The Color Of Love | COMPLETED

02. Understanding

I laughed. 

I just laughed. 

How absurd was it that I was Casey Addams, closeted gay, being threatened arrest in a gay bar for absolutely nothing? 

James confident expression slowly slipped away, replaced with a look of confusion that he quickly tried to mask. "Don't you understand?" he said quietly. "You're being arrested." He was talking to me like I was slow. 

"Oh, I understand," I chuckled. "It's a gas." 

"A gas?" James repeated. He had moved away from me now, all pretenses dropped. "How is this a good situation?" 

"No, it's just funny," I explained. "Okay, Mister, lay it on me. What's the charge?" 

James looked increasingly uncomfortable, but he cleared his throat and tried to put on a professional mask. "Michael Smith, you are under arrest for attempted sodomy - "

I scoffed, my entire friendly demeanor slipping away. I wasn't the sweet, terrible flirt Michael Smith anymore. I was Casey Addams, and if James was going to be professional, I was going to be professional. "Oh, sodomy, is it? Tell me, did you see me - " 

"It's illegal to serve gay patrons alcohol," James forged ahead. "And it's illegal to display homosexuality in public." 

"Isn't that only in New York? What about Missouri laws? Am I not protected by the Missouri Human Rights Act?" I was growing more agitated and louder with each sentence. 

He hesitated, glancing at the group on the other side of the room to see if they had noticed what was going on. The rational part of me knew it was a good idea to call out for help, possibly, but the other side of me wanted to keep this as quiet as possible. Something told me that getting other drunk gay people involved wasn't a good idea. 

"The MHRA hasn't been passed yet," he said very deliberately. 

I raised an eyebrow. "Really? As far as I'm aware, it was passed on June 8th, 1959, and it became effective on August 29th in the same year. Please don't try to change my rights, sir, because I'm already aware of them, and that misinformation could land you in jail." 

James frowned once more, obviously thrown off with my knowledge on the subject. He had no idea that I helped write the bill that eventually became the MHRA. "This bar operates on the margins of the law. You should be glad that I haven't hauled your sorry, fa - " 

I held up a hand to stop him. "I'm sorry, sir, but you truly weren't about to say that word, were you?" 

He paused. 

"Because if you were," I continued on, my voice reaching a dangerous quiet, "I'm afraid I would have to hurt you, and that wouldn't look very good, would it?" 

James settled back, his face hard and without a hint of apology. "In that case, I would have to knock you out, then arrest you, and I promise you that the white officers won't be as forgiving as me." 

I relaxed on my chair, trying to appear completely unaffected. "Ah. And you're being so merciful because you have darker skin than them? Tell me, sir, what would you have done to me, a white man, if I had used the n-word?" 

James got up so fast that his chair banged to the floor. The other group ceased their talk and looked towards us curiously. James made eye contact with the bartender, seemed to realize he was outnumbered, then sank down into another chair. 

"I wouldn't, of course," I continued, like nothing had happened. "Because I respect you. I may not agree with you, but I do respect you. But then again, we aren't very different at all."