A few days into the new year, my three remaining pansy parlors had been shut down by police. According to David, one of the owners, a padlock was hung on his door without warning and beside it was a memo citing the club for indecency. After he’d done some poking around, David had learned it was the same story at every surviving establishment in Towertown, including The Gallery on State. Though I hated to admit it, news of the shutdowns had bothered me, but thinking The Gallery might be finished made my chest ache more than the rest of the report. I didn’t think I was a sentimental guy, but it felt wrong for a place so steeped in my history to be gone.

Indecency. When I asked Igor and Maks if their favorite joints had suffered the same fate, they confirmed what I’d suspected—they hadn’t. None of the North Side clubs bore a paper admonishing their indecency, other than those that catered to queers. After years of flourishing while facing the challenges of Prohibition, they were taken under by a bullshit paper emblazoned with the word indecency. It didn’t take a scholar to see where things were headed for Cal’s homosexual revolution.

Though I knew I couldn’t, I’d tossed around the idea of not telling Cal what had happened. The fact that I had promised to ask the owners about having Rosie sing for them didn’t allow me much space to maneuver around the admission. My roommates were exceedingly anxious for the outcome of those inquiries, so it was sooner than I would have liked that I had to break the news that the parlors were closed.

“What do you mean closed?” Cal had asked as he rolled flour putty in his hands.

“I mean closed, not open, locks on the doors, lights out.”

“All of them?”

“All of them,” I confirmed, sighing at the bewilderment on his face. “The city shut them down for indecency.”

“Indecency? Didn’t the repeal of Prohibition make bars decent again?”

“It’s not all clubs, only the queer ones.”

“So, the indecency isn’t drinking then?” he asked. “Hmm.”

Cal turned to press the putty against the lid of his pot while I debated what to do next. Deciding on affection, I looped my arms around his waist and rested my lips on his clothed shoulder blade.

“Are you going to tell me you told me so?” he questioned, the irritation in his voice taking me by surprise.

“No, I’m not.”

“Because this is a mistake.”

“What’s a mistake?” I asked, so terrified he would reply “us” that I said it first. “Us?”

Cal had taken me surprise, spinning around to slam me into the refrigerator, farm-strong hands pressing on my chest. “Don’t you ever say that again,” he growled with more anger than I thought he’d had the capacity to possess.