Goodnight, My Angel - Georgeotown Book IV - 13. GMA XIII

“Damn! You guys brought me a present? How’d you know I like the tall, skinny ones best? They always got long dicks and tight asses." The bouncer licked his lips as he appraised the subject of his admiration. “What’s your name sexy? I’m Jure.”

The momentary shock left them all silent as Jure leered and a wide-eyed Harley fidgeted. Chipper was the first to crack. His laughter followed a fraction of a second later by CJ and Owen hanging on to each other while chortling. Ethan was the only one to retain his composure. He did snicker before slapping the bulky, bearded doorman. “Lay off, Jure. He’s off limits. With me and straight.”

“Oh, hi.” The bouncer spared Ethan a cursory glance; a wink later, he at last paid attention to Harley’s license. He seemed intent on memorizing every scrap of information on it. “Didn’t notice you. I sort of got distracted.” He moistened his lips with his tongue once again, staring at a bewildered Harley. “I’m good at breaking in straight boys if you’re interested, baby.” Jure ran a hand down his torso and cupped his groin. The predatory display elicited groans from CJ and Owen. “Back in Croatia, both my best friends said it didn’t hurt them that much when I fucked them. And then they liked it and came back for more.”

CJ decided it was time to rescue his friend. “Ignore him, Harley.” He snatched the ID out of the bouncer’s hand and returned it to his disconcerted traveling partner. “Jure tried the same shit with Ozzie last time we were here. We’ve got to talk to Tony about this shit. He keeps hiring new people, and it takes us forever to train them. So hard to find good help these days.”

Jure gave CJ a dismissive glance before focusing on Owen. “Hi, Ozzie. Welcome back to PRIME, handsome. You know where to find me if you want a real beef injection tonight.”

“Give it up, mate. Not going to happen and you know it.” Owen gave CJ a conspiratorial wink. “But if you’re interested in being bottom boy for the five of us tonight…”

While the man narrowed his eyes, the others again stood silent, mouths agape, until Chipper spoke. “Wait! Let me pick my jaw up from the floor. Who are you, and what have you done with Ozzie? Damn, CJ, you been giving him lessons in sarcasm and innuendos?”

“He’s a good student. Let’s go fuck with Sean.”

CJ, Owen, and Harley left Washington mid-morning and rode the interstate the entire way to New York City. They would revert to their preferred back roads later in the trip; the first segment of their adventure traversed areas without the visual appeal of upcoming ones. Chipper was already at the Upper East Side apartment when they arrived, having flown in from Miami a few days earlier. Ethan joined them for dinner, and afterward, the five friends rode the subway down to Chelsea. Although the neighborhood was no longer quite the GLBT bastion it once was, it was still home to many gay bars. PRIME was their preferred watering hole in the City because of their friendship with the owners and the head bartender.

Inside, they inched their way through the Friday night crowd toward the rear serving area. Retro night was as popular as ever and Cher’s “Strong Enough” exploded through the sound system. It reminded CJ he needed to send the star diva a text or e-mail. He had not spoken to her since right after the wedding. “Hey, boy! A round of redheaded sluts and make it pronto.” CJ did not like the concoction of Jägermeister, peach-flavored schnapps, and cranberry juice all that much, but the name made it hard not to order the shooter whenever they visited the club.

Sean Brody stepped back from the bar so his entire body was visible. Smirking at the group of friends while grabbing his crotch, he shook his head so the curly, red hair created an illusory halo. “I’ve got your boy right here, sir.”

“You gonna join us, right?” Chipper knuckled the bartender first and the others followed.

“I will this round. But I’m not keeping up with you all night. I’m working, and I have a feeling the five of you seem ready to get shit-faced.”

“Nah, the three of us are riding tomorrow.” Harley pointed at himself and his two traveling companions. “I hate having a hangover when I’m gonna be on the bike for that many hours. That‘s why I prefer to smoke. But with CJ avoiding cannabis these days…”

“Oh, man, Sean. You should have seen Harley’s face when the bouncer offered to pop his cherry. We couldn’t stop laughing.” CJ barely avoided the punch Harley threw at him.

“It ain’t funny, CJ. I’m used to going to gay bars with you guys, but that was a first. Nobody’s ever tried so hard to get in my pants when I’ve gone to DIK Bar with you and the Scandals. Those guys always stopped hitting on me after one of you told them I wasn’t gay. I mean, this one kept going and going and going, even after Ethan told him I was straight. And he said he’d done it to his friends in Croatia. I guess that’s where he’s from? Isn’t that the same as Tank? This guy’s bigger but not so muscular. What is it with people from Croatia? Are they all big and gay? At least this Jure guy—“

“HARLEY!” Sean’s shout made several patrons stare at the group for a moment before resuming their conversations. “Here, bud. Have a drink. We need to slow you the fuck down. So you guys headed up north tomorrow?”

“Yep. We’ll return in a couple of weeks. The plan’s to stop in New York again on our way back to Washington. But that may change. We’ll let you know.” CJ raised his glass, encouraging his friends to do the same. “Here’s to good friends. Salud!”

“Salud, dinero, amor, y tiempo para disfrutarlos.” Chipper’s expanded toast had Sean staring at him after they downed their drinks. “I’m in town until my sister gives birth, Sean. Then I’m headed to Buenos Aires, so I’m practicing my Spanish. It means: health, money, love, and time to enjoy them. It’s an old Spanish saying.”

“When’s your sister due?” Collecting the empty glasses, Sean dropped them in the sink’s sudsy waters. Without bothering to ask what they wanted, he began mixing their preferred cocktails. CJ’s was the easiest: Hendricks over ice with a lime. After the first one, he always switched to Sapphire martinis.

“The end of June, early July. My mom’s flying up when the baby comes, and she’s staying for a month or so to help Cristina out. I’m sure my dickhead brother-in-law’s gonna hate having her around. He’s such a fucking control freak. Anyway, you’ll be seeing me in here until then. There’s a few auditions I’m trying to line up, but I’m going to have a lot of free time. I’ll fly to Argentina right after I meet my niece.”

“No butt-fucking while I’m in the room, okay?” Harley dropped his bag and helmet on the bed closest to the door while CJ and Owen claimed the other one.

They stopped twice to fuel the motorcycles and once for lunch but otherwise, the ride from New York to New Hampshire was a high-speed run aimed at arriving at the hotel with time to do something in the afternoon.

“Dude, what the fuck? Where did that come from?” The weather was typical for a late-spring, New England day. It was chilly enough they had worn their Perfecto leather jackets over t-shirts and hoodies. Combined with the motorcycle boots and Levi’s, they resembled members of a gang displaying their colors.

“Just sayin’… If I can’t have sex, neither can you.” Harley threw himself on the bed and scooted back to sit with his shoulders against the headboard. “I’m so glad to be off the damn interstate for the next few days. I’m looking forward to riding backcountry roads now. That’s almost always where adventure awaits.”

“CJ? Who’s this guy? Didn’t we think he was asexual at one point? Chipper said something last night about me acting different, but this is on an entire different level. And now he’s getting philosophical on us too.” Owen rummaged through his bag and retrieved a Dopp kit. “I’m going to wash my face and brush my teeth. We can head out any time after that.”

“I’ll do the same after you’re done.” CJ moved the bags and helmets to the chairs next to the room’s small table and replicated Haley’s position on the bed. “As for Harley, I think Kim’s been a bad influence on him.”

“You better be nice to her, CJ. I’m not like Thiago or Chipper, who’ll have sex with anyone. We’re talking about the woman I’m gonna marry.”

CJ’s jaw dropped at the announcement. He and Owen liked the girl and knew Harley was happy with her. Marriage was something new. “We better be invited to the wedding!” It was the best he could muster. Details could wait as far as he was concerned. They had a few days together ahead, and he planned to squeeze every scrap of information possible out of his bestie.

The ride north from Weirs Beach Motel and Cottages to Laconia Harley-Davidson took ten minutes, and CJ marveled at the number of motorcycles already on the road. If this was what the first day of Laconia Motorcycle Week was like, he suspected by the time it ended on Father’s Day it would be much more crowded. It reminded him of the throngs in Daytona Beach except for not seeing too many riders in shorts and flips. He still had no idea how those people could shift gears wearing plastic sandals.

A carnival atmosphere greeted them when they slowed down in front of the dealership. White tents obscured most of the paved space in front, and an attendant wearing neon-lime bib overalls directed new arrivals to a temporary parking area on the grassy lot behind the building. CJ caught glimpses of a band stage underneath the largest canvas awning. A pin-striper worked on a shiny, blue Tri Glide beneath a smaller one, and a tattoo artist was inking a man’s calf in another. “Where to, Harley?”

“Inside. I texted Keith before we left the hotel. He’s waiting for us.”

“Mate, how do you know this guy?” Owen was the only one who wore a helmet during the ride; he locked it on the engine guard before following the other two men.

“I’ve never met him. One of the techs at work knows him and put us in touch. I e-mailed Keith I was coming up with a couple of friends, and he told me to stop by when we got in town.”

Keith Askins was several inches shorter than CJ; the three visitors towered over him. The forty-something man’s long, scraggly beard ended halfway down his chest and his arms showed multiple grease-streaked tattoos. He resembled the stereotypical biker. Glancing at the three of them, he extended a hand. “Which one of you’s Harley?”

“That’s me. And these are CJ and Ozzie. Ozzie’s the blonde.”

“Nice to meet you, guys. Are you all in the same riding club? Those are nice jackets. Looks like you’re wearing a uniform.”

“Nah, except for HOG.” Harley referred to the Harley Owners Group, the club sponsored by the motor company. “But we’ve been friends since high school. CJ and I met ’cause I started talking to him the first day of classes. His dad has a Road Glide and CJ rode behind him that day.”

“Cool, so where are you guys staying?”

“Over on Weir Beach? I forget the name of the hotel.”

“You’re right in the middle of things. That’s where a lot of the events take place.” Keith stepped away from the service counter when a customer approached, and the others fell in step behind him. “What are your plans tonight?”

“Nothing so far.”

“What with all the bikes in town we’re kinda busy here. This week we always end up wrenching non-stop. I don’t have a lot of time to visit now, but I get off work at six. Let’s meet for a beer at the Broken Spoke right after. You know where you turned onto US-3 on the way here? It’s right there on the corner.”

Owen nodded at CJ. “That works. We want to stop at the HOG tent and pick up rally pins. These two got me hooked on the damn things when we went to Daytona last year.”

“Cool accent. Where you from?”

“Australia. But I’m on my way to becoming a citizen.”

“You’ll have to tell me how you ended up around these two when we meet up after work. By the way, you should stop by here every day. We have food, we have music, we have specials, and there’s a bunch of contests and raffles.”

Harley stared through the glass windows at the activity outside and spoke without turning. “Is the tat artist any good?”

“You wanna get inked?”

“Maybe. It’s been a while since my last one. I’m itching for more.”

“He’s good. He’s from Boston, and this is the third year he sets up shop here at the dealership. Come on, I’ll introduce you. What about you guys? You want to get a tat?”

“Not me. But maybe CJ. He’s got two of them and I know he wants more.”

“I’m good for now. You go with him, Harley. Ozzie and I want to buy t-shirts. I need a new pair of motorcycle-cop gloves too. Couldn’t find the left one this morning.”

A while later, they rode back to the lakefront headed toward the corporate Harley-Davidson exhibits. At the HOG tent, near the entrance to the Weirs Beach Drive-In, they showed their membership cards and added a new rally pin to their collection. Harley had some from events he attended with his father in the past, while CJ and Owen had them from the 2018 Daytona Bike Week and a couple from Rolling Thunder in Washington. They strolled through the vendor booths, bought pins and patches, and it seemed Harley tried to eat something from every food vendor. At half past six, when Keith walked into the Broken Spoke Saloon they were sitting at a table, beers in hand, waiting for the server to deliver Harley’s hamburger.

The next morning, the sky was cloudy, but rain was not in the forecast, and the temperature had risen. All three wore a t-shirt, a hoodie, and their leather vest. CJ and Harley had brought miniature sewing-kits and affixed Laconia 2019 patches on those the previous evening.

“If I can have your attention…” The heavyset man with the long, gray hair and beard stood in front of the group of riders flanked by four other men. “My name’s Lucas. I’ll be your road captain this morning.” At least a hundred bikers had gathered in the parking lot anticipating the ride through White Mountain National Forest. “Let’s get through the pre-ride meeting and we’ll hit the road.” Lucas rested a hand on the handlebar of a BMW R1200GS CJ assumed was his ride.

“We have a large group, so these guys next to me will all ride sweep.” All five wore, bright-pink bandanas around their necks for easy identification. “How many of you’ve never ridden in a group before? Raise your hands.” A smattering of arms went up, but it seemed most of those present were veterans of riding with others.

Lucas previewed their destination and the roads they would be traveling. They would be climbing peaks with an elevation of around 6,000 feet, so he stressed the importance of knowing their motorcycle’s capabilities. “We’ll ride in staggered formation. Keep a bike’s length behind the rider in front of you. Please remember although it’s a group ride, safety’s a personal responsibility. If you encounter any problems, pull to the side of the road. One of the sweeps will stop to help you.”

The White Mountain Trail outing lasted slightly over four hours. They traveled a landscape unspoiled by overdevelopment on gently curving roads, enjoying uninterrupted views of mountains, rivers, wetlands, and woodlands. CJ loved these times best; he could turn his mind off, and concentrate on the ride. Or take advantage of the solitude to delve into whatever he had been thinking about last. During one of the stops, the road captain and sweep riders assembled the large group and took pictures with as many phones and cameras as they were handed. CJ, Owen, and Harley asked for one of just the three of them. Owen was the one who voiced what all three were thinking. “This one’s getting framed and will become part of the new gallery wall at the apartment.”

The three friends said goodbye to the group when they returned to the staging area and headed toward the Harley-Davidson dealership again. On the way, Harley motioned for a stop at Hart’s Turkey Farm Restaurant. Somebody mentioned they served Thanksgiving dinner year-round, and he claimed he was in the mood for turkey with all the fixings.

“This is what I drew last night. What do you think?” Max glanced between the drawing he set atop the tall, tool chest and Harley. He absentmindedly rubbed the intricate dagger inked on his right temple. “I tried to keep it simple. If you end up with a full sleeve, it can be easily incorporated into the design.”

“I love it!” Harley resembled a kid with a new toy; his body vibrated with excitement. “What do you guys think?”

“I like it! I think I’ve seen that logo before but I can’t remember where.” Owen scratched his head staring at the drawing of a five-point star encased in a circle with five horizontal bars extending to each side. Atop and below, Max had used a military-style, stencil font to write THE SQUAD.

“On a bunch of the model airplanes hanging from the ceiling in Ritchie’s room.” CJ had helped his brother build some of those. “That’s the old US Air Force logo. Nice job, Max. You want color, Harley?”

“Yeah! It’s going on the left bicep above the Stars and Stripes. Since that one has a lot of red, I think this one should be mostly blue.”

“I think I’d want it in just black on me. Since neither one of my other two has color.” CJ chuckled. Max’s grin and shimmering blue eyes were an interesting counterpoint to the shocked expression on Harley and Owen. “What? I’m just thinking about it.”

Harley’s energy output may have jumped a little at the comment. “Bruh! That’s frickin’ awesome! We’re gonna have matching ink!”

CJ ignored his friend for a moment and glanced at his husband. “Can I, Oz?” The tattoo artist’s confusion became comprehension when Harley said, “They’re married.”

“Bloody hell! If you two get that tattoo, the other guys are gonna want to do the same. I’d prefer not to be odd man out. I hate this peer pressure shit, but maybe I need to give in.”

Owen shook his head and waved dismissively when CJ and Harley both wrapped an arm around his shoulders and simultaneously yelled, “YEAH!”

“Oh, this is gonna be great. It’s like a rite of passage, Oz. When can you fit me and Ozzie in, dude?” CJ rubbed his hands together in anticipation and glee.

Max glanced at a piece of paper taped to the side of the tool cart holding inks and other supplies. “Late tonight or this time tomorrow. Since most people go out riding in the early morning, I open up right before lunchtime. I have three other appointments coming in right after this one, and one of them’s a big back job.”

“How about tomorrow? I’d rather get you while you’re fresh instead of worn out from going at it all day. One thing, though. We need a hard copy of the drawing you use to create the stencil. There’s a few more members to our little group who may want to get the same thing done. I know for sure my brother’s gonna want it. He’s been bugging our parents about getting inked.”

“Not a problem. I’ll make a copy right now and put it in an envelope for you. I’ll include a card for our shop in Boston. In case any of your friends live in the area.”

“Actually…” CJ and Owen didn’t have a strict schedule to adhere to for the remainder of their trip. This being the last summer both would have a large chunk of free time, they wanted to travel as much as possible. “Most of us are in the Washington, D.C. area, but one friend goes to Boston University. Oz, what do you think about stopping on the way back and spending a night with Patrick? Maybe we could have dinner with him, Mac, and Hilary.”

CJ was the drunkest of the three late that evening when they left the bar. Keith and a couple other techs from the dealership had joined them with their girlfriends or wives. The raucous evening ended when Owen dragged his husband out after CJ bought a round of tequila shots for the entire establishment. Owen told Harley he could not wait for the next morning when CJ realized what the bill was for that stunt.

“Fuck the government and fuck the State Department. The day I become emperor, pot’s gonna be legal all over. Fucking Neanderthals and their Victorian attitudes.” CJ’s tirade was more grunted than spoken. “Hell, it would do some of those uptight assholes a ton of good to get stoned now and then. This is why I hate drinking. I’m in pain. I need Advil.” He grumbled all the way to the bathroom.

Eventually, they rode to the New Hampshire Motor Speedway, ran into people they met the previous day, and immersed themselves in the spectacle of vintage motorcycle races. Having Harley with them meant they had their own commentator. How his friend was able to retain so much information about so many different motorcycles never failed to amaze CJ.

The afternoon they spent at the Harley-Davidson dealership once again. Owen stuck by his husband’s side when Max inked CJ, while Harley stepped in and out of the tent. Each time he returned, he shared his most recent conversation or discovery. He spent time inside chatting with dealership staff, or outside admiring motorcycles and discussing them with their owners.

After the excruciating pain of the intricate design on his hip six months before, the current session under the needle produced nothing more than slight discomfort. Although no longer in agony, the hangover lethargy led to CJ dozing off while being worked on. Owen, on the other hand, groaned and grimaced when it was his turn. “I swear this is my one and only. I don’t care how many you and Harley get. It hurts!”

“Pussy!” CJ’s comment earned him a middle finger.

Returning to the Broken Spoke Saloon was out of the question. CJ refused to set foot in the place again. Instead, they ended up at a smaller bar by the shore of Meredith Bay, had dinner, a few cocktails listening to a blues band, and talked to people from so many different states they lost track of the number.

Their final day in Laconia they rode around the countryside on their own, stopped at the dealership to say goodbye to Keith and Max, and ended up back at the motel as the sun began to set. While locking their bikes, someone they had exchanged pleasantries with earlier in the day stopped to invite them to an impromptu party around the pool. “We tapped a keg, we have tunes, and the pool’s heated. Drop your shit in your room, put on a bathing suit or shorts, and come join us. We’re just chillaxing.”

“Yeah… No.” CJ shivered at the thought of going swimming in fifty-degree weather. “You’re not getting my ass in the pool when it’s this cold. I’m a Floridian. But we’ll come hang. Thanks, bro.”

One of their stops earlier in the day, at Owen’s request, was at Hermit Woods Winery. The tasting room was where CJ and Owen hung out, while Harley stuffed his face at the deli. They purchased an assortment of wines and had them shipped. A bottle of their 2016 Heirloom Crabapple found its way into a saddlebag.

They carried it with them to the pool area as a contribution to the party. Owen liked the medium-sweet, tangy wine made from Dolgo crabapples, and mentioned it would pair well with the spicy foods they liked.

Plastic cups in hand, CJ and Owen sat on a wooden bench watching the cavorting in and around the pool. “Why is it most of these bikers have such long, scraggly beards?” Owen ran a hand over his unshaved face. He had tried cultivating a goatee several times, but the growth was slow and sparse; he always shaved it off a fortnight after.

“Don’t be jealous, Oz. Just ’cause you can’t grow one. Hell, Harley can’t either. I think that’s why he’s letting his hair grow. If he can’t braid a beard, he’ll prolly settle for braiding a ponytail. Haven’t you noticed how many of these men have them?”

“As long as he doesn’t start going around with a man bun. Those things are hideous. There were so many of them at PRIME I was ready to start amputating.”

“Ozzie! You’re being judgmental!” CJ chuckled when Owen looked startled. “So unlike you. And I don’t know about man buns. Some guys look hot with them.” He moved his head closer to his husband’s and lowered his voice. “What I don’t get is why most of the women hanging around these bikers are so skanky.”

“Who’s being judgmental now?”

“Fine! We’re both judgmental assholes. Oh, shit. Don’t look now but here comes Harley and he looks pissed off. What’s up with all these changes in him? The jokes about butt-fucking, the marriage thing, the philosophical observations…”

“Our kid’s growing up, CJ. It’s called maturing.” Owen shifted his attention to Harley when the man sat on the lounge chaise next to their table and grunted. “Hey, mate. What’s going on?”

Harley raised his head but instead of saying anything, he glared in the direction he had come from. When CJ looked, Nolan, the guy who had invited them to the party was walking in their direction, a beer in each hand.

“Brought you a fresh one, Harley. Since you left the other one behind.” He sat on the edge of the seat and shifted his attention to CJ and Owen. “Hey, guys. Sorry about what that bitch said. She’s not part of our group, so we asked her to leave.”

CJ felt as confused as Owen looked. “What are you talking about?”

“Harley didn’t tell you?”

“I didn’t get a chance.” Harley sipped from the beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thanks for the beer. The chick he’s talking about made a homophobic comment. When I told her I didn’t like that, and that my two best friends were gay, she went nuts. She looked at the two of you, called you faggots, and said she hoped you’d get AIDS. I told her to go fuck herself with the hot end of a tailpipe and left.” Harley shook his head and took another sip of beer. “Damn, I wish I had a joint.”

“You guys smoke?” Nolan smiled for the first time since joining them. “I’ve got some primo stuff. Let me go roll a couple of Js.”

“Hold off.” CJ raised a hand to stop the man. “Just take care of Harley. I can’t do it anymore because of a job I’m applying for. Ozzie was never a big smoker, so he gave it up with me.”

Nolan stared at Owen and his smile grew. “Dude, you’re a better man than I am. That’s love. I’m not sure I’d give weed up for my wife. Listen, my apologies again. Don’t let a drunken cunt ruin the night for you. Most bikers don’t give a shit who you sleep with as long as you’re cool. I know none of us traveling together do. I’ll be right back.”

“See that?” Harley beamed, and CJ was unsure if it was due to the apology or to the prospect of getting high. “That’s what real bikers are like, bruh. Nobody cares what you do in private. Live and let live.”