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Tango couldn’t help but smile to himself. “I should’ve known you’d be here first,” he remarked as he pulled his keys out of his pocket. They jangled against each other. “Am I ever gonna beat you showing up to my own bar?”
“Probably not,” Jimmy replied, adjusting his hearing aid. “Not unless you want to get here twenty minutes earlier than usual.”
Tango paused, key already in the deadbolt. “Twenty minutes?!” he squawked.
“Well, it’s either that or ten minutes late, considering the bus schedule.” Jimmy stooped and picked up his guitar case by the handle. He followed Tango inside, hauling his small amp in his other hand.
“You take the bus with all that equipment?”
“It’s just my amp, guitar, a mix board and some cords,” Jimmy replied. “It’s not that much. You’re kind enough to provide the microphone and the rest of the sound system.”
“I mean, it’s a bar. I kinda have to,” Tango said, trying to keep his voice loud enough for Jimmy to hear while still being quiet enough to be funny.
Jimmy smiled. He started crossing to the small stage in the corner of the bar as Tango went to the bar itself. He began wiping it down. Which he’d done at the end of the night the night before, but always did it first thing in the day too.
Jimmy started setting up his equipment while Tango wiped down the tables and started on the glassware.
Tango didn’t notice the way Jimmy peeked at Tango out of the corners of his eyes whenever he got the chance. Taking in the many black piercings in both ears, the tattoos down his bare arms. The musculature in his shoulders, exposed by the black tank top he wore. Jimmy always peeked whenever he had a chance, and Tango never seemed to notice. Or, if he did, Jimmy tended to be pretty good at playing it off.
They didn’t usually talk much during setup, so Jimmy tossed over his shoulder, “Mind if I take my implant off for a bit? Glass clattering is kinda harsh.”
“Go for it!” Tango called back.
Jimmy pulled the transmitter of his cochlear implant off the magnet under his skin, implanted flush with his skull, and went back to setting up. He connected his mix board to the sound system of the bar, as well as a small wire that attached to the hearing aid in his right ear. He signed to himself, thinking “out loud” as it were, as he continued to set up. He had a visual tuner clipped to the head of his guitar just to be extra sure his strings were tuned. He could tune pretty well by ear, but the visual aid was always nice to supplement.
He glanced over at Tango as Tango put the last stein back on its shelf and tossed the dishtowel he’d been using to wipe down the dishes off to the side.
Jimmy put the transmitter back on his head and flicked on the microphone. “Check, check. Check one, check two.”
Tango looked up and smiled at him. “Loud and clear,” he signed. One of the only phrases in sign language that he knew really well.
Jimmy smiled and signed back a quick, “Thank you.” He sang into the mic—just two measures—then gave Tango a curious thumbs-up. Tango returned it with a grin.
“Sounding good, Jim-Jam!” Tango called, plenty loud enough for Jimmy to hear.
Jimmy turned his face away. He could be complimented on his singing voice by strangers and friends and family all day and take the compliments with a smile. But when they came from Tango… he always felt embarrassed. Like a fraud. Tango, self-admittedly (and demonstrably) had no musical talent. But he was a wicked-good bartender and a good business owner for being as young as he was. And Jimmy always wanted to impress him. He didn’t always even know why. He knew, on a basic level, that he found Tango extremely attractive. And he probably wanted to impress Tango because he was attracted to him. And because Tango’s smile always made his heart go pitter-patter in his chest.
Or maybe it was because Jimmy wanted to prove to Tango that Tango hadn’t made a mistake hiring him to be a live musician at his bar, despite Jimmy’s hearing loss. He could still hear a bit. His right ear was only moderate hearing loss, hence just having an aid. His left had been profound, with basically nothing leftover. So the cochlear implant had been the route he took for his left side when he turned eighteen. When he finally gave up on trying to use a hearing aid on his left side to basically no avail. He still relied heavily on his right ear for normal conversations and music, these days, but he’d gone to plenty enough therapy to relearn how to hear through his left side to some degree.
He shook his head to clear it and started to warm up his fingers on his guitar. Being left-handed meant that he’d had an uphill battle learning to play the guitar with his non-dominant hand on the strumming side. On top of the uphill battle of learning when he was younger and newer to his hearing loss. But it had been his dream to play the guitar, and he’d never given up on it, even when the fever cleared and he couldn’t hear out one ear and could barely hear out the other.
He leaned closer to the microphone. “I close my eyes… only for a moment and the moment’s gone…” he sang. He could hear his voice and his guitar directly connected to his hearing aid.
Tango’s head snapped up from where he was tapping at the tablet mounted to the counter that functioned as one of the tills. He spun to look at Jimmy, eyes wide. Even from across the dimly-lit bar, Jimmy could see how piercingly pale blue his eyes were, ringed by their black eyeliner and mascara behind his glasses.
He was so handsome, it wasn’t fair.
Jimmy kept plucking at his strings. “All my dreams… pass before my eyes a curiosity…”
Tango’s mouth was open slightly. But he mouthed along to the next lines. He might have even sang, but Jimmy couldn’t hear him across the bar. “Dust in the wind… all they are is dust in the wind…”
Jimmy set his hand over his strings to stop their vibration. “How’s that sound?”
Tango nodded. “Amazing,” he signed. “Always.”
Jimmy’s neck and ears flooded with heat and he looked away. “Thanks,” he signed quickly with one hand.
They finished set up and Jimmy warmed up before Tango went to the window and turned on the neon Open sign. Jimmy sat on his stool and started to play. He didn’t sing every single song, but he did sing about half of his set list. To make sure he didn’t exhaust his voice. The rest were just guitar. Tango’s kitchen staff started clattering away in the other room, Jimmy only vaguely hearing it with his aid.
Tango strolled over and set a big glass of water on another stool near Jimmy before going back to work behind the bar.
A few of the regulars showed up for an early dinner. Jimmy smiled at them as they waved to him before taking seats in usual spots. Tango was already reaching for bottles to make usual drinks, red canvas apron slung over his trim but strong form.
Jimmy was such a goner for him.
—
The night passed fast for Tango. Serving drinks always made the time fly. He loved his job, and he loved owning his bar.
But before he knew it, Jimmy was playing an acoustic version of Closing Time by Semisonic, revealing that the night had reached its end, and the time had come to start kicking people out and closing up shop.
Most everyone knew that last call had gone out and were packing up already. Tango started preemptively wiping the bar before moving to the tablet to start closing up tabs and taking bills.
Before he knew it, he and Jimmy were alone in the front of house again.
Jimmy was already disassembling his equipment, winding cords and putting them in his bag, his guitar on its stand. Tango wiped down the rest of the bar and went to Jimmy first. “Gem take care of you?” he asked.
Jimmy raised the water cup that had been refilled several times. “Always,” he replied.
Tango took the cup. Jimmy hopped off the stage and headed for the bathroom. Tango set the cup in the industrial dishwasher in the kitchen along with the last of the glassware from drinks. The rest of his serving and kitchen staff had taken care of the rest of the dishes—plates and bowls and cutlery—and Tango started helping them wipe down the tables.
Tango paused at the table next to the one Gem was wiping down. “Hey,” he said softly. She looked over. “That guy at table twelve wasn’t giving you too much trouble, was he? I can have Skizz—”
“I’m fine,” Gem said. “I handled it. I don’t need the big scary bouncer to tell off some customer.”
“Gem,” Tango said, tilting his head to one side and fidgeting with one of his earrings. “You know I’ve got your back. If any customers are creeps—”
“I know. You throw them out. This one was flirty but not… all the way to creepy. If he got any worse I was going to put my foot down. Preferably on his throat.” She said that last sentence with a little too much cheer.
Tango just smiled, chuckled, and shook his head. “But you let me know, okay?”
“I will.”
“And… don’t break anyone’s fingers.”
“No promises. If some creep gets physical, I do too.”
“I get that, just try not to break fingers.”
“I’ll aim for dislocated wrists then.”
Tango laughed. “Fair enough.”
Jimmy emerged from the bathroom and headed for the stage again, hopping up.
The kitchen and serving staff got everything cleaned up faster than Jimmy disassembled his things, leaving him and Tango alone. Tango went and sat on the edge of the stage. He’d offered to help Jimmy on other occasions before, but was always turned down. He settled for keeping him company.
Jimmy was a handful of years younger than him. Tango wasn’t sure how many, but Jimmy had mentioned graduating college with his degree recently.
Tango drew one knee up onto the stage and rested his forearm on it, leaning back against the wall and pushing his glasses back into place with his other hand. “Can I offer you a drink?” he asked, like he asked every Friday night Jimmy came to play live.
And, like every Friday night, Jimmy shrugged it off. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll pass.”
But, like every Friday night, Tango got up and crossed to the bar, where he quickly assembled an Old Fashioned. Just the way Jimmy liked it. He set it on the stage. Jimmy looked at it for a long second and sat down, scooping it up. “I must owe you like five hundred bucks in these at this point.” He still took a sip of it.
Tango shrugged. “Never. A drink on the house is a perk of working at a bar.”
“You would know,” Jimmy slung back easily, smiling.
“I would... if I drank anymore.”
Jimmy paused at that. Tango could practically see the gears turning in his head as though he was wracking his brain for memories of Tango ever actually imbibing any alcohol. “Do you not?” he asked, voice having gone soft. He readjusted the transmitter on his implant.
Tango shook his head, making two of his earrings clink together so softly Jimmy probably wouldn’t be able to hear it. “I gave up drinking a long time ago.”
“How come?” Jimmy took another sip, tilting his head to the side.
Tango ran a hand through his hair. “Dunno,” he admitted. “I think it’s just because I’ve been around alcohol and drinking so much that I just lost interest in it. It started to be less appealing. I always found the mixing of the drinks to be the most fun anyway, but now the drinking of it just… I dunno. I don’t care for it anymore. Which I’m sure my liver is thanking me for. Especially at my age. I’m not a college kid anymore and don’t bounce back from hangovers easily.”
Jimmy’s brows furrowed. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-five.” Tango leaned his head back against the wall. “And feeling it more every single day.”
“Same, not gonna lie,” Jimmy said softly. “‘Cept I’m only twenty-seven.”
Tango arched a sarcastic brow at him. “You’re a child. Why are you feeling old?”
Jimmy looked away. “I mean… I’m mostly deaf, man,” he said softly. Tango immediately felt guilt twist in his gut. “Do you know how exhausting it can be to try to keep up with conversations when you have to put all your mental energy into the most passive of everyone else’s senses? Hearing is the last sense to fall asleep. We can’t close our ears like we can our eyes. Hearing just happens for most people. But for two-percent of us, something or other has made it so we can’t do that. For me specifically, I gotta put a lot of concentration into listening. Especially if I have to do it with my left ear. And I… I feel a bit adrift, a lot. The Deaf community is a tight-knit one and they welcomed me with open arms when I first lost my hearing. But so much of me is still rooted in the hearing world. I’m a musician, for crying out loud. So part of me feels like I don’t quite belong in the Deaf community, but I also can’t easily exist in the hearing mainstream culture either. I’m straddling the line between two cultures and two languages and two ways of life and somehow feeling like neither should claim me. I’m too hearing to be Deaf but too deaf to be hearing.” Jimmy took a long swallow of his Old Fashioned and Tango considered making him another one.
“For what it’s worth—which, honestly, isn’t much from an idiot like me—I think you’re amazing,” Tango offered.
Jimmy’s face reddened. “Stop it,” he muttered.
Tango shook his head. “I mean it. Look at you! You’re still an incredible musician despite your hearing loss.” He nudged Jimmy with the toe of his Converse. “I can only imagine how difficult it must have been to reach the level of skill you’re at now with your hearing loss.”
Jimmy took a deep breath. “I was… I was twelve,” he said softly. “Contracted a really bad fever. I... I’d been saving up for a guitar for years. My parents told me if I could save half, they’d cover the other half for my thirteenth birthday. Then I got the fever. And when it cleared… I couldn’t hear anything out my left, and my right was dicey. My implants and my aids have been expensive over the years, but my parents kept their promise. I still saved up half for a guitar and they covered the other half. So I relearned how to hear with a cochlear implant. I went to my therapy without complaining. And I learned how to play the guitar, even though I’m left-handed. And I…” Jimmy’s hands started to shake as he kept packing up. “I lost half my friends. We just grew apart after I couldn’t keep up with conversations as easily anymore.” He shrugged. “We were children. It wasn’t their fault. But the ones who really cared… they worked hard to stay friends with me. Lizzie and Martyn learnt sign language first. Grian and Scott got there eventually. Same with Joel. Obviously you know Gem’s almost fluent.” That had been one of the reasons Tango had given her application a long look a year ago. Bilingual in any other language was always a bonus in the food service industry. And word had spread that some of the wait staff knew sign language so several Deaf folks in the area had started coming sometimes. “Oli knows some, but he’s been struggling with it for years. Still, I appreciate the fact that he tries.”
Tango gave Jimmy a look. “You were twelve,” he said.
“Yeah. So, obviously I grew up hearing and speaking like everyone else. Which is why I have a lot of voice carryover and still rely on my speech a lot more than my signing. But…” Jimmy leaned back and closed his eyes. “I’ve been hard of hearing for fifteen years. Longer than I had standard hearing. And I’m not gonna lie to ya, signing has been getting easier, recently. It can be so nice to just turn off my hearing aid and take off my implant and not have to struggle to hear quite so much and just rely on my eyes. Especially because my roommate signs with me almost exclusively so that I learn more.”
Tango gave Jimmy a soft smile. “You’re amazing,” he said.
Jimmy blushed and looked away. “Stop it.”
Tango nudged him with the toe of his Converse again until Jimmy looked at him. He raised one hand and signed, “Never.”
Jimmy blushed even harder.
Tango nudged him again. “You didn’t have to tell me any of that. You know I don’t want to pry into your private life and don’t have a right to it as the guy who’s just contracting you to play music in his bar.”
“I know,” Jimmy said softly. “But I’ve been doing this for a year now. It’s a great gig. And we do these little hangouts afterward while you’re waiting for me to get my kit together so you can lock up—which makes me take twice as long, by the way.”
“Hey, it’s already two-AM. Who cares if it takes you longer to pack up? Neither of us are getting up until noon at the earliest tomorrow,” Tango remarked.
Jimmy chuckled. “Fair.”
“I like hanging out with you too,” Tango said. “You’re fun to be around.”
Jimmy gave Tango a slightly lopsided smile. “Thanks. You are too.”
Jimmy’s phone buzzed, the flashlight of it flicking on and off rapidly through the fabric of his jeans’ pocket.
He pulled it out. “Op. Grian’s outside to pick me up. Guess I better get a move on.” He hustled to get the last of his stuff packed up and Tango hopped off the stage to be out of the way.
“See you tomorrow, Jimmy,” Tango said loudly.
“See you tomorrow!” Jimmy beamed and waved as he hauled straps onto his shoulders, knocked back the last of his Old Fashioned, and hopped off the stage to head for the back door.
Tango watched him go and tried to keep his dopey smile to himself.
—
Tango spent the next day after he woke up frantically texting Gem and getting videos back, then sending videos of himself and getting texts back.
Until he finally ran out of time and had to get to the bar. He got in his car and drove to the bar. Where, as always, Jimmy was already waiting for him.
Tango hopped out. “Fancy seeing you here,” he said, pulling out the bar keys from his pocket.
Jimmy beamed. “I know, right? Almost like I work here and you own the place,” he joked sarcastically.
Tango’s heart thudded.
He paused where the main key was shoved into the lock. “Hey, Jimmy, I…” He turned and faced Jimmy so Jimmy could see his mouth and hear the sound more directly. He cleared his throat.
“Everything okay, Tango?”
“Yeah. Everything’s fine.” Tango nodded, fidgeting with his nails, nearly chipping off some of the black paint.
He raised both hands.
“Would you want to go on a date with me?” he signed. Clumsy and slow but trying really hard to remember how Gem signed it first.
Jimmy’s head cocked to the side.
“It’s okay, if not!” Tango said, words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush. “I know I’m the guy contracting you as an employee and I know this is probably some sort of ethics violation but—”
Jimmy stepped closer and covered Tango’s mouth with one hand to cut him off. Once he stopped speaking, Jimmy brought his hand away, lifting it to sign in the suddenly-small space between their bodies. “I would love to go on a date with you,” he signed back. Tango barely recognized one of the signs—different sign for love for a different type—but understood after a moment of processing.
He smiled. “True biz?” he signed. Jimmy had taught him that one—a sign language-specific phrase (“True business”) that was basically the signed equivalent of the spoken, “For real?”
Jimmy beamed and pointed at Tango’s clumsy signing. “You remembered!” he signed.
Tango’s shoulders started hunching up toward his ears. “I try?” He knew the look on his face added the question mark at the end of his signing.
Jimmy nodded, still beaming widely. “I’m proud of you. And yes, true biz. I want to go on a date with you.”
Tango smiled. He raised his hands in a sign that he did know—the concept of celebration, trying to say, “Yay!”
Jimmy laughed and nodded. “You—” He signed something else but Tango didn’t catch what it was.
Tango blinked. “What?” he asked out loud.
Jimmy chuckled. “You’re improving,” he said.
Tango bit down on his lip hard. “I want… continue… try,” he signed.
Jimmy beamed. “I’ll help,” he said out loud. He gestured to the bar. “Inside?”
“Oh! Yeah. Of course,” Tango said out loud. He spun around and finished unlocking the door.