Memphis Legend

by Brian Crawford

  Ellie said, “Damn it, L.T., would it kill you to pretend that I am successfully teasing you sometimes. You always have to one-up me.” Lisa and Virgil were both laughing.

  I said, “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’ll try harder next time. I do wish Beth was coming, though.”

  Lisa said, “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know Paul that well. I’ve eaten dinner at their parents’ house several times, which is where I first met him. Paul doesn’t seem like a bad guy, but we’ve just never hit it off.”

  I had always thought Paul was a little too charming, a little too spoiled. Paul was 28, just one year younger than Ellie, yet they seemed worlds apart in levels of maturity. Ellie had her master’s degree in atmospheric science and had worked for the National Weather Service before starting as a broadcast meteorologist. Management at the television station had approached her after seeing her speak at a NWS seminar. They were so impressed they offered her the chief meteorologist position that had just been vacated. In contrast, Paul had dropped out of college after two years, bounced from job to job, and seemed stuck in a state of arrested adolescence.

  Lisa said, “Not to change the subject, but I’m curious. How do you two know each other? Ellie tells me you have been friends since junior high.”

  Virgil replied, “I got this one. Picture a short, skinny black kid in a predominately white private school in Springfield, Illinois. It was my first time since second grade in a school in the U.S.”

  “Were you home schooled?”

  “No, I’m a military brat. My dad was in the Marines, and we were stationed overseas a lot. Like, I said, a short, skinny black kid on his second day of school, and during lunch, I was sitting with some kid whose name I don’t even remember when suddenly this huge white kid invites us to sit at his table. It seemed suspicious, but we went and sat with the jocks. None of them had much to say, but the big guy, who seemed kind of like their leader, starts asking me a bunch of questions about where I was from and such. Next thing you know, we are friends, just like that. I didn’t find out until much later that L.T. had invited us over because someone in his group had made a disparaging remark that ticked him off.”

  Lisa said, “No shit, you two meet and become best friends because L.T. was trying to make a point with his friends? Amazing. So, you have always been a maverick? That is why you hit Tom Harty isn’t it?”

  I replied, “Lisa, are you asking as a friend, or are you asking as the producer of the six o’clock evening news?”

  “Would your answer be any different? Think about it big guy, would it really?” She was meeting my gaze with a curious intensity, head cocked ever so slightly to one side, an almost imperceptible smirk on her face, but also in her eyes. Ellie had told me she was a great news producer, with an amazing talent for making people feel important and at ease. I had to admit it was working with me as well.

  I replied, “Probably not, but I didn’t hit him because I’m a maverick, unless you have a different interpretation of maverick than me. I hit him because he needed to be stopped, and I knew how to stop him.”

  “Yep, the same reason you invited Virgil to sit at your table. You knew it needed to be stopped, and you knew how to stop it, so you just did it. On your own. You are a maverick, L.T., an individualist, a nonconformist.” She let out a happy, warm laugh. “I love guys like you. You are the rebels with a cause; you just don’t have a clue why.”

  Ellie and I had double-dated with Lisa and her fiancé, Todd, three or four times. I had always enjoyed her sense of humor. I had never seen this side of her before, but I liked it.

  “Thanks, Lisa. Maybe I finally understand why I always feel in opposition to the masses,” I replied with a friendly mocking tone. “I’m a maverick.”

  Lisa said, “Maverick McCain, it has a ring to it. By the way, what is your real name? It’s not L.T.”

  I seldom give out my full name willingly, but I gave it to Lisa on her first inquiry. Man, that head tilt, half smirk thing she did was effective.

  Lisa said, “That is an awesome name. It’s better than Maverick McCain. It fits you, perfectly. Why don’t you use it?”

  “My mother named me. I didn’t like it when I was growing up, so I had kids call me L.T. Later my mother and I had a major falling out and I saw no reason to ever use it. I am L.T. now.”

  Lisa said, “Well, L.T. McCain, you are one-in-a-million. You’re always going to feel like the odd one out, but keep on being you. The world needs more of you. It needs less sheeple.”

  “Sheeple?”

  “Sheep-people, people who follow the herd. Ellie, if you ever get tired of this one, let me know, I will take him off your hands.”

  Ellie smiled. “What about your fiancé, Todd?”

  “What about Todd. You want to trade, Todd for L.T.? Besides, Todd is in Chattanooga for another three weeks, and you two haven’t consummated your relationship yet, so maybe L.T. needs some good Southern girl to show him the ropes.”

  Ellie turned several shades of red. “Lisa, you’re horrible sometimes.”

  I felt a little flushed as well. “Apparently you two talk about everything.”

  Lisa grinned mischievously at me. “And that, Ellie, is how you tease someone. I got both of you on that one.”

  Ellie saw me blankly staring at her. Hesitantly, she responded, “I told you she was good. She got more information out of you in less than an hour than I did in the first month. She does the same damn thing to me, and, yes, we do talk about everything. Maybe the next time I ask you what you did in the Navy, I will bring her along.”

  The next time she asks. Did that mean she did not buy my earlier pat answer? I smiled at her and shrugged it off. I used to be an intelligence officer in the U.S. Navy. It would take more than Lisa to get me to open up about all I did during my stint.

  ***

  During the rest of the trip, Lisa found out more about Virgil’s life story. Born in Germany, the son of a Marine with three younger siblings, he grew up in Europe and South Korea before moving to Springfield when he was thirteen. Lisa tried to turn the conversation towards his thoughts on civil rights and growing up black during the Sixties, but Virgil quickly informed her that he missed growing up in America during the Sixties. In fact, he informed her that growing up a military brat and then joining the service himself sort of insulated him from many of the civil rights issues prevalent in the States.

  She also discovered that Virgil did two years of college at the University of Illinois in Champaign-Urbana before serving four years in the Navy. After the Navy, he moved to Huntsville and finished his Bachelor of Science in Civil Engineering before getting his master’s as well. He was dating a nice Korean girl, Jewel Kim, a graduate student at the University of Alabama in Huntsville. Lisa was trying to figure out how serious the relationship was when we arrived at Holly Springs.

  Despite my apprehension, Paul ended up being a terrific guide during the hike. He knew the hiking trails well, he picked some beautiful, picturesque places to visit within the National Forest, and he knew a lot of the history of the region. Paul seemed intent on making sure everyone had a great time, and it appeared he was successful.

  The last part of the day had been agreed upon in advance: a late dinner in Emmettsville, a small town in Tennessee north of Holly Springs not too far from the Mississippi state line. It also had the distinction of being Ellie’s hometown. Paul suggested Falco’s Bar and Grill; he had been there before and stated he liked the food.

  Falco’s did not look like much from the outside, yet the inside had been remodeled to resemble the sports bars often seen in larger towns, just on a smaller scale, and a smaller budget. Lots of televisions, albeit the screens were smaller. Plenty of booths. Modern décor. The smaller size made Falco’s feel quaint. Probably not exactly the feeling the owner intended.

  The food selection had the typical sports bar offerings: wings, burgers, ribs, and plenty of beer. Those were also limited. Only three choices of wings: mild, mixed,
or hot. And the beer selection was in the dozens instead of the hundreds, much to Virgil’s dismay, a self-described beer connoisseur. Shortly after the waitress took our order, I thanked Paul for being a wonderful guide.

  Paul said, “Thanks, L.T. You should have recognized a couple of today’s spots from some of Beth’s photographs. She told me that you have bought nearly a couple dozen pictures from her.”

  “Maybe they should have, but they didn’t. Besides, everything I bought from her has had something to do with Memphis or the Mississippi River. I guess now I’ll have to go buy some from Holly Springs.”

  Kate spoke up, “Paul, you mentioned your sister took pictures of the forest, but you didn’t mention she was a professional photographer.”

  “I’m sorry, Kate. I thought I made that clear. She loves landscapes, but she does portrait photography to pay the bills. So if Steve here ever pops the question like he should, then I can help you with the photographer.”

  Steve swallowed a couple of times, trying to avoid blushing. During the hike, I wondered if Kate and Steve were together. They were quite comfortable with each other, but Paul flirted with Kate frequently during the day. I realized then that it was just playful teasing. Kate and Steve also seemed to be a physical mismatch; she was at least two inches taller than him, and she had an athletic build while he was rather thin. It must have been his confidence. Earlier he mentioned he was the top copier salesman where he worked, and I had been around enough pharmaceutical sales reps to know the confident, almost cocky ones were usually the most successful.

  Paul was looking at me quizzically. He looked like he wanted to ask me something, but was having difficulty broaching the subject.

  “Paul, if you have a question, go ahead and ask.”

  “How did you know I had a question?”

  Ellie interjected. “He has a sixth sense when it comes to reading people. He does the same thing to me. It’s freaky sometimes. I bet he already knows what you want to ask him, but he is just being nice and giving you a chance to ask him yourself.”

  Paul said, “Okay, I’m game. How about you, L.T?”

  I nodded that I was in the game. I was pretty sure I knew the question that Paul wanted to ask. “You have just observed I am the only one not drinking any alcohol and you are puzzled by it. You want to ask me why.”

  “Dude, do you have ESP or something? How did you know what I was thinking?”

  “It’s a gift. I just know things.”

  Paul said, “Whatever dude.” He turned to Ellie and smiled, “Is he like this all the time?”

  Ellie replied, “Which part, him being vague with his responses, or are you referring to his mental telepathy skills? Either way, yes, he is like this all the time.”

  Paul said, “So what’s the answer? You’ve eaten over at my parent’s house, and I noticed you just drink water or tea, always. But you don’t seem to have a moral objection to it, so I was just wondering.”

  “I just don’t. However, you are right; I do not morally object.”

  Ellie said, “See what I mean, he likes being vague.”

  Paul looked hard at me, studying me, and then smiled. “That’s cool. I think there’s more to the story, but it’s not a big deal. I was just wondering.”

  The conversation turned back to small talk as the food arrived. Paul was telling us how much he was enjoying working at a Ford dealership in Memphis. He had not been there long, yet he had already made several sales and was looking forward to his next commission check. I could see him in sales. This was the most time I had ever spent with Paul at any one time, and it was obvious he had an infectious charm about him. Maybe I had misjudged him in the past.

  As the meal came to an end, the discussion turned towards continuing the day down on Beale Street. Although it had been a long, hot, sweaty day hiking in the woods, the consensus was that hearing a good band would provide the proverbial “icing on the cake.”

  Paul abruptly pushed himself away from the table. He had a sly grin plastered across his face. “Before we go, I have to do something. I will hate myself in the morning if I don’t talk to that pretty blonde sitting all alone over there.”

  Steve slapped Paul on the back and said, “Go for it maestro, we’re still waiting on the check anyway. You shouldn’t need too much more time than that.”

  Kate punched Steve in the arm telling him not to egg Paul on. I observed the woman in question. She was pretty. Blonde. Petite. Athletic. The kind of woman that was used to getting hit on in bars. She also looked like she was waiting for someone. My guess was the “maestro” was going to get shot down.

  After three years in college, seven if you count med school, and another three years in the Navy, I had watched a countless number of men approach women. The number of different techniques was staggering. I guessed less than half were successful. Physically, Paul was quite average, a lean 5’10”, probably 170 pounds, yet he had charm and youthful good looks. His blond hair looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial. I was interested to see his approach technique.

  Paul walked straight towards the woman with a determined, yet tentative approach. He was waiting for something, an opening. Apparently, all he needed was for her to look up because once he established eye contact, Paul smiled and she smiled back. She had a pretty, welcoming smile. Paul changed his pace, closing the gap quickly. I could not hear what Paul said, though I could tell from the woman’s facial expression she was intrigued, maybe even impressed. Paul leaned forward. He was saying something. It was do or die time. Would she lean towards Paul or away?

  She leaned forward. I was impressed. Paul made it look easy.

  Steve turned to Kate, “I told you he was the maestro.”

  “And I told you not to spur him on. I don’t want all six of us sharing Virgil’s Maxima unless you are volunteering to go back in the trunk.”

  Kate and Steve were still teasing each other when I observed a large man in his mid-thirties at the bar staring intently at Paul and the pretty blonde woman. My inner voice instantly warned me.

  Paul and the woman were seated on bar stools sharing a tall table in the bar area. The conversation looked quite light-hearted, and the distance between them didn’t imply any sort of intimacy. Although she had accepted Paul at her table, she did not look interested in him beyond simply enjoying his company.

  The large man continued his icy stare, clenched his fists twice, and then began to slowly, methodically, approach the table.

  Seriously, this cannot be happening again. The little pumps in my adrenal glands started pumping.

  Glancing back at the table, I observed the lingering remnants of laughter on the woman’s face; however, the smile quickly evaporated as she noticed the approaching man. She immediately gestured towards the man, and then towards Paul, making introductions. The stranger’s wide eyes and flared nostrils were proof of his anger, yet Paul was still smiling. He did not look even the least bit worried. I found myself wondering how Paul could look so nonchalant. He appeared very adept at reading people today. He had to know he was in potential trouble.

  Paul reached out his hand to greet the stranger, who slapped Paul’s hand away and moved in closer. The stranger was easily 6’5” and 250 pounds. He was thick. He looked strong. Capable. If he became an adversary, I was sure he would be more trouble than Tom Harty had been. Time to act.

  I stood up, purposefully knocking my chair over in the process. I made a spectacle out of it. Sort of kicked it backward into the wall behind me for extra effect. It worked. Most of the eyes in the bar turned in my direction, but I did not see those eyes. Mine focused on Paul’s new friend. The big man turned his head toward the sound. Saw me looking at him. Glaring to be exact. My most intense scowl, eyes narrowed, lip almost twitching. The big stranger remained focused on me a moment longer before turning back towards Paul.

  Paul kept on smiling and reached out his hand again before doing something quite unexpected; he leaned forward, making himself an easier target f
or the stranger. How the hell does Paul not see the stranger as a potential adversary?

  Paul whispered something to the man. I could not hear what Paul said, but this time the stranger took Paul’s hand and shook it. It appeared the large man was going to avoid becoming an adversary. Maybe I had underestimated Paul’s charm.

  One of the bartenders had been watching the entire episode unfold since it started, yet never attempted to intervene. He finally spoke up. “Eric, if there’s going to be trouble, you take it outside, you hear.”

  Eric said, “Mason, there ain’t going to be any trouble. I was just joshing around with Paul here. He was keeping Jackie company, and she said he was a perfect gentleman.”

  “Alright, but you know I don’t allow no trouble in here, so don’t forget what I said.”

  Eric turned from Mason and directed his attention towards Paul once again. He glanced for a second at me. I was still standing and still scowling. He patted Paul on the back and laughed. The laugh did not sound genuine, it was a little too loud, a little too forced. His body language was still tense. Either way, I was happy the situation was averted. I sat back down.

  CHAPTER 7

  Adrenaline. I had a love/hate relationship with the hormone. When needed in times of trouble, it never let me down, delivering the surge of energy necessary to overcome the situation at hand. Thankfully, I had not needed the powerful hormone this time. A common side effect of adrenaline was nausea. This was one of those times. And Paul was still standing at the table talking with Eric and Jackie, forcing me to keep a vigilant eye on the situation. This meant I could not entirely relax. Which meant I was still releasing adrenaline.

  It appeared that Eric was giving Paul a chance for both of them to save face; however, he did not look like the patient type. I was beginning to doubt Paul’s judgment. My worry was cut short when Paul suddenly returned to our table smiling. He looked amused by the whole thing. He was not frightened in the least.