Chapter 1

ZACHARY HALL rocked back and forth on his heels as he stared up at the sign that read Mata Hari—his first gay bar. Ever since he accepted the new job in Washington, DC and knew he was finally—finally—leaving home, that was the milestone he’d looked forward to the most.

Ogden had a few gay bars, of course, and his buddy Fred and the others from his college circle frequently tried to get him to go. The fear of being seen always held him back. If he were spotted, if word got back to his parents…. Well, he wasn’t sure exactly what they would have done, but it wouldn’t have been good.

Now, though, Zachary was in a new town, with his own money, a job he was going to love, and an apartment. And at last he was going to see what a real gay bar was like. Would there be a back room, like the setting of a lot of the porn Fred had shown him? Public sex? Men in leather? It was Saturday night, the lot was full, and he was ready to take on the world.

Zachary took a deep breath and made himself walk across the parking lot toward the entrance. Two men walked into Mata Hari ahead of him, hand in hand, so he grinned and made a point of falling into step right behind them.

Bring it on, baby.

When Zachary entered the bar, he was relieved to find it was elegant, comfortable, and apparently respectable. Relieved, but maybe a bit disappointed.

The main room was filled with club chairs, deep sofas, and small cocktail tables. The windows were covered in Roman shades of a cream silk decorated with stripes of red and gold. All the seats he could see were filled with nicely dressed people. Men mostly, but a few women here and there, sipped cocktails and chatted. The mahogany bar that framed the back of the room had an old-world feel, with carved wooden figures running up and around a large mirror. High-backed stools faced the bar, and most of those were occupied as well. The walls were decorated with an eclectic collection of art. Many pieces looked to him like actual oils rather than prints. Other smaller rooms branched off from the main bar.

A grand piano took up one corner of the room and a black woman with some gray in her hair sat before it. She played softly as she chatted with a few patrons who stood around her or leaned against the piano, and Zachary could tell she was good.

The overall effect was of being in someone’s home for a cocktail party. Whatever he’d expected or secretly yearned for, that wasn’t it. But he loved it instantly.

When Zachary checked his overcoat in the coatroom by the door, he was glad he dressed up a bit for this first foray to Mata Hari. The online reviews had told him the bar was new and attracted an upscale crowd. He wasn’t sure what that meant but figured he couldn’t go wrong with black trousers and a nice button-down.

Now that Zachary was there, though—now that he’d broken through the fear of being seen and outed—he didn’t know what to do next. He looked around at the crowd and tried to make his feet move, but he was suddenly nervous again.

It’s just people, for God’s sake. They’re drinking and talking and having fun. You can do this.

Most patrons were paired up or in small groups, though he did notice one man with shaggy blond hair and silver-framed glasses standing by himself in a distant corner. Zachary took a deep breath and walked up to the bar, where he waited near the hinged opening in the wooden countertop for the muscular bald bartender to notice him.

Damn. That guy is hot. The man was probably late forties or early fifties and stood well over six feet tall. He had a face made up of hard planes and a nose that appeared to have been broken at least once. A bit of dark scruff framed his strong jaw. His broad chest stretched a fitted white shirt, which was tucked into trim black pants that curved over a meaty rump.

Woof. Serious muscle daddy. Straight off one of the websites Fred follows.

The solidly built man was chatting with a customer and leaned forward so his big hands and thickly corded forearms rested on the bar. Zachary glanced at the customer then and thought his heart would stop.

The man reclined casually against his bar stool. He had one arm extended so his hand wrapped around a rocks glass full of ice and amber liquid. The other arm rested on the back of his stool, and his long fingers dangled down. He was probably a few years older than Zachary, maybe early thirties, and wore a tailored black blazer over a blue dress shirt paired with black jeans. He had dark wavy hair, and his eyebrows were thick. His straight nose carried a slight upturn at the end, and his smiling lips were full. He was the most handsome man Zachary had ever seen, and when he happened to turn his head a bit, he met Zachary’s gaze. His large blue eyes crinkled at the corners, and he brightened the smile even more.

Zachary blushed to be caught staring and quickly turned his head. He focused his eyes straight ahead at the liquor bottles along the back of the bar.

“What’ll it be?” a low, gravelly voice said, and Zachary jerked his head as the bartender moved over to his end of the counter.

“Oh, um… can I get a seven and seven, please?”

“Sure, soon as I see your ID,” the bartender all but growled, and Zachary fished it out of his wallet. The big man took the Utah driver’s license in his thick fingers and scanned it. “Twenty-seven, huh? Coulda fooled me. I figured you for nineteen, maybe twenty.”

The bartender’s tone wasn’t exactly friendly, but maybe he wasn’t as scary as he looked either. Zachary licked his lips and shot back, “Someday that will feel like a compliment, but right now, I have to tell you that having a baby face usually sucks.”

The bartender laughed—a deep rumble Zachary could feel across the bar. He turned to get the bottle of Seagram’s 7 to make the drink. Zachary risked another sidelong glance at the handsome customer and saw he was in conversation with two other men. One appeared to be in his sixties with white hair. The other was a bit younger—maybe late forties or early fifties—and taller with brown hair. The white-haired man was effusive and gesticulated wildly as he talked. The brown-haired man had an arm around his waist, and Zachary smiled at the palpable connection between the two.

“Seven and seven. That’s twelve dollars,” the bartender said, and Zachary handed him a twenty. More customers waited behind him to order, so Zachary took his change, left a nice tip, and carried his drink closer to the piano. Maybe he’d be able to get up his courage to talk to someone after he lurked a bit.

The woman at the piano nodded slightly at him as he approached, and he dipped his head as well. He took a swallow of his seven and seven and looked around the room. A flash of blue caught his attention. As he focused on that, he realized he was staring at the shirt of the handsome customer as he rotated on his bar stool. The stranger smiled in his direction—kindly, Zachary thought, not in a patronizing way—and inclined his head to address the white-haired man.

Embarrassed to have been caught looking again at a man so far above his reach, Zachary turned his attention squarely to the piano player. One of the patrons who rested his elbow on the piano started to sing a show tune Zachary remembered from his mom’s record collection. The guy had a nice tenor voice, and Zachary leaned back against the wall to listen. When the song ended, Zachary joined in a little applause. Another customer asked for “Moon River,” so the piano player modulated right into that song and encouraged those standing around to pick up the melody.

Zachary liked to sing, and he wished for the nerve to step up to the piano and join in, but he went for silent observer instead. The drink in his hand helped his nerves as he sipped, and he gradually relaxed against the wall and began to sing along quietly. He was enjoying it all, even though—or maybe because—it was so removed from the images of decadence he had built up in his head. No doubt they were placed there by his parents’ diatribes on godless homosexuals.

“Excuse me, dear heart, but are you here alone?” Zachary turned to find the white-haired man from the bar standing next to him. In a soft voice with a Boston accent, the man said, “If you are alone, come join us. Really. Come join us. Lord knows there’re enough people against us as it is,” the little man lamented as he stretched out his hand. “Come along.” Zachary smiled and took it. Then he let the man lead him to the bar.

As they crossed the room, the stranger said, “My name is Joe Mulholland. Now tell me, darling boy, do you live here or are you just visiting?”

Too late Zachary realized they were joining the most handsome man in the world, and he felt his breath catch. He was distracted for a moment but made himself focus on Joe’s question. “Oh, um… I just moved here. I started a new job on Monday with the Treasury Department. I’m Zachary, by the way.”

“What a delightful name. Now,” Joe said as they reached the bar, “allow me to introduce my husband, Terry. Terry, this is Zachary, and he has just moved to Washington,” Joe said with a lilt in his voice.

The brown-haired man held out his hand and Zachary shook it. “Welcome. I see my Joe has collected you, but I assure you he’s harmless as a box of kittens.” Terry had a slightly rounded and soft look to him, but mischievous brown eyes and a wide smile suggested he was a real looker in his youth.

Zachary chuckled. “I was happy to be collected. Thank you for coming over, Joe.”

Joe smiled at him, and his eyes twinkled in the light. “I just hate to see anyone standing by themselves. Now, Thomas, this is Zachary,” he said, and he turned to introduce the handsome man, who smiled, stood up, and reached out a hand to shake.

“Good to meet you, Zachary. I’m Thomas Scarborough. Do you need a fresh drink?”

The hand in Zachary’s felt like it was burning his fingers because Zachary was so aware of it, and he held on longer than necessary.

What I need is an oxygen machine.

Thomas was a few inches shorter than him, but face-on and standing less than two feet away, he was even better looking than he appeared from the other end of the bar. Zachary made himself say calmly as he released his grip, “That’s very nice of you. Thanks.”

Thomas turned his head and called, “Randy.” When the big bartender looked up, Thomas twirled a finger in the air to signal a full round. Randy nodded, and then Thomas turned back and rested an elbow on the bar. He met Zachary’s eyes with his clear gaze and asked, “So, Zachary, where did you live before DC?”

“I’m from Ogden, Utah. This is the first time I’ve lived anywhere else.”

Joe exclaimed, “How interesting. Thomas, I recall you ski in Park City. That’s in Utah as well, isn’t it? Now, Zachary, it’s perhaps indelicate, but are you a Mormon?”

Terry laughed. “I doubt he’d be drinking in a gay bar if he were.”

Joe scolded, “Oh shush, spouse. Perhaps Zachary is drinking pop.”

Zachary smiled and shook his head. “No, I’m not Mormon, though I grew up on the edge of a huge Mormon community. Talk about feeling like an outsider.”

Randy arrived with their round of drinks and passed Zachary’s to him. He had brought a shot for himself, and he raised it to Thomas and tossed it back. Thomas’s blue eyes met Zachary’s gaze again as they clinked glasses, and Zachary nearly melted under that intense regard. The blue reminded him of a summer night just as twilight set in.

“Welcome to DC,” Thomas said in a toast. “I hope you’ll enjoy it here.”

“And I’m just sure you will,” Joe enthused. “I have a sense for these things, dear heart, and I think you’ve found a home.”

“Joe, you’ve certainly made me feel at home,” Zachary said, and he noticed Thomas give a pleased smile. “Can I ask, what do all of you do?”

Terry answered, “I’m an accountant, and my husband here is a retired school teacher turned do-gooder. Well, he was a monk first, then a school teacher.”

Zachary had to laugh. “A monk? Really?”

Joe spread his hands beatifically and tilted his head up slightly. “The halo may be slightly tarnished, but yes, I was once a member of the Franciscan order.”

Terry chortled, “He had to leave, though, because he couldn’t stick to the vows.”

Zachary felt embarrassed. “Umm… you mean the vow of chastity…?”

Terry shook his head. “No, he managed that one quite well. The problem was they expected him to honor a vow of silence.”

Joe swatted at his arm. “Now you’re just making fun of me. But Zachary, it’s true. They put me in a simply untenable position. I was secretary to the abbot. I had all this gossip to share, but instead they expected me to keep my mouth shut and ruminate on the sufferings of the world. I was fairly bursting. I’m sure it would have given me an ulcer if I had stayed.”

Zachary laughed delightedly at the story. “It was self-preservation, of course, Joe. You had no choice but to leave.”

“You understand me perfectly. I took as my personal credo that old prayer of ‘from your mouth to gay ears.’”

Thomas smiled broadly and said, “I always thought that was ‘to God’s ear,’ but I like yours better.”

Joe reached up and patted Zachary’s shoulder. “We had a little community of brothers in brown robes with lavender undergarments, if you’ll permit the metaphor. I felt it was my sacred duty to keep my sister brothers informed of the doings in the head office. You know, my dear,” Joe said seriously, though his eyes glinted, “before this Internet whatnot, there used to be just three ways to spread the gay news.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Telephone. Telegraph. Tell-a-queen.”

That made Zachary laugh even harder, and Thomas and Terry as well.

“So what made you leave the order?” Zachary finally asked.

“Well, I’m ashamed to tell you that the bishop caught me listening in to a phone call with the abbot. When he mentioned replacing Sister Mary-Margaret O’Hurley as the principal of the high school, I gasped. Well, she’d been there since I was a boy. The bishop was incensed, the abbot was mortified, and it was suggested my true vocation might be as a telephone operator.”

Terry put his arm around Joe and kissed the side of his white hair. “I love the image of you sitting at a switchboard, listening in on all the calls.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Darling, I may be a tiny bit older than you—all right, several years older than you—but party lines and switchboards predate even me.” He winked at Zachary. “Person-to-person was quite the thing in the seventies in Boston, may I tell you.”

Terry chuckled. “You see how it is. I wanted to be the comedian in the family, but he turns me into a straight man every time.”

“Well, maybe not ‘straight’ man,” Thomas murmured and gave a slight smile. Zachary tried not to notice how soft and generous that smile looked on his lips, but he had trouble pulling his eyes away.

With mock indignation, Terry replied, “Oh sure, Tommy, now you get in on the act too.”

As the laughter calmed a bit, Zachary began to feel his second drink easing his nerves and got up the courage to ask, “How about you, Thomas? What do you do?”

Thomas crooked his head a bit and smiled at Zachary. “I’m the chief counsel to the Senate Committee on Banking, Housing, and Urban Affairs.” At the blank look on Zachary’s face, he burst out laughing. “Exactly. Even when I tell them, people have no idea what I do.”

Terry said, “He’s the shit, is what he is. Tommy’s involved in major legislation initiatives all around the country. Banking reform, homeland security, you name it, Thomas’s office is involved.”

“Oh. That sounds like an incredibly important job,” Zachary said, immediately hating his lame response.

Joe reached up and put his hands on both of Thomas’s cheeks and said, “It is important, and you can’t, you simply can’t imagine all that this lovely man accomplishes with housing for the poor, along with all his other projects. Perhaps he should have taken holy orders.”

Thomas looked a bit embarrassed. “Aw, c’mon, Joe. It’s a political job, and I’m just another hack,” he said. “Nothing like the day-to-day impact you have at the shelter.” He leaned down and kissed Joe’s forehead, then said to Zachary, “Joe here runs a shelter for homeless LGBT youth. It’s called Rainbow Space.”

“You’re kidding,” Zachary exclaimed. “Do you need any volunteers, Joe?”

“Always, dear heart. Would you really be interested?”

“Oh, absolutely. In Ogden I worked at a soup kitchen on weekends, and it broke my heart to see how many kids came in. Too many of them had been kicked out because they were gay or transgender.”

Sorrow and loss flashed across Thomas’s face and were gone almost immediately, replaced with his brilliant smile as he asked about the soup kitchen. Zachary couldn’t help but wonder what brought sadness to those beautiful blue eyes.