give you my number. Call and tell me what time to come over. I’ll pick up dinner and sneak into the Bachelor Officers’ Quarters.”
“Sounds like an outstanding plan,” Patrick said. The two men smiled at each other for a few seconds before Patrick asked, “Do—you—want to give me your number?”
“Oh, shit. Yeah.” Don searched his pockets and looked frantically at the bar for paper.
Karl smirked and handed his friend a book of matches. “These come in handy.”
“You’d be the one to know,” Eddie said.
“Thanks,” Don said as Patrick handed him a pen from his jacket. “This looks nice.”
“What kind of pen is that?” Eddie asked. “A Mont Blanc?”
“Yep. Too high class for me,” said Patrick. “Graduation gift from my fiancée’s dad.” Don’s expression told Patrick he should’ve broken the news of his former engagement more gently.
“Robbi’s my fiancée,” Karl said. “We’re dropping her off at her girlfriend’s lesbian bar later. You and your fiancée swing that way?” Robbi rolled her eyes. “What? What’d I say now?”
“I assume your fiancée situation is—real?” asked Don.
“No. I meant to say ex-fiancée. Karen is—was—I just broke our engagement.”
“Ah.” Don gave the matchbook to Patrick. “Can you read my writing? More important—do you know where Vista is? It’s just a few miles inland from Oceanside.”
“A map came with my rental car.”
“Oh shit!” Karl exclaimed. “A lieutenant with a map? Alert the search team now.”
“Is he always like this?” Patrick asked. “Or is this my initiation?”
“Always!” Don, Eddie and Robbi said in unison.
Patrick repeated the number aloud. He fumbled with the matchbook. “I don’t want to go but I need some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Waving good-bye, he turned toward the exit.
“Good night,” said Robbi and Eddie while Karl scoped out the dwindling crowd.
Don followed a few steps behind. “Want me to walk you to your car?”
Patrick squinted and gave Don a look of embarrassment. “I parked far—to be discreet.”
“I did that when I started going to gay bars. It’s smart. All the talk about Clinton lifting the ban has made our nightspots visible. One of the network news shows was here last night trying to talk to active duty military people.”
“Military people talking to a reporter? Isn’t that a little dangerous?”
“You get tired of the forced silence. Other than that, I—don’t—” Don’s words faded as he edged closer to Patrick. They gave each other a goodnight kiss, which, to Patrick’s delight, was even more passionate than before.
“Tomorrow,” Patrick said, bounding down the stairs with a huge grin.
As he drove to his motel, he couldn’t stop thinking about Don—not that he tried. The memory—Don’s musky aroma, the thick five o’clock shadow, his tan skin and deep-set eyes—excited Patrick in a way he’d never felt. His hands sweated, requiring extra effort to hang on to the steering wheel. He’d loved Karen, but she’d never made him feel like this. He knew so little about Don but couldn’t wait to learn more. “Guess that’s what tomorrows are for,” he said, turning into the motel’s parking lot. Even though he felt too excited to sleep, he wanted to hurry up and try so that tomorrow would arrive as soon as possible. Tomorrow was a chance to see Don again. He wanted to know the man who’d awakened him to this unknown ecstasy. Parking the car near his room, he looked at Don’s number, with its bold swift strokes. In the room, the clock showed it was past midnight. “Awesome! Tomorrow’s already here!”
“And the party continues,” Eddie mumbled to himself as the men danced in front of him. WC’s lower bar held good memories of the days when he and Ray had been the life of the party. He laughed as Sheffy, an old friend from the South, took the stage as Elton John, along with a stunning black drag queen. They did a remake of Elton’s “Don’t Go Breakin’ My Heart,” with someone named RuPaul taking the place of KiKi Dee. “Even the music’s kind of the same.”
“What?” a bartender he didn’t know shouted over the noise. “You want something?”
“No—sorry.” Eddie didn’t realize he’d vocalized his thoughts.
He’d been away from the scene and it had gone on without him just as Ray had gone on without him. He didn’t miss the scene but he missed Ray more than he could bear. Now he wondered why he’d stayed at WC’s after his friends left. Maybe the magic between Don and Patrick had given him some optimism. He couldn’t think about finding someone else, but maybe the sparkle that had returned to Don’s eyes was a sign that overdue good times were on their way. Perhaps Clinton’s inauguration and his promise to lift the ban were good omens. Or maybe Eddie should go home and rest. Tomorrow he’d clean the gutters and fix a window because there’d be no football games. The Cowboys and Bills were prepping for the Super Bowl.
“I see your friends abandoned you.” Eddie assumed the voice behind him was addressing someone else so he sidestepped out of the way. To make certain, though, he glanced over his shoulder. To his surprise, a man looked at him. “Your group. Upstairs it looked like you were joined at the hip.” The man moved closer. “Glad I caught you alone. Name’s Stephen.”
Eddie hesitated. After fifteen years in the Navy, he was suspicious about meeting people, especially unfamiliar faces in gay bars. He’d seen too many careers destroyed after people became overly friendly with beautiful strangers too quickly and he’d survived too much to suffer the same fate. “Good to meet you, Stephen.” He measured his friendliness. “New in town?”
“Pardon?” Stephen scowled at the speakers, indicating the music was too loud.
Sheffy had left the stage and the DJ had switched to nonvocal techno that sounded like someone was beating pots and pans. Leaning forward, Eddie shouted, “Wanna go upstairs?”
“Upstairs would be great!” Stephen grabbed his beverage.
A thirty-minute conversation couldn’t hurt. Eddie motioned for Stephen to follow him. The crowded stairway forced the two men to climb single file. Glancing back, Eddie said, “It’s easier to hear up top and the music’s better. I can’t stand most of this crap anymore. Never thought I’d miss Blondie so much.” On the second flight of less noisy stairs he said, “For lack of a wittier question, I asked if you were new in town.”
“You could say I am. Been here a few weeks. I’ve gone out—till tonight, every bar and club was dead. I was beginning to think San Diego didn’t have any nightlife.”
“It’s different. We’re a lot more laid back than L.A. or San Francisco. And proud of it.” Eddie waved to Lance as he and Stephen located an isolated spot at the edge of the patio. Lance smiled and nodded as he handled bottles and mixed drinks for WC’s thirsty gay men and women. “Time for another drink. Get
