Different Circles

“Wow,” Jake said, now placing this visit to Pocatello a few notches lower on his list of desirability. It was now ranked just below hanging out in summertime Baghdad during an ongoing bombing campaign that took out the electrical grid and all of the air conditioning.

Ron came trotting back over. He now had a battered looking Nikon 35-millimeter camera hanging from a strap around his neck.

“Dude!” Dallas said to him. “Do you know who this dude is?”

“No,” Ron said. “Who is he?”

“Jake Kingsley, dude! Can you believe that shit?”

Ron looked over at him, his expression neutral. “The singer, right?” He asked. “The one who snorts cocaine out of girls’ butt cracks?”

“I don’t really do much of that anymore,” Jake said.

“Probably a good idea,” Ron agreed. “I read in the paper that you might be here today. I guess that explains how someone your age can afford an Avanti. They didn’t say you’d be flying here in your own plane.”

“I guess your local reporters aren’t up to speed on celebrity stalking,” Jake said.

“I guess not,” Ron said. “Anyway, I’m gonna grab a few shots of the plane now if that’s all right.”

“Snap away,” Jake said.

“Dude!” Dallas said. “You gotta get a few shots of me and Jake together too. Is that cool, Jake?”

“Yeah, sure, that’s cool,” Jake said with a shrug. Being asked to pose for photos with someone was a depressingly common occurrence. He generally acquiesced as long as he did not have some pressing piece of business to attend to. It was all part of that ‘life we choose’ thing.

“All right,” Ron said, “but only a few. Getting film developed is not cheap, you know.”

And so, after taking about ten shots of the Avanti, capturing it from every angle, Ron then snapped a few of Jake and Dallas standing together in front of the aircraft and then to the side of it. Just as Jake started to feel they were finished, an obnoxiously blue Jeep Cherokee pulled up and parked just in front of the hangar next to Jake’s. The door opened and Laura stepped out. She was looking quite cute in her winter parka, her jeans, and her white, ear covering beanie with the little tassel ball on top. Both rampers became tongue-tied as Jake introduced them to her.

“Can we get a shot of me with both of you?” asked Dallas.

“I’ve only got three more shots on this roll,” Ron complained.

“Then use them up right now,” Dallas said, “and I’ll go in halves with you developing the roll.”

“Okay,” Ron said. “I guess that’s fair, as long as Jake’s wife is okay with it.”

“Sure,” Laura said good-naturedly. “In front of the plane?”

“Yeah, that’s a good spot,” Dallas said.

They stood in front of the plane, Laura in the middle, Jake to her right with his arm around her waist, Dallas on her left, looking awkward and making a point not to stand too close to her—as if he were afraid he might get burned if he accidentally touched her. Ron took two shots and then hesitated.

“You know,” he said. “Maybe I could be in the last shot.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jake said. “Why not?”

“Here, Dallas,” Ron said, stepping over. “Take the shot for me.”

Dallas was agreeable enough. He listened to Ron’s explanation about how to take the shot—basically just point the camera and then push the button though Ron managed to make it sound more complicated than that—and then walked over and stood on Laura’s left. Laura and Jake smiled for the camera. Ron did as well, showing a well-taken-care-of set of teeth. Dallas pushed the button and the camera cycled once and then began automatically rewinding the film cartridge.

Once the camera was done, Ron stowed it back in the truck. He and Dallas went to work and moved the plane into the hangar, doing it easily, with the skill of people who performed such a task a dozen or more times every day. They then unloaded all of the luggage from the plane and stowed it in the back of the Cherokee.

“Thanks, guys,” Jake told them when they were done. He gave each of them a twenty-dollar bill for their trouble. They seemed very appreciative of the gratuity and were soon driving off in their Chevy again.

“All right,” Jake said. “Do you know where we’re going?”

“We have the address,” Laura said.

“Yes, we do,” Jake agreed. “Do you know how to get there?”

“No,” she said. “I’ve never heard of the street before. And when I lived here, I was still too young to drive so I never really learned how to get around.”

“I see,” Jake said.

“I can call Joey on my cell and get directions,” she suggested.

“That’s okay,” Jake said with a sigh, picturing the thought of his navigationally challenged wife trying to relay secondhand directions to him on the fly. “We’ll just find a local gas station and buy ourselves a map of Pocatello. I’ll be able to get us there with that.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” she agreed. She was quite aware of her shortcomings in this area of life as well.