Last Call Lounge

by Stuart Spears

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” she said. “But Tracy has a really nice body. I saw it when she was writhing in front of my face.”

  “Yeah, well,” I mumbled. “We have a sort of history.”

  She laughed, a near-silent, throaty laugh.

  “I never would have guessed,” Ruby said.

  Tim Cole hunch-waddled up next to Ruby, holding his glass in front of him with both hands. He nodded his full-neck nod for a second, then spoke.

  “Well, hey there, Ruby Red,” he said, smiling and looking at his drink. Ruby turned on her stool.

  “Tim Cole,” she said, standing to hug him. Tim’s face gave a hint of his dilemma – he hated to be touched, but wanted Ruby to hug him. He tried to reciprocate, hugged her back with half an arm. “How’ve you been, Tim?” Ruby asked, sitting back down and folding her hands in her lap. Tim nodded and squinted up at her.

  “Good,” he said. “Yeah, yeah. Good. You know.” He set his drink on the bar, but then didn’t know what to do with his hands. He picked the drink back up. “You in town for long?” he asked. Ruby sat up straight, let her eyes wander as she thought of an answer.

  “I don’t know yet,” she said. “A few days, at least.”

  “Not evacuating?” he asked.

  She looked down at her hands.

  “I don’t know,” she said, frowning. “I haven’t really decided yet.” She put up a smile. “You?”

  “What, and miss all the excitement?” Tim said, forcing a grin. “No, no. I can’t,” he said. He looked at her and his eyes went up and away, remembering. “Something’s new, huh? Different?” His eyes came back. “Your hair is different.”

  “Oh,” Ruby said, touching her hand to her bangs “Back then, I used to dye it. Black black. I don’t color it anymore.”

  I looked at her, tried to take her in now instead of how I remembered her. Tim was right. Her hair was still black, but there was a coppery hint to it. A mahogany I never would have noticed.

  Tim and Ruby stood, nodding and smiling. Merle Haggard came on the jukebox.

  “Well,” Tim said finally. “Good to see you. Good to see you.”

  “You, too, Tim,” she said.

  Tim hesitated, then turned and waddled back to his stool. Ruby watched for a second, then spun back to face me. I inhaled, deep, and held it.

  “Would you like to sit down and talk?” I forced the words out, past the fear that she would say no. Something undefined flashed across her face, something not unlike pain, and I was reminded of how I had treated her that afternoon.

  “Sure,” she said.

  “Thanks for coming back tonight.”

  “Sure,” she said again and I knew it had taken a lot of effort on her part to walk back in.

  “Hold on a minute.”

  I grabbed Frank and asked him to watch the door for me. As I walked him up to the stool by the front, I explained the basics – how to spot a fake ID, no drinks in or out. He listened seriously, his brows furrowed. He sat up straight in the stool, hands on his knees. I went back behind the bar, poured two shots of Beam, grabbed two more Lone Stars and came back around to stand beside Ruby.

  “Lead on,” she said, standing up and grabbing her purse.

  I led her to a booth near the back, a high-backed wooden booth past the pool table and the pinball machine. She slid in to the seat, I sat down across from her. I pushed her drinks across the table. She toyed with the shot, rolling it between her thumb and middle finger, then tapped it next to the beer bottle. There was a black, plastic ashtray in the middle of the table. I put my cigarettes next to it and tried to think of something to say.

  “Did you want to ask me whatever it was?” I said, finally. “Whatever is was you wanted to ask Dad?”

  She waved the question away with her thin, white fingers.

  “No, no,” she said. She seemed on the edge of speaking, but shook her head instead. “It wasn’t important. It wasn’t anything, really. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Besides, it was just an excuse,” she said, raising her eyes to mine, “to come in and say hi.”

  I knew she was avoiding something, distracting me with a hint of a compliment, but I smiled in spite of myself and felt a flush of warmth spread across my face.

  Ruby leaned back in the booth and spread her long hands on the table in front of her. She looked slowly around the room, then shrugged. “So,” she said, tilting her chin. “Sum up the last six years for me. What’s new?”

  I drew in a long breath.

  “Well,” I said. “I have a son.”

  “Wow,” she said, leaning back. “I’m impressed. Surprising information from the very beginning. How old and what named?”

  “Jacob,” I said, tapping a finger on my cigarette pack. “He’s four.”

  “Wow,” she said again. “A son. You’re a father.”

  “Is that weird?”

  “It just sounds like such a grown-up thing to do.”

  “Only if you do it right,” I said.

  “Who’s the lucky mother?”

  “Sarah,” I said. “My ex-wife.”

  “Zowie, two-for-two. You’re much more full-of-surprises than I remembered.”

  “I wasn’t this full of surprises when we were together,” I said. I picked up my shot. “I was full of something, but never surprises.” She laughed and we drank our bourbons. I was aware of her knees near my knees under the table.

  “How did marriage go? I can guess that it didn’t go too well, or she wouldn’t be your ex-wife.”

  “About how you’d expect,” I said. “Sarah tried harder than I did.” There was a lot to that, a lot I wanted to say but couldn’t. A lot about how I had failed and how I knew I was failing as I was doing it. There were things I had thought about, when Sarah left and I was in my father’s house alone. “I was never very good at commitment,” I said. “Well, as you know.”

  Ruby held her beer in both hands. Her gaze floated somewhere between us.

  “What’s she like?” Ruby asked.

  I drew in a long breath, chewed on my lip.

  “She’s beautiful,” I said. “Really beautiful. I looked like an ape standing next to her.” Ruby laughed, a small, hazy laugh that gave me chills. I picked up my cigarette pack, put it back down. “She’s still beautiful, even after all the shit I put her through.” Neither of us said anything for a moment and the silence hung there, like a cloud around us.

  “How about you?” I asked after a few minutes. “What’s new?”“Well,” she said, sitting up straight. Ruby had been an actress, a glowing beast on high school and college stages. It was frustratingly impossible to tell when she was acting. She had a thousand mini-personas, little acts she would put on in the course of a conversation. This was one of them – she’d sit up straight and answer a question like she was a schoolgirl in a spelling bee. “I don’t have any children. Strictly speaking, I suppose that isn’t ‘new,’ as I didn’t have any children before.” She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, composing her thoughts. “I’m not married, but I did live as though I were, in San Francisco with a man who isn’t worth mentioning. Currently, I’m unemployed, living off my savings, and have little to show for my efforts but a rather rotten track record and a decent collection of soul CDs.” She bowed at the waist and I applauded politely. She cupped her chin in her long, white hand and sighed. “I am sorry about Big John,” she said, looking up at me from under her stray bangs.

  “I know,” I replied. “I know he meant a lot to you.”

  She let out a long sigh and her eyes teared up, just a little. Then she let her eyes take in the room.

  “This place hasn’t changed,” she said.

  I looked around, tried to see what she saw. Six years and Mitchell was still behind the bar and Tim was still in front of it. The juke box flipped over to a Gary Stewart song. Framed pictures lined the wall, of Dad, of oil derricks, a signed, yellowing eight-by-ten of Earl Campbell. I pulled a cigarette out of the pack and offered it t
o her. She looked at it for a long second, then accepted it. I lit it for her, lit one for myself.

  “Yeah,” I said finally. “I guess I haven’t done much around here.”

  “It’s good,” she said. “It’s a good thing. Some things shouldn’t change. Honestly.”

  I felt a flush of warm embarrassment across my face and I tried to think of something I could point to, something I could show her. Six years and I was still the same guy she moved away from.

  “Will you have dinner with me tomorrow?” I asked. It was all I could think to say. “I work during the day, so maybe like seven?”

  Ruby paused, drew in a long breath. Then she shrugged.

  “Sure,” she said. “Dinner would be nice.”

  “We could pretend to be newlyweds,” I said. “See if we can eat for free.”

  A smile crossed her face. Then, abruptly, Ruby stood.

  “I have to go,” she said. Her eyes were unfocused, as though she were trying to remember something. She opened her mouth to speak, then stopped.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “I really do have to go,” she said. “It’s not just an excuse – I made plans earlier.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  She finished one last gulp of her beer.

  “We’ll catch up more tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  She picked her purse up off the booth and held it under her arm as she looked around the room. When her eyes came back to me I realized she was waiting for me to walk her out. I stood and we walked to the front door. Out on the sidewalk, she sighed and looked up at the square front of the building. The glow from the lights inside fell in a rough rectangle at our feet. I took a chance, held out my hand. She hesitated, turned her shoulder toward me, then took my hand in hers. Standing that close to her, I could feel heat coming off her in waves.

  “Thanks for coming back tonight, Ruby.” I said.

  She squeezed my hand slightly.

  “That is the third time you’ve said that,” she said.

  “Then I must really mean it,” I said, willing myself to look her in the eye.

  She gave my hand another light squeeze, then turned and walked to the parking lot, swinging her purse at her side. I watched her pour herself into her car, a small red Toyota, then I went back inside.

  Tim was still sitting on the other side of Oscar and I could tell the slide into drunkenness had gone faster than most Saturdays. He was squinting and rubbing his glass between the palms of his hands. He muttered something to himself and laughed. I sat down next to Frank. Oscar stood and moved to shake my hand. He was on his way out.

  “That one,” he said. “That was your girlfriend.”

  “Love of my life,” I replied.

  “You gotta watch out for those,” he said. He smiled, but his eyes stayed drowsy and flat. “You lose the love of your life, that’s gonna hurt like hell.” He looked around the room, as though he might see someone he knew, someone who might convince him to stay. Then, nodding to himself, he turned and left.

  Frank stood up to give me back my seat.

  “You mind working the door the rest of the night?” I asked. “I feel like being alone for a while.”

  Frank sat back down, looking pleased.

  “I think I know that guy that just left,” Frank said. “But I can’t think of how.”

  “Well,” I said. “Mexicans all look alike.”

  In the office, I pulled out the grenade-shaped bottle of Blanton’s and poured myself a generous shot. Ruby had left me rattled, confused by the fact that I felt a little hope. I knew it was foolish, but I couldn’t help it. For years, I’d dreamed about her coming back, and now she had. Since she had left, part of me had always felt alone, even with Dad or with Sarah or with Jacob. I finished the shot and put my head down on the desk.

  When mom died, I was still pretty young, and sometimes Dad would have to bring me up to the bar while he worked. If it was early and the bar was kind of slow, he’d let me stay out front and shoot pool with his friends or wash glasses for him. When it got later, I’d go back in the office and read or do my homework. Eventually, I’d fall asleep with my head on the desk. Dad would wake me up after he’d closed up. He’d lead me, bleary and mussed, out to the car and home.

  I must have fallen asleep, because when I lifted my head, the music was off and I could hear Mitchell yelling last call. I rubbed my face, lit a cigarette and opened the door. The bar was washed in the bright yellow house lights. A few teetering stragglers stood at the bar, closing their tabs with Mitchell, while Frank pumped through a small pile of dirty glasses. I went behind the bar to grab the broom and dustpan. Mitchell waved me away.

  “Frank swept already,” he said, entering a tab into the credit card machine. “All we have to do is stock the beer and count the drawer and we’re done.”

  I made a count of the beer and went back to the stockroom. When I came back out with a couple cases, the place was empty. The house lights were off, the music was off. Mitchell was counting the drawer and Frank was wiping the bar, watching the hurricane coverage on the TV above the bar. When he saw me, he took the cases and I went back and got the rest.

  When we finished stocking, Frank and I sat at the bar while Mitchell finished counting the drawer. Mitchell then counted his tips, pulled forty dollars out, and handed it to Frank.

  “Here,” Mitchell said. “Thanks for the help.”

  Frank nodded without looking up. He folded the two twenties carefully and slipped them into his front pocket. Mitchell poured us a round of shots and we drank in silence.

  “Come back tomorrow,” I said to Frank. I looked to Mitchell and he gave me a shrug that may have been a nod. “If you want. We could use the help.”

  “Sure,” Frank said, trying not to grin. “Sure. Thanks.”

  Then I was standing next to Frank as Mitchell locked the front door. The streetlights made yellow circles on the sidewalks. The street was empty.

  “You need a ride, Frank?” I asked.

  Frank was tired, rocking from side to side a little to try to stay awake. A bar towel was tucked, forgotten, in his back pocket, but I didn’t bother to point it out. He shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “I’m staying just around the corner.” Mitchell turned from the door.

  “Okay,” I said. “Good night.”

  Mitchell and I turned to the parking lot. Frank was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, looking up and down the street. Then he set off slowly, shuffling down the sidewalk in his cracked shoes.

  I stopped at Mitchell’s car and pulled out my cigarettes. Mitchell’s eyes followed the cigarette as I put it in my mouth and lit it. He was tempted, so I took two quick drags, then dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it with the toe of my boot.

  “So, do you think Frank took Pancho?” I asked.

  Mitchell looked down the street where Frank had gone. A car drove past, the tires chunking over a pothole.

  “I don’t know,” Mitchell said. He scratched his leg. “I don’t know.” He nodded, a slow long nod, then unlocked his car and got in without another word. I leaned against my truck and watched him drive off before I pulled out my cigarettes.

  The yellow-orange sodium lights of the parking lot made everything look gray and black. I lit a cigarette, but it made me kind of dizzy, lost in my head, so I just held it between my fingers. I heard voices from a window down the street, laughter above music. For a brief moment, I thought about calling Tracy. The idea of an empty house felt crushing and impossible. I breathed in deep, through my nose, until my head cleared. I lifted my cigarette to my mouth, but it had gone out. So I lit another, climbed into my truck, and drove home.

  SATURDAY

  EIGHT

  I got up early on Saturday, showered and made myself breakfast. I was feeling less hung over than usual, less ragged. I worked the day bartending shift on Saturdays, my only shift behind the bar. I complained about the shift to the other bartenders, abou
t how slow it was and how little money I made, but, in truth, I liked it. I liked being in the bar during the day, sitting at the bar and reading the paper as sunlight fell in through the front window and found the dust in the corners. Saturdays were my days for catching up, doing the little things. Cleaning behind the counters, dusting under the bottles. Little tweaks and fixes that made me feel like the place was mine.

  The drive to the bar was slow, the streets full of cars. The sky was clear and flat grey-blue. The trees along the street were green and full and lush. The sun was out and warm and except for some windows covered with blue tape or with scrap wood, it was easy to forget about the hurricane. I found myself humming a Hank Williams song and drumming my hand on the steering wheel. In the cracked parking lot of the bar, I leaned against the warm hood of my truck and finished my cigarette, watching the grackles land on the peaked roof of the store across the street.

  I turned the key in the lock and yanked the door open. There’s a squeak the front door of the bar makes, the old wood of the door grinding over the metal of the threshold. The bar was dark, filled with still air and the bitter smell of yesterday’s smoke. As I turned the corner to step behind the bar, something on the floor caught my eye. A quarter, shiny against the black floor mat. I stepped toward the light switch and saw another quarter, then another. Then my foot came down and slid across a pile of quarters. Something in my head couldn’t put this right and I stood staring at this loose mound of coins. Then I saw the drawer from the register, lying face down on the ground, and panic surged across my skin.

  I flipped the light on. Quarters were everywhere, along with paper clips and rubber bands and everything else that had been in the cash drawer except the cash. The lock box under the counter had been pried open. It gaped, sickeningly empty, the cash drop from the last two nights gone.

  I ran to the office and threw on the light. The beer cases and the trash can were undisturbed, but the rest of the office was chaos. The drawers of the desk had been pulled out. Papers and pens lay scattered over the floor. The bottle of Blanton’s had been smashed in the middle of everything and the room was filled with the woody-caramel scent of whiskey.