Don't Order Dog: 1 (Jeri Halston Series)

by C. T. Wente

  A short man in faded corduroys and an oversized wool sweater turned and waved her towards his group of friends. “Yo - right here,” he replied. He passed the drinks to his friends, who nodded and smiled at Jeri in thanks. The man then looked at Jeri as he sipped at the frothy head of his beer.

  “So, are you her?” he asked.

  “Her who?” Jeri responded, assuming an air of obliviousness.

  “Jeri. You’re Jeri in the letters, right?” His eyes quickly flickered over her figure before returning back to her impassive stare. “You’ve got to be her.”

  “I am indeed,” Jeri replied as she nodded at the man and quickly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “That’ll be twenty-four dollars please.”

  “Right.” He quickly pulled out a wad of crumpled bills and handed them to Jeri, smiling up at her with an earnest smile. “I can see why he writes to you. You’re a very beautiful woman.”

  Jeri stopped counting the money and glanced at the man as he raised his glass to her and took a drink. She studied his face for a trace of sarcasm or humor before realizing he was offering an honest compliment. “Oh, well, thanks,” she replied, surprised by the remark. “Do you need change?”

  “No, we’re good. Thanks Jeri.” The man gave her a lingering stare before joining his friends as Jeri turned and headed back towards the bar. A dull, unsettling feeling began to take weight in her stomach as she slipped through the dense crowd. Along the way, Jeri noticed with growing alarm that the conversations around her would suddenly pause as she passed, and she could feel the eyes she’d spent years getting used to now staring at her with renewed interest. As much as she wanted to pretend otherwise, the vibe in the saloon was very different, and it had something to do with her. For some reason beyond her understanding, Jeri was now the center of interest, and the idea was making her sick.

  Jeri was just beginning to imagine the reason for this sudden interest when a thin, pasty-faced man that looked closer to puberty than drinking age abruptly stepped in front of her.

  “Hi Jeri, I’m Josh!” the man exclaimed excitedly as he held out a gaunt hand. “It’s great to finally meet you!”

  Jeri instinctively stepped away from the young man, unsure whether his enthusiasm was drunkenness or a slight social handicap. “Hi Josh,” she replied warily, clenching the tray with both hands to avoid shaking his hand. “How can I help you?”

  “I just wanted to introduce myself,” the young man said, smiling back at her with large, dark brown eyes that darted nervously under a flat crop of shapeless black hair. His pale, waxy skin seemed to glow in the dull light of the bar. To Jeri, he looked exactly like the type of smart, nerdy kid that provided comic relief on a TV sitcom.

  “Okay… well, nice to meet you, Josh,” Jeri replied, pointing at the bar behind him. “Now, if you don’t mind, I really need to get back to work.”

  “Oh…yeah sure,” Josh replied vacantly, still standing in her way. Jeri was about to push past him when he suddenly raised his hand and smiled eagerly. “Hey, I just wanted to ask… did you like my story?”

  “What story?”

  The young man gave her a dumbfounded smile before laughing awkwardly.

  “Oh c’mon, you… you know,” he stammered. “The story I wrote in the ‘Jack about you and your, uh… pen pal. It came out this morning.”

  Jeri shook her head in confusion. It was odd enough that the nerdy kid standing in front of her was old enough to be in college, let alone allowed in a bar. He was also apparently writing stories about her in the University paper. She dimly noticed that the noise of the crowd seemed to be rising with her impatience.

  “Do you know me, Josh?” she asked irritably.

  “Know you? Well um, no… not really. That’s why I–”

  “Then how did you manage to write a story about me if we haven’t even met?”

  “Oh that,” Josh replied, swallowing uncomfortably. “Yeah, well… you see, I was in here drinking with some buddies one night and we were reading the letters and staring at the photos and I… you know, I thought ‘man, I should totally write a story about these’ and yeah… so, I did.”

  Jeri stared at him silently.

  “I was, like, really hoping we’d get a chance to talk before I submitted it,” he continued, his dark eyes watching her apologetically. “But you know how it goes with deadlines and stuff. Luckily, Joe the bar owner was nice enough to give me a quote when I called him.”

  “Do you have a copy of the story on you?” Jeri asked flatly.

  “Oh... yeah sure!” Josh replied excitedly as he reached into his laptop satchel and pulled out a copy of the paper. “Here you go. You can have that one!”

  Jeri glanced briefly at the paper before grabbing it and leveling an angry stare at the young man. “Are you even old enough to be in here, Josh?”

  Josh smiled and nodded his pale head. “Oh yeah… totally! I know I look young, but I’m actually twenty-two.”

  Jeri nodded back at him. “Good, that also means you’re old enough for me to sue you if I find anything libelous in your story. Now step aside.”

  A frightened stare was plastered on the young man’s face as Jeri brushed past him and headed towards the bar. Through the crowd she could see her male co-worker – a tall, heavyset college senior named Owen – frantically trying to keep up with the drink orders. Owen normally only worked weekends, but Jeri had called him in to help with the unexpected mob. He gave her an obvious look of relief as she slipped back behind the counter.

  “Just in time,” he muttered, nodding towards the door. “More coming in.”

  Jeri looked up to see the heavy oak entry door groaning on its hinges as more bodies pushed their way into the saloon. “Oh god,” she said as the new wave of patrons headed toward the bar. “Please tell me this isn’t all because of me.”

  “What– you didn’t know?” Owen replied, quickly flipping the handles of the beer taps as he filled another order. “Of course this is all because of you. You and those strange fucking letters.” Before Jeri could respond, her coworker produced another copy of The Lumberjack from beneath the bar and slapped it down on the counter in front of her. “There you go,” he muttered, smiling at her sarcastically. “Enjoy your fifteen minutes of fame.”

  Jeri quickly scanned the front page. On the lower left hand corner was an article under the “Local Beat” section written by a Josh Wilhelm. The pale face and dark eyes of the young man she’d just met peered back at her from the small photo beneath the author’s name. Jeri moaned as she read the title.

  “Local Bartender Romanced by International Mystery Man”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “I need three long islands, Jeri,” her colleague shouted over the din of the bar. “Can you help a brother out?”

  Jeri nodded dully as her eyes stayed fixed on the paper. Her hands seemed to work automatically at mixing the drinks as she read the article.

  “In a manner more befitting of a Hollywood screenplay than a late-night bar romance, a local woman has become unexpectedly intertwined in an old-school courtship by an international man of mystery.

  And she doesn’t even know his name.

  Jeri Halston, an alumnus of NAU who bartends at the Joe’s Last Stand Saloon in old downtown, has been receiving cryptic love letters since September from an unnamed gentleman who only refers to himself as the “Mysterious Joe’s Last Stand Guy”. In the letters, which have been enshrined on a wall in the old saloon for the enjoyment of its patrons by owner Joe Brown, the mystery author provides a comically convoluted and very unconventional perspective on his travels and daily affairs. But the one message he states clearly is his love for Halston.”

  “Three long islands,” Jeri yelled as she pushed the finished drinks to her colleague. A man standing at the counter in front of her yelled and waved to get her attention, but Jeri ignored him as she continued reading.

  “It is also clear that the mysterious author likes to stay on
the move. In just over a month, Ms. Halston has received letters from India, Saudi Arabia, Nigeria, and most recently, Venezuela.

  Adding to the mystery is the inclusion of a Polaroid photo in each of the four letters Halston has received, the subject of which always seems to be a dark-haired man, presumably the letters’ author, in the location of the letter’s origin and always wearing a blue Joe’s Last Stand Saloon t-shirt. In each of the photos, the man’s face is tantalizingly obscured by something that hides his identity.

  Halston, who was not available for an interview, is apparently neither excited nor concerned by the sudden romantic attention. Bar owner Brown, Halston’s close friend and employer, says Halston is handling it like any other unexpected advance, finding it “entertaining like the rest of us, but nothing to be taken seriously.” According to Brown, “Jeri’s way too smart to let this be anything more than a flattering joke. It was even her idea to put the letters up for our patrons to read and enjoy.”

  I’m going to kill Joe for this, Jeri thought with conviction.

  While nothing in the letters indicates that Halston’s mysterious admirer plans to be in Flagstaff any time soon, Joe Brown hopes to meet him one day.

  “I’m not sure about Jeri, but I’d love to have a drink with him,” the saloon owner said, adding “as long as he isn’t some complete wacko.”

  “Hey Jeri!” Owen called out over his shoulder. “Can I get two rum and cokes and a shot of Jägermeister please?”

  Jeri looked up from the paper and stared out at the loud, packed room. Around her, the crowd inside the saloon was acting as it always did– laughing, arguing, boasting, flirting – as tensions and sobriety drained with the afternoon light. As usual, Jeri’s eyes met the fleeting stares and furtive glances of men and women who smiled and lingered before moving on. But something in their stares was different.

  And now she knew why.

  In all her life, Jeri had never sought out attention. The closest she’d come to anything resembling fame was when she’d somehow been nominated for Homecoming Queen, and even that little taste, the nods and stares in the hallways of high school, had left her literally nauseous with anxiety. In her time as a bartender, Jeri had come to accept the attention that came with the job, rationalizing it as simply part of the occupation. But she’d certainly never been comfortable with it. To her, there was no worse feeling than the raw, penetrating sense of exposure that came from the knowledge that someone knew more about her than she knew of them. And now, thanks to Joe and a nerdy little college reporter, she once again felt the gut-wrenching sensation of being looked at, talked about, and – worst of all – analyzed by everyone in the bar.

  “Jeri! Yo… Jeri!”

  Jeri suddenly realized Owen was standing next to her.

  “Hey,” he said quietly, placing a worried hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, fine,” Jeri replied, forcing her gaze away from the crowd. “Sorry, I’ll get those drinks for you. Rum and cokes and a jäger, right?”

  “Already taken care of,” Owen replied, watching her closely. “Look, I’m sorry. I thought you knew today’s little boom in business was because of that lame article.” He glanced up at the crowd. “By the way, the little fucker who wrote the article is here… do you want me to throw him out for you?”

  “No, it’s fine,” Jeri said, waving her hand dismissively. “I’ve already been introduced. Besides, I can only imagine what his next story would be if I had you give him the rough treatment.”

  “Okay. Well, hey look, do you want to get out of here?” he asked, patting her back. “Seriously, I’ve got this covered. You should just go home.”

  Jeri looked at her colleague. While she was not one for finding excuses to avoid working, at the moment every bone in her body was aching to slip away from the stares of the bar and crawl onto the warm privacy of her apartment. Besides, the more she considered the substantial profits Joe was making on the attention surrounding her letters– which really meant the substantial profit he was making on her – the more her guilt of walking out on the busiest afternoon in recent history began to fade.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, a genuine smile of appreciation lighting her face.

  “Go.”

  Jeri quickly grabbed her bag and jacket before noticing Chip sitting sullenly in the corner, his blue eyes following her with curiosity. She sighed and walked over to him.

  “I’m out, Chip,” Jeri said, tossing the copy of The Lumberjack in front of him before ducking under the counter and popping up next to him on the other side. “I can’t seem to get any privacy around here tonight.” She watched the older man’s eyes widen in surprise as he read the headline.

  “My my,” Chip said under his breath. He scanned the article for a moment before glancing at the crowd over his shoulder, his eyes deep in thought. “So that explains it, huh?” he asked quietly. He muttered something else to himself before taking a sip of his beer, but the words were lost to the noise of the room. Jeri leaned in close to him.

  “Do me a favor,” she said, putting her arm around his broad shoulders. “If you see Joe, my close friend and self-appointed press agent before I do, please inform him that I would like his resignation immediately. In the meantime, I’m going home to my paparazzi-free apartment.”

  “This is why you need a real job, Jeri,” Chip replied, looking at her with a solemn expression. He tapped the paper slowly with his finger and leaned towards her. Jeri felt the soft scratch of his gray stubble against her cheek as he whispered in her ear. “This is the only thing this place will ever give you – grief and disappointment.”

  Jeri nodded quietly as she pulled on her jacket and threw her bag over her shoulder. She looked somberly into Chip’s blue eyes for a moment before tousling his salt-and-pepper hair. “Don’t worry about me, old man. We both know this is just a stepping stone until that gig at the strip club opens up in Vegas, right?”

  Chip smiled back at Jeri, seeing once again the dark ember that smoldered and gave light to her beautiful eyes. He knew the source of that fire all too well, and like any fire he knew to regard it with caution. “You’re right,” he replied, giving her a thin smile as he went along with the joke. “But only if it’s a day job. You’ll want to keep your nights free for prostituting. That’s where the real money is.”

  Jeri’s eyes softened as her smile stretched wide. She hugged Chip tightly and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for understanding me.”

  Chip shrugged. “Oh I don’t ever pretend to understand you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t keep trying to persuade you otherwise. Now go home.” He smiled as Jeri gave him a final squeeze, then turned and watched as she slipped quietly through the crowd, a wake of curious stares following behind her. His eyes lingered briefly on the crowd before he turned back and took a long sip of his beer. He then grabbed the newspaper lying on the counter in front of him and began slowly reading the article.

  ∞

  Tom Coleman looked up at his surroundings in surprise.

  Nearly an hour after leaving the Homeland Security offices to clear his mind, he now found himself walking along historic Route 66 at the edge of the old downtown. He glanced up at the sky. The fading rays of late-afternoon light were smothered behind a low, dirty-gray blanket of clouds as small, cotton-white flakes of snow fell in a meandering dance before dissolving on the brick-lined sidewalk. Suddenly noticing the chill in the air, Tom raised his collar and considered what to do next. He didn’t want to go home. It was too quiet at home. Too alone. A fleeting image of his ex-wife abruptly came to mind, forcing him to shrug. No, he wasn’t ready to go home. And besides, he still had more thinking to do.

  A flash of light caught Tom’s attention. He looked up to find the neon sign of Joe’s Last Stand Saloon flickering to life above him, it’s red-orange colors warm against the cold sky. Remembering the promise of a drink he’d made to himself a few hours earlier, he turned and headed for the entrance.

  Tom op
ened the door and immediately recoiled with shock. The old saloon was packed. He’d been in Joe’s a few times before, but the crowd had never been anything like this. His first instinct was to pull an about-face and find a quieter bar, but as the patrons closest to the door turned and stared at him, the idea of leaving suddenly seemed childish and rather cowardly. Deciding that his need for a drink was stronger than his aversion to the crowd and the germs that came with it, Tom cautiously worked his way inside.

  He headed towards the bar and noticed with luck that a single barstool in the corner was still open. He pushed his way through the mob and sat down wearily between a young couple busily groping each other and an older man quietly reading a newspaper. “I’ll take a Bud Light when you get a chance,” he shouted as the heavyset bartender passed by. The bartender didn’t acknowledge him. “Bud Light, please!” he repeated.

  “Heard you the first time,” the bartender replied flatly, giving him a petulant sidelong glance as he poured a fresh beer from the tap. “Be with you in a minute.”

  Tom glanced around the old saloon. He wasn’t familiar enough with the place to know if this type of crowd was common, but his instincts told him it was extreme even for a busy night. As he always did in public areas, Tom pulled a sanitary wipe from the inside pocket of his jacket and quickly wiped down the bar top in front of him before tossing the cloth discreetly under the bar. He then glanced at the young couple beside him as they continued to kiss; their hands in constant motion to find exposed and loosely concealed skin. Seeing no chance of a conversation there, he turned to the older man sitting next to him.

  “Hell of a night here, huh?”

  The older man looked up from his newspaper and leveled his piercing blue eyes on Tom. “Indeed it is,” he replied.

  The bartender hastily placed a beer on the counter in front of Tom and yelled out the price as he moved down the bar, his hands stretched full with drink orders. Tom considered wiping the glass with a sanitary wipe before irritably pushed the thought from his mind. “I don’t think he likes me,” he muttered as he pulled out his wallet and dropped the money for his drink on the bar.