"Rocky Mountain High"
Part 3
It's not easy to get everything right. However, Frankie was trying his best to do just that. He really wanted Barry, and they looked so good side by side, he sensed they meant to be together.
However, this was "fairy tale" bullshit, according to the way Frankie understood people. He came from where you fuck `em and leave them.
At one time, he got a huge charge out of doing just that. Now, he hated being a prick, even though it was fair game, in the gay cruiser's playbook.
Barry was driving and saying very little. Travelling over 17th street, Barry asked, "Where are we going?"
"My house. I live in a `friggin fancy' neighborhood' and I want to show you the street. Folks have some good-looking gardens. I like the city but my dream is to live on a farm, with cows, chickens, and maybe a horse or two," admitted Frankie.
"Why don't you do it? Do you know anything about farming? It's a business you know, and you have to understand what you're doing," replied Barry.
"I thought we could figure it out together, after we're married," said Frankie.
"Yeaaah right – good one, said Barry looking straight ahead. It was a joke to him, but a fantasy for Frankie.
Frankie felt like a klutz, but it doesn't matter about what doesn't matter. He was alone with Barry and they were friendly. For the time being, that was as good as it gets. He watched Barry drive, with legs opened wide when breaking in traffic.
Barry smiled often and began talking about Denver. "I like downtown, and seeing the LoDo historic homes. I don't live there, but they are reminiscent of what folks call the olden days. There were plenty of farms around then. You're a hundred years too late. Denver is a big city now. "He concluded.
"You understand a lot of things," said Frankie. "You have something special about you that make me wonder how long I have been asleep."
"If that's a "pick up line," it is the best I've heard yet," said Barry, "and that marriage thing, isn't bad either. It's dumb, but it does get one's attention."
"I'll remember that in case I ever want to use it," Frankie mumbled, sucking in his lower lip to a make or break moment. Somehow, he wasn't doing so well, saying one dumb thing after another.
"When I moved here from the Bronx, my then boyfriend was a bartender, and we rented a house. He is long gone, and I'm still there, however that is yesterday's history, and not worth talking about.
"Then let's not talk about it," said Barry.
"Exactly my thoughts," Frankie replied, casting a slight twinkle with his eye and curling his lip ever so slightly.
"You're a cool guy and great looking. Do you know who you look like?" I can't imagine you not having a boyfriend." Barry remarked. "You must be difficult to get along with."
"I don't think so; I have never heard that before. I might be a man slut, if you stay curious, you can find out," said Frankie. "Okay – who do I look like?"
"Dack Rambo,"
"Grazie, but the man is dead," mumbled Frankie, not comfortable resembling a dead person. It was either nutty thinking, or just an Italian thing.
Barry rambled on talking and talking. "I'm younger than you, but not by much. I'm twenty six, what are you about thirty?"
"Thirty one."
"Solid number," Barry remarked, stopping at North Main for a red light.
"Do you like Colorado," Barry asked.
"Sure do, Here is where I belong," smiled Frankie. "I still would like to try my hand at farming, that's no bull. Take me home country road," he added.
There were several cars behind Barry and tooting their horns. It seemed that Barry didn't pull out fast enough when the light turned green and some drivers were anxious to get moving.
"Oh for Christ sakes," said Barry. "They can't even give a guy two seconds. Is this what it's like in the Bronx?"
"Yep quite often, everybody is in a rush going no place. That seems to be the rule of thumb. Just forget about it. Concentrate on me," replied Frankie appearing to be serious.
"Okay, what do you want me to concentrate on?"
"How about this, for a starter," he quoted opening his legs displaying a hefty bump in his pants. It seemed a little crude, but it worked in the Bronx. He still had much to learn about Colorado men.
"Lovely, however, I'm not a hook up – pick up – or common anything you care to label it," said Barry.
"Damn, but you have all the right answers. You have a great looking bod. I like saying it, and you like hearing it, so let's skip the fuckin games, and that's no pick up line," confessed Frankie.
"I have a good dick, and you might want it, continued Frankie rolling his eyes, and staring out the window. It was time to change the subject.
"Barry slowed for the next stop light. " Do you want me to drop you off at your house?" he asked, turning onto Montgomery Street where Frankie lived. He never said a word about Frankie's view on cock and sex.
"Sure, great. Let me give you some gas money for going so far out of your way," said Frankie digging into his pocket for his wallet.
"Don't be ridiculous. I had to come this way, so it worked straight out. My grandmother lives two blocks from here. She is going to play Bingo tonight with my mom. The two old ladies travel together, on Thursday for Bingo at the senior center," then he giggled. Ha-ha, I am the old gal's taxi for tonight."
"You're a good man," spouted Frankie.
"Thank God, I'm a country boy."
"Say, that's John Denver's, Rocky Mountain High. He's the best," said Frankie.
"Me too, the best. He shortened his name from John Deutschendorf, to "John Denver" loving Colorado like he did," added Barry. "The boundless thing about Colorado, is one can lose themselves in the world they choose. Denver is unique, and the mountains offer the glorious vision that John Denver wrote and sang about. John wasn't gay – just spot-on."
"That clinches it; we have a lot in common. How many kids do you want to adopt when we get married?" asked Frankie.
"Married! Are you nuts? Never mind, I know your joking. But smooth, very smooth."
"Go out with me," said Frankie finally becoming a serious person. Barry had stopped the car in front of 1229 where Frankie lived and they sat talking.
"You mean, like a date – a real date?" Barry replied. Then he open his legs copying what Frankie did earlier displaying a package more mysterious than what Frankie tried to pull. It seemed like a battle of the bulge, standoff.
"Lovely, giggled Frankie. You are such a copycat," laughed Frankie touching Barry's leg. "Come inside for a minute before going to your grandmothers."
"Sorry, no can do, she is a tough old lady, and I will hear about it for an hour." She always said, "You should be, `TIMELY' and she's a stickler for being on time."
"Okay, then I will go every day to Angie's in order to see you. There is something wrong with my phone. It doesn't seem to have your number in it," Frankie babbled, with a childish grin.
Barry pulled Frankie's phone from his shirt pocket. "Here, give it to me," and tapped in his number. "There, text or call me." He said. I don't want to miss out on that date."
"Hey, I never asked you if you had a boyfriend. Here I am, sparkin up a storm, and maybe you love somebody," declared Frankie.
"You're mysterious as hell. I am plain as one can get', Barry admitted. "No, I am not in love with anybody."
I know what I want when I see it, and I want to see more of you, if you let me," Frankie declared.
"Please don't be a liar, but hold that thought," mumbled Barry, not believing what he was hearing. He was accustomed to all sorts of pickup lines. "Got to go," he said.
Frankie watched Barry drive out of site. It was a silly touching movie moment, feeling weird watching him as the car disappeared from view. He expected any moment for the director to holler –CUT, as the fantasy played out in his head.
It was Saturday afternoon; two days had gone by. Barry held his phone in his hand staring at the blank screen thinking and thinking when he received an incoming text.
Hey Barry, I don't work weekends and planning on stopping at the Rainbow Lounge tonight for a cold amber beverage, want to join me? Frankie.
Barry replied immediately but kept it short and simple, He wrote... "Sure, sounds good, see u later" (no signature)
The rainbow lounge a semi classy gay club, is where mature gay men go for an evening of drinking, looking, talking, playing and prancing. It was much different from the crosstown bars with young effeminate gay boys carried on like full-blooded wannabe women.
Lonnie Beekman worked as the weekend bartender at the Rainbow Lounge. Lonnie was originally from Phoenix Arizona, who came to Colorado for winter sports. He fell in love with the Rockies and didn't return to the land of sun, cactus, and more sun. It is ironic how bartenders are hired because they are sexy.
The Rainbow Lounge struck gold when Lonnie walked through those doors, looking for a job. He was twenty-five years old a fair skinned black man with a face like an angel. He had dark penetrating eyes with short-cropped hair a mustache the envy of movie stars, and the youthful body of a teen-age boy. When he smiled, the room glistened. His body I won't even talk about; he is beginning to sound like fiction. Nope, nothing false here, Lonnie was real, very real. Lord only knows, where all that charisma came from.
It didn't take long for the bar to fill with patrons when Lonnie was working. He would joke and treat everybody as special catering to them and never getting out of line or rude. He had an immaculate personality and was approached so many times, that gorgeous men could take lessons from him.
Frankie wedged his way between two men, who were leaving, for what looked like a fortunate hook up. He took one of the bar stools and plunked himself down as Lonnie handed him a bottle of Budweiser.
He and Lonnie, had `hooked up in the past, sharing good and bad moments. It never meant anything to Frankie except sex. Lonnie was too much distraction with rules for Frankie, gorgeous, but not his type.
Lonnie wore a pink satin thong for underwear. It was nothing more than a pouch with two strings for a waistband. Frankie thought that was God awful looking, and not sexy at all on such a handsome man. They remained friends and that was good enough. Barry meant so much more to him, even if he wore cheap baggy underwear from the dollar store.
"I'm Jack," said a man standing next to Frankie at the bar.
"Frankie."
"I plan on getting drunk tonight," said Jack.
"I wouldn't drive drunk in the city. Denver is turning liberal, but still not a good idea." Frankie replied.
"I'm new in town could you give me directions to your house? Suppose you keep an eye on me and bring me home with you," babbled Jack.
"Nice try, but suppose I don't."
"Well, like you said, nice try."
Frankie was used to being hit on. He wasn't tender prime rib like Lonnie, however, a better catch with maturity, a man's body with smothering flesh and a mouth made for kissing. Lonnie was pretty to look at, but Frankie was better to have and to hold. A night with Frankie stayed in one's memory. Whereas, a night with Lonnie gave one something to brag about.
Lonnie bent over the bar and kissed Frankie on the lips. He looked at Jack, smiling and said, "Are you trying to pick up my boyfriend?"
"Oh good Jesus," mumbled Jack wavering a bit on his feet. "I should have realized that handsome goes to handsome."
"Relax,' said Lonnie. I tease patrons all the time. It goes with the job. Everything is cool, Frankie and I are just good friends."
Jack wasn't amused and walked away. Five minutes later, he was sitting at a table with three men laughing and having a good time.
"Are you waiting for somebody?" asked Lonnie finally getting Frankie's attention. You're scrutinizing the crowd as if an invasion is about to happen."
"I am supposed to meet somebody here, so I'm just looking around."
"Do I know him?" Lonnie asked.
"Probably, you know everybody, who's worth knowing. His name is Barry."
"The waiter! - I know him. He is especially sexy, but you probably know that. He doesn't come around very much, good body – great ass. The man whores in this place, would stand in line to ride that boy, given the chance," said Lonnie, wiping the bar with a wet rag then walking away to serve patrons.
Frankie barely grinned, and didn't talk about Barry. He didn't like hearing that from Lonnie, although it didn't surprise him.
"Have you been here long," said somebody behind him touching his shoulder. It was Barry, who spotted Frankie at first glance.
Barry looked incredible. He wore a tight tee shirt over a solid chest, country faded jeans crotch delicious, and hair cropped short like a model. Plunked on his head set a black Stetson cowboy hat, and his face reeking with hotness. His bluish-green eyes sparkled, even the darkness of the bar.
"Let's go farming," smiled Barry, brushing against Frankie.
Frankie never said "hello," He took one look and mumbled, "Oh, Dear God."
********** Story Continues to part 5