A knock at the door.
“What?” I bellowed. I needed to make a decision soon so I’d get there in time to sit next to Yarey. The knocking sounded again. I started to open it, then thought better and used the peep-hole despite my impatience.
“Dana! Perfect timing. You can assist.” I pulled her inside and slammed the door. I was wearing only boxers.
“Jeez on bread, Boise, must we constantly repeat the clothing optional entrance. You don’t even appear sauced.”
“One beer so far today,” I said, pointing at the empty on the bedside table. “Needed the carbs to get going.” Then I remembered she was supposed to be off island. “What are you doing back, mi son?”
“Newspaper doesn’t want to pay another night in a hotel there, so I’m back here. What’s all this?” she asked.
“I need help with what to wear.”
Dana picked through the options, pulling out a brown t-shirt and jeans.
“I’m gonna be hot,” I mumbled. “What about this white one?”
“You been to an outdoor event here lately? Dusty as hell at these things. White will be dirty in no time. You want to wear what a woman likes. She’ll prefer seeing you in jeans. Women sacrifice comfort in the name of fashion all the time, and she’ll appreciate you doing it for her.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” I said indicating her ensemble of a halter top, cut-off jeans and her usual red cap.
“I’m not trying to impress a woman today. I’m just little ol’ me.”
“What about Annie?”
“She’s off galavanting somewhere in Europe this week. So, what’s new?”
THE SUN WAS HIGH AND clouds rolled around the heavens, welcoming us to the competition. We had about an hour before it was “go time,” so I suggested some food and a beer.
“Boise, you just don’t stop, do you?”
“Look at me, Dana? Do I look healthy?”
She looked me up and down then spun me around. “Fair enough, you’ve lost weight. What are you doing?”
“Working. Lots of working. I’m eating less.”
“Good on ya. Where do you want to sit?”
“What about there?”
“Wrong answer. See that table over there? That’s the judges’ table. Who has the best view in the place?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Who?”
“Judges have a good view.”
“Who’s your queen?”
“You, Dana. You are my queen.”
As I moved ahead of her, she smacked my butt. “Second row, we don’t want to be too low.”
“All right,” I mumbled. Dana could be so bossy.
We spread out with seats between us on the hot metal bleachers. A few people milled about the field, checking this and that. A mourning dove alighted on one of the targets, cooed a couple of beats then flapped away. My eyes drooped. The end of all this madness had set in. Everything ached softly, especially my left foot and my trick knee. I wondered if that knee would ever heal properly or if it would ache forever. Probably permanent. The U.S. Army wouldn’t pay for anything except rehab, which had improved things, but had left me with pain. The pain reminded me of Evelyn. It was why we met.
“Hi, Boise,” said a soft voice from behind me.
I bolted upright, out of my reverie. “Hi, Yarey! I saved you a seat.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dana’s smirk as she pretended not to notice my awkwardness.
“Dana,” I said. She didn’t look over. “Dana!” I said more loudly.
“Huh? Oh, Boise, did you call me?” She put her hand on her chest as if she was verklempt. “I am so entranced by this spectacle.”
“Yes, it’s quite a setup,” Harold agreed, coming up from behind Yarey. “I’m Harold,” he said, extending his hand. “This here’s Yarey.” Harold turned to me. “What’s up, man? Why you wearing jeans in this heat?”
Everyone scooched around to make room. I managed to maneuver Yarey next to me while Harold plopped beside Dana.
“So what’s your sign, Dana?”
“Did you just ask me a question from the seventies?” Dana shot back.
“Well, yeah, it’s an ‘in’ line again, right Boise-boy?”
Harold seemed in a chipper mood. “Sure, Harry-pal, if you say so.” I leaned close to Yarey. “Is he drunk?”
She held her thumb and index finger together then moved them to her lips. I suggested we go get drinks. Harold had the full-court press going on Dana. Boy was he barking up the wrong tree, but Dana never let on. She enjoyed the male attention sometimes.
Once away, I asked Yarey about her coming with Harold. “He offered me a ride when he came by the distillery yesterday. I figured why not. No one else offered.”
My face blushed. “Oh man, I, uh, don’t own a car. Sorry, Yarey, I messed that up. I can get you home afterwards, how’s that?”
“Yeah, okay,” she giggled. “It’s kinda fun to watch you squirm. Not driving is hot.”
“It is?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, I’m kidding. Why don’t you have a car?”
“Tired of driving,” I said emphatically. “Living in L.A. can cure anyone of ever wanting to drive again.”
“So how do you get around?”
“I manage.”
“You mean with your little friend?”
“Dana? She’s just a friend. But she does give me a lot of rides.”
“I’ll bet. You know, Harold has a point. Why’d you wear jeans?”
“This seemed like a more formal occasion,” I said.
She laughed and punched me lightly on the shoulder. Physical contact, a good sign. We got beers and snacks for everyone. Harold snatched a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos out of my hand. Before I even sat down, he was munching away while spitting crumbs and explaining archery to Dana in a self-righteous tone.
“He loves to talk archery,” I said.
Yarey nodded.
It was already eleven-fifteen. “When’s this gonna start?” I asked Harold.
He ignored me, still working hard on Dana, who looked like she was growing weary of the archery diatribe.
Three people walked out and took seats at the judges’ table. Dana excused herself to use the bathroom. Without his target present, Harold’s attention returned to Yarey and me. He leaned across Yarey’s lap and stage whispered, “Dude, this is gonna
