Markwildyr.com, Post #218
* * * *
I wiped down the bar and wondered if it wasn’t time to consider moving on. I’d been in Dallas at the Galloping Mustang for a month and a half, which is the longest I’d stayed in one place since I began my long horseback trek back to Huntsville. That journey started on the Rancho Salvador across the Rio Grande south of the New Mexico Boot Heel country. Slick and I—Slick was my flea-bitten gray gelding—took our time, stopping when we wanted to stop and traveling when we wanted to travel. I’m a cowboy by trade, but a bartender by convenience since ranch jobs were becoming harder to find.
I’d run into the Galloping Mustang by accident when I engaged a
fellow in casual conversation at a diner and learned the joint was looking for
a bartender. Since my sock was getting low on spare change, I courted disaster
and headed for the Highland Park area. Bit congested—and exclusive—for
horseback riding, but I made it okay. The owner, a beer barrel of a guy named
Monte Billson, not only hired me, he also directed me to a stable where I could
board Slick.
The next problem was to find a cheap place to stay in a high-priced
neighborhood. That resolved itself when I met Dolly, a cute waitress at the
Galloping Mustang. She took me home the first night, and before sunrise, I had become
a roommate, which was convenient because she had a sporty car—a Mustang, of
course—which saved a lot of time on city busses. Dolly had reluctantly departed
the area when her sister called from Ohio with word their mother was sick,
leaving me with an apartment in The Village with the rent paid until the end of
this month.
Actually, there was no reason to move on except for my restless
nature. The GM, as we employees called it, was close enough to Southern
Methodist University to garner some of that trade without disturbing the
neighborhood flavor. We were a mahogany trimmed joint, which made the dim
lighting comfortable without rendering everyone blind. We had both tables and
booths but no dance floor, which cut down on troublemakers. In my experience, student
couples tended to bring excess energy, which sometimes found release in
squabbles. Squinty, our six-two bouncer was able to handle things, but
sometimes I had to back him up.
Tonight was slow for a Friday. It was getting late, and just a
few local regulars remained in the bar… except for this one fresh-faced kid who
seemed like he was waiting for someone. Every time the door opened, he looked
up with an expectant look on his kisser. He hadn’t drunk much, nursing his
Bloody Marys carefully. When he came back from the bathroom for the tenth time,
he surveyed the almost empty room and took one of the bar stools with a sour
look on his face
“Expecting someone?” I asked.
He looked surprised at the sound of my voice. “Yeah. Supposed to
be meeting someone, but got held up, I guess.”
The kid was cute, had a decent build, and seemed polite. Before I
swore off guys, he’d have whetted my appetite. He looked too young to be in a
bar, but Squinty would have carded him. Our bouncer was good at that. Of
course, so were some of the kids at forging false IDs.
I stuck out my hand. “Gary. Gary James Hawthorne.”
“What? Oh, Folsom Charles. And before you ask, Folsom is my first
name.”
I grinned at him. “You’ve explained that a few times, I imagine.”
He loosened up a little. “Yeah, once
or twice. Gary, you say? I thought I heard the waitress call you by another
name.”
“Gabacho.
Picked that up down in Mexico. Pretty much answer to it all the time now.”
“That’s what
they call gringos, isn’t it?”
“Especially
curly-haired blonds.”
“You aren’t
exactly a blond.”
I laughed and
gave the bar another swipe with a rag. “Compared with their head-hair, I am.
But I guess you’d call it brown.”
“Yeah, but it
does have some blond highlights.”
“So they tell
me.”
Even in the
dim light, I saw his eyes sweep my bare chest. I customarily wear a short, open
vest with no shirt beneath. The girls like it. Well, so do some of the guys. To
change the subject, I asked if he was a student at SMU.
He shook his
head. “Naw. I’m from TCU.”
“I thought you
guys were rivals. That why you’re meeting here instead of closer to the campus?”
His wry grin turned
him sexy. “You got it.”
I nodded to
the iPhone poking out of his shirt pocket. “So give her a call.”
“Him,” he
said. “And I have called. Just goes to voice mail.
“Oh,” I said.
“He’s not the
promptest guy in the world.”
“He’s stood
you up before?”
“Well, he’s
been late before.” He glanced at his wristwatch, a heavy gold thing. “But never
this late.”
“Kinda
disrespectful, keeping you waiting without calling and giving you a heads-up.”
“Well, yeah,
it is.”
Figuring my
last remark put a wounded look on his face, I excused myself to go straighten bottles
on a shelf at the back of the bar, a closing up chore.
The door
opened about that time, and this upperclassman dude swaggered in, spotted Folsom,
and meandered over, a smile on his face. I was within easy earshot and watched
the byplay in the mirror
“Sorry about
that,” the newcomer said breezily. “Hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“Just about
three hours,” I muttered under my breath.
“I was
worried. Why didn’t you call?”
“Something
came up. And I’m here, aren’t I. You want another drink, or are you ready to roll?”
I saw the
brush-off hit home.
“That’s it,
Brod? You aren’t even going to explain?”
Brod’s
handsome face turned ugly. “That’s it, kid. Take it or leave it.”
Folsom squared
his shoulders. “I’ll leave it.”
Brod didn’t
react well to the push-back. “What do you mean you’ll leave it. I’m doing you a
favor just showing up.”
The kid swung
his stool around and faced the bar, head down. “Don’t do me any more favors,
okay?”
“Why you
little asshole. You get your frigging butt outside and in my car right now.
Hear me?”
Folsom winced,
but stood his ground. “No. I’m going back to Fort Worth.”
“You do, and
that’s it. We’re through.”
Folsom looked
like he’d been slapped in the face, but he shook his head. “I’m not interested.
Not anymore.”
I saw the
older kid’s hands twist into knots. That was enough. I turned to face both of
them and leaned in. “Okay, butthead. You heard what the man said. Leave him
alone.”
“Who invited
you in. This is between us.”
“And me. Nobody
gets threatened in this bar. Not while I’m on duty.”
* * * *
Okay, so is
Gabacho going to get into a fight over this cute kid after he’d sworn off boys?
Tell me what you think.
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
Email:
markwildyr@aol.com
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr
Twitter: @markwildyr
Now my
mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!
See you later.
No comments:
Post a Comment