Last Call

by Allen Dusk

  Last Call

  by Allen Dusk

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2013 by Allen Dusk

  Carnal Morgue Press

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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  A pair of googly eyes stared back from the dried puffer fish hanging overhead; warm orange light saturated its hollow belly. Sophie couldn't pry her eyes from the morbid little thing even though her fresh manicure clutched a tantalizing drink menu. Her black halter hugged her curves, maybe a bit too much judging by the dull ache squeezing her floating ribs.

  Soft music inspired by exotic jungle islands soothed away her jittery nerves. Gradually she became aware of her red shoe tapping along with the beat. The bar hosted a vast collection of bottles, but their labels were impossible to decipher in the dim lighting. Her gaze wandered past postcards of topless hula girls and wooden masks tacked along the wall. A shrunken head smiled through stitched lips from its perch on a bamboo shelf.

  Dead things always reminded her of the summer she'd spent at a hunting lodge with her grandfather. Every room was lined with deer heads and stuffed birds, their dark glass eyes plaguing her every restless night. Such beautiful creatures they were; she never could see the purpose in hunting something solely to mount its head on a wall. It was probably the reason she blew most first dates ordering just a salad.

  I have no idea what I'm doing here, she thought.

  "What can I get you?"

  For a moment Sophie swore the creepy fish spoke to her. She blinked, gathered her better judgment, and reassured herself there was no reason to run away screaming, which for a minute she had seriously considered. A blue Hawaiian shirt stretched over broad shoulders stepped into view. A plain name badge with Lucas scribbled in black marker was pinned above a firm pectoral.

  She glanced up, quickly losing herself in a pair of eyes saturated with the deepest blue. "Um," she skimmed over the menu, blushing under the intensity of his stare. "Actually, I have no idea what I want."

  The bartender laughed, cracking a slight smile through his strong jaw. "What are you in the mood for then? Something sweet, or savory perhaps?"

  "Hmm." None of the native names or exotic ingredients made much sense. Defeated by retro fonts and neon inks, she laid the menu down so it faced him. "Which would you recommend?"

  "This is your first time at Trader Mic's, isn't it?" Amusement kindled in his voice, "Because I would never forget a face as beautiful as yours."

  "You got me," Sophie laughed, catching herself just shy of snorting. "I'm a Tiki virgin, I guess."

  "So what brings you out tonight? Maybe I can suggest a drink that will match your mood?"

  "Do you have anything for regret?" She shifted on the stool, attempting to straighten the seam down the back of her silk stockings without being noticed. Her garter belt twisted, its edge roughing the back of her thigh. "I feel so stupid in this outfit."

  "Why would you say a thing like that?" He looked her up and down. "It totally matches the kitsch of this place."

  "My girlfriend is really into retro clothes and stuff, and she's been trying to get me into it as well." She shifted the waistband of her leopard print skirt, which only further strangled her hips trapped within its slim pencil cut. "But I don't think this looks good on me at all."

  "Are you kidding me? This place would be packed if you modeled for one of our event flyers." He pointed over his shoulder toward a collection of posters tacked to the wall; some were faded, others dog-eared, but a sultry woman in retro attire smiled dead center in every one.

  "Thanks, but I'm not cut out to be a model." She giggled through the flattery. "My friend, Carrie, the one who convinced me to wear all this shit, she does photo shoots once in a while."

  Lucas browsed the patrons scattered about the bar. "So, where's this friend of yours?"

  "That's the funny part. I had just finished parking when she texted to tell me she couldn't make it because her boyfriend was being a dick about it. To be honest, I almost drove home."

  "That would have been a shame to put all that to waste, you look really good. So what stopped you?"

  She thought back to that moment when she'd sat in her car perfecting her ruby red lipstick in the rearview mirror, glancing back at the towering wooden Tiki sculpture beside the front door. Paperwork buried her desk, her boss never quit assigning ridiculous deadlines, and she hadn't even been on a date in months. Her salary would never afford a real tropical getaway; plastic palm leaves would be the closest to paradise she ever came. She could go back home and wear out another set of batteries listening to erotic podcasts, or maybe it was about damn time she took a risk and stepped inside alone.

  Sophie realized she'd been staring off, but the bartender stood there patiently, staring at her neckline, waiting for his answer.

  "Well, I didn't get all dolled up for nothing." She blushed again. She couldn't remember the last time a guy had checked her out. "So, I figured maybe I'd have a couple of drinks before I drove home."

  He laughed again.

  "What's so funny?"

  "Never had a Tiki drink before have you?"

  "No, my version of exotic would probably be mandarin vodka with Sprite."

  "Well, you need to pace yourself with these bad boys. There's a reason they have names like Zombie."

  "A Zombie, eh? What's in that?"

  "We use three different rums, some fruit juices, bitters, and our signature cinnamon syrup."

  "All right, you've sold me. That sounds delicious."

  "One Zombie, coming right up." He glanced down her shirt a second time before walking away.

  Sophie watched him select a tall ceramic mug decorated with a topless mermaid basking atop skull-shaped rocks. Tribal flame tattoos rippled across his forearms while he assembled the drink. Fascinated, she studied the detail of each precise bottle spin and long fluid pour. Her fingers drifted up, casually spinning the red flower slipped behind her ear. He impaled fruit wedges with a swizzle stick before sliding them into the drink.

  "One Zombie, for the lonely lady." His smile scattered butterflies through her stomach. "Enjoy."

  Eager for a taste she wrapped her painted red lips around the bright straw, and sipped fast. Sweetness bathed her taste buds. "Damn, that's divine."

  "Good. Then you approve?"

  "This is probably one of the best things I've ever tasted in my life."

  "I'm glad you like it. Just remember to drink it slow."

  Sophie nodded with a smile. Lucas cast a wink her way, igniting a spark within her, before returning to his duties. He approached a growing pile of dirty glasses near the sink. She paced herself, savoring each slow draw of the delicious drink. Her eyes consumed his every move, fantasy invaded her imagination.

  She pictured Lucas returning home alone to his single bedroom apartment, an X-Box and stack of violent games piled beside a TV. His simple bedro
om with plain walls had piles of laundry awaiting next week's turn at the coin wash. He'd removed his shirt and laid it over a chair, muscles across his chest flexing in slow motion. Hot desire rushed between her thighs, distracting her with its sudden wetness but never halting her fantasy. His jeans slid to the floor, a pair of boxers followed. His smooth ass swayed toward the shower where steam billowed past the plastic curtain. He turned, leaning in to test the water, the silhouette of his cock dangling.

  An older man wearing a dark cap and Hawaiian shirt limped up to the bar, his spindly arm slowly waved. A faded hula girl tattoo wiggled her hips over his frail skin. "Hey there, Lucas."

  Lucas looked up from his dish washing duties; a keen smile filled his cheeks. "Evening, Chief. You want the usual?"

  "That would be swell." The Chief set his cap on the bar. Bold yellow letters proclaimed USS Utah AG-16, Pearl Harbor. He ran his fingers over his thin silver hair straightening his part. He glanced in Sophie's direction, his baggy eyelids lifted. "This young man makes the best damn Mai Tai I've ever tasted. Even when I was stationed over in the Pacific I never had 'em this good."

  Lucas had already half prepared the Mai Tai in a ceramic coconut mug. "You're full of shit, but thank you." After splashing in a secret blend of rums, he topped it with skewered fruit.

  "I'm serious," the Chief said. "I don't know what we're going to do without you."

  Sophie's head hung over her drink, her ears tuned toward their conversation. Her chest tightened and the thoughts of Lucas lathering his nude body vanished into a steaming veil of uncertainty. Knowing her luck, she had a snowball's chance in hell of ever seeing him step into that shower.

  "I'm sure you'll all be fine. Bartenders are a dime a dozen these days." Lucas presented the drink, hanging a plastic mermaid from the rim for his encore.

  The Chief hunched over and sipped. His face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Don't know why a fine young man like you would want to move off to such a small town. What's the place called again?"

  "Fort Dodge," Lucas said. "It's in Iowa."

  "Why would you do a stupid thing like that?" The Chief drank again, wiped the spill from his lips with his fingers. "If I were a strapping young man, I'd be headed off to a big city like Chicago to round up as much trim as I could."

  "I appreciate your insight, Chief," Lucas snickered, shooting his eyes Sophie's way for a moment. A touch of red warmed his cheeks. "But, there's nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be."

  "I'll drink to that." The Chief raised his mug and chugged.

  Sophie's balance wavered. Her wide eyes peered inside her towering mug. She licked her lips, fascinated by cold numbness creeping through her teeth and warmth slipping over her neckline. Damn, I drank the whole thing already?

  "How's your drink over there?" Lucas cocked his chin Sophie's way.

  "Good." She faked a long sip through the straw, hoping her eyes hadn't yet glazed over.

  "Let me know when you need another." He winked.

  "I think I'm good for now." She smiled despite panic wrapping its slender tendrils around her throat. Her heart started pounding against her underwire. She sipped her empty straw and pretended to take another slow swallow.

  He had warned her not to drink it fast. While she had done her fair share of partying back in college, the duties of being an assistant office manager had long ago distanced her from her old drinking habits. She couldn't believe she'd only been at the bar for half an hour and she was already shit-faced. That would probably be a record in Carrie's book, and her friend wasn't even around to record the occasion. Sophie could hear her laughing already, You're drunk off your ass!

  She exhaled slowly through the dismay. Panic retreated, withdrawing its sticky grasp. Relaxation unwound her shoulders, flowed down her back, loosened her hips. She no longer cared about the tight-fitting skirt, or her twisted garter.

  Sophie observed the conversation between Lucas and the Chief, completely unaware the sound of their words no longer carried to her ear. Sudden lucidity focused her attention to the details of her bartender's tattoo. She studied his Adam's apple bobbing, and wondered how his five o'clock shadow tasted dripping with sweat. Light glimmered off his watch, hypnotizing her with its beacon.

  A dull ache in her lap intruded upon her fruitful buzz. She found it ridiculous to believe that the cocktail could have filled her bladder so soon while its venom continued to benumb her. She rose from the stool, holding her breath until she found her balance. The bathrooms had to be off to her right, somewhere around the corner of the bar, but she couldn't see any sign proclaiming their existence. She paid careful attention to each high-heeled step, ensuring a firm footing before moving her other foot. The last thing she needed was to fall on her ass and become a laughing stock for the last few patrons of the night.

  Her reward for making the correct decision was a hula girl sign on a door bearing the word Wahines. She could only imagine the embarrassment of winding up in a dark corner all by herself, or worse, walking into the men's room.

  She walked through the door and was not prepared to come face-to-face with her drunken reflection in the mirror. Faded green Tiki wallpaper plastered the walls, and fake palm fronds hung from corners of the ceiling. A detailed mural along the side of the only stall prominently featured a topless island girl staring along a sunset-kissed beach. For a moment she pictured herself standing beside the painted woman, warm breezes caressing her own nudity as she searched painted waves for deeper meaning.

  Sophie knocked on the stall door out of habit even though her gut instinct told her she was alone. When nobody replied with a panicked voice she entered, and then locked the door firmly behind her. Vintage postcards and posters from tropical places covered the walls, proving to her that the tackiness of Trader Mic's truly had no end. While everything looked clean, she knew better than to take a chance. After lining up a paper seat cover with precision, she hiked her skirt, slid her black lace thong past her garters, then took her seat.

  She lost herself in the artwork, scrutinizing each postcard for authenticity. Slowly her imagination wandered back to the beach painted on the stall. In her hand she held a pen, and she had finished signing a post card of her own.

  Dear Mom, I'm lost in paradise, but don't worry about me. I'll be just fine. Love, Sophie XOXO.

  Sometime soon after, Sophie fell asleep on the toilet.

  #

  Gulls squawked high above. Sophie savored warm sand between her toes as the setting sun painted her bare breasts with golden fire. She had quit her job only days ago; echoes of her boss still rang in her ears. She reduced her savings to a one way ticket and the few travelers' checks tucked in her wallet. She never thought she would ever step foot on a real beach, but now she was here with a strong sense of freedom lifting her chin. Waves crashed against the shore. As they retreated she felt all of her inhibitions carried out to sea.

  Yards ahead of her, a man cast his fishing line out to sea. Thirst stirred in her throat. She walked toward the man intent on inviting him along for a drink at the cabana bar a short hike down the beach. Its vintage sign flickered past her focus in the salty breeze. In between the gentle sound of crashing waves, a ukulele played its sweet song. She approached the fisherman from behind, her arm reached out to tap his shoulder when she recognized his tattoo.

  "Lucas?" she asked, an incredulous stare setting in.

  He turned toward her, his face obscured by a floppy hat. His Hawaiian shirt was partially unbuttoned, slowly flapping in the breeze.

  "What a coincidence, huh?" She hugged him, savoring the scent of coconut oil and sweat soaking his tan skin. "It's me, remember? You made me that killer drink that one night…"

  He lifted the brim of his hat, stared for a moment before his face lit up. "Oh yeah, you're the Tiki virgin from Trader Mic's."

  "Yep, that's me." She held out her arms, silently asking for a hug.

  He dropped his reel and scooped her into his strong embrace. "So what b
rings you here to the big island?"

  "Just relaxing," she said. "I was about to grab a drink, would you like to join me?"

  "Yeah, that sounds good." He took her by the hand and led her toward the flickering sign. "I know a great place over here."

  "Do you work there?" Sophie's hand felt so tiny in his firm grip. She stared at his fingers wrapped around hers, imagining what they could do to her body if she only gave him the chance.

  "No, but I've made a few friends," Lucas said, smiling.

  Awe captured Sophie's eyes as they walked through the bar door. Shadows cast by coconut torches danced about the walls. An old phonograph sat in the corner, the record on top wobbled slowly as ukulele notes crackled through the speaker. In the center, behind a bamboo counter, sat a shirtless fat man with tribal tattoos covering every inch of him. "Aloha," he said with a wave.

  "Aloha," Lucas said. "We'll have two of your special Mai Tais."

  "You got it, boss." The man stood, slipped a wooden Tiki mask over his face. Slowly he chanted in a language Sophie couldn't understand.

  "What's he saying?" She asked Lucas.

  He chuckled. "I have no idea."

  The masked man chanted as he filled two coconut mugs with old bottles topped with corks. He danced and chanted behind the bar, stopping suddenly to clap his hands. Blue flames ignited across their drinks with a flash of heat that knocked their heads back.

  "Two Mai Tai, very special," said the man behind the mask. "Enjoy."

  Lucas grabbed the drinks, and passed one to Sophie. Fruity spirits swirled inside her coconut, their potent concoction masked by sweet aroma.

  "Cheers!" Lucas tapped his cup against hers, then took a drink.

  "Cheers," Sophie said. She knocked her drink back with one gulp. Magic filled her, warmed her inside, and slowly spread between her thighs.