At the Grotto

This is post 28 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

The Grotto was an old warehouse in the restored waterfront area of Endersburg. The second floor, with a deck over the river added on, could be rented out for parties. Across the water were smoke stacks, and upstream the eerie illumination of a steel mill cast a fiery glow on the water. Downstairs there were lights, shiny accessories, and big-screen TV’s, but the upstairs interior featured exposed pipes and a mural heavy on phallic rocks, with Sapphic mermaids and well-endowed sailors discovered (separately) in compromising positions.
Robert and Jack were welcomed in a mellifluous bass by Sheba (as in Queen of), an enormous, very dark-skinned African American who presided over the proceedings like a benevolent fairy godmother, but was more than capable of handling any “unpleasantness,” as “she” invariably called it. They had invited all of their gay friends, as well as, in what Jack insisted was a courtesy, Robert’s father and Jack’s brother. As Sheba bore away their coats and umbrella, they could see that a few of the guests were already there, although the D. J. was still setting up in the booth.
Frank in particular made a point of greeting them and drawing them into the center of the group. He was small and Puckish, with mischievous, catlike green eyes and a nearly pentagonal face surmounted by spiky ginger hair. He put one arm around Robert’s waist and the other around Jack’s and propelled them toward the bar, enveloping them, as he did so, in a cloud of “Moi” cologne. “Make way! Make way for the Queens of the Night!” he announced. “What’s your pleasure, gentlemen? Wait! Don’t tell me! One sloe gin fizz—with paper umbrella—and one very dry martini without, please.”

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