Chapter 7: Boom!

I LIKED MOTHER’S. It was reminiscent of a prohibition speakeasy and was modeled after the bar in the old Peter Gunn television show. It even had a small stage where a jazz trio played and was often joined by a chanteuse who whispered out sweet songs of seduction. That was like a hundred years ago when newsmen were newsmen. I even have a Homburg hat I wear when I go there. It has a wider brim than a trilby, but no side creases like a fedora.

Other guys in the business like the Red Light, a bar not far from Mother’s. That’s one reason I avoid the Red Light. I want to talk to people, not reporters. And Mother’s has real drinks and not just beer by the bottle. When I go out drinking, I want a good martini. The kind Slocum behind the bar started making when I walked in.

“One dry Sapphire Martini, shaken, not stirred and just a little dirty,” Slocum said as he placed the frosty drink on the bar in front of me.

“Keep a tab for me, Slo. It might be a long night.”

“You got it, Mr. Ramsey.”

That’s another reason I like Mother’s. They treat me like I’m special. Slocum has an eidetic memory and can remember the name and credit card number of every customer in the bar. You just have to trust a guy who can memorize your credit card number as he slides it through the reader. Including the security code. And as far as I can tell, he’s never abused that ability. He just knows everyone who comes into the bar more than once.

“Anybody been moaning about being sterile, Slo?” I asked as I leaned against the bar.

“Well now, everybody talks about it a little. Some happy and some sad. Micah Johnson over there next to the stage has been bragging about it some. Seems like he’s been conquesting the college girls.”

“Thanks. What’s he drinking? I’ll take one to him.” Slocum handed me a short whiskey on the rocks and added it to my tab.

“I think this is your drink. Slocum said so,” I said, sliding the whiskey in front of Micah. The bald man looked up and waved to an empty seat. Three other guys moved their chairs a little so I could sit down.

“Slo always seems to know when I’m running low,” the fellow said. “Somebody always wants advice from old Micah. What’s your problem, young fella?”

“I hear you have a lot of success with the college girls,” I said, letting the gin warm me.

“Yah. You can have a college girl any night of the week. Not at this bar. You gotta go over to one of the college bars like The Pub or The Library. Those kids will all brag about how they got hit on at the library, but most will give you a sweet ride once you talk to them a little. Now if you want a real treat, you need to go down to The Vault in Kissimmee. You can’t even tell it’s a bar from the outside.”

“What do you get at The Vault?”

“Disney princesses. Get there after the fireworks at Disney World and stake out a table for three. Not for two. No one will sit with you if there’s only one seat. Two seats and a couple will just ask to join you.”

“Why would I want a couple?”

“Cause most of them are girls. They don’t go out alone. Always in pairs. They figure they’re safer that way.”

“Nice. How do I pick up a girl there?”

“Now that’s the secret. It’s only going to be good for a little while, so you need to act on this before the young studs figure it out.” Micah looked around the bar and the other three guys at the table, who had already, apparently, brought him drinks, leaned forward. “Ask them all innocent-like if they usually get guys with lots of come. Don’t be gross. Make it like you’ve got a problem, see? The little bitches haven’t figured out yet that since the big sterilization, guys all come in quarts. I fucked a little blonde princess this weekend who couldn’t believe how much come I had to give her. She was sure she’d get pregnant when I dumped a second load in her. Her roommate couldn’t wait for her to pass out before she was all over me, begging for her share, too. They all figure they’ve just found the secret of life.”

“You come in quarts?” I compared the similitude to my own experience.

“Not literally! God damn, man. Are you one of those who take every example literally?”

“No. I just wanted to make sure.”

“Well, it seems like quarts these days. Never fails to fill a girl to overflowing. I’m sixty years old and I come more now than when I was a teenager. The girls haven’t figured out that all guys do. Bet you’re coming more now than you ever have before!”

Well, yeah. That’s what I was talking to Elizabeth about just a few hours ago. I’d have been ready to go again if she’d stayed awake. Hmm.

“What do you suppose caused it all?” I asked the table. Mica shrugged his shoulders and contemplated his drink. They all seemed absorbed in what they were drinking. The guy on my left lifted his head enough to look at me through the heavily lidded eyes of a devoted drunk.

“Boooom!” he whispered. He made a gesture to indicate an explosion somewhere high above. Then he dropped his chin to his chest and appeared to go to sleep while still keeping a death grip on his drink. The singer of the night went into a melancholy song of lost love.

Another love before my time made your heart sad and blue
And so my heart is paying now for things I didn’t do
In anger unkind words are said that make the teardrops start
Why can’t I free your doubtful mind and melt your cold, cold heart?
You’ll never know how much it hurts to see you sit and cry
You know you need and want my love yet you’re afraid to try
Why do you run and hide from life? To try it just ain’t smart
Why can’t I free your doubtful mind and melt your cold, cold heart?

I bought drinks for a few other guys and a couple of the women in the bar but no one had any more information. I stepped outside and hailed a cab to get me home. I don’t drunk and dreve.

Boom! Ninety bucks’ worth of drinks and all I get is boom.

I got home, stumbled to Smith Stadium and flopped in the bed fully clothed without a shower, toothbrush, or consideration for how I would smell in the morning.

“I smell coffee,” I sighed. The gentle aroma wafted under my nose, almost waking me up. I cracked an eye open to see Dr. Smith standing just out of reach sipping from her cup.

“Yours is in the kitchen. This cup is mine. You can have yours as soon as you shower and brush your teeth. Then you need to strip the bed and wash the sheets, your shirt and underwear, and send the suit you are still wearing to the cleaners. Did you have a cigar last night, too?”

“I feel like a little boy who’s just been scolded.”

“You should.”

“Only this little boy has a really bad headache and doesn’t want to go to school today.”