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none of this should have come as a surprise. We all knew how Chuckie was. Last season we’d come in dead last, but there wasn’t much Chuckie was willing to do about it. A couple of us had talked to Linda Sue about joining the team. She used to be a professional athlete, right? Even in a dress she’d play better ball than most of us. But when we brought the idea up to Chuckie he just about flipped.
    “No straight guys,” he said flatly.
    “Linda Sue’s not your average straight guy,” Simon had pointed out.
    “I don’t care what he is. He’s not playing with us.”
    “She,” I said. “I think it’s polite to say she.”
    “He’s not trans, he’s a transvestite. My sister is trans. I’m not giving the same respect to a straight guy who likes to raid his wife’s closet.”
    There wasn’t too much to say to that, so we let it drop.
    The security guard waved me by when I showed my ID, so I didn’t have to wait in line to go through the metal detector. I got into the elevator. Pressed eight. There were two other people going to lower floors. I didn’t pay much attention. For some reason I started thinking about what it was like when I first started going to the bars. I didn’t fit in there and, for the first time in my life, I didn’t know how to pretend I fit in. I mean, I didn’t know anything about Lady Gaga or Project Runway or the Kardashians. I actually had a guy once laugh at me because I couldn’t name a single drag queen.
    “Seriously? Not even Harvey Fierstein?” He’d asked. I just shrugged. Why would a drag queen be named Harvey? I thought they all had silly names?
    The first couple of years that I was out, or whatever, weren’t so great. Then I found the gay bowling league. That made things better. I fit in. I was a good bowler, so that helped. And some of the guys knew about sports. And then I started with the Birdmen. For the first time I really felt like I fit in.
    Things were good. I liked playing with the Birdmen. I shouldn’t mess with that. I probably shouldn’t have told Fetch not to email Bob. I didn’t really know Lionel. I mean, I liked him but big deal. I couldn’t really see myself with someone like that. Not for more than a few dates. I needed to stay out of the mess with Chuckie. If the guys wanted to email Bob, well that was up to them. I wasn’t going to email Bob. Beyond that it wasn’t my business.
    I walked into the room where I worked. The far wall was wall-to-wall windows looking out at the sprawl of Los Angeles County. That was nice. It gave patients something to look at. Three treadmills were spread across the wide room. Along the inside wall were cabinets where we kept supplies. Most of the drawers were empty. We didn’t need that many supplies. I used one for my keys and wallet and a light jacket if it was chilly. On the south wall was a row of plastic chairs for people to wait in.
    I almost didn’t notice the old guy sitting there because I was wondering if I should just not show up for dinner with Lionel. That wouldn’t be very nice. He’d think I was an incredible asshole. But maybe that would be good. If he thought I was an asshole it would be over. I couldn’t change my mind and he could blame the whole thing on me. The problem was, I didn’t want Lionel thinking I was an asshole.
    The old guy cleared his throat. I glanced at my watch, but before I could really focus he said, “I’m early. Sorry.”
    “No problem.”
    The guy was in his sixties, his skin pale and chalky, his lips a bit blue. Heart patients were funny. They either looked just fine and the problems going on inside were a big surprise or they were like this guy. He obviously had problems. I knew from experience that his test wasn’t going to go so well. Whatever result we got would lead to something. Best case, he’d have to have a relatively simple procedure like an angio. Worst case, he was in for some open-heart surgery. Either way, his stress test was a step toward making