Brendan backed to the door of the small, dimly lit restroom in back of Jimmy’s Sports Bar and Grill. He rested his weight against the door so no one else could enter the small room. They were alone, except for Tim who was passed out on the floor.

He grabbed Matt’s right hand in his left. "C’mere, stud."

Matt could feel the panic rise in him like heartburn. He felt trapped. He glanced over his right shoulder to see Tim’s boots jutting out underneath the toilet stall partition. He knew Tim was out cold and couldn’t come to his aid.

Matt could still hear the throbbing music from the main bar and although Brendan was whispering, Matt could hear his words echo off the tiles.

"I know you want it." Brendan moved Matt’s hand to the front of his jeans. There, Matt could feel the hard tube beneath the well-worn denim material.

From the other side of the door, they could hear Chrissy Hynde warbling:

"Got brass in pocket,
Got bottle, I’m gonna use it
Intention I feel inventive,
Gonna make you, make you, make you notice."

Brendan reached out and grabbed Matt’s hardening cock. "C’mon, Matt. Let’s go."

"No, no," Matt stammered. "Not…not here, Brendan."

"Tim’ll never know."

"I can’t, Brendan."

Both their heads turned toward Tim who groaned and repositioned himself on the floor.

"Help me get Tim up. Please, Brendan?" Matt was almost begging. Don’t make me decide! Don’t put me in this position!

Matt tried to move away, but Brendan hooked an arm around Matt’s neck and pulled his face next to his own. Matt could smell the beer on his breath.

"I’m special, so special

Gotta have some of your attention

Give it to me!"

"Give it to me!’ Brendan echoed the song. "Such a beautiful man," he whispered. "I know you want it." Roughly and forcefully, he kissed Matt.

As they kissed, Brendan reached down and unbuttoned Matt’s jeans. Matt thought If he sees me hard, it will only encourage him. He tried to pull away.

Suddenly, someone was banging on the door. "Hey! What’s going on in there! I gotta take a piss!"

Matt woke up breathing heavily and covered with sweat. For a few panicky seconds, he was disoriented. He could hear the strains of Brass in Pocket in the back of his head.

When his eyes finally focused, he realized he was in bed with Tim snoring loudly next to him. His eyes searched the darkened bedroom for the glowing numerals of the clock. 3:45 AM.

Matt sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his hands over his face. What a dream! How could his subconscious betray him this way? Maybe it was a wish. Maybe he wanted to have sex with Brendan. But, what would that make him then? Was he cheating on Tim because he had an erotic dream about someone else?

Matt padded to the bathroom, relieved himself, splashed some water on his face and dried his face off in a towel that smelled slightly of mildew.

The light streaming from the parking lot created a luminous rectangle over Tim’s face. His mouth was agape and he snored louder than a freight train. Matt gingerly lay down on the bed again. A war was raging inside his head.

After about ten minutes, Matt realized he was never going to get back to sleep with Tim snoring so loudly. Tim only snored after he had been drinking heavily. Matt tried rolling his partner onto his side. Sometimes that helped. Tim’s eyes never even fluttered and this breathing never varied as Matt rolled him over.

The trick worked for about two minutes and then Tim was snoring again.

Matt sighed loudly, unplugged the alarm clock - a very tricky maneuver in the darkened bedroom - grabbed a blanket from the hall linen closet and made his way downstairs to the couch.

A half-empty bag of Doritos graced the coffee table. Matt prayed that the couch wasn’t full of crumbs. He had been pleased to find both the house and the boys in one piece when they returned from Jimmy’s. In fact, both Tommy and Jake were already asleep and Brian was watching American Movie Classics and eating the Doritos. Matt had asked him to put them away before he went to bed but apparently Brian forgot.

He switched on the lamp, plugged in the alarm clock, reset the time and then set the alarm for his usual waking time of 7:30.

Matt was relieved to find no crumbs. After turning off the light, he pulled his cock out and masturbated with visions of Brendan floating through his brain. Finally relieved, he rolled onto his side and fell into a fitful and restless sleep.

As Matt drove north on Cicero Avenue the next morning, unbidden and unwelcome thoughts floated though his consciousness. Most of them had to do with Brendan and Tim.

He sipped his coffee as he waited at a red light. Normally, Matt took his coffee black and unsweetened, but this morning he had indulged in both sugar and creamer. He rationalized the sugar by thinking that it would give him a much-needed burst of energy and help to clear his head.

Tim was still asleep as Matt dressed for work that morning. He had wanted to talk with him but decided Tim needed the extra sleep.

At 127th Street, almost halfway through his morning commute, Matt finally turned on the radio.

"WXRT, Radio Chicago. I’m Frank E. Lee and this is Saturday Morning Flashback. The year is 1980….."

"Got brass

In pocket,

Got bottle,

I’m gonna use it…."

"Oh, Jesus," Matt muttered and tuned the radio to WKQX.

Sales were always unpredictable on Saturdays in October. If the weather was nice, as it was on this early October morning, sales could be slow. That was fine with Matt. It would give him an opportunity to catch up on the shelving and stocking they needed to do.

Matt liked to get to the store a full hour early on Saturday because he needed to enter payroll into the computer along with his usual chores of taking the deposit to the bank and counting the safe and change funds. He was pleased to see that the crew had got a good deal of stocking done the previous night. On the other hand, he knew if they had completed a lot of stocking that indicated sales had been low. A glance at the dismal sales figures from Friday confirmed his hypothesis.

His favorite crew was working today; part-timers Martha, Jeff and John. Depending on how many customers they had that day, they would be able to polish off a lot of shelving.

Shelving during October was always a daunting task. The shelves were already full to bursting with books, but most customers hadn’t started buying for Christmas yet. Matt imagined that some unsuspecting customer was going to pull a book off an overburdened shelf and the whole shelf would come down on their head.

Of course, that never happened, but it was fun to fantasize.

In addition, most of the 1995 calendars had arrived and Matt’s employees had already devoted two tables to them. Pricy, oversized coffee-table picture books also began to make an appearance, and Matt and his crew struggled to find prominent places to display them. Some Christmas books had also begun arriving although they stored those in the back room for the time being. After all, Halloween books were still on display.

When his opening chores were complete, he glanced at the clock and saw that he still had a half hour before the store was to open. This might be a good time to set up some interviews for Christmas help, he thought.

From the filing cabinet he pulled the file of applications. He was required by his company to keep them on file for at least a year; therefore, the file was almost two inches thick. He kept the file arranged by application date. He knew that any application older than four to six weeks was virtually useless.

Bookstores always get a constant stream of applications, and Matt’s store was no exception. A lot of applications were filled out for summer employment; so many were dated in May and June. Unfortunately, summer was a slow time for bookselling, so most of those applicants never got called. Most summers, Matt had to cut hours for the employees he already had.

He sorted through the most recent applications quickly and separated the ones that weren’t completed, had unrealistic expectations for salary or amount of hours, or were just sloppily done. He created a pile for those.

He glanced though the ones that remained paying close attention to the availability area of the applicant. He further weeded out the ones that had poor availability. Any applicant who wasn’t available on weekends joined the discard pile.

"Hi, Matt!" Martha was the first to arrive.

"Hi, Martha." He watched as she put her huge purse on an empty shelf in the backroom. They all teased Martha about her purse. Matt told her that, like Mary Poppins, he expected her to pull lamps and hall trees out of it.

She hung her coat up and stashed her purse near the bags. She entered the tiny restroom, but left the door open. Matt assumed she was checking her hair in the mirror. Soon, he heard the sounds of sloshing in the toilet.

"Martha! Are you cleaning the toilet?"

"It needs it. It’ll only take a second."

"Martha, I’ll do it."

Martha appeared from the bathroom. She pointed the dripping toilet brush at Matt. "You always do too much. That’s your problem, Matt. You need to learn to delegate." She returned to her task.

"Yes, Mom," Matt muttered and grinned as he turned his attention back to the applications.

Two applications almost jumped out at him. Both indicated that they liked to read as a hobby. That was always a good sign. They would have access to a lot of books in addition to a generous employee discount.

One was a high school student who had experience at her school library. She attended Mother McAuley High School, an all-girls Catholic school near St. Xavier University and not far from where Matt’s sister lived. On her application, she indicated that she was interested in a permanent position if it was available. She lived on the South Side of Chicago. Transportation could possibly be an issue for her.

The other was a college art student. He was attending Columbia College downtown. He indicated that he would only be interested in seasonal employment. He lived in Alsip, an adjoining suburb.

Matt picked up the phone and dialed the girl’s number. She wasn’t home but he left a message with her brother to return the call today.

Matt left a message on the machine of the art student.

He paper clipped the two applications together and set them aside, hoping that Lisa Balzekas and David Kowalski would call him back that day.

It seemed that very few people had shopping on their minds that sunny October day. Matt and his staff were able to shelve three carts of books, although most of them ended up in overstocks.

The first call came at about 1:30. Jeff was handing Matt hardcover fiction to overstock.

Martha appeared from the back room. "You cell phone is ringing, Matt."

Matt sighed. "OK, I’ll be down in a sec."

In the backroom, Martha had resumed eating her sensible lunch of soup and crackers. His cell phone was still chirping. Whoever was calling was nothing if not persistent. "What kind of soup are we having today, Martha?" he teased.

"Baked potato with bacon."

"Yummy! Sounds good." He answered his cell phone.

"Dad?" It was Tommy.

"What’s wrong, son?"

"Jake is teasing me again."

"What is he doing?"

"Oh, he’s making fun of me…well, you know."

Matt was losing patience. "No, I don’t know. If I were a member of the Psychic Friends Network, I wouldn’t be at work now. Tell me."

"He’s teasing me about….jacking off."

"Tommy, I told you to just ignore him. The only reason he does it is because he knows it’ll upset you. Where’s Tim?"

"He’s been in your room most of the day. He says he has a headache."

I’ll just bet he has a headache, Matt thought. "Tommy, just stay away from Jake, OK?"

"But he…."

Matt wouldn’t let him finish. "Tommy, I’m at work. This phone is only for emergencies. Are you breathing?"

Was it a trick question? "Well, yeah," Tommy said hesitantly.

"Has anyone’s blood been spilled?"

"N-n-no."

"Then it’s not an emergency. Any more of this nonsense and we won’t be going to a movie tonight. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it." It was clear from the petulant tone of his voice that he wasn’t pleased.

"Good, now put Jake on." He had heard it all before, too many times, in fact. And where the hell was Tim, and what was he doing while all this was going on?

When Jake got on the phone Matt verbally ripped him a new bodily orifice and threatened that he would stay home from the dance that night.

Matt and his employees worked steadily through the afternoon. Customers were few and far between that day. Matt didn’t know it yet but more than weather was changing the shopping habits of most of his customers.

The "big box" bookstores were starting to invade the Chicago area. Borders had opened its first store in Oakbrook followed by Barnes and Noble in Wheaton. The "big box" or "category killer" stores were nothing new to Chicago. Best Buy and Circuit City had invaded the area as early as the mid 80’s. Sportmart forced all the "old line" department stores to remove their sporting goods departments. Office Depot and Office Max caused dozens of little mom-and-pop stationery stores to fold. Target had invaded in 1993 and Wal-Mart was encroaching from the outer ring of suburbs.

These stores would signal a dramatic shift in the way people shopped for all merchandise, but especially books. Whether it was the latest bodice-ripper from Fern Michaels or a spy thriller from Tom Clancy, a book was the same from store to store. The only difference was price.

Mall bookstores had a higher overhead, especially in the Chicago area. Rent was steep, as were utilities and payroll. Mall bookstores like Matt’s couldn’t afford to discount as deeply as a freestanding store could. They also couldn’t carry the huge selection of titles.

Added to all this, consumers found that their time was at a premium. Whereas in the 1980’s they might have spent and entire Saturday wandering the mall, now shoppers wanted to do all their shopping in one or two stores, and they spent less time shopping.

Brian called Matt on the store line about 4:30.

"What’s wrong, son?"

"Where’s my shirt? The one I’m going to wear tonight?"

"It’s hanging in the basement."

"Could you iron it when you get home?"

Matt scoffed, "You know where the iron is."

"Yeah, but you do a much better job. Please?"

"We’re going to be cutting it pretty close, kiddo. You have to be at The Tivoli by 6:30. I usually don’t get home until six. I don’t mind doing it, but make sure you’re ready to go. What about Tim? He’s pretty good at ironing."

"Oh, he’s been in bed most of the day," Brian said in an offhand manner. Then he muttered, "Oops!"

Matt was sure he had unthinkingly mentioned Tim’s couch potato tendencies. But he said nothing to his son except, "I’ll be home as soon as I can."

Two panicky teenagers and one desperate dog greeted Matt at the kitchen door.

"Has someone walked Buddy yet?"

"Tommy was supposed to do it."

"Tommy!"

Dirty dishes formed a modern sculpture in the sink. Prints was on the kitchen counter licking peanut butter out of the open jar. An open jar of jelly and a loaf of bread sat nearby. Empty frozen burrito wrappers and Little Debbie boxes completed the motif.

In the living room, clumps of cat and dog fur spotted the carpet. The now-empty bag of Doritos yawned on the coffee table surrounded by a constellation of crumbs. Someone’s pillow and blanket festooned the couch.

"Look at this place! Didn’t you guys do your chores today?"

Tommy, who had just snapped the leash onto Buddy’s collar, answered, "No." Then he made a hasty exit out the kitchen door.

Matt inhaled deeply through his nostrils and counted to ten. He wasn’t sure whether to be angry with the boys or Tim.

"Stand back," Jake muttered, "He’s going to blow."

"No," Matt assured them. "I’m not. But do you really want your friends to see this mess? Get cracking while I iron Brian’s shirt. When I’m done, I’ll give you a hand. At least we can make it look presentable."

In the basement, Matt found more evidence that they had not completed their Saturday chores. The laundry still needed to be done. While he ironed he heard one of the boys vacuuming the living room.

Like a seasoned charwoman, Matt finished the shirt in record time and took the basement stairs two at a time. "Brian!" he barked.

Brian appeared in a white T-shirt over his navy blue chinos and carrying a tie he intended to wear. His hair was gelled flawlessly.

Matt rushed back to the kitchen for a few more last-minute touch ups. He decided to sweep the floor. Really, the floor needed a good mopping but he didn’t have time. When he was done sweeping, he decided to switch off the bright overhead light in favor of the dimmer light under the stove hood. He reasoned that in the dimmer light perhaps the dirty floor wouldn’t be so evident.

Even Tommy helped in Operation Quick Clean by straightening and dusting the living room and clearing the dining room table.

"Hey, dad, would you help me tie this tie?" Brian asked.

Matt chuckled. "Turn around. You’re going to have to learn to do this on your own someday, ya know. Your old man’s not always going to be around to tie your ties." Matt’s complaint was really a mild form of teasing. They both enjoyed the physical contact.

Matt perched on one of the bar stools near the breakfast bar. "Turn around again," he commanded gently. When Brian did, he made the final adjustments to the strip of cloth.

Matt placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders and gave then a gentle squeeze. "Now, remember, don’t abandon the girls. Be a gentleman. I expect you to be on your best behavior. Don’t disappoint me."

"I won’t. I mean, I will." He laughed at his own responses.

"Keep an eye on your brother."

"Easier said than done."

"I know," Matt conceded. "Call me if anything major comes up. Logan’s Grandma should pick you up from the Tivoli and drive all of you to the dance. If she’s any more than a half hour late, call me."

"OK, dad."

"And, Brian," Matt paused gathering his thoughts and hoping for the right words to say. "I’m not sure Rich East is ready for two boys making out at the Homecoming Dance."

Even in the dim light Matt could see his son blush. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Rich East is not St. Irenaeus."

Brian’s eyebrows shot up. "How did you know about that?"

"Dads always know."

Just then, a pair of headlights shone though the windows. "You look very handsome, son." Suddenly, Matt’s heart began to ache. His son was growing up. He was well on his way to becoming a young man. And there wasn’t anything Matt could do to stop it.

Matt gushed sincerely over the girls when they arrived, and promptly hustled the four kids into the Jeep. The gas gauge rested on ‘E’ and Matt worried that they would have enough to make it. They certainly didn’t have time to stop for gas on the way to the restaurant.

Matt dropped them off at The Tivoli where Logan and his date Valerie were waiting inside the restaurant.

Matt pulled into the Cheker station on Western Avenue to fill the Jeep after dropping the kids off at The Tivoli. Tim hadn’t put gas in the Jeep; it was yet another thing to add to the litany of things Tim hadn’t accomplished that day.

It was only then that Matt realized he hadn’t seen Tim since he arrived home from work, and he hadn’t talked to Tim at all that day.

Tommy was waiting for Matt in front of the TV.

"Hey, son." Matt ruffled his hair affectionately. "What time is the show?"

"7:30."

"Are you about ready to go?"

Tommy smiled. His eyes were alight with anticipation. "I can’t wait."

Matt had focused much of his attention on his two older sons over the past week. From buying them new clothes, to plotting the complex logistics of transportation, he had almost neglected Tommy. That is, until Tommy complained.

To compensate, Matt decided that it would be fun to take Tommy to a movie Saturday night. Tommy had requested to see The Lion King. It had been playing forever, it seemed, and had smashed all sorts of records for an animated movie. To top it all off, it was playing at the Western Heights Theaters, which was within a half mile of their house.

Matt opened the door to the master bedroom. It was dark save for the flickering light of the TV. Tim was in bed, but propped up with his back against the headboard. He didn’t acknowledge Matt’s entrance into the room at all. Not even so much as a grunt.

Matt began to pull his work clothes off. "I got the boys to The Tivoli." No help from you, Matt thought but held his tongue.

Tim didn’t acknowledge Matt’s comment at all. He was absorbed in the video version of Field of Dreams. They had recently purchased a nice little TV/VCR combo for their bedroom and given Brian their old TV.

"I’m disappointed with you, Tim. The boys didn’t do any of their chores today."

"They told me they did," he reported flatly as if reciting the Gettysburg Address for 8th grade history. His eyes never strayed from the TV set.

"You have to monitor them. Or better yet, work with them. You know that." Matt sat on the edge of the bed to tie his sneakers. "We’ve discussed this before."

Matt stood and pulled a sweater over his head. "You need to start getting ready."

"Why?"

"We’re taking Tommy to the movies, remember?"

Tim groaned and wrinkled his nose. "I don’t want to go."

Matt was so enraged his hands started trembling, but he held it in. He crossed to the light switch. Tim squinted at the sudden brightness of the room.

"Oh, yes, you’re going. You are not going to disappoint that boy."

"I have a headache."

"No one forced you to drink so much last night. You’ve had all day to sleep. And you know Tommy’s been looking forward to this all week." Matt gritted his teeth. "You can not disappoint him."

Matt moved in front of the TV.

"Hey! I’m trying to watch this movie."

"Tim, you yourself said you wanted to be more involved with the boys. You said that you might even want a foster son of your own. You’re missing an essential point here."

"And what is that?"

"Parenting is a full-time job. There’s no let-up. Ever. You have got to be consistent, just like you needed to be consistent with the boys and their Saturday chores. You can’t make promises that you can’t keep. You promised that we’d take Tommy to the show tonight. And you need to follow through with that promise. I don’t care if you sleep through the movie, Tim."

Matt pointed at him. "Now get your ass out of bed."

Tim did, but he glared at Matt. "I need to take a shower."

"Better make it snappy. The show starts in half an hour."

Tim yanked open a dresser drawer and pulled out a clean pair of underwear. As he left the room on his way to the bathroom, he snarled at Matt, "Well, I wasn’t the one flirting with Brendan."

"I wasn’t flirting with Brendan." Matt was sure his face looked guilty. He was right.

"Sure looked like it to me. Everyone knows what a hosebag he is."

"So that’s what’s bothering you. We shot some pool, Tim. That’s it. He was the only one, besides your father, who talked to me in that place. If you want to discuss this further, we can do it later tonight. But even if you do think that something went on between Brendan and me, that has nothing to do with Tommy. It’s not fair to take it out on him."

Tim shoved his way past Matt into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

Shortly, Matt could hear the water running. After a few moments, Tim began singing in the shower, as he did from time to time. Tim was a less-than-adequate singer and off key most of the time.

But it wasn’t Tim’s lack of musical virtuosity that caused a dagger of guilt to pierce though Matt. It was the song he was singing.

Tim was singing Brass in Pocket.