3. She Remembers Paris
She had never been to Paris, but Tommy had, once. He'd won one of those trips no one ever wins and went with his wife who started to hate him on the way there, but no matter, he loved Paris. It changed his life and was at the center of his being, so different from Denver. He told her all about it, the Arc de Triumph and the Eiffel Tower and everyone well-dressed and speaking the way they did. And the Parisians weren't as rude as people said, neither were New Yorkers, he had gone to New York twice to see his brother. So she would listen to him talk about Paris even though he would say the same things over and over again but nothing specific. It didn't matter because Paris was like heaven. Besides, Tommy was nice. When she brought him his drink, he would say you look nice today without any leering and list the places he had seen in Paris in one week in 1964. She listened to him and watched his eyes roll back thirty-seven years, they really did. She envied his ability to get away by reciting a few magic words in a foreign tongue. Someday she would go to Paris, so she bought a tape and a book to learn French. Thinking this she could get away, but not as well as Tommy could--because his get away was in the past, fixed, which is somehow more real than the future, she doesn’t know why. So she listened to the tapes and read the words and memorized a little, though the sounds were impossible and her mouth wouldn't make them, she tried--tongue, nose and lips twisting and straining until she got closer to Paris. One day she brought Tommy's Jim Beam to him and took a deep breath and said, "Bon jour," and Tommy’s eyes rolled backward in memory but his face lit up with gratitude for the present. She blushed and hurried back to the bar.
4. The Bouncer
Tommy's a son of a bitch, always wanting to mouth off. Of course Mike eggs him on, just to get a rise out of him. I say he's dangerous, I say, "I won't let him in tomorrow, Mike, I won't, he can do his drinking somewhere else." Mike gives me his cocky smile and talks about entertainment. I say he's dangerous. Some day he'll make trouble. Little son of a bitch. Mike can say what he wants, but I'll be ready for him.
5. Pining
Oh Julie of golden hair and twist blue and white hair tie. Oh Julie of the tan legs that dive from the shorts they make you wear down to your white socks and tennis shoes, a bit thick at the ankle but gently round at the knee and a tightening in the thigh as you step forward. Oh Julie of the too big t-shirt advertising Mike's bar that reveals not enough of the shape of your torso, but that at least ends in short sleeves followed by strong arms sprouting soft white down. Oh Julie of the wide face somewhere under layers of base and rouge, eyes clearly blue but elsewhere. Oh Julie of the sadly terse mouth and ambivalent nose.
If only I could talk to you, but I can't talk to you in front of them. If only I could have gone to France. If only my waiting at this table with my beer gave fruit!
6. Phil Drinks Alone
Poor old Tommy, so ragged, so inspired. I don't think there's anyone here that doesn't like him, except for Mike and Al. He sits in his corner watching the pool games, sips his drink, tells Julie about Paris. Always a warm hello for everybody. He blends into the background in the dim light of the bar, his dark face barely lit by the Miller Light sign above him. His thick hair and eyebrows, still black. He stays respectfully quiet unless you talk to him. Then he'll ask you about work, family, baseball, anything. He doesn’t forget anything--what your boss is like, your grandkids' names and ages, what you thought about Astacio's pitching two weeks ago. We like that, though we don't talk to him too much. The only two that talk to him are Julie and Books. Julie talks to him about Paris and Books talks to him about God knows what.
So why does Mike do that to him? Okay, he doesn't spend a lot here, but so what? It's not like Mike and Al are turning people away from this dump. Tommy's quiet enough for a couple of hours and then his eyes light up and it's time to say what he's thinking. He has to say it to Mike, because it's important, and everything important in the bar has to go through Mike. Even when Bob asked Evelyn to marry him two years ago, he had to do it at the bar with Mike standing there listening. So he goes to the bar, but Mike won't let him talk. Mike never loses his smile, either. Al gets nervous, but Mike always gets Tommy to leave, they never have to throw him out. Every goddamn day the same.
7. The Vanquished
Mike behind the bar like a king. Only 5'5", but there's a platform behind the bar that makes him loom like your father when you'd done something bad as a kid. Skinny and wiry too, arms poking out of his t-shirt like cables, always tense. But then that smile. Al's different, tall and fat but under that, muscle. He was a boxer once. Al's got a temper, I've seen it go off for any number or reasons--Julie being late for work, McDyess missing a jumper, someone looking at him for two seconds too long. But one gesture from Mike and he has to contain himself, though you can tell it's hard for him.
I'd kill Mike first, that's what I'd do. Just reach over the bar and bring that big bald head onto the beer tap and crack open his smug face. You get Mike and Al would have no chance against the rest of the regulars, despite his size. He'd disappear under a hail of pool cues, bar stools, shot glasses, even Mildred's walking stick. Then we'd ask Tommy to talk. All I'd have to do would be to get Mike first.