Chapter 1

Galen pounded his fist on the steering wheel in frustration. He was on the last leg of a multi-city trip heading toward Savannah when, for the third time in less than a week, the car he'd been assigned had suddenly and inexplicably died. Piece of crap!!!

Opening the door, he got out of the late-model lemon provided by his employer, and assessed the situation. There aren't many towns within easy reach of Interstate 16. In the distance, he could just see an exit ramp. Unfortunately, it was back in the direction from which he'd just come. He got his cell phone out and discovered that he had no signal (of course!). In resignation, he picked up his coat, locked up the car, and started the long trek to the exit.

It was hot. Still, he was able to cover the distance in about half an hour, but when he arrived, the news wasn't good. According to the signs, the nearest town of any size was Statesboro, about twenty-five miles off of the Interstate. Galen looked at the phone again: Still no signal. Cheap bastards could have at least bought a decent calling plan!

He started walking toward the town. Another half-hour or so of sweaty walking brought him to a place where the solid wall of trees lining the highway opened up into a roadside clearing. An unpaved road, little more than a jeep trail, really, left the highway and wound off toward a squat building at the rear of the clearing. An inconspicuous, hand-made sign, scrawled with the words "Mary's Game Room," pointed to the building.

Checking the utility poles, Galen thought that "Mary" might have a telephone, so he changed course to approach the "Game Room." As he got closer, he observed that there were quite a few motorcycles, and no small number of muscle cars, parked near the building. Empty cans and bottles, littered the erstwhile parking lot, while loud music and raucous laughter seeping through the doors. Redneck bar! Oh well...

Thick, stale cigarette smoke burned his eyes as he entered the building. It took some time to adjust to the low light inside, but then he moved easily to the bar. Odd that the barkeep isn't wearing a shirt. That has to violate some health code! He's so pale, he must never see the sun, and I guess the customers don't mind the red-tipped hair spikes...

The bartender turned around and Galen waved him over. As he approached, Galen observed that, other than the top of his head, all visible parts of his body were totally hairless. That's odd...

"What can I do for you, dearie?" the bartender leered at him.

Oh fuck! I've stumbled into a queer joint! Regaining his composure, Galen considered his situation. At least it's cooler in here than out there, and maybe I can call for help, and get a cold one while I wait.

"Does this place have a phone I could use? And how about a cold beer?" he asked.

"No pay phone here, sweetheart," the bartender smirked, "and I'm not supposed to let anyone use the house phone, but if it's an emergency, I could make an exception for a local call..."

"It's an emergency for me," Galen interrupted, testily, "my car's broken down on the interstate, and I've just walked about two miles in this insufferable heat, looking for help! The fucking cell-phone doesn't even work!" He stopped to regain control. "Look, the call I need to make is an 800 number. If you'll let me use the phone, I'll even pay you for it."

"Okay, okay, sweet cheeks, don't get your panties, in a wad," the bartender tried to soothe him, "As long as it doesn't come out of my paycheck, you can call Timbuktu! I'll get you the phone..."

"I'm sorry," Galen offered, "it's just been a very trying day."

"'Sokay," replied the bartender, "By the way, my name's Jerry. What's yours?"

"Galen," he replied, "I appreciate the help. And how about that beer?"

"Oh Gal, we don't sell spirits here, just mixers and setups," Jerry told him, "This is a 'dry' county. Everyone has to bring their own bottle or whatever. We just provide a place for them to meet, dance, play the games, an so on..."

"It's Galen," he said firmly. He hated the nicknames people tried to hang on him, especially that one. "So there's no way I can buy a cold one in here?"

"Well, it's illegal for the club to sell spirits," Jerry observed, "but I have some of my private stock of beer here - twelve ounce cans - and there's no harm in a person letting a friend have something at cost..."

"How much for a can?" Galen asked. His thirst had grown almost unbearable.

"Five dollars," Jerry replied.

Galen looked at him thoughtfully. "At cost, huh?"

"Yeah. Stuff is hard to get, and costly in a dry county," Jerry said with a straight face.

"Oh what the hell," Galen laughed, " it'll be worth it today. Set me up!" He threw a fiver on the bar.

Jerry grinned and pulled a cold one out from under the bar. He popped the top and handed Galen the can, then swept the money off the bar. "Being the humanitarian I am, if you don't need a glass, I won't even charge you the setup fee!"

"You're a saint among men," Galen observed with a grim smile, "and I'll be fine, drinking from the can."

Jerry brought an old dial-type phone out of hiding then, and set it on the bar in front of Galen. "Remember, no toll calls..." he reminded.

"Thanks," Galen responded, and taking the phone, he dialed his employer's toll-free number. After he had identified himself and his reason for the call, the receptionist connected him with the operations manager. He had a quiet but intense exchange of ideas with that manager, during which he extracted a commitment that the company would foot the bill for a tow to the nearest auto repair facility, a hotel room, and a rental car. After giving directions to his location, he hung up and picked up his beer.

Jerry, noticing that he had finished, wandered down the bar to retrieve the phone. Batting his eyes, he ventured, "You know, Galen, I get off at five, and I'm currently unattached..."

Galen smiled and replied, "Sorry Jerry, I'm not that kind of guy. Besides, in a place like this, why would you be lonely?"

Jerry barked, a bitter laugh. "You haven't been very observant. Look around and you'll figure it out." He leaned back against a counter, and waved a bar towel toward the tables.

Galen spun about on the stool, to see what Jerry meant. His eyes were now acclimated to the smoky twilight in the room, and could see more detail than he could have earlier. At first glance, it still looked like a typical backwoods redneck bar, but the longer he looked, the more apparent the differences became. They're all women!

He spun back around, and saw Jerry's mischievous grin, and before he could say anything, Jerry put his forefinger to his lips in the universal signal to hush!

Jerry approached him closely, smiling, and very quietly said "Yeah, it's a dyke bar! You and I have the only swinging dicks in here. I'm safe, because the bulls know I'm no competition, but if I were you, I'd not draw attention to myself..."

Galen sat back on the stool and thought for a moment, and swilled down the remainder of his beer. "Thanks," he said, and he put another five on the bar. "Set me up again, please."