Triple Sec, page 29
At last came a final round of applause for Xavier. Headset pointed at Mel and motioned her forward. “Your turn.”
Mel took a deep breath and made the long walk onto the stage.
There was a freestanding bar set up in the center, very much like the kind freelance caterers used at events. Stagehands in all-black outfits swapped out the used bar tools for a clean set and placed Mel’s name-tagged cooler behind the work area as she approached. Before she climbed the steps that led onto the stage, she looked out over the audience. Damn, it was standing room only, a veritable mob lined up against the back wall. Maybe next year Food Fest would add some more cocktail content; the interest was clearly there. Mel spotted Bebe and Kade in the front row, Bebe’s outfit like a bright flag. She was waving in frantic excitement while Kade held her free hand.
Mel also spotted the judges’ table, which was set up on the far side of the stage, angled to give the audience a clear view. She recognized each face and could put it to a name. Hell, she’d practically made whole dossiers for the panel during her months of prep. There was Vivian Carlyle, the godmother of the Black American cocktail movement and owner of the hottest bar in Atlanta. She was in her fifties, with neon-green eyeglasses and close-cropped hair. At the other end of the judging table sat Ray Lyton, who’d founded a craft beer label uptown a few years back. They were young, white, nonbinary, and apparently a fan of every beverage ever created, because as hard as Mel looked, she couldn’t find any evidence of flavors they didn’t vibe with. And in the middle, looming large, was Adam Lavender with his sharp goatee and piercing eyes.
Mel took her spot behind the bar and cleared her throat. Pretend this is just another shift at T&V, she told herself as she grabbed the clean Boston shaker. No, even better: pretend you’re mixing a drink for Bebe and Kade in your apartment. No one to impress, nothing to prove. You already know they love this. She lifted her head and blew her two lovers in the front room a kiss, a simple silent pucker of her lips. You already know they love you.
“This cocktail is called the Rock Dove.” Her lapel mic caught every word and projected it in ringing tones across the room. She knew how to tell a drink’s story. This was what she was good at. “A rock dove is another name for a pigeon.” Ice shoveled into the shaker, tinkling like gems. “And there’s nothing more New York than a pigeon,” she said. That got a laugh from the crowd. She didn’t need to crack jokes onstage, but an element of showmanship was expected. All bars were a stage, in the end. All service was a production.
“My drink of choice is the paloma, which is Spanish for dove, so the Rock Dove is a riff on that, with heavy influence from the margarita, America’s favorite cocktail. Sure, New York isn’t America’s favorite city, but we like to pretend we are. Live here long enough and you start to forget there are other cities.” She measured out the tequila and triple sec as she talked. “We make our own way here, and we like it like that. This is a rosemary-lime syrup, by the way.” Mel held her mason jar with the golden liquid sloshing within. “Made it myself. In she goes.” A measure added to the ice. She tried to maintain eye contact with each judge the way she would for any guest in her section. Their expressions were inscrutable, for the most part, although Lyton smiled encouragingly.
She clapped her tins closed and started to shake. Once Mel began straining the cocktail into three chilled rocks glasses, she said, “Top with seltzer.” A deft splash of Topo Chico on each. “Garnish simply with a cherry, Luxardo if you got it.” They were already skewered, and she dropped them in like coins in a fountain. “Italian, like me. The whole thing is me, actually. Top to bottom. My whole bartending career in a glass. Cheers.” She presented the tray with a flourish, and the audience clapped politely. Bebe even stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled.
It was nerve-racking to stand in the wings and watch the judges sip her cocktail from afar. Mel wrung her hands in front of her. The adrenaline that had powered her through was starting to wane, leaving her feeling lightheaded. Probably should have eaten more than a couple deviled eggs. She thought she caught the shape of the word “good” on Vivian Carlyle’s lips, but she couldn’t be sure. The other judges had their heads bent over their scorecards so that Mel couldn’t see their reactions at all.
A headset-wearing organizer made a wrist-tapping gesture to Adam Lavender. He nodded and said into his mic, “Moving right along to our next contestant.” Mel’s heart sunk as some bartender named Watkins was brought onstage. There hadn’t even been time for feedback? She hoped that wasn’t a reflection on her cocktail’s performance.
She was ushered back into the holding area to wait out the last couple presentations, and then it was time for the mixologists to gather onstage to hear the results. Mel stood in the lineup, not sure where to put her hands, while Lavender gave a nice speech about how blown away he was by the talented showcase, and how hard it had been to decide a winner. At least, Mel was pretty sure he said something to that effect. His voice was mostly a muffled buzz that went in one ear and out the other. Like a Canadian version of the adults from Peanuts. Mel concentrated on clasping her hands totally naturally in front of her and not looking too weird.
She nearly missed the actual announcement, tuning in just in time to catch Adam Lavender say, “—of the grand prize is…” The room held its breath. “Alejandra Hernandez and her Everything Bagel Boozy Egg Cream.”
Mel’s first thought: Well, shit.
Her second, close on its heels? Not the everything bagel seasoning rim! Kade was going to be so smug that their prediction so many months ago, as sarcastic as it had been, had come true. Mel made eye contact with them in the front row, and sure enough, the dry humor in their eyes was already there.
And finally, Mel thought, I need to fucking clap so I don’t look like an asshole. She joined the rest of the contestants and the audience in applauding for Alejandra, a short kid with a Bronx accent who was stammering her thanks into a provided microphone and accepting her comically overlarge check. There were a few closing remarks by Adam, and then it was all over. The audience began rising from their seats and heading for the doors. Contestants milled around on the stage, chatting with each other and waiting for their chance to congratulate the winner personally.
For something that Mel had spent months preparing for, the end was decidedly anticlimactic. She was disappointed about losing, but that was a distant ache compared to the profound relief she felt. It was over. She’d done the best she could.
She saw Bebe waving to her through the throng of people coming and going. Kade was right next to her, looking quietly proud. Mel smiled at them.
Even if she hadn’t won, she was still going home after this with the hottest people in the room. So who was the real winner here? Well, Alejandra, obviously—but Mel was happy for her. Boozy egg cream, that was actually kind of genius. Not Mel’s style, but she could respect the vision.
She gestured to Bebe to wait for a moment and was about to head backstage to collect her empty cooler when Adam Lavender himself stepped in front of her. He wasn’t as tall as she thought he’d be. His smile seemed genuine, which was nice.
Oh, he was talking to her.
“—wanted to say, it was really close. I mean it, your drink was right up there in our top scores. I thought it was delicious, well-balanced.” He held out his hand.
Mel shook it, dazed. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
“Your entry materials said you’re tending bar at Terror & Virtue?” It was less of a question and more of a request for confirmation.
“Yes?” Mel cleared her throat. “Yes. Been there several years now.”
“Have you ever thought about opening up your own place?” Adam asked. “Because what you put out today—it should be on a menu somewhere.”
The adrenaline kicked in again. “I’ve absolutely thought about it,” Mel said. “Hopefully I’ll do more than think someday soon.”
Adam broke off their handshake and pulled a matte-green business card from his pastel suit jacket. “Keep in touch. I’m always looking for new ventures to support.”
“Oh wow.” Mel stared at the card. Adam Lavender’s card. It was like she’d been handed the contact info for the King of Spain: unlikely and pretty awesome. “That’s very generous, thank you.”
He shrugged. “It’s a little selfish. I want to have another Rock Dove at some point, and I know T&V doesn’t allow much mixologist input on the menu.” With one last smile, he moved down the line to chat with someone else.
Okay. Mel slipped the card into her jeans pocket and tried not to scream out of pure joy. Adam Lavender, the inventor of the Forest Floor, wanted to support her? His advice would be invaluable to someone like her. Or did he mean—financial support? As in seed money?
Mel could hardly wait to get home and spend way too long composing an email to the address on the card.
She turned around, looking for Bebe and Kade, but a tall, lanky shape stopped her in her tracks. It was one of the other judges, Ray Lyton.
“Hey, loved your drink, seriously,” they said. “It was in my top three for sure.”
“Thank you, thank you so much.” Mel’s head was spinning from all the thanking she’d done today.
“Listen, normally I wouldn’t assume but…” They leaned in closer so they couldn’t be overheard by the people surrounding them. “Any interest in an invite-only queer afterparty? Me and some of the other gays on the bev side are having a little get-together after the Fest wraps tonight.”
“Uh.” Mel blinked. “Yeah. Totally. Can I bring my paramours? It’s a plus-two situation.” She motioned to the edge of the stage, where Bebe and Kade were still waiting for her. Bebe was pointing emphatically at Ray and saying something urgent into Kade’s ear, but when she saw that she’d been spotted, she grinned and waggled her fingers in Ray’s direction.
Ray waved back amiably. “No problem,” they said. “The more the merrier.” They handed Mel a small, photocopied flyer with a picture of a coupe glass and a disco ball on it along with a time and place. “See you all there.”
When Mel finally rejoined Bebe and Kade, she was welcomed with a barrage of hugs, forehead kisses, and in Bebe’s case, the third degree.
“What did Ray Lyton want? That baking show they host is my absolute favorite. I have the biggest crush on them. Did they give you their number!? Oh my god, my girlfriend has so much game.”
“Not a phone number.” Mel held up the flyer. “We’re going dancing tonight.”
CHAPTER 29
Nobody partied harder than people in the beverage industry. And nobody did it better than the queer ones.
The drag club that had been rented out for the night was already packed with all kinds of folks, their Food Fest badges and lanyards still wagging around their necks as they danced and drank and shouted over a Beyoncé track. Mel spotted Ray holding court in one of the booths toward the back, a curvy brunet perched on their lap. The woman’s whole attention was taken by them, laughing at something they’d said, oblivious to anyone else.
“Maybe she’s more open than she looks,” Bebe said into Mel’s ear. “Do you think I have a shot?”
Mel gave her a mock-stern glare. “Let’s not get kicked out right away.”
Kade snorted and led the way to the open bar, where plenty of beer, mixed drinks, and mocktails were on offer. Once they had secured their preferred poison (a gin and tonic for Kade, a standard old-fashioned for Bebe, a paloma for Mel), they found a free booth in the corner. Mel tried to usher Kade into the U-shape, but Bebe stopped her.
“Sit in the middle,” she said as she plunked herself at the far end of the booth. “We haven’t had a chance to heap praise upon you yet!”
Mel grumbled but did as she was told. “Praise? For what? I didn’t even win.”
“But you did an excellent job,” Kade said, sliding in behind her. “You didn’t see all the other presentations. We did. Yours was superior to the vast majority.”
That meant a lot, coming from someone as critical as Kade. Mel gave them a kiss in thanks. And because she could.
“Not to mention, you made inroads with Adam-fucking-Lavender,” Bebe said. “Plus got us an invite to hang with the cool kids.” She spoke the next part into her rocks glass. “And now I can watch my cooking show crush make out with their girlfriend in the middle of a drag club.”
“Wait, really?” Mel swiveled her head to try to get a glimpse of Ray Lyton.
Bebe smacked her on the arm. “Don’t stare. You’ll get us thrown out.”
“No one is throwing us out,” Kade intoned.
“Yeah, I would love to see someone try to throw you out, St. Cloud.” Mel leaned into their space with a leer. “You’d just glower at them until they shrank into the fetal position.”
“My point is—” Bebe broke in.
“I don’t glower,” Kade said, glowering.
“—we are here to celebrate,” Bebe finished firmly. “A toast.” She lifted her glass. Mel copied her with a good-natured eye roll, and Kade did as well with more gravitas. “To Melanie Sorrento, the bravest, hottest, most kick-ass lady you’ll find behind a bar. And the easiest to love.”
Mel did not tear up. There was simply something in her eye. They clinked their glasses together and settled into a relaxed sprawl, not caring who saw them sharing a booth that was way bigger than they pretended it was. Pure contentment washed over Mel as she sipped her drink. She watched queer bodies of all shapes and sizes moving on the dance floor. Then the music changed to something slower, something more romantic. The dancers started pairing off into couples, pressed together and swaying. Mel hummed along to the first strains of Cyndi Lauper singing about love.
Kade tilted their head and looked at her. “Do you want to dance?”
“With you?” Mel grinned. “I never took you for a dancer.”
“I’m a superb dancer,” they said, nodding to the other side of the booth. “So is Bebe.”
Bebe nodded, biting her lip in clear eagerness.
Mel looked between them both, hesitating. It felt wrong to choose. Maybe— “Can we all dance together? Is that weird?” The only people currently dancing were couples, but Mel didn’t much care what everyone else was doing.
Bebe clapped her hands over her mouth and squealed. “I thought you’d never ask! Come on.” She started wriggling out of her side of the booth, her hand closing around Mel’s wrist to tug her along. “Can I be the Alan Cumming in this Romy & Michele reenactment?”
“Who? This what?” Mel let herself be pulled to her feet.
Kade was right behind her. “It’s a film from the nineties. Bebe has made me watch it many, many times.”
“Alan is a bisexual icon,” Bebe declared, which cleared up precisely nothing for Mel, “and that movie is poly culture.”
“Sure, okay, you can be Alan Cumming,” Mel said. She couldn’t deny Bebe anything—unless it was within very specific, sexy parameters.
Bebe took her hand and Kade’s and led them onto the dance floor. It wasn’t too crowded; the slow song had scared away more dancers than it tempted, so there was plenty of room for the three of them. At first Mel felt awkward, not knowing what to do since they weren’t dancing in the usual pair, but Bebe took charge. She twirled Mel and Kade, one on each side, and took turns dipping them low. Kade was achingly graceful, moving their limbs with the poise of a ballet dancer. Instead of feeling self-conscious with comparisons, Mel tried to channel some of their confidence, moving like her feet weren’t that of a Clydesdale. She caught Kade’s secret smile as they whirled by her. There was so much joy bubbling inside her, she threw her head back and laughed.
She and Kade orbited around Bebe like planets around their sun. They met and parted; they took Bebe for a spin of her own, but then returned; they made a ring with their joined hands and spun until they were dizzy. Mel was sure they looked downright unhinged. She didn’t care.
When the song faded to a close, Bebe beamed so brightly that Mel had to kiss her. Smoky whiskey flowed over her tongue, the soft curve of Bebe’s waist fitting into her hands. Then, because she couldn’t leave it at that, she reeled Kade closer with a grip on their sweater and kissed them, too. Herbaceous gin, the tang of quinine and lime. They wrapped their arms around Mel and drank her in, too.
Mel surfaced from the kiss, only vaguely aware that people were clapping. “Let’s go home,” she whispered against Kade’s cheek.
They went as fast as the Uber could take them.
They ended up in Bebe’s room, since her bed was the only one big enough to hold the three of them comfortably.
Bebe made a beeline for her dresser drawer and retrieved a fistful of intriguing seafoam-green lace that Mel couldn’t identify. “I’m going to do a quick rinse,” she announced. “All that dancing has me sweaty. Why don’t you two make yourselves comfortable?” She bounced her eyebrows up and down while glancing meaningfully at the monstrous bed.
“Take your time, Love,” Kade said.
Mel was already shucking off her black button-down. “But not too long.”
While Bebe disappeared into the en suite, shower running in a muffled way, Mel crawled into the luxurious softness of the bed. She starfished in the very center of the mattress and let her sore, aching body be cradled by it. For a moment, Mel could close her eyes and drift.
Then the bed shifted, and Kade’s weight came to rest atop hers. Mel cracked open one eye to see them looming above her, looking ethereal and lovely in the low light.
