Chuck Freadhoff - Free Booze Tonight

by Chuck Freadhoff

  I told myself she’d just been saving the best for last. But when you’re third choice behind a snake handler and a Betty White wanna be, it makes you reassess. I knew I had to call Grassman and thought about delaying the call but then figured, what the hell. I pulled the phone off the shelf under the counter, plopped it on the bar and dialed. While it was ringing, I glanced at the pretzels and burped. The aftertaste had a hint of shoe polish.

  I thought Grassman would be upset. But it turns out he wasn’t even surprised.

  “Yeah, she left messages at the Slither Center and at Grandma’s. She’s looking for a snitch. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. The IRS doesn’t like pot dealers much.”

  “I don’t think the IRS cares what kind of business you’re in as long as you pay your taxes,” I said. “They’d try to get taxes from Big Foot if they could find him.”

  “So what’d you tell her?”

  “I told her we were under new management, that we’re trying to attract a new clientele.”

  “She buy it?”

  “I don’t think so. But I told her to come back Saturday.”

  “Saturday?”

  “Yeah, that’s when Delilah’s going to have her gig, remember? I figure the place will be packed.”

  “That bar packed? What the hell have you been smoking?”

  When you work for a pot dealer and he asks you what you’ve been smoking, how do you answer the question? If you tell him you’re not smoking anything, you’ll sound disloyal. But if you tell him you’re smoking his stuff, first he might get pissed off because you’re zonked out on the job and then he’s going to remember that you never bought a baggie from him. Not much advantage in either answer. I changed the subject.

  “Grassman, you need to have faith in the free enterprise system. The place will be standing room only and Viola will be one disappointed IRS agent.”

  “If she comes back.”

  “Oh, she’ll be back.”

  “How do you know?”

  I thought about it for a moment, remembering the look in her eyes as she took in the place. “You know, Grassman, I have a hunch that she’s lonely. I think she’s secretly hoping the place will be packed.”

  “You have a hunch? That’s it?”

  “She thinks I’m cute, too. I can tell.”

  “I guess working with numbers all day, her eyes were bound to go.”

  I thought about her glasses. They were a little thick. “Well, whatever the reason, she’ll be here.”

  “Good. But, if this doesn’t work, Joey, I’m going transfer you to Grandma’s Getup or The Slither Center.”

  “It’ll work. Trust me.” It had to. I don’t mind senior citizens, but I hate snakes.

  Chapter 19

  I was wiping down the bar when Grassman brought his kid, Alphonse, by to set up the drums. Grassman had to drive him over. Alphonse was only thirteen. Eighth grade. Technically he wasn’t old enough to be in the bar, let alone working there. I decided not to let a legal nicety get in the way of staying alive. I’m liberal minded in some ways.

  Grassman sailed through the back door and leaned against the bar. His Tommy Bahama shirt – grass skirts and ukuleles – reminded me of all the wonderful sites and places I’d probably never see – The Bowling Hall of Fame, the Donner Party Historical Marker, Bakersfield. To a starving man a week-old liverwurst sandwich can look good.

  “Alphonse is bringing in a few things,” Grassman said and put a plain brown bag on the counter. I’d asked Grassman to drop off a couple of ounces so I could meet some expenses. (Billy our beer delivery guy was a charter member of Grassman’s frequent flyer club and was more than happy to exchange imbibing for inhaling. He’d stack the beer cases in the locker, roll himself a joint about the size of Rhode Island and toke up. The next guy on his route was forever ordering Canadian Club and getting Coors.)

  I put the bag under the counter just as Alphonse stepped into the room. I stared. I reached for the pretzels but caught myself in time. Grassman’s built like a linebacker. Alphonse more like a goal post – a very short, pale, goal post. He waved meekly and went back to his drums.

  Grassman took in the bar – empty as always. Even Davey was gone for the night. Probably out venting his spleen on some four chord wonder. Shit. Davey. Hadn’t thought about him. Another complication I’d have to deal with.

  “Where you gonna put the band?” Grassman asked.

  I hadn’t really thought about it. But after catching a glimpse of Alphonse I started looking for the darkest corner in the place. Maybe no one would notice how old he was if they couldn’t see him. Unfortunately, the darkest corner was where Davey the semi-illiterate music critic spent his days, and most of his nights. I smiled at my boss.

  “I’m still working out a few kinks,” I said.

  In the back room Alphonse ran though a quick warm-up – a garbage disposal with a little bass thrown in - and Grassman grinned.

  “Alphonse would like a solo. You can manage that, right?” Grassman said.

  “Not a problem,” I said.

  “Kid’s got talent, doesn’t he?”

  “Move over, Ringo.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.”

  I think that’s when I decided to run. I’d already given it a little thought, even gathered a handful of travel brochures touting the places I could afford – The Delights of Des Moines, Fabulous Fargo and Beautiful Buffalo. I even considered going international - Manila in the Monsoon.

  The problem was – well there were a lot of problems but the biggest one was money. I didn’t have any. I’d planned on using a couple of Grassman’s baggies to pay Hakim, the base player, and Biggie Bruce, but travel agents, I’ve found, usually prefer Visa. Maybe I could sell the pot, take the cash and make the dash. But then there were the Roo boys.

  They showed up just as I was getting ready to close for the night. They stood shoulder to shoulder across the bar from me, like two carved stone statues guarding a pharos’ tomb. Made me feel more like a cadaver than a king.

  “We’ll drive you home,” Jimmy said.

  I thought I saw James nod. But their heads never move. I blinked and looked again. It was like seeing a gargoyle wink. You can’t really believe you saw it and you’re ready to chalk it up to a bad acid flashback but then again, if it did blink, just think of the possibilities.

  “It’s not far, I can walk.”

  “We’ll drive you.”

  “I won’t get lost, promise.”

  Jimmy leaned across the bar and pulled one of those travel brochures out from under a pile of soggy napkins. I’d thought I’d thrown them all away. Tuba City – Imagine the Excitement. Guess I missed that one.

  The Roo boys couldn’t outthink a turnip, but they always seemed to be one step ahead of me. I was getting demoralized. I smiled – damn, I was getting sick of smiling.

  “Glad to have the company.”

  Chapter 20

  There we were, me and the Roo boys, our little single file human Twinkie rumbling right up the sidewalk. Now I had another problem. The Roo boys weren’t going fit through the bathroom window. I’d have to change my routine. Usually I’d cut through my neighbor’s back yard, jump the wall, pause in the begonias for a moment, and scramble through my bathroom window. That way no one sees me and calls my landlady, Rita Rudekinski. Rita liked to be paid. On time. It’s why I came home after dark.

  Rita’s really a sweet lady. She’s a widow from the Ukraine or Uzbekistan or maybe it’s Tajikistan - one of those places where they live in yurts and eat a lot of goat. She’s actually pretty if you can get past the facial hair.

  Then there’s that nickname, Rita the Razor. I don’t know if its because of the hair – really just a little dark dusting along her upper lip and cheeks, not full on bearded lady kind of stuff, but still – or if its because she carries a straight edge in her back pocket. Didn’t really matter. Either way I figured it was best to avoid her.

  I was holding my breat
h while we worked our way up the sidewalk. I read someplace that elephants move silently. The Roo brothers not so much. It’s like having an MTA bus idling outside your window. Maybe they beep when they back up.

  Rita popped out her door. Like I said, she’s dermatologically challenged, not deaf.

  “Joey, good to see you in front of the building. You’re killing my begonias out back.” She was wearing black jeans and those long boots with spike heels. I wondered if she was packing the razor.

  “These are my friends Jimmy and James.” Rita’s about five foot three, maybe one hundred and ten. I was hoping the Roo brothers’ sheer bulk would give me an edge. Usually with women I’m trying to convince them that size doesn’t matter. This didn’t work either. She glanced at them and then at me.

  “You got my money?” Her hand was resting on her hip, her fingertips inches from her back pocket. “And don’t bother giving me a check. The last one would make a trampoline jealous.”

  “Got something better than cash.”

  “This had better be good.”

  I pulled one of the baggies that Grassman had given me from my pocket and held it up.

  “Pot?”

  “Not just any pot. This is pure Reservoir Red. Some of the finest sensimilla ever to come out of the San Fernando Valley.” Okay, it didn’t exactly have the cache of Train Wreck but it was the best I could do on short notice.

  “I got a card, Joey.”

  “Huh?”

  “A medical marijuana card, you dolt.”

  “For what, you’re healthy.”

  “Cramps, if you must know.”

  Maybe I’d spread bubonic plague in a past life and I was in the middle of some sort of cosmic payback. Or maybe I was born over an Indian burial ground and the ghost of Running Elk or someone was haunting me. Ethel could tell me. I decided not to ask. Why push my luck?

  I glanced at the Roo brothers. Their faces were blank. They had on their sunglasses. Maybe they admired my trading abilities. I think they’re capitalists at heart.

  I swayed the baggie. “Yeah, but you still have to pay for the pot, right?”

  “Seeds and stems?”

  “Not a one.”

  She grabbed the baggie from my hand, went to her front door, and looked back. “You’re still two months behind. And stay out of the begonias.”

  Chapter 21

  Delilah stopped by the bar just before noon the next day. She was dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt. No wig, no cross, no nail polish. I almost didn’t recognize her. She leaned against the bar and raised her eyebrows.

  “So, Joey, you’re still alive.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “More surprised than disappointed.” She shrugged and glanced around the bar. “This is where I’m playing?”

  “Yeah. Place will be packed.”

  “The Black Hole of Calcutta was packed.”

  But there it was again, that not-an-Orkin-man look. Okay, it was just a flash, but maybe she actually liked me. It’d been so long, I wasn’t sure I’d recognize the signs. The fact is every woman I know pretty much looks at me the same way, like I was a mauled but not quite dead baby bird the cat had dragged in. There’s always a certain mix of emotions in their eyes. One part of them really wants to cuddle me and rescue me but the other part just wants to get out the rolling pin and finish the job.

  I realized that even Ethel liked her cat more than she liked me. He’s an old, unneutered, beat up tom. She’d named it Clinton.

  I tried to focus on Delilah. Maybe she wasn’t so bad. Maybe even slightly cute. Still more Plain Jane than Tarzan and Jane, and the lights were low but …

  “So what brings you by the bar?” I asked.

  “I’m worried.”

  “Hey, there’s nothing to be worried about. The gig is Saturday. We’ll rehearse tomorrow. You’ll knock ‘em dead.” I really needed to watch my language.

  “What if they don’t like me?”

  “Are you kidding me? They’ll love you.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  Well, of course I was just saying that. I was measuring my life in five minute increments. A bag of Fritos had a longer life expectancy than I did.

  “No, I’m not just saying that. So, tell me what did your dad say about the costumes … the, er, the outfits. He give up the Cher idea?”

  “Well, we negotiated.”

  “Negotiated?” Isn’t that what that guy did with Fredo in the boat?

  “I wanted to go for a Lady Gaga look. He wanted Barbara Streisand. I suggested Courtney Love and he mentioned Liza Minelli.”

  “Where’d you end up?”

  “I’m not sure. He promised he’d handle it.” I thought of the albino Irish Setter jacket. I tried not to shudder.

  “Can’t wait to see what he has in mind. I’m sure it will be great.”

  “You bet. Daddy always keeps his promises,” Delilah said and smiled.

  Not exactly what I wanted to hear. Like the hangman telling you he bought an extra strength rope just for the occasion. Quality control hadn’t really been a concern before. Now it wasn’t even a hope. I decided to change the subject but Delilah spoke before I had a chance.

  “Joey, let me ask you something.”

  It’s never a good thing when a woman says, “let me ask you something.” Especially for me. I have trouble understanding Ralph, who’s about as complicated as bag full of hammers, let alone anyone who’s ever worn a dress. When it comes to women, here’s the total extent of what I know. One: You never ask a woman if she’s pregnant. Two: The answer is always no when asked if a certain garment will alter the world’s perception of her girth. Beyond that, well, I have a better chance of getting hit by lightning in the Sahara.

  “Ask me anything,” I said.

  “Tell me, Joey, do you think I’m pretty?”

  I suddenly wondered if Vincent the Hammer would give me a choice of rugs. Wool or synthetic fiber, Joey? The wool probably lasts longer but the synthetic stands up to those really tough stains.

  That’s when the door opened and Agent Viola of the IRS waltzed in. Her skirt was shorter than a nanosecond, her heels taller than some dwarves and her lips and nails blood red. She glanced at Delilah like she was a potted palm, sauntered to the bar, and leaned against it.

  “Thought about my offer, Joey?”

  “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.” I glanced at Delilah. She was scowling at me like I was a pair of old gym socks. Now, most women look at me like I’m a pile of dirty laundry but this was a little different. For a second I wondered if she was jealous but then it occurred to me that I didn’t have a clue what that would look like.

  Viola purred and caught my attention again. She leaned farther across the bar, cutting the distance between us to a couple of inches. She had on a low cut blouse. I tried to act nonchalant. It’s like trying to act blasé while Mt. Vesuvius is going off in the back yard. It’s harder than it seems at first.

  “I have a friend named Bubba. He’s in for life. He can’t wait to meet you.”

  “Saturday night,” I said and tried to raise my eyes to her face. “You’ll see this place is doing a hell of a business. You can’t believe the product we move out of here.” I thought of Grassman’s baggies and decided that I talk too much.

  “Okay, but remember, Joey, you’re going to have to be a big boy and decide.”

  “Deciding is always easy for me,” I said. In the past I’d always decided to run. This time I didn’t have a clue what I’d do.

  Delilah cleared her throat and Agent Viola arched her eyebrows, apparently surprised that a palm could be so vocal.

  “He’s right, you know,” Delilah said. “We’ve got a smoking band. This bar will be hopping.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m the lead singer.”

  Agent Viola’s eyes moved from Delilah and back to me. “Whatever.”

  I glanced at Delilah. Her face had changed somehow – more Stevie Nicks now
than Janice Joplin.

  “Come back Saturday, okay?” I said.

  Viola nodded once and pushed away from the bar. She sauntered across the floor and let the door slam behind her. I looked at Delilah.

  “You’ll have to forgive Agent Viola. She’s a very lonely IRS agent who wants me to snitch out my boss.”

  Delilah was still watching the door. “You want me to have daddy …” She turned to me a second later and smiled without finishing. She was kidding … I think.

  “Nah, don’t bother Vincent,” I said. “He’s got to worry about outfits.”

  “Okay, so?” she said.

  “So?”

  “So, you didn’t answer my question. Do you think I’m pretty?” Like a hungry lion spotting a wounded gazelle. Fiercely focused. Like I said, women totally baffle me.

  “No, I don’t think you’re pretty,” I said.

  A look flashed through her eyes Big Foot just before ripping off some explorer’s arms. “Nah, I don’t think you’re pretty, I think you’re beautiful,” I said.

  I wasn’t surprised I said it. I live in that jumbled up gray area where truth and lies sort of mix. The rest of the world calls it politics. I call it life. So, no, I wasn’t surprised I said it. What surprised me was that I meant it.

  “See you at rehearsal,” Delilah said and stepped away from the bar. She crossed the floor, a new swing in her hips. She stopped abruptly and turned, catching me ogling her retreat.

  “I’m not worried about Agent Viola,” she said. “She’s not your type.”

  She winked at me and headed toward the door leaving me to wonder how I’d just managed to take a simple choice - to breathe or not - and made it even more complicated.

  Chapter 22

  It was time to call the last two people I needed - Ken from Kinkos and Irving the ink-stained wretch. Most people help me out because they owe me a favor. That’s why I knew I could count on Ken. He’d owed me since high school.