The moment I step through the velvet curtain, the outside world is muffled. It’s like walking through a veil between worlds that divides reality and fantasy. In here I’m no longer Rashid Chaudhury, Talamasca agent. In here I’m plain old Ray Evans, trying to get laid.

The voices inside the ‘Ash & Oak’ are more subdued, just a distant murmur that complements the soft jazz music playing in the background. I scan the bar. It’s late in the evening, and the room isn’t too crowded. Only a few of the tables are occupied by some customers enjoying a nightcap. Two women are sitting at the bar on barstools. One of them is leaning in, whispering something into the other woman’s ear, her auburn waves falling across her face. It makes her friend laugh, a little too loud, a little too rehearsed. They shoot me stolen glances, and Auburn bites her lip while her friend, Platinum Blonde, hides a giggle behind her knuckles. But I’m not here for them.

A little further down the bar, I spot him. The dim light flatters him a little, I reckon. He looks older than in his profile picture, but who doesn’t lie on a dating app? He’s still handsome, in a salt-and-pepper silver fox kind of way. Tanned but not orange. White shirt unbuttoned at the collar, grey suit trousers. He’s sitting down, so it’s a little hard to tell, but his shirt doesn’t seem to reveal any softness around his middle.

He isn’t unattractive, but I’m still reluctant to make a move to join him. Why am I doing this again? There’s a room booked upstairs for later under my fake name. If there is a later. In my line of work discretion is key, so when I do this – if I do this – I’m not inviting anyone over to the townhouse near Gramercy Park.

The room is a gentleman’s agreement. A drink at the bar to see if there’s mutual interest and then… whatever. Sex, but no strings attached. I know I won’t stay the night. I can’t remember the last time I spent the entire night with another man. Sleeping next to a stranger makes me uneasy.

I still linger by the door, secretly scanning the room for an escape route – an occupational habit – when the man turns around and discovers me. Richard? Robert? I’ve forgotten his name. Something with R. He waves at me. Too late. Let’s hope this will be good.

Richbert stands up to greet me. We’re similar in height and figure. Up close I can see a few lines around his eyes, but his skin has that soft glow of someone who is loyal to their facial products. Clearly moisturises, too. I’d still estimate him to be in his late 40s or early 50s, which makes him about 15-20 years my senior. Acceptable.

“Ray? Your profile picture does not lie.” He winks at me. “I’m glad you made it. I was beginning to wonder if you stood me up.” He smiles. Perfect white teeth, professionally charming. Steel-blue eyes twinkling behind horn-rimmed glasses. Banker, my instincts tell me. Married? Perhaps. Divorced? Probably. Closeted? Definitely.

“Sorry, traffic…” I raise my palms in an apologetic gesture. “Nice to meet you…” I trail off, extending my hand for a handshake and hoping he’ll help me out before I have to call him Richbert to his face.

He smiles like he’s closing a deal. “Roger.”

Ah yes. Roger, right. And I was starting to like Richbert.

“Roger, of course.”

“What would you like to drink, Ray?” Richbert lifts a hand to catch the bartender’s attention. “Scotch?”

Since the ‘Ash & Oak’ doesn’t look like a bar that serves my favourite beverage – just basic mango juice – I order a Bud Light. I know I’ll hate it, but I don’t want to have a lengthy discussion about a non-alcoholic choice. And maybe the beer will help me relax a little. Once the bartender – Tobi, as his tag helpfully informs us – delivers our drinks, Richbert and I find a booth towards the back of the ‘Ash & Oak’ that will give us a little more privacy. I don’t really fancy sitting centre stage at a bar, and I doubt closeted Richbert wants to be seen chatting up another man. It’s a little too late for this to be a business meeting/after-work thing, and I’m sure our body language betrays us.

“So, Ray, what brings you to the Big Apple? You’re not a local.”

“Oh, I wonder what gave me away?” I force a smile. It wasn’t a very good opener, but then I didn’t give him anything to work with so far, except my faint British accent. “I’m only here for work.”

“And maybe a bit of pleasure, too?” Richbert winks at me suggestively. Maybe we should keep the talking to a minimum and take this upstairs sooner rather than later. Flirting doesn’t seem to be Richbert’s forte. Apparently he agrees with my line of thought, as I can feel him placing a hand on my knee. I take a sip from my beer and look around. No one is watching us, and the table blocks any unwanted views of anything that might be going on underneath it.

My eyes meet Richbert’s. “The evening is still young. We’ll see what it might bring.”

Richbert smiles at me, licking his lips in anticipation. He gives my knee a little squeeze and then removes his hand.

“What kind of work is it that brings you all the way to New York? If you don’t mind me asking…” Richbert continues his attempt at small talk, not one to surrender easily.

“Not at all. I work for a bank. International cooperation, so I travel quite a bit.” It’s my usual cover story. I watch for his reaction. If he’s a banker, he’ll change the subject immediately, because he won’t want to talk about work on a date, especially not a fuck date. If he’s not, he’ll feign interest for approximately five minutes before getting bored and then change the subject.

“I see… are you into sports, Ray?” He says, nodding at a big screen showing an American football match on the other side of the bar.

Bingo. I wave at Tobi, the bartender, to bring us another round of drinks.

“Not much,” I admit. “I used to play football – soccer,” I correct myself, “when I was a kid. Mainly because everyone else did.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I don’t know much about soccer.” He frowns, probably trying to remember what he does know. “Didn’t you guys win the World Cup or something recently?”

I almost choke on my beer. “If you mean by ‘recently’ ‘in 1966’, then yes, we did.”

“Ouch!” he chuckles, slightly nervously. I wonder if he does this a lot. Meet strangers in hotel bars for a quick fuck upstairs. I decide it’s probably not his first time – that hand-knee moment was too forward for that. But he hasn’t been ploughing this particular field for long. Still checking the fences.

“Our Lionesses won the Euros in 2025, though. Maybe that’s what you had in mind.” I was proud of our girls, some real icons of the queer community among them. So much braver and fiercer than their overpaid male counterparts.

He nods. “You’re probably right.” I can tell he has no clue.

I realise I’m not asking him any questions. I should. I’m just not feeling it. There isn’t anything wrong with him. He’s good-looking and eloquent. I’m sure he’d be great to have a deep and meaningful conversation with. It’s just not what I’m here for. Not for conversations or feelings.

I take another sip from my beer. The second bottle Tobi brought us over is still untouched on the table. I grab it and glance at Richbert.

“Shall we take these upstairs…?” I can’t believe I forgot his name again.

“Roger,” Richbert reminds me, and I can sense a hint of irritation in his voice.

“Right. Sorry.” I make an inviting motion with my beer bottle towards the door of the ‘Ash & Oak’ that will lead us into the main lobby of the hotel and up to our room. Richbert hesitates for a brief moment. Then he chugs down his second glass of Scotch and licks his lips.

“Let me go first. Give me five and then follow?”

Richbert doesn’t want to be seen getting into an elevator with another man. Fine. I slip him one of the room keys.

“Room 604.”

I watch him weaving through the tables of the bar towards the exit. He’s giving me a good look at the merchandise on offer, and he knows it. Richbert definitely hits the treadmill regularly and maybe a spin class now and then. Enough to keep the expensive grey Armani suit looking good.

I’m not at all sure that I’ll actually find him in room 604 when I make my way up. I half expect him to reach the lobby and make a beeline for the exit. I slump down back into my seat and close my eyes, pressing the cool beer bottle to my forehead.

“Your date abandon you?” I hear Tobi’s voice near me. I open my eyes again to see him clear Richbert’s empty Scotch glasses from the table.

“Not a date… just business.” I’m not an arsehole. I won’t out a brother who wants to stay in the closet.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Tobi replies with a wink. I don’t reply. I just tap a finger against the outside of my beer bottle and check the big clock above the bar.

Tobi hovers by my table with a wistful smile. “His loss if you ask me.”

I look up at him, giving him a proper once-over for the first time. He is cute. Early twenties. Dark hair, just long enough to fall into his face every time he moves, and that he keeps combing back with his fingers – absently, like he doesn’t even notice. Kind brown eyes, a warm smile that looks like it comes easy, and dimples deep enough to cause trouble.

“I’m actually taken, sorry.” He says, noticing my quiet appraisal, and he sounds like he means it a little. “My boyfriend’s waiting over there for my shift to be over.”

I glance over his shoulder in the direction his chin is indicating. Sure enough, there is a guy sitting at the bar I didn’t notice before.

“It’s our anniversary. Trev and I have been dating for a year now.” Tobi tells me with a shy smile. Am I detecting a small blush creeping up his cheeks? Young love is adorable.

“Boyfriend, eh? Lucky you.” I comment.

Trev’s short and unassuming, a bit chubby, and wearing a superhero tee that makes him impossible to miss – like a pop of colour in an otherwise serious room. Honestly, I don’t get the appeal, but hey, whatever floats his boat. The look Tobi gives him clearly says Trev is a million dollars. Good for them.

Trev is eying us curiously but doesn’t seem jealous that Tobi is being friendly with a customer. Probably knows it comes with the job and good tips. I wish I could say the same about me. I figured out a long time ago that my job and relationships were never going to be compatible. It’s something I accepted, a sacrifice I was willing to make. Now life is what it is.

It’s been more than five minutes. Time to find out what’s behind door number 604 for me.

I ask Tobi to put my tab on my room, including a generous tip – so the lovebirds can celebrate their anniversary in style. I nod at Trev, who gives me a smile. Crossing the lobby, I step into the elevator and press the button for the sixth floor.