Rusty’s Lounge

I
On the Rocks
by Udhaya Kulandaivelu

I lean on the bar watching my veins pop up like them green Italian noodles. Drilling a highway gets me wired like this all the time. My eyes finally make sense of the darkness inside Rusty’s Lounge as I settle down and wave at Rusty for whatever he has on tap. The pool tables look empty in a depressing way making me feel like some loser to be in a bar this early. My stomach grumbles thinking of one of Rusty's Kielbasa Delights but the tab's been getting heavy, Rusty’s hospitality to an out of town highwayman has already reached its limits. I should just feed the two quarters jingling in my pocket to the jukebox and pick five tunes without giving them much thought. They're all CCR or Bob Dylan anyways.

"You must be close to getting done, huh?" Rusty, with my mug of beer.

"Yeah wish it would go on, I got nothing lined up for the rest of summer. I’ll settle my tab next week." Now I’ll know if that’s what he’s after. He just stares at me a good half minute.

"Whyn't you become a lifeguard, you'll get to save some pretty ass that way." Rusty closes an eye trying to wink. I guess the tab’s okay for another week.

"With my luck it'll be some fat old thing not a pretty ass."

"Speaking of pretty asses, you gotta see my new waitress, she's really . . ." he stops and looks at the doorway where someone just stepped in after creaking door.

My eyes follow his and find a woman, looking as tired as I feel. Nothing fancy about her; a denim shirt, jeans and an old pair of boots, that's all. I come back to my drink but the corner of my eye catches her stealing a glance at me. If she approves I can't tell; it's hard to make out from her face. She sits down and brings out a pack of cigarettes from her purse but just plays with it pulling and stuffing a cigarette without releasing it from the pack. Rusty rushes over to wait on her,

"Whiskey on the rocks coming right up!" I hear him say. She can’t be a regular from the way Rusty’s breaking a sweat to serve her.

I work the beer all the way down to the bottom of the mug, the cool stream hits the floor of my stomach sending a rush all over my steaming body. Still a little light in the head, I walk over to a pool table and start shooting everything, even the cue ball. Why should one guy get to shoot everyone else into the hole anyways? Everyone shoots in my game, nobody knows who will survive. That is the point. I take a long shot and shoot the nine ball in the corner pocket with full force.

"You missed the one right next to you." Says a voice from behind me. It’s her, the one with the whiskey on the rocks.

I could say something like, "No I didn't, I saw you come in," or something clever like they say in the movies which gets the hero his girl. But I stay quiet letting her words hang in the air, anything I say now won't come out smooth.

"Can I play?" She’s facing me now but looks away to avoid my staring.

"I don't know . . . can you?" I want to say, but I wait and take a good look at her as she lets me. Her hair is unusually short like she wants to be taken serious. Her face is the clearest one I've seen in a long time, nothing there that needn't be there. No lipstick, no blush . . . none of that shit.

"I don't know . . . Can you?" I bring myself to sound cocky.

"Great, another man who thinks a woman can't shoot pool!" She says it like she's the only one here and gulps down the rest of her whiskey in one breath.

I rack the balls up and she breaks them clear in the corner. She moves on to the next cigarette stomping the old one, which still has plenty of life in it, on the ashtray. I walk around, bend and look for an angle to make her think I take my game serious. She looks away somewhere, deep in thought and puffs out huge rings. Maybe women don't impress by a man's pool skills. She puts the new one in the ashtray even sooner and walks over to the pay phone. I put some bounce in my shoes as I walk around the table chalking up the stick and whistle with the jukebox to while the time. The phone clicks right away; no one must be home. Who could it be anyways? A boyfriend she had a fight with or a husband? Who cares, she started this she might as well take it all the way. She walks back real fast like she's running late and says,

"Let's go for a ride."

I follow her out of the bar remembering what my pop once said, never question a good thing! Rusty tries to wink again only this time his mouth is wide open. Tales about tonight ought to keep Rusty from bringing up my tab for at least a month.

All buckled up in her Olds wagon, I can't help wondering where this is taking me. She holds the reins here, she . . . 1 don't even know her name! Maybe it would sound stupid if I ask her so late, but what will I call her; especially when we . . .

"I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't." She blurts out, then draws a deep breath and goes on,

"Marcy . . . that's my name." She nods like she's let me in on a secret.

I clear my throat which is getting dry and wiggle into the seat to get comfortable. I remember hearing somewhere that women like big solid hands in a man, so I spread mine on the dash and gently tap on it.

"Nervous?" She asks without removing her eyes from the road.

We reel out of Rusty’s parking lot and leave the rest of Harvest Quarter in the dust. We don't stop for directions or anything, she knows exactly where she's going. I decide not to say anything for she seems to want it that way. For being picked up by her, I sure should be feeling better than this. I should be having more fun.

©1998 Udhaya Kulandaivelu

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