Homing Bird…

Rick  says, “Let’s have one more’, and looks at the bartender. I am already shaking off the bar stool preparing to leave. The bartender is decking the glasses on the shelf, wide array, shapes and style after he got them cleaned by the bar maid who was leaving. He has to keep things before the bar opens tomorrow and it is weekend. All weekends are carnival in the money-rich town/  It’s twelve midnight and the fury of cars flying past in the road  has receded and the crowd inside is taming down. The bar is dark and reeks of liquor, smoke and roasted chicken, and Oak.

The bartender looks at him and then at me. I put my hand on Rick’s shoulder and say, “Another day, Rick. Wife is waiting home”.

Rick shrugs his shoulder and climbs off too, with difficulty. For him, one leg is shorter than the other and he limps. I don’t know if he’s born that way or he had an accident or got shot at in a war. He calls for the check and pays for our drinks as I wait at the door. The mood of the people still hanging around, looked that they would drink all night long. Harry is not the obliging guy,  he  will down the shutters in an hour.

Today we decide to go. And wife will be waiting home for me.  Rick suffers no compulsions. His wife left him four months ago and though he was aggrieved and sulking, threw a party for us all in this very Harry’s bar and at the end of the party we all got drunk and decided to throw our wives out. Today I must go home and she would be there for me.

In the car park, the car is fogged and wind shield  opaque. I disapprove. It is dirty work of sky.  I look up and say,

“Oh, Sky!  spare me. Am too damned knocked out!”.

“Yeah”, says Rick, in a base voice like a choir boy saying “Amen” and drawling.

The road is bright lit with neon signs and bill boards at the Mountain View. Two chicks with chink eyes come out of the Vietnamese Restaurant after work and they count their tips.  I see  glee in their faces when they tuck the bills in their bags. Either they get a lot of tips today or little tips make them happy. A Vietnamese guy in a leather jacket smoking cigarette waits for them at the other end of the car park. To pick them up. One of the girls told me it’s her brother,  I go to the Vietnamese joint when I don’t drink. All the Oriental guys who wait for these Oriental girls are brothers, I think. The other girl is her twin, she had said and I believed her so. They all look alike.

Signs of  drizzle while we were in, the air  nippy and the road  looks  dressed up.

Rick and I, we shake and pump hands as if we are bike-riders on a long haul and firm muscles. When my hands hurt, Rick is strong, I disengage and open my car door.

I hear Rick say, “OK Chicken, Goodnight!”

I get angry and say, “OK Rick, I stand by you, let’s have another drink” and shut the car with a bang.

I tell Rick, “I pay this time, this one is one me”.

Rick says, “You are a sweetheart” and he walks back to the bar all grin and I follow him.

Harry blinks seeing us again but silently places two glasses in front of us and gives our drink. We are regulars and he knows our preferences. What are bartenders for?

Harry is lousy bartender anyway and a grumpy salesman who has the permanent look on his face, of some insect slithering into his ass.  You cant make out his origin and he is a quadroon.

I sell shoes and I go all out with my customers. Whoever comes to buy one pair, I make them buy two and those who come to buy two pairs, go with three and a pair of sports shoe. I sold football boots to a lame man so he feels the thrill of playing soccer when he watches the league finals on TV, wearing those boots.  He returned my shop later and said, “Yes.”

I confer the all titles myself, though nobody agrees. A guy once came with old wife to buy her a pair of  sandals and you can make out he was poor, God forbid. He bought her the cheapest pair in the store. Later, with sweet talk I made him buy himself the costliest leather boots and branded and she walked off in a huff.

And I went with them, ran to the streets till the car park where their old Volkswagen with paint peeled off was standing and pleaded  both to come back and I have an offer. She sat angry for about half an hour before she smiled and made him buy her the best pair and she tripped twice when she tried those stilettos.

She was tripping, falling in front each time, face down and I held her putting my hand on her bosom. My hand touched and pressed her breasts,  I held her like that and helped her back to shoes.  She was very happy and coy and would have tripped more times except I had other customers who looked rich and wanted my attention. She was old but had her boobs in  a kinky sort of way and falling out of her gown and all the while her young husband selecting pairs of cotton socks on display with the board “For Sale”  and he missed the fun.

Harry is no good salesman and he’s cleaning last of the glasses he picked from the tables after the barmaid is gone and is wiping with a red-checked napkin. His apron is wet and Rick is sleeping his face down, on  the bar desk.

By now only four hoodlums who have been making noise are left  and they are huge fellows  and new to this place. There is also the hooker from Paulo Alto who frequents this place on Saturdays and today is Saturday. She has long batting eye-lashes and she is alone smoking in the corner and with nobody. I am not friendly with her. She scratches her thighs when she’s not with anyone with her dainty nails and I didn’t know it’s a nice pastime. Her other entertainment is push the eyes cubes in her coke with nails and see them bouncing back. She walks with a bounce which I love watching, but she scratches.

The guys are pissed drunk in a way they got to peer into each other’s face to know who they are with. I am George the gregarious, I go and pick up a friendly chat with them, Rick is no company now and sleeping. These guys don’t know me and are from Utah,  but get friendly and agree with whatever I say.

I tell them they will feel better  if they have another drink and it will be allright. They say, “Hurrah” and cackle and signal Harry. They are the Vodka type and I hate water-coloured drinks. Henry’s all daggers at me and moves his head sideways. Henry or Harry, gosh, I mix up the bartender’s name and I get saucy too.  I smile at, yes Harry it is, and show my thumbs up and smile. He pulls out the Vodka from below.

I get back to Rick and have another drink, Rick the pig, passing out like this. I got to drop  him in his pad and my wife is waiting for me. He always passes out and can’t hold his liquor. In his sleep Rick’s drooled and I tug his hair and wake him up. His eyes are groggy and tells me his wife is a bitch and I ignore him.

Harry sees our glasses empty and looks at my face.  He is going to have a tough day, those guys getting more noisy with more Vodka. I call for the check and pay Harry.

The old slob with grumpy face doesn’t deserve gratis but I give him a big tip. So he helps me with Rick and gives him shoulder till the door, he opens the door for us. Rick turns back into the bar and howlers, “My wife is a bitch.”

The Utah guys thump the desk and say in chorus, “Yeah, All wives are”.

There are only three of them now and the hooker dame is gone. I can’t help it if he smells coke in his pudding. One of guys stand and puts both his hands up and cheers loudly,  as if he’s heard the declaration of independence. He is pear-shaped and bald.

Outside, I walk Rick to my car, alone by myself and Rick hums an oldie from Elvis Priestly , Love me tender, Love me something…

I got to clean the wind shield with a napkin, the water jet is empty. A cuckoo coos from the thicket beyond the row of Sycamore trees and it’s what I call a false call. It isn’t morning yet and worms inMountain viewdon’t get fooled easy.

And I cup my hands around the mouth and yell, “Today I am going home early and wife waits for me.”

I know she would, Rick feel jealous but I know she would. For she saw me taking the Metro. The Blonde with big boobs was with me and I thought it was my wife at the Station!

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