Hell, Yeah Page 17

  A man snapped his fingers in front of Travis to get his attention. “I’m next. I want a bucket of Coors and two piña coladas.”

  Travis jumped. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t hear you above the noise. What was that again?”

  “Two piña coladas and a bucket of Coors,” he said.

  “Comin’ right up. Cathy?” He looked over his shoulder.

  “I heard him. Soon as I finish these tequila sunrises I’ll be right on it.”

  Betsy, the lady who had been hitting on Rocky the past few nights, waved between two cowboys to get her attention. She’d traded her pink Spandex and lace in for fake black leather and satin that night. Her blond hair had come straight out of a bottle but didn’t look bad in the dim lighting.

  “We heard we could get the vintage songs and even at the old prices. Think we could get some of that? We can hear the new stuff any old time on the radio.”

  “This is Saturday night. The new bands play tonight. Old stars are up on Monday,” she said.

  “Please,” Betsy whined.

  “I’d like to hear some old Hank or Merle Haggard,” one of the cowboys said.

  “Put it to a vote. Those who want the vintage can stay. Anyone who doesn’t like it can go up to The Trio or the Boar’s Nest,” Travis suggested.

  Cathy unplugged it just as Gretchen Wilson finished asking for the last “hell yeah.”

  “Hey, what’re you doin’? We can’t dance without music,” Bart said.

  “Can I borrow your chair for half a minute?” Cathy asked.

  He dragged it across the floor. She stood on it and clapped her hands twice. The place went silent. “We’re takin’ a vote. Usually Friday and Saturday nights this new jukebox is what we listen to. But some of the customers have asked us to use the old one tonight so they can listen to vintage country music. How many of you want to listen to the old music like we have on Monday and how many want the new songs? Vote by a show of hands, please,” Cathy said. “New?”

  A dozen hands went up.

  “Old?”

  The place looked like a wave at a Cowboy’s football game. The whoops and hollers were louder than Gretchen Wilson’s hell yeahs had been.

  “The customers have spoken. Anyone who hates this kind of music is welcome to leave and let some of the folks outside in.” She hopped down and plugged in the old jukebox, took a quarter out of her pocket, and got the night started with Tammy Wynette’s “Your Good Girl’s Gonna Go Bad.”

  “That surprised me,” Cathy told Travis when she was back behind the bar.

  “Not me. It’s a new novelty. Kind of like going back in a time machine. Remember when Barbara Mandrell sang about being country when country wasn’t cool?”

  “She was talking about me. Were you country when it wasn’t cool?”

  “Oh, yeah. From my hat down to my boots. How about you?”

  “From birth. Cut my teeth on Hank Williams, Porter Wagner, and Dolly Parton.”

  He filled another bucket with bottles of beer and shoveled ice in on top of them. “Me too. Grandma and Grandpa loved those old artists. I bet if my grandpa was still alive and he found out there was a jukebox like that still around he’d be your best customer.”

  Cathy took an order for three margaritas. “Then how come you’d never heard of Marie Laveau?”

  He ran a hand down her rib cage. “Don’t have any idea but if you’d like to dance to it again, I’m game.”

  She shivered. “I believe that’s harassment.”

  “It wasn’t last night.”

  “After hours plays by different rules,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am. Then save me a dance after hours.”

  “You askin’ or demandin’?”

  Luther claimed a vacated bar stool. “Askin’ what? Did you say you’d go out with him? Did he end up being more than your good friend after all? The Hag didn’t do this one first, did he? Seems like I remember Ray Price singing ‘Silver Wings’ when I was a kid.”

  “I didn’t say I’d go out with Travis yet. And I think you are right about Ray singing that song. So you listened to the old guys too?” Cathy asked.

  “You bet I did. Granny and Grandpa, Momma and Daddy, and even my big brother loved country. Still do.”

  “Big brother. Surely you mean in age?” Cathy said.

  “Both age and size. I’m a midget compared to Harlin. He’s six foot seven and outweighs me by fifty pounds.”

  “What does he do for a livin’? Wrestle or pro ball?”

  “He’s a football coach up in northern Oklahoma. He’s got a good team that usually goes to state,” Luther said. “Y’all seen Rissa? I want to dance and can’t find her out there in that can of wigglin’ worms.”

  “She’s usually here on Saturday night. Go shoot some pool with Merle. She looks like she could use some competition,” Cathy said.

  “Will you send her over there when she gets here?” Luther asked.

  Travis nodded. “Want a beer while you wait?”

  “Quart of Coors,” Luther said.

  At midnight a few people left and Larissa was one of the dozen that Tinker let inside. She went straight to the bar, got Cathy’s attention, and ordered a martini. Her black lace blouse had flowing sleeves with ruffles at the cuffs and white pearl buttons down the front.

  “Luther’s been waiting for you,” Travis said.

  “What happened to this place? There’s fifty people out there just waiting for someone to leave so they can come inside. They’re dancin’ in between the cars in the parking lot to the music that’s coming out through the cracks. If they could get a bucket of beers they’d probably be as happy out there in the cold as in here,” she said.

  Cathy set the drink in front of her. “It’s a fad. Next week we’ll be lucky to draw in a hundred on weekend nights.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.” Larissa waved as she weaved her way through the noisy crowd to the pool tables. She said something to Merle who nodded and pointed at the edge of the pool table. Larissa set her martini beside Merle’s beer and Luther waltzed her out onto the dance floor to a couple of old tunes by Charley Pride followed by a Bill Anderson ballad.

  Someone must have been tired of slow songs because the next one out of the jukebox started off with “Great Balls of Fire,” by Jerry Lee. That put everyone on the floor in a line dance. Luther showed Larissa the dance steps and the second time everyone crooked their leg, slapped their boot behind them, and shuffled forward two steps, she had it down.

  “She’s a natural,” Cathy said.

  Travis looked up from the beer section and asked, “Who?”

  “Larissa. She’s only been coming in here a few weeks and she’s already got two-stepping down and look at her on that line dance. She’s as good as Luther.”

  “Wonder what she did before she moved here? Maybe she ran a dance studio that taught ballroom dancin’,” Travis said.

  “I have no idea what she did. She just showed up here one night. I thought she was one of Hayes Radner’s henchmen,” she said.

  “Who’s that?” Travis asked.

  A woman reached across the bar and touched Travis on the arm. “Hey, good-lookin’, I’m Randa. I need two buckets of Millers and two pitchers of piña coladas. We just got in and we got to make up for lost time.”

  Travis grabbed two buckets from under the counter and loaded them with bottles and ice while Cathy blended and filled two pitchers and put them on trays with empty pint jars.

  “I love this music. How long have you been here? What’s your name? How come y’all ain’t got name tags? Y’all open any other nights?” Randa asked Travis.

  “The Honky Tonk has been here more than forty years. I’m Travis and this is Cathy and we don’t need name tags,” he said.

  “Well, hot damn. We thought it was brand new and only open on Friday and Saturday. Wait ’til we get back home and tell everyone what we done found. We love the old country music,” she said. “Hey Brenda, come help carry this stuff. I only
got two hands. Guess what—this place is forty years old. Can you believe it?”

  Larissa breezed through the swinging doors into the bar area. “Luther is making the rounds gathering up trays. I’ll wipe them down and stack ’em up. You are getting low.”

  Luther set a three-foot stack of trays on the end of the bar. “Busy night, ain’t it?”

  “Keepin’ me on my toes for sure. Thanks,” Cathy said. “If the fad doesn’t die out I’ll have to hire some extra help.”

  Travis grabbed a clean tray and filled four quarts with Budweiser. “I’m your hired help. Don’t be givin’ my job away.”

  “Honey, I’ll let you help yourself to anything you want if you’ll quit your job and work for me,” Randa said.

  “Rule is the hired help can’t dance or drink with the customers,” he said.

  “I’ll pay you big bucks.” She winked. “If you change your mind, there’s six of us over there in the back corner that you can help all night long.”

  “I’ll remember that.” Travis grinned.

  Cathy slapped him on the butt with a wet bar rag. “Stop flirting.”

  “Why? I can’t flirt with you. That’s harassment during working hours. And I do believe if I checked the handbook that touching my butt is considered harassment too.”

  “I’ll harass you, darlin’, anytime of the night or day,” another woman flirted from the space Randa left.

  “Sorry, boss says I can’t,” Travis said.

  “Tell the boss to go to hell. Honey, if I could take you home with me, I’d chain you up and never let you out of my sight.”

  “Other than that, what can I get you?”

  “I guess a bucket of Coors. I can use the ice to cool off my hot little body,” she said.

  Travis filled up a bucket and the woman handed him a fifty dollar bill.

  The woman leaned over on the bar and let a piece of ice sliver down four inches of cleavage. “Get that out for me and you can keep the change.”

  “That’s a lot of money,” Travis said.

  “It’s melting fast and it’s a long way down there,” she teased.

  “Gotta pass. Here’s your change.” He laid the money on the table and looked down the bar at the next customer.

  “I’d have paid her to let me get that ice,” the man said.

  “If you hurry, you might catch her before it’s all melted,” Cathy said.

  “That tone was colder than the ice in the woman’s boobs.” Travis laughed.

  Cathy shot him a dirty look.

  “I can’t help it if they flirt. This is a different crowd than you usually have,” he said.

  “If you’d have gone for the ice I planned on breaking your fingers, so keep that in mind.”

  “Broke fingers couldn’t draw beer. You keep that in mind. Don’t you just love this sound?” He changed the subject.

  The guitar music, drums, and steel were definitely old country. From the first guitar lick to the last note it had an unmistakably county beat. Cathy was reminded of the song that Alan Jackson sang about murder on music row that said in today’s world the old singers wouldn’t have a chance. Looking out over that crowd of hooting and whooping people, she wondered if it wasn’t making a comeback. Maybe it hadn’t been murdered on music row but just shot in the leg.

  Luther kept Larissa on the floor through Buck Owens, Dolly Parton, and Johnny Cash. When Bobby Bare started singing about Marie Laveau, Travis grinned at Cathy.

  He held out his hand. “Could I have this dance?”

  She took his hand and did a couple of sexy bumps and grinds against his side. He looked as if he’d been pole axed.

  “Shocked you, did I?” She laughed.

  “You broke the rule,” he teased.

  “Yep, I did. Some rules just have to go out the window. Get ready for the next wave. That song sucked the sweat out of them. They’ve got to have beer or we’ll be sweeping up dead bodies when we clean up in the morning,” she said.

  “Where’d you get that we business, woman?” Travis’s eyes glittered.

  “You mean you’re not going to volunteer to help me put things in order tomorrow morning?”

  “No, ma’am, I am not. I’ve got to be at the rig site at nine o’clock and there’s no way I’m waking you up that early.”

  “That’s probably wise,” she agreed.

  He hummed along while Loretta Lynn sang about being someone’s Kentucky girl. Cathy could be his Alaska girl, but the way her business was booming she’d never leave the Honky Tonk.

  My girl! When did that happen? I’ve kissed her a few times. I haven’t even made love with the woman. So why do I think she’s my girl?

  “What are you thinkin’ about?” Cathy set six Jack and Cokes on a tray.

  “As many times as I’ve leaned on these handles, I’m wondering whether we’re goin’ to run out of beer. How much you got in the cooler?” He wasn’t about to tell her that he’d been entertaining notions of her being his girl.

  “There’s enough to last until closing. I may have to call the distributor and ask him to make an extra run on Monday to get through the first of the week. But right now we’re in good shape,” she answered.

  At one o’clock part of the crowd called it a night and Tinker let the rest of the folks who’d waited in the yard inside. They hit the bar for buckets and Mason jars of beer and fresh energy pushed its way right out onto the dance floor. At one thirty it thinned out a little and at five minutes until two Tinker unplugged the jukebox right after Conway sang “Lonely Blue Boy.”

  A lady yelled, “Ah, man, we only got an hour.”

  “Come early on Monday night. We’ll open at eight,” Tinker said.

  “I’ll be the first one in line if I have to camp out on the doorstep all night,” she said.

  The place was empty at two when Tinker set his cooler on the bar and for the first time since Cathy had been in the Honky Tonk it still had two unopened Dr Peppers in it.

  “Didn’t have time to drink much,” he said.

  “It’s just a crazy fad,” she said.

  “Busier than I’ve ever seen it. If it keeps up we might need to hire Travis or Larissa full time. I thought I saw those two men again tonight. They were out in the parking lot leaning on a car. Things was busy so I didn’t get out there to put them going. I expect they’re stalking Larissa because when she left they did too.” He waved good-bye and left.

  Travis picked up two beers and headed for a table. “What’s going on with two men?”

  “Tinker thinks there are a couple of stalkers hanging around. At first he thought they were looking at me but now he thinks they are after Larissa. Don’t know what or who she was before she came here. Maybe she knows them.” She didn’t tell him that she’d had the uncanny suspicion they were following her in the Wal-Mart store or to the bank.

  “Show them to me the next time they’re here and I’ll find out what they’re up to. Now…” he held out a hand, “…want to dance?”

  “Hell no.” Cathy slipped her boots off behind the counter and followed him in her stockings. “I want to put up my aching feet and guzzle a beer.”

  Travis sat across the table from her. He tipped back his beer and took a drink. Lord, it tasted good after that six-hour run. He set it down and looked at her long, long legs. He leaned across the table and took her left foot in both his hands and began a deep foot massage.

  “Oh God, don’t stop,” she moaned.

  “That sounds like more than harassment,” he teased.

  “Honey, what you are doing feels so damn good you can sue me. Hell, I’ll give you half my kingdom if you’ll do that for an hour,” she said.

  “What would I have to do for all your kingdom?”

  She’d never known that icy blue eyes could have fiery hot embers in them, but his did. They could have set the Tonk on fire if it had been physically as hot as the vibes they shared.

  “More than rub my feet,” she said. “Don’t ask me things like th
at tonight, Travis. I’m too tired to be rational.”

  “Then how about going out with me tomorrow night for dinner? You name the place. A real date. I’ll pick you up at six and we’ll do dinner and then a movie.” He started on the arch of the other foot.

  She leaned back and shut her eyes tightly. “If you won’t stop for the next ten minutes the answer is yes.”

  “Can you stay awake for ten minutes?” he asked.

  “Probably not. Wake me up when it’s over.”

  He laughed.

  “No sexual connotation intended,” she said.

  “Let’s curl up on your sofa and just cuddle together until we fall asleep?”

  “Can’t do it.”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “Because I’d want more and I’m too damned tired to enjoy it,” she said honestly.

  “Then there is a tomorrow?”

  “Maybe.” She pulled her feet down. “You sleeping on the sofa tonight or going home?”

  “I sleep better on the sofa. You seen anymore of those stalkers?” He finished his beer, stood up, and brushed a kiss across her forehead. If he kissed her lips he wouldn’t be able to stop.

  “Not lately. I can’t even be sure that they ever followed me the first time. It all could have been my imagination since Tinker and I’d talked about them. Nerves talking instead of common sense,” she said as she locked up, turned out the lights, and followed him to the apartment.

  He pulled his duffle bag from the coat closet, removed a pair of clean pajama bottoms, and made a mental note to repack it the next day. Lately, he’d spent more nights at the apartment than he had in the trailer. Most mornings he was long gone before Cathy awakened, but he enjoyed that hour of company they shared after the Tonk closed. When he did go home before closing, he watched for the parking lot to empty, Tinker to go home, and the light to appear in her window. That was his cue to traipse out across the grass and knock on her door.

  While she showered he peeked out the window. No slow moving vans. Maybe Tinker and Cathy had both been wrong. Shady characters often hung around beer joints. He dropped the mini-blind slat when he heard the shower stop.

  “Your turn,” she called out.