"Naw," Jake said dismissively. "I'm cool."
"All right then," Tommy said. He went back around to the driver's seat and stepped inside. A moment later, he was gone.
Jake tossed the cigarette he was smoking into the row of bushes against his driveway and then headed for the front door. The porch light was on but the rest of the house was dark. Elsa had undoubtedly gone to bed by now. He stumbled a few times as he went up the marble steps and was fumbling with his keys when he suddenly had the overwhelming sense that someone was coming up on him fast from behind.
Adrenaline flooded through his body and he spun around, dropping his keys to the ground and bringing his fists up. The alcohol had dulled his senses just enough that he was too late on the turn. He caught a brief glimpse of a familiar looking person rapidly closing on him, a fist cocked back for action.
"You motherfucker!" he heard the person bark, and then that fist connected with his face, just below his left eye.
Stars exploded before Jake's vision and he staggered backwards, slamming into his front door. Before he could recover, the man's other fist swung from the other direction, catching him in the side of the head. The blow hurt Jake, but apparently not as bad as it hurt his assailant.
"Owww! Goddammit!" the man whined, shaking his fist in pain.
Jake shook his head to clear the fuzziness and then instinctively counter-attacked. He didn't know who this person was or why he was attacking, but he wasn't going to go down without a fight. He stepped forward and jabbed three times with his left, hitting the man in the nose, the cheek, and the eye. He then swung a roundhouse with his right, connecting solidly with the man's chin.
The last punch did the trick. His assailant dropped like a bag of bricks, thumping to the concrete of Jake's porch, where he lay there, moaning in pain and... was that crying? Yes, to Jake, it sounded like the man was actually crying!
Jake kneeled down and grabbed the man by the back of his hair. He lifted up on his head and stared at his face. He found himself looking at a bleary-eyed Scott Adams Winslow, who was now blubbering in pain and fear. The odor of alcohol was radiating off of him in reeking waves.
"I'm sorry!" Winslow whined. "I don't now what I was doing! Please don't hurt me anymore!"
"Winslow?" Jake asked, his dazed mind still trying to come to some sort of comprehension about what had just happened. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"I'm sorry," Winslow whimpered. He was now trembling all over. "I shouldn't have tried this. I'm not a fighter. Please don't hit me anymore, Jake."
Jake let go of the man's hair and stood up. "I'm not gonna hit you anymore," he said. "At least not if you don't try to hit me."
Winslow looked up slowly, large tears running down his cheeks. "Really?" he said.
"Really," Jake said. "Why don't you stand up?"
Winslow hesitated, as if he thought Jake was going to attack him when he stood. Finally, after a few more reassurances, he put his feet beneath him and rose up. He swayed a few times and looked like he was going to fall, but somehow managed to keep his equilibrium.
"You okay?" Jake asked, seeing a trickle of blood coming from Winslow's left nostril and the beginnings of swelling under his left eye.
Winslow sniffed a few times. "Not really," he said. "But I'll live."
Jake nodded, touching the swelling under his own eye. He was going to have a shiner tomorrow. He could already tell. "What's going on here, Winslow?" Jake asked. "Why are you attacking me on my front porch? How did you even get here?"
"I followed you from the Grammy Awards," Winslow said. "I've been drinking all night and when I saw your face on TV on a newscast... well... I guess I acted kind of impulsively. Before I knew what was happening, I was parked down the street with a pair of binoculars and a bottle of scotch. When I saw you come out after the ceremony I just followed your limo home."
"You drove like this?" Jake asked, astounded. The man was obviously smashed to the gills. Even Matt didn't drive this drunk.
Winslow nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Not a good idea, I know. But then this whole stupid thing was a bad idea. Jesus, I can't believe I thought I could take you in a fight."
"Well... I'm glad you didn't bring a gun," Jake said. "You caught me by surprise."
"I don't own a gun," Winslow said, "or I might've."
Jake felt a chill go down his spine. "What's this all about?" he asked, although he already had a pretty good idea. Somehow, Winslow had found out that Jake had been fucking Mindy. Was that why they were getting divorced? But it was Mindy who had filed the papers, wasn't it?
"It's a long story," Winslow said. "One I don't really care to share with anyone. I think I'll just go home."
"Now wait a minute," Jake said. "I think I have a right to know why a man is trying to kick my ass. And you're way too drunk to be driving. Why don't you come inside and have a cup of coffee and we'll talk about this?"
A few more tears rolled down Winslow's face and he blubbered once more. "Okay," he finally squeaked. "Some coffee would be... be... nice."
Jake picked up his keys (keeping a wary eye on Winslow as he did so, just in case the man decided to attack again) and opened the front door. Elsa was standing there, dressed in her nightgown, the cordless phone in one hand, a concerned expression on her face.
"Mr. Kingsley?" she asked carefully. "I heard a commotion and came to see what was happening. Is everything all right?"
"Everything's all right, Elsa," Jake said. "You didn't call the cops, did you?"
"No," she said. "I was waiting to see what transpired." She cast an unfriendly eye at Winslow. "Should I call them?"
"I don't think that will be necessary," Jake told her. "Do you think you could make us a pot of coffee though?"
"Of course," she said, standing aside and letting the two men enter. "And it looks like you could both use an icepack?"
"Absolutely," Jake said.
They went inside. Jake directed Winslow to sit on the first piece of furniture they encountered, which was the little-used antique couch that sat in the formal living room. Winslow sat down humbly, still weeping softly. Elsa gave him a box of tissues and a wastebasket.
"Blow your nose," she told him. "And drop the tissues in the basket, if you will."
"Of course," Winslow blubbered. "I'm really sorry about all this. I don't usually..."
"You don't need to apologize to me," Elsa said. "I just work here."
"I'm sorry," Winslow said again, putting the first tissue to his nose.
"Jake, could you come get the ice packs?" Elsa asked.
"Sure," Jake said. He followed her into the kitchen.
"Isn't that Scott Adams Winslow?" Elsa asked now that they were out of earshot.
"Yeah," Jake said. "That's him."
"He's Mindy Snow's husband?"
"Well... I hear she just filed for divorce, but yes."
Elsa shook her head in consternation as she opened a drawer and removed a box of quart sized zipper bags. "I would assume that he found out that you and Mindy have been spending some time together lately?" she asked.
Jake looked at her in surprise for a moment and then sighed. Had he really thought that Elsa hadn't known who his "new friend" really was? Yes, he had really thought that. "It's starting to look like he might have," he said.
"It would seem he's a bit upset about this discovery," Elsa commented as she opened the freezer. She began to fill two bags with cubes from the automatic icemaker tray.
"That's a bit of an understatement," Jake said.
"All you all right?"
"Quite," Jake said. "As the man said, he's not much of a fighter."
"Hmmph," Elsa said, closing the freezer and zipping the two bags shut. "You do manage to get yourself into some interesting situations, Jake. Working here is never boring."
"I don't suppose it is," Jake agreed.
Elsa pulled two kitchen towels out of another drawer and wrapped the ice bags with them. She then handed them to Jake. "Put these on your faces," she said. "I'll bring the coffee out when it's done. If he decides to attack you again, don't beat him. Just restrain him and yell for me and I'll call the police."