Bolo

by Mariska Hutchence

  “Hey Amber. Chase upstairs?”

  “Yeah,” She says, still blocking my path. “With a new guy. You working tonight?”

  “I’m just here for the staff meeting.” I say, stalling in my tracks. I can tell she’d like me to pass her, like me to get closer. It’s flattering, but it gets old.

  “Got a hot date?”

  I’m just about to give her the negative when I realize that I could potentially have a date. She sees the smile on my face.

  “Oh, you do!” She grins big but I can see something else there masked by her comment. “Who’s the lucky lady, anyone I know?”

  Shrugging, I make a tentative movement to pass her but am blocked again, feeling ridiculous that I’m cowed by a little bit of a woman that sits about a foot shorter than me, but what can I do?

  “Give me the scoop, Bolo. Where’d you meet her?”

  Trying to decide what I’m going to say, I’m saved by the proverbial bell.

  “Bolo?” Comes a call from upstairs. “That you, brother?”

  “On my way up.” I call back. “Catch you later, Amber.”

  She gives me a pouty look, which works on her. “I’ll get the dirt out of you one way or another.” I pass her and head up the metal staircase.

  I size the new guy up before I even come around to the door of the office, catching him through the open window blinds, which are normally closed for Chase’s ‘private’ meetings. He doesn’t look anything like a bouncer. Thin and wiry, short-cropped hair. Ex-military as well? I see Chase’s eyes following mine as I come in.

  “Colt Samuels.” Chase says, gesturing to the man in the chair opposite. He rises.

  “Avery Boles.” I say, taking the offered hand. Good grip, not overly aggressive, I note.

  “Bolo.” Chase adds.

  “I’ll let Mr. Boles make that judgement call.” Colt says in an even tone. “Army?”

  I nod at him, impressed by both the statement and the recognition. “Ex.” I say.

  “Aren’t we all?” Colt laughs. I like him off the cuff, but that’s always a guarded impression.

  Sitting in a chair, Chase starts the interview.

  “Bolo’s in charge of the security team. I like to run any new guys by him for the final decision. Things have really cleared up since he’s been on board, and I respect the hell out of that.”

  Colt considers this for a moment. “Sounds like a hell of a job. This place used to really have a bad rep, right?”

  “Now it’s one of the hottest clubs in town.” Chase says, agreeing. “That guy, right there.”

  “Respect.” Colt says.

  “I just keep it smooth, Chase brings in the bodies.” I say, dismissing the nice words. I know I really need to learn to accept a compliment. Something I’m working on; have been for years.

  Chase kicks back, reveling in the deflected praise. “Anyway, Bolo, you have questions?”

  “I’m not the type to beat around any bushes.” I say. “You done this sort of work before?” It’s an obvious, yet unspoken comment on his size and I know that it translates easily.

  Colt laughs. “Honestly, no. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.” I like the confidence right off the bat, but I need a little bit more than that.

  “What kind of training did you have while you were in?” I ask, trying to get the feel for why this guy thinks he has the chops for this line of work.

  “11B originally, but by way of a Ranger tab and working the OPFOR at SEER for a chunk of my last enlistment.”

  I’m impressed, despite the fact that he was Infantry. Survival, Escape, Evasion and Reconnaissance. Hell of a course. All the OPFOR had to successfully complete the course in order to be kept on. Ranger to boot. Nice.

  “Those are good credentials. Who’d you serve with at SEER?”

  “Major Nichols.”

  Adrian Nichols had been a friend of mine, but I don’t let it show. I’ll check up on it later, though. “Good enough for me.” I say, standing up. “I’ll give you the tour, then I’ve got to hit the road.”

  “We get days off, too?” Colt smiles, getting up to follow me.

  “It’s like a real honest to goodness business.” Chase adds, laughing. “See you later, Bolo.”

  As we’re walking down the stairs, Colt asks; “Does he know what Bolo means?”

  “I’ve told him. You know how shit sticks in the Army.”

  “Ask my buddy Bobo.” Colt says as we hit the main floor.

  Curiosity piqued, I turn to look at him. I’m liking him already.

  “Okay, you got me.”

  “One day we’re supposed to setup our equipment and demonstrate for some visiting dignitaries; Kuwaiti Emirs, I think. He tells Top that the last thing he wants to do is a ‘Bobo the fucking clown’ show.”

  I laugh, trying to get myself into gear for the ‘don’t be an asshole’ speech. I don’t think it’ll be necessary with this one, though. Why’s a decent guy like this friends with a douche like Mack? Weirder things happen, I guess. I just can’t picture him hanging out with Mack and Cal in a social setting or outside of the military. We tend to have associates primarily because of unit rather than personal choice.

  “Door duty’s easy, but Cal will probably be on it tonight.” I say, showing him the same things I had a few nights back. Turnover in the field can be pretty rough, so it’s starting to get rote. “Just don’t be an asshole about it.”

  Colt smiles when I say it. “How’s Cal doing on that part?”

  “Not too well, honestly.” I answer frankly. “I’m keeping an eye on it, though.”

  He grinned. “Once an asshole…”

  “You’ll work out well.” I say. “Watch out for Amber.”

  His eyes flick over to the waitress who looks away the minute his eyes turn her direction. “Not bad. Easy?”

  I laugh. “Like a claymore. ‘Front towards enemy.’

  Chapter Twelve: Suzanne

  It’s an epic balancing match. Part of my brain keeps saying ‘wait for the call, wait for the call’ while the other part is telling me to ignore it even if it does come despite the long odds. Yes, I know it will probably bring heartache, but it might just be worth it to see him again. I don’t even let myself think that there might be anything more than that.

  Anjelica’s gearing up to go out. She dropped the invite as usual, but without any of the normal wheedling once I said no. I haven’t told her about the guy she brought home this weekend, the asshole doorman, and I probably won’t. My laptop is warming up my thighs and I’m actually in the middle of looking at apartments. I finally figured I didn’t need anything grand, just somewhere to eat and sleep, without being subjected to every douchebag that wants to get into my roomie’s pants. I’m looking forward to her leaving. My anxiety about Avery’s call is getting the best of me, even though I know that nothing was set in stone, not even what day it would be. His hesitation still vexes me, as if he didn’t really want to ask me out in the first place.

  I haven’t asked her about him yet, partially because I don’t want to let the dream die, but more so that she hasn’t dropped any hints or asked any questions about my day. The last thing I believe about her would be that she would be disciplined enough to keep something like that a secret.

  “You sure?” Anjelica asks, posing in front of the couch and fishing for a compliment. She looks incredible, as usual. Just the shoes are probably a week’s pay for me if you average out the commission checks.

  “Yeah, I’ve got to work early and I’m expecting a call. You look great, though.”

  She smiles and twirls a little. “Call huh? What’s his name?”

  “It’s just a client.” I tell her.

  “Is this client a guy?” She says, probing playfully. There’s a knock on the door that distracts her. “Can’t go wrong with a single guy that is in the market for something that costs that much.” She opens it to a guy who’s old enough to be my father, much less hers. She runs to his arms and wraps them around him
, kissing him on the lips. I try to hide my open revulsion.

  “Suzanne, this is Chuck. He’s in real estate, too!”

  That’s when it clicks. Chuck Swanson from Swanson and Associates. I remember him from a Board of Realtors award ceremony, though I also remember his wife and grown kids were there to watch him receive an award.

  “Really, what agency?” He asks. I can tell he’s leaving his comfort zone.

  “Weiland.” I reply. “You?” It’s mean and I know it. Probably the last question in the world he’ll answer honestly.

  “I’m an independent.” He says. “We had better run, though; the show starts in less than an hour, Anjelica.”

  “Oh, what are you two seeing?” I ask, not really interested.

  “Les Miserables, down at the Forum.” Chuck says, showing more interest now. He probably didn’t get much of a response from Anjelica; she’s just happy the gig pays.

  “It’s great. Saw it a few years back and it was outstanding. You two have fun. Nice meeting you.” I say, looking back down at the laptop screen.

  “Nice meeting you as well.” He says. Jerk. I think about calling Shay as a way to start building up that friendship, but I don’t want to tie the phone up, as silly as I know it is. The door clicks shut and I debate getting something to eat, but I end up going back to the apartment listings. There’s a few I just might be able to swing if things pick up a little or Dave finally gets off the pot.

  I’m in the middle of filling out a ‘contact me’ form when my phone rattles on the coffee table.

  AVERY BOLES

  I got his number off the information form and took the liberty of adding him to my cell, justifying that I did that with all of my buyers and sellers, though usually not until further along in the process. I go to pick it up and answer, but it’s just a text.

  Botching my passcode twice, I finally get in, waiting for the messaging app to open. Mental note, time to get a new phone, I tell myself, trying to calm my anxiety. He’s just texting to call the whole thing off, Suze.

  Suzanne?

  I look at it, the disappointment hanging there, ready to pounce.

  Yes. Avery, right?

  Does that sound haughty? If so, too haughty? I’ve already pressed send, so it is what it is.

  We met this morning.

  Is this guy for real? I really don’t know what to type in response to that. ‘So where’s this dinner?’ probably isn’t the best bet at this point; neither is ‘let’s have sex’ or ‘so when can we get married?’ I carry the phone into the kitchen, trying to settle on an answer.

  Sorry, I’m not good at this sort of thing, so texting is easier.

  Really, not good at what sort of things?

  You don’t have to be! I text, trying to wall myself off from the coming letdown I can sense brewing by changing the direction to something more comfortable. That’s why you hire an agent.

  No, not real estate. This. Talking to a woman.

  This time I ask if this guy is for real out loud. My empty apartment declines to answer.

  Ok. I’ve got nothing. I pull the ziti from the night before out of the fridge with one hand, the phone in the other, hoping Anjelica hasn’t eaten the majority of it. For a skinny girl, she can sure pack it away, especially if it’s mine.

  Sorry, I just get nervous.

  I’m suddenly wondering who the hell I’m talking to, trying picture the half-military, half-biker-looking bouncer texting me that he’s nervous about having a conversation with me. I erase my almost flippant response before I hit send, right after it hit me. The hesitation. I look at his behavior this morning through the filter of my own anxiety and it becomes much more clear. He’s nervous. Really?

  I’m the last person you have to be nervous around.

  Thanks. Can I be honest with you?

  I think about it for a moment, mentally asking him the same question as I pop the lid off the ziti. Enough for a meal, good deal. That’s the best policy!

  There’s a long break. I watch the ziti spinning around in the microwave, the fork dangling from my lips.

  I think you’re incredibly beautiful. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I first saw you at Raza.

  The fork clatters to the ground and I lunge forward to grab it, planting my bare right foot on it hard as soon as it lands. “God dammit!” I yell to the empty apartment, then see the words come up on the screen of the voice-to-text. I backspace them out, gently, like they were a cobra poised to strike. Okay, not really what I was expecting him to say. I don’t know what to say, so I say just that.

  I don’t know what to say.

  Say something. A pause. Anything.

  I think about it for a moment, but I don’t want to let it hang there too long.

  I appreciate it. That’s a very nice thing to say, but I’m honestly worried about your motivations. Who am I to say honesty is the best policy without putting my own money where my mouth is?

  You are my motivation.

  The ‘aww’ is silent, but I know I mouth it. I’m still nursing the puncture wound in my foot when the microwave announces my dinner is ready. I juggle the hot plate in my hand, but the pain in my foot makes it bearable as I hobble to the couch, still not willing to let the walls down.

  Suzanne?

  Shit. I need to move faster. I start to type but his next message comes in before I’m done. After I read it, I erase mine.

  I know this is coming out of the blue but I wouldn’t be able to do it otherwise. Even if you don’t believe me, don’t let anyone ever tell you that you aren’t perfect.

  I desperately want to show this to someone else for their input. Shay? Problem is, I can already feel my protective wings spreading out, wanting to keep this fantasy, if that’s what it is, to myself. I’m honestly so flustered, I probably wouldn’t be able to talk about it anyway.

  You don’t even know me.

  I only know that I want to know you.

  What do you want to know?

  You. Everything.

  I stare at those words long enough to realize I’m probably going to get another questioning text from him. I’m trying to pair the written words with my mental image of him, but they aren’t gelling; there is too big of a disconnect between the man I’ve been drooling over and the man I’m texting.

  Let’s start with something simple.

  I wait a moment, absentmindedly eating, yet watching the screen like it’s an action thriller.

  What’s your favorite flower?

  Lilies. I know that’s weird and they’re supposed to be for funerals. That one came quick. I start wondering again if this could be for real. How could it be? We go through at least a half-dozen similar questions and I start wondering if he’s actually a hacker trying to get into my accounts. Security questions, right? Maybe I just watch too many television shows. I settle on that, but something is still bugging me.

  What type of lover do you like?

  I pick the piece of ziti off my lap that I just spit out in my surprise and put it back on the plate, sliding it onto the coffee table. What? I’m trying to think of a response and I know it’s taking too long again. From preferences of pets and flowers to my preferred lover?

  I’m sorry if that was too forward.

  You just caught me off guard. I hit send, not wanting to let myself believe why he would ask a question like that, but the bravery of the written word always buoys me.

  It’s okay if you don’t feel comfortable answering.

  Hell, if I’m going to play along, I might as well be all-in, I think, shifting back in the couch and starting to type rapidly.

  No, it’s a legit question. To be honest, I’m not 100% sure. I’ve yet to meet him. It sounds cliché, but a balance of tenderness and

  I stare at the screen. Am I really going to say this? All in. I repeat the mantra aloud.

  forcefulness. I want someone who can be sweet and gentle, but give me so much more at the right moments.

  The part about force
fulness seems to be bolded, even though I know that it’s not. I realize I’m holding my breath waiting for the response. I exhale loudly.

  Thank you for being open with me, Suzanne.

  That’s it? I wait. It takes several minutes for the next text to come in.

  I’m sorry for the delay. I’m having an emergency. Would you forgive me if I text you more later?

  I feel used. I type ok, but it’s not what I’m thinking.

  I’m asleep on the couch when the phone finally goes off two hours later. I see the empty wineglass on the coffee table, next to the empty bottle. I really hadn’t expected to hear from him again, though I catch fleeting glimpses of the dream I was having about him before they fade to nothingness.

  I’m so sorry for that, Suzanne. I’ll admit, I like the way he keeps saying my name.

  It’s okay. I write. Is everything alright? I know I should have been worried instead of disappointed. If I was confident in his intentions for talking to me, the situation might have been different.

  Work stuff, just urgent. What kind of night club emergencies can there really be?