ACE IN THE HOLE

Book #1

Pauley's R*tarded Children aka Pauley's Regulars Club

Written By Rev. Mother L.G. Flores

Written By Rev. Mother L.G. Flores

Re-tard-ed: adj. Less advanced, esp. mentally than usual for one’s age.

“The trouble with girls is, if they like a boy, no matter how big a b*stard he is, they'll say he has an inferiority complex, and if they don't like him, no matter how nice a guy he is, or how big an inferiority complex he has, they'll say he's conceited. Even smart girls do it.”

-J(erome) D(avid) Salinger
The Catcher in the Rye, ch.18.

Bas·tard: noun A person born of parents not married to each other. synonyms: illegitimate child, child born out of wedlock. Informal: an unpleasant or despicable person. "he lied to me, the b*stard!"

Press Play To Listen To Benny Bell "Shaving Cream" For The Soundtrack To Start The Ride....

Start Reading When The Music Begins, Look For 2 Hidden Links. Hint: Look For A Pattern

"You Ready?"

Chapter 1

 Saturday, June 27, 2020

Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery

San Diego, CA

11:52am

“. …It’s still a nice day out.” he tells me, I look towards the sky and reply, “Yes it is.”

   We park and out the window I see the familiar cars and the faces of those that drive them.

“The gang’s all here, you ready?” he asks. I take Mikey’s scally off the dash board.

“Give me a minute.” I stay in the passenger seat and look at his cover, tears well up in my eyes and they spill over with little hesitation. I wipe my face but it is still moist.

“Are you ready?” I’m asked again.

“Yes.”

    I crank the window closed, pull up the lock, get out; push down the lock, shut the door and check the handle to make sure it’s locked. Simple steps that electric door locks and keyless entry, are making obsolete.

  The heart of the foundation of modern mobility is becoming foreign to children; and I’m thinking that it is fitting to have a classic car show at the cemetery where he chills now.

 “I see the guys brought the Maker’s 46.” I listen him say, but don’t add anything. We walk up and the bro hugs come out; I get the full arms around version.

“There you are Gina, how are you feeling?”

“Tired but good. And you Pauley?”

“Getting too old for this sh*t.”

“Or maybe the sh*t is getting old?”

“Aye, but either way you look at it dear, it’s still sh*t.”

“Well that’s if you have a sh*tty attitude towards it.”

“Then what sort of attitude should I have towards sh*t?”

“It happens and not to blame it for being sh*t. Then you can utilize the sh*t, and get something out of it?”

“Like what?”

“Sh*t, I got to think about it, but I know it can be good sh*t!”

“Well whatever sh*t happens to you Gina dear, use it to help your garden of roses grow.”

“Okies Doc, I’ll make sure to make all the sh*t I get work for me.”

“Now that’s my girl! But I think that’s enough sh*t talking for one day.”

“So it’s on to shaving cream next?”

Thursday August 23, 2012

The Iron Horseshoe Tavern

10:39 pm

“Can I call you?” (car horn)

“F*CKING ANNIE WAIT!  Yeah, you ready?”

   Michael reaches in to his jeans pocket and pulls out his cell phone.

“What’s your number?”

    I give it to him. (phone ringing) I wasn’t expecting that. I look at the caller ID.

“Michael Duncan?”

“Yup, that’s me. So when’s a good time?” (car horn)

“GINA HURRY THE F*CK UP!”

“I’m sorry I got to go, but it was a pleasure meeting you and your friends. Hey in case I never see you again, have a nice life Michael.”

   I dash to Annie’s car, open the back seat door and just as I was getting in, I hear Michael shout in his SoCal-East Coast accent “You’ll see me again!”

   I look back at him one more time, smile and brush behind my ear hair that wasn’t in my face again. Annie drives us away. I look out the back window and see Michael get smaller in the distance, I see him light up another c*garette. Michael Duncan. That’s a good name. I look at Michael Duncan’s phone number in my cell’s call log and press save.

   I wonder..... Susan turns around from the front seat. “Was that Michael?”

“Yeah, aye why did we have to leave so soon?”

Annie explains, “Susan slapped P.O.S.”

“Oh f*ck Suzy! Why did you do that?”

“Because he was a p*nche p*ndejo (f*cking idiot), so what’s up with you and Michael?” Susan asks with a curious smile, I answer with a goofy grin.

“Nothing, he let me take some pictures, bought me a beer and we talked.”

“Did you two exchange numbers?”

“We did.”

“And you didn’t want to come.” Annie reminds me.

“Yet again Annie, you know best.”

“Of course I do. Okay, so you know to not wait by the phone?”

“Yes Annie.”

“You also know not to pick up on the first ring if he calls?”

“Yes Annie.”

“Don’t forget he’s just some guy you hung out with once at a b*r.” Susan jumps in.

“Yes Suzy.”

    Only because I could use reminders am I not resenting my two besties.

“I gave him the have a nice life line.”

“Is that why he shouted you’ll see him again?”

“Yeas!”

“F*cking Gina.”

“Aye it’s worked so far.” (Actually it’s been the only time it’s worked -- so far!)

Thursday August 23, 2012

 The Lighthouse/My Apartment

Boyle Heights, CA

5:33 pm

(Cell phone ringing) I recognize Cindi Lauper singing Annie and Susan’s ring tone of “Girls Just Want To Have Fun”, it’s Annie.

“Que paso (what happened)?” I ask all groggy.

“Get ready perra (female dog), you’re wing b*tching tonight.”

“I’m what?”

“La Suzy is meeting some guy at a b*r and needs us as back up.”

“Why couldn’t she meet him at Starschmucks?”

“You know that’s not her style. Analwayz, take a sh*wer and put on something clean, you want to smell nice and fresh in case you meet a papi chulo (daddy cutey) tonight.”

“Annabel, I don’t meet papi chulos anymore, go without me.”

“And leave me by myself bored, AH H*LL NAH!!! Sk*nk you’re coming!”

“I don’t want to go!”

“Like you have anything better to do!”

“Aye, I was sleeping.”

“You sleep too much, now go scrub your c*lo (a**hole) and put some make-up on.”

“Annabel I don’t want to go!”

“You’re going, we’ll pick you up in two hours. BE READY!!!”

“F*cking Annie I don’t want to go!”

“Two hours b*tch.” (click)

   F*CK! Well since I have two hours, my a** is going back to sleep. Smell nice. What the f*ck?

6:32pm

   My house phone is ringing. It stops being an a**hole after it bellowed however many times I set it to this time. I hear the answering machine pick up. First my voice, “Talk after the beep”.  Second Annie’s, “Lizzie your a** better be clean by now. You have a little over an hour to finish getting ready. DON’T F*CKING RANK SK*NK!” (click)

  Annie’s voice woke me up. I turn over and dig my face in to the throw pillows on my bed. I might as well get up and get ready for this bunk night. What am I wearing for this? It’s some b*r on weekday, I’m going casual. Now to find something clean. I look through my dresser drawers; t-shirt, t-shirt, t-shirt {sigh}. I go to my closet and pull back its drapes. I’m not feeling anything. I return to my bed and lie down to remember what I have that I could wear. I knock out.

Press Play To Listen To Cyndi Lauper "Girls Just Want To Have Fun" For The Soundtrack

7:15pm

(House phone ringing then answering machine) “Talk after the beep”. “LIZZIE YOU BETTER NOT BE SLEEPING!!! WAKE THE F*CK UP!” (click), (Girls Just Want To Have Fun)

“I’M AWAKE!”

“Good, you ready?”

“I still need to take a sh*wer.”

“YOU HAVEN’T SH*WERED YET!?!”

“What? You know I don’t want to go.”

“You got half an hour, BE READY!”

“I’m dressing whatever.”

“Fine, go all chunties (frumpy).” (click)

   I strip down and go to the b*throom to turn the knobs for a quick sh*wer. I really don’t want to go. I step in, suds up, rinse off. I go back to my black painted, tall boy dresser with the scars I’ll get in to another time; and pull out clean ch*nies (p*nties) and a br*. I put those on, and then return to the b*throom to put on a coat of warpaint.

  My hair, eh… I don’t have time to really style it. I finger comb in some 99cent store Lavender scent baby lotion, part and wear it in a twist clipped down with the hair sticking out on top, reminds me of Napoleon’s era. I look in the mirror; I really, really don’t want to go.

   I decide on wearing my baggy, faded blue jeans I cuff and cinch the belt going back to my day, ‘East Los Industrial Flyer Party’. I go to my laundry bag of clean clothes I haven’t put away yet, and pull out the purple a-shirt Comio gave me for my top; at least it will show my sparrows. I don’t look feminine at all. No, I look like a b*tch girlfriend, enforcer wing b*tch. I might as well put on a bandana and go Rosie.

  I look in the mirror. {AAACK!!!} I’m not digging! F*ck this! I’m changing! How much f*cking time do I have left to figure this sh*t out!?! {ANNIE YOU S*CKETHS MUCHO AND SUSANA YOU F*CKING OWE ME!!!}.

  I’m pulling my right leg out of my jeans when my house phone rings and goes to the answering machine making me almost fall over.”Talk after the beep.” It was Annie again. “Liiiiiiizie, pick up your phone!” I leave my left leg in my trou leg and swish on the carpet towards the cordless phone port. I pick up my phone.

“I’m still getting ready.”

“How far along are you?”

“I got outfit issues.”

“Slap something together, we’re on our way.”

“Fine, but don’t give me sh*t.”

“Me give you sh*t? That’s unlike me, NOW F*CKING HURRY!”

“FINE!” (click)

   Where the f*ck are my patched up ‘Romeo in Black Jeans?

  Oh yes I remember…

  In the laundry bag…

  With what I haven’t washed yet…

  Greeeat…

I take out the 99cent store “Fubreeze” and pull the trigger.

8:03 pm

   I was packing my messenger bag with whatever I thought I should bring, when Cindi Lauper starts singing again. I answer my cell phone.

“I’m almost ready.”

“We’re outside. Aye, you got h*rb?”

“A little.”

“Suzy, she’s got h*rb.”

   I hear Susan in the background, “Yay, I’m gonna get st*ned!”

“Annie, has she been dr*nking?”

“Si ya lo sabes (you already know).”

“Ay que pues (what the heck), give me a few minutes.”

“We’re on the side.” (click)

   I go to my Dr. Feel Good bag, get my ‘to-go’ p*ece and pack enough bud for a couple of b*wls. I unhook my keys when I realize I don’t know where my driver cap is that Don Raul gave me. I look around the usual spots, f*cking missing. I feel n*ked without my hat, whatever, I got to go. 

  I pull out my black Dickies jacket from the closet, cross my chest and say a quick prayer for protection and down the steps I go after I lock up. I see Annie and Susan waiting in the red zone. I open the back seat door and already I’m getting the once over.

“Well, at least you wore make-up.”

“F*ck yous Annie!” I kiss both of them on their cheeks and wipe off my lipstick smooches.

”Ginita, you gonna pack it or what!?!”

”Damn Suzy I’m not even buckled in yet!”

“Whatevah! Just get me f*cking st*ned.”

“You are aware you are gonna pitch in for another gr*m.”

“Yeah, yeah… what kind did you get this time?”

“Jack Herer, it’s alright. I wanted Animal Cookies, but they sold out at the d*spensary.”

   I pack the first b*wl and pass Susan gr*ens. She sparks it, inhales and coughs out the smoke. She passes the piece to Annie. She does a quick check for c*ps. Coast was clear, she proceeds to hit. Only because Annie is a better driver st*ned, it’s not as much of a dare to get in her car, but then again, she is st*ned. The p*ece goes around a few more times.

“Aye Suzy, what’s the story with this guy you’re meeting?” I ask as I already feel the cotton mouth, good thing I brought water and gum.

“His name is Connor. I met him on P.O.F. and we’ve been talking on the phone.”

   Annie listens but is more focused on not getting pulled over by la ch*ta (the c*ps) that stopped at the same light next to us; good thing she had one of those fan vent clip on air fresheners in her car or it’d be shtinky up in here!

  Susan tells us the story about Connor. He’s 6 feet 2 inches tall with tattoos everywhere, dark blond hair with blue eyes and a greaser. In other words, he’s a wh*te boy with pomp. I ask Susan if he picked this bar we are going to.

“Yeah, he said it’s a cool spot off the h*pster radar.”

“Cool. What’s the name of the place?”

“It think he said Pauley’s T*vern and Pool Hall.”

“It’s a t*vern not b*r?”

“I guess so.”

   I’m baked as is Susan but Annie, not so much. We drive on the 5 North for a while. “What’s the exit again?” Annie asks Susan.

“Get off at Huntington, which leads into 9th Street; make a right, then a left at Imperial. He said it’s not far from the exit.” Susan turns around in her seat.

“Aye Ginita maybe Connor has a friend for you!”

“Don’t even start Suzy, I’m being dragged along as back up for you to meet fulano (Joe Schmoe) and nothing else.”

“Ay tu (oh you). Aye Annie sign says Huntington is coming up in 5 miles.”

“I seen it.”

   We get off at the exit and drive straight ‘till we see 9th and turn right. We drive 9th ‘till we see Imperial, then turn left.

“What’s the address?” Annie asks. Susan looks at the paper where she wrote Connor’s directions on. 

“99503 (CENSORED) Blvd. Wait, is that an 8?”

“What? And it’s not even on f*cking Imperial!?!”

“SHOOSH!!! I can’t tell if that’s a 3 or an 8.”

“And you can’t tell the street number para acabarla de ch*ngar! (to totally f*ck it!)”

“No comienses! (Don’t start!)”

   Aw sh*t, these two wenches are gonna go at it for the b*zzkill {sigh}. See this is the reason I don’t like to wing b*tch, and I was having such a nice dream I kept getting woken up from. I do my best to tune out when I hear, “Lizzie smack her for me!” Instinctively I paw the top of Susan’s head, knocking her ‘I Dream of Juanita’ ponytail. Then I hear her response of:

“B*tch! Not the f*cking hair!”

“Sowwy.” Was my half a** apology.

   Annie rolls her eyes in annoyance because she was thinking the place was on Imperial. Susan passes me the piece of paper that has her chicken scratch on it since Annie was driving and should focus on the road. I’m thinking she wasn’t sober when she wrote down the address.

“Suzy how f*cking dr*nk were you when you wrote this down!?!” I ask her as I’m straining my eyes even with my glasses on.

“I only had one beer!”

“You sure not a case?”

“Shhh! So is it a 3 or an 8?”

“It could swing either way girl, and I don’t think that’s a five.”

“F*CKING SUSANA!!!” Annie shouts in frustration. “F*ck this I’m parking! C*brona, (female f*cker) call homeboy! Aye Lizzie is there anything left in the b*wl?”

“Not much but I can repack it.”

    Annie pulls over and I hand her the p*pe; she clears it, then hands it back to me. Susan calls her date. In a slight sing-songy tone she speaks all girly-girl to the guy. (phone ringing--calling Connor) “Hi Connor, can you give me the address again? (pause) 99208 (CENSORED) Blvd.… oh I wrote down three and five. (She giggles like a d*tz) We’re on Imperial and…”

“We passed Morrison St.” a calmer Annie answers.

“Morrison. We went too far? (pause) Okay so we turn back past Roberts Ave. then the next main drag is Marion Ln. and we pass that 3 blocks, and then make a left on to (CENSORED) Blvd. and the b*r is… (pause) Oh sorry t*vern; on the right 2 blocks up. Okay I got it. Thank you Connor, we’ll be there soon. (click) Annie he said…”

“I heard!”

   Annie didn’t want to trust what she overheard, so she turns on the G.P.S. of her phone which made me wonder why she didn’t in the first place. I mean it would make sense right? But the address was bunk so… Wait.

  The numbers weren't off by much and we know what street the place is. That's a brain f*rt right there! Annie needs to chill out. F*ck it! I’m st*ned and I don’t care if we took the scenic route. WAIT, GAS! Yeah screw the scenic route. But I do have to ask.

“Aye Chucky, why didn’t you use the G.P.S. earlier?”

“F*ck off. Because it’s been acting up. I don’t know if it’s my phone or my carrier.”

“And yet we are trusting it now. You don’t have a  Thomas Guide in the car do you?”

“Nobody uses those anymore.”

“People that know better than to trust G.P.S.’s that run on batteries that lose charge, do.”

“No la reges! (Down bring me down!) You’re starting to sound like Juan.”

“He’s right you know.”

“Look, when you get your first car, you can buy a f*ck ton of  Thomas Guides for all the counties in California. I don’t have one, so calladita te vez mas bonita! (silent you look prettier) I’m trying to program this thing.”

   It takes her a bit to get the G.P.S. of her phone to work. The electronic voice starts to speak and I think of HAL 9000. Little “HAL” tells us where to go; he says to turn around and head west on Imperial. We double back and head west on Imperial.

  We pass Morrison St. and then Roberts Ave., and then the main drag Marion Ln. two minutes, mas o menos, (more or less) pass when we find the corner of Imperial Dr. and (CENSORED) Blvd. and turn left, heading south.

  We pass the 2 blocks and see on the right, a sign that says “The Iron Horseshoe T*vern”, not “Pauley’s yada, yada bing bang”. My high is so going to wear off before we even get there, I just know it. Susan is so fired. {Errr... with squinty eyes!!!}

“Is this the place?”Annie asks.

“I guess, I’ll call him.” Susan dials Connor again. (phone ringing-- calling Connor)“Hi Connor, we see a place called The Iron Horseshoe… (pause) oh it’s the same? Why is it named different? (pause) Oh. Okay we’re in a white Toyota Camry. See you soon. (click) Annie it is the place, he said he’ll meet us out front.” Susan says with her hand shooshing ahead. This b*tch is going to get f*ded.

   Annie pulls in to the parking lot. Not packed, cool. Looking at the place, it does have a t*vern look to it; I’m seeing a bit of Bonanza. Wait, no. Bonanza would be more a s*loon, or was it? This place just has this look of being around a while, where it didn’t change as the times did.

{PICTURE TIME!!!}  

Press Play To Listen To Johnny Cash "Bonanza"  For The Soundtrack

I take out my digital camera from my messenger bag because I know with my luck, this will be the first and last time I’ll ever see this joint and I don’t want to miss out on potentially cool shots. We see Connor waiting out front. Not a bad looking guy at all (Susan always had good taste).

8:42pm

    Annie parks and the Clear Eyes gets passed around. I start taking pictures and got a cool one of Susan that is “slightly” dr*nk besides mildly st*ned, getting out of the car with her purple h*oker heels on. Annie slips out of her chanclas (slippers) she used to drive in, and puts on her red platform peep toes; I’m wearing my broken in black slip on boots I should polish soon. Connor walks up and Susan is showing how much of a pro she is at bullsh*tting she’s not that blitzed.

  They pause for a moment, and then they hug. It was an awkward first hug, but still cute. Conner has this look of strength, very masculine, but not quite peacock pl*yer, though how old is he? ‘Coz he be lookin’ more like a young buck than over the hill along with us.  We are introduced and the part of us being c*ugars by association is left out.

“Okay Conner these are my two best friends Annie and Gina.”

   He smiles and extends out his hand to shake Annie’s first that was standing closer to him. She’s showing good sportsmanship because she didn’t fake being polite. You’ve seen it with some chicks haven’t you when they’re faking? The way their hand does a baby rise then dive straight with a limp wrist, and fingers that aren’t really engaged; more kept together with just the thumb barely pressing for contact. He notices I do the complete opposite when it was our turn to shake.

   I do hold his hand, palm to palm and fingers gently gripping. The pressure is there, but not crushing. The weirdness about it is that a handshake like mine isn’t expected coming from such a petite woman that doesn’t look completely b*tch. I had enough make-up on to pass for lipstick l*z at least, offsetting how defined my upper arms are naturally. It also helps that I shaved my arm pits, but it has been pointed out to me, and asked of me, to do it again, before. I don’t shake hands like a girl, and there is a novelty to that, that I can sense from the dudes.

   Another Gina was the first to say she liked my handshake. She was my 4th grade elementary school substitute teacher that was perky, as well as disturbed, and emotional. Oh how I admired her tenacity but also her sincerity, besides beauty. She was an idealist meant to change the world; I know she affected change in mine. I don’t remember how her last name was spelled exactly, but close enough, Ms. Gina Ferrare that worked at Epcot in Disney World, she taught with heart and soul. Thank you.

“Now that’s a handshake! Wow.”

“You teasin’? Don’t make me pity a foo, we just met.”

“Relax, no pity. I wasn’t expecting it, but then I seen your guns. Wait, are those machine gun bullets?”

“Yes.”

“I’m gonna have to start calling you Rambo.”

   I do the trained polite laugh, but seriously I’m thinking this guy is a putz that will annoy me; he better have a cute friend. Annie was polite instinct laughing too, and Susan is stroking his arm as she’s hooked around; but this more to hold the fuck on because she’s toasted to say the least. She giggles like a ditz and I’m thinking I really must love her. Susan and Putz walk ahead, Annie and I look at each other and do some sign language. She sticks her finger down her throat and I do wanker.

  I look at this misnamed tavern; there is something about it I’ve seen elsewhere before. Not déjà vu like I’ve been here once upon a dream. There was just something familiar that I’m probably projecting, I tend to do that.  I lag the tail end while I’m adjusting the settings of my camera. I am more interested in the tavern’s exterior than fraternizing with Susan’s new flavor of the month. Conner pulls open the heavy wooden with wicked hinges, door of the tavern for us; I however decide to go in a different direction.

“Hey, I’ll meet you inside, I want to take pictures.”

“Don’t take long.”

“I won’t Annie.”

“You want me to order you a Shirley Temple?”

“Yeah, pero (but) tell them que no sean codos con los (to not be stingy with the) cherries.”

    My friends go inside with this Connor fulano and I remain. The last tavern I seen from the outside was The Red Lion in Silverlake, it was cool, had a beer garden. Before that, it was Villains in the Warehouse Arts District of Downtown LA with the circus tent, that I liked better during the week when the crowd is old and crooners that sound like Johnny Cash are singing; oh and I got to see this through oatmeal stout goggles, chyeah! I’ve been at other hooch dispensary slop chutes, but not so much “tavern” taverns. I wonder what the difference is?

   Looking at this place, I know it did shine new; but did. Now it looks worn down and old, but still with a character that can’t be denied. As a building, I do see it has its own personality. I get this sentimental feeling or notion, whispering in my ear, that I know this building. Perhaps it was as a person in another life, to be silly about it. A lot of buildings seem to have been people under different identities, if I dared play with my imagination and its romanticism.

  “The stories your walls must have.” I tell the tavern as I whisper through my finger tips that stopped to contact. I don’t want others to hear me talking to a building and get accused of crazy again. Those others pass me by and I can go back to crazy talkin’.

Press Play To Listen To Bachman Turner Overdrive "You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet" For The Soundtrack

   It does look like it has experienced quite a lot in its many years of being open. According to the dull Horseshoe sign with scrapes and burnt out light bulbs inside. I’m doing the math in my head. “Est. 1974”, it’s been open two years shy of 40. I take a picture of the sign. I know it is giving me an early impression of what awaits in this tavern I’m gonna go inside of. The impression I’m getting so far from all the weathered wood of the place with chipped paint that probably has lead in it, this looks like it will be rustic and I may get a splinter.

  I walk to the left of the place and aim my camera downward and see the line of dried up, scraggly bushes in a row for the landscaping. They are planted in raised beds with red brick walls tall enough to sit on.  I noticed the countless cigarette butts scattered inside. Behind the bushes are diamond pane windows of multicolored stained glass. They have a jewel toned glow from the light inside. I take a picture and capture them as they remind me of a kaleidoscope I peered in to, as if I was back in Solvang, up north in Santa Barbara County. I then did some light trail painting with those jewel tones… I check my gallery, I dig, I dig.

   I walk along the side of the building and see the windows of the second floor are dark, I wonder what’s up there. From what I can see with the light from the lamp post in the parking lot; the shingled roof looks like it leaks from all the patch jobs covering it. I can’t exactly tell what color this place is, light is throwing that off. I do like the red brick base to the building; it’s like it has solid feet to stand on as it was for one of the three little pigs; y’know the one whose pad didn’t get blown down?

    I walk further along the side and see its feet aren’t as solid as I thought; there is a crack. Maybe the big, bad, wolf got to it.

  “What happened to you?” I ask the tavern, it doesn’t respond. I wonder if others have asked before me, the same thing. Them also wanting to know what is wrong because there must be something wrong. A strong building that once stood tall and proud, looks neglected now and in obvious need of repair. Has there been a thorough inspection? Did it even matter? Is this a hint of something bigger than what I’m guestimating?

    Perhaps a crack in a brick foundation is normal, but this crack talks about something different. I take a photo with flash. Not my fave thing to do, but I could always play with effects while I edit. Maybe I can tell a tale of change with this photo. Where even the solid can shift, and one whole separates away from itself.

  Perhaps one tale of caution of take care of it before it becomes a problem you can’t bullshit gone. Always pay attention if you find a problem…. Some problems if found in time can get fixed easier than if ignored. Some problems fix like dominoes if you can make then stand up forward and leave behind the confusion of what was sense from order and chaos from disorders. I think this would be a sad picture, but I have faith in inspiration turning it at least bittersweet. The crack is more a scar than wound right?

Right?

   Maybe the picture could be of a series, where I show what time does when given time, and to appreciate what seem more like imperfections. I challenge perfect! And the lighting wasn’t working the farther I walked.

  I turn back towards the heavy wooden door in the front. I pull it open and all the sounds it muffled came blaring out.  Big difference, also in temperature; I’m glad I brought my jacket. I put it on and zip it up covering my chest ink. The man working the door stops me and asks to see my I.D. I hand it to him. He takes a while to examine it. “You got a credit card with your name on it?” he asks. I pull out my prepaid credit card with a Visa logo. The man looks at it, and then back at my I.D.

  “You don’t look your age.”

  “I try not to.”

   He smiles and lets me pass. “So this is your inside.” I think to myself, still having a one sided conversation with the place, though more like a Jedi. Jedi and “The Force” kicks a**! Thinking about it, I’d sh*t my pants if it did respond which would mean I am crazy and I need my meds adjusted again. That should be lots of fun! Not. Never mind, I only have a couple of hours, at best, to get to know this 38 year old tavern.

   Now I’m noticing the particular layout of this tavern. The décor is ‘pub-ish’ with a slight western edge as the outside showed; with its masculine hunter green leaf wall paper behind what appears to be A LOT of memorabilia. It has dark, wooden paneling up midway to the ceiling. I would say a walnut stain. I turn to my right; there are tables and chairs along the stained glass windows. It must be nice to sit there at sunset. Connecting at the corner is an old school gamer’s row of vintage awesomeness!

  I see a PAC-MAN video game that I think may be from the 80’s or maybe earlier in the 70’s, I forget when the game came out. F*cking aye! Centipede, ain’t that something! Some sort of “shoot ‘em up!” game, I just see the butt of the gun; and HOLY SHEEIT that’s a Ramones pinball machine!!! I didn’t even know they existed! Last at the start of Gamer’s Row is a change machine and A.T.M.

   There is some space between these and what looks like red mahogany stain, wooden with brass bar that is L shaped. It looks like the spot to park for the serious regulars sitting around it on the stools with backs to them. Next I see a door with a white frosted glass window with a light on behind it. Now to my left are more tables and chairs lining the wall with windows again, then it turns in to four burgundy colored vinyl booths at the corner. The patrons sitting look like they are enjoying themselves at these with their various drinks of beers and cocktails.

  Next to the booths seems to be a stage. Nothing pronounced more like a short, foot tall raised platform with no back stage. There is an open space that has a rail around it for dancing in front of it I imagine or for standing, mingling room when there aren’t any more chairs to sit on. The more chairs to sit on with tables are around this.

Press Play To Listen To Big Bopper "Chantilly Lace" For The Soundtrack

   I’m looking around, it’s not a bad crowd for a Thursday night towards the end of the month before payday. Continuing on the left beyond the stage, are four pool tables. I suppose those make up the pool hall part. For some reason I’m thinking there has to be at least 6 tables to be considered a pool hall. There are more tables and chairs flanking them, they look like they are for the pool players’ drinks.

  The stained glass lamps hanging above those tables give off the most light to the place. The other lights I see come from neon beer signs, the jukebox that is close to the bar, the bar; the door with frosted glass and some dim ones from ceiling fans. Oh and the glow of the multicolored diamonds.

    I look around for Annie’s fire engine red pin curls and black scarf she has tied around her head. I see her do and her in what I call the “Queen of Hearts” swing dress that if you seen it, you’d know why I call it that; and Susan wearing her black, long genie ponytail that isn’t really her own hair; in her amethyst, plunging cowl neck blouse and black pencil skirt with a black patent cinch belt. She always looked cute in that outfit.

  I also see that Connor dude that’s wearing the typical pretty boy greaser uniform: Stiff, dark wash denim long at the inseam in order to cuff, with some sort of engineer boot. He’s got a white a-shirt under an open black bowling shirt with white piping, with the sleeves rolled up that looked starched and pressed. His wallet chain was long giving an illusion, and he had a platter belt buckle of two crossed Confederate flags. They are sitting not too far from the bar. I walk up take off my messenger bag and sit in the empty chair next to this southern peach.

“They only gave you two cherries.” Annie tells me after I take my seat.

“What? Stingy b*stards!” and I pout. It’s rare when I get more than two, but it’s nice to hope for a generous bartender. Susan is all smiles and giggles with Connor, Annie isn’t. Me? I’m more focused on where the f*ck the restrooms are.

“Aye Annie, go with me to the restroom, I’m scared.”

 “Okay, I’ll hold your hand flushing the toilet. Suzy, we’re gonna check out the ladies’ room.”

“Wait, I’ll go with you! Excuse us Connor.”

“No problem, you ladies ready for another round?”

   We look at each other then at him; at the same time we answer “Yes.”

“Okay. One Cosmo, one Moscato and one Shirley Temple with extra cherries.”

    We all leave the table and part ways. We go on the short quest to find the h*ad. We scan the layout for the possible pathway and it appeared that the little girl’s room is around the corner from the jukebox. Its door was after the little boy’s room and this under a staircase. For a second I thought we had to pull this other heavy looking wooden door past the staircase to get to the restrooms that instead, I’m guessing, leads to a smoking deck like at the M Bar back in my neck of the woods. I’ll have to confirm that, first though; I got to w*z like a mofo!

   We walk in to the restroom which isn’t too shabby; it’s clean and doesn’t have the stale a** stench of foulness that has penetrated the walls, through the paint and is saturated permanent.  Nope, it had ventilation that worked! Susan and Annie beat me to the two stalls that were open. The third wheelchair accessible one had a sign that said it was out of order. F*cking sk*nks are making me hold it and I’m a minute away from doing the ‘I got to p*e!’ dance. Susan asks us through the stall door “So what do you think so far of this guy?”

   Annie that is also hovering over the t*ilet like Susan, responds “No se, pero como no, sabes? (I don’t know, but like no, y’know?)”

   Me waiting for these wenches to wipe and flush so I can p*ss, answer “You gonna wait a while before you go sp*nking his a** when you two start fr*aking on the dance floor?”

“Hmmm, well mija (my little girl), I’m ready to start fr*sking, he’s f*cking more hot in person!”

”P*nche (f*cking) Suzy. Hey b*tches hurry the f*ck up I really got to go!”

   Annie finishes first. She steps out and I push her out of the way so I can t*nkle. I had to hover too since the t*ilet seat covers ran out; actually with public j*ns, chicks hover anyway regardless of t*ilet seat covers. I piss fast like a race horse and my bladder is relieved. I use my foot to push the lever to flush. After I finish buckling up, I step out and go to the sink to wash my hands. They had the nice kind of moisturizing soap that looks opalescent, always got a kick out of that kind of hand soap, shows a place is fancy. Susan was curling her eye lashes and Annie was adjusting her breasts in her strapless bra.

“So Suzy did you and ese c*bron (that male f*cker) already do the d*ed over the phone? Que ch*ngados, (what the f*ck) what am I saying? Of course you two have started scr*wing, f*cking sk*eze!” I ask while also talking sh*t. I’m p*ssy because this is not cool that she’s meeting a guy she’s been talking to, for the first time drunk. When Susan gets drunk, Susan gets…

Press Play To Listen To Sam The Sham & The Pharaohs "Lil' Red Ridding Hood" For The Soundtrack

“Aye, I’m single, shut up. P*nty lines?”

“Nah, you’re good.” Now Annie.

“Back of my hair okay?”

“Yup. Still Red Sonja went to the beauty parlor. I should ask something about my appearance shouldn’t I?”

“You have a pretty face.” Annie tells me. Susan continues.

“Some guys like their girls tough looking with biceps bigger than theirs.”

“You really think so? I’m thinking I do look like the bodyguard while you two are glam dawls, fookin’ beechez!”

“NAH—AH! I called you like 3 times to wake your a** up and gave you two whole f*cking hours to get ready and shave something!!!”

“Annie, we are not going there, I already mowed the lawn and trimmed the hedges.”

“Good, now to get you to wear a swimsuit, so you can finally learn how to swim.”

“I was not meant to be in large bodies of water that are on the deep end of the kiddy pool, what part of that don’t you understand?”

“You’re a little b*tch that’s afraid to dive in.”

“Depends on what I’m diving towards.”

“You ready to come out Lizzie?”

“I know you’re waiting for if I do, which I won’t, because I’m not that drunk and you’re not my type of I don’t have one.” Annie gives me a c’mon look.

    I know it’s hard to believe because I don’t dress in tight clothes as much, or do the hair and make-up every day, and I like wearing comfortable shoes I can walk in or kick a guy in the n*ds if need be, is a practicality thing; besides I don’t have the money to spend it shopping for cute clothes and whatever else these tr*cks want me to shake my t*osh in. I’m just not a girly-girl and in the shower like a guy, I can p*e standing up. I’m not sure of what that had to do with the tangent forming in my head, but I needed to think it, now to move along…

   We hold hands, skipping out of the girl’s room. Actually no, but whatever, Connor dude pays for more drinks. I’m thinking it’s too bad I’m a v*rgin tonight drinking Shirley Temples, but it is best I stay sober though what’s left of the second bowl of Jack, is calling out my name. ”Soon” I think to myself baked Yoda-isms will trail me off after we leave this tavern. Table back we go and take our seats we do. Now to entertain myself by interrupting:

“Hey Connor, so why did you call this place Pauley’s Tavern when the sign outside says The Iron Horseshoe?”

“Ah, there is a story to that which I can’t tell you until you’ve comeback at least trice.”

“Did you really just say ‘trice’?”

“Yes. But no serious, I can’t tell you until you’ve come back three more times.”

“Are Shriners involved?”

“I’d have to get back to you on that.”

   F*cker is going to leave me hanging! I like him less now. I look around while Annie nods her head and smiles at the appropriate times and is decent at being convincing she actually gives a rat’s a** about what d*ck is saying. If Susan already h*oked up with him over the phone which makes me wonder; how long did they s*xt for first? Or are they doing it the old fashion way where it’s about the build up and this meet-up is more to check out in person whether homeboy gets to bust out a c*ndom later tonight, after he follows Annie’s car when we drop Susan off back home? Where was I going with this?

  Susan is acting strange if she was willing to get driven to whatever city we are in; and have two extra wheels while she works on her hook-up. If it’s just a f*ck, they would have already been going at it. Something doesn’t sit right; I reckon’ they want the saddle to be broken to go b*reback, like he’ll be more than a l*y. This would explain why she’s acting like she is; whatever, I want to look around.

9:34pm

   I lean over the table to whisper to Annie that was sitting across from me, not caring my booty is in position and practically was in Dixie Whistler’s face.

“I’m going to check out the jukebox and take more pictures.”

“Don’t take long, este g*ey me tiene (this a** has me) ugh!”

    Susan with ears like a hawk, glances over at Annie, and then goes back to being girly-girl with homeboy. I take my camera out after I s*ck my drink down and stab with the thin plastic straw, the two cherries I got and chomped on them.

[NOTE TO SELF: Buy a wholesale size jar of maraschino cherries. Eat for breakfast.]

  I head towards the jukebox. I take pictures along the way but the lighting is still off. I f*ck around with my camera settings ‘til something looked decent. I’m going for close-ups and trippy angles. I’m perfectly content, so much so that I don’t notice that I’m being checked out. This person looks at me from the pool tables, tracking….

“Alex, I need a second opinion.”

“On what?”

“See the brunette wearing the black Eisenhower, taking pictures of Lucy?”

   Alex turns his head to look at the jukebox.

“She’s new.”

“I know, she was sitting with two other chicks and Connor.”

“Are they cute?”

“The one he’s fl*rting with is hot but red looks like she has attitude.”

“Ah, so what you need a second opinion on?”

“The brunette, I can’t quite tell if she’s str*ight or a l*sbian.”

  Alex looks me over. He sees how compared to my friends that styled themselves feminine, I do look like a tomboy that can swing either way, in his second opinion.

“Maybe she’s b*. You going to go over and find out before someone else beats you to it?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

   The guy thinks about it for a minute. His curiosity wins and goes for it to check me out up close. He pours out more beer in to his pint glass and walks away from the pool table forgetting to leave his cue stick behind.

  I’m entertained with the jukebox selections. Some artists I don’t see enough like Brenton Wood, Howling Wolf, Sam The Sham & The Pharos, Link Wray and so on, are listed. Theirs are the jams this tavern juke joint may be all about!  

  I’m flipping through the pages and look for one to land on to take a picture of, when I hear, “Are you a photographer?” I lower my rinky-dinky camera to see where the voice was coming from. I turn around and see this white guy that looks to be about 40. Tall, but not like Connor, with one shoulder up higher than the other like he doesn’t realize he carries his weight on one side more than the other. He’s got an average build with a slight beer tummy and there is a tinsy, winsy bit of a double chin from having a face that has filled out slightly, probably from drinking the same beer that made him get his own tummy pooch. This is where I’m a s*cker for sure:

Press Play To Listen To Dropkick Murphys "Famous For Nothing" For The Soundtrack

   He has dark brown hair and brown eyes with medium light skin tone or from what I can tell under the lighting of this place.  He looks comfortable looking like a hooligan in his cuffed blue jeans that are lighter and thinner at the knees, black Dropkick Murphys tee he has tucked in; showing a silver, punk pyramid studded belt to my surprise, and standard again, uniform length wallet chain.

  What caught my attention was his grey scally with his sideburns peeking through. He’s holding a cue stick and a ¾ full pint glass of light beer. He has a friendly face, handsome actually, I think more so because he has cheeks I feel compelled to pinch, and him being a white guy, he’s exotic to me…. Yeah I know.

“I am tonight.”

   I extend my free hand out, which was my right, “I’m Gina, what’s your name?” He starts to extend his back when he sees he’s got both hands full. With his right pint hand, he pushes his cue stick back to his left shoulder from his left hand, and then switches his beer glass over to his left hand; but his cue stick rolls down from his left shoulder to his left inner elbow but it’s okay, the beer didn’t fall. Now he can shake with his right hand. He smiles.

“I’m Michael.”

“Nice to meet you.”

   After we shake hands, he switches the glass back to his right hand from his left hand and swigs. His cue stick rolls down along his forearm and remains on his left in his hand because the right hand took the pint that used to be there; confusing it would seem, but not really. I take the jukebox close-up shot I was aiming for between Social Distortion and Styx which is pleasantly surprising also. I’m thinking power ballads, but that’s most likely because I’m a chick still wishing I’d get asked to slow dance to a song that was dedicated to me.

“Want to see?”

“Sure.” I show Michael.

“Cool, so you like taking pictures?”

“I do, especially if I’m entertaining myself quietly.”

“Was that what you were doing?”

   I smile. “Yes, friend’s having drinks with a guy and I’m supposed to keep our friend that drove company.”

“Why aren’t you keeping your friend company?”

“I’m taking a break… (and this is where I go for it)…Hey, can I take your picture?”

“You want a picture of my ugly mug? Nah, I’ll break your camera.”

“Whatever, actually the way the jukebox light is, really makes the color of your beer pop against the logo of your shirt; plus the inlay of your cue stick is cool. Please? I’ll aim low so your face isn’t in the shot.” (Not bullsh*tting, it really does look cute. Wait, cool. I meant cool!)

“I guess. Do you need me to pose or something?”

“Yes.”

    I say smiling softly as I make physical contact and position Michael to lean against the jukebox and to be honest, I was sizing him up and hoping to catch a whiff of cologne. I mean he’s cute, I’m bored and Susan’s sl*tness along with Annie’s insinuating I’m g*y again; I’m asserting myself passive-aggressively to not remember how others question my s*xuality OFTEN! F*ck, I’m always having something to prove; or not… depends on my mood? Me c*pping a cheap feel, him being posed. He does smell nice beyond the beer on his breath. I figured out where I want his pint glass and cue stick props to be. I take the picture, check the view screen, I didn’t like it.

“Sorry, need to take another one.”

“No problem.”

   I position Michael again. I take the picture, much better, I show Michael. “I like it.” I’m thinking of what to say next.

 “I take it you like Dropkick Murphys.”

  He looks down at his shirt.

“They’re a good band.”

“What are your favorite songs?”

“Oh wow, there’s a few.”

“I bet one of them, is Captain Kelly’s Kitchen.”

   He thinks about it for a second, then laughs. That’s the song everyone knows because of the lyrics and the beat that goes well with the lyrics, ahem.

“That’s right. How about yours?”

“I’m partial to Famous For Nothing, I live by a St. Mary’s.”

“You do? That’s funny.”

   I don’t think he knows which song I’m talking about. I look at him and I feel myself wanting to linger and smile goofy. Never mind chicken sh*t time to go!

“Well Michael sorry for cutting this short, but I should get back to the table before my friend has a conniption.”

“Oh yeah, it was nice to meet you Gina.” {Great, I just got shot down by the tomboy.}

   He’s fumbling again with his cue stick and pint glass; I smile and wave. I’m walking away towards where we’re sitting and I see Annie looking more annoyed. “Hey Michael!” I call out his name as I do an about face away from her. He stops walking to the pool tables. {Maybe not.} I catch up to him.

“Hi again, you mind if I take pictures of you playing pool?”

“I thought you were going to keep your friend company.”

“Ah yeah, about that… Pardon me for swearing, but my friend looks really b*tchy right now and I rather start taking cover.” And I laugh nervously hoping he won’t be opposed to the idea.

“I don’t mind, I do have to ask you to excuse my pals, they can forget their manners sometimes.”

“As long as I’m not getting gr*ped, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, this way then.”

   Michael leads the way back to where his friends are playing. One of his pals just shot the #5 ball in to one of the side pockets.  I’m thinking of the different angles I could use. We walk up and I see one of his friends spot us and put his pint glass down next to the pitcher that is ¾ of the way empty, on the closest side table. The rest notice and turn to look in our direction. I have a closed, tight lipped smile coming up.

“Hey, this is Gina; she’s a photographer and wants to take pictures of us playing if that’s cool.”

    His friends look at each other and shrug okay. The one that put his beer down is the first to introduce himself.

“Hello, I’m Dennis.”

   He puts his hand out so we can shake. I’m taken back by his sweet baby blue eyes and darling smile. I’m not as firm with my hold this time.

“I’m Paul, nice to meet you.”

   We also shake hands, a little bit firmer. Michael introduces Joe and Alex next, polite so far.

“Do you really want to take pictures of us playing?” Dennis asks.
 

   Michael has a knowing smile and Alex sees this. Alex leans over to whisper in Joe’s ear that was standing next to him, to tell him Michael went for it and then Joe walks over to Paul to whisper the same thing, and men say they aren’t chismosos (gossipers).

“Yes, some candid ones actually don’t move!”

“Wha? Oh.”

     I quickly change the brightness and aim towards Dennis. Paul steps back but still is in the frame. I got Dennis holding his cue stick in front of him. He looks boyish; I wonder how old he is. I enter shutterbug mode and Michael tracks again. He continues to take swigs from his beer and smiles. I move quietly around clicking and checking. It’s Joe’s turn to shoot.  

I take one of him bent over, pulling his cue stick back, the shot is from the side. I focused on how he cuffed his blue plaid shirt sleeves that accentuate his biceps and all the wicked ink on them. His wallet bulge and chain looked good too, and yes I noticed. I move to be across from him. The other guys look on as they trip out on what I’m doing. I catch a nice one of Joe rubbing chalk on the tip of his stick and Alex next to him, holding his glass high gulping and his Adam’s apple protruding. Joe misses; it’s Alex’s turn to shoot.

   I take one of him coming up on the table. Paul is in the lower left of the frame. I take a pic of the neon Guinness beer sign showing through his glass he was taking a drink from. Dennis was also in the shot looking down, pouring him the last of the beer from the pitcher. I miss Alex’s first stroke but I hear two balls go in. I see he’s going for the ball that didn’t quite make it. He’ll be shooting a diagonal.

  I brave getting my face hit and crouch down to be just below his eye level where he is aiming towards that corner pocket. Alex ignores me thankfully, because I get a great shot of him staring down that ball and I didn’t need a nose job. He really has this commanding look to his eyes. If I could guess his heritage, he’s some sort of Latino on the medium tan end. For a second I thought maybe Armenian, but nope, I feel the force of the frijol (bean) with him, he too may be part of  'El Burrito'. 

    I slow down taking pictures and am attentive watching their game. Michael walks up behind me and taps my arm with a chilled empty glass. I didn’t notice he had left for another pitcher.

“I thought you might be thirsty.”

    I know he made a statement, but I was fixated on how expressive his eyes also are. Where he was standing, the light from the lamps made them stand out. I could see the contrast between his light skin and dark eyebrows and eyelashes. Then I notice a day’s worth of shadow on his face. I smile and accept the glass he offers me, he doesn’t let go of it. He holds it just above my hand and I feel the slight pressure as he tilts it. He concentrates on giving me the least amount of head as he pours. I feel his finger touching mine and it turns out I do still have a pulse because I felt a small rush of arousal.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. How’s the picture taking coming along?”

    I put my glass on the table and pull up my camera’s gallery. I skip the previous ones I took and start with him at the jukebox. Michael takes his time to look at all the shots I took of his friends.

“Dennis, she made you not look like a d*rk.”

“Really? I want to see!”

   I walk over to him with my camera and the guys huddle in close. It was a little intimidating to be surrounded like that, but the guys seemed cool so I wasn’t as tense.

“What are you going to do with these pictures?” Paul asks.

“Not sure yet, I’m thinking of doing a bit of black and white to see how that looks.”

“Oh, well send Mikey copies.”

“Your beer is getting warm,” Michael points out.

“That it is. What did you serve me?”

“Bud Light.”

    It’s free beer from a cute guy; I have no reason to complain though I’m wondering what kind of tavern is this to serve Bud Light. I would think with all the pomade in the room it would be PBR if anything and in a can at that! Well at least they serve Guinness and he got his Bud Light in a pitcher.

“Super!”

    Drinking my free beer, I get half way done with my draft Bud Light when Michael asks if I wanted to join him outside for a smoke. For some reason this caused Paul to choke on the swig he took, and the rest try to hide that they are curious as to what my answer would be. I’m noticing the body language, including Michael’s. His is, I’m not quite sure how to describe it, but it made me want to reply with, “I don’t smoke, but okay. I need to let my friends know where I’m going.”

“Yeah sure; (he smiles) hey watch her beer.” he says this to Joe, and then turns back to me, “No alcohol out front.”

****Personal Policy: NEVER TRUST YOUR DRINK WITH STRANGERS!!!****

  (Though we did with fulano that could have easily slipped a mickey. Nevermind, personal policy still applies.)

“No, I can finish it.”

   I down the half full glass of beer with my pinky in the air (there’s a reason for that though what that is, f*cked if I know) as the guys watch on and smile at Michael. I try to belch quietly. Wow was that not enjoyable.

“You said out front?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll meet you outside.”

   Seconds pass and he’s keeping eye contact. Yeah, I’m gonna rank it somehow. “I’ll meet you outside.” I leave the group and head to where Annie, Susan and whatever the f*ck his name was, are. “Where have you been?” Annie asks looking p*ssy. Susan looks over briefly, and then returns to fl*rting with dude that has a mack daddy grin now. I walk around the table so we can hear each other better.

“I was taking pictures of Michael and his friends playing pool.”

“Who the f*ck is Michael?”

   I turn back to look for him.

“He’s outside waiting for me.”

“Waiting for you?”

“Yes and I’d like to go join him now.”

“Fine, go and leave me here!”

“C*brona! You’re always giving me sh*t because I don’t mingle more with guys. I found one, what more do you want!?!”

“Is he cute?”

“Very, can I go now?”

   She sighs.

“Okay, but don’t go anywhere else with him, you don’t know if he’s psycho.”

“No, he’s into Dropkick Murphys.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Yes psycho, beware, stay where it’s safe. Now give me Good Juju Yaya vibes?”,

“Otra vez con tu (again with your) Yaya Juju! Fine Good Juju Yaya. Now you better hook up his number.”

  I smile and give Annie a smooch on the cheek.

“Make-up and hair?”

“Your T zone is shiny, your lipstick needs touching up and you should put your hair down.”

   I reach inside my messenger bag to get my make-up pouch. I powder my face, brush on blush while I was at it, and then get my burgundy lip liner and ‘Holiday Red’ lipstick, not caring that I’m putting on my make-up at the table under such dim light. I un-clip my hair and untwist to have my hair down. I take off my glasses and tousle the mane. Annie is motioning where for me to finger comb up and back. General Lee caught the transformation from butch to girl, from the corner of his eye. He’s taken back at how just a few changes can take a gal from reserved to standing out, Susan noticed he’s not focusing on her.

“Do I look pretty yet?”

“I’ve only had two drinks.”

“F*ck you Annie!”

   She finally cracks a smile.

“Estas bonita (you’re pretty), now go before he thinks you’re not going to show.”

   Connor asks “Who’s waiting for you?”

“Michael.” I start to walk towards the door to meet Michael outside when I hear Annie continue.

“Chew some gum in case you get to first base! And take off your jacket so he can slide to s*cond!” shouting this because that’s how the s*ank is.  

   I squint at her because I wasn’t the only one that heard that, including Michael’s friends at the pool table that are laughing their a**es off. They only seen me with my hair pulled back, wearing the Eisenhower, so they didn’t recognize me at first, then when they did, their wallets begin to be opened and five spots taken out. I return to the table and get my pack of  Trident Cinnamon gum and take off my Dickies jacket. I changed my mind and decide not to take my camera and the snickering of others wasn’t that bad as I passed them by.

  Connor heard me say Michael and wonders which Michael I was referring to. He does a quick scan as he stands up to look around and figured out which one. He tells Annie and Susan the Michael that asked me to meet him outside is cool and that made Annie at least feel a little better while Susan just seemed more focused on getting back to flirting and giggling. She was well past tipsy with the three Cosmos she drank on top of whatever else she had before Annie picked her up.

Press Play To Listen Dropkick Murphys "Walk Away" For The Soundtrack

10:14pm

    I push the heavy wooden door open. I see the doorman that moved outside, but I don’t see Michael. Then I hear coming from the right “Over here!” I turn my head, there he is. He had finished his cigarette and flicked the butt which is a pet peeve of mine. I mean give a hoot and don’t pollute dude! I walk up doing the mindset shift where I know I look different. He can see what my jacket was covering, and if that didn’t send him a message that I want to look attractive to him, then I still must be clueless and I shouldn’t even try to go up to bat. I mean, maybe it’s me that wants to make it to first. Yeah it’s me, and….

“I thought you changed your mind.”

“No, I didn’t change my mind.”

“You put your hair down.”

“Yeah, it was wet; I want to let it dry.”

“Oh, I like it, it smells nice.”

“Thank you.”

“You took your jacket off too.”

“I knew it would be hot out here.”

“That it is, makes me wonder why I’m not wearing shorts right now.”

“Because you didn’t have time to shave your legs this morning?”

“Yes! Totally my bad. I hit the snooze button too many times. Want to sit down?”

“Sure.”

   Michael places his hand on the middle of my back and points to the short brick wall of the raised bed with scraggly bushes that hardly have any life in them left. He takes in the scent of the honey based shampoo of Tio Nacho that I washed my hair with, and mixed with the lavender night time baby lotion I used as a leave in conditioner. I think Oshun and St. Catherine may have collaborated (or conspired) on this one whether I asked them to or not, I’m still a bit ambivalent about the whole thing.

  He takes his hand off. I don’t know if I’m making a big deal out of this considering I had posed him earlier, but it seems like he’s touching me intentionally; or that is what I’m hoping is the case, mas o menos. He waits for me to sit down before he does, kinda close. Normally I’d keep my distance and defend my personal space, but he’s cute and I’m avoiding sitting through Susan and homeboy flirting while I’m feeling single like it’s a bad thing. What is a good thing: I’m chewing gum and not smoking. Now to pretend I’m confident.

 “So your other name is Mikey?” I ask.

“Yes, among others.”

“What are your other names?”

“I can’t repeat them to a lady.” (Remember my pinky in the air?)

“You are aware lady is also a four letter word?”

“Good point but they’re still not words I’d tell a lady.”

“Thanks for thinking I’m one.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Only on weekdays.”

“Ah… hey, you and your friends aren’t from around here huh?”

“No.”

“Where are you coming from?”

“Where do you think we’re coming from?”

“I dunno, Funkytown?”

“Good one! But no. East L.A. , can’t you tell by my accent?”

“It’s very faint.”

“I’m enunciating. Now you, I detect a bit of East Coast.”

“Wow, good ear! Philly, but moved to SoCal as a teen.”

“Where did you relocate to?”

“Fallbrook.”

“Oh, by Camp Pendleton; were you stationed there?” That surprised him.

“How did you know that?”

“I seen the stupid tag on your forearm, plus I’ve hung out in Fallbrook.”

    He looks down at his Eagle, Globe and Anchor tattoo, and then up at the arm band around my bicep of 22 7.62 ammo rounds. Then he takes in the rest of my ink and how it looked I had wings; a-shirts tend to show that. Great when looking tough is an advantage, not so much if you’re a girl looking to get the boy’s attention. It throws them off. S*cks I know, but understandable for those that rather date the girlies with Barbie torsos.

“Were you a Marine?”

“I get that a lot, but no, never stood on the yellow footsteps. I was friends with a lot of  Devils, plus I was married to a greenside FMF Corpsman.”

“Was he stationed at Pen?”

“No thank God! We were at Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center.”

“Hellstumps?”

“Yes. Spent four years in Duece Nine; miss it still.”

“Wait. You miss Twentynine Palms!?! That place is a sh*t hole!”

“I take it you didn’t like Stumps.”

“F*cking, oh sorry… I hated it there when we went to train. There wasn’t anything to do and it stunk!”

“That’s not true, though Lake Bandini does reek. You just have to be creative and have an open mind, besides make good friends. Having internet helps, also a car. And roaming around Walyworld in Yuck for the air conditioning at midnight, does keep you from going stir crazy a little longer; unless you know where the cool massage parlors are at. If you do, you’d be happy. Did you know there’s a Sonics there now?”

“If you say so. Well my father was stationed at Pendleton before I was...”

“Oh so you were a military brat too!”

“Damn, I have not been called that in years.”

“Guess it’s one of your other names.” He laughs. “What was your M.O.S.?” I ask.

“0331.” He answers.

“03’s that’s with the Grunts?”

“Yes.”

“So what were you?”

“A machine gunner.”

“That’s a Gun Bunny right?”

“Wow, yet again you amaze me! You knew someone that was one?”

“Not well. He signed my Corps flag with Gun Bunny under his name.  Anyhoo I do that sometimes, but amaze is a strong word for me making long shot guesses.”

“Did it make you feel uncomfortable? I’m sorry.”

“No, just didn’t think I could so easily amaze you.”

“I’m a simple guy.”

“You entertain yourself blowing spit bubbles in the rain don’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?  Okay, you won major brownie points so far. You said you were married to a Doc?”

“Yes I did. We’ve been officially separated since late ’09.”

“Oh, you’re not divorced then.”

“My marriage was over since I got shanghaied in ’05.”

“Shanghaied?”

“Long involved explanation, but yeah, not divorced yet.”

“Do you miss your ex?”

“I missed the times when we weren’t fighting and acted like friends.”

“Was he a jerk to you?”

“He wasn’t very nice after a while, but I rather not talk about him.”

“Oh… well don’t feel alone, I was separated myself before my divorce was final.”

“I wondered if that’s how it worked. You doing okay now?”

  He contemplates the question.

“Yes, the worst is over so it’s cool.”

“Right on. Do you ever still miss your wife?” (That’s actually a trick question to see how over he is of his former mate.)

“My ex? At first I did but we weren’t a very good match.”

“Don’t you hate it when that happens?”

“Completely. I do miss the companionship, but not everything else after it went downhill.”

“Kinda like how it’s described in the song “Walk Away”. You think you knew what you wanted and were willing to take a risk, a chance, a leap of faith on; only to reach the point where wedding bands come off, and there are tan lines to get rid of and online dating accounts to open up.”

“That was my Dropkick theme song it felt like.”

“So what’s your Dropkick theme song now?”

“Going Out In Style.”

“What album is it on?”

“Going Out In Style.”

“I don’t have that one. What’s the song about?”

“Getting drunk and having one heck of an Irish family reunion at your funeral.”

“That's a morbid theme song. Are you Irish?”

“Nope, but you’re close. Scottish.”

"Ah, never met a Scotsman before."

"Well now you could say you have."

   After he answers, he looks at me with I guess that amazement. I’m liking his crooked smile. My body language changes. I hold my hands on my lap, back straight; keeping my knees closed, with one foot behind the other. I guess I am a lady if I would sit in such an awkward way. I avert my eyes, and then brush behind my ear hair that wasn’t in my face.

Press Play To Listen To Carl Smith And The Tunesmiths "Baby I'm Ready" For The Soundtrack

“I know I shouldn’t ask a woman her age, but how old are you?”

“Then why are you are you asking if you know you shouldn't? I’m not jail bait.”

“I live dangerously but that’s a relief, seriously though.”

“I’ll be turning 34 in a month.”

“You don’t look your age.”

“Older or younger?”

“Younger.”

“Now your turn, how old are you?”

“Old.” and he grins.

“You look my age.” (Not really.)

“You flatter me. You’re close, I’m 36.”

“Well Michael, you look a good 36, I don’t see any grays.”

“I haven’t taken my hat off.”

“Hey, meant to tell you, I like your scally.”

“This old thing?”

“Has it been through a few adventures?”

“Many.”

“May I see it?”

“If you like.”

   Michael takes it off; his hair could use some grease. He hands me his scally and I study it. I can tell it has never seen a washing. On the edge of the brim, there is some wear. I turn it around and see small stitches of a repair. It’s also soft in my hands as I feel the woven texture of the grey wool, houndstooth fabric, and the light blue satin lining feels smooth and cool, even for it only being off his jarhead a few seconds.

“You like it?” I’m asked.

“I do.”

“Want to try it on and me take your picture?”

“No, that’s okay, I come out horrible in photos.”

“Oh no, I posed for you, now don’t get camera shy all of a sudden.”

“It’s not that I’m camera shy, I really am not photogenic.”

“I doubt that.”

      He takes his scally out of my hands and plops it on my head. He leans back to examine and adjusts it. He c*cks it a bit to the side and tilts it down. Then I feel his right hand touch my shoulder for a second. He pulls it away.

“Now you look decent, hand over the camera.”

“I would but I left it inside.”

“You suck!”

“Hey play nice! And here I thought I was getting the whole lady treatment." He had to think about this one too, then back to those f*cking eyes and crooked smile. “But I do suck and I know it.” Saying this with a straight face, then my own crooked smile made its appearance.

    Michael didn’t expect that, he clears his throat and now it’s him blushing because his mind went straight to the gutter.  He was about to step it up with the fl*rting, thinking I gave him a free pass when we both hear Annie and Susan storm out of the bar, tavern, whatever... Annie looks around for me; she spots me sitting next to Michael on the raised bed brick wall.

“Gina we’re leaving, I got your jacket and bag!” I couldn’t hide my disappointment. Just as I was getting in to this impromptu dress up seduction, fl*rtation, me lightening up of D*MNIT!!!

“I got to go now Jarhead, here’s your scally back.”

    I get off the brick wall, hand him his cover, he puts it on and I stick my hand out to shake his. I choked but smile anyway.

“Thanks for the beer, pics and convo.”

“Likewise. No wait, I meant…”

“I got you.”

“GINA WRAP IT UP!”

{F*ck Annie not yet please?}

“My friends are waiting…. I got to go. Bye.”

    I keep smiling even if I’m disappointed in myself; I turn away. I walk towards her car without getting his number; yeah I’m still a chicken shit.

    Michael began to think as he sees me walk away, he realizes something about what he had said he missed about his ex wife. “Gina, wait!” he shouts. I stop walking to the car and turn around. Michael sprints to catch up. There is a feeling of anticipation at the pit of my gut; I’m hoping against a hope as I felt the start of a rush the closer he approached. He reaches me. He’s standing in front of me with his black Dropkick Murphys tee and grey houndstooth scally. He’s catching his breath. I focus on keeping mine steady. He smiles with his expressive brown eyes that look like two black pearls; much like how I imagine my own brown eyes look like to him.

  There are stars visible in the sky; one in particular is brighter than the rest. The moon is also witness as it is almost full, still looking like white cheddar cheeze, which would explain a lot if it was completely. There stands Michael, the former military brat-gun bunny with a moto stupid tag on his forearm; from the East Coast transplanted to Southern Califas, that was drinking Bud Light, in front of me. If I could take a picture of him right now, I would. I want to remember this moment where his pearl black eyes are telling me something. He smiles his crooked smile and asks me, “Can I call you?”

Back To The Top Where It Starts