Page 3 of The Falcon and the Foe

“Are we late?” Josh stared out the window of the car. The reflection of street lights and displays from shops twinkled on his face.

“A little, but these things never start on time.” We pulled into the Bea Arthur parking lot.

I secretly loved the Bea Arthur Center because it was such a ’90s building. From the hunter green carpeting and teal walls to the dated typography on the signage and wood paneling of the walls, it was a time capsule. I had acted in plays and taken art classes here when I was around Josh’s age.

“You ready?” I turned off the car. Josh didn’t unbuckle his seat belt quickly. “You still want to do this?”

He nodded yes, but hesitation creased his forehead.

I messed up his hair. “It’s going to be great. And if it’s not, we’ll take it from there.”

“Okay.”

And I truly believed that. Even though scouting was so not my thing, I had high hopes. I kept those high hopes as we walked down the long hallway in the Bea Arthur Center to the large room at the end. A familiar voice echoed against its walls. My stomach turned.

I wasn’t exactly sure what “gird your loins” meant, but I felt myself do it as I turned the knob.

Russ paced at the front of the room. His fit chest and thighs stretched the fabric of his khaki Falcons uniform. Too bad I couldn’t enjoy the view because his eyes narrowed at me.

“You’re late,” he sniped.

“We got here as soon as we could.”

“Which was,” he checked his watch. “Eight minutes late.”

Ugh, this guy. I had an idea where he could shove his watch.

“I thought there’d be schmoozing beforehand.”

“Schmoozing?” Russ spat out the word like it was an expletive.

“Yeah, you know. A little pre-meeting chit-chat, and then you jump into things.”

“No, Cal. That’s not how I run these meetings. Here’s a reminder for everyone: when I say Falcon meetings are every Tuesday at six p.m., that doesn’t mean six-oh-five or six-ten. We start at six sharp. Punctuality is an important part of being a Falcon, as it should be for everyone.” He cocked a knowing eyebrow my way. Like so many gay men, he seemed to enjoy power trips and being a total bitch.

“Yeah, well sh—stuff happens.”

Parents in the room gasped. One held her hands over her daughter’s ears.

“I saidstuffhappens.” I was proud of myself for not breaking my No Cursing in Front of Josh rule.

Russ shot me a glare that could cut glass. “Both of you, please have a seat.”

Naturally, the only chairs available were in the middle of a row, forcing Josh and me to make even more of a scene by excusing ourselves over other judgmental wannabe Falcons and Falcon parents. My chair squeaked as I sat down, not meant for a man of my size. Russ rolled his eyes at the sound.

“And Cal?”

“Yeah?”

“We’d appreciate it if you could avoid the profanity.”

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but Russ had resumed his talk. I turned to the father next to me and whispered, “I saidstuffhappens.”

2

CAL

Russell Ettinger. How I loathed thee. Let me count the ways.

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