The Hunk

Not all of the neighbors of K’s were horrible people. As a matter of fact, aside from The Snake, the mostly evil landlord, and his douchebag son (both of whom I’ll get to eventually), everyone was pretty chill. There was the girl who practiced with her baton in the backyard on a daily basis who also happened to work at a monthly warehouse party that I often attended—free drinks for me! Then there was the awesome butch lesbian couple who even had their wedding at our bar (I got paid extra to work it and tipped extra as well). Then, there was Brett.

Brett was a fairly average-sized, fit, chiseled gay man who visited me on a regular basis because he lived around the corner. It sounds cliché, but it’s true when say my heart literally skipped a beat every time he walked through the door. That guy was so hot and so sweet to me that I couldn’t help but fall for him and fantasize about the horrible things I could do to him if only the front wasn’t all windows...

Here’s a funny side-note: One of our regular musicians has a song about bartenders that may sum up a few of the stories I’ve told you so-far. Her name’s Lady Blanche, and the opening line of her song goes something like: “You may think that just because I’m a bartender I’ll sleep with you—well you’re right!”

Well, I know lately I’ve been making myself out to sound like a man-whore, but all these incidents happened a few years ago after a major breakup. Brett, however, was the first time that I actually legitimately wanted to care about somebody—and it didn’t hurt that he was a chill, sexy, everyday guy who had an interest in the arts. As a matter of fact, he reminded me of a nicer, happier version of my ex. He even tipped me well: $3 on a $5 beer.

My little crush didn’t become obvious to me fully until one day when Mallory and Cheryl, two friends of mine, were at K’s planning one of our epic parties. I remember that it was just the three of us, chatting about what our theme should be, when suddenly Brett walked in. They knew about him already, and apparently, I got pretty visibly nervous and giggly. He and I chatted off to the side for a few minutes, then when he left, we had our usual hug and goodbye kiss—not the usual cheek kiss you’d give a friend, but a quick kiss on the lips, which he pretty much pulled me into every time.

“Wow,” commented Cheryl. “He’s hot! And you definitely really like him.”

“Is it that obvious?” I said, coyly. Of course it was, but until that point, nobody had really pointed it out to me. But that settled it—I was in love. Sh-t.

For whatever the reason, at least once a week, Brett would come in to visit, listening to me awkwardly stutter though some kind of story about my week. It got more and more obvious that I was into him, and I’m sure he milked it for all it was worth.

But wait a minute—isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? Isn’t it my job to seduce the customer to get better tips? Still, I let it be.

One day, in the middle of an awkward conversation, it came up that I was temporarily living in Gravesend, deep into Brooklyn. It turned out that Brett actually worked just a few blocks away from me.
“Why don’t we get together and play music one of these days after I get off work?” Brett asked. “Maybe during lunch?”

Again, my heart sank, probably more than before.

“Sure!” I replied, excitedly but awkwardly. Yep, I was heading straight for trouble, even though I swore Brett was such a nice, innocent guy... right?

The day came, and I pretended to have been in bed all day, not particularly awaiting his call, when in actuality I had already showered and even put on unworn "pajamas." When he showed up at my door, I wasn’t sure at first whether or not to let him in just to the living room or all the way to my bedroom, but to my room he went.

We chatted for a bit about music since he’s also a songwriter, and I awkwardly played him a song on my guitar. Well, part of a song, before he yanked the guitar away from me and shoved his face into mine. Yep, that’s where this was going. I knew it.

Needless to say, that was the best hour I had had in a long time. It wasn’t until another week or two that I learned the sad truth of the matter:  Brett was in a long-term committed relationship.

Whether or not it was an open one didn’t quite matter to me—I didn’t want to be the mistress, but damn did I want to see him again. Sadly, from that point on, I (mostly) ignored his advances, but I was pretty confident in the fact that that lunch break was pretty memorable for him as well. I mean, he still tips me over 50% to this day.