Hopeless Haze - Volume I: Hot Fuss (Remastered)

28: Nailed to the Floor

AUGUST 14, 2005

Brandon was outnumbered in deciding that tonight was going to be a "party night", as the guys call it. Whatever kind of party scene is available to them in Tulsa, Oklahoma must be stuffed entirely into this tiny bar.

Brandon squeezes past two men debating something incomprehensible and finds a small open spot in the packed bar. He's escaped the drunken mass of college kids that linger at the bar counter and keeps track of his own company, spotting Mark above the rest of the crowd as he usually does. Dave's been lost somewhere, but he has a way of making himself known eventually.

Brandon gave up on getting himself a drink around twenty minutes ago-he's never been a patient person and he's not starting here in this dive bar. He last saw Ronnie somewhere near the counter and hoped that he would grab him something while he was up there. Brandon wants to step outside for a cigarette, but he's been trying to limit himself to only smoking after he has started to drink. If he doesn't get a drink soon, he'll make an exception like usual.

Out of nowhere, a firm hand falls down on his shoulder. A man much taller than him, cheeks red and reeking of hops, stands in front of him, "Hey, man! You just played at Cain's right?!"

"Yeah, yeah," Brandon winces after the man finishes yelling in his face, despite having to yell just as loud to respond, "that was us!"

"Oh, dude! You guys were badass!" He raises a fist out, inviting Brandon to return the gesture. After a few awkward seconds, Brandon realizes this and meets the man's fist hesitantly with his own. "Me and my girl had a blast. Let me go try to find her, she'd go crazy to meet you!"

"Uh, yeah-" Brandon manages to get out before the unnamed man turns around back into the crowd. Brandon really hopes that he doesn't return, despite how guilty it makes him feel. He's not in the mood to entertain two drunk strangers, at least not without a drink in him first. The craving for a cigarette grows stronger and he feels for the pack in his coat pocket.

Brandon's eyes travel to the wall above the bar counter, which is decorated rather crudely with a large collection of bras. They're all different colors and sizes, but it's the sheer quantity of them that bothers Brandon. He grimaces, imagining how long they've been hanging here, soaking in the stench of sweat and beer. He shakes his attention away from the decor and drops his eyes forward again when he sees a familiar face coming towards him.

The man fights his way through the same mass of people that Brandon navigated not too long ago. He wears a white graphic t-shirt and a shadow of stubble, but Brandon still recognizes him. He feels a pit in his stomach realizing that yes, Rufus Wainwright is approaching him directly.

"That was hard to watch," Rufus says with a laugh, gesturing behind himself with his thumb.

"Wha-" Brandon has nearly forgotten the previous interaction, "Oh! Yeah, that was... well, you must know how it goes."

"Absolutely," the older man's distinctive vocal fry is bright when he speaks, especially when he has to yell over the music and commotion. "I'm Rufus!"

"I know," Brandon chuckles and feels his cheeks warm as he raises his voice, "I'm a fan of your stuff!"

"How sweet," Rufus leans over to Brandon's ear. "The corner by the bathrooms is much quieter. Wanna talk a bit?" Brandon leans away and nods, cueing Rufus to grab hold of Brandon's bicep. Brandon trails behind the other man as they slowly inch their way to the back left corner of the bar. Once they're settled near the wall, Rufus lets go of Brandon's arm.

"Sorry 'bout your suit, doll. How do you keep it so clean?" Rufus brushes a hand over the spot he was just holding.

"Uh, I just bring it to a dry cleaner," Brandon has to adjust his volume because Rufus was right, it is much quieter over here, "and I try to be very careful."