by Lou Bradshaw
I caught a glimpse of Mack dancing with a cute little thing, but I lost them in the crowd. I returned to my beer, which I recognized because I had notched the label with my thumbnail. I had set it on a table along with a number of others, and then I noticed that about half the bottles on the table had notched labels. That was a little unsettling, but when a big ugly goober picked up a notched labeled bottle and started chugging the contents I lost my thirst. I decided then that when I was dancing, I’d dance, and when I was drinking I’d drink.
I finally caught up with Mack on the backside of the dance floor. He was with 2 girls. He had his arm around the one I’d seem him dancing with and was in serious negotiations with the other. The negotiator had her back to me, and she looked good from that angle.
When I came up to the group Mack was grinning like a Chessie cat, so I naturally got my hopes up thinking that he had secured companionship for both of us. Actually, I didn’t give a rat’s behind about companionship, I could get that from Mack. What I was really hoping for was something a lot softer.
Mack introduced us and explained that the Barkley sisters, Rose and Bonnie, were from Rogersville and were in a transportation crisis. It seemed that the girl they came with was very interested in leaving with someone she’d met of a taller and more masculine nature. If that weren’t bad enough, Bonnie the younger Barkley, had a respectable buzz going – almost to the point of having a snoot full. Mack, being the gentleman that he was, had offered to deliver the damsels safely to Rogersville – which was on our way.
I called a conference and pulled him to the side, and Bonnie came along for the ride. I disengaged her from his arm and took her back to Rose. “Just one moment.” I said with a smile, which she returned.
“Mack, we got 2 problems here: one, what about that pile of junk passed out in the back seat of that pile of junk, two, it ain’t going to work with sisters, it just ain’t.” It did sound kinky though.
He thought for a moment then said, “I’ll see if we can get Dave to switch cars with us, and he can take Mickey home.” Then he grinned in a way that only he could and said, “As far as that sister thing goes, Brickey, you’re going to have to pour on all that charm I know you have, you silver tongued devil, you.”
Well I was conned and I knew it, but what the hell, maybe I did have some charm somewhere. So we went back to the Barkleys and told them that we had to make arrangements for another guy. Mack went off looking for Dave while I stayed and got acquainted with Rose. Since it had become my job to hold Bonnie up, I didn’t need to get acquainted with her because she spent most of the time hanging on me and patting my butt.
They were both pretty nice looking and looked enough alike that you could see the family resemblance, but Rose had it all over Bonnie in the womanhood department. Both were dressed casually in shorts and tops, and both filled out the fabric, but not too much. Bonnie was about 5’2” and Rose was maybe an inch taller. Both had darkish hair, red lips, blue eyes, and great legs. I thought, “Who knows, stranger things have happened.”
After about 10 minutes, Mack came back with Dave at his heels. I asked if we were switching or what? Mack said, “Nah, Davie here brought the pickup, so we just dumped that load in the back of it. I hope it doesn’t rain.”
So off we went, north toward Springfield then east to Rogersville and Doubling. There was a real strong possibility that we would be able to pull off on a back road somewhere. The best bet would be north of Ozark where we could take a short cut toward Rogersville, and not have to go all the way to Springfield.
When we got to past Ozark we did indeed cut across, and we did indeed wind up on a back road, but before I could pull off the road that old pile of crap started spitting and sputtering. Now there’s one thing I knew for sure, and that was that old cars break down – often. Another thing I knew for sure was that when old cars weren’t breaking down they were running out of gas. That old car, despite the lying gas gauge, which swore that it had half a tank, was running out of gas. Running out of gas has its own feel and sound, and someone like myself, who has had a great deal of experience with it, knew exactly what was happening.
It couldn’t have happened at a worse time because Rose was in the front seat with me, and she was sitting all mighty close. I had my arm around her and she was snuggling up ever so nicely, and when the car sputtered, she acted like it was a good thing.
When I got it to the side of the road and the lights out I said, “Mack.”
“Mumff.” was his reply.
“Mack, we’re out of gas.”
“Gee that’s too bad.” he said with an air of drama.
“No Mack. We really are out of gas. That stupid Mickey’s gas gauge doesn’t work. I hope to hell it rains.”
Rose looked up at me and said, “You mean we are really out of gas? Oh crap.”
Bonnie piped in with, “Tooooo bad.”
There was a station where this road connected with highway 60, but that was about 2 or 3 miles away. I figured it would be closed, but I could drain the hoses into empty oilcans and get enough to get us back to Ozark and possibly some help. I didn’t hear any volunteers offering to make the trek, primarily because Mack was kind of busy.
I got out of that junk heap cussin’ and kickin’. I cussed the whole thing and kicked a whole bunch of it before I started down that road. It was as dark as my opinion of Mickey’s old car, but there was a little starlight and a tiny piece of fingernail moon. Just barely enough light to make out the white gravel road, but there were woods on either side, and they were black.
I was pretty well cussed out after about a half-mile or so. I had used up all the words that I knew and made up some good ones. That was when I saw headlights coming up behind me. I stepped to the side of the road and waved like a mad man as the car approached. It slowed and stopped beside me, a flashlight shown in my eyes, and a voice said, “What’s the problem?”
I explained and the voice told me to hop in back. I opened the back door of that old Plymouth station wagon and slid in; by the dome light, I could see that the whole back was full of guns and magazines. There were rifles, shotguns, and Playboys everywhere.
“Oh don’t pay no attention to them.” The voice said, “They ain’t loaded, but this’n is.” I looked up into the black hole at the end of the barrel of the biggest pistol I had ever seen. I didn’t know if it was a .44, .45, .66, or a .90 caliber, but it looked like the inside of a 55-gallon drum. My heart stopped, and my mind was reading tomorrows headlines, “Doubling Youth Has Entire Body Blown Away.”
Chapter 14
When I could see beyond that gaping hole, I saw that there were two of them in the car; old guys over 40 and kind of hillbilly looking. The driver said over his shoulder, “We ain’t gonna hurt you none, we just wanta get things straight. We, me and my brother here just come back from our fishin’ cabin with all our valuables, cause there’s been some break ins down there.”
“Now put that thing away, Egger, and let’s get this young feller some gas – ‘fore he messes his trousers.” I had the feeling that his suggestion was a might late.
They took me to their place about a mile or so up the road, where I helped Egger unload the valuables into a small farmhouse. It was strictly bachelor quarters but well kept. While we were unloading, the driver got a can of gas from the shed, and they took me back to the car. They stuck around until it was primed and running, then I asked what I owed them.
“You got 10 bucks?” Egger asked. I told them that I had 6 bucks. “We’ll take that.” he said, and he did.
They were a strange and sorry pair. They had scared the hell out of me, but when I thought of those 2 old boy with all their valuables – guns and titty books – it was kind of sad. I figured that was one more of those things I would have to think about and maybe put some meaning to it some day.
When I got back into the car and was ready to go, everything had changed. Rose was surely ticked about something, probably what was happening in the back seat. M
y guess was that little Bonnie was going to owe Rose a big one when she woke up the next morning. At that moment, she was cuddled up next to Mack softly snoring like a little Bonnie bunny.
By the time we got the girls home, Rose was at least talking to me, and I made a date for the following Saturday night. When we drove away, Bonnie was throwing up in the bushes.
We estimated that we had just about enough gas to get back to town, but none to spare. That clunker was coughing and spitting when we pulled up to Mickey’s house and parked it. All the way from Rogersville I had been working on Mack to tell me how he did, but he wouldn’t say squat. Walking home from Mickey’s, he finally offered to let me smell his finger – I declined, and offered to let him smell my shorts – he passed. It started to rain and life was good.
* * *
The sign business was booming. I had no idea that so many people needed signs, show cards and banners. We were doing much better than either Brick or I had expected, but things were starting to get really complicated. Keeping track of time spent on what, and what was a priority and what was not, was becoming a nightmare. Half the time I would forget to turn on the timer, and if I turned it on, I was likely to not turn it off. So, Brick did the only thing he could do, he made me a partner in the sign business. It was 50/50 after materials and overhead. I agreed to fill in at the station as needed, and the sign work schedule was up to me. As it turned out, I worked mostly in the evenings and Sundays when things were least busy at the pumps. Sometimes, I would work late into the night, but I liked it that way.
On a Thursday night, in the middle part of June, Luther came rolling in as had become his custom, in route to KC or Tulsa. We talked a bit about girls and cars. He seemed to be over whatever it was that had spooked him last week. He talked a little about his family, which there was damned little to talk about. I guess it was a pretty familiar story to a lot of people; daddy long gone and mama with a new man. Luther didn’t get along with the new man, so he was odd man out. He’d been on his own ever since he was 15 and started working for Bardone.
I felt there was more that he wanted to say, but didn’t offer and I didn’t ask. It almost made me feel guilty for having the family that I had. That didn’t make sense to me then, and it still doesn’t. Hey! It wasn’t my fault that I was happy! I didn’t try to be; it just happened.
Mack came in to wait for me to close up so we could go get a beer. I introduced them, and they seemed to hit it off well. Mack could move in a lot of circles, and seemed comfortable with a lot of different types. It must have been the priest training.
Luther went on his way, and by 10 o’clock I had the place all buttoned up and the lights out. Since Mack had to get up early the next morning to work in his uncle’s clothing store in Seymour, we just got a 6 pack and drove up to Brick’s deer cabin, which was about 12 miles away on the James River.
I never understood the existence of the cabin, or what it was for. Brick came up to hunt deer every fall; we both did. But, for the rest of the year, it was virtually unused. As far as needing a place to hunt deer, he could have his pick of about a hundred places just for the asking. The cabin was just there sitting on a small bluff above the headwaters of the James River. I guess that the land was what he wanted, and the cabin came along for the ride. There were about 50 acres to the parcel, and the river cut right through the middle of it. At that point, the river wasn’t much more than a good-sized stream just deep enough in places to sit on the bottom and have your head stay dry. There were sand bars, or should I say gravel bars where you could build a fire and cook if you wanted to or just hang out.
As I said before the cabin sat on top of a bluff about 70 feet straight up above one of the gravel bars. There was a path down the bluff, but it was tricky in the daylight, and only a fool would try it in the dark. The cabin was a simple structure about 20’x30’. It was made of stone and timbers; there was one door and three windows. I wouldn’t say a craftsman had built it because it was pretty rough work.
Inside it had 3 beds, a single and a double decker bunk bed. There was an old kitchen table and a few disreputable chrome and plastic chairs. It had no power or water so you had to bring ice, and if you were there after dark you had to use coal oil lamps or candles for light. Against one wall was a magnificent stone fireplace, not as big as Mona’s, but every bit as nice. I think that the fireplace was a big part of what made that place special to me. I often sat and daydreamed about that place and how I would add on to it and bring in electricity and water, and live there. The age of the place was a mystery, but it was old. You could see that it had been changed and added on to over the years. Brick and I had even made some changes like a new roof and the third window.
Mack and I sat on a gravel bar and drank our beer by bonfire to the tune of bugs, birds, and critters of the night. He told me that the monks had told the trainees that they could take almost any kind of summer job except selling ladies shoes. He had never understood that until he started working in that clothing store.
He said that his first shoe customer was a high school cheerleader buying new tennis shoes. She was wearing tight jean cut offs and an incredible tan. He didn’t even know what color her hair was, all he could see was her crotch. He said, “Brickey, sittin on that stool with her foot in my hand, and looking up those fantastic legs, I knew exactly what Brother Dominic had been trying to tell me.”
Hearing him talk about shoe selling, almost made me want to change my major from Undecided to Footwear Marketing.
We sat there for a while just bullshitting and in general enjoying the night, until I figured it was late enough. Late enough to make him oversleep in the morning, which would put his mom in a tizzy trying to get him out the door. That would put me on her list, but only temporarily, she loved me, she couldn’t help herself. Anyway I still owed him some grief for last Saturday night.
* * *
My date with Rose went well, or sort of okay. We went to a movie and wound up at Mona’s, then on to some heavy breathing on a back road, and then on to some major league frustrations. I could see that it wasn’t going to be a long running romance; it wasn’t going to be a romance at all. Rose and Cynthia must have taken the same tease classes – rev it up and shut it down, I was beginning to dislike MGs
I didn’t mind putting a lot of effort into a pursuit if the prize could be won, and if the prize was worth the effort. Aside from her obvious physical endowments, there was nothing to chase. The poor kid was a chunk of granite intellectually. And I didn’t relish spending a lot of time with a rock, even if it did have great boobs. I don’t think I would have minded the frustration nearly so much if the person doing the frustrating were someone I wanted to spend the time with anyway.
I suppose that my years of bantering with Liz had spoiled me. I expected all girls to be… well I don’t know what I expected, but little Rosie wasn’t it. Even Mary Ellen was a lot of fun to be with – with or without clothing. I guess Rose was okay in her own way, and I didn’t blame her for trying to protect her virtue – after all it was hers. But there was just too much Cynthia there, and I didn’t want any more of that. If any girl wanted to lead me around by the hormones and play with me like a yo-yo, then she had damned well better be able to carry her end of the conversation. Moe could – Rose couldn’t.
It wasn’t that I was maturing or getting scruples or anything like that, if I’d thought there was a chance of plucking that Rose, I would have dated a rock.
I got the little flower home early and intact, as far as I was concerned anyway. Then I went home and picked up my sleeping bag and some food, left a note for the folks, and headed up to the cabin to spend the night.
As I drove through the center of town, whom should I see holding up a street light at the corner of State and Lincoln – none other than Jake Farley. Since this was already a busted night, I figured; why not. So, I pulled over to the curb a few spaces west of Friends Tavern and walked back across Lincoln, where he had that light pole pretty well under
control.
“Hey, Jake.” I said.
“Hey on you my friend.” He came back. We had such command of the English language; he and I.
“I see you got that that light pole pretty well stabilized. It’s hardly swaying at all.”
“Yeah,” he said, “if I didn’t come into town at least once a week these downtown poles would look like so many towers of Pisa. Yessir, I think that I aught to get a stipend from the city, don’t you?”
Since I had no idea in this world what a stipend might be I just said, “Yep.”
“Master Brickey,” he said as he passed the paper bag full of‘ The Crow, which I waved off having had previous experience, “have you ever wondered about the difference between a tavern, a bar, a saloon, or a club – not to mention a lounge?”
“You know, Jake, I was just wondering about that this morning.” I lied.
“Well I’m not surprised, you being the inquisitive youngster that you are.”
“If that means that I’ve got questions, then I am that. Sometimes my head gets just crammed full of questions and not an answer anywhere in sight.”
“That’s to be expected at your age, if you’re on the right track. It’s when you figure you’ve got all the answers that you’re aimed straight for problems.”
“So what is the difference between a tavern, a bar, a saloon, and a club?” I asked, not mentioning anything about lounges.
“Damned if I know,” he said, “I just left Friend’s Tavern, and it is just as dumpy as Decker’s Bar and just as loud as The Double Eagle Saloon down on the next corner. It’s every bit as smoky and depressing as The Town Lounge over across the tracks. But when you throw in a place like the Red Top In, the whole equation gets screwed sideways.”
“You been there?” I asked.
“Oh I should say so, many times back when I had scholarly interests, but not so much lately. You know they don’t even know how to spell Inn? Their sign says RED TOP IN. Yeah, it’s a nasty little rat’s nest. They took old Red Top Mountain and turned it into a swamp. My advice to you young sir is to steer clear of that place.”