Spending most of my time in New York and L.A.—home to all the busy and loud 'hot spots' which I tried never to visit—the small town atmosphere was a nice scene. The building was large and a long bar was the place of congregation for the milieu of locals shooting the shit. The stage was set up for a band, and people of all ages were milling around the dance floor to the sound of piped-in music. Beer bottles were clanking against one another, and I could smell the very delicious scent of real barbecue being created somewhere behind the big, white doors behind the bar. I thought we would look like a strange crowd, but as Bobby and Chris took the lead, the friendly greetings were immediate. Bobby's name rang out from more than a few people and I laughed. "Seems he's a popular fellow." Beth smiled. "Oh, yeah. Bobby is the resident dreamboat." I raised an eyebrow. "No, seriously. He's gay, so he's safe as far as the men are concerned because they don't have to worry about him getting their girls.
