"Which should be soon, right?" Richard asked. "When are you leaving San Diego?”
“I plan on leaving here early tomorrow evening in time for dinner?”
“Looking forward to it. What are your plans for tonight?”
I pulled out my other smartphone, the one I used primarily for work and scheduling, and checked for any text messages, silently hoping that my drinking buddy had canceled. Of course, there were texts from him, but none mentioning canceling. Hillard would have to be missing limbs and unable to swallow to miss a night out.
“I’m actually going out for drinks with Hillard,” I said, reading Hillard’s text message verifying we were on for that night. “I told you about him, right?”
I had met Hillard after college through a few colleagues, and we became instant friends. He was a bit wilder than me, but he kept the good times rolling, and reminded me not to take myself so seriously. It was about two seconds after meeting him before he quit his job and came to work for me here at Pinnacle Production Company.
I sent a quick ‘see you soon’ reply to Hillard’s text message verifying we were on for the night. With any luck, Hillard would immediately find a woman and take her home early.
Richard thought about it for a minute. “Oh yeah, he sounds like a lot of fun. I don’t think I could drink with him. Sounds like that guy goes hard.”
Yes, he does. A little too hard sometimes.
I breathed heavily just thinking about what was in store. “Hillard's a good guy, just sowing some wild oats.”
“Are you getting too old to keep up with him?” Richard joked.
I let out a breath, followed by a chuckle. The combination of non-stop drinking and fake women was starting to take its toll on me. “I don’t think you’re in any position to poke fun of my age. I mean, we have fun, and he’s a blast to hang out with. But truth be told, I’m starting to get tired of the same old scene. You know, shots and women who are faker than a spray tan in winter.”
Richard laughed. “Well, River Valley misses you. Now get your ass back here so we can have some fun!”
***
I walked into O'Malley's, the bar Hillard and I often frequented. I immediately found a table in the back and ordered a dozen hot wings while waiting for Hillard to show up. It was my normal. The place was more of a restaurant until about ten or eleven, then it got a bit rowdy with the drinking crowd. Wings and sports channels gave me a chance to ease into the night.
"You want a beer?" the normal waitress asked, her shorts barely covering anything, and her top cut off right below her chest.
I shook my head, knowing I needed to get the water in while I had the chance. "Just a water for now, thanks."
I knew it was wishful thinking, but I was hoping Hillard wouldn't put the old 'just one beer' thing on me tonight. I really didn't want to head to River Valley with a hangover. One beer was never one beer. One beer was three pitchers followed by several rounds of shots. Those nights usually ended with a drunken stumble to our cars, which were chauffeured - I always made sure of it - at least once someone puked, and then we ended up wherever the night took us. Usually, for Hillard, that was to a woman's bed.
I sat at the small table by myself, devouring chicken wings and washing them down with water. Several women were making eyes at me, but they all looked the same. Fake breasts, fake lips, and a fake personality.
O’Malley’s was the kind of sports bar that attracted people from every walk of life. There were the guys who only came for the free cable and were always quiet and usually left when the lights dimmed. Then there was the middle class, blue-collar men who liked to get rowdy while drinking away their day and then stumbled home to their wives. Finally, there were the white-collar guys like me, who enjoyed dive bar food without the unpleasant atmosphere.
It was also a hot spot for women to snag any kind of man they wanted, regardless of their relationship status.
“Hey, buddy!” I looked up, finding Hillard walking toward me, waving as he checked out every woman in sight. He was about six feet tall with light, sandy blonde hair, and a slim physique. The ladies were drawn to him because of his macho attitude and high-end attire.
Hillard sat down across from me and held his fist out. I reluctantly bumped it with my free hand, silently wishing that he would stop his silly frat-boy behavior.
“These wings are amazing,” I said as Hillard made himself comfortable.
After tasting one for himself, he flagged down a waitress, a different gal than the one who had waited on me.
“Hey, darling. Can I also get a plate of hot wings?” He then looked at my water and smirked. “And a pint of Guinness.”
The waitress jotted his order down and winked at him. Hillard's eyes immediately scanned her body, turning to look as she walked away. I just shook my head.
“What’s with the beta male drink,” Hillard asked as I chugged the last of my water.
The hot sauce was starting to upset my stomach, so I made a mental note to take antacids as soon as I got home. I shook my head and wiped the sauce from my lips. “Need I remind you that I’ve slept with far more women than you. I don’t need to prove myself by drinking beer.”
It was true. Between the two of us, I was the better looking and highly polished one. Women didn’t need more than a few words to accept my invitation back to my penthouse. Unlike Hillard, whose obnoxious behavior ruined many possible hookups, I felt that less was more. I still slept with my fair share, I was just a bit pickier than he was.
