“They’re penises,” I said to Gladys with an arched eyebrow, but she only rolled her eyes and sighed. Next to her, her twin sister, Gloria, did the same.

“And what is this, Puritan England?” Gladys asked. “I like them. And I think they’d look great hanging on the walls here. Give it a real hey fuck you vibe.”

“With… dicks,” I said, fighting to keep a smile off of my face.

At least once a month, the sisters came by with new art they’d either discovered or done themselves. The art was always strange and eclectic.

And always very sexual.

“Mrs. Manahan likes them,” Gloria said. “Don’t you, hon?”

All three of us turned to the woman who’d been my fifth grade math teacher, who’d been slowly downing whiskey and watching the football game on the television over the bar.

“What do I like?” she called back, eyes trained on the screen.

“The uh… the paintings of erections,” I said.

Mrs. Manahan mumbled something nonsensical to which Gloria and Gladys both said “See?” in response.

“The crowd’s really going wild,” I drawled.

Gloria and Gladys graduated from high school with my parents on a Friday, got engaged to their high school sweethearts that Saturday, and started work at the Post Office on that Monday. The pair were die-hard Harlequin fans, routinely reading the romance novels under their respective desks at work.

“I mean, how can I say no?” I said, holding up a painting of a dick completing a crossword puzzle. “They’re classics.”

“Exactly,” Gloria said. “And you’re welcome.”

They headed back to their bar stools, and I chuckled softly to myself.

Every night at The Bar was like this.

Like most of Big Sur, The Bar was one-half eclectic bohemian and one-half leave-me-the-fuck-alone. A place for locals, although we saw more tourists now than we used too. Ten years ago, we had started appearing online as a “must see” attraction, a place where you could get the “real” Big Sur experience, which mostly consisted of endless, nonsensical gossip through the Big Sur Channel.

And silence.

I clapped Kevin on the back as I walked past, opening up another beer and sliding it to him.

“We have penises on the wall now,” I said.

Kevin dropped his head to his hands. Kevin was Gladys and Gloria’s long-suffering supervisor at the Post Office. “At least they’re not hanging it at work,” he said grimly, lifting his head. “And you and I need to talk.”

“About what?” I asked innocently, submerging wine glasses in the sink in soapy water. I glanced up and nodded as Geoff, Fritz and John ambled in.

“I heard you had quite a night on Wednesday.”

I looked down at my hands in the water, pretending to ignore his question. It had been two days since I’d slept with a stranger, and I’d been shocked that no one had mentioned it last night—although I’d gotten some looks.

As the bartender, I held a coveted role in the Big Sur Channel and gossiped as much as anyone else. But Kevin had gone to high school with my parents as well. And had an annoying tendency to funnel all gossip related to me directly into their ears.

It made family dinners awkward.

“A woman came here a couple nights ago,” I said cautiously. “Just passing through. We talked a little, we were both looking for some fun, and she spent the night.” My stomach clenched at my admission—not from embarrassment but as a sudden feeling of loss.

“Any other questions?” I asked Kevin, who was grinning like a loon. If you got trapped in the Channel, it was best to lay it all out there.

Or it got laid out there for you.

“Nope,” Kevin said, whipping out his phone.

“Just don’t tell my parents,” I laughed.

Kevin’s fingers flew. “Just texted them,” he said, triumphant, slamming his phone on the table.

“Oh, goddammit,” I said, head back and sighing. Ruth, my second grade teacher, and Mrs. Manahan were pinning me with the same inquiring look.

So I ducked under the bar like a coward, grabbing the first bottle of wine I could see. And stood up to find myself face-to-face with my sister Isabelle and her wife Maya.

“When did you two get here?” I exclaimed, coming quickly around the bar to wrap them both in a bear hug.

Isabelle squealed in my ear. “Did you somehow get more massive? Also I’m going to need my bones after this, so try not to crush ‘em.”

I laughed, giving Maya a kiss on the cheek. “Hey gorgeous,” I said to my sister-in-law.

“Hey you,” she said back in her smoky voice. “You going to open that wine?”

“Absolutely,” I said, grabbing an opener and two glasses. “And to what do I owe this surprise visit?”

“Date night,” Maya grinned. “Even though we’re both fucking exhausted. Your sister here hasn’t taken me on a date since Lola came.”

I looked at Isabelle in mock horror, but she only grabbed the wine glass from me with a cheeky grin.

“That’s because most nights we’re in bed by seven,” she teased.

Isabelle and Maya were brand-new parents to a six-month-old baby named Lola. The adoption process had been long and brutal, but I was there when they placed Lola in Isabelle’s arms. I’d been overwhelmed with the sheer amount of tangible love in that room.

Maya squeezed Isabelle’s shoulders, causing her to laugh. They’d met in college and had been inseparable ever since. Isabelle looked like me—tan skin, dark blond hair, brown eyes. Maya’s skin was dark, and her long braids were piled high on her head.

Lola had darker skin like Maya and big, luminous eyes—the first moment she’d reached towards me, wrapping her little fingers around my thumb, I was a goner.

“Speaking of, where is the light of my life tonight?” I asked.

“Left her at home by herself,” Isabelle said. “She just lays there, so what’s the harm?”

I laughed, and Maya shook her head. But the look she gave Isabelle spoke volumes.

It spoke of a love so deep you’d never get to the bottom of it.

I swallowed roughly, pouring two more glasses of wine for the twins who I knew would be calling for more any minute.

“Actually, we’re staying with your parents for the next few days,” Maya said. “Just to get a little… break, you know?” Another look passed between them.

“Mom and Dad must love that,” I grinned. “Can I come see you tomorrow? Help out a little?”

“Yes, please,” Isabelle said softly. She reached forward to squeeze my hand.

“It’s not a problem, you know that. And if you need more help, I’m there. The next time you want to do Date Night in Monterey, let me know. I can always close early, drive down to watch Lola.”

Relief washed over Isabelle’s face. “We’d appreciate that. I think we’re both feeling a little isolated.”

I nodded. “Of course. Give me a few dates, and I’ll make it work, Iz.”

“The world needs more people like you, Gabriel,” Maya said.

“I’m all in on this Uncle stuff,” I said, grabbing the wine glasses.

I was halfway to Gladys and Gloria—who were trying to convince Kevin the new wall art was a political statement on the role of the government in our lives—when the shrill ring of the phone sliced through the hazy air.

I jogged back behind the bar, grabbing the phone.

“What’s good?” I said and heard Calvin’s telltale nervous stutter.

“Gabe? Um… would you want to come to a party with, um… well with some models?”

I laughed. Calvin and I had developed a close friendship since he’d moved here five months earlier, but he still seemed nervous every time we talked.

“Calvin, my man,” I boomed. “Are you inviting me to a party with the Hollywood People?” I said the last part loudly, and a strong contingent of locals looked my way.

They, like everyone else in Big Sur, were particularly intrigued by the arrival of big-time, fancy Hollywood super models to our tiny hamlet. I didn’t entirely understand why they wanted to do a photo shoot for a fashion magazine at Calvin’s bookstore, The Mad Ones, but then again… I wasn’t the kind of person who understood fashion. Or Hollywood. Or, for that matter, how to use most cameras.

But the supermodels had arrived in full force not forty-eight hours earlier, and the Big Sur Channel was abuzz like it hadn’t been in a while. On their first day of shooting, the bakery had saved the day, carting up coffee and breakfast items when their food service people had been stuck in traffic. And the bakery folks had come back with mountains of information (which I’d gleaned when I’d stopped in for coffee—only took me a full hour to hear the minute-by-minute breakdown). There was an entire crew—hair, makeup, wardrobe. Two models, the kind you see on magazine covers and on television. A woman and a man, both stunning, and several of the hornier elderly people had already been banned from spying on them through the windows.

“I am indeed,” Cal said. “Or… um, I guess it’s not really a party? But a gathering on the patio. I’m not sure if you want to close up early or bring liquor or… whatever,” he finished lamely, and I could hear the sounds of people in the background. I glanced outside. A massive storm had been predicted, but so far, the night was still warm. And about half the people here at The Bar would come with me if I left.

“When will I ever get a chance like this again?” I grabbed a large bucket and started to stock up on beer. “Count me in. I’ll grab a few of our more… discerning residents,” I said, grinning as the twins shot me a dirty look.

“Okay, um… okay, good,” Cal stuttered and promptly hung up.

I liked Calvin, a lot. His grandfather, Robert, had died six months ago—a Big Sur legend. An institution. His grandfather, along with my father and a few other members, were the foundation of Big Sur’s bohemian, counterculture history. The Mad Ones had been open since the late 1950s and until recently had been the home of late-night poetry readings, famous authors-in-residence, and parties that lasted until dawn. In the sixties and seventies, Beat poets would travel up from the North Bay, bringing pot and jazz and their air of artistic defiance. After a reading, they’d grab a burger at Fenix or a glass of whiskey at The Bar, and slowly Big Sur’s wild, artistic reputation took hold.

And now our little bohemian hamlet was being invaded by Hollywood People, and as usual, it was alcohol to the rescue.

“Listen up, everyone,” I called out, and immediately the room silenced. “We’ve all been invited to The Mad Ones for an impromptu party with some Los Angeles models. If you’re in, come with me. If you’re not, try not to trash the place and leave money on the table.” I tossed a wink at Isabelle. “I’ll know if you stiff me.”

She rolled her eyes then dutifully slapped a twenty on the table. Which I would only return later—I never took money from family. But both my siblings and my parents always paid their bill when they came by for a visit. And I’d always take the cash and slip it back into their coat pockets or under their coffee pots.

“Do you want to come see some hot models?” I asked Isabelle, who only wrinkled her nose.

Maya agreed. “We just want to drink quietly then immediately go to sleep.”

I laughed. “Sounds like a magical Date Night.”

I kept grabbing liquor, and Ruth and Kevin stood up to join. I glanced at the ranchers. “Takers?” But they only turned their eyes back to the television. Gladys and Gloria sidled over, but I shook my head.

“No,” I said firmly. “You’ll scare them away.”

“Then we’ll just get our binoculars and spy on you from the bushes,” Gloria sniffed.

“I’ll allow it,” I said. “But no pictures.” Which was a crock of bullshit—they’d document the entire event, put up a fucking slide show in the post office for the customers.

I kissed Maya and Isabelle on the cheek. “See you soon?” I asked, and Isabelle gave me a shove.

“Go, go,” she said. “Maybe you’ll meet a famous model and fall in love.”

“Sure,” I said dryly. “Those are the kinds of things that always happen to me.”

It was time to meet the Hollywood People.