts?”
“It’s shockingly sour,” Tony winced slightly. “Is it a cider?”
“Not quite. Why don’t you have another taste?”
Tony took another swallow. The drink stung the back of his throat, digging its nails through his flesh. Tony's eyes began to water.
“Holy Father…” Tony coughed, then paused. What had he just said?
“That’s better.” There was something strange about the bartender’s voice, a new color lurking within it. “I think you should have some more.”
Tony’s arm moved on its own, sloshing the liquid down into his system. This time though, the drink went down easier. His body was already familiarizing it, like it was something Tony had had thousands of times before.
The bartender, satisfied, decided to move the conversation forward. “Don’t you find clubs like these depressing?”
Tony gulped. “Why would I?” His voice sounded off. Too American, too starchy.
“You know, all this sin.”
Sin. The word bounced around the walls of Tony’s skull. At first, he did not understand what the bartender was referring to. He scanned the floor once more. Men sliding up and down against each other. Sticky sweat and the smell of pheromones. One guy holding his partner up, kissing him roughly on the lips.
Tony felt something flicker inside his gut. A twist of something rotten. Disgust.
“You see it now, don’t you?” the bartender questioned. “It’s all so garish and vulgar. They look so depraved.”
Tony’s stomach turned as he went in for another sip. Although the room was dark, he could catch a bit of his reflection in the glasses stacked behind the bar. His face appeared tighter, the lavish soft qualities that countless men had admired had hardened into something more rigid, more demanding. Tony did not even register the drink sliding down his throat anymore. The burn felt good, right.
“This country used to be respectable,” the bartender said. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Tony’s bangs receded slightly, pulling out of the top of his vision. The tropical air of the room begin to coat his forehead as his hair withdrew farther and farther back. It thinned as well, mocking the luscious curls he formerly had and transitioning Anthony's haircut into a relaxed but well-conditioned Ivy League. A look that said “See, I can have a little fun.”
“I mean you seem like the kind of guy who has seen things.” The bartender’s voice slithered into Tony’s ear. “You remember the good ‘ole days of America.”
A solid line engraved itself into Tony’s exposed forehead. Then another, then another. More appeared around his eyes and carved themselves into his cheeks. Tony’s skin, which had undergone daily treatments since he was in high school, constricted, weathered over the years into something more leathery. There was a history to his body now.
“When were you born, anyway?” the bartender asked.
Tony moved the glass away from his mouth, “1973.”
What?! No, it was 2003! He was not 53 years old!! Tony had been born when Bush was in office, the second Bush. That was only 23 years ago. Wow, had it been that long already? It felt like just yesterday that Tony Jr. had been born. Wait, who was Tony Jr.?
“You grew up during the Reagan Era?” the bartender asked. “Fuck, I’m jealous.”
“Language,” Tony’s voice snapped on its own, robust and authoritative. Why did he say that, who cared what anyone said anymore?
“Sorry man,” the bartender backed off, although he could not hide his amusement. “Why don’t you tell me what it was like? Being a kid of the ‘80s.”
Why would Tony know? He could not even imagine it. All he knew about the 80s was the arena rock and how every other person he knew had a mullet. There were the movies too, huge blockbusters featuring new ideas and technology. He was practically raised on Saturday cartoons before growing into drive-in theatres. Tony remembered hearing about…learning about the eruption of Mount St. Helens. Watching the Berlin Wall come down on TV, or was it on the internet?
“And the Evangelicalism too,” the bartender added. Had Tony been speaking aloud this whole time? “I bet you were big into that.”
The bartender nodded to Tony’s chest. Tony looked down, surprised to find a thin gold cross resting in the valley between his two fur-dusted pecs. Had he not shaved before coming here? He was always clean-shaven. And why was his dress shirt white? It had been black before, right? No, his suit coat was black, the suit coat he had received for his 50th birthday. Perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and the right taper for his sculpted legs. Caroline had gifted it to him, how could he forget? Who the hell was Caroline?
Tony did not recognize the bartender’s subtle addition. He took another swig from his glass. “Yes.”
He was married? The more Tony questioned it, the clearer the images became. Met in college, engaged after graduation, first kid around…right, 2003. Tony coughed into his drink. A kid? Was he married to a women?! No, that could not be true! He had to stop drinking whatever the bartender had given him. Tony was a homosexual, through and through. He was not straight, he was not-
Good Lord she was beautiful. Tony thanked God–no he did not!–he thanked God everyday for blessing him with such a beautiful wife. And providing him with his career and-
“Three of them, all strapping young lads.”
-three handsome young men. Anthony “Tony” Jr., 2003, was the oldest, pursuing a Master's in Political Studies at the most prestigious university available. Matthew, 2008, was captain of the soccer team and president of his preparatory school’s Young Republicans. And Donald “Donny”, 2015, named after a close friend of Anthony’s, was applying for his gun license and worked as a Sunday School mentor at their local church.
Suddenly, from a corner of the club, a group of gay men hollered out, cackling like hyenas. The bartender openly scowled in their direction.
“Degenerates,” Tony said. “Their perversion is abhorrent.”
The bartender smiled. “Would you prefer to be somewhere more traditional, sir?”
The scene around the pair warped and twisted. The neon lights softened, gathering into an orange glow. The harsh metals sturdied into hardwoods, the patrons clothed themselves in attire more fitting for the real world. To Tony, the scene became more normal; it had straightened itself into something he could feel comfortable in. The bartender–and as he now realized, himself–fit into this new reality. The reality where drinks were poured and discussions about economics, religion, and occasionally women were held.
“Much better,” the bartender commented. “Wouldn’t you agree, uh…”
“Anthony,” Ton-...Anthony replied. “Anthony Spencer.”
“The Republican representative?” the bartender asked. “Well had I known I was serving such an esteemed man, I would have offered you a second drink!"
Anthony chuckled, “The Lord and I are not stopping you from doing so now.”
The bartender nodded and prepared a glass, pulling out the most expensive bourbon available. A man of Anthony’s standing would certainly appreciate it. Hard and unforgiving, just as he was. A man dedicated to making his country great and straight again. A man who was not afraid to promote the union of church and state. Anthony had lived through decades of corruption: Hilary Clinton, the Obama administration, Obergefell v. Hodges. It was not until Trump’s first term that Anthony realized he ought to do something. And in Trump’s second that he could–he ran to represent his state and won.
Anthony remembered the day fondly, standing in front of his humble McMansion and announcing his victory to the press. The journalists and crowds swarmed his gates, curious to hear what he had to say.
“It’s obvious that the people are not looking for another politician promising them progress,” he had said. “They wanted a defender of this country’s most sacred values. A husband, a father.”
Behind him stood his beautiful Caroline, the woman who had been by his side since day one. Who had found him his first job out of college through her father’s financial firm, who had birthed not one, not two, but three of his offspring. And now, as they had just discovered, would in less than a year be bringing him a fourth.
“My campaign is not about protecting the everyday American, but the traditional American family. Protecting the faith that guides our laws and the people–the good white, Christian people–that uphold them.
Anthony’s sons filled out the picture, the epitome of young masculinity. He had raised them to be the best men they could be. Red-blooded Christian Americans who would fight for their rights and their country.
“It will be my duty to create the legislation that sanctifies our marriages and strike those down that contaminate them. To oppose policies that promote unsightly ideologies and support those that crucify them. I will fight against the ‘woke’ agenda and Make America Great Again!”
The response from the crowd had been unanimous: a roaring applause. With a smile, Anthony was returned back to his current conversation as a second glass was placed in front of him.
“Thank you for all the work you've done to defend this country, Representative Spencer,” the bartender said. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
Anthony took a sip, lavishing the alcohol on his tongue. “This’ll do for now. If there’s anything else I need, I’ll let you know.”
The bartender gave the representative a nod, watching as the proud man disappeared into the crowd.
