The Blood of Patriots

Chapter 3: Appearances

"Hi there," Oz says, standing in front of the booth and scowling at Hannah. "I see you've met my Sam."

She wears a silver flapper dress with spaghetti straps and a matching cloche hat. The drop-light over the table bounces rainbows off her. The effect is hypnotic and puts a spotlight on her that she used to avoid. The difference between this flapper and the girl from my memory is startling.

Hannah picks up her beer and scoots around the bench toward Oz. She stands and towers over the petite flat-chested flapper. She squares her shoulders.

"Just giving him something to dream about he won't get from you," she says.

Oz squeezes by her and takes her seat.

"Honey," she says, "that's all you got, and all you're going to get."

She turns away from Hannah, hooks my arm with hers and smiles at me happily.

"I'm so glad you're here," she says.

Hannah taps on the table with her beer bottle to get my attention.

"Sam, can you walk me home later?" she asks. "I live just a few blocks away."

It's an innocent request. She really shouldn't be walking these streets unescorted. I look at Oz but her head is turned toward Hannah. I can't see her expression. I know her, though. She'd want me to do the right thing. I have no choice other than a gentlemanly response.

"Sure."

"Thanks."

She smiles sweetly with just a hint of victory, then turns and walks away with a noticeable limp.

"Will you quit staring at her ass," Oz says without even looking to see the direction of my gaze.

"And what are you looking at?" I ask.

"Her ass. It's a really nice ass. I bet you'd love to get your hands on that."

"You more than me."

She looks up at me and smiles.

"You know me too well. She's got a really nice rack too. Don't you think?"

I laugh and flag down the waitress for another rum and a drink for Oz.

"You know what I like," I say.

"Yes, I do."

We knew each other so well back then. It's easy to imagine the same patterns apply.

"I often think about the two years we lived together in Madison," I say. "In retrospect, they were the happiest days of my life—not because they were the good old college days, but because of you. We were good together. We had trust, and respect."

"And lots of sex."

"And that, yes."

When our drinks arrive she orders two more for herself as if she's anxious to catch up with me.

"Your business seems to be successful from everything I've seen," she says.

"It is. It hasn't been easy, but I work hard at it and enjoy it."

"I always knew you would be good at whatever you put your mind to."

We look deeply into each other's eyes and I wonder, as I have many times, how different things could have been.