Written by Stephen F. Moloney
“Feelin’ better?” asked Ray, just before polishing off the final bite of his burger.
“Well, I’m not hungry anymore,” said Mustang through a mouthful of fries. “But my legs are still pretty sore.”
“Yeah, well that’s to be expected,” replied Ray, knowingly, after taking a quick drink from his glass of soda. “The first full week you put in as a caddie is always the hardest – though if you think your legs are sore now? Just wait for how they’ll feel tomorrow.”
“Are you saying they’re going to be worse?!” said Mustang, eyes widening in horror as his voice bounced around the walls of ‘Renée’s’ – which, like every Sunday night, was completely empty.
“Oh yeah!” answered Ray through a somewhat sadistic smile. “And when you get that first bag back over your shoulder tomorrow? And you know you’re facin’ into another week of traipsin’ around the Creek for eight hours a day? The pain then will have a nice added sense of ‘ennui’ to it that just feels …”
After seeing Ray, jokingly, make a ‘chef’s kiss’ gesture at him, a smiling – though slightly embarrassed looking – Mustang just shook his head as he grabbed his near-empty glass of soda and took a drink from it.
“I’m hoping that ‘chef’s kiss’ was for the food, right?!”
Having assumed she wasn’t working, a pleasantly surprised-looking Ray turned around in his seat and took in the sight of Jeanie standing at the cash register inside the counter of the diner.
“Oh hey!” he called out, coupled with a smile and a small wave.
“Hey!” replied Jeanie, smiling warmly back at Ray. “I’ll be over in a minute, ok?!”
“Sure, take your time!”
Ray whipped back around in his seat, causing the worn red leather covering the booth to squeak in an unflattering manner beneath him. The smile on his face quickly vanished as he hurriedly leaned in against the edge of the table and looked across it at Mustang.
“How long has she been there?!” he hissed urgently, his voice hushed so as not to be overheard.
“At the register?” replied Mustang, sounding decidedly nonchalant as he put his now empty glass back down onto the table and went about picking up what remained of his burger. “Not that long. She was in the kitchen for a good while, though.”
“So, wait, you knew she was here?!” asked Ray, continuing the inquisition.
“Yeah, I saw her earlier when I went to the bathroom,” said Mustang, distractedly, before gesturing at the bottle of ketchup sitting on Ray’s side of the table. “Pass the ketchup, please?”
A disgruntled Ray grabbed the bottle of ketchup and placed it down in front of Mustang’s plate before whispering, “And you didn’t think to tell me that?!”
“Tell you what?” replied Mustang, sounding completely oblivious as he focused the majority of his attention on performing the delicate task of smacking just the right amount of ketchup out of the bottle and onto his plate.
“That Jeanie was here, man! Damn!” snapped Ray, before instantly cringing at how loud he’d let his voice get. He threw a discreet glance over his shoulder in the direction of the counter. Jeanie was no longer standing at the register, meaning, luckily for Ray, she had retreated back into the kitchen and out of earshot.
“Alright, how do I look?” asked Ray, returning his voice to an appropriately low volume after turning back to look at Mustang. “Do I’ve any food on my face?”
“Nope,” responded Mustang without so much as glancing at Ray.
Realizing he would need to be slightly more proactive if he were to get the honest appraisal of his appearance he was looking for, Ray reached across the table and snatched Mustang’s plate out from under his nose – a move that drew an annoyed cry of, “Hey!”, from his young apprentice.
“How. Do. I. Look?” asked Ray again, this time slightly more pointedly and holding Mustang’s plate up underneath his face in order to get him to actually look at him, not unlike how one would bait a dog into looking at a camera by teasing it with the proposition of getting a piece of hotdog.
“Fine! You look fine!” snapped Mustang, making a point of really staring at Ray. “Now give me back my food!”
Having gotten what he wanted – though unsure how reliable his assessment had been – Ray plopped Mustang’s plate back down in front of him before grabbing a fistful of napkins from the dispenser at the end of the table.
“I don’t get why you don’t just ask her out already?” said Mustang, taking a bite from his freshly reclaimed burger as he watched Ray desperately wipe the corners of his mouth whilst peering into the scratched chrome surface of the napkin dispenser.
“Woah, who said I’m thinkin’ of askin’ her out?” asked Ray, his defensive tone betraying his feelings as he did another quick sweep behind him to make sure Jeanie hadn’t heard Mustang.
“You did.”
“When?!”
“To Bill. The other day in the workshop. I overheard you when I came in to get changed.”
“You ‘overheard’ me?” asked Ray, accusingly. “Or you were eavesdroppin’?”
“Oooh eavesdropping? On who?”
Having been so focused on Mustang, to hear Jeanie’s voice suddenly cutting through their conversation made Ray nearly jump clean out of his skin and emit this weird sound that was both part gasp and part scream.
“Sorry! You ok?” asked Maggie, peering down at him with a concerned look on her face. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” replied Ray, stammering back his answer as his heart pounded hysterically against the walls of his chest. “You just … uh … took me by surprise is all.”
“Oh, ok. Still – sorry,” said Jeanie, sounding genuinely sorry before returning to her previous level of intrigue as she glanced between Mustang and Ray. “So, come on, spill – who were we eavesdropping on?”
“Well …” began Mustang, the daring expression on his face denoting he was seriously contemplating telling Jeanie how Ray wanted to ask her out. “I heard Ray talking to Bill abou-”
“About how I got a really big tip off some guy at the club today,” said Ray, quickly interrupting Mustang before he dropped him in it. “And Mustang was wondering if that meant we could get dessert tonight, which it obviously does.” Ray looked across the table at Mustang, who was still smiling daringly back at him. “Actually, seein’ as you’re practically finished, why don’t you go check out what they have at the dessert counter? Like, right now.”
Not needing to be told twice that this was his cue to leave, a smiling Mustang grabbed the last few fries from off his plate, slid out of the booth, and set off across the diner in search of the dessert counter.
“Nice to see the two of you are still getting along,” said Jeanie, taking Mustang’s spot across from Ray in the booth and popping the handbag that had been slung over her shoulder onto the table.
“Yeah, things are …” began Ray before quickly glancing over his shoulder to check where Mustang was. He had just reached the dessert counter at the furthest end of the diner and was already bent over at the waist to get a better look at everything on display inside the glass-fronted cabinet; his tanned face getting highlighted by the cold, white light inside it as he popped one of his fries into his mouth. “Things are goin’ well,” finished Ray, turning back to look at Jeanie.
Just as it looked like she was going to say something, Jeanie stopped herself and just smiled instead. “What?” said Ray, sensing this odd reaction was at his expense.
“No, it’s nothing,” she replied, her gaze wandering up towards the ceiling of the diner as if the words she were looking for were floating around up near the fan spinning lazily above the table. “It’s just … seeing you this past week with Mustang … I dunno … you just seem happier.”
“Really?” said Ray, his face scrunching up sceptically.
“Yeah. Like, don’t get me wrong, it’s not like you’ve seemed on the brink of bursting into song or anything but …”. Again, Jeanie looked up towards the ceiling fan in order to find more of those pesky words that kept alluding her. “You just seem … content, I guess.”
With everything that had been happening over the course of the past week, things had been so hectic for Ray that he hadn’t really had time to think about how he was feeling with regards to having Mustang around. The weather had been great, warm without being overly humid, so the Creek had been packed pretty much every day with people looking to get a round or two in to make the most of it – a fact which, when he suddenly found himself down a caddie at the beginning of the week, wound up with Ray needing to convince Mr. Denby to hire Mustang on a temporary basis in order to meet demand.
With the Matchplay so close – just under a fortnight away as Ray sat in the diner – it had already begun to be a case of ‘all hands on deck’ to start getting both the course and the clubhouse ready for the biggest weekend of the year in the club’s calendar; something which, the closer it came, the more an increasingly agitated Mr. Denby served to remind everyone of as he zipped around the course in his golf cart “supervising”, as he liked to describe it.
And if all that weren’t enough, just as he’d been sitting down to have his lunch on three separate days, Ray had gotten the call from Bill to head over to the 8th hole and move Darlene – one of the older alligators who called Crescent Creek home – from off the green as she was holding up play in her quest to soak up some sun.
Now with a free moment to actually reflect on the time he’d spent with Mustang, however, Ray was having a hard time disagreeing with Jeanie’s evaluation – because he did feel happier. He’d enjoyed their conversations on the way to the course every morning. He’d enjoyed eating dinner with him every night in ‘Renées’s’. He’d enjoyed watching how he drank in every second of being out on the course at the Creek and the way he studiously watched how people of every ability played the game; like he was building up this massively detailed, internal encyclopaedia of what the perfect golfer might possibly look like. He’d enjoyed seeing the pure excitement in his face the first time he put a driver in his hand and watched him pulverize drive after drive with it right down the middle of the 9th fairway. He’d enjoyed sneaking out onto the back 9 of the Creek every evening with him for as many holes as they could squeeze in before it was literally too dark for either of them to see the ball anymore.
Put simply, Ray had enjoyed everything about having Mustang around; to such an extent, that he’d actually forgotten what the reality of their situation was – perhaps willingly so.
“Yeah, he’s a good kid, I guess,” replied Ray, opting for the ‘politician-style’ answer so as not to reveal too much about how he was truly thinking or feeling.
“Good enough to make you reconsider your ‘devout bachelor’ lifestyle?” asked Jeanie, smiling cheekily across the table at Ray.
“See, using the word ‘devout’ in that sentence implies a level of choice on my part to be single,” replied Ray, bookending his rebuttal with a warm smile.
“So, it’s not a choice then?” said Jeanie, her tone, though still light-hearted, undeniably tinged with a touch of genuine curiosity.
“Well, as appealing as living on your own in a trailer undoubtedly is …” said Ray, jokingly stroking his chin in a ponderous manner. “Nah, it’s not a choice. But you know what it’s like living here – I mean, it’s not exactly the easiest place in the world to find someone you click with, right?”
“No …” replied Jeanie, locking eyes with Ray. “No, it’s not.”
The air suddenly felt charged with electricity as Ray and Jeanie looked at one another. Unwilling to believe that this was actually happening, Ray took a moment to check if he was just imagining things – but he wasn’t. This was his opportunity. His chance to ask Jeanie out. He tried to think of the speech he’d composed for this exact moment if he ever actually plucked up the courage to do it, but now that the moment was here, the words he had once known by rote had apparently scattered on the wind, never to be seen again.
With each additional second that passed from when Jeanie had finished speaking, the pressure began to grow more and more intense for Ray. He could feel himself getting uncomfortably warmer like he was suddenly sitting inside a sauna in a three-piece suit as opposed to an air-conditioned diner booth in jeans and a grubby t-shirt. His mind began to feel as though it were being swallowed up by a dense sea fog, seeping into his synapses and preventing him from remembering how to speak. And his mouth felt so dry he was having a difficult time convincing himself that he’d just eaten a hamburger for his dinner and not, in fact, the entirety of the Sahara Desert.
“Come on!” thought Ray, desperately trying to urge himself to cease being a coward. “You were in the army! You’ve, literally, had bullets screamin’ over your head! Yet, this you’re scared of?! Just say the words and ask her out! Do it! Do it! DO IT!”
Ray wrangled his backflipping stomach and took a breath to steel himself. He was going to do it. He had to do it. No backing out now. Just like when he performed his first-ever parachute jump when he was in the army. He just had to jump … and hope he didn’t hit the ground.
As he opened his mouth to speak, however, the swirling red and blue lights from a police car suddenly poured in through the wall of windows that fronted the diner, immediately drawing Ray’s and Jeanie’s attention out through the glass to see what was happening. Sure enough, pulling up right outside the diner, was one of the local squad cars – specifically, the one driven by Officer Malcolm Brady.
“This looks serious,” pondered Jeanie aloud, sounding noticeably worried as the lights were switched off in the squad car and Malcolm stepped out into the faint neon glow being cast by the large, illuminated sign above the diner.
“Yeah …” said Ray, he, too, sounding worried at what exactly was unfolding as his eye got drawn to the concerned-looking woman who’d just stepped out of the front passenger seat of the squad car. “It does.”
The door of the diner opened back, causing the little bell above it to merrily rattle, and Malcolm, along with the woman who’d been in his squad car, walked inside. Unable to help himself, Ray looked discreetly over his shoulder in the direction of the door just in time to see Malcolm lock eyes with him after taking a quick scan around the interior of the diner. Ray knew Malcolm well. They’d both grown up in Marais des Voleurs. They were always in the same grade as one another all the way through school. They’d both been on the same football and basketball teams in high school. And ever since Ray had moved back to Marais des Voleurs and begun working at the Creek, he’d not only caddied for Malcolm a few times but whenever they bumped into one another they’d always stop and have a chat.
From the expression on his face when they looked at one another, however, Ray could tell that not only was Malcolm, indeed, here to see him, but he was here to do so in an official capacity.
“They’re coming over here!” whispered Jeanie, suddenly going very still as she looked wide-eyed across the table.
This, though, was not news to Ray. He’d already moved onto the stage of frantically racking his brain in order to come up with a reason for this impromptu visit from Officer Brady. Was it a speeding ticket he didn’t know he’d picked up and subsequently forgotten to pay? Or a parking ticket, perhaps?
But then he figured it out. The answer unveiling before him like it had just been cast into the middle of a searchlight.
Mustang.
They were here for Mustang.
“Evenin’, Ray,” said Malcolm, coming to a stop at his booth, the woman accompanying him not far behind. “Jeanie” he followed up, tipping the brim of his cap politely.
“Evenin’, Malcolm,” replied Ray, trying to sound as normal as possible.
“Malcolm,” replied Jeanie, following suit.
“Uh … do you mind if we have a word, Ray?” said Malcolm, deciding it best for everyone to just get straight to the point. “In private?”
“Sure,” answered Ray, again, trying his best to act natural. “Can I ask what about or … ?”
Having looked as though she’d been on the verge of exploding with the height of wanting to speak from the moment they’d arrived at the booth, the woman, no longer able to help herself, stepped forward and hurriedly announced, “A young boy?! Fourteen years old?! I was told he’s been staying with you?!”
“You mean Mustang?” interjected Jeanie, the worry she was feeling dragging the words out of her mouth.
“Mustang?” repeated the woman, sounding as confused as she looked. “No, the boy I’m looking for is called Oscar – Oscar Peyton? He ran away from his foster parents’ house in Florida a month ago and we’ve been trying to find him ever since – I’m his social worker, Tess Kershaw.”
With her confusion after growing stronger and stronger with each passing word that had just come out of Tess’ mouth, Jeanie could only look across the table at Ray, an accusatory expression carved into her face, and say, “Ray, what the hell is going on?”
“Ok now, look, I know this looks … bad,” he replied, his mouth desperately trying to keep up with his brain which was now scrambling to figure out what exactly his next play should be. “But if you’ll just give me a second I can explain … everythin’.” Ray looked at both Malcolm and Tess, who, like Jeanie, appeared eager to hear an explanation. “To all y’all.”
With six pairs of eyes burning a hole through him, Ray quickly turned around in his seat, threw his arm over the back of the booth, and looked off towards the far side of the diner where Mustang had last been, perusing over the contents of the dessert counter.
“HEY, MUSTANG!” called Ray, trying to sound relaxed despite feeling anything but.
No answer came from across the diner.
“HEY, KID! IT’S ALRIGHT!” tried Ray again, his voice a little louder this time as he craned his neck to try and see if Mustang was possibly hiding down behind the counter. “COME ON OUT!”
But, again, no answer came from across the diner.
And there wasn’t going to be one coming either.
Because Mustang was already gone.