I fucking knew it.
“It could be a coincidence,” Isa stammered as she leaned her elbows against the bar top and watched my reaction. I should have known when she first handed me her phone with a look of hesitation on her face that I was about to see something I didn’t like, and holy heck, was that true. “The chair of the Pike Neighborhood Association probably golfed with a lot of different people—not just Tyler’s dad.”
I squinted my eyes at the Facebook photo posted publicly on the association’s page of the chair with his arm around Walter Adams’ shoulders this past weekend playing a round of golf at Washington Golf & Country Club together. They were announcing the sale of another property on Columbia Pike to Walter Adams and how his goal was to revitalize the neighborhood with his influx of cash and renovations.
He bought a dry cleaner attached to a mini-mart, and they were turning it into office space for the association so that they could “really dig into the work,” and a stationary store for the chair’s wife.
“This is definitely bribery, right? Like he absolutely bought their votes—with a fucking building,” I said, looking up at Isa and placing my phone down on the bar top.
Isa shrugged. “We can’t prove that it’s related at all.”
But of course it was. There was zero chance I was buying this all as some sort of tangential occurrence. Walter Adams didn’t want his daughter’s name attached to a queer bar—or queer anything—but he wasn’t going to be the one to dash her hopes. Instead, he’d pay someone else to do it. It literally read like a privileged stereotype.
“Has Tyler seen this?” I mean, it completely proved I was right, but this felt like the hollowest win ever. “Because she’ll connect the dots if she does. She has to.”
“Your relationship dynamics—or dysfunction—are not my concern right now,” Isa replied. “We need to move forward with a new location, because the current one isn’t happening.”
I groaned, closing my eyes and dropping my head backward. “I really don’t know how I’ll be able to do that financially. We’ve already put a lot of money into this place, and we’re set to open in literally two weeks. This is actually insane.”
Isa held up a file folder that had been sitting in front of her. “That actually brings me to the good news. Tyler’s building is offering to recoup the renovation costs so you can walk away with a clean slate. It won’t save us time, and we’ll have to find someplace that is move-in ready if we even have a remote chance of a soft launch in a few weeks, but at least we won’t be out everything you’ve already spent.”
My eyes widened. “Wait…really? He’s going to refund us everything?”
She nodded. “All the way down to the application fee.”
“So, what’s the catch?” Old Beady Eyed Adams was not out here trying to do me any favors, so I knew without a doubt that this gesture was coming with heavy strings. “What does he want in exchange for that?”
Isa slid her finger down the front of the paper and stopped on a line in the middle of the sheet. “The new location needs to be at least one mile away from this space—for non-compete purposes. They plan to give the space to another bar since it’s outfitted already that way and don’t want them to have competition from the jump.”
Stupid, but I honestly thought it would be worse. “Even though there’s like four other bars within a few blocks of here? I mean, fine. Sure, yeah, if that’s the only stipulation, then let’s get our money back.”
“There’s one more,” Isa responded, her finger trailing slightly lower on the paper. “They can’t financially compensate anyone affiliated with the building, so in order to get the money back, Tyler has to give up her percentage of the business as an investor. They are citing it as a conflict of interest for him to basically pay out his daughter, so she’d need to step away and the money would go to you only, the sole owner.”
And there it was.
Isa was already rounding the bar just based on whatever expression was on my face because she grabbed a bottle of tequila that was sitting on the back and popped it open.
Forget the glasses, she just handed me the entire bottle. “Here. Drink.”
I drank. No need to tell my therapist about this maladaptive coping skill.
When I came up for air, I let out a loud belch of righteous indignation. “Well, what if we fight fire with fire? I could ask my dad to investigate her dad, dig something up on him and force him to leave us alone.”
“Before we get into this fight, maybe you should think about what you actually want.” Isa crossed her arms over her chest and leaned sideways against the back bar. “I know you want this bar—but do you want it enough to lose the girl?”
I groaned. “Why does it have to be one or the other?”
“You tell me,” Isa replied. “Where is Tyler? She’s not here. You look like a sad, kicked puppy. She lives in a penthouse her dad owns and, presumably, loves him. You two have been secretive about everything going on between you, but I’ve also never seen you this twisted up over anyone. You were ready to tell her you love her yesterday, Yasmeen.”
“I’ve loved women before,” I countered, but refused to make direct eye contact with her because she’d see right through me.
Isa lightly scoffed at me. “You and I both know it’s never been like this before—at least, not in the time I’ve known you. Those are your words.”
Her phone rang on the bar top, and she grabbed it, swiping to answer on a FaceTime call. “Mila, can you take over here?”
My best friend’s face appeared on the screen, and seeing her was a breath of fresh air.
Isa handed the phone to me.
“Are you two in a fight?” Mila asked me. “Because I’m not getting in between that again.”
“Oh my god, that was one time, Mila,” Isa called out from the background, even though she wasn’t visible on the screen.
“It was enough to traumatize me for life,” Mila replied. “What’s going on, Yas?”
I quickly filled her in on everything that had transpired over the last forty-eight hours, and Ari came on screen in the back behind Mila. “Holy shit, Yasmeen. That’s so fucked.”
“I know, right? Does the Washington Times want to write a story on this?” I asked not so slyly. “I mean, I’ll give you the exclusive scoop.”
Ari walked closer to the camera, and she was holding their toddler on her left hip. “I’m about to leave on assignment to cover a trial at a hospital where a baby was decapitated during delivery and the hospital is trying to silence the parents with only ten thousand dollars.”
Real story, but this kind of shit is exactly why I didn’t chat with them daily. Mila and Ari’s life was weird. Period.
I sighed. “Okaaaaay, never mind then.”
“I could send someone else to cover it if you want?” Ari offered.
Mila looked at me. “I mean, do you want the story out there? When Ari did the story I gave her, I lost my job and my license to practice law.”
“I don’t have a job to lose,” I pointed out. “Hell, at this point, I don’t even have the bar.”
Mila shrugged. “Sure, but you have the girl. Or had? I’m confused on if you two are together or not right now. Either way, if you take down her dad in the court of public opinion, she might have some thoughts on that.”
Oh, she would definitely have thoughts. “I mean, if my dad was doing shady stuff like this, I’d want him to be caught and held responsible for his actions.”
Isa barked out a laugh. “That’s bullshit. If your dad called and said he murdered someone, you’d be helping hide the body. Anyone in your family would.”
“Okay, but that’s what family does.” I sighed. “Fine. I see your point. I’ll talk to her about it first. See what she thinks.”
“Gently,” Mila added. “Not in an I-told-you-so kind of way.”
“Fiiiiiine,” I repeated. “But just to be clear, I called all of this and you’re all witness to that.”
Isa rolled her eyes.
“We see you,” Ari added. “But in relationships, you either fight to be right or you fight to preserve the relationship. You can rarely have both.”
“If this is about the breakfast cereal for Gracie thing again,” Mila began, now turning to look at her wife. “She’s way too young for that much sugar.”
Ari looked past Mila to me. “See? I could be right and introduce Gracie to the joy that is Cookie Crisp, or I could let Mila have her way on this. Happy wife, happy life.”
Good to know the bullshit sayings from the patriarchy have infiltrated queer relationships now. I also hated the fact that it was kind of right…I could prove to Tyler that her dad was the monster I considered him to be, but that was absolutely going to drive a wedge between us that I wasn’t sure we’d be able to come back from.
Did I want to come back from it?
The question was swirling around unsolicited in my head. It felt in some ways like I was at a crossroads—my business or my relationship. Guilt swirled in my belly as I realized I didn’t know which one I would choose. That was bad, right? Like I should be the person who says I’d pick Tyler over anything and everything. That’s what a girlfriend was supposed to do. That was the right thing to do.
But was it? Something inside of me was screaming self-preservation. I had no control over Tyler, and losing her felt inevitable at this point, but the bar was something that I could have a say in. It might sound dramatic, but it felt a bit like all I had left—even if feelings aren’t facts, as my therapist would say.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and typed up a quick text to Tyler, but I didn’t hit send yet. “What if I say this: ‘Hey, Tyler. Can we meet up and talk about the opening?’ If I can get her in the door at least, then I can bring up the relationship stuff as well.”
Isa shrugged. “Seems fine to me. But on that note, we do need to brainstorm.”
Both Isa and I said our goodbyes to Mila and Ari. Then she hung up the phone, and I hit send on my text message to Tyler.
“I’m going to have to buy Tyler out of the bar,” I said with a long sigh. “As shitty as her dad’s deal is, that’s the only way I could afford to still make all of this happen.”
“I think that’s the only choice at this point,” Isa agreed. “We’re also not going to be able to have the hard launch on the date we’d originally set, but I think we could make a soft launch happen and get everything else in place in the first few weeks of being open. All we need is a liquor license, and we can set up shop.”
Thankfully, that wouldn’t be the hard part. “We have that already for this location, so we’d just need to find a new location and get the address change approved.”
Isa opened up her laptop computer on the bar top in front of me and pointed the screen toward me. “I’ve got a list of six retail space options that I think we should consider, or at least tour. Three of them are ready to go for a bar setting, but the other three would require renovations up front. None of them have the hair salon component, so that’s going to have to come later.”
Nothing could ever be simple. “It’s literally in the name of the bar—cuts and cocktails. How can we open without that piece?”
“Intentionally,” Isa replied. “We state that opening weekend is going to be a fundraiser to start building that side of the business so that as soon as we get it open, we can immediately start offering free cuts and colors and stuff. No one will even know it wasn’t always planned that way to begin with, and it’ll bring even more press to show opening weekend being a cause-driven event. Hell, we could even extend it out to the first two opening weekends.”
Shit, I had smart friends. “That’s brilliant. Especially if we’re still doing the live podcast, because we could solicit the fundraiser on there and have an option for online giving.”
“Now you’re talking.” Isa grinned. “See? We’ve got this. This bar is going to be a lot more than just an address.”
I smiled and wrapped one arm around Isa’s shoulders. “I don’t know what I would do without your help on this one.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Isa said with a laugh. “My bill is already in your inbox.”
Whatever it was, she deserved more. “Let me look at those locations.”