Lloyd Corricelli - Ronan Marino 01 - Two Redheads & a Dead Blonde

by Lloyd Corricelli

  After twenty years in business, the owner Max Massaro had finally decided to call the room after himself with the relatively recent name change. I was never sure if Max was even his real name, but that’s what everyone called him, at least to his face. Behind his back, his employees referred to him as the Oompa Loompa. To me, he looked more like an Ugnaughtthe short ugly pig-like creatures that put Han Solo into carbonite in The Empire Strikes Back. A short roly-poly fellow with three chins, he always wore a faded Red Sox cap, the same model worn by the 1975 team, with the red front and blue brim. It never mattered which sport was in season; Max never wavered from the Sox cap.

  This was a typical Thursday night like any other Thursday night during the past forty years. When school was in session, the club was jammed with college students mixed with a few high school kids with good fake IDs. Cheap beer, hookup sex and rock n’ roll were the order of the night. Some of the kids may have been doing ecstasy too, but my days of worrying about the drug scene were over. They paid little real attention to the band, since the majority of songs we played were written before many of them were born. The Jefferies Tubes was nothing more than live background music for attempted hook ups. We once tried to play some more modern stuff and learned a Link’in Park song but quickly came to our senses after hearing ourselves play it and vowed to beat the next person who requested it.

  There were only two reasons the kids came back week after week; one financial and the other out of habit. Max wasted his money hiring my band; the dollar drafts were the real draw and any decent DJ could have filled the bill. Truthfully though, as long as we got to play, the kids danced, and the guys in the band got paid, we didn’t really care about anything else.

  Across the bar, my new girlfriend Karen was hustling her ass off for tips. College kids are notoriously bad tippers, but a woman built like her could get the boys to give up their last dime for a smile. She had long blonde hair, deep blue eyes, those bee-stung-looking lips that seemed to be in vogue and a lean muscular body built through hours in the gym lifting weights and doing aerobics. Her tight jeans showed every curve, earning her extra attention from all the boys and some of the girls who swung both ways.

  Karen worked the club a couple of nights a week to pay the bills until she finished up her physical therapy degree. We’d been dating for almost six weeks, and although there was a ten-year age difference, it didn’t seem to matter. She regularly teased that I didn’t act my age, anyway, and she was probably right.

  Although we’d been together for such short time, there was a real spark between us that went beyond physical attraction. After three years of marital hell followed by a messy divorce, part of me was afraid of committing to a serious relationship again. Every moment I spent with Karen made me reconsider and pushed me closer to the edge of falling head over heels in love with her. I wasn’t there yet but knew we were close.

  She was different than most women I knew because like me, she was a veteran, albeit Navy. Karen had spent time in Afghanistan as a corpsman and had easily seen as much bloodshed as I had. While I didn’t often talk about the things I’d seen and done over there, we’d often swapped war stories and I think it helped both of us cope a little better. It was funny but I’d spent many an hour talking with various Air Force buddies about our experiences but until Karen I’d never had a girlfriend who could really understand how I felt.

  She could also hold her own in conversations on religion, politics, and sports. She was far more than a pretty face, and I found her very refreshing from the Barbie dolls I’d know in California; despite her physically resembling the prototypical Golden State girl in every way.

  Like most women, she couldn’t understand how a man my age could still enjoy reading comic books. It never affected our relationship though, and she just kind of smiled and laughed at me about it. While she studied her biology books, I usually followed Batman’s latest duel with the Joker. It was odd, but it worked.

  Sex with her was a religious experience. Yeah, I know it sounded cliché, but there is no better way to describe it. Most women twice her age didn’t possess the skills in bed that she did. It was like she had been given an owner’s manual for my body and committed it to memory.

  On the downside, I didn’t get to spend as much time with her as I would have liked. Between work, school, and her family, I was lucky to see her twice a week. I didn’t push for more but hoped, in time, it would come. My schedule was certainly open.

  My band had just started to play one of her favorite songs, the Doby Grey classic “Drift Away,” when I noticed a guy hassling her. She tried to walk away, but he grabbed her by the arm and kept trying to pull her onto his lap. Never the fragile flower, Karen smacked him across the face, and he stood up threateningly. I quickly scanned the room but saw no sign of Max’s steroid-ridden bouncer, Lou. As usual he was probably off trying to get laid by some underage teen.

  I put my guitar down and pushed through the crowd. The rest of the band didn’t miss a beat and improvised a string of bass and keys solos. I’d like to think that it was because they were seasoned professionals but I suspect it had more to do with their fear of getting chewed out by Max for stopping in the middle of a set.

  “Let her go, junior, before you get hurt,” I yelled above the noise.

  As the words spilled off my tongue, I realized he was a foot taller than me and at least eighty pounds heavier. He had a thick neck, and his arms were roughly the size of my thighs. He continued to hold on to Karen as he looked down on me. His eyes were bloodshot and said he’d had way too much to drink. Damn those dollar drafts.

  “Don’t fuck with me, shorty, I was all-state in high school,” he slurred.

  Behind him stood what looked like the entire offensive line for a Division III-A college football team, which is to say they weren’t really all that big for linemen; though still larger than me. I wondered briefly if I could take them. They’d all been drinking, and I was sober and getting angry. There was only about a twelve hundred-pound difference between usnothing that I thought I shouldn’t be able to handle one kid at a time.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass who you are; let her go,” I demanded.

  “I’m going to fucking kill you,” he laughed.

  He let go of Karen and balled his Cro-Magnon sized hands into fists. That was all the intent needed. I hit him between the eyes with a left-right combo. He fell to his knees, his face almost instantly a bloody mask. In the background, my band abandoned “Drift Away” and broke into the theme from “Rawhide;” not one of them lifting a finger to help me. Bastards.

  Football boy shook it off and got up, his fists flailing like an unbalanced windmill. The crowd dispersed and gave him room, expecting to see the guitar player get his head handed to him. They were in for a major disappointment.

  I easily avoided his blows and nailed him with a roundhouse kick to the knee and a jab to the nose, knocking him back to his knees. He started to get up again but I landed a wicked hook kick to his head, and he went down face first like a sack of potatoes. He hit the vinyl floor with a large thud. His buddies stood in shock.

  “Who’s next?” I blustered, hoping none of them would take me up on the offer.

  They all stepped back, not wanting to end up like their friend. Lou, a big goofy kid who worked days at a local gym, appeared ready for action. He was a day late and about five dollars for inflation too short.

  “Whoa, what the fuck happened?” he asked.

  “He tripped, Lou. Why don’t you help him outside, so I can get back to playing?”

  “Uh, yeah sure.”

  The crowd parted like the Red Sea as Lou dragged football boy out the door, leaving a bloody smear on the floor. An overweight, freckle-faced kid with red cropped hair came over and tried to apologize for his friend.

  “Hey, man, I’m sorry. He just had too much to drink. We’ll take him home.”

  “Make sure you get his nose checked,” I said. “It’s probably broken.”

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nbsp; “Uh, sure. Hey, that was pretty cool. Was that karate?”

  Something told me he was a liberal arts major, just getting by on challenging classes like basket weaving and underwater firefighting. His parents would undoubtedly be shocked someday soon when they realized all the money they had spent on tuition qualified their son to be a used car salesman.

  “Yeah, something like that,” I said.

  He nodded and left, satisfied that he’d met a bonafide apprentice to Bruce Lee. I breathed a sigh of relief over not having to fight a half-ton of stupid.

  “Pretty fancy shooting, Tex. You learn that from some comic book?” Karen asked in her best cornpone western accent.

  “Yup. Wanna’ see my six shooter?”

  “Mmmmmm, promises, promises,” she cooed playfully. “Maybe someone deserves a reward.”

  “Should I bring my posse, ma’am?”

  She leaned in and whispered in my ear, “No, but I’ll be bringing mine.”

  Her play on words started a strange stirring in my utility belt that combined with the smell of her perfume drove me wild. Closing time couldn’t come soon enough.

  Suddenly the shrill of Max’s voice cut destroyed the moment. “Hey, Ronan, I’m not paying you to stand around and try to fuck my waitresses.”

  “I just stopped some college boy from messing around with her,” I shot back.

  “Yeah? Well, I ain’t paying you for that either.”

  “You’re all class, Max,” I said as I made my way back to the stage.

  We launched into the 3 Doors Down version of “Loser,” one of the few songs we knew from the past ten years and probably the most appropriate for the moment. I also had an unexplainable urge for a Wonka Bar.

  The life of an unappreciated hero is not an easy one, but I always found a way to persevere one way or another. The rest of the gig was uneventful and we played on until the wee hours, another night of music for college students to get drunk by.

  We finished loading out our gear around one-thirty, and the rest of the band took off for a late-night calorie-fest at Denny’s. I begged off from such culinary delights, because it wasn’t good for my girlish figure. The guys didn’t seem to mind the developing Dunlop syndrome around their waists.

  It was getting chilly, and I could see my breath meaning the temperature had dipped below fifty. Fall would soon give way to winter, my first one back in New England in well over a decade. It was time to go out and buy a couple of snowmobiles to get me through the season. Another mental note, one I was sure to forget until that first snowfall.

  I waited in the alley behind the bar for Karen to come out. Max made the girls clean up, put up stools, and do other tasks that a bar back would perform if he wasn’t so cheap and had hired one.

  A sassy hard-body petite redhead named Cassie exited first. She and I had this harmless little flirting thing going on. Karen didn’t seem to mind and thought it was kind of cute.

  She wore a tight pair of hip-hugger jeans exposing her smooth belly and a white, long sleeve midriff blouse made out of that stretchy Lycra stuff. I could see the outline of her fifty-cent piece areolas perfectly through the fabric. She had a tattoo poking out of the jeans, but I couldn’t make out what it was. If I asked her, she would have shown it to me, but that wasn’t really my style.

  She could tell I was checking her out and smiled, enjoying the attention. If I weren’t dating Karen, she would have been an attractive alternative at least physically. I found her very sexy in a slinky Catwoman sort of way.

  “You wanna’ go somewhere and screw, tough guy?” she cooed playfully.

  “You’ve got me all wrong, ma’am. I’m sweet and innocent.”

  “If you’re innocent, then I’m the virgin mother.”

  “The only thing virgin on you is maybe an ear.”

  She slapped my shoulder. “Not even.”

  “Ah, a three input woman.”

  She smiled and arched her eyebrows, letting me know she was indeed open to many things.

  “You surprised me tonight,” she said.

  “What, the football player?” I deepened my voice, doing my best superhero imitation. “When you’ve been in mortal combat, citizen, drunk frat boys are hardly a challenge.”

  “Was that combat in the poon-tang valley?”

  She was quick, I’ll give her that much.

  “Down on my knees in the hot–sweaty–bush.”

  She put her hand on my chest and began rubbing it. “Ooh, I get so hot when you talk like that, Ronan.”

  Despite the fact we were only kidding around, her touch was turning me on. I’d have to be either gay or completely oblivious for it not to. Karen came out of the club grinning. She had changed into a black short skirt, a green silk blouse, and flat shoes. The cold also made her nipples stand hard against her blouse. Karen definitely had a lot more up top than the little redhead.

  “I turn my back for one minute, and you try to move in on my lover,” she said with a laugh.

  “Just harmless flirting,” I replied.

  “I meant her.” She grabbed Cassie by the waist and pulled her away from me. “You want her, don’t you, Ronan?”

  Cassie licked her lips and winked, exaggerating the movements for comic effect.

  “I’ve always had a thing for redheads,” I admitted, which was the truth. It was something I couldn’t explain. Some men prefer blondes and some brunettes. I was weak for gingers.

  The girls looked at each other, then back to me.

  “You know her carpet matches her drapes,” Karen offered.

  “And how would you know?” I asked.

  They turned and looked deeply into each other’s eyes, playing right into my lipstick lesbian sandwich fantasy. They didn’t even have to ask if I had one because every guy does whether they own up to it or not.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but we go to the same health club,” Cassie said.

  “Yeah, but that means she looked,” I replied.

  “You don’t look at other men in the shower?” Karen asked.

  “Yeah, you know, just to make comparisons,” Cassie added.

  “Afraid not. I might get an inferiority complex if I did.”

  “Liar,” they said in chorus.

  “Okay, kids,” Cassie said. “I hate to cut this session short, but this girl has got to get some rest I’ve got a long day coming tomorrow.”

  She and Karen exchanged a little hug and kiss. As Cassie walked away, she slapped me on the butt. The girls giggled, and I might have turned a little red.

  “Take care of that handsome blonde-haired man, Karen,” Cassie said. “Or I might just have to steal him.”

  I snuck a quick glance at her that Karen didn’t miss.

  “You want her so bad.”

  “Nah, I’ve got all I can handle right here,” I replied.

  She liked that and put her hand on my ass and squeezed. “I can see, though, why she couldn’t resist.”

  We crossed the street to the gas company building, where our vehicles were parked along the canal running along the Industrial Canyon. She grabbed my hand and held it tight.

  “Stick close, Superman.”

  “Always, Lois.”

  She called me Superman, and I liked it, even if I pictured myself more as a Batman type. When we got to her car, a late model yellow-jacket-colored convertible Mustang, she pulled me close and kissed me hard on the lips.

  “Thanks again for tonight.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.”

  “I thought you were here to play music?”

  “Well, that too, though you really messed me up for the rest of the night with all those things you said you were going to do to me. I had a hard time concentrating on the songs.”

  She frowned, and I prepared myself for disappointing news.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I forgot that I have class early in the morning, and I can’t risk missing it again.”

  It was my turn to frown.
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br />   “I’m sorry,” she said. “Can I make it up to you Saturday night?”

  I nodded. I was let down, but I understood how important school was. Before I could say anything, however, she put her finger on my lip to quiet me.

  “You know, I’ve never christened the backseat in this baby. You wouldn’t be against a quickie, would you?”

  “Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”

  She looked around to make sure we were alone, then reached under her skirt and slid off a pair of white lace thong panties. “That’s half the fun.”

  She handed the panties to me and climbed into the backseat. I didn’t give it a second thought.

  The backseat of a Mustang is not exactly the most comfortable of places to make love. I had a brief flashback to high school and Tracy Bonani in the back of my beat up ‘78 Camaro during a double feature at the long gone Wamesit Drive-In in neighboring Tewksbury. The difference this time was I wouldn’t grope around like an idiot, and Karen blew Tracy away in the looks department.

  The whole scene struck me as funny. Screwing my girlfriend in the backseat of her car in a public parking lot was something, up until recently I never would have considered doing. Things like this are looked down upon in the Air Force, especially for an officer. I’d done some pretty wild things in my military days but nothing that could get me arrested.

  I was trying to loosen up and, as Karen liked to say, pull the military stick out of my ass. Sex in a downtown Lowellparking lot was a big step in going civiliannot that military folks didn’t do things like this. Hell, I’m pretty sure I did it in this very parking lot at least once or twice when I worked the door for Max in college.

  We kissed passionately, the kind of kiss lovers share when the heat is new and still exciting. I fumbled in anticipation with the buttons on Karen’s blouse, unclipped her front-loading white lace bra, and let her firm ample breasts spill out into my eager hands. She had areolas the size of a nickel and the chill in the air made her nipples hard like an eraser on a pristine number two pencil.