The shift
went long today, but summer nights are long, too.
The phone rings. Brody calling.
‘Yeah?’
‘Where y'at?’
‘Driving south, Route 50’
‘Well step on it. We’re gittin' after it.’
I hang up on him and stow the phone in the seat cushion to keep it from bouncing around the cab. I’ll get there when I get there.
The dirt parking lot is full. Park the truck on the road and walk in.
These are my day clothes – a denim shirt with my name embroidered over the breast pocket. Any sign of employment is a good sign in this place.
The
bouncer waves me in. He recognizes cool. Also, we were classmates at
county junior college.
A stoic fucker like me walks in and hoots erupt from the bar: high fives, and a lusty hug from Jezebel. She hugs everybody, so not a big deal. A shot of Cuervo because it’s summer.
Out of thin air, I sniff out a gaze, catch a smile. She’s mixed in with the usual crowd. Somebody’s cousin, probably. I’ll keep an eye on her. See if this goes anywhere.
But in the
meantime, there’s a line dance to join, more toasts to be raised, a fool whose money I need to take at the
pool table, some business to conduct in the alley, a group of smokers in the
parking lot to entertain.
And she’s still around, still looking, still smiling.
What a fun night. Even if she’s got to go back to wherever she came from, I'd be okay with it all.
The staggers get more swagger, the voices grow louder and come from deeper in the throat. More diaphragm, more energy, more lust. Daniel’s at it again. He’s gonna get it bad one of these nights, which will be a drag because he’s a friend and I’d have to defend him.
But, it looks like he’s fading fast, so probably nothing to worry about tonight.
Back inside, there’s one more last chance.
It's the voice of Buck Owens, like a spark from a Tesla coil: ‘Together… again... My tears have stopped falling.... The long lonely nights... are now... at an end.’
A faulty speaker cone buzzes at every downbeat, but nobody complains about it anymore.
Lovers coalesce. Protons attracted to electrons, inhibitions stripped away by the high frequency wail of a Tom Brumley steel guitar riff. The good old boys and good old girls transform into spinning, entangled particles on the dance floor -- some couples tight, discrete and polite; others loose, lewd and a bit rude.
And there she is, with nothing to do but wait for me to ask.
She’s warm. She's soft. She smells like clean sheets somehow, even after five hours of drinking, smoking and dancing in the summer heat. How the hell do they do that?
Her neck, her shoulder, her lips twitch and yield to my wandering face. I haven't shaved in 14 hours, but she doesn't seem to mind one bit. Maybe she's just being polite. Her hips, the small of her back, the back pocket of her jeans fit perfectly into the palm of every one of my hands.
Positive attracted to negative, as close as the laws of nature will allow.
The last guitar strum dissolves, and the abrupt house lights send dancers scattering like nocturnal insects. She and I both know where this is going, so we journey hand-in-hand through the dirt parking lot to my truck.
Along the way, I take a moment to prevent a violent drunk from killing his girlfriend in a boozy rage, much to the
relief of the local deputy. The officer is hopelessly overworked and dangerously under-equipped
to handle the kind of debauchery that lurks around here. His presence increases
the risk of death and heartbreak, and he knows it.
Afterward, in my truck, she wipes a drop of blood from my brow, a minor consequence of decisive action.
I drive
her into town, where I drop her off at her doorstep with a slow hug and long
kiss, tip my hat and amble on. She's puzzled, perturbed, but curious. I expect she'll come calling soon enough.
Head back to the shop. Skip church and pick up another shift. I'll use the extra cash to buy the two of us some surf and turf, or maybe rent a shiny car and take a weekend trip to the hot springs.
Anything’s possible. I have my health, a job, and girl who likes me.
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