“Get ready for some serious business, Sharlene. Trouble just arrived and his name is Amos. This is Sharlene, my new weekend help who thinks she’s going to find a story by working for me.” She smiled at the three bikers in their black leather ’do rags and vests. “What’re you boys drinkin’ tonight?”
“I want a Coors in a bottle and what are you talking about, a story?” Amos asked.
“Momma wants one of them fancy martinis you make and I need a bucket of Miller,” Will said.
“And my table wants two buckets of Bud,” Barron said. “Who’d you say your new help is?”
“I got the martini. Buckets are under the counter there. Six to a bucket. Two scoops of ice,” Larissa told Sharlene. “And guys, her name is Sharlene Waverly and she’s a reporter from the Dallas Morning News. Remember, everything you say can and will be printed for your wives and girlfriends to see.”
Amos chuckled. “I see. She’s going to write a story about the Honky Tonk now that it’s getting to be a popular place. So where’s the midnight cowboy who’s been hangin’ around the past couple of weeks?”
“Pleased to meet all y’all. The cowboy has gone home. I asked if he was the lucky one that she’d leave the Honky Tonk over and she says not.” Sharlene talked as she worked.
“I’ve heard that story before,” Amos said.
“Want to talk about it?” Sharlene asked.
“Oh, no, you’re not getting me to tell tales that might end up in print.” Amos picked up his beer and carried it to the pool tables to watch a game between Merle and Julio.
“This your first time to bartend?” Barron asked Sharlene.
“It sure is.”
Larissa spun around. “You are twenty-one, aren’t you?”
“Twenty-five last birthday, July 21, two days ago.”
Larissa set a martini on the bar. “What have you been doing the last seven years since you got out of high school?”
“Joined the army and that lasted four years. Did two stints in Iraq, came home, and went to college. Got enough of that in two years so I stopped when I had the associate’s degree and went to work. Did some bookkeeping, a little of this and a little of that. Past six months I’ve been writing obits and doing whatever grunt work no one else wants to do.”
“How’d you hear about the Honky Tonk?” Will asked.
“Some friends in the office came over here to party and told me all about it and the magic spell it weaves on lovers. Get ready for the rush again, Larissa. They’ve danced through four fast ones and they’re spittin’ dust.”
“You got the lingo down pretty good. You sure you haven’t worked in a bar?” Larissa asked.
“No, ma’am, but I got to admit I’m already in love with it,” Sharlene said.
“Tell me that at two in the mornin’ when your feet are dead tired.”
The customers had thinned out by quitting time to half a dozen diehards. Luther unplugged the jukebox and told them the place was closing in five minutes. They didn’t even grumble as they dragged their tired feet out the door. He set his red and white cooler on the bar, tossed four Dr Pepper cans into the trash, and put the two full ones back in the refrigerator for the next night.
“Busy night when I can’t polish off a six-pack,” he said as he reached behind the cash register and picked up his check.
“I’m Sharlene. Who are you?” She wiped down the bar one final time.
“Luther. Did Rissa hire you?”
“On weekends so I can watch her. I’m a newspaper person who’s trying to break into the lifestyle section.”
Luther chuckled and shook his head. “See you tomorrow night, Rissa.”
“Be safe.” She waved.
“Clean up?” Sharlene asked.
“Not tonight. It’ll wait until an hour before opening tomorrow night.”
“Where’s the nearest and cheapest motel? I’m not driving all the way back to Dallas tonight as tired as I am.”
Larissa was a pretty damned good judge of character and Sharlene hadn’t sent off her “bullshit” radar one time that night. “I’ll make a deal with you. Through that door is an apartment that the bartender slash owner always lived in. When Cathy moved she took the bedroom furniture with her. She did leave the living room and kitchen intact as well as towels in the bathroom in case I ever wanted to crash there. Sofa makes out into a bed. You clean up the place tomorrow in time for opening and you can sleep there. Long as you work for me on Friday and Saturday nights you can have the place for the cleanup.”
“It’s a deal,” Sharlene said.
“Get a beer and we’ll prop our feet up for a few minutes. Cathy taught me that back when I first worked for her.”
Sharlene drew up a pint jar of Coors Light and carried it to a table where she pulled out a chair and propped her boots on it just like Larissa had done. “Ah! Lord, that tastes good.”
“You like beer?”
“Yes, ma’am, and I’m the one spittin’ dust right now.” Sharlene tipped up the jar and took a long drink.
“How’d you end up in the army?”
“I grew up in a little bitty town in Mennonite country up in Oklahoma. Corn’s not much bigger than Mingus. Five kids and our parents lived in a two-bedroom house out in the country. I had four older brothers. It was get mean or get whupped. I got mean and didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life so when I graduated I joined up. Do I need a key to get into that apartment?”
“No, but come mornin’ you might want to make a trip down to Stephenville to stock the refrigerator if you’re going to spend a couple of days a week back there,” Larissa said.
“I’m going to get my bag and call it a night then. I could sleep standing up in a broom closet right now,” Sharlene said.
“See you at eight tomorrow evening,” Larissa said.
“You always this trusting? I could take everything in that cash register plus a trunk full of high-dollar liquor.”
“Yep, you can. But I’m as mean as you are and you’d best run fast, long, and hard if you do.” Larissa set her empty bottle on the table. “Lock up behind me. There’s a key to the back door of the apartment on the kitchen table so you can go and come as you please for groceries or whatever.”
“Thanks, Larissa,” Sharlene said.
“You are very welcome. You’re going to earn every word you don’t get to write.”
***
The next morning Larissa opened the back door to let Stallone in the house and blinked a dozen times before she believed her eyes. Hank was sitting on the porch, his back against a post and one knee drawn up. He wore faded overalls and a white gauze tank top, scuffed up boots, and a dusty old misshapen straw hat.
“Mornin’,” he said.
“How long you been sittin’ there?”
“About fifteen minutes. I’d have started scrapin’ but I was afraid I’d wake you up. I didn’t want to work with an old bear all day so me and Stallone have been having a Mexican standoff.” He nodded toward the black and white cat sitting at the edge of the garden with his ears laid back and giving Hank a dirty look.
“Come on inside and have a cup of coffee while I get dressed.”
He leaned against the inside doorjamb while she made coffee. The house was old and in need of multiple repairs. He wondered how much she’d paid for it and how much it would take to buy it from her. His claim to fame had always been that he could read people but Larissa Morley stopped him in his tracks. Her movements and even the short red silk pajamas covered with a fancy kimono robe screamed money. But no one with money would be living in a seventy-year-old house in Mingus, Texas.
“Why’d you ever move here?” he asked.
“You want the truth?”
“I’m a big boy. I think I can handle it,” he said.
“I’d been hunting for myself in all the wrong places and couldn’t find peace or happiness so one day I quite literally pulled down a map of the United States, shut my eyes, turned around three times, and
put a tack in the map. Then I moved to Mingus and that is the gospel, pure unadulterated, one hundred proof damn truth.”
“You are crazy,” he said.
“Probably. But I’m happy.”
She brushed past him on the way to the bedroom. She looked up into his eyes but he blinked and looked away. The moment passed even though a flash of heat flickered between them. She wanted the kiss and felt cheated when he let the opportunity pass.
His jaw gritted in anger. He wanted to hold her, to kiss her, and even more, but he couldn’t, not until he knew who she was and why she was so attached to the Honky Tonk. Was he making the same mistake his father had made? Did it really matter if she owned a Honky Tonk? Did it matter that she’d found her niche in Mingus, Texas? What did it matter to Hank Wells?
She hurriedly threw on a pair of cutoff jean shorts, cowboy boots that she’d used in the hay field, and a bright red tank top, then smeared sunblock on her face, arms, and legs and brushed her hair up into a lopsided ponytail. When she went back into the kitchen he’d already poured two cups of coffee and was sitting at the table.
“What color are you going to paint the house?” he asked.
“Turquoise.”
He jerked his head around so fast that his neck popped. “What?”
Larissa smiled. “I love the islands. Folks down there aren’t afraid of color. So I bought turquoise paint and the trim is going to be hot pink. It’ll be bright and make me laugh.”
“This is not the islands. When and what islands did you visit?” he asked.
“There’s lots of books in the library and I like the ones with pictures,” she said. “My mind is made up and the paint already custom mixed. I only bought one gallon of lemon yellow though. Don’t you think that’s enough for the porch posts and front steps?”
He swallowed hard. The woman baffled him more than he thought possible.
“And if there’s any left I’m going to use it to paint my kitchen chairs. One of each color and then I’ll buy some purple for the fourth chair.”
“You don’t strike me as that kind of woman,” he said.
She shoved a bagel into the toaster and got out the cream cheese. “What kind of woman am I?”
“Classy. I could picture you in a little café in Paris having coffee and watching the people.”
Her breath caught in her chest and it ached until she remembered to exhale. “Boy, I’ve got you fooled. What in the hell would make you think something like that?”
“The way you carry yourself and hold your head. You’ve either been around people who were classy or else you come from money somewhere up the line. Did you lose your shirt with bad investments?”
“Sorry to pop your sweet little bubble but I didn’t lose jack shit on any investments,” she said. “Want something to eat before we start? I figured we’d work until about three and take a lunch break down at the Smokestack. You fed me so I’ll feed you but I don’t have Oma living in my house to cook for us.”
“Better give me a couple of those bagels. Got any espresso hiding in the house to go with them?” Hank said.
“Sorry, plain old coffee is the fanciest thing I’m offering. No lox or caviar for the bagels either. This is not the Café de la Paix. I might rustle up some plum jam that Linda brought over last week.”
He snarled his nose. “With cream cheese?”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” she said.
“You eat it that way?”
She didn’t answer but scooped up a tablespoon of plum jam and topped off the bagel with cream cheese spread over the top. She shoved it toward his mouth and he opened it on impulse. “Bite,” she said.
He obeyed.
“Not bad.”
She motioned toward the toaster where his had popped up. “Help yourself.”
Biting into the bagel where his mouth had been caused her insides to go all mushy and a blush to warm up her neck. Sharing anything with him brought on thoughts of sharing more—like her bed.
He smeared cream cheese on two bagel halves, put them on a paper plate from a stack on top of the microwave, and carried it to the table. “Tell me that you aren’t serious about the colors for the house. And when did you have breakfast at the Café de la Paix?”
“Like I said, I read a lot. You ever had breakfast there?”
“Yes, I have. I love Paris. Love the laid-back way you go to the café for coffee and end up sitting at a table on the sidewalk for hours watching the people and talking to the locals,” he said.
She nodded. “Sounds like fun. Someday maybe I’ll have breakfast there. And yes, I am very serious about the colors and the chairs too. I think I’ll leave the table its natural color since it’s still in good shape. But the chairs are all mismatched so they’ll look cute in different colors. I got them at four different garage sales. I made several purchases in surrounding towns when I first bought the house. Found my bed over in Gordon, the dresser in Mineral Wells, and the rocker in Palo Pinto. My dishes are all mismatched. My house is a picture of life. It’s not perfect and it’s all mixed up but stuck together with contentment and love.”
“A philosopher?”
“No, just a hippy born thirty years too late. Want another bagel before we go to work?” she asked.
“No, I believe this will hold me,” he said.
“I got everything all ready on the front porch. Ladders, scrapers, paintbrushes, and pans. Linda loaned them all to me. Bless her heart. Saved me a fortune in buying all that stuff that I’d just have to store in the garden shed later.”
He followed her out the front door. “Didn’t take you long to make friends in Mingus, did it?”
“Never thought about it. Linda lives on the next corner and Betty and Janice are her friends. We just kind of got to know each other. Then I got to know Cathy when I went hunting a martini and some company one night and met the regulars at the Honky Tonk and everything fell into place. Convinced me I was where I needed to be.”
He picked up a ladder and carried it out in the yard. “I’ll do the high places. You can do however high you can reach. And honey, when you get this house painted to look like a Bahama Mama hut, they may run you out of Mingus.”
“Or else folks will stand in line to hire us to paint every house in town like it.” She grinned.
He grimaced. She had about as much finesse as a trailer trash hooker. It must have been that earthy characteristic that had attracted him. Most men liked that kind of woman but only for a night or two and they left the money on the nightstand.
He tried to make sense of his feelings as he scraped peeling paint from two-inch Cape Cod siding. She kept up with him on a lower level, the hot July sun beating down on them with a breeze that felt like it was flowing straight from a bake oven.
“Lord, I could use a gelato from the Daphne Inn,” she mumbled.
“In a plastic cup because they say that a cone interferes with the pureness of the flavor?” he asked.
“You’ve been there too? Just what do you do in Dallas when you are there? Rob banks or are you a famous thief?” She really did crave a gelato in a plastic cup and a long sit on a bench near the fountain. If she’d been living in her previous life and had met Hank when he was a Dallas head honcho, they would have probably gotten along splendidly.
“No, I’m just a businessman whose business takes him to Paris and Italy occasionally.” That nagging voice started again telling him to be honest and tell her that he spent time in Europe every year just because he loved the old country. But to make that admission would mean he’d have to tell her more and more and finally she’d pour a bucket of that hideous paint on his head in a fit of anger.
“How long do you think it’ll take to get this all done?” she asked.
“This is Saturday. If we work hard, we might have the scraping finished by the middle of the week. The rest of the week we can paint.” He was glad to change the subject.
“Tomorrow?” she asked.
“Is
Sunday. Ranchers take that day off for a day of rest. We didn’t haul hay on that day.”
“Okay.” She drug out the two syllables to make five or six.
“So I thought maybe I’d pick you up about ten in the morning and we’d go fishing out at the lake. I’ll have Oma make us a picnic,” he suggested.
“Is that a date?” She smiled.
“Do you want it to be a date?”
“If it’s a date do I get a kiss at the end of the day?” she teased.
“Do you want a kiss at the end of the day?”
“Yes, I do,” she said.
“Why?”
“To see if it will knock my socks off like the first one did or if that was just a fluke,” she said.
“And if it was?”
“Then I’ll stop thinking about it.”
“You don’t have any trouble speaking your mind, do you?”
She shaded her eyes with the back of her hand. “Not a bit. That bother you?”
He smiled down at her. “It wouldn’t do any good if it did. So at the end of our date when we have a second kiss are you going to be honest and tell me if it knocks your socks off or are you going to fake it to keep from hurting my feelings?”
“Honey, I don’t fake a damn thing.”
His mind fell into a deep gutter.
***
At three she wiped the sweat from her brow and said, “If I don’t put food in my body soon you are going to have to call the undertaker.” She went into the house, got her car keys, and tossed them to him. “I’m too weak to drive. You’ll have to do it. Just remember she’s my special baby and if you are mean to her, you’ll never drive her again.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He held the door for her.
The Smokestack is the only business in Thurber, Texas, population from five to eight depending on who a person talks to that day. The restaurant is in an old warehouse building with the walls covered with antiques and pictures of days when Thurber was a thriving town.
My Give a Damn's Busted Page 8
