Safe and Sane

The weather seemed to be doing its best to make up for the week before, and in response, the doors to the cafe were firmly closed to keep the heat out, and the airconditioning in. At least, until the aircon broke down, at which point doors were propped open, fans distributed around the cafe, and extra ice stockpiled behind the counter.

One member of staff was detailed to stand by with a mop to wipe up any wet floors resulting from people throwing ice at each other.

Devon stepped into the club, pulled his sunglasses off and tucked them into his front pocket, then tugged his hat off too. He scrubbed a hand over his head and announced, generally, "Denver needs a beach. A nude beach. With a breeze that smells like coconut suntan oil, hard-bodied cabana boys and all the free mai tais you can drink."

And then, because he was intimidated by very little, he invited himself to the couch across from where Chris sat, settled, and asked, "Can I talk you into an investment, Chris?"

Devon took a deep breath the minute he got inside the door of the club and asked, "Who wants to be an ecoterrorist with me?"

John had sent tickets -- plane and show-- to some of his friends in Colorado. Hey, he wasn't a bit interested in being cut off from them, and sharing himself and what he did really was a pleasure. Besides, it kept him in the loop and feeling connected. The particular show Devon had come to was good, went off well and left John about half-high. Afterward he took Devon out for a (late) dinner, and then back to the apartment. Which is where he sprawled and asked with a grin, "Have a good time?"

Singing was becoming a habit. He really wasn't getting any better at it, but he hadn't yet been seriously deterred so he kept at it. Besides, it made travel more fun. He was not, wisely, riding his bike in the snow, though. No, he had a crappy car that he drove that kept him from frostbiting anything off.

"Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree, for me...lar de la dee da..."

Auri growled, very softly, coming into the lounge with a half undone leather top, tight at the back. Not quite a corset because it wasn't meant to tighten the waist, but along those lines. It wasn't done and it wasn't going to be done because she had just a the slightest bit too much of a stomach to manage it right now.

"Is there anyway this is closing?"

Wednesday night again. Fall past, and winter setting in with a vengeance. The outside tables had been cleared away, and the cafe was doing a brisk trade in hot chocolate, hot soup, and hot tea.

Only one problem.

The coffee maker was broken.

For one night only (because the repair man had been threatened, on pain of pain, to get the damn thing up and running again before opening time the next morning) the cafe was a coffee-free zone, and the staff were already looking stressed.

There were balloons and streamers still up from the party the cafe had thrown the previous night. The staff though, the staff were still enthused, still bouncy, wandering through their jobs in Obama tee shirts, pins, big sparkly hats.

California's proposition 8 had put a dint in everyone's enthusiasm, but. Not much. They had freedom fries on offer in the cafe in a completely non ironic way for the first time ever.

Jason slid down from his perch on the roof and jumped from the eave to the ground, knees bent and hands brushing the paved section of the courtyard as he pushed to his feet. It was only then that he realized he'd come very close to landing on someone and wincing, he apologized, "Sorry, guess that's where the whole look before leaping part comes in handy."

It was the last day before work started on the second studio space, and, coincidentally, Ryan's birthday. He figured it was as good a time as any for inviting people over to the studio - after all, they'd been away for Brae's birthday, and it would be a good chance for them both to catch up with everyone. And he really wasn't going to let anyone take food or drink (except water) into the studio once the work was completed.

The existing studio room was firmly closed. The reception was cleared and playing host to tables of food and drinks, the lounge was as comfortable as usual, and the space that would be the second studio was lit by a series of lamps angled to reflect off the walls.

Devon was singing. Well. He was humming and sort of vocalizing. And occasionally actually singing out loud to the music apparently flooding through his earbuds.

Except whatever the notes he thought he was singing, they were nothing remotely similar to Roxanne.

It had taken him a while to organize, but eventually Ven had sent out emails to those members of the club that had once lived in San Fransisco explaining that since there were so many of them, he thought it would be fun if they got together for dinner.

He didn't say that he was also distracting Ryan from Brae's absence.

The restaurant he'd chosen had a private room in back and instead of a formal sit-down meal, he'd opted for a mini-buffett and bar so there would be something for everyone and they could circulate or sit as they wished.

The weather was pretty temperate, considering that it was headed toward October. Warm days with some cloud cover. That meant the cafe wasn't pulling out the stops to break a heatwave, and it didn't need to worry about the heating bill to keep people warm.

Still, the evenings were sliding toward cool, so they'd broken out all the fancy hot chocolate additions, for the brave, bold, gourmand or just plain curious.

There were small wooden bowls of popcorn on every table and the smell, as well as the sound of more being popped, filled the air.

Wednesday came round again, and it was a perfectly average day.

No thunderstorms. No extreme heat. No fog. No rain. No themes at the cafe. No special offers. No experiments.

Just a pleasantly warm evening, with the full standard menu on offer.

And three new members of staff working at the counter.

A heavy black curtain separated this room from the hallway, and once you pushed past it there were cubby holes for clothing and a big stack of masks and condoms and sachets of lube, and then another curtain. Pushing past that, the room was nearly completely dark except for a low red light that allowed you to see the outline and movement of forms over the thickly spread pillows that covered the floor.

It was thundering, off in the distance this afternoon. It was raining, hard, pouring out, in the locale. There was a section in the front of the cafe set out for umbrellas and actual towels out to help people dry off.

Hot chocolate, cold drinks, and scones.

At 9:30, right on schedule, John's house was opened up.

All the lights, inside and out, were blazing and the doors were standing open. The food and drinks were in the kitchen, there was lots of seating in the living room, and the guest rooms were open. The only room, in fact, that wasn't open was John's bedroom and the attached bathroom. The puppy was crated safely in that room, at least until people had finished arriving.

John wouldn't be there for a bit, but everything was there and ready to go at 9:30, and to keep going for as long as people wanted it.

He'd had a good time at pride that day, and had dropped into the club for a while at the party, but didn't really stay that long partly because he wasn't big on parties, but also because he'd told Devon he'd be at the bar for some pool. He wasn't sure if Devon was going to show up, but as he broke, watching the balls scatter, he realized that he hoped Devon would.

Angel -- no, Art -- took a deep breath before he pushed open the door to the club. He was dressed in a plain white T-shirt and baggy jeans. No wig, very, very little make-up and his shoes. Well, OK, they were boots and they had heels but at least they weren't his normal platforms.

He took another deep breath, licked his lips and headed toward the bar.

He could do this, he really could.

It was cloudy, gray and ninety degrees in Boulder. The humidity and heat, in combination, were killer. The doors to the coffee shop were closed, to keep the heat out and the air conditioning it. There were still tables outside, and people sitting there, but most of the business was inside, where it was cooler. They were selling more iced caffeine and frozen, shaved, sugary drinks than anything that steamed.

There was talk about ordering ice cream and sorbet as well as baked goods, for the rest of the summer. Someone decided if they got it in, it would cool off and be 50 degrees. Everyone who heard them thought it would be worth the order, just to get the heat to break.