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Every year, the Kiwanis Club of Boone County sponsored a holiday lighting contest with cash awards totaling in the thousands of dollars. They judged two categories: residential and commercial. Every year for the last decade, Duck Tape Bar and Grill handily won the grand prize for the business side. The previous season, the new Soft Solutions in downtown Danville was named runner-up.
Never again.
“It’s time to crown a new king,” declared Stensland’s boss during the emergency morning staff meeting. “Those yokel drunks at the Duck Tape have monopolized the big money prize long enough. With that thousand dollars we could throw one hell of a Christmas party.”
Standing just outside the open doorway, because his co-workers had claimed every inch of space in the break room, Stens half-listened to the boss man’s tirade. His co-worker Fish had him in quiet stitches with his commentary.
“Party, my ass. You wanna know what happened to last year’s five-hundred-dollar second place prize,” Fish nodded toward the floor, “take a look at those Cole Haans.”
Stens, having come to this location after that holiday, caught a glimpse of the shoes in question. “Were I here, Soft Solutions would have won and he’d have had enough for two pairs,” he whispered.
The big man whirled toward the door, his eye on Fish. “You have something to contribute, Stensland? Mr. Bang?”
Fish, eyes wide, shook his head. “Nah. Go team.” He shook his fist in the air.
Back to the issues. “I want to see everybody’s best design concepts by the end of the day.” Stensland’s boss slapped his palm on the nearest table to every word in his sentence. He hadn’t come to play, apparently, and his determination to win in the commercial category bordered on obsessive. He wanted to spare no expense, which spoke to Stensland that the man would readily spend two thousand dollars on lights to win back half the cost.
Nonetheless, Stensland figured if he came up with the superior concept over his peers, he’d secure the promised bonus said to accompany the chosen design. Fuck if he cared about the boss embezzling prize money, so long as he got his.
Five minutes after the doors locked for the day, Stens grumbled to himself as everybody applauded Judy and her cliched winter wonderland theme. Illuminated snowflakes and white tubed lighting bent into holiday shapes. Might as well tell the Kiwanis to write that check out to the Duck Tape now, Stens decided as he crumpled his sketches for “A Dawson Creek Christmas” and pitched them in the trash.
“Has it occurred to anyone,” he then said as they exited the store, “to do recon on the Duck Tape and scoop their plans? Can’t really outdo the competition unless you have intel.”
Judy, no doubt spending her non-existent bonus in her head, said, “We’ve sent people to spy before. Clyde Logan guards his light display ideas like the crown jewels.”
Stens smiled. Yes, Clyde Logan. That delicious, slow-roasted side of beef who tended bar there. Stens heard he also owned the place, but more importantly the man was sweet on this particular Seattle condor, transferred in to help boost sales at Danville Soft Solutions. Stens believed it, anyway; every time he stopped at Duck Tape after work for a nightcap Mr. Clyde Logan delivered it with a shy smile, and hovered close with excellent customer service even when the place was packed.
“He’s a bartender looking for tips. Of course he’s gonna flirt with you,” Judy said, and scoffed when Stens suggested she split her bonus after he sweet-talked Clyde into revealing his light display. “You want this bonus, Stens, step into this century and come up with a plan that makes sense.”
Fish nudged Stens as Judy walked away. “I don’t think we’re gonna win this year, either.”
“Yes, shame this wasn’t a Halloween decorating contest,” Stens said, nodding in Judy’s direction. “A witch like that would certainly have the edge.”
***
Stens loved Christmas, and every kitschy little thing associated with it. Every first of December, he donned his gay apparel and decked every hall, wall, and cabinet within his living space. This being his first winter holiday in West Virginia, he set out everything he owned – candles in every window of his apartment, his vintage ceramic trees with the tiny colored bulbs jammed in all the protruding leaves, and the Santa Stop Here doormat. Not that he had many visitors come to admire it, but maybe it inspired a smile from the postman.
More than Christmas, Stens loved winning and the idea of bringing victory to Soft Solutions in some respect. Still not sold on Judy’s winter wonderland, he was determined to discover Duck Tape’s secrets for this year. He knew Wednesday nights were slow for the bar, allowing him the possibility of having Clyde Logan to himself.
Buy the man a drink, bring up the contest, compliment his broad shoulders and freepour style, and wheedle out the Duck’s lighting strategy. Easy. Stens chose the dinosaur Christmas sweater for this particular mission. It ticked all the boxes.
It was holiday ugly, which meant it was actually cute.
It qualified as a conversation starter.
It looked amazing on him.
After a bong hit for good luck, he set out to stalk his prey.
As Stens hoped, the Duck was close to empty when he arrived at seven. A pair of customers in trucker hats shot pool in the back, and the older man called Earl leaned on a stool near the exit. He was patting his pockets, presumably for cigarettes, and Stens took it as a sign he’d soon have Clyde alone at the bar.
Clyde wore a Santa hat over his shoulder-length dark hair, but not much else one might view as festive. His dark blue shirt, rolled up at the sleeves to accommodate his left prosthetic forearm, pulled tight across the man’s wide chest. Stens watched him approach, fascinated by the tensile strength of all those buttons keeping the man dressed.
“What do ya like, Stens?” Clyde grinned down at him and tossed down a red cocktail napkin. Holiday-themed, of course. This one featured the silhouette of Santa Claus, inside of which were engraved the words Dear Santa, I Can Explain…
Cute. He traced the outline of Santa’s beard. “Is this a thinly-veiled confession?” he asked, peering through his lashes at Clyde.
The larger man lifted his good arm in a shrug. “Some would argue I’ve been more nice than naughty this year. Unfortunately.”
“Not a bad thing. I suppose we’ve seen enough heartache in the world to compound the mischief.”
“Not the kind of naughty I was thinking of,” Clyde said. “I like your sweater.”
Their gazes held strong and Stens crossed his legs tight on his stool. Had somebody fiddled with the thermostat? His nipples ached; it normally had to be freezing in here for that to happen.
Stens thanked him and ordered an Irish coffee. Too cold out for his usual strawberry margarita, and with most of the ingredients close it gave Stens the chance to further chat up Clyde. He began with small talk about work and the weather and holiday plans. Clyde mentioned a family dinner at his sister’s house and how he still needed to shop for his niece. “I’d like to get something for her step-brothers, too,” he added. “A kid should never feel left out on Christmas.”
“That’s sweet of you, buying presents for those boys even though they’re not kin,” Stens said. The Irish in the coffee shot straight into his head. Feck. Clyde had definitely aligned his freepour skills with the Christmas spirit–giving.
Clyde had drifted to the other end of the bar to check on a customer, then returned. “It’s something I do anyway. All of us here, actually, with the money we get from the light contest.”
The what? Right. Stens remembered the plan. Infiltrate the Duck. Seduce the bartender. Grab the plans. Soft Solutions wins. Profit.
He feigned innocence in hopes of getting Clyde to talk. “Oh? Is this something the community puts on? It’s my first Christmas here, and I was wondering if Boone County lights up like Seattle during the holidays.”
“It’s hard to compete with a big city like that, but we do all right here.” Clyde then pulled out a folded paper from his back pocket. Stens’s heart kicked into overdrive. The so-called crown jewels. Stens noted the black ink scratch on one of the folded squares. “We always have a display, but this year will be our best yet.”
“I can’t wait to see it.” On the facade of the Soft Solutions building, along with the first place ribbon… assuming the Kiwanis handed one out along with the money.
Earl hollered from the opposite end of the bar, prompting Clyde to see to his needs. Along the way he set the paper down next to Stens. Too damn easy, and Stens didn’t have to crank up too much of the charm. While Clyde pulled Earl’s draft, Stens took a quick peek at the note.
He expected a crudely drawn diagram of the Duck’s next winning design. Instead he read down a list of specific toys, and holiday groceries with prices.
“There it is. Thanks, Stens,” Clyde said, taking the note. “Can’t lose this. It’s all the stuff we’re gonna buy when we win.”
Stens sipped his Irish whiskey with a wee nip of coffee in it. “Looks like you have one amazing staff party planned.”
“Oh, it ain’t for us.” Clyde tucked away the note. “We bring in all the kids from the county whose parents ain’t got money for gifts. My brother Jimmy dresses up like Santa and gives them out.”
Stens set down his mug.
“Then afterward, we have a big turkey dinner with all the fixin’s,” Clyde said. “From what I hear, too, we might have a bigger turnout this year considering that recent mine closure. Put a lot of people out of work around here.”
“Yes.” Stens’s voice sounded far away to his own ears. “You do this every year with your light show winnings?”
Clyde puffed out his chest. His charitable nature made him look even sexier, if possible. “We sure do. And everybody around here donates lights so that cuts the cost.”
“Well, you must keep some of the money for the Duck, right?” Stens asked. “Get yourself something nice at Christmas?”
“No.” Clyde shook his head; at least he didn’t appear affronted by the question. “I may not have everything I want, but I got what I need, and that’s enough for now.” He leaned on the bar, close to Stens again. “And what I want,” heavy innuendo, “I can’t buy. Get you another Irish coffee?”
“No,” Stens said. “I want to help Duck Tape set up the lights so you all win this year.”
***
They sure was lucky to have somebody as resilient as Stensland volunteering with the display.
Between Jimmy’s bad leg, Earl’s balance issues, and his own disability, hanging the roof lights always presented a risk. It took longer in the past due to safety concerns, but they managed. This time, though, Clyde only had to keep the ladder steady while Stens got the light strands up at the proper height and position. At this rate, they’d be able to unveil their design early so people could enjoy it longer.
Clyde stood at the foot of the ladder and gripped a rung with his good arm, looking up. He enjoyed the other advantage to the extra help, that being the sight of Stensland’s peachy ass swaying from side to side while he adjusted the lights. Two steps up the ladder behind him would put Clyde’s face right there, though Clyde imagined if he attempted something racy the poor man might collapse and kill them both.
Yeah, better to wait until all the lights were up before suggesting that level of Christmas cheer.
When the Duck’s staff, with Stensland helping, completed the setup Clyde had everybody gather in front of the restaurant for the grand illumination. The animatronic figurines stood in their places, posed and ready. The lights were synched to a collection of classic rock holiday songs and covers, starting with Bob Seger’s “Sock It To Me, Santa” and rolling through a dozen more to Tom Petty’s “Christmas All Over Again,” then looping back. Clyde needed only to flip the switch on the remote that controlled everything.
“Y’all, if this doesn’t get us first prize again, Santa’s gonna get some West Virginia coal in his stocking,” Clyde announced to the multiplying crowd. Following a five to one countdown, Clyde turned the Duck into a full color holiday delight.
Stens stood beside him, mouth agape at the display. Considering he’d spent most of his day off with the lights before they turned on, the redhead probably wasn’t prepared for the magnitude. The Duck’s roof and exterior walls were blanketed in changing colors, flashing in time to the music. The Santa and reindeer structures turned their heads slowly and nodded, then repeated. Candles in every window flickered. Traffic on the main road paused at the sight.
Clyde felt Stens brush closer and his heart pumped up at the movement. Both were dressed for the weather, their breath visible in the cold, but just knowing Stens’s warm body was only a few layers from his gave Clyde some hope of intimacy. “What’dya think?” he asked.
“It’s amazing.” Stens sounded breathless, but he had worked hard. Definitely deserving of a free dinner and dessert, the latter of which Clyde hoped to give in private.
Clyde eased even closer. “You know, there’s one more decoration I want to show you–”
“Stensland!”
The third voice was harsh, accusing. It sounded like somebody had caught Stens doing wrong, and for a moment Clyde thought he was about to hit on a married man. They both turned to see a large man in a suit stomping in their direction.
“You know that guy?”
Stens looked even paler than usual. “Feck. That’s my boss.”
The manager of Soft Solutions, clearly, appeared livid. He proclaimed loudly he’d come to the Duck after hearing from another employee–Judy, most likely–how they’d seen Stens on a ladder assisting with the light hanging.
“You have something to say for yourself, Stensland?”
Clyde stifled his laugh when Stens responded, “See you Monday?” and took Clyde’s lead in walking toward the restaurant.
When Clyde put his arm around Stens he was glad the other man didn’t flinch. “You ain’t worried about getting fired?”
“I’m their best salesperson. Of course not,” said Stens.
“So how come you ain’t the boss?”
Stens shrugged. “Who wants that job? I have a gift and I use it well. Now,” he said, “what were you going to show me?”
“This.”
They stood at the side entrance, next to the chair where Earl sat when he smoked. A sprig of mistletoe was nailed to the top beam.
Stens’s eyes took on a brighter light than anything shining on the Duck. He held Clyde’s gaze and smiled. “How nice. Let’s see if it works.”
“Merry Christmas,” said Clyde, and moved in for the kiss.