The sun was still clinging to its position low in the San Diego sky, illuminating the beach with a stunning view that went on forever. This October evening was warm and welcoming; a hug waiting to envelop the group of girls clambering together through the sand refusing to see the end of the day just yet. Arm in arm, they strolled through the door of The Hard Deck bar, chattering and looking forward to the chance for maybe a little gossiping and a lot of drinking. It was one of those California evenings where all possibility seems laid before one's feet, waiting for the first step.
This group was four, bone weary dancers in need of delusion. Who's to say that sore joints and ponytails tied too tight couldn't be cured by a little bit of fun rather than an ice bath paired with a hot shower? Ideally they needed time itself to stop so they could catch up, but temporary idleness would have to suffice. The Hard Deck was hardly near capacity and this small troupe easily found seats together at the bar. Massive amounts of mugs with callsigns tattooed across them hung from the ceiling, model airplanes were suspended to create mid-flight scenarios, Sailor Jerry posters adorned the walls, patches could be seen any which way you turned, lamps set in corners and on table ends, and photos. Crazy amounts of photos of service persons served not just as decoration for the bar, but as a velvet rope one could only pass if the viewer had a clear understanding of naval military culture.
A woman in a cobalt blue button up and jeans was behind the counter. If she was looking at fifty, then fifty was scared to look back. Not even the array of dingy overhead bulbs could take away from the woman's beauty. Her necklace held an "A" charm as well as a set of hearts strung along the chain and her hair looked like she had just stepped fresh out of a blowout session rather than slinging drinks, hauling cases of beer, and wiping down sticky surfaces. She had a smile for the women and welcomed them taking space at the otherwise sparsely populated bar seats.
"What'll it be?"
"Vodka martini, please," came the desperate plea from Evie. There has hardly been anyone in more need of hard liquor than a Rockette half a year into a tour. Her companions followed her lead and soon they found themselves with more alcohol than most cleaning products after an accidental double order of shots that were already poured and it'd be a shame to let them go to waste.
"Whoa, did you see that?" Marilyn asked the group.
"See what?" PJ answered.
"That dude just murdered the dart board," Marilyn commented.
"Who, him?" PJ questioned, her volume just a bit too loud to remain discreet. A gorgeous, muscled man with a name tag that read "MACHADO" made eye contact with PJ and licked his lips while cocking his head back in a distant greeting before refocusing on the board where he had already landed two darts near the bullseye. The "dude" as he had been previously referred to as must've been thrown a little from his interaction because the next one landed on the outer ring with his hand rubbing the back of his neck while avoiding eye contact.
"Doesn't matter which one Marilyn meant, seeing as those are not "dudes", they're a…," Lisa looks around at her girls, wating.
The four girls join together in as much of a smothered bout of laughter as they can handle to chorus "A WHOLE LOTTA MAN" and then toast their second round of shots together, dissolving into complete laughter.
Evie may not have joined in on the conversation until she heard the well-known call and response, and while she didn't want to admit it, before the board could be claimed by the girls she kept glancing over from the bar at the man with a chiseled jaw and confidence enough for a full platoon as casually as possible. Evie's teammates were grabbing wallets and gearing up to have a go themselves until Machado's partner hit three bullseye's in a row without even looking for the last one. Then she needed to admit that she was full on staring at his back, waiting for him to turn. She wasn't alone, she noticed. The gorgeous bartender was then in conversation with a man in a leather jacket adorned with patches who seemed interested in the display at the dartboard as well.
As The Hard Deck steadily filled, the girls migrated over to the board that had just been abandoned by the couple of handsome men in tan military uniforms, Evie sneaking a peek back one last time for reassurance and then resigned herself back to having the best night possible with the gals.
If the previous pair were wanting to make a competitive run of things, the feminine foursome were there to dabble and just try their luck. One by one they flung darts through the air, hoping the tip would find purchase in the board and not on the wall or in some poor bystander's skin. Each girl was less talented than the one before her as they succumbed to the alcohol. There was no heartbreak in it of course; girls just want to have fun and all that.
Their giggles were drowned out easily by the group at the pool table. From the corner of her eye, Evie could tell they were military as they were all dolled up in tan uniforms. She thought she heard a familiar voice, but soon was distracted by Lisa's tap on her shoulder.
"We should slow down," slurred Lisa. Evie thought it sounded less like a mandate than a half-hearted request. Lisa was right of course. They had the morning off, but were expected at a conditioning workout at eleven. Before they could confer with the rest of their contingent, the jukebox was suddenly unplugged and a man settled himself at the piano. The platoon at the pool tables split, with most of them now converging on the piano.
"It's f-fire," incoherently wailed Marilyn.
Lisa practically barked back at her, "WHAT?"
"No it'ss great balls!"
"Marilyn. I need you to say more words," was the most patient response Lisa could have said. It might actually be a good idea to slow down and go home, because Lisa's motherly patience was finite.
"The song," hiccup, "it's…great…balls…of fire. I did it," beamed Marilyn. She was right. By now, most of the crowd had joined in on the chorus and were screaming the song to one another. Marilyn grabbed PJ and hauled both of them to the center of the group at the piano.
A movement caught Evie's attention and drew her back to the pool table. A man stood in uniform looking out towards the scene at the piano. His hair was shorter and a little darker with age. He had hit that late growth spurt boys often do and was a few inches taller than Evie recollected. It had been close to fifteen years, but the annoyance and surprise on his face were unmistakable to Evie. Jake Seresin.
"Come on. We'd better keep an eye on them," snapped Lisa. She had already looped her arm with Evie's and was headed in the direction Marilyn and PJ had disappeared to. Lisa was able to make it to the other two girls just as the song was ending and the tight cluster of people was loosening. "I'd really love it if you could stay where I can see you. Ok?"
"Fine," PJ drawled out the word until it was at least five syllables.
"Evie? Are you sober-ish? Can you go to the bar and pay our tab while I put them in the car?"
"Yes," was all she could respond before Lisa had already steered the others off. The room was clearing out quickly. People probably assumed a live Jerry Lee Lewis cover was going to be the peak of the night. Evie politely elbowed her way up to the bar and got the attention of the barkeep.
"I'd like to close out a tab, please. R-I-O-R." Evie often just spelled the first part of her name because, more often than not, people couldn't correlate its spelling to its pronunciation.
"The woman looked at the tablet in front of her before peering up and saying, "R-or-dan?"
"r-EER-dan," as Evie spoke, her voice was joined by another to her right.
"r-EER-dan. R-I-O-R-D-A-N," mused the voice next to her. There he was, sure as the day was long. Evie handed over her debit card, unable to peel her eyes from. Jake was sitting at the bar, in the better half of a pint. His uniform was tan like the others. The short sleeves clung to where his arms were bent to rest on the counter and the pant legs strained on his thighs in this position. The pretty barkeep had handed Evie back her card and was waiting for a signature. Evie had to turn away from him to sign and store her card in her pocket again.
"Jake Seresin," it was just his name, but it fell from her mouth like it had always been sitting at the tip of her tongue.
"As you live and breathe," he answered, finally turning from his beer to look at her. His look was appraising. It started with her eyes and slowly ran down her cheeks to her mouth and from her mouth to her collarbone and back up. His eyes relaxed the longer he looked at her, like when one's eyes adjust to the sudden sunlight.
"You look good."
"You look better," as he spoke, a smile played at the corner of his lips and slackened into an all out smile.
Before Evie could dispute that, Lisa was by her side again, "-and you! Standing slack jawed and flirting, I'm doing all the heavy lifting. Literally. PJ could use the conditioning." Lisa had taken Evie by the shoulders and was guiding her way to the car. "You're all gonna be lucky if you can even get through tomorrow without puking on the floor. I won't rat you out, because I'm an enabler, but I will laugh," droned Lisa.
Evie was certainly not as drunk as PJ or Marilyn and could put herself in the front seat, buckled and all. As Lisa drove away, Evie couldn't help but be reminded of another day. About fifteen years ago, Evie had been sitting in her mom's minivan being driven away from school and from Jake Seresin.