Chapter 2

“As you know,” I said, “we’ve been best friends since we were eight, and that was twenty-four years ago, but neither of us knows the exact date on which we met.”

“I thought we could use the date I first fell in love with George,” Mike said, “but that was so long ago that I don’t remember the actual date.”

“I wanted to use the date Mike took that bullet for me. When I saw him lying on that gurney in the emergency room at St. Vincent’s Hospital, something clicked, and I knew that I loved him.”

“That’s kind of sweet,” Jim said. “It sounds like a good date to use.”

“Yeah,” Carl said, “what’s wrong with it?”

“How would you like to be reminded about the time you got shot every time you celebrate your anniversary?” Mike said.

“Point taken,” Carl said.

“I just had a brainwave,” I said.

“Are you going to keep it a secret, babe?” Mike said.

“How about using the date we first did something as a couple?”

“You’re not talking about sex, are you?” Mike said. “There aren’t any dates carved on the headboard of our bed. Not to mention the fact that you and I caroused around together for years before we became a couple, and whenever we struck out, we tended to crawl in bed with each other.”

“Fool,” I said. “Of course not, but if you’re serious, that would be the time I gave you a blow job while you were still in the hospital. I’m referring to something like when we went together to get tested, or the day we first saw the cabin, or the day we closed on it. Something like that.”

“That’ll work,” Mike said. “We were on the deck of the cabin, and I said something like ‘we have to buy this place’. Do you know what date that was?”

“Not off the top of my head, but it was our first full day in the mountains, and I can check my calendar. It won’t be hard to figure it out.”

“Sounds good to me, and you don’t have to check your calendar. I’ve got that right here in my Blackberry.”

“More wine, anyone?” I said, reaching for the brown bag on the table. The restaurant didn’t have a liquor license, but discreet brown-bagging was allowed. I refilled all four glasses and set the bag containing the now-empty bottle on the seat beside me.

“What are you guys doing tomorrow?” Carl said.

“We were talking about going for a walk on the beach,” I said, “if it’s a nice sunny day.”

“Want to join us?” Mike said.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Carl said. “My skin doesn’t handle that much sun very well—at least not at the beach.”

We finished our meal and went our separate ways. When Mike and I arrived at the house, Thor was waiting at the backdoor in his best begging pose. “How does this dog always know we have food for him?” I said. We’d brought home a small bag containing a few leftover pieces of the garlic bread.

“Dogs are creatures of habit, babe,” Mike said, “and he has our habits down pat.”

We took a long and very playful shower together, after which we stood side-by-side in front of the bathroom mirror. We had bodies typical of runners and swimmers, in both of which activities we regularly engaged. In an earlier era, we would have been described as lithe but muscular.

“Damn,” Mike said, “look at us. Thirty-two, and still in great shape.”

“Not to mention still the same size.”

We were, in fact, the same size. Six-two, one-ninety, and our waist and shoe sizes were also identical. We basically shared one wardrobe, except for my uniform.

“Well, almost the same size.”

“I know,” I said. “Your dick is a half-inch longer than mine when it’s angry.”

“Hey, it’s the little things that count.”

“Babe, eight inches isn’t all that little.”

“I’m talking about the half-inch difference.”

“Size queen.”

“I’ll get you for that.”

“Promises, promises.”

We went to bed and picked up where we’d left off in the shower. Finally, content with the world, we drifted off to sleep around eleven.

Two hours later, the sound of my beeper shattered the peace of our dark and quiet bedroom—it was my weekend to be on call. “Shit,” I said as I reached over and turned a light on beside the bed.

I called the number and listened for a minute. “I’m on my way,” I said.

“What’s happened?” Mike asked, somewhat sleepily.

“They found a drag queen locked in the dressing room at the Metro.”

“Babe, they don’t call you in the middle of the night for cases of stage fright.”

“They do if the drag queen has a bullet in his head.”

“Yeah, I guess that would do it.” He rolled over and went back to sleep.