When In Rome

By Charles Liem

Jonathan's small town in Ohio, with a name too ordinary to mention, was just short ride from middle of nowhere.

It wasn't exactly rural, but then again, not exactly urban. Sure, it had a Wal-Mart, but who doesn't?

Not even at a bar in South Beach could he escape that annoying Midwest habit of feeling it necessary to strike up conversations with complete strangers.  

Jonathan shouted over those infamous conga-beats of Gloria Estefan.

"This is my first trip to Miami. The corporate office sent me down here to whip the local stores back into shape. I'd figured I'd live a little, and hit the town tonight. Ya know, experience the wild club scene."

The neatly dressed man next to him was the picture of a metro-sexual. He looked at Jonathan and with a smidge of sarcasm said, "Really? You seem to blend right in."

"Thanks, I went shopping today and picked up these fancy new clothes." Pinching the coral colored silk of his new shirt Jonathan continued, "I'm not usually into pastels, but I guess when in Rome…."

"Indeed. Well, if this is Rome, where's my Spartacus?" the man said laughing.

Jonathan was a bit confused by this last comment, but just politely laughed and nodded.

"Well Mr. Roman, I'm Robert."

Robert held his hand out, oh so diminutively, with his palm down. Jonathan reached across and awkwardly and shook the man's fingers, and said, "Wow, that is certainly a different kind of handshake. Is that a local thing or something?"

Robert sat looking confused and said, "Well, I thought it was universal through the Empire."

"Right, right, the Empire," said Jonathan tentatively.

Robert leaned over to Jonathan. "Look, you seem like a nice enough guy, a little nervous but nice. I usually don't do this, oh who am I kidding I do it every chance I get. What do you say we head back to my place?"

Robert started laughing, "Of course will have to pick up some Trojans along the way."

Jonathan was puzzled by what he thought he just heard, he mumbled, "I don't understand. Trojans? Back to your place?"

"That's a joke silly. Romans. Trojans. You know. Condoms. That's okay I've always been a sucker for the dumb ones," Robert said still laughing into his white wine.

Jonathan responded with a look of horror in his eyes. "Oh no! Oh I'm not…."

"Sure you’re not. I'm not either if it makes you feel better. How cute, still in the closet, now c'mon."

"No really, I'm not gay!"

With reality settling over the situation, Robert said, "Then what are you doing here?"

"I told you, the corporate office sent me," Jonathan said nervously.

"The corporate office sent you to a gay bar?"

"This is a gay bar?"

Looking around for any shred of evidence, as if his manhood was on trial, Jonathan thought he found vindication.

"What about those women over there?"

"Sweetie, those aren't exactly women."

Jonathan pondered the implications, and almost as though his brain couldn't fathom androgyny, he immediately retreated to the concern foremost on his mind.

"What would make you think I'm gay?"

Robert looked incredulous. "I am now extremely worried about your grasp of the obvious. Okay, you mean what about you besides the fact you’re in a gay club? And furthermore, you’re asking me to overlook the fact that you had to wade through a sea of shirtless men to get to the bar?"

"Yeah, besides the whole gay bar thing, that was an honest mistake."

Robert said, "You know what the irony is here? Most nights you couldn't swing a dead cat in the middle of South Beach without hitting a gay man. Instead, I'm here with a very confused heterosexual discussing why he appears gay in a gay club. You got to be kidding me!"

Jonathan was undaunted by the Robert's tirade.

Robert continued, "Fine, you want to know? I can't believe I'm doing this. First of all, straight men don't use their full name. As a full fledged heterosexual you should call yourself John, and they don't say things like ‘when in Rome.’"

Jonathan replied without thinking, "Touché."

Robert sighed, "…And they definitely don't say touché."

"Okay, if I was gay, would I be like Nathan Lane in The Birdcage, or more like James Gandolfini in The Mexican?"

Robert stood from the bar in absolute frustration, "C'mon, let’s see if we can find you a bar for your kind. I think there's still one or two left in this town, but I'm signing you up for the parade this year."