I DO NOT OWN RACE, SPOT, OR THE BASIC STORYLINE. DEAL

Coin angrily stared down the gingham tablecloth before her. Maybe if she stared at the red squares long enough all her problems would go away. Instead it was making her slightly dizzy.

"Whatsa matter?" Race asked. He lit a cigar, even though smoking had been banned in all of New York restaurants, and pulled up a chair next to her.

"What makes you think something's wrong?" she replied fixing her apron and breaking from her trance.

"I dunno…maybe the fact that you've been staring at that table for the past five minutes when you're supposed to be waiting on the customers,"

"I'm, uh, sorry," she muttered and was about to go back to running around the restaurant taking orders when she fell flat on her face.

Race laughed, said something about her inability to walk in a straight line, and walked away leaving the girl to get up by herself. When she stood, the crowd gawking clapped, and Coin did the typical drama geek thing to do:

She took a theatrical bow, removing the fork that had gotten stuck in hair on the way down, and went on with her business.

"You should fire that girl, she's too clumsy to be a waitress," one of the regulars observed.

"And she's too poor to pay her rent," Race answered sarcastically, even though it was true.

Time went by and Coin went on working. Busyness would keep her mind off the fact that her boyfriend of five months broke up with her because she "just didn't do it for him". Translation: she wasn't hot enough for him.

The pair met at an audition that she wasn't supposed to attend.

"I thought the M stood for medium, not male," was her only explanation. Peter thought it was 'hilarious and charming' and they got along 'like toast and butter'.

It wasn't that Coin was stupid, she was actually pretty bright. She loved to read and it was one of her idiosyncrasies to have her nose in a book. Peter always made jokes at this; he called her everything from 'bookworm' to 'dorky'. But Coin didn't care because she was off in her own little world. She was too caught up in her own dreams and thoughts to be worried about what some yuppie wannabe actor who lived off his parent's money in the Upper East Side thought of her. So she moved in with him, playing off the perfect relationship of Lady and the Tramp. He paid the rent; she kept him from dying of boredom.

Coin secretly despised him. However, when the last boyfriend you had is your now gay best friend, you'll take what you get. She was the one who broke it off, in a fit of her infamous anger, and he kicked her out on the street. Coin was more depressed about the fact that she now had to pay all the rent on her own apartment than having broking up with Peter.

"I hate when you get in these moods," Race scolded.

"Then pay me more," Coin collapsed onto the bar in exhaustion, her black frizzy waves clustered in front of her face.

"Excuse me, are you two…together?" a short boy with pretty blue eyes asked.

"Who us? Uhm…no, I'm her boss…why?" Race asked slightly confused.

"Oh just curious," the stranger replied with a cocky tone in his voice.

Race had an idea. A new boyfriend for Coin would get her someone to share an apartment with and she wouldn't be in such a bitchy mood anymore.

But Coin barely noticed the boy. She walked away whispering a slew of curse words to herself.

"You should give me your number…" Race said.

"Sure. I'm Spot Conlon by the way," the blonde boy responded.

"Sorry about her, she's in a bad mood. I think she'd love to go out with you though, maybe tomorrow night. You should definitely call her though. Sweet girl, a little odd, but nice enough," Race handed him the napkin.

"Oh right…thanks."
And so the relationship began. Questionably, Coin began humming songs from Aladdin while she waited on tables. Race noticed the change, and was extremely pleased.

"Spot says he has something really important to tell me tonight. I think he's gonna ask me to move in with him. Not that I want him to. I mean, it'd be nice but I don't really care…"

Coin spent the whole day in hyper anticipation. She danced, she sang, she spoke Spanish, she told stories about that one time at play rehearsal. Race was near murder so he sent her out to 'uh…buy more pepper...and salt!' and Coin bounced out of the door. Her only demand was that Spot should wait for her until she comes back.

About ten minutes later Spot Conlon, who at only 5'3 could tower over Michael Jordan, came into Race's business. His walk was more like a swagger; he sort of resembled a pirate about to pillage an innocent ship.

"Hey Race, where's Coin-ie-kins?" Race held back his laughter at her new nickname.

"Oh I sent her out on an errand, she'll be back in a few," Race turned to walk away, but Spot stopped him with a gentle grab of his shoulder.

"Good, 'cause I need to talk to you," Spot said with his typical facial expression, one that shown no expression at all.

They moved down to the corner of bar, secluded from everyone else.

"Race," he started calmly and bravely, "I'm bisexual." Race's eyes bulged out to the point where they almost fell to the floor.

"What about bicycles?"

"No, I'm bisexual, I'm attracted to both sexes," Spot sounded as though he was reciting the weather, or discussing his favorite colors. And that was expected, seeing as Spot was obviously open-minded to such things. But Race, well Race was having mild heart palpitations. He was manly Race, he liked football and beer and testosterone.

"And I was going to ask you out that night, not Coin," Spot continued. "Don't get me wrong, she's okay, but you're the one that caught my eye." Through this entire confession Race had his mouth open in cartoon character surprise.

"Well Spot, I ain't like that," was all he could say back. Spot took this information and walked out as though he were a winner, even though he was defeated.

Race's first reaction was fear, and now he felt remorse for being so blunt and mean. Should he have let him down more gently? Should he have blown up about Spot not being truthful with Coin? Should he have…thought about it?

No. Absolutely not. Race like girls. Pretty girls with long hair and painted fingernails and boobs. Didn't he love boobs?

But when was his last girlfriend? College. He was thirty now (and quite sick of all the 'bachelor' jokes).

Five minutes later, Coin walked in with no pepper or salt.

"Where's Spot?" she asked eagerly.

"Where's the salt and pepper?"

"You didn't want either, you just wanted to get rid of me. Where is Spot? Did he come in?"

"I haven't seen him," Race replied, uneasy. He awkwardly walked away and avoided Coin for the rest of the night.

Coin was ten minutes late to work the next day. She came in a whole new mood that Race had never seen before. She wasn't angry and she wasn't silly and giddy. She was…calm.

"What's with you? No dramatics?" Race asked.

His only response was a quiet remark about bicycles and men being pigs.
A week went by and all Race could think about was Spot. Coin regularly brought Spot up in conversation, which confused Race.

'So how's it going with you and Spot?"

"Oh…you know," Coin said with no emotion, completely out of character for the loud, gesticulating girl who always told you what she was thinking.

Race finally gave up and decided to take matters into his own hands. He went through Coin's purse and found Spot's number written on the inside cover of one of her books.

That night he nervously called the seven numbers and Spot agreed to meet him the next day.
'Fuck. I'm in a gay bar,' was all Race could think of as he sat in Slashers, a trendy bar on the edge of the village. It was filled to the brim with well groomed men and Race didn't feel at all uncomfortable. This very fact scared him as he tugged at the new shirt that he bought that morning.

'Oh my God…I'm gay.'

Spot walked in and his arrival was like someone's stage entrance in a flamboyant Las Vegas show filled with gold fabric and sequins. His shirt was freshly ironed, and fit him perfectly.

'I bet he has a tailor. A tailor named Antonio. Antonio's Tailor Studio.'

"Uh Race, you ok?" Spot asked, breaking Race from Antonio's measuring and sewing.

"Yea, I'm great," he said defensively.

"It's just; you've been staring at the table since I got here. I've been sitting next to you for five minutes and you haven't even noticed. Do you want a drink?"

"You have to break up with Coin."

"I already did."

"Wait…she knows?" Race has been ready to defend her, "But she still talks about you."

"Well, we're still friends. She's in theater Race. Being friends with boys who like boys is in her job description," they laughed and then Race realized what that statement meant. They sat silently for a second. "Why did you ask me out?"

"Oh I didn't ask you out as in…well you know. I just wanted to ask you about Coin."

"And…"

"And…is it possible to be gay and not be fully aware of it?" Race asked quietly. Spot laughed, threw his head back.

"You're gaaaay! You're gaaaay!" he taunted. There was pointing and giggles and basic childlike behavior.

"Hmm…I think you're right," Race said with a smirk. The pair smiled at each other.
It was now Race's turn to sing Disney songs.

"How's Spot?" Coin asked with a grin on her face.

"Oh…you know."

"You have a boyfriend! AHH!" She began to dance.

"What is it about gay-ness that turns everyone into children?"

"AHAHAH YOU LIKE BOYS!"

"Get back to work."

"BOYS! HAA!"

"COIN! Work…NOW! We have to close a little early and I need you to clear off tables two and three."

"Because you have a date with Spotty-kins?"

"Yes. Now work! Before I fire you!"


The challenge was to write het if you right slash and write slash if you write het and since I write both I saw this as a good in-between.

This was completely, 100 percent influenced and inspired by Taxi. My TV watching has reached dangerous levels.