Helen

         Five are on the porch, and the center of the floor sank slightly under the weight. After many years the wood planking had absorbed the moisture in the air from the ocean, which chops roughly on windy days like this one, which causes it to feel like more of a trampoline at times than a solid floor. Three are drinking gin and tonics, and myself and Tom are drinking from a handle of scotch. After the two women arrived Tom had started to talk about his boxing and kept going since. He's in the amateur circuit, but never good enough to break out. Tom's tough but he doesn't train for it; he was born for fighting but not for learning, and boxing is more than being tough. He's a short, stocky, second generation Italian who tried to convince everyone he was first generation.
         He starts in on a story about how he got whipped in the first round by a younger Hispanic kid, got angry and came out swinging in the second, laying him out on a left hook that nobody ever sees coming. I've heard it enough times to know that, if his left hook was as good as he makes it to be, the fight should have never made the second round.
         "So I'm spitting blood because the Spick caught me nappin'," Tom says, then takes another drink before continuing. "I spit blood off the side of the ring, and man," pausing to look at the girls, "Oh man, was it thick. Like tomato sauce. Thick. And then I knew I had to come out because hell if I was going to get beat by a kid. Especially a young Mexican kid." The girls laugh because they don't know Tom, and he loves new ears. "So the bell sounds, and I jump out at him, swinging for the fences. I'll give the kid credit, he was ducking and dodging like a prize fighter. Hell of a boxer, that kid. But I had been saving my hook," he says, turning his left hand into a fist and coming across. "Stand up, Parker. Right here," he points and I take the stance he always wants me to take when telling this particular story. "Come on. Stand up like you're a fighter and not a lover, huh?"
         I stand like a fighter and Tom illustrates how he knocked the Mexican kid out cold with a left hook, analyzing his flawless second round like a symphony, before sitting down and getting back to the bottle.
         "And I'll be the first one to say it," Tom says, "That kid could fight. He really could. Heard he moved and went professional somewhere out in Texas."
         They are good looking girls and Tom wants the brunette like he always does but he can't crack her. She smiles but women do that when they're drinking whether they mean it or not and Tom never has the guts to make them mean it. The redhead talks too much but she's nice and it isn't all a waste of breath and when she comes to sit next to me I put my hand on her leg and she doesn't move away. Her legs are longer than they should be and white like milk. The drinks keep coming and Tom starts running his mouth to Jimmy about how he doesn't have the guts to be a fighter. Jimmy shrugs it off but the brunette and the redhead are uncomfortable after this and for the next minute the only sound is that of the ocean smashing into the rocks and the lions barking off the pier miles down the beach.
         The brunette asks Jimmy if he has a girl, and he doesn't, and both of these things together have Jimmy smiling and getting the brunette closer. Jimmy and I have been at it for hours, and as the drinks loosen everyone up, the women turn into a collection of curves and Jimmy and I turn into collectors. Tom fumes at Jimmy because he wants the brunette, but Jimmy's busy and doesn't notice.
         "Let's do something besides sit here like a bunch of nothings, huh?," Tom says.
         "What do you have in mind, Tom?," I say.
         "Shit. Jimmy, let's box! I haven't gotten a good scrap in awhile, and I know you got the gloves for it."
         Jimmy looks at me, then looks at the brunette, then looks down the brunette, and finally at Tom. "No, I'm alright. Why don't you just have another drink, Tom?"
         "Because I don't want another drink," Tom says, dropping the tone of his voice. "I want you to be a man and fight me."
         Jimmy looks at the brunette, smiles. She understands. "Let's go inside," he tells her. She nods and follows him in.
         "That guy never had any stones. Don't get me wrong, I like him, just never had any stones. You know," he says, clearly pleased with scaring Jimmy off and focusing on the redhead now, he grabs his crotch. "Nothing here, you know?"
         Tom laughs like we expect him to. "Why don't you take it easy for a bit, Tom?"
         He pauses, takes a drink from the handle, and looks over my redhead again. "Come on, Parker. You've got stones. You're not like Jimmy. Let's have a fight. I'll take it easy on you," he says, grinning. "Wouldn't want to embarrass you. You know, in front of the lady."
         She's looking at me and it wasn't like how the brunette looked at Jimmy and I knew she wasn't as much of a woman as I would have guessed. I take a drink from the handle and look at the redhead, and we both understand now. She needs to see it. "Alright," I say.

         It's not long before I'm bleeding from the nose and the ridge of my eyebrow is swelling up. He's pouring it on and the redhead is eating it up. He gets me down on a staggered right and I'm shaken. He's talking to the redhead, and Jimmy and the brunette who are back on the porch to watch but I can't make out the words but I know Tom and it isn't flattering. He's comfortable and if I have a chance it's when I get
back up and he tries to finish with the left. He goes high and if I duck it and come up swinging he brings his right back and I can get the chin.
         I get back up and Tom's still talking to the redhead and she's smiling like he's been the man for her all along. I spit, it's blood, and I'm not surprised. We do a few circles before he comes in for the finish and when he comes with the left hook, I duck it and throw everything into a right coming up across the chin. It lands and he stumbles and I keep up the pressure until a bodyshot drops his gloves and I put him down with a few on the side of the head. He goes down and I sit on the grass and I can taste the blood pooling in my mouth and my tongue finds the cut and covers it but doesn't stop much blood. Jimmy brings us the handle and Tom and I have a drink but it burns the cut bad so I make mine short.

         We both get cleaned up go back out onto the porch. The ridge of my eye pulses where the big shot landed and the redhead won't look at me anymore. Tom and I keep drinking without saying much. Jimmy tells us he's taking the girls home and I know I lost it when Tom knocked me down and made it ugly. Tom and I watch the brunette and the redhead walk down the stairs, have another drink, and don't say much. The scotch is cheap but it tastes better now than it did earlier.
         "You aren't going to admit that I got you good, are you?"
         "What are you talking about? I stopped fighting because I was starting to get angry and you shouldn't fight a friend angry."
         We take long, silent hits back and forth until the bottle is gone.
         "You know," I say, making sure he's looking at me, "you've always been a bastard, Tom, but at least you saved me from that woman."