Girls' Night

“Honey!” 

Mike Bennington flinched at the sound of his wife Kate’s nasally voice, causing him to send his golfer, a normal guy with a horse’s head, wildly about the blue tee area of Golden Tee’s Coral Vista Hole 15.

They were at Clancy’s pub, with his partner, Nathaniel, who had brought along his wife, Rachel, a usual Wednesday night in West Omaha for the couples. What was unusual about this Wednesday night, however, was the addition of his neighbor’s wife, Harmony, and they’re declaring tonight a girls’ night. The men were instructed to play their video games, leaving them to cluck at each other.

Kate was attractive still; sort of. Her hair was a bottle blonde, and she was a little fatter than he would like, but he could forgive her that. She had given him five kids after all. He’d be damned, however, if her voice wasn’t the most annoying thing he’d ever heard.

“Can it wait, hon?” he asked, not looking away, the glow of the screen adding a blue tinge to his face.

“I’m ordering fries for us girls to split. You want an appetizer?” Kate said.

Why was it that whenever a man was trying to concentrate, a woman would deem that precise moment the perfect time to interrupt?

“Damn it, Kate! I’m busy.”

“Ok, fine, but I don’t want to hear about it later. How about you, Nate, you want anything?” she asked Mike’s partner.

Nate wasn’t the best-looking guy. His white teeth stood out from his moist, reddened complexion, and his short, auburn hair. His breath was huffy, like he had just done some light jogging. He wasn’t out of breath, however, that was just how he breathed. While sounding like he weighed four hundred pounds and was on the verge of a heart attack, he wasn’t. He may not have been in the same shape as Mike, but he was only a few pounds north of average.

Kate had caught him with his lips around a pilsner of Miller Lite. He held up a finger, swallowed, and dragged his arm across his face. 

“Yea. Get me,” he belched, but continued talking through it, “an order of hot wings.” He thumped his chest with his free hand. “Hot. Blue-cheese. They can keep the celery.”

Tied with Nate at five under Par, Mike’s hand gently rolled the white ball at a slight angle, just to the right of the “B” arrow at six-o’clock, setting up the back-swing for a hook that would curve his shot to the left.

Nate would play it safe and go for the birdie, heading down the longer route to the right. Not Mike, though, he was heading through the trees. He was going for eagle. 

“You‘ll end up in the water without backspin,” Nate said.

He was a good guy; hard worker; loyal partner; amazing cop. If they were talking about anything else, Mike would heed his partner’s wisdom, but Golden Tee was his domain.

“They didn’t introduce the backspin button until series four, so if I were the average player, you’d be correct.” Mike smirked, knowing. “But…”

He slammed his hand straight down the middle, trying to get the ball spinning faster than usual, causing it to rattle in its housing. 

The backspin icon appeared under the clubhead on the screen. “… I’m not your average player,” Mike finished.

“No frigging way…” Nate said.

The camera zoomed out from the course, following the ball’s trajectory through the trees, then high into the air. The ball landed at the edge of the green, almost hitting the sliver of dark green rough that separated the water hazard, bounced almost straight up, landed, and began rolling inwards. Closer and closer the ball rolled to the center of the green, slowing to a crawl just inches from the pin.

“No, you are not. No. You. Are. Not!” Nathaniel said, slapping the game’s cabinet with each syllable.

The ball stopped half-way over the line. 

“Oh, man! If that went in, we might as well have called the—”

The speaker sounded from the cabinet, a grainy, digital version of a ball jostling in a cup.

“… game,” he finished.

Mike threw up his hands in celebration. “Hole-in-one, baby!” He started doing a celebratory dance while chanting uh-huh and oh-yeah. Stumbling through an attempt at a Michael Jackson heel-spin, he ended with a hip-thrusting Woo!

“Honey!” Kate hissed. “People are staring,” Kate pleaded.

“Ah, c’mon, Kate. I’m just trying to have a good time,” he said. “Don’t ruin my first hole-in-one.” He got closer, embracing her by the upper arms. He squeezed. Hard enough to remind her just who in the hell she was talking to. “Or are you trying to make me look bad in front of all these people?”

She winced under his grasp, but she hid it well. She was a good girl. 

“I’m sorry. I was being considerate is all,” she said. 

She looked around at the other pub goers, each of whom minded their own business when Mike met their eyes.

Mike softened, loosening his grip, and smiling. 

“Always the people pleaser,” he said, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek. “You just worry about your girls’ night, hon. And let the men be men.”

He squeezed her chin and gave it a playful shake, then returned to his partner and their round of golf.

A voice broke the silence, drawing him back. Looking at the woman it belonged to was like looking at a McLaren 650S; simple, curvy, full of power, sex appeal, with dark accents, and an attention to detail as egotistical as its unattainable price tag.

“I saw that,” Harmony said.

Apparently Baxter still had work to do in his house.

“Mind your business, Harmony,” he said.

Harmony shot up, using a fist to support her pointing index finger, “No! I will not—”

Kate reached a hand back. “Stop it, Harmony. It’s not your place,” she said. 

Throughout all this, Nate’s wife, Rachel, hadn’t stopped open-mouthed scrolling through her phone in that languid, boneless posture of hers. She was a good girl too. She knew the score, because Nate ran his house.

“Why don’t you just go back to playing with your little butt-buddy over there,” Harmony said, plopping down, crossing her arms, then legs; a woman’s attempt at getting the final world.

“And where is Baxter, Harmony?” Mike said. 

“Oh! You mean so he can put me in my place like you do with your wife?” She stood back up, fire roaring in her eyes, an unwillingness to back down.

She might not do it willingly, but she would back down. Mike would teach her to.

A man’s hand clasped his shoulder; firm, supportive, familiar. Nathaniel’s hand. 

“Hey, buddy, we still got a few holes left. Let’s finish them up, huh?” he said.

“This’ll only take a second, Nate Dogg.” 

Mike snatched his shoulder away, but before he got anywhere, his friend was in front of him, herding him back to their game.

“You’re trying for that promotion, remember?” Nathaniel stretched the words out, the closest thing to pleading a man should do.

Mike deflated a little, just enough to see the wisdom in his partner’s words.

But not to heed them.

“Do-do-don’t. Don’t do that,” Nate said, standing firm. He pointed back to the screen reminding Mike that it was his turn. “Just take your shot,” he said.

He was a good partner, Nate, always had Mike’s best interest in mind.

Mike burned a hateful gaze into Harmony, letting her know things weren’t over between them. She didn’t crumble like his wife, though. She scowled back at him, kicking her top leg with agitation.

Her petulance was maddening.

He sucked through his teeth, making a high-pitched creaking sound, and then let Nathaniel steer him back to the game.

Coral Vista hole 16 was waiting on him, a 471 yard Par 5 that, like the previous hole, had the short route blocked with a small group of trees clumped together, with a safer option to the right that would allow get on the green in two. Unlike, hole 15, however, this patch of trees was too tight to get through. He’d prepared for it, though, and the last hole had boosted his confidence. He could get on in one, maybe even get another ace.

Again at the blue markers, he set his tee high, and as far in the top-right corner as it would go. He drew a breath, hunkering down like a pool player lining up his shot. Mike drew back through the “C”, between four and five o’clock. Then, he positioned himself low and to the left side of the cabinet. On his exhalation, he would explode through the “3” located just past one o’clock.

“Kenneth!” Harmony’s joyful squeal sounded, pulling his attention, and the angle of his stroke, to the side. 

The ball floated up, and the course began to fall away, but it was all brought short as it smacked into a tree, earning a few choices words common to all golf courses, digital or otherwise.

“Lucky break for me,” Nathaniel chided with an elbow.

Mike glowered at the commotion that had cost him the round. He found an attractive black man that he’d never seen lifting Harmony into the air with a crushing hug.

She didn’t look happy about it, but neither did she seem genuinely upset, swatting at his shoulders, and yipping for him to put her down.

Why was it that black guys were always after married women? Most people would find that question racist, but most people couldn’t comprehend reverse racism. As a cop, however, Mike was all too familiar with it. Still, he let it go. What happened with another man’s wife was of no concern to him, at least not when he was off duty.

Attempting to whittle at Mike’s lead, Nate, again, opted for the safe route, bypassing the trees, and landing in the perfect position to get on the green in two.

“Have fun getting out of those trees,” he said, turning the controls back over to Mike.

Before returning his full attention to the game, he noticed Kenneth wrap his arms around Kate. She hugged him back, leaning her head on his chest, cooing like he was a soft blanket pulled fresh from the dryer.

“You smell really good,” she said.

No sooner had the man released his wife, than Mike was in his face, shoving the larger man away, inserting himself in the space between. Harmony might not concern him, but Kate damn sure did.

“Whoa! Easy, man.” Kenneth threw his arms open, he didn’t want any. “I don’t want any trouble.” Of course he didn’t.

“Mike, honey, you’ve got it all wrong,” Kate said.

Mike stiff-armed her back. He was about to show Kenneth the order of things.

“If you didn’t want trouble, you should have kept your hands off my wife,” Mike said, then threw a right hook, catching Kenneth square in the jaw.

His hand exploded with pain, but like a real man, he ignored it.

Silence hung in the air for a moment as Kenneth checked his mouth for blood. Finding none, he rolled his tongue across his bottom teeth, and gave his head a shake. 

It was then that Mike saw Rachel peel her attention from her phone.

“We got off on the wrong foot. I’m Kenneth. Take it you’re Mike?” He extended his hand for a handshake, but Mike slapped it aside.

“Yup,” Mike said. “And you’re leaving,” he pointed towards the ground, “now.”

“Hey, Mike. Buddy. Take it easy, before things get out of hand. You made your point, huh?” Nate, again, with the damn hand on the shoulder.

Mike sucked through his teeth. “I don’t think I did, Nate Dogg. He’s still here ain’t he?”

“Look, man, there’s been a misunderstanding,” Kenneth said. 

Mike spit in Kenneth’s face.

“Oh, hell no! Beat his ass, Kenneth!” Harmony said.

“Here we go…” Nate said, backing away.

Kenneth wiped the spit away and clenched his jaw tight. Kenneth was torn. He wanted to do something about the insult, but he didn’t have what it took to go toe-to-toe with the man. One more little push is all it would take, then he would leave them to their evening.

Mike threw another punch, but this time he missed.

Kenneth ducked under the punch, letting it slide over his shoulder. Closing the remaining distance, he wrapped Mike up, trapping his head and extended arm, clasping his hands together to secure the hold. With his heel, he kicked the smaller man’s feet out from under him, driving with his shoulder to crush Mike into the ground. Still holding on, Kenneth hopped out to the side, away from Mike’s center, and planted on the balls of his feet, generating downward force. Kenneth squeezed tighter, his forearm gripping and pulling the skin on Mike’s neck, the friction causing it to flare with heat.

The world started to go black around the edges, much faster than Mike would have guessed. This was all wrong. This was bad.

The suffocating force drove Mike into a panic. He kicked, and flailed, and clawed, desperate to free himself from the larger man and his goddamn cologne.

“Tap out, or he’ll put you to sleep, Mike!” Harmony jeered.

The indistinguishable sound of a gun’s hammer ratcheting back brought things to a halt. Mike felt the choke loosen. 

“That’s about enough of that,” Nate said nonchalantly.

The hold fell away completely, as Kenneth turned his attention Nate. With the line-of-sight cleared, Mike could see that Nate was pointing a standard-sized revolver, his 686, at Kenneth.

Mike coughed and sputtered as he recovered from the assault.

“Easy man, I was defending myself. Things just got out of hand,” Kenneth said.

“On your stomach. Hands behind your head,” Nate said, leading with the gun, reaching for a hidden pair of FlexiCuffs.

The front door crashed open as a man wearing short shorts, and over-sized, red-tinted glasses walked through with a flourish.

“All-right, ladies, Jody’s here! Girl’s night can officially begin!” He wound up and snapped the last two words.

Upon taking in the scene, Jody stormed over and shoved Nathaniel away, inserting himself between the two men.

“What the hell is going on here,” he asked, pulling Kenneth to his feet.

Nate furrowed his brow. Just like Mike, he was a little buzzed, and trying to wrap his mind the flamboyant man’s audacious entrance.  

“Baby, what are they doing to you?” Jody said, doting over Kenneth. 

He grabbed Kenneth by the cheeks and planted a kiss on his lips. The two men embraced as if the world was ending, an undeniable, and oddly beautiful, display of love and passion.

“Nothing, Boo-boo bear. Just saying hello to our new neighbors. We may need to reschedule girls’ night, though.” Kenneth gestured to the other patrons.

Feeling the eyes of the entire restaurant bearing down on him, Mike thought, maybe, just maybe, this one time, he may have misread the situation. And that, maybe, it would complicate getting that promotion.