by Daniel R Snyder
We sat at a small table in a corner of the bar and tried to talk over the loud music. The table was old and scratched and full of cigarette burns. Waitresses walked by and asked if you wanted anything if it looked like you might tip them. The beer came with two icy glasses, which we quickly filled and quickly drained and quickly filled again. I had a cigarette and ordered another pitcher.
We worked more slowly on the second pitcher. Jim looked like he wanted to talk about something or maybe didn’t. I figured if we kept drinking, he’d get around to it.
Jim filled his glass again and I excused myself to go to the bathroom. On the way I stopped at the bar. I wanted to be drunk and it was too hot and crowded to do it on beer. I ordered a double vodka, straight up with no ice, and drank it down before returning to our table.
The second pitcher was half empty and Jim’s head hung over a glass that he was stirring around with a straw. I sat down.
“Had enough?”
He looked up. His eyes were wet and bloodshot. The floor started to move. I lit another cigarette.
“Bad habit,” he said.
“So they tell me.”
A blonde waitress with big tits and a small tank top and a nice smile came over. She might have been pretty without the acne scars.
“Is your friend OK?”
“Fuck off,” Jim said.
“Friendly, isn’t he?”
“I said fuck off.”
“Can I get you something?”
She smiled the pretty smile again and suddenly she started to look soft and the pockmarks went away.
“How about your phone number?” I asked.
She stared at me for a few moments, then still smiling, took a pen and wrote something on her pad and gave it to me.
“I’m Gina. I work here nights mostly, but I’m free during the weekdays.”
I put the paper in my pocket. “Thanks. I’ll call you. Can you get me a Black Russian?”
“Sure. What’ll your friend have?”
“Fuck off.”
“He’s had a bad day,” I said. “Dog died. You know how it is.”
“Sure.”
She turned and walked to the bar. I admired the muscles in her legs as they rippled beneath black lace stockings, disappearing under a short leather mini-skirt. I patted the paper in my pocket and looked at Jim. He had stopped crying.
“Bitch,” he said, lifting his drink.
“What’s the matter?”
“God damned bitch.”
“Gina? She’s cute.”
“Laurie.”
“What now?”
“Screwing around on me. Found out she’s been screwing around on me. On me! On fucking me!”
He said that too loud, but no one seemed to notice over the music. Jim was always too emotional when it came to women, always the romantic. Laurie had never made any sort of commitment to him anyway. They were just dating. Commitments are something laid out on paper that prove you owe something to somebody. And sometimes not even the paper means anything. I learned that with Stacy.
I dropped that thought immediately. No use kicking a dead horse. I waved Gina back over to get Jim another drink, something stronger. She took the order and gave me my drink. I took a fast sip and washed Stacy out of my mouth. Jim was never going to learn.
“She never promised you anything, Jim. It’s not like you two are married or anything.”
“She said she loved me but couldn’t make a commitment right now.”
“So maybe it’s true.”
“Bullshit.”
“Probably so. Here comes your drink.”
Gina leaned over, giving me a view of those huge tits, and spoke in my ear. “He doesn’t bite, does he?”
“Only where it counts.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Had a bad day. Dog died. You know how it is.”
“Sure.”
She went back to the bar and I traced the stocking line down into her spike heeled black boots and patted the paper in my pocket again. Jim started stirring the ice in his drink around. I reached out and stopped his hand.
“You’re making me dizzy.”
“Sorry.”
“So who is he?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Probably not.”
“Fucking bitch.”
“Yeah, well.”
I felt good. The music was loud and it was hot and smoky and I couldn’t hear myself think. Jim started to tap his foot to the music. His knee bounced against the table leg and I held my drink tightly to keep it from spilling. Gina came back and we ordered one more beer. It was getting late. The music stopped and I overheard two women at the next table. One of the girls had thick lips and looked like she was trying to speak softly. It wasn’t working.
“Mine is so nice. He’s strong but sensitive, too. You know what I mean? Like, he treats me like a queen. Sometimes he’s so nice it’s sickening. He’s not like most guys, always trying to put on a macho act. I mean he’s not even afraid to cry in front of me. I really love him. But sometimes he’s, well, kind of a wimp, you know? It’s kind of embarrassing.”
The music started again. I finished my beer and smiled, glad my face was turned.
“C’mon Jim. Let’s get out of here.”
He didn’t hear me. He was staring at a couple on the dance floor. She had her head on his shoulder and they were swaying back and forth with their hips practically glued together. They held each other so tight that I pictured them having to syncopate their breathing so they wouldn’t suffocate. Your turn, my turn, your turn, my turn. Laurie lifted her head and noticed Jim. He stood up.
“Forget it, Jim. She’s not worth it.”
I tried to stop him but he threw my arm aside. He was drunk and a lot bigger than I am. Being a reasonable sort of guy, I let him go. He walked slowly toward the couple on the dance floor. Laurie looked scared. Her date looked confused. Jim looked pissed.
I threw a couple of twenties on the table and headed for the door. The girl with the thick lips was still talking too loud.
“...might be a closet homosexual, you know, and I asked him about that and...”
I walked quickly past the table, fighting the urge to smack her, then past the cigarette machine and out into the parking lot. It was cooler outside and my head started to clear. I climbed into the truck, turned on the radio, lit a cigarette and waited. I figured I’d either see Jim flying out the door in front of the bouncer, or the cops would be here soon. Either way, I had the engine running to get him out of there.
Less than a minute later I watched Jim casually walk out the exit door. He climbed in the passenger side and I noticed he wasn’t even breathing hard.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
“You didn’t kill him, did you?”
“Nah.”
“What happened?”
“Just told him that she’s a whore with more diseases than they have names for and I hope his dick falls off.”
He put his hands behind his head and fell dead asleep. I reached over and fastened his seat belt, popped in an old Led Zeppelin tape and put her in gear.
“You’re a real tough son-of-a-bitch, Jim.”
He didn’t hear me. I drove the rest of the way home listening to Jim snoring louder than the music. My window was open and the wind blew in my face, making me feel sober again. I took the paper out of my pocket and tried to read it as we passed a streetlight, then crumbled it up and threw it out the window.
Originally Published in Cardinal Sins
© 1995 by Daniel R. Snyder
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