[ He can't tell Desmond's reaction from across the bar and with his attention now forcibly returned to the audience, but Jack could swear that he felt a shift inside him like a tensing not his own. Like rage from somewhere distant - or, at least, from the bar where Desmond has decided to loiter.

He focuses on finishing the set, which, thankfully, does not involve having some eager woman throw a stack of cash at him and lean forward to rub her face in his crotch. It happens. A lot of things can happen in the five-to-six minute length of time it takes the remix of a given song to play.

Over at the bar, Benny is watching Desmond over his book, his brow slightly furrowed as though he can't quite decide what he's looking at.

He knows -

This is Mr. Gold. And he knows -

Jack is dating Mr. Gold. And he knows -

Mr. Gold is (un)married. And he knows -

(Mr. Gold was not married, was married, is (un)married now. (A very merry unmarried?))

(Makes no sense.) Lacey, that's the one. Accused him of being unfaithful and so he was (to Jack) (to his (un)wife) (no, to Jack-.) (Lacey blames as Lacey does.) Makes no sense at all.

Looking at Mr. Gold makes his head hurt.

He knows the man at the bar looks irate, and that's no good, so he puts his book down and three patrons straighten in their seats, only to slump with dismay when he sets a glass of whiskey on the bar at Desmond's elbow. A moment's pause and, without looking at Desmond, he comments -]

Let them be, won't you? The sort of person who's in here of a midday's miserable enough, and apt to be made more so when off he goes with you instead of one of them. He doesn't need heroics over a little grab-ass.

[ He glances in the direction of the stage where Jack is wrapping things up. In a moment, the younger man will, Benny imagines, pull on some track pants and help Margot with her scenery. He always does. ]

Not as if they'd remember any lesson you did try and teach them come tomorrow. If brain cells were horses, this lot would be walking home.