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Shadows, searching in the night.
Streetlights, people,
living just to find emotion.
Hiding somewhere in the night.
Don't stop believing, hold on to your dreams.
Journey.

August 1983.
Southern California.
Two years later...

It's almost eleven, thank God. What a long closing shift. Too bad Rachel's gone on her stupid family trip for a few days, she always makes me feel better. Ahh, well. Maybe it's for the best. I love fucking her, but this is a good opportunity for our inevitable breakup.

I put my ledger book in the restaurant's safe, then glanced out the glass front wall at our outdoor dining area.

Hmm. That blonde sipping her coffee looks familiar. Maybe her hair used to be darker? Whatever, she's gorgeous. I should go talk to her, and...

"Ray, can I leave early?"

Annoyed, I turned to John's whiny voice. Though actually a valuable employee, his fussy brand of gayness grated on my nerves.

"John, you only have a half hour left. Get your station closed."

He waved a prissy hand around. "Darrel says he'll stay later to cover. C'mon, Rayyyy."

"Nope, John. He can barely get his own work done."

Whatever you're in such a rush to suck on will still be there...

"Ughhh, such a meanie!" John minced away in a flourish.

The woman outside stood up, so I hurried to her, hoping my memory was accurate, "Hello, Coral."

Recognition flashed across her warm, tanned face, but she confirmed it with a glance at my name tag. "Ray. I thought it might be you, but wasn't sure. It's been a few years. You look... really good."

Heat filled my cheeks. "Thanks, Coral. You look... fucking beautiful. I usually prefer women's natural hair color, but the blonde really works on you."

To be fair, though still a very pretty girl, Coral's short, mousey brown locks had not done her any favors when I last saw her as a college freshman.

Now, she looks just like that hot blonde chick on "The Facts Of Life" television show, Lisa Whelchel. Heh, I stroked it to her a few times as a teen...

"Walk me to my car, Ray?"

"Sure."

Loose sweatpants and a Journey t-shirt revealed little of Coral's petite figure, but reflex demanded that I at least attempt to check out the ass swaying in front of me.

"Uhh, Coral. I'm sorry I didn't call you back then. It was kind of an awkward situation, and I didn't think you were really interested. Then, I took this manager position and dropped out of the community college."

And promptly forgot all about you. Even though I had asked you to marry me...

She stopped next to a 1979 Mustang with prematurely faded and peeling paint.

"To be honest, Ray, I wasn't sure about you. Yes, you made me very uncomfortable, but I also kind of liked it... a little. Besides, you intrigued me. I wouldn't have given you my number if I wasn't interested."

My dating history was filled with bold and impulsive actions towards women. Most failed, though I didn't let rejections bother me as much as they did in high school. Coral had already given me a sort of yes, over two years ago, so this was not a long-shot cold approach.

Here goes...

I put my hand over hers as she opened the car door. "Coral. Want to get a drink in an hour?"

She smiled up at me with friendly hazel eyes. "Mister, it took you a whole minute to touch me. Where is Ray, and what have you done with him?"

I always liked her sense of humor...

"Sorry, Coral."

Bringing her short-nailed hand to my lips, I ran a fingerail down the arm, then across her slender neck. I traced a bra strap through her t-shirt, slowly moving down to the upper curve of a breast before she playfully swatted my hand away.

Coral smirked. "Okay, Ray. That's enough. I just wanted to make sure it was you. Yes, I'll meet you. Where?"

Heh. Sometimes, this shit works...

"The Regal Beagle. Do you know where it is?"

She nodded and squeezed my hand. "Good choice. I expected you to pick the bowling alley bar down the street. I'll throw something nice on, and see you there. Uhh, Ray? This is a date, not a wedding."

I laughed. "Got it, Coral. I'll keep the ring in my car!"

Heh. The ring is hidden in my trunk, from the garage sale my friend Nick and I visited last week. "Ray, you should buy this now, for when you knock up one of your sluts!"

Nick is seldom wrong about my love life...

Coral pulled out of the restaurant lot, with a bit of oily smoke seeping from the Mustang's exhaust.

Damn. Newer American cars really suck...

John hip-handed me in disaproval as he stood in the front door, ushering out our last customers. I felt a twinge of injustice at arranging an improptu date while making him stay.

Fine, John. Go slob all the knobs you want...

"John, just straighten out your station, then you can go. Tomorrow, you'll do a full close."

His pudgy face lit up, momentarily hiding a usual snooty expression. However, the voice remained sarcastic. "Wow, thanks, Ray. You're the best boss, ever. Hey, who was that woman? Obviously, she's not my type, but... hubba hubba. Uhh, do straight guys still say that?"

I couldn't help but like John sometimes. "No, I don't think I ever said that. Try this, John. 'Dude, Coral is a solid eight!"

John scurried about his work in the efficient way that always impressed me. "An eight? Yeah, I can see that. And I love her name. Coooorrrraaaaallll. Ray, are you upgrading from Rachel?"

Clarity often arose from the most unlikely sources. While I had no desire to discuss deeply personal things with our store gossip queen, I patted his shoulder. "I don't know. We're just having a drink."

His resting bitch face resumed its proper role atop John's short body. "Ray, I think Rachel is fabulous, but perhaps you should set your sights higher, looks-wise. And aim lower, quality-wise, if you get my meaning. Coooorrrraaaallll. Think about it... Dude."

I am thinking about it. That's the problem...

I clapped my hands, something I tried not to do with my employees, but with warm, wet, and furry business on the line...

"Okay everyone. If you get this place cleaned up in the next ten minutes, I'll give you an extra break tomorrow. "Lets gooooo, people, put a rush on it!"

Half an hour later, I locked the restaurant's front doors, then opened my 1972 Buick Riviera's trunk. Already wearing cologne and a bit of hair gel John had insisted on applying, I changed into a burgundy silk dress shirt in front of him.

"Ray, you're too pretty for my... taste, but you'll be quite the Happy Meal for Coooorraaalll!"

I laughed, "That's high praise, coming from you, John. Thanks for staying and giving me the mini-makeover. Coral was one I let get away, and I hope this goes well."

Comically switching from lisping gayspeak to a satire of how he guessed macho Bros acted, John made his voice deep, "Duuuude! Bone that little blonde chickee! Yeah, baby! Whoohoo!"

I slapped his outstretched palm. "John, you're right. It's time for an upgrade!"

"Yeah! Give it to her good, Ray!"

He swished away, as if to make sure nobody mistook him for straight.

A few minutes later, left alone in the parking lot, I took a moment to calm down. A flickering streetlight in the distance provided a focal point for tired eyes, letting me plan my next potentially life-changing moves. As always, after imagining a complex flow chart of nervous actions and reactions, I decided to improvise.

It's just a date, and if it doesn't go well, I still have Rachel...

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