by Tom Larsen
“You know her?”
“Never saw her before in my life. My guess is Bobo’s out of his league. The lady’s just amusing herself.”
“Make it fifty and you’ve got yourself a bet.”
“Can I get in on this?” Face wants to know. Something about this face.
“What’s your name pilgrim?” Harry asks.
“Stevie Winslow.’
“Gerry Green,” Harry shakes his hand. “Looks like you’re in Stevie boy. By . . .” Harry squints at Stevie’s watch, “11.00 p.m. Long Tall will be singing those lonesome blues.”
“I think you’re half right,” Stevie fingers his chin. “She’s definitely slumming. But the cowboy has a certain swagger. She might indulge him.”
They watch as Bo unveils his tattoos, then another cowpoke stops by to swap lies and stare holes in Lena’s blouse.
“See?” Harry nods to the mirror. “She’s bored shitless.”
Stevie turns to watch. “I’m not so sure. Note the slight flair to the nostrils, the smoky gaze. Soon she’ll be running a hand up his thigh.”
Bartender leans in. “Be brave little lady.”
“You guys,” Harry shakes his head. “First mistake, you think he can get inside her head. I’m here to tell you it can’t be done.”
“Who said anything about her head?”
“Mistake number two? You assume he’s calling the shots. She’s just yanking his chain.”
Stevie checks the bartender. “Shall we go for a hundred?”
“One hundred it is!” Harry smacks the bar. “Barman! Where’s that red wine for Stevie?”
Cowboy springs for a second round then settles in for the siege. He wrangles a laugh every now and then, but on the whole it’s going nowhere.
“So I rented a Jeep, if you can believe it. Me in a Jeep.” Stevie giggles at the thought. “I drove out of town and up into the mountains.”
Barman flinches. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Why not?”
“Banditos.”
“You’re not serious!”
“The old ways die hard.”
“See anything interesting?” Harry asks him.
“There’s a town up there. San Lucas. I found this strange little store, a junk shop, really. Poor people’s junk, at that. Tools, car parts, old appliances. Way out back she had this display case.”
“She?”
“The woman who runs it. She followed me back. More junk, some costume jewelry. But on the bottom shelf I saw a small black case, matchbox size. I asked her to show it to me.”
Harry studies Stevie’s profile. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
“I don’t think so, I’m from Arizona.”
“What about the case?” barman butts in.
“It was amazing. The lid was really a magnifying glass. She held it out to me and I looked and . . .”
“Ever been on television? Maybe that’s it.”
“No, well once, but that was a crowd scene.”
“The case, man, for God’s sake!”
“You’ll think I’m crazy, but I saw it with my own eyes. Through the glass, a pin sticking straight up and on the head of it was The Last Supper! Painted!”
Harry nearly swallows an ice cube. “You know the air’s pretty thin up there, Stevie.”
“I’m serious! Right there as plain as day. Jesus and the Apostles, or were they disciples?”
“Painted on the head of a pin.”
“Yes!” Stevie insists. “Oh, I knew no one would believe me. A collector’s dream, stumble into some backwater trading post and make the find of a lifetime. It sounds impossible, but I know what I saw!”
“So why didn’t you buy it?”
“She wouldn’t sell! She said they used to have more but the old man who paints them died. It was the last one. I offered her $200!”
Harry catches Cowboy scribbling something on a napkin. When he looks to Lena she’s staring right at him.
“Maybe she was insulted, Stevie,” Harry tears his eyes away. “Maybe she gets ten grand for them.”
“It was in the bottom of a display case. There were dead flies.”
“I’m just wondering,” barman runs his towel through a puddle. “How would someone go about painting The Last Supper on the head of a pin?”
“He used a hair from his arm,” Stevie tells him.
“Oh, right.”
“She told me. The old man was her uncle. He used a hair from his arm and painted between the beats of his heart.”
“Come on, nobody could do that.”
“Nobody you know. This guy lived in the jungle.”
Harry gives Stevie a long look. “Did I mention the bridge I’m selling?”
“Look, there she goes,” barman nods to Lena heading off to the ladies room. “A quick tinkle, a little makeup and Bo’s on his way.”
“Says you,” Harry fumbles for a smoke.
“Money in the bank. I’ve seen it a hundred times.”
“Is there a window in that bathroom?”
Lena rejoins Cowboy minutes later but they make no move to leave. Harry checks Stevie’s watch. 11.15 and time’s a-wasting.
“. . . my ex-father in law to my left,” Stevie babbles on. “I forget what I was telling them but the mouth is going and the hands are going and everyone’s sitting with tight little smiles. It was a nightmare. And I’m leaving things out, important things, and I know I’m losing them. Suddenly, my hand hits my wine glass, not hard, but just hard enough. Everybody watches as it goes over. Suddenly the old reflexes kick in and my hand shoots out and . . .”
“You catch it?” barman hopes against hope.
“More like I whack it. The glass flies across the table and takes out two more glasses. The old man’s covered in chardonnay. The whole place falls quiet as a tomb.”
Barman sees Lena gather her things. “Okay guys, Showtime.”
She pushes away from the table, gives a little girl wave and turns for the door. Cowboy sits there shaking his head.
“Gentlemen?” Harry lays a hand across the bar. “It appears we have a winner.”
Barman reaches for the tip jar. “Now that is uncanny!”
“Let that be a lesson to you, men. Never put your money on a man named Bo.” Harry wiggles his fingers as the losers tally up. He pockets the bulk of the money, stuffs a ten in the jar and leaves two twenties on the bar.
“Another round for my man Stevie, one for yourself and one for Loverboy there.”
“Hey where you off to?” Stevie grabs an arm. “Stick around for a while.”
“No can do,” Harry slides from his stool. “Whenever I find myself in a bar at midnight I always wake up in the slammer.”
“Listen, Gerry,” Stevie hems and haws. “I’m uh . . . how about having dinner with me tomorrow night. You pick the spot.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Why not, a couple of bachelors out on the town? At least meet me for a drink.”
“Let me get back to you, Stevie. You have a number?”
Stevie jots it on a matchbook. “I’m at the airport inn. If I don’t hear from you I’ll drop by here tomorrow evening.”
“I’ll try to make it.”
“Excellent!” Stevie smiles. “We can talk about that bridge you mentioned.”
“Take care of this guy, would you?” Harry winks to the barman and wades into the crowd. Cowboy looks right through him as he passes, out the door and into a curbside cab.
“He’s the one, Harry,” Lena taps him on the knee.
“The cowboy? Come on Lena everybody knows the guy.”
“Not him. Your bar buddy.”
Harry’s cigarette snaps in two.
***
“I didn’t get that.”
“Of course he was, Harry. The man couldn’t take his eyes off you.”
They’re in the kitchen hashing it over. Harry waffles
; Lena spells it out in three letters.
“Forget it Lena. You think everyone is gay.”
“Me? You’re the guy who won’t use a urinal.”
“That’s a health concern.”
“You think everyone wants to look at your weenie.”
“Well? You seem to think he does!”
“Believe it, he does. Which has the strange ring of el solution perfecto! Oh come on, even you must see it!”
“You’re delirious.”
“Don’t play dumb with me!” Lena snaps. “Same game, different players.”
Harry paces the length of the counter. The switch up hits him like a safe full of anvils.
“You’re not suggesting . . .”
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting,” Lena taps a finger on the table. “There was nothing in the plan that specified gender. What is it Harry? Suddenly you don’t look so good.”
“But he can’t think I’m gay! I mean, look at me!”
Lena looks. “So what, you think it was any easier for me fending off Bronco Billy?”
“Barman said he’s hung like a horse.”
“Hmmm.”
“They were positive you’d leave with him.”
“You swine!” Lena misses with a kick to his shins. ”How much did you soak them for?”
“I don’t know. Couple of bills.”
“Gimme,” she holds a hand out. “Come on, boy. Momma’s done her bit and now she’s on vacation.”
Harry tosses the bills on the table. “This really lights your bulb, doesn’t it?”
“Have dinner with him, Harry. What could it hurt?”
“Don’t push it Lena. You’re in no position.”
“Keep it up sweetie. You just might scare me.”
Harry stares out at the lights of town. “I might figure I don’t need you.”
“Figure what you want,” Lena gets up and eases past him. “Right now Momma needs a bath.”
***
“Okay, I’ll call him.” They’re in bed. Moonlight frames the window and laughter floats in over the water.
“Atta boy,” Lena curls into his side.
“Its just dinner. I’ll find out what I can about the guy. Could be he’s too good to pass up.”
“What about the bartender? You three were pretty chummy.”
“No problemo. Anyone asks I’m just a guy named Gerry.”
“Why does that worry me?”
“Funny thing is I felt more comfortable as Gerry. I mean I was swapping jokes like a traveling salesman. Like him. It’s amazing how constricting your own personality can be.”
“Well, if it works for you.”
“It’s like you’re a prisoner of yourself. Act a little different and everybody notices. I need to be someone else for a while. I’m sick of being me.”
“Oh, it can’t be that bad.”
“I’m serious, Lena. This is our chance to start over, reinvent ourselves. I’ll be more sociable. The guy that lights up the room.”
“I’ll be a cat person. We’ll need a cat.”
“We can pick up new habits. I’ll work the crossword puzzle over coffee in the morning. Maybe whistle a little tune.”
“You can’t whistle.”
“I’ll learn. You’ll lie in bed listening and you’ll know I’m working the puzzle. Jesus, it’s like the dawn of a brand new day!”
“The new, improved us.”
“I’ll call him. What the hell.”
“And then you’ll kill him.”
“Come on, the guy came on to me in a bar. It’s a gift horse.”
“Ever wonder if you’re losing it?”
“Diminished capacity. There. I even have a defense.”
***
Stevie’s on his second drink when Harry gets there. They take a table on the deck and watch a fat guy strap himself to a kite ski.
“Thanks for coming, Gerry. I didn’t think you’d show.”
“I would have been here sooner but cabs are scarce.”
Stevie sits back and takes in the view. “Great place. Are you a regular?”
“Never been here before. I saw it coming in from the airport.”
“By the way, that was some entrance. Every eye followed you across the room.”
Harry picks at the corner of a menu.
“The way the sun was reflected in your shades. The easy stride.”
“My life, Stevie. Like a cheap novel.”
“I want to hear all about it.”
Harry gives him a sidelong look. “This morning? I walk into the bathroom and there’s a monster in my bathtub. No lie, Stevie, a five-pound cockroach just laying there.”
Stevie takes a guess. “You smashed it.”
“Not me. Something that big is gonna make a mess.” Harry drains his drink. “I ring the maid. She picks up the toilet plunger and starts beating the thing, Christ, it was horrible! Must have nailed it a dozen times, but I could still hear it scrambling around!”
“My God, how gruesome!”
“It was the way she went at it! Like she does this every day. When it was over she just handed me the plunger and waltzed off. The thing is covered in gore, just dripping with it and I’m not getting near that tub. Uh-uh.”
“Not very vacation-y.”
“I want to know how this thing got into my house.”
“They come up through the drain,” Stevie explains. “Tragic really, all that way to get bludgeoned in the bathtub.”
“The drain? Yo Stevie, I know plumbers smaller than this thing.”
“Pity the poor plunger.”
Harry shudders. “I tried running it under the faucet but it wouldn’t wash off.”
“One more thankless task.”
“I’ll tell you one thing. I fell in love with her.”
“The maid?”
“The way she wasted the thing. God, it was thrilling.”
“Interesting.”
The crowd swells for sunset, but the show’s a bust, just a ball of red dropping like a rock. Harry orders the oysters while Stevie quizzes the waiter on the salads.
“So anyway Stevie, this,” Harry points to their place settings. “You and me having dinner. That’s what this is, right?”
Stevie stifles a smile. “Let me level with you, Ger. I’m a forty-eight year old queer who just came out of the closet. Right now I’m trying to get through a nasty medical crisis. I won’t bore you with the details but, let’s just say the prognosis isn’t good.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Which part?”
“Well the prognosis.”
“The gay part, you’re okay with it?”
“Two guys having dinner, that’s all it is.”
“Because I couldn’t get a sense with you, Gerry. Last night. Usually you can pick up on something but with everything going on . . .”
Harry lets him twist.
“You’re not, are you?”
“Not what?”
Stevie blushes furiously. “God, I have the worst gay-dar.”
“No problem,” Harry waves him off. “I get that all the time. Must be something in the stride.”
“I bet wishful thinking has a lot to do with it.”
“Know what I think? People make too much of sex. I prefer to deal on a higher level.”
“Well that’s a relief! I must say you do have a way, Gerry.”
“So,” Harry pauses for a beat. “You’re traveling alone?”
“I had to get away from everyone. After a while the concern becomes suffocating.”
“Odd you would pick Mexico.”
“My first time, would you believe it? No one even knows I’m here.”
Harry takes note. “This condition, is it . . .”
“Terminal? They say sixty-forty. That is, if the procedure doesn’t kill me. I’ll let you in on something, Gerry. When I first booked the trip the
idea was to come down here and end it all.”
“But now?”
“Now I just want to relax and enjoy myself. And you know what I enjoy more than anything?” Stevie arches his eyebrows. “Good conversation. What separates us from the animals. And I must say, Gerry, last night? Well, I haven’t had such fun in years!”
“You seemed in good spirits.”
“That’s just it, I was in good spirits. Thanks to you. You couldn’t know it but you were drawing me out of my shell. I can’t describe how wonderful it felt.”
Harry shrugs. “Pleasure’s all mine.”
“I’m serious. It was worth every cent. What do you do, Gerry, if I may be so bold?”
“Restaurant supply,” Harry wings it. “Grim but profitable.”
“East coast?”
“Jersey, South Dullsville.”
“I grew up in Bozeman. Montana.”
“You big sky guy, you!”
“Predictable nightmare childhood. My dad was a rancher, my bothers were jocks and I was the family punching bag.”
“So you walked away from it. Good for you.”
“More like fled screaming into the night.”
“Works for me.”
“After cutting the brake lines on the family station wagon and stabbing my bother with a fork.”
“Hey, you do what it takes.”
“My shining hour to this day. Alas, they were too drunk to chase me.”
Harry has to laugh. “I once drove across Montana in a VW bus with flowers painted all over.”
“And lived?”
“It was brutal. Three miles in someone took a shot at me.”
“Typical Montanese.”
“And the cops! The way they kept pulling me over you’d think I had a body strapped to the hood.”
“The Angry State. What made you do it?”
“I had a carload of Jersey seashells. I wanted to scatter them on the beach in Malibu.”
“What on earth for?”
Harry shrugs. “I wanted to have an effect, screw things up. Plus I had a car.”
“I find driving long distance painful,” Stevie winces, “the boredom, the confinement, the excruciating passage of time.”
“Oh it’s agony, but addicting,” Harry taps a swizzle stick. “You develop a road personality, a self you didn’t know was in you. Then one drizzly evening you find yourself passing over the refineries, wired on caffeine and cigarettes, thinking this is somehow essential.”
