Tamara excused herself to go to the bathroom. In her absence, there was a sudden exodus of patrons. Out the door and into the streets. Not the most unusual of events; underground had a way of happening in inexplicable clusters. One couple takes leave, a single ring of a silver bell.
Instant Pavlov.
A once vibrant base stripped to its essentials; two or three tables of close-knit friends and a smattering of endurance runners at the bar.
Unaware of the abrupt shift, Rick gave my back another slap. “So what’s up with you, Lucky?!”
“Inside voice, Rick.”
“Oh…” Rick turned cagy, took a hit of Corona. He smiled with a dramatic sense of his own humility, lowered his voice. “What’s up with you, Lucky?”
“You mean right at this very second?”
“I mean, what are you doing down here?”
Still no real sense of what he meant. I decided to go for the best of all possible answers. “Just got out of a poker game with some Stern kids. Gave them a run for their money, and from what I can tell…” I polished off my Barbancourt. “…Still running, Rick. Still running.”
“That’s killer, Lucky. Freakin’ killer, an honest-to-God poker shark sitting right next to me.”
His unexpected admiration allowed for a moment of soul searching, brought out a bit of honesty on my behalf. “Well, might be some day… A card shark, by the way, Rick. Card shark, not poker shark.”
“Card shark, yeah. I think I knew that.”
“And I’m really just starting out. Currently in the process of dropping out of film school. Not really a golden boy to speak of.”
“Oh, shit, bro. Why dropping out?”
I lit a cigarette, shrugged. It was a long story, but the two of us were already drunk, and I settled on the easy answer. “Just got tired of the insincerity. Everyone looking to get theirs. Don’t know if a guy like you knows what I –”
“Oh, hell, yes,” he interrupted. Shook his head. “Yeah, man, I work in freakin’ advertising. SM and fucking P. You want to talk about insincere. That place is a feeding frenzy. Shit, bro.” He put an empty bottle to his lips. Noticed this, then motioned for Zephyr.
I informed him his money was no good. Rick fought me. I fought back. Something about this encounter messing with my mind. Bringing me down off my cloud. Best way to keep it going was to spend with impunity. Keep on fronting, let the drinks flow.
I manifested a family of Coronas and Lemon Drop triplets.
Gave Zephyr his due thanks.
Zephyr hovered around us, listening to our conversation. Rinsing glasses on the sly.
I turned to Rick. “You want we should wait for Tamara to get back or –”
No, Rick didn’t want we should wait for anything. He threw his shot back without removing the lemon from the rim. The wedge stayed glued to his upper lip in a moment of pure, unintentional comedy, before falling into his lap.
“Ah, shit…” He reached down around his crotch. Picked up where he’d left off. “Yeah, it’s a bitch working as an ad man. You know what SMP’s motto is? Its brilliant freakin’ contribution to the world?”
I shook my head.
“Truth Is Bold.” Rick grimaced. Shook his head in a forty-proof time delay. “Truth is bold. You know what the inside joke is around SMP?”
“No.”
“Bullshit, well sold.”
Not bad. “Not bad.”
“Yeah, it’s bad, alright… Wish I could do what you were up to. Just chuck the whole thing, go out there on my own.”
“Look, Rick, it ain’t as romantic as all that…”
Even as I tried to improvise a few comforting words, he straightened against his chair. Brought his fingers up to his throat. Bisected his Adam’s apple with a swift back and forth.
The universal sign, and I kept it to myself as Tamara slid back into her seat.
Rick made a big production of her return. Put an arm around her. Apologized for jumping the gun on the shots. Recommended me as a willing partner for the remainders as he took his own trip to the little admen’s room.
Tamara and I shared an uncommitted smile. Rick’s empty seat stood between us, playing chaperone. I shrugged, reached for my shot. She did the same. Without any specifics, we toasted, had ourselves a time of it.
“So what did you and Rick talk about?” she mumbled against the rind.
The bar had lost a few people, found another batch. Refreshed. All things brought to a low boil as I reached for my beer. “This and that.”
“Yeah.” She drank along with me. Moved her head side to side with the music, oddly enough very familiar with the lyrics of Night Nurse. “It’s been a hell of a night.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Really, tell you about it?”
“Just an expression.”
She added a wrinkle to her pert nose, took a deep breath. Small breasts lifting for a moment before relaxing. “Nah, I know you boys. Think I’ll just keep things to myself.”
“Yeah, we got a secret. Handshake n’ everything.”
“Nothing.” She appeared to be mildly drunk. Couldn’t blame her. My silence wasn’t part of her play book and she willingly tipped part of her hand. “So you dropped out of film school?”
“How exactly did you –”
“One of the Haitian guys told me. While I was waiting for the bathroom.”
“Can’t listen to everything you’re told. Not down here, not always.”
“Interesting…” She twitched her head, one swift motion sending folds over one shoulder. The better to look at me, as she smiled through dark, narrow eyes. “He also said I should ditch Rick and go home with you, Lucky…”
My eyes took an unsolicited road trip along her exposed legs.
“Yeah,” she agreed. Sucked back on her beer, eyes afloat. “Still think maybe I shouldn’t listen to what I’m told?”
“It’s just a thing,” I said, reaching for my cigarettes. “Just a little running joke in these parts. Playful, is what it is. Funny little suggestion. Thought experiment, no different from asking a friend if they could fuck any celebrity –”
“Sure, well, you’re no celebrity.”
You got that right.
“No, that’s not what I mean,” she said. “I mean, are right. The possibility is pretty damn for real. I mean, I really could leave here with Rick, walk him to a cab. Send him away, come right back. Help myself to some other drink besides these fucking Lemon Drops. Leave Rick behind, never have to ask myself what if I had said –”
“Hold up…” I tossed my lighter aside. Took a drag, distracted by a singular detail. “I thought you liked Lemon Drops. Thought that was your drink, Tamara.”
“That’s Rick’s drink.” She laughed. Pleasantly, free of derision. “I just kind of go along with it. Provide cover for him… not really a man’s drink, you know?”
“Drink’s a drink. What’s a man got to be worried about?”
“Yeah, you can say that…” Tamara polished off her Corona. “After all, you are you. Rick, on the other hand, is Rick.” She motioned for me to drink up.
I did as I was told. Right at the tail end of my fifth straight swallow, a hand landed hard between my shoulder blades. Threatened to send the whole ordeal back up my throat.
I coughed, struggled against a constricting alimentary canal, as Rick flopped back into his seat. “Easy there, buddy!”
I nodded, sure, easy. Held up a finger, asked for time.
Zephyr took it as a sign for a fresh round of Corona and lemon drops. Either honestly mistaken, or having a bit of fun at my expense.
Probably the second one.
Rick hunched over, eyeing my profile. “You all right, Lucky?”
“Yeah…” I gathered myself, straightened. “Yeah, I’m fine, Rick.”
“Must have gone down the wrong pipe.”
“Pipe.”
“I’ll let you two men sort this out,” Tamara said, dislodging herself and heading for the b
athroom once more.
I watched her through watery eyes, craned my neck as she staggered between a pair of empty tables. Turned back to find Rick taking care of his Lemon Drop. A good quarter escaping down his chin, neck. Spreading across his Perry Ellis as he slammed the glass down on the counter.
“You like Lemon Drops, do you?” I asked.
Rick sucked on the lemon, managed a casual shrug that sent his eyes rolling back. Dropped a damaged, half-moon rind into my ashtray. “Ah, you know. Whatever I got to do to keep her happy, you know?”
I nodded. Lit a fresh cigarette. Chased down the bile with a dose of beer. “Never kept a woman happy long enough to know, sorry.”
Rick laughed. I was beginning to wonder if there was anything I could say that wouldn’t please him. “So what’d you two get up to while I was gone?”
“Not a lot.” I coughed, had another sip of beer. Head buzzing, I figured I might as well come clean. “Planned our getaway. Thought maybe we’d find a way to ditch you. Spend the rest of our life together, down here.”
“Yeah,” Rick mused. “Got to wonder how this is going to work out.”
I gave him a quick study. Stacked all that baggage right into the corner of my eye. He was drunk, no doubt. Signs hung from his neck, bringing his shoulders down to a bronzed arch. Typically spiked hair gone horizontal. One too many swipes from his hand, a forest razed, leveled. Confident eyes remaindered. All this topped by a violent dip as he rammed his shoulder against mine, informed me that You’re the man, Lucky.
“I ain’t the one with the girl, Rick,” I reminded him. “Tamara’s something else, really. Nice, friendly. Easy on the eyes.”
“Easy on the dick,” Rick insisted, laughed.
“What’s that?”
“She can suck a cock like no other girl I’ve ever met.” Rick winked at me, eyeball bursting under his lid. Unconvinced I understood, he kept right on. “I mean it’s like porno land when she goes to town. Just when you think she can’t cram any more down her throat, she does this kind of…” Rick made a gagging sound, stuck his tongue out at an unflattering angle. “I mean, you know what I mean.”
I took a look around, wondering what the empty tables might have to say about it.
“This one time, I had her up against the wall,” Rick said. “Guess she’d never had it like that, whatever. She’s screaming her dumb fucking face off, loving every second. Tells me she wants me to flip her over. Like up against the wall, and…” He lowered his voice, though where this sudden sense of reverence came from was anyone’s guess. “She wanted me to put it in her ass. How’s that for you? Not bad, am I right?”
Truth be told, it all sounded peachy. I replicated the exact same scenario, jealously guarding images. Rick’s part in the play outsourced to me. Shoving her hard against the far wall, arms spread out against the mural of a colorful Caribbean village.
No, not bad at all. Except, why tell me, and what about Tamara?
“What about…” I hesitated, put the truth out there first. “Yeah, great, can’t say I don’t… it’s good, all good. I mean, what I was saying earlier was that she really seems like a nice girl. You two, together, nice couple…”
“Nice girl, yeah.” Rick guffawed, drank his beer. Words slurred, out of sequence. “You and me we don’t need nice girls. We’re predators, you and me. Hunting and stuff our way through the plains of Africa. What’s that place? Supposed to be good?”
“Serengeti?”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “I mean, someday, maybe some woman. I don’t know. Tame us, take us down. Declaw us. Lose our fangs. Settle down…” He bit down on his forearm, hard. Shook his head, gave me a drunken grin. “Men like you and me, we know how to deal with bitches.”
I wasn’t sure we did.
“If they don’t think we’re good enough for them…” Rick didn’t look to be talking to anyone anymore; one long, lonesome soliloquy. “Then we have to take what’s ours… Hit it…. And quit it.”
As he gave himself a solemn amen, Tamara made a regrettable reentry into our conversation. Slid herself into a naked barstool. Eyes alight at the sight of another shot, even though it clearly wasn’t her drink of choice. I did what I could to disassociate myself. Locked in a staring contest with my beer as the two of them exchanged inebriated, romantic whispers.
Felt as though the evening could end right there.
The two of them, perfectly soused, excusing themselves. Same as a thousand other couples. Drunk out of their skulls, heading home to enjoy some wasted, outlandish sex.
Up against a wall, flipped over, asking me to put it in her ass…
My prayers were only half answered.
Rick muttered a polite standard and stumbled towards the back.
Tamara slid on down, occupied his seat nicely. “Hey, there, sailor.”
I didn’t reply.
Glanced up at the clock. Budweiser glare reading ten ‘til four.
“Seriously, what’s eating you?” she asked. “You given any thought about what I –”
“Yeah, I thought about it…” I said. “But if I could… Maybe, if I could just say this… I don’t want you to think that what you told me earlier has anything to do with this, but… I think Rick’s playing you for a bit of a chump.”
“What?”
“I don’t want you to think I’m saying this because I want you to stay with me.”
She seemed between two worlds. A moment of pure pleasure. “You want me to stay with you?”
“No.” I shook my head. Retraced my steps. “Yes. Doesn’t matter, look...”
I gave myself a moment to consider it. None too clear on protocol. Whether it was my place to tell her what Rick had told me. I was hardly a state witness. My testimony wouldn’t topple organized crime or Colombian drug cartels. Then again, last I checked I was neither Woodward nor Bernstein. My unnamed source wasn’t Deep Throat, it was some jackass by the name of Rick.
“Hey.” Tamara nudged me with her elbow. “What do you mean, whether it’s your place to tell me what Rick told you? What did Rick tell you?”
And apparently, I had been speaking out loud the whole time.
“Fine.” I drank my beer, stared at my reflection in the barback mirror for just a second. Turned to her. Felt my knee rub up against her, lifting her skirt up along her thigh. “I can’t say what’s in Rick’s heart, but his mouth’s crammed full of shit. He seems to think you’re some kind of dumb fuck-slut, or something equally as poetic. He was talking about how you suck cock, how you like it up your ass. Sorry if I’m being a bit brash, but… Also, you clearly aren’t the one, far as he’s concerned. Doesn’t want to be declawed, is how he put it. He’s some kind of creature out on the Serengeti. Which, apparently, he can’t name off the top of his head –”
I’m not sure who stepped in to edit the rest. One sip of beer, and the bottle was tapped. One look to the right of me, and Tamara was gone. Had to turn around in my seat, and there she was. Out in the middle of the floor. Lights dimmed in anticipation of closing time. Soft focus on her and her boyfriend. She was screaming at him, slapping him. Batting his head around like a catnip mouse.
Free show for the regulars.
Caught a side glimpse of Zephyr, one step shy of finishing an electric lemonade. Curacao cradled to his chest like a blue, misshapen baby. Wicked grin gleaming with devilish entertainment, Oh, SHIT!
I watched on, sutured to my seat. Stomach constricting. Past the point of no return. Tamara screamed. Rick pleaded. An overdose of Lemon Drops effectively murdering all communication.
“You want an ANSWER?!” Tamara screamed at him, pulling a wandering strap back up to her shoulder. “Here’s your answer, Rick! No! Never! Last man on EARTH never! FUCK YOU!”
She ran for the door, yanked. The bell jingled with glee, ever the optimist, as she tripped her way up the stairs. Rick gave chase. Sent a chair skidding clear across the room with a spastic kick, managed to stumble on the same three steps as his girlfriend.
Every last sound had been sucked out with their departure. Left us with a hollow, slow-motion vacuum. Their outlines danced along the edges of every detail, replaying what couldn’t have been more than ten seconds of pure pandemonium.
Then, with a pop of our collective ears, all depth returned. Chairs scraping, scattered laughter, ice rattling around as the remaining regulars and a few lucky visitors launched into their post-game analysis.
Happy organ licks from the stereo; Bob Marley assuring us that every little thing’s gonna be alright.
“What the fuck, Lucky?” Ayizan laughed, neck stretched out over the bar, led by a wide grin. Dreadlocks dipping into his drink. “What the hell was that?”
“Yeah, Lucky,” Zephyr giggled. “I know you drive the ladies crazy, but what the fuck did you do, man?”
Without realizing it, I had walked out to the middle of the floor. Left foot crushing a nest of cigarette butts, casualties from the altercation. Eyes on the door, I turned in a slow, waltzing circle. Reconstructing the crime scene against a backdrop of giddy regulars. By the time I came to face them, their mood had changed significantly.
Something in my eyes, maybe, giving it all away.
They repeated their previous words, same words. Different questions.
“What the fuck, Lucky? What the hell was that?”
“What did you do, man?”
I coughed. “Didn’t really do much of anything?”
“Bullshit,” Zephyr said. Eyes stern behind his glasses. “What was that?”
“I… may have spoken out of turn.”
And I didn’t hesitate to do it again. Fast and loose, an incomplete explanation spilling. Each sentence punctuated with a desperate tone of justification. Wringing my fingers, knuckles a chalky white. Conclusion capped with a lethargic non-apology. “I mean, she had a right to know.”
Ayizan shook his head. “Shit.”
Zephyr nodded grimly, unhooked the keys from his belt loop. “Clarence, lock the door.”
With the frightening efficiency of a CDC lockdown, Clarence scooped the keys off the counter and strode towards the front door. I caught his face in the lamplight as he passed by. Cherub cheeks retreating into a hard, almost resigned expression that read, all right, looks like we’re doing this again.
Right down to the wire, it turned out.
With a nervous rattle of keys, the bolt slid into place just as a pair of legs came pounding down the steps. With the driven speed of a living storm surge, Rick was at the door. He took hold of the handle. Pushed. Figured it out real fast, then kept right on pulling. His whole body thrashed against the strength of the door. Mouth an oval grimace of fury. Lips spread so thin, his teeth seemed to be growing right out of his face.
Stories From a Bar With No Doorknobs Page 36
