I had been back home in Denver for two months too long and hadn’t found another day-job because I hadn’t been looking. I was in love with this woman who roped grizzly bears while riding bare back on ponies in a traveling rodeo circus just outside of El Paso. She had sent me a postcard urging me to come as soon as possible, but I had no means of getting there. And when I say, I have no means, that means I drink. I walked into City Bar and found it to be just as everything else – Clockwork. Same people, same positions, same part. Just as dim and faded into place as the aged paintings of bar scenes that hung from the walls. Man, I swear to Christ, sometimes it’s enough to choke you out. It’s suffocating seeing the same shit in the same way, day after agonizing day.
When you’ve been gone a while and come back, it’s great – it’s the first thing you wanna see, everything just as it was - as if everyone somehow froze in place until you got back. And you even find yourself pissed off at the few things that have changed – like a bar that’s still a bar just with a different name and new owners and all the people wear different clothes with a different vibe and different conversations so you don’t go in anymore. But after a few months of being back, the familiar faces and places that once brought you comfort now only bring you disappointment. And like some kind of jonesing heroin addict, you start itching for that sweet taste of The Road.
I took my place at the bar and waited for Helen to notice. I come to the City Bar because of Helen and only Helen. Since I don’t ever have any money I can’t ever drink, but knowing Helen as well as I know her is just as good as money in a place like the City Bar. She’s the managing bartender and she used to be my landlady along with her alcoholic life-partner, Roy – who used to be my boss. They ran a secret, private, under-the-table, brothel out of Lakewood but they’d always advertise it as if everyone were just really good friends that enjoyed spending a lot of time together. And these women were a handful – Carmelita, Sweet-Sweet Jane, Bobby-Sue, Sugaree, Bernadette, Lydia, Boberan, Madame George, Sunny, Maggie May, Suzy Q, and Good Golly Ms. Molly. They were all flunkies or dropouts of some fashion. Ex-strippers, ex-bartenders, ex-wives, ex-cons – all out for a second shot at life. And you’d think living in a house full of newly converted whores would be every young man’s dream come true…..but you would be incorrect. Oh, don’t get me wrong, they were beautiful (most of them) but that’s almost what made it worse. Because you gotta understand, I had to live with these women, so over time they became nothing more than just roommates getting in the way. It’s hard living with women; done it my whole life and struggled every step of the way. The long lines for the television, the laundry, the kitchen, and don’t even get me started on the bathroom. Waiting 40 minutes just to drop a deuce while they’re shaving their legs, changing their douche-bags, doing their make-up, doing their Johns, puking in the bathtub, taking home-pregnancy tests, and yeah, I suppose some of them were dropping a deuce. They were a bunch of older sisters who were never gonna fuck the younger brother – not so long as he didn’t have the money, anyway. But alas, tis all a story for another time, yes?
I never hassled with the girls that much, like I said, I worked for Roy. He ran a valet company on the side for a few years and that was my job – running around parking lots all day bringing rich people their cars. Then I’d drag myself home for the night only to be teased and tortured by the intense sounds of pleasure echoing throughout the floor boards. Those were good times – and like most good times, I’m glad they’ve passed. Helen became a bartender and Roy sold the valet company to pursue drinking full-time. I’ve heard they’ve since put an end to the brothel, but one never knows and I never ask.

“Irvine, honey, how are you? It’s been too long.”

“I was in here yesterday.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

(Pause)

“Was I drunk?”

“You’re drunk right now, you old bat. Let me have a beer before you hurt yourself.”

I saw a half empty bottle of Tuaca sitting out at the bar next to a beer and car keys – I knew Roy was close. That was his drink(s). Bottle of Tuaca and a beer and he’d maintain a steady rhythm between the two – like alternating slow dances with the women of his dreams – he’d take a sip of beer, chase it with Tuaca, take a sip of beer, chase it with Tuaca.

“Where’s Roy?”

“He’s in the shitter, doll – he’ll be out.”

And just then, some guy I’ve seen before but never met called out to Helen from across the bar….

“Hey, Helen! I hear you only (hiccup) you only make love with your eyes closed but you suck a cock with bifocals. Why do you suppose (hiccup) why do you do that?”

“Cuz, honey, fuckin’ ain’t nothin’ new worth seein’, but a good cock, now that’s a sight to see.”

And the both of them immediately burst into laughter – and I couldn’t help it, I laughed at that silly shit, too. What does that even mean? Why would they even say it? It’s absurd! But I laughed at it.
Another stapled character in that place was a guy they called Old Man Willard – and as always, he was there. They tell me he lives in various laundry rooms of various apartment buildings, but I’ve never heard him personally admit to it, so who knows. He served in Vietnam with his five other brothers – The Willard Brothers. And the miraculous story about The Willard Brothers was that all six of them made it back from Vietnam with their lives….and so now, ever since their return to American soil, the six brothers made a pact that every time one of them should find himself in a bar, he’ll take six tall shots of bourbon – one for every brother, including himself of course. And well, since Old Man Willard finds himself in the bar every day, every day you can watch him knock back six tall shots of bourbon, stand up and proclaim something ignorant, and then stumble out the door with a head full of ideas that we’ll never know of nor should.
Normally I don’t ever pay the guy that much attention – once you’ve heard his story he sort of blends in like everyone else, along with yourself. But this particular evening I couldn’t help but take notice. Instead of the usual six shots of bourbon placed in front of him, he now only had five. My first thought was, “shit, something must have happened to one of his brothers.” Old Man Willard was never the easiest guy to approach, but I was curious and still waiting for Roy to get out of the bathroom – so I slid a few bar seats over towards him and started in with the inquiries.

“Hey. How’s it going? Everything good?”

“Ahhgrrrrmm.”

“Good to hear it. Listen, I couldn’t help but notice, you’re only drinking five shots tonight – don’t you usually drink six?”

“What’sit toya?”
“Just curious, man. Did something happen to one of your brothers?”

“Wuh? Hell no! They’re fine. I just quit drinkin’, that’s all. Now piss off!”

“Fair enough.”

Helen brought over my beer as I scooted back to my seat – just a regular day at the City Grill. There’s something to be said for the Regulars you find at the bars in this country. Doesn’t matter the bar - whether it’s a dive-bar, sports-bar, hippie-bar, wine-bar, what ever – it’s a real interesting character study. The groups of people who make it a point to be in their bar in their seat at their time getting fucked up and then going home in hopes they’ve drank enough to cope with their own realities – the families, relationships, bills, phone calls, jobs, no jobs, you name it. Did we as a society take a wrong turn or is it really that big of a tragedy, this idea of human beings slowly killing themselves off through various vices. I don’t know. There are only so many things we’re going to be able to figure out and take care of. So I say drink up, Shriners. I don’t have any answers and I’ve never met anyone else who did either – met a few assholes who thought they did and, hell, I’ve even been one for that matter. But pinning facts down about why we do the things we do is a lot like holding water in your hands – and what you think you know falls through so quickly and your hands will always dry eventually, leaving you with nothing. I think seeing the problem isn’t necessarily knowing how to fix it – just means you see it. So I say drink up, Shriners and be merry, because that much we can do.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Roy comes out of the bathroom, adjusting himself with an awkward stride. I was already onto my second beer. It took him about two seconds to see me; he struggled for a moment to focus, and then made his mind up and approached me. He seemed upset about something but I didn’t give it much thought at the time because he always seems pissed off about something. He got himself right up next to me, gritting his teeth; he grabbed a hold of my arm tightly and pulled me with force towards his direction.

“Hey. Were you listenin’ to me pee? Huh?”

“What?”

“Come on, ya sick fuck, don’t play games with me. Were you over there listenin’ to me pee?”

“For fuck’s sake - No!”

“You weren’t just standin’ over there?”

“I’ve been sitting here this whole fuckin’ time! Ask Helen!”

He hunched down and brought his face in close to stare at me a moment with eyebrows mangled and crooked like a row of barbed wire, just waiting as if to read something in my expression. Then he stood himself up straight, took a look around the bar as if carefully studying each person, groaned and then sat down.

“Never mind, forget about it. Helen!”

He dangled his beer glass back and forth in the air with the slight movement of his wrist – this meant he wanted more.

“So where the hell ya been, kid? You don’t come around anymore?”

“It's a good feeling to know that my visits leave such a lasting impression on you people. I was in here not even twenty-four hours ago.”

“So, maybe you were. You wanna punch me in the dick about it or what? Christ. Helen, get ‘em a beer.”

“He has a beer.”

“The hell he does, that’s my beer!”

“You have your beer.”

“Where?!”

“Right there.”

“Where?!”

“Right there…in front of you, you ape.”

“Oh. So who needs a beer?”

This kind of shit would go on for hours. Lunatics, right? Like one of them were stuck on one side of a window and the other one were stuck on the other side and they’re like trying to figure it out. That was their relationship in a nutshell – a drunken love affair of constant confusion. And our relationship? That is, mine & Roy’s. Well, that wasn’t much healthier. We had a mutual respect that was built upon screwing one another over. He’s worked me more hours than I ever got paid for and I’ve tricked him out of more drugs and money than he’ll ever know of. And that much we can trust upon.
Like I said, I used to live there so we had some good times – to say we didn’t would be a lie. I remember late nights at that house, after all the girls had turned in – Roy and I would stay up and watch Happy Days over bong hits and beer. Or the best was when Helen would stay up and join us – drunk silly and we’d talk her into smoking and then she’d get ditzy and silly and she and Roy would go back and forth all night – confusing words, conversations, stories and who they actually happened to. Like a modern day Archie & Edith Bunker. And Helen would just laugh as Roy would sigh with frustration and shake his head trying to hide his grin. We had good times. But everyday of living like that will kill you; it’ll kill me, anyway. Always with the girls and the weed and the late nights and the hangovers – it’s a rough lifestyle. I got tired of waking up to puke every morning.
I stayed for about a year or so and it wouldn’t have been as long, but I stayed mostly for Roy. He never would admit it, but I could tell he liked having me around. Aside from having another guy in the house against the wall of thick estrogen, he wasn’t ever going to have kids and I think at times he felt like maybe I was as close as he was ever going to get. He asks me to come back all the time, but too much is too much, you know what I mean?
After he had calmed down a little, he had a few more beers and I had some water and we went right back into our old routine. I knew at some point he’d bring up the issue of moving back in….which I didn’t want to do. But in considering my current financial predicament, I thought maybe there’d be a chance to profit from the situation. When Roy’s drunk you can turn just about anything around on him – and I’ve had it work in the past with scoring weed or getting paid a little extra on a paycheck….but never for cash. Well, tonight seemed as good a night as any to give it a shot.

“So, listen…you’re doin’ okay?”

“Yeah, man, I’m good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s new with ya?”

“I met a girl in a rodeo circus in Texas. I think I’m in love with her.”

“Bullshit. Love is a chemical imbalance that is only cured by drinking. They’ve done studies.”

“Interesting, I’ve never heard that.”

“Where ya stayin’ at these days?”

“Oh, uh, I got a room over at the New House.”

“The New House! What are ya kiddin’ me? You know they deal crack outta that shit-hole.”

“I don’t see it.”

“What are ya, denyin’ it?”

“No, I’m not denying it happens. I’m just saying, if you’re not looking for it, you don’t usually see it.”

“Well, forget all that retarded shit. Listen - we got a room. Just opened up. I want you to move in…I got jobs for you…put your money toward your rent. Four hundred dollars a month.”

“Four hundred dollars a month for rent? How much do the jobs pay?”

“Four hundred dollars a month.”

“When do I have to move in?”

“Tonight! I got toilets clogged like a fat woman’s arteries.”

“Well, I don’t know, man. I’d love to – the thing of it is, though, I’m short the money.”

“You don’t have any money?”

“No, I don’t have any money. Otherwise, I mean….”

“Mmmmmmm, Nonsense! How much ya need?”

“No, man, I couldn’t.”

“Come on, how much?”

“Seriously? You’re sure?”

“I’m gonna break your fuckin’ neck already, how much?”

“I’m gonna need about four hundred dollars.”

(Pause)

“Sure, why not? You’re a good kid. You take a check?”

“Cash would be better, actually.”

“All right, fine, that’s, uh…hey, wait a minute!”

(Pause)

“Why can’t I write a check? I’m not good for it?”

“No, it’s not like that. It’s just, where am I gonna cash a check this time a night?”

“Fair enough. Now Goddammit, you make sure this money…goes…where it’s supposed to – I’m not just throwin’ money away here.”

“You have my word.”

Come tomorrow morning, he won’t even remember this took place. He’ll just scratch his head and wonder why he’s all of a sudden missing four hundred dollars. He’ll probably yell at Helen a little bit, she’ll tell him to fuck off and then he will immediately have to come to terms with the fact that, knowing himself, it could have been anything with no way to tell. He’ll chalk it up to a mild loss, leave his cash at home next time, and then head back to the bar for another round. And this much we can trust upon.
I gathered the cash up as quickly as possible because even though it had appeared to work, at any given second there was the potential of watching it all fall apart – there was just no way of knowing for sure. Helen could walk by and inquire as to why he’s simply handing me over 400 dollars and force him to think about it a little more or he could insist I stay for one more beer and within that time he could slowly put it all together - could damn near be anything. So the best thing to do was leave and leave quickly. I said thank you and goodbye to Roy and said I’d see him soon – safe response. Told him to give my best to Helen when she returned from the kitchen and then B-lined it for the door.
Once outside it would be as simple as a quick skip across the street, back up to the room for my bag, back down to the car and then hit the fuckin’ road – be well across the state line before Roy is even conscious for the New Day. It was all working, my left foot placed safely out the front door with the right foot well on its way…I could see the street…hear the cars…taste the night air…I was home free. That was until I felt the grip of a stern hand latch onto my shoulder from behind – and in the blink of an eye I was spun back inside – my senses robbed of the street and the cars and the night air and replaced with the musky vision of the bar. I thought, “I’m fucked. I crossed him, he’s drunk, he’s well aware of both of these items and as a result I’m going to catch a tire iron to the back of my skull…and that will be the end of me.” But things weren’t adding up. Once I was able to place my feet and focus, I saw Roy still seated where I had left him, with eyes half shut and drool collecting on his coaster. So who the fuck just grabbed me?

“Hey, kid….you ever boxed a Marine?”

Christ! It was the old man. Months have passed without a single interaction….and then you say one thing to the guy and he makes you pay for it.

“What? No, you crazy asshole. I’ve never boxed a Marine, go take a nap.”

At this point I noticed Roy raise his head to investigate the noise – along with everyone else for the most part. The other people I could obviously give a rat’s ass towards – but the more of a reason Roy had to pay attention to me was for the worse. I could have been in the motel by now, packing my bags and flipping the bird to the Burn-Out. But no, Old Man Willard’s gotta pick a fight. I’ve seen it a hundred times, just never thought I’d ever be seeing it from this perspective – but I suppose these things are only a matter of time.

“You fuckin’ punk kids….you think you got it all…mapped out. Come on, I’ll kick your ass right now…or I’ll kick your ass in a nap. Ladies choice.”

“Nap! I choose the nap. Go kick my ass in a nap, just fuck off already. I’m leaving.”

And without warning, the dark clouds began to pour. Suddenly Roy gets up from his seat with that same pissed off look on his face he had when coming out of the John and starts making his way over towards us. I had watched the entire formation take place – Roy looked at us and went back to staring at the counter – then he looked up again and this time a little more puzzled but then turning back to the counter – then the third time was the kicker, he shook his head furiously and then jumped out of his seat, nearly falling over in the process. Doomed! Surrounded! I thought, Fantastic. I’m going to be tag-teamed by mindless drunks right out in front of the public eye – they’ll light matches over me and take turns breathing on them, burning me slowly to my death. And as I’m picturing my demise, Old Man Willard started back in.

“You don’t think I’ll remember this…but I will. I remember everything. I’m so good at it…I even remember things….people tell me to….remember for them. And then get paid for it!”

“So remember it – write a memo and shove up your stinky hole!”

The Old Man’s grip was too tight – like caught in the jaws of a crocodile. Roy was roughly twenty feet away and picking up speed – with his face becoming increasingly twisted with each step.

“You want I should let you go, huh? Is that the situation?”

“Yes, Goddammit! Let me go!”

“Irvine! Let that old man be and get yer lily ass over here! I’ll break yer fuckin’ neck, get over here!" Roy was getting closer.

“I’ll let you go…..but first....you have to figure something out for me.

“Yeah, okay, what ever you say. Just hurry the hell up already.”

He steadied his waving body by balancing himself against my shoulder and lowered his face to my forehead so that each word was accompanied by a thick haze of humid breath that burned my eyes. Once he felt secure, he spoke,

“There’s always free cheese in a mouse trap.”

“What?”

“Exactly.”

He gave me a slight wink which was the sanest expression I had ever seen come off his face – as if he was hip to more than he let on. Then just like that he let me go and gave my shoulder a slight shove as I tripped backwards through the door…into the street…with the sound of the cars….and the taste of the night air. The doors closed with force in front of me and through the window I could see Roy’s balding head approaching. Had no idea what he might be after….and had no intentions of sticking around to find out. I bolted out into the street dodging the traffic stalled at the light and made it across just in time to look back and see Roy crashing through the doors of the bar with a hostile purpose. He spotted me almost immediately – just as the lights turned green and the traffic began to move.
We stood for a moment on opposite sides of the street staring at each other with the steady flow of rushing cars between us. Like dueling cowboys waiting for the other to flinch, until finally I broke the stand off with an over exaggerated wave goodbye and then ran off to the car – no time for the bags. The Burn-Out will surely look after my shit….I get the feeling deep down he likes me. Who doesn’t? I got in the car and peeled out of the parking lot – I could still see Roy from a distance, waiting for the red light, shaking his fists and screaming what I assumed to be obscenities but would rather think of as fond farewells – he was just too far away to know for sure.
Heading east down Colfax in route for I-70, take it east all the way into Kansas and then at some point turn south to Texas. I had an address on the back of her postcard, but I wondered would my rodeo queen still be there? Who knows. But it would all come together…it always does. In the meantime, cross your T’s and count your blessings – kick your shoes off and light one more smoke. The dream was now real…no matter how it happened. Take it and smile. There’s always free cheese in a mouse trap – sure, why not?

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...