He came to the door of his office and waved me over. “John! Get in here. There’s someone that wants to talk to you.”I sighed, figuring that it was bad news. It was the only kind that I seemed to get. He handed me the phone and I reluctantly answered. “John Hooker,” I said crisply, embracing the moment.“John!” said a jovial voice from the other end of the phone. “Damon Porter from UFC. How’re you feeling after your fight Saturday?”“Mostly feeling lucky to be alive considering that Hastings must eat bigger meals than my weight,” I said dryly, giving Denny a dirty look.“How DID you draw the short straw on that fight?” he asked.“No idea,” I admitted. “My first clue that I was about to die was when he walked up to me on Saturday to introduce himself to me. I hadn’t been told I was fighting outside my weight class.”“Really?!!?” he blurted. “You didn’t train for that specifically?”“If they’d told me I was fighting someone that much larger, I would have told Denny to go fuck himself. Then I. ’ ‘How can you be so sure, Patrick? You don’t know my Dad.’ ‘Just call it a gut feeling. You will have to trust me on this one, Marie. Grudging respect is better than polite disdain,’ and I did trust him, ‘I’m really looking forward to the pancakes though. Let’s hope that there are no unwanted interruptions.’ ‘Not so fast with the pancakes. I’m not done kissing you yet.’ *************************** I can’t seem to get enough hugs and kisses from my Blue Knight. I hope Patrick is right, but I have to prepare him. I grew up observing the interaction of my father with his close male friends, Dad was totally different with my ex-husband. Dad and his friends would laugh and joke over a glass of wine or a bottle of beer. Sometimes they would argue loudly in heated debates, going back and forth good-naturedly insulting one another. Father Joe, Uncle Joe was in my circle of Dad’s two close friends. Michael McMahon was the other. The three were friends since grade school. Uncle Joe could.
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