The Patriot

The Patriot

Nancy told her girlfriends that Max was her soulmate. She would chew thoughtfully on her cheek and then throw her chest out, boasting in a sing-song voice. “I got lucky; he’s so plucky. His name is Max.” And then when she couldn’t think of a rhyme with Max, blurt out, “and he’s very, very big!”

Anyone who had met Max would agree. He was 6’3” and a very solid 225 pounds. And when they said, “Yes, he’s really big,” she’d continue, “And he’s funny too. Says he’s nothing like a big Mac.” She would blush, unwilling to share their intimacies.

However, while he may have worn the pants in the family, she was the power behind the throne. When asked what they thought about the latest movie or a popular influencer, Nancy would wink and answer, “Oh, the film wasn’t really that good, but the acting was fabulous. Both the leads should get Oscars. I was in tears at the end; right, Max.” Max would smile and nod. She had Max wrapped around her little finger and nowhere was it more revealed than in the realm of politics.

Friday night they could usually be found at their local bar, The Patriot. It was the end of the month, and Max had logged a lot of extra hours. They were out to celebrate. It was not yet five and there were only a few of the regulars sitting at the bar, his friend Davey at the end. Max was freshly showered and wearing a clean t-shirt, his hair half wet and sparkling with gel. He looked around for an empty booth while scanning the bar for friends.

“Here, Nancy, we’ll save it for Stacy and Kevin. That’s one advantage of working construction, we start early and finish early, plenty of empty booths when we get here. White-collar guys like Kevin are still trying to finish up the week’s crap even after the sun’s setting. I’ll get us a pitcher of lager and some chips. Be a minute; want to talk with Davey, we talked earlier this week about doing some fishing Sunday.”

“Take your time. I’ll call Becky. We’ve got some catching up to do and see if she’s free Sunday morning. Maybe we’ll go for coffee. You don’t mind, do you?”

Max was already at the bar and thinking about walleyes and didn’t hear her question.

Five minutes later he was back with the pitcher and chips.

“I only got us two glasses, seem to remember Kevin is a liberal, drinks fancy stuff on ice cubes and Stacy always gets something with an umbrella in it. I wonder if that’s what makes them woke. Or you think maybe too much school?”

“Oh, Max. You’re always going on about politics. Leave it. They’re nice people and I’ve known Stace since second grade. They just think different. Like we should help everyone. I know you’ve told me how some of your buddies couldn’t get into the apprentice program or the whatchamacallit.”

Max poured the lager. “Wouldn’t much matter now. Things are slowing down. Foreman was grumbling something about tariffs and supply chains. I’ve got 11 years in so we should be OK, but I thought I’d let you know.”

“We’ll be fine, Max. The salon where I work is always busy and I’m making good money. Hair and nails ain’t going away any time soon, you know. But just don’t talk politics when Stace and Kevin come.”

“It’s not me that starts it. Kevin’s always grumbling about Trump this or that. What does he know.” Max flexed his bicep. “You should be happy I can protect you from those aliens with these. What’s Kevin going to do? Hit them with his PC?”

“Max, please. You know Kevin wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Yeh, right.” Max chugged the last of his beer and refilled his glass. “That’s just the point. You have to be strong to survive. Look at Trump. Eighty and he’s posting day and night. Really letting those libtards have it between the eyes.”

Nancy smiled and sipped her beer. “You’re so right, Max. Why don’t you open the chips.”

It was a long week and Max was thirsty. Soon the pitcher was empty. He shmirshed his lips together marrying a smile and a pout. Nancy reached over and winked. “Seems like someone we know is thirsty. I’ll be the designated driver; too much beer makes me burp anyhow.”

“Are you sure your friends are coming? I know why – don’t you call Stacy; see if they’re still coming. Kevin’s always working extra hours. I’ll talk to Davey about fishing Sunday. Then you can wave if I should get another pitcher – some beer nuts. Nuts have lots of proteins anyhow.”

Nancy was triggered when Max said strong. She liked how he held her up against the wall when they made love. And his biceps were veined as if he had done another set of curls after showering. “Nuts” did it. She’d call Stacey, they were always late Friday nights, tell her she got a headache – no, a migraine, and they were leaving.

She watched Max walk to the bar, his butt stretching the seams of the genes. That did it. She almost laughed, imagining Max dancing to “Y.M.C.A.” She took out her phone and texted Stacey: MIGRAINE. GOING HOME, WILL CALL TOMORROW. XXXN.

She slid out of the booth and had both glasses in her hand when Max turned after talking with Davey. She nodded her head towards the door and gave Max that look.

Max deposited the pitcher on the counter and waved good night to “Uncle Sam,” the bartender, proudly posing in front of the register in his top hat and red and white striped shirt.

On the way to their car, Max put his hand around Nancy’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, thinking about raising the flag when they got home and then the fireworks that would follow. He opened the driver’s door for Nancy and then danced around to the passenger side, moving presidentially, fisted hands in front of his face, humming the Village People’s song.

Later, Nancy had told him it was the best foreplay ever and he was a true patriot! Max’s off-key humming echoed between her ears until she finally fell asleep shortly before sunrise.