Down and Out in Bugtussle

by Stephanie McAfee

  “Ain’t nothin’ to it but to do it!”

  “I guess not,” I say, slipping on a very thin pair of socks. Buster Loo scurries over and starts sniffing Stacey’s go-go boots. She picks him up and baby talks him for few minutes, which he loves. Then he jumps down and scowls at me as if to say, “Why don’t you treat me like this?” I tell Stacey that Freddie has finally broken his silence and, of course, she already knows this.

  “Well, I’m ready if you are. Let’s rock and roll, sister,” I say.

  “Let’s go.”

  We drive to Tupelo and hit up three different bars before she finds one with an “atmosphere” that she digs. I order my fourth beer of the night and she orders her fifth fuzzy navel. We order appetizers and when we finish those, Stacey is ready to socialize. She hits the dance floor, but I claim that I need to stay put so we don’t lose our seats at the bar. After she dances a few jigs, she wants to go check out the men in the pool room. I reluctantly leave my bar stool and follow her into the smoke-filled area where I see eight pool tables. Each table has two players. Some tables have fans standing around watching; some don’t. I blink against the haze and wonder how I ever smoked, because I can’t stand the smell of cigarettes.

  She stops to watch a pair of guys start a new game and I stand beside her, wishing I were at home on the sofa. Of the two pool players, the one without the mullet notices us first. He gives Stacey the old once-over and then nods at his friend. The friend looks up at Stacey and smiles. How does she find so many men with mullets?

  “Well, hello, Miss Pretty Thang,” the mullet man says. I wonder if he’s joking, or maybe making fun of her, but then he sidles up beside her and I see that he’s genuinely interested. He flirts up a storm while the short-haired friend looks up from time to time to check me out. I smile. He smiles. I’m not interested. I don’t think he is, either.

  When they finish their game, Mullet Man asks Stacey to dance and she quickly accepts. I sit down on the bench next to the pool table, and Mullet’s pal sits next to me.

  “Cal,” he says, holding out a hand.

  “Ace,” I say, shaking his hand.

  “Two peas in a pod.” He nods toward Stacey and Mullet Man on the dance floor.

  “I guess,” I say. I look at him. He looks at me.

  “You need a drink?” he asks.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Yeah, me neither,” he says. “You play pool?”

  “Not even a little bit.”

  “Hmm.”

  We sit and watch as Stacey and Mullet Man dance through three more songs.

  “How ’bout some water?” Cal asks. “Or a Coke?”

  “I’d actually love a Coke.” He gets up and returns what seems like six hours later with two very small glasses of Coke. Two people have just started a pool game on their table.

  “Shit,” he mumbles. “Lost our table. Guess we won’t be playing any more for a while.” He looks over at the lounge area. “Wanna go have a seat? Booths are slightly more comfortable.”

  “That would be great.” I like Cal. He’s nice. Not pushy at all. I follow him over and sit across from him in a circular booth where we talk about everything from dogs to water skis to funny old movies. Several songs later, Stacey and Mullet Man join us. I scoot around and sit next to Cal.

  “Ace, this is Skeeter. Skeeter, Ace,” Stacey says. Despite the mullet, Skeeter is almost kind of handsome. Almost, but not quite.

  “What are y’all drinkin’?” Skeeter asks. “Let’s get another round.”

  “Coke,” Cal says.

  “Sissies,” Skeeter says with a harmless smile. He looks around for a waitress. “Stacey, you wanna beer?”

  “I’d like a fuzzy navel and a shot of Jack Daniel’s,” she says, smiling at Skeeter.

  “I like a lady who likes her whiskey,” he says. Skeeter finally flags down a waitress and places his order. “Sure y’all don’t want a real drink?” he asks. Cal and I are sure. Skeeter and Cal start talking about someone who just walked in and Stacey elbows me, nodding toward Cal with her eyebrows raised.

  “No,” I whisper. “Very nice, but no.”

  Stacey looks disappointed.

  “Aw, hell, here they come,” Cal says.

  “And look who they’ve got with ’em,” Skeeter says. “Hellfire.” And “fire” comes out “far.” This guy could be Stacey’s soul mate.

  I look up and see two couples coming our way. The person in front raises a hand and yells, “Well, lookie who’s here! Ol’ Skeet-dog and Cal-e-forn-ya! Y’all scoot over and let us sit down.”

  I find out two things relatively quickly. Number one, they all work together—the two guys work in a plant with Cal and Skeeter and the girls work in the office. And number two, our four new friends are all sloppy, stinking drunk. I try not to stare at the girls, but I can’t help it. One is wearing a skintight gold dress. The other a silky gray tank top and short shorts. Has it warmed up that much outside?

  “I’m Angel,” the gold-clad girl says after she catches me looking at her. She points to the tits of the girl next to her. “This is Leta.” I glance at Stacey and she scoots over right next to me. I scoot over right next to Cal, and four more people stuff themselves into our six-person booth.

  “I’m Ace,” I say when we’re all crammed in there nice and tight. “This is Stacey. Nice to meet y’all,” I say. I offer a pleasant smile even though my skank-alert is going off double time.

  “So, what do y’all do?” Angel asks.

  “We’re permanent substitute teachers at Bugtussle High School,” Stacey says with an embarrassing amount of pride and authority.

  “Y’all are substitute teachers?” Leta sneers.

  “Yes,” Stacey says, looking down at the table, her conviction gone.

  “Oh wow!” Leta says. “I haven’t talked to a sub since I was in high school.”

  “Like you talked to them then,” Angel says with a snort. They turn their attention to a girl walking by who’s way prettier and somewhat thinner than either of them. They start dogging the girl out and, over the next five minutes, proceed to peel off insults and put-downs about every other female in sight. Stacey glances at me.

  “Fuck those dummies,” I whisper, and she giggles. “C’mon.” I tap Cal on the shoulder. “Would you let us out, please?”

  “Sure, sure.” He gets up.

  As we walk away, I hear Leta say, “Is that your new girlfriend, Cal?” and they start that damned sniggering again. I ignore it and, once again, wish I were at home on the couch. When we’re in the restroom, I tell Stacey that I’m ready to go.

  “Is it because of those girls?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “And all that smoke is killing my eyes.”

  “Aw, man, I was having so much fun hanging out with Skeeter until that bunch showed up.”

  “Well, give him your phone number and let’s get out of here.”

  “Do you think they’re out there making fun of us like they’ve been making fun of everyone else in this place?”

  “Oh, I’m sure they are, but who cares? They’re trash.”

  “I don’t think they think they’re trash.”

  “People who are trash are never aware of it.”

  “They seem to think they’re big shots because they work in an office. Was it just me, or were you getting that vibe, too?”

  “Yeah, they’re some pretty tacky bitches.”

  She sighs. “Skeeter probably won’t even ask for my number since they showed up.” And sure enough, when we get back out there, he doesn’t. He’s so wrapped up in flirting with Angel and Leta that he doesn’t even say good-bye to Stacey.

  28

  “It was nice to meet y’all,” Cal says, looking at Skeeter like he’s ashamed of him.

  “Nice to meet y’all, too,” I say.

  “Have fun subbing next week,” Leta says, and Angel starts sniggering.

  “Yeah, we will,” I say. “And y’all have fun sucking dick next week.”
Everyone stops what they’re doing and stares at me. “What is it?” I say. “Is that not how you furniture factory secretaries get up the corporate ladder?” I look at Leta and smile. “By getting down on your knees.” I glance at Stacey and she stares back with a wide-eyed look of panic. I look at Angel and then at Leta. “I’m sorry. That’s just what I’ve always heard. Was I misinformed?”

  “Uh, excuse me,” Leta says to the guy next to her. “I need to get up.”

  “Uh, Ace, we probably need to go on and get—”

  “It’s fine, Stacey,” I tell her as I watch Leta wiggle out of the booth. “Let’s just see what she has to say.”

  “Listen, bitch,” Leta says, stepping up into my face. “You ain’t got no right dissing me and Angel like that and you won’t do it again. I can’t help it that you and your friend here are just stupid substitute teachers. Maybe someday you can get yourself a job as a real teacher.”

  “Uh, but she is a real teacher,” Stacey says. Leta ignores her.

  “Who are you calling bitch, bitch?” I say, and take a step closer to her. “For your information, I was a ‘real’ teacher for almost six years, but I quit that job and moved to Florida for a while where I ran my own art gallery. You probably don’t even know what that is since you appear to be about as cultured as a cockroach. I have a little something called a bachelor’s degree, also known as an education, which I’m fairly sure you’re short on, too, since you have almost as much self-esteem as a common prostitute and the grammar skills of a third-year sixth grader.” Leta just stares at me, her cranberry-colored lips spread wide. “C’mon back.”

  “You better watch your mouth when you talk to me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “Did I use too many three-syllable words? I apologize.” I glance down to see Cal and the other guys sniggering while Angel glares at me.

  “Go to hell!” Leta says finally.

  “Oh wow. That’s the most original comeback ever. Aren’t you a clever one? I bet you don’t have to suck dick to keep your job after all.” I look at Stacey. “Let’s go.”

  “You don’t talk to me like that!” Leta yells. She picks up the drink closest to her and draws back like she’s going to toss it on me. I reach over and slap it out of her hand.

  “Aw, hell no!” Angel says, and starts squirming out of the booth.

  “Ace, uh, can we please go now? I think things are about to get out of hand.”

  Angel is coming toward me, pointing and cussing. I put my hand on her face and push her back down into the booth.

  “Sit,” I tell her.

  “Don’t you treat her like no dog!” Leta screams. Then she hurls her giant purse, which appears to be a fake Gucci, at my head. I step aside and watch the purse slam into a woman on the edge of the dance floor who is none too happy to be hit in the back by a flying bag. I step over and kick the purse back to Leta, who quickly picks it up and draws back again.

  “Hit me with that purse again and I’ll knock your damned teeth out,” the lady shouts at Leta. Angel gets up and takes a swing at me and I push her down by her face again. This time, she misses the booth and slides down on the floor, her wide-spread legs revealing an electric blue thong.

  “Who throws a purse?” I ask the lady on the dance floor. She rolls her eyes and turns away. I look around for Stacey Dewberry and see her making a beeline for the door. Angel is cussing and rolling around on the floor. The four men are just sitting in the booth, watching the melee with genuine interest. Well, except for Skeeter, who is leaned over getting an eyeful of Angel’s cooter. I look at Leta just in time to see that she’s picked up another drink, only this one is full. She draws it back to throw it but instead pours beer down the front of her skimpy tank top. She screams and I start laughing like a hyena and then she throws the glass at me. Her high level of intoxication makes her moves slow and predictable, so instead of trying to deflect the heavy beer mug, I step aside and it collides with the noggin of the lady who was just hit by the purse.

  The woman turns around with hell’s fury in her eyes, and I point to Leta and say, “You know who did that. She’s been talking about your boots all night.” The woman makes a charge at Leta, and they tumble into the pool area where they cause one player to sling his beer onto another guy who jumps up and punches him in the face. In a matter of seconds, there’s an all-out brawl going on. I watch with great amusement until Stacey Dewberry shows up beside me and says, “If we go to jail, then we’re getting fired and you might not care, but I do, so would you please stop rubberneckin’ and come on!”

  “I don’t think rubbernecking is the correct term for what I’m doing.”

  “Well, I’m outta here!”

  I follow her around the thickening crowd and out the door. We get in my car and pull out just as the cops start wheeling into the parking lot.

  “Just in time,” I say, then glance over at Stacey. “Dang! That was something. Is that what you do every weekend?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Are you mad? Don’t be mad. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have acted like that.”

  “Dang it, Ace!” she says. “Something like that could get us both fired. We got out of there just in time. I don’t like stuff like that. I don’t like fighting and all that mess.”

  “They started it,” I say like a child. “I’m not going to stand around and be insulted by human garbage like those two skanks.” I shake my head. “Not happening. Sorry. I don’t tolerate bitches and bullies. I never will.”

  We ride in silence for a few miles.

  “I didn’t know you were such a firecracker,” Stacey says, finally loosening up. “When you popped off that dick-sucking comment, I was so shocked that I couldn’t do anything but just stand there for a minute.” She giggles. “Man, and did you see the look on their faces? I mean, of all the things they thought you might say, I could tell that was not on the list.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry I bailed like I did. I should’ve stayed beside you.”

  “No, you were right to want to leave. I mean, it would’ve been a great time for me to take the high road and walk away, but unfortunately I’m not a frequent traveler on the high road.”

  “I had no idea you had that kind of spunk in you! Man! Don’t mess with Ace Jones!”

  “I haven’t been myself lately,” I tell her. “Except for the occasional bout of road rage.”

  “Well, welcome back, Rocky Balboa!” she says, and I start laughing. “Hey, you said back there that you had an art gallery in Florida. That sounds pretty cool. What happened to it? I mean, why did you leave?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I say.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I just don’t.”

  “I’m guessing whatever reason that is might be why you haven’t been yourself lately?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “That’s part of it. I’ll tell you all about it sometime, I promise. Just not now.”

  “Okay, well, just so you know, I like what I saw tonight,” she says. “I wish I could talk to people like that.”

  “No, you don’t,” I tell her. “Because now I’m not one bit better than those idiotic morons because I stooped down to their level.”

  “You’re all right, Ace Jones. I think you just need to ease up on yourself because you are all right.”

  29

  Sunday morning, I get up bright and early and take Buster Loo for a walk in the park. When I get home, I see that I’ve missed a call from Lilly, which is doubly odd seeing as how she’s a habitual texter known for sleeping until noon on the weekend.

  “You started a barroom brawl? Are you serious?” Lilly asks when I call her back. The sound of her laughing makes me happy. “What was Stacey doing?”

  “Running for the door,” I tell her. “She thought it was funny later, but while it was all going on, she was trying to get the hell outta there.”

  “I hate I missed all that,” Lilly says.

  “Well, it was pretty funny, but I kind of wished I’d miss
ed it, too.”

  “So are you going out with her again anytime soon?”

  “She probably won’t ask me after that fiasco!” I say. “And to think I was worried about her doing something crazy.”

  “It’s hard to out-crazy you, Ace Jones.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lilly tells me that she talked to Dax and he’ll be flying out of Fort Bragg, North Carolina, in four weeks.

  “He’s not even coming home before he leaves for a freakin’ year-long deployment to a war zone?” I ask.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Lilly tells me. “He said that’s why the army gave him a two-week notice before training. So he could say all of his good-byes.”

  “That is bullshit!”

  “Yeah, as it turns out, there’s a lot of bullshit involved with this deal.”

  “So if you want to see him before he leaves, you have to go all the way to Fort Bragg, North Carolina?”

  “Yes,” she says. “And I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  “Yes,” I say before she even has a chance to ask. “I’ll go with you.”

  “I’ll buy your plane ticket.”

  “Girl, I just got my monthly substitute teacher stipend—I’m loaded!” I say, laughing.

  “Please let me buy your ticket, Ace.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Well, I’m paying for the hotel and all of our meals.”

  “You can pay for the hotel.”

  “Fine then, I will. So do you want to come over and let’s get our tickets?”

  “I’m on my way,” I tell her. “I’ll bring lunch.” I swing by China Kitchen and pick up our favorite dishes, which we eat at the dainty white table in her canary yellow kitchen. After lunch, I get on her brand-new computer and search travel sites until I find the lowest airfare from Memphis, Tennessee, to Fayetteville, North Carolina.

  “I’m happy we’re flying with this particular airline, because they don’t charge extra for bags and I know you’ll be taking your entire wardrobe.”

  “And my shoes,” she says, and she isn’t joking. “I tried looking for tickets before you got here, but one of those airlines upped the fare twenty-seven dollars after I picked my seat and that was before they added all of their taxes and mystery fees!” Lilly says. “It was pissing me off.”