Jake & Conor - 5. Chapter 5

In April, our show went on hiatus. That should have given me a break, if unpaid. But our producers had a pilot picked up.
“More work,” Conor moaned.
“More money.”
“There is that.” He brightened. “We gotta think how to spend it. How about a quick trip to Europe?”
“That would be great, but there are things I need first.”
“Like a new car?”
“Not as new as you’re thinking and not as slick. But yeah.”
“Then buy it.”
When I got home from car shopping late that Friday, music was jamming the courtyard. It was coming out of out Donna’s apartment.
“Party!” she hollered though the open door. “Come in!”
I was beat and had early plans. Still, I liked Donna and figured “two minutes.”
“Beer?” Donna offered. I took one, and she introduced me to her friend. “This is Garth.”
We shook hands. “Now I have to find a doctor,” I joked, gently retrieving what was left of my fingers. “I use these for a living.”
“Sorry, bud.”
Garth’s voice was deeper than my dad’s. He was as tall, but fit, and he was a cowboy – I could tell by the scars. And I could see most of them, Garth being somewhat underdressed. He wore cut-offs, frayed to the pockets, unbuttoned, and nearly unzipped. A small gold-and-diamond horseshoe bounced on his chest.
He drained a beer. “We’ve been partying since noon!”
“He’s been in the pool!” Donna said.
“Cold! Really snarkles your privates!”
He and Donna laughed.
“Sit!” he ordered.
I cleared a cluttered chair.
“What do you do with them hands?” he asked.
I quickly explained.
“My boss is a writer, too! I should get you two together!”
I re-explained that I didn’t have quite that experience.
“Either does he! He owns a ranch! Writes rodeo flicks no one wants to buy!”
Donna found this very funny.
“Another beer?” Garth asked.
I gestured with the nearly-full one I had.
“You got two paws!”
If he’d arrived at noon, assuming – probably falsely – that he’d been sober, and allowing time for the inevitable hard-wrought sex – why else does a stereotype exist? – I gave him five minutes before he passed out.
Two hours later, we were still talking. An exhausting conversation: race tracks, stunt flying, car engines. My strong subjects. “I gotta go,” I finally said. “Got an early call.”
“We’re grilling steaks tomorrow night,” he told me. “Bring your guy!”
Either he assumed I had one, or Donna had said something. I nicely apologized that I had plans.
“We’ll wait!”
Too numb to fake another excuse, I mumbled, “I’ll phone you around five.”
“You didn’t promise?” Conor said when I told him. He wanted to see a Italian movie.
“Who remembers what I said? I had four beers.”
“That’s not much.”
“When’s the last time you saw me drunk?”
He laughed. “It might be worth going. Just to see you compete.”
“I’d never do that.”

“I don’t know. Sounds like this Garth is quite a guy.”
When I called Donna at five, there was no answer. And no machine.
“We’ve got to stop by,” I told Conor.
“Is this a trick? To make me finally see your apartment?”
“I’m smarter than that.”
He agreed mainly because the Italian movie was playing nearby.
“We’ll easily make the 7 o’clock,” I foolishly promised.
Garth was slightly better dressed this time – full jeans, though still flapping at the fly. “You‘re early!” he shouted, as I parked my car.
“I tried to call. It just kept ringing.”
He shook the cell phone lying by the pool. “Dammit!” He tossed it in the water.
“Garth!” Donna yelped.
“I’ll buy you another one, Sweetie.”
“You just bought that.”
He stripped and dove. “Wasn’t gonna do that again,” he said, coming to the surface. “It’s really cold.”
Now, the phone definitely didn’t work, though Garth fiddled with it before popping it in the trash. Donna had tossed him a towel, but it wasn’t doing much. As he casually pulled on jeans, he handed Conor a beer.
“Let’s skip the movie,” he decided.
Garth grilled steaks. “Cajun style!” though he was from Arizona. “I met Donna on the circuit there”
“Rodeo?” Conor asked.
“You know it?”
“I wrote a movie once about trick riders.”
“What’s it called?” he wanted to know. “I might’ve seen it.”
“It never got made.” Conor shrugged that off.
“Too bad! ” Garth went on. “Great guys! Tough!”
“They’re fun to be around,” Conor admitted.
“Their groupies are hotter!” Garth bragged. Then he grinned at Donna.
She laughed, and Garth was playfully all over her. Of course, he was all over me, too. Slapping my back. Putting his arm around my shoulders. Daring me to arm wrestle. We all got drunk. Ate. Told stories. Garth eventually put on more clothes when the temperature dropped. I went upstairs for a sweater.
“We could go inside,” Donna suggested.
“Nah!” Garth resisted. “Look at them stars.” He identified constellations I could barely make out.
“Where did you learn that?” Conor asked.
“It’s a useful thing to pick up.”
“For cattle drives?” he went on.
He shook his head. “Nah. To impress les mademoiselles.”
Conor was hypnotized. “Damn cowboy-poets!” he whispered, when Garth was momentarily out of sight. “I’m always a sucker.”
“I could learn to ride,” I volunteered
It wouldn’t have mattered. Still, when we were all beyond coherence, Conor wanted to go home.
“I can’t drive now,” I warned him. “Let’s stay here.”
He still hadn’t seen my apartment. When he needed the john, he used Donna’s. “No steps,” was his excuse.
“You don’t understand,” he finally explained. “He’ll still be here in the morning. I can’t go through this again.”
I realized there was a compliment in there. So I called a cab and took him home.
“Thanks,” he told me the next day. It was early afternoon though we’d just gotten up. “You were perfect last night.”
I had the good sense to keep quiet.
“Certain guys just get me,” he confessed. “If you and Donna hadn’t been there, and Garth is as loose as I think, he and I might’ve fucked each other crazy.”
I knew that.
“How about I treat you, instead?” he continued.
I let him. I knew Garth was hovering somewhere, though he might not have let Conor do half the things I did. And I had all the fun.