top of her head, and without a lot of performance, she took off
her bra and started bobbing lightly on her toes, as if warming up
for a jog.
“We can’t compete with all this tit,” Ellen said.
“Sure we can.”
“This is such dumb stuff. Why should anyone cross the street
for this stuff?”
“They won’t,” Al said.
“But if it’s just plain old tit they want, we can’t compete with
that.”
“Polly takes her shirt off sometimes,” Al said.
“Yeah, but only when she’s really drunk. Then she cries and
everyone feels bad. It’s not the same thing as this. Plus, Polly
only works on Monday nights.”
“You’re right.”
“What if Walter tries to hire my bartenders to dance here?”
“They won’t.”
“If someone could get Polly to take off her shirt and look like
she was enjoying it . . . that would be something, wouldn’t it?”
“A guy would pay for that,” Al said.
Ellen waved to a huge man as he walked in, and he came over
and sat beside her.
“Wide Dennis,” she said. “Good to see you.”
Wide Dennis kissed Ellen and ordered a beer for himself and
a Scotch for her. She patted his head and smiled. Wide Dennis
had a head thick and faded as an old buoy. He had far-apart
eyes that tended to lean randomly and outward, as if he were
watching every corner at every time. He smelled like baby
powder and spit, but he was smart enough to do something
with computers that perhaps only two other people in the world
could do, and he was paid well for this.
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“Did you know this was Walter’s place now?” Ellen asked
him.
“Just found out.”
“I always thought he was Amish,” Ellen said.
“I always thought he had a friend in Jesus,” Wide Dennis
said.
Ellen laughed. “Remember Willy? Walter’s brother?”
Wide Dennis rolled his eyes.
Ellen said, “Willy could put his whole fist in his mouth,
remember?”
“He put his whole damn near fist in my mouth a few times.”
“I don’t know that guy,” Al said.
“You’d know him if you saw him,” Wide Dennis said. “He’ll
be the guy banging someone’s head against a Dumpster. Talking
real loud.”
“He was a hell of a talker,” Ellen said. “Listening to Willy tell
a story was like getting stuck behind the school bus. If anyone
was going to open a damn strip joint in that family, it would be
that bastard Willy, not Walter.”
Wide Dennis took a dollar bill from his pile of change
and went up to the stage. He handed the dollar to the red-
headed dancer. He said something to her as she took it, and she
laughed. Ellen ordered two more beers, and when Rose brought
the bottles over, Ellen asked, “What do they say to those girls,
usually, when they give them money like that?”
Rose shrugged and walked away.
“Can’t shut that girl up,” Ellen said. “Just like her Uncle
Willy.”
“Usually they tell her she’s beautiful,” Al said. “They tell her
she’s a great dancer or something.”
“That’s sweet.”
“You used to strip. You remember how it is.”
“Not in a place like this,” Ellen said. “Not professionally. Just
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in the beginning, at Tall Folks. Just to get people in there.” Ellen
drank her Scotch. “It worked; that’s the truth. Some of those
people still haven’t left. Actually, some of those people are in
here right now. Can’t remember anyone ever handing me any
money for it, though.”
“How’s my boy Tommy been doing?” someone behind Al
asked. Ellen looked around her nephew and smiled.
“Hello, James.”
“Hello, Ellie.”
“Where’ve you been, James? We miss you.”
James waved at the stage. There was another dancer up there
now, a tall black girl who was swaying, with her eyes shut. They
all watched her for a while. She swayed and swayed, slowly, as if
she’d forgotten where she was, as if she thought maybe she was
alone. They watched her for some time and she didn’t do any-
thing more than sway, but nobody was in any hurry to look at
anything else. The redheaded girl gathered up her things and
crossed the stage behind the swayer.
“Oh, my,” James said. “Will you look at that?”
“Which one?” Al asked.
“All of them! Everywhere!” James smiled. He had a front
tooth missing, from where Tommy had fallen down on him one
night and James had hit the floor with his mouth.
“Do they let you sing here?” Ellen asked.
James shook his head. He used to come to the Tall Folks
Tavern and stand under the light by the cigarette machine to
sing. Ellen would turn down the jukebox and threaten the circus
into some kind of silence, and they would all listen to James. He
used to dress for it, too, in a found suit, dress socks, and sandals.
He looked like Nat King Cole but sang better. The light above
the cigarette machine shadowed his face just right. People used
to cry. Even sober people used to cry.
“How’s my Tommy doing?” James asked again.
“He’s so fat now you wouldn’t believe it.”
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Tall Folks
“Always was a big man.”
“Now he looks like a monk. Drinks like a fish, still.”
“Like a monkfish,” Al said, and James laughed and hugged
him. James was wearing a leatherish coat that looked as if it had
been made out of pieces of car seats. Patches of brown and gray
and darker brown.
“I do miss Tommy,” James said.
“And we miss you,” Ellen said. “Stop over. Make the time.”
James nodded toward the swayer on the stage.
“We’ve still got girls across the street, honey,” Ellen said.
James did not even nod this time, and Ellen whispered into
Al’s ear, “I want my people back.” He squeezed her hand.
Ellen got up and went to the bathroom, which looked the
same as it always had. Above the urinal, it still said, “I fucked
your mother,” and in a different pen below it said, “Go home,
Dad. You’re drunk.”
Ellen put on lipstick and washed her hands without soap or
paper towels, which she was used to. Under the mirror was the
oldest piece of graffiti in the place, a decade-long joke. “Top
Three Things We Like Most About Tommy,” it said. “#1) He’s
not here.” There were no listings under numbers two and three.
“Ha,” Ellen said out loud.
She stayed in the bathroom a long time, ignoring a few quiet
knocks and one quick pounding at the door. When she finally
came out, the dark-haired girl with the serious center part was
standing there. They smiled at each other.
“Rose,” Ellen said.
“I’m Sandy. Rose is my sister.”
�
�You look like sisters.”
“We all work here.”
“I heard that. It’s like a cottage industry. It’s like a bodega,”
Ellen said, and when Sandy did not answer, she added, “I’m
Ellen.”
“I know.”
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The two women looked at each other. Sandy was wearing a
bathing suit like Rose’s, but she had shorts on.
“How’s business?”
“Great,” Sandy said. “And you?”
“Great,” Ellen lied.
“Good.” Sandy smiled. “That’s real good.”
“Are you waiting for the bathroom?”
“I’m just sort of standing here.”
“Do you know my nephew Al?” Ellen pointed down the bar.
“He’s the cutest boy here.”
“He sure is,” Sandy said.
“He told me the other day that he’s been in love with me
since I used to push him around in his baby carriage.”
“Wow.”
“Do people fall in love with the girls in this bar?”
“I don’t know. Probably.”
“I don’t think they do,” Ellen said. “I think they just like to
watch.”
“I don’t guess it matters,” Sandy said.
“Your dad doesn’t even like girls. Excuse me for saying it.”
“He likes us.”
“You and your sisters?”
“Yes.”
“Does he like Amber the junkie?”
Sandy laughed.
“Don’t laugh at Amber. She’s a sweetheart. She’s from Flor-
ida, poor kid . . . It’s hard to say,” Ellen said. “I used to have this bartender, Catherine, who had this walk. People used to come
to my bar on her shifts just to watch her walk back and forth.
Not your father. He never liked my bar.”
“Do you like his bar?” Sandy asked, and she smiled as she
asked this.
“See, Sandy. It’s like this,” Ellen said. “Not really. You know?”
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“Sure,” Sandy said. “I think I’ll go in there now.” She pointed
to the bathroom, and Ellen moved out of her way.
“Sure,” Ellen said.
Ellen made her way back to Al and ordered more Scotch for
both of them. Wide Dennis was still there, and James in his
car-seat coat was there, too, talking to Amber the junkie.
“I don’t like this place,” Ellen said to Al. “Who’s going to
come to a place like this?”
“Me, neither,” Amber said. She was eating a sandwich out of
one of those small coolers people use for carrying around six-
packs or organs fresh for transplants. She was drinking what
could have been a rum and Coke. “This place is the worst.”
“Nobody loves anyone here,” Ellen said, and Al took her
hand and squeezed it. She kissed his neck.
“He’s the sweetest boy,” Amber said.
“Remember that bartender you used to have over there? Vic-
toria?” James asked Ellen. “She was a sassy thing, that girl.”
“She worked Wednesday nights,” Al said.
“She worked Tuesday nights, baby,” James said. “Trust me
please on this one.”
“You’re right.” Al nodded. “It was Tuesday.”
“My God, I do miss that girl.”
“She was a good bartender,” Ellen said.
“Those were good, good times. We used to call that the
Victorian Era, didn’t we? When Victoria was still working.”
“That’s right, James.”
“Get that girl back again. That’s what we all need.”
“Can’t do it.”
“Tall Folks was holy back then. We used to drink out of that
damn girl’s hands.”
“She has kids in grammar school now,” Ellen said.
“They don’t make girls like that anymore. That’s the truth.”
“They’re always making girls like that,” Ellen said. “They just
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keep on making them, and there’s one of them across the street
at my bar right now, if you’re craving a great girl.”
“Who?” Al asked. “Maddy? Not Maddy. Hardly.”
“I don’t drink like this all the time,” Amber the junkie said
suddenly. “You know that? Some days I don’t drink for two
weeks.”
Then they were all quiet, looking at Amber.
“Okay, sweetie,” Ellen said. “That’s great. Good girl.”
“Sure,” Amber said. “No problem.”
Behind the bar, Walter was changing the cassette again, and a
new dancer stepped up onto the stage.
“Wow,” Al said.
“I know, baby,” James said. “You don’t have to tell me.”
She was blond but not a born blond, with dark eyebrows and
short hair, combed down straight against a round, round face.
She wore fishnet stockings and garters, big clunky 1940s high
heels, and a short antique pink dressing gown that tied in the
front. She was chewing gum, and as the music started, she
looked down at Al and blew a bubble.
“Jesus Christ,” he said.
“That girl is a pin-up,” Wide Dennis said.
She danced for a while with her robe on, then slid it off and
coyly folded it at her feet. She stood up to face the bar with
naked breasts, and her nipples were perfect and tiny, like some
kind of cake decoration.
“She’s beautiful,” Ellen whispered to Al.
“Ellen,” he said, “I would eat that girl up with a spoon. I
really would.”
“She’s a steamed dumpling, isn’t she?” Ellen said.
The dumpling had an actual act. She worked the bubble gum
and the stockings and her flushed little arms. She worked the
big clunky shoes and the belly and thighs. She held every avail-
able attention.
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“You know what I feel like?” Ellen asked Al. “I feel like I’m
looking at a pastry, you know? In a bakery window?”
“Yum,” Al said gravely. “Yum.”
“You could melt cheese on that girl.”
“You know those tubes of biscuit dough you can buy in the
dairy case?” Al asked. “You know how you smack them on the
counter and they go pop and all the dough pops out?”
“Yeah.”
“She came out of one of those tubes.”
The dumpling was dancing in front of the mirror, looking at
herself. She put her hands against the reflection of her own
hands and kissed the reflection of her own mouth.
“That’s what strip joints are all about,” Wide Dennis said.
“Greasy mirrors.”
“You know what she’s leaving on that mirror?” Al said.
“Butter.”
“That’s not lipstick she has on,” Ellen said. “That’s frosting.”
Al laughed and pulled Ellen tight, and she put her arm
around his shoulders.
“You should give her some money,” he said.
“No way.”
“It’ll be cute. I’ll go with you. She’ll like it. She’ll think we’re
a married couple and our therapist told us to come here so we
could have better sex.”
“She’ll wonder how I tricked a twenty-year-old into marry-
ing
me.”
Ellen put her face against Al’s neck, which was warm and
salty. Wide Dennis went up to the stage and leaned his huge self
against the rail, as if he were on a veranda or a cruise ship, as if
the scenery were delightful and vast, as if he were a man of great
leisure. He pulled dollar bills out of his pocket one at a time and
held them up suavely between his second and third fingers. The
dumpling accepted the money somehow within her choreogra-
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p i l g r i m s
phy, and managed to tuck each dollar bill into her garter as
though it were a slip of paper with a phone number on it that
she thoroughly intended to call later. Against Wide Dennis, she
looked slightly miniaturized, a perfect scale model of herself.
“He’ll stand there as long as he has money, won’t he?” Ellen
asked.
“She’s the sweetest girl,” Amber the junkie said. “I love her.”
The dumpling leaned down and took Wide Dennis’s huge
head in her hands. She kissed him once over each eyebrow.
“I love that girl,” James said.
“Me, too,” Al said.
“I love her,” Ellen said. “I love her, too.”
Ellen drank the last of her Scotch and said, “This is bad news
for me. This place is really bad news, isn’t it?” She smiled at Al,
and he kissed her with his boozy, pretty mouth. It was more of a
kiss than aunts usually get. He kissed her as if he had been
planning the kiss for some time, and Ellen called up all of the
lessons of her considerable history to accept and return it with
grace. She let him hold the back of her head in one reassuring
hand, as if she were a weak-necked baby, feeding. To Ellen, his
mouth tasted like her own fine Scotch, nicely warmed.
When Ellen and Al finally crossed back over to the Tall Folks
Tavern, it was closing time, and Maddy the mean bartender was
kicking out her last drunks.
“Go home!” she was yelling. “Go home and apologize to your
wives!”
Ellen did not ask Maddy how the night had been and she did
not greet any of her customers, but walked behind the bar and
picked up the lost-and-found box. Then she and Al went to-
gether to the back room. Ellen spread the lost-and-found coats
over the pool table. Al turned off the low overhead light, and
the two of them climbed up onto the pool table, with its thin
mattress of other people’s clothes. Ellen stretched out on her
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back with a damp jacket pillow and Al settled his head on her
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