Dempster stepped out of his chair. "All right," he said. "You're a big man, we can all see that. We're very impressed. Now let's each drop the issue and get on with our night. Someone else will give you a cigarette."

The man laughed. He reached out and lightly hooked his hand around Dempster's neck. "Pussy," he said, "you wanna stay out of this, I promise you."

Dempster allowed his head to be pulled in close to the man. He brought his lips to the man's ear and whispered, "Bitch, you never wanna call a man a pussy until you can prove it."

The man let go of Clark and shoved Dempster. Then he brought up his fists. The crowd took notice and backed away. "To hell with your little fuck buddy. Let's see how you bounce, faggot."

"You curious how I bounce, or how I bang?"

The man's inebriated face raged. He advanced, swiped at Dempster, who pivoted and swung a left, making contact with the goon's head.

The man staggered, brought a hand up and rubbed behind his ear. He threw a wild glare at Dempster. "Don't piss me off," he said. "I don't have time to be pulled aside and questioned for murder."

"You'd be afraid to raise your hand if you were thrown back into the first grade and asked your name."

The man moved in and swung again, first a left then a right. Dempster ducked both and struck a short shot into the man's belly, then cracked a right into his ear.

The man went down to one knee. Suddenly, there was no sound other than the bad pop music, which was worse than Dempster had thought.

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the idiot's friend, who still sat in his chair but had backed it a few feet away.

The man rose from his knee quickly. He rushed in and swung a clumsy left, missing by about a foot and spinning himself halfway around. Dempster took advantage of the opening and threw a right. It cracked against the man's cheekbone but he didn't go down. Instead, from out of nowhere, his right came up and hit Dempster in the stomach. Without thinking of the pain flaring up inside him, Dempster shot a left uppercut and followed it with a right that crunched against the man's nose, which spurted blood as he flew backwards and landed flat on his back, eyes wobbling in his sockets.

That was it. Dempster held his stomach with one hand, drew deep breaths, grabbed a gentleman's untouched bourbon, drained it, and sat back down. He finished off his water and regarded Clark, Jimmy, and Evan.

The crowd resumed its social activity. A couple people helped the bloody-faced idiot to his feet. The guy didn't seem to know where he was.

"I'm out of here," Dempster said. He tossed some money onto the table and got up again. His stomach was already feeling better. "Looks like you're probably out of here too." He gestured to the bartender coming in their direction.

"Dammit," Clark said.

"I want you out of here," the bartender said. "All of you."

"What about Ace over there?" Evan asked, indicating the dazed goon.

"He'll be gone soon enough."

Everyone tossed money in for the bill. On top of the already generous tip, Dempster handed the man an additional twenty. "Sorry about that. I didn't have any choice."

"I know," the bartender said, "but please leave."

They made their way out of the bar.

When they got outside, Dempster realized Clark wasn't with them.

"That girl in the tank top stopped him on our way out," Jimmy said. "My guess is that he might be in there a while."

"Yeah, if he isn't thrown out in the next thirty seconds."

"Well, maybe they'll go somewhere else."

Dempster looked at the bar, then out to the night sky. "Good for him," he said. Then to Evan and Jimmy: "I'm heading home."

"All right, see ya. Nice fight, by the way."

"Thanks."

He walked slowly down the block and turned left on Don Gaspar Avenue, where he'd parked another two blocks away, next to another bar that appeared to be hustling and bustling. As he walkeda"realizing the alcohol was hitting him harder than he'd thoughta"he looked up through the streetlights to the cold light of the stars beyond. Little sparkling drops speckled throughout the darkness like so many distant lights at the end of one enormous tunnel. He arrived at his car, and as he reached for his keys, he saw a small blazing sphere shoot across the sky. It flared from yellow to orange to red, then faded to a twinkle, and died away to nothing. He remembered the song he'd loved as a kid, the one sung by Jiminy Cricket about wishing upon a star. He closed his eyes for a brief second and made a wish; and as he opened them he heard someone call his name.

3.

Carly Whittaker was already approaching when he saw her. She had clearly just come from out of the bar. She wore black leather boots and a black skirt that went to her knees. Her white short-sleeved blouse was open, beneath it a tight red tank top that matched her hair. She had a quiet smirk on her face.

"I see you go places other than Essentials." She stopped two feet away from him. Dempster tried not to meet her eyes but found himself drawn into them. They sparkled like the stars.

"I have my own life," he told her, not knowing what way he meant it.

She smiled. "Beats being dead."

"Not always."

"I think that's why I'm drawn to you," she said. "Your optimistic outlook on things."

His hands fidgeted with his keys. They served as a distraction, and he was able to bring his gaze down to them. He blinked, and when he did he got a lightning-quick image of Sandra.

"Let's go get a drink," she said.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Jesus, what is it with you?"

"I like you."

"Well, I don't like you."

"Yes, you do." She stepped closer. "I know you do."

That was his problem. Had he wanted to, he could have just unlocked the car, climbed in and driven away. But he was still standing there, holding his keys in a hand that seemed to be inching back towards his pocket. He thought again about Sandra, the hours he sat waiting for a call that never came.

"C'mon, one drink won't kill you." It was clear she'd already had a couple. "We'll talk. We can get to know each other. Please, at least give me a chance. I'm actually a very good person."

Maybe it was the scotch and bourbon he'd had, but he looked her up and down, unable to deny liking what he saw. He looked up past the streetlights again to the stars, and sighed.

"Fuck it," he said. "All right."

He followed her back over to the bar she'd come out of. The place was smaller and darker than the previous bar, with scantily dressed women in their early twenties frolicking around, and hotshot young men in baseball caps lusting after every one of them. The music was considerably louder, as was the crowd. There were three TVs behind the bar, each showing something different.

Carly led him over to one of two available tables. When they sat down, Dempster said to himself, You're making a big mistake, but before he could consider the voice in his head, a waitress with a thick Minnesota accent stopped at their table and said to Carly, "Back already, eh?"

"Yeah. Ran into a friend." She indicated Dempster, who flashed a brief smile and averted his eyes.

"Hi, friend. What'cha drinking?"

"Scotch and soda," he told her.

"Another Tom Collins," Carly said, then turned to Dempster. "So what've you been doing since you forced me to abandon you on that hilltop?"

Dempster looked into her mesmerizing eyes.

"Nothing worth mentioning," he said.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, really."

"I bet it's more interesting than you're making it sound."

Dempster shrugged.

"Why are you so hesitant to talk to me?"

"Why are you so anxious to talk to me?"

"Because I like you."

"You don't know me," he told her.

"You're interesting," she said. "From where I sit, you're an enigma wrapped in a puzzle wrapped in a mystery." She reached for her drink, realized it hadn't arrived yet, and laced her fingers together. "There's something about you that's different."

He immediately cursed himself when he said, "There's something different about you, too."

Carly's eyes narrowed a bit. Her lips made a tiny side-of-the-mouth smile. "Good different?"

If he hadn't wished upon that falling star, would he be here right now, or would he be on his way home feeling sorry for himself? This certainly wasn't what he'd wished for.

The waitress arrived just in time with their drinks, saving him.

"So I'm bummed," she said, setting the drinks on the table. "The Dodgers beat the Twins."

"That's too bad," Dempster told her, not giving a damn. "I assume the Twins are your team?"

"You got it," she said. "Choi had struck out twice, but then Radke hung a curve ball and Choi knocked it over the right-field wall. Game went to shit from there."

"Sorry to hear it," Dempster said, and made it clear through facial expression and mannerism that she could leave now, which she did, taking the hint.

Dempster picked up his scotch and drew a long, slow sip. When he set it down, he was shocked to find a third of it gone. He glanced over at Carly, who was in the midst of sipping her own drink, eyes fixated on him. She set it down in an odd, dainty way, and then ran her fingers through her fiery hair.

"I'm sorry that I actually ditched you the other day."

"I wanted you to," he said. Then a little too honestly he told her, "I was hoping I'd never see you again."

"Am I really that bad of a person?"

"I dunno, maybe."

"Why, because I like you? Because I like you and you can't accept that, and so I scare you?" She moved in and slid her hand into his. He thought about pulling his hand away but didn't. She brought her lips close to his ear and whispered, "I scare you because you want me. You're scared of what might happen if you actually get what you want."

Goddammit, his head was spinning. With his free hand he grabbed his scotch and drank down the rest of it, then looked around for the waitress to order another. He hated admitting it, especially after the other daya"but yes, he wanted her. Wanted her more than he could comprehend. He wished to hell and back that he didn't, but when he looked at her, he just couldn't stand it.

The waitress returned. "You made short work of that."

"I'll have another," he told her, and watched her leave.

Fuck it.

He squeezed her hand, moved in and kissed her.

She smiled, took another big gulp from her Tom Collins, looked him up and down and said, "You wanna see where I live?"

He gazed into her magnetic eyes.

4.

That night, lying in bed next to her, he stared at the ceiling. So there it is, he said to himself, you stupid asshole. After a long personal berating, his eyes eventually drifted shut. Had he been more conscious he would have been surprised at where his mind took him. But instead he just relived it as though it were happening now. The Natural Reserve off Lake Avenue. Shelley, in the back of the truck, looking at the two of them with a glimmer in her eye.

"I'm not sure I can do this," Mike's eyes told him.

Like arriving at the first day of a new school, Jack stepped up to her. When he was close and ready, she reached out, wrapped her fingers around the base and tugged. Then all of a sudden he was in her. He became oblivious to everything else in the world. He didn't ever want it to stop. Never. And then, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, he was done. He held her tight, didn't want to let go. He kissed her on the lips and whispered ever so softly, "I love you."

His eyes snapped open.

He glanced over at Carly's silhouetted sleeping form. It had been good. It had been very good. It was something he had needed, and it was long overdue, and it had rocked his world; but something had been wrong. Beyond everything that was already clearly wrong with the situation, something very important had also been missing. What it was exactly, he wasn't sure, though he had some minor semblance of an idea.

On the dark black ceiling above him, he watched a slide show: he and Sandra in El Reno, laughing, hands joining, the gas station coming into view and then the road turning into the Santa Fe River, where he stopped, drew her close, and finally kissed her.