The Poor Sport

by

Chevy Foster

While waiting for his friend, Dr. John Hale sipped his second scotch. Scotch was not his usual drink. He preferred, and usually ordered, a vodka collins. In fact, he didn't really like the taste of liquor at all, but drank only for companionship, and because he enjoyed the atmosphere of the Don Juan. It wasn't one of those gay bars where Don challenged Juan. Quite the contrary. The Don Juan was locally famous for full strength drinks, empathetic bartenders and for a reputation as the rendezvous where middle-aged women bartered with young men over dates for sale.

John glanced at his watch as Sandy walked through the door. He was twenty minutes late only at the hospital was Sandy noted for his punctuality. John didn't mind, not this evening. He grinned to himself imagining Sandy's reaction to the crazy thing that had just happened. This weekly date at the Don Juan had been his idea and a damned good one. Since they both lived in interns' quarters at Memorial, it had been wise to let friendship mellow away from hospital pressures, inter-coms and antiseptics. Here, they could sit side by side without restraint and talk of people and ideas and feelings and, more important, make plans for getting a residency together where their mutual admiration would continue to flourish.

Sandy's glance traveled from the glass of scotch to the brightness in John's eyes. "What's the word?"

John smiled.

The bartende, came over, grinning a little too wisely. "Hi, Doc-the usual, or are you on scotch tonight, too?"

"The usual vodka collins, Joe." Again Sandy turned to John. "Any news on your residency?"

"No. What makes you think that?"

Sandy sighed. John was being purposely obtuse. Residency was the big question in every intern's mind right now. "You're all lit up, boy. Now come onwhat or who flipped the switch?"

"Well, I do feel a little high-but it isn't important." John stopped while the bartender gave Sandy his drink. "Another for me, Joe."

"Another scotch?"

"Might as well.”

"You on scotch now?" Sandy asked.

"Just today and what a day!"

A woman, not young, but expensive-looking and beautifully groomed, came in. John touched his friend's hand. "There's one!"

They both watched as the woman removed her dark glasses and gave them a quick once over that lingered a shade too long on the ring each man wore on the little finger of his left hand. She finally wiggled onto a stool beside an undersized male barely old enough to drink and obviously not able to pay for it.

one

10