Let Them Drool
Darby takes me to a Wal-Mart where I buy clothes and hygiene products. I also pick up snacks, but I’m careful not to spend too much on Darby’s dime.
My first night in the house is weird and I don’t know what to do with myself. My bedroom has no TV and Darby is reading in the living room. Restless, I sit on the back porch and miss my brothers. I’m still thinking about them later as I fall asleep in a strange bed in a strange town.
The next day is better. Lucky shows up around noon to take me to a job interview. I don’t have anything appropriate to wear, but the interview is a formality. I’m now the evening front desk clerk at The Oregon Inn. The three-story hotel reminds me of Darby’s old world glamour and I feel special to be working here.
“The place is just off the highway,” Lucky says as we stand outside, watching cars speed by. “Lots of travelers. Business types. Should be safe for you even at night. The place falls in club territory. Meaning if anyone hassles you, they’re hassling me. Get it?”
“Thanks. You didn’t have to do all this.”
Lucky scratches at the back of his neck. “I didn’t want you ending up at Mickey D’s or stripping again.”
“I don’t know how I’ll repay you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, lighting a cigarette. “I saw you needing a hand and figured I could help. I’ve done shitty things in my life. Maybe doing a few good ones will even out my ledger, you know?”
Nodding, I’m not used to people helping me. My grandparents are the only ones I depended on, but they passed away years ago. With Lucky, I worry he’ll expect a payment I won’t like.
“You wanna do something for me?” he asks when we get back to Darby’s house.
“Sure,” I mumble, waiting for the payment.
“My club hangs at a place called Suede. Why don’t you come by tonight and let the boys drool over you?”
I wonder if drool is club code for something. Lucky probably senses where my mind went.
“We got some single guys in the club. If you’re interested, it wouldn’t be the worst thing for you to date one. If you think they’re fools, I’ll understand. I think the same thing most days.”
When I share Lucky’s smile, he continues, “Look, they’re curious about you. I brought you to Little Memphis and didn’t claim you. That seems weird to them, so they want to check you out. Don’t let their size and scariness fool you, Shay. These guys are gossipy bitches.”
“I don’t have to do anything with them, do I?”
“Don’t have to say a single word. You can tell them to fuck off for all I care.”
“Should I wear anything particular?”
“Shay, it’s a bar full of rough guys like me. Your trucker look is fine.”
Taking him at his word, I wear jeans, a white tee, a blue and white flannel shirt, and the cheapest tennis shoes I could find in my size at Wal-Mart. Oh, and a Duck Dynasty trucker hat over my dark blonde hair. I’m the least sexy chick in the joint, just the way I want it.
Lucky knows everyone in Suede. I follow him around as he says hello and occasionally introduces me to people. Bad with names, I forget them immediately. Overhead, Elvis sings while the bar’s décor is Hawaiian-themed. A large flashing Budweiser sign is surrounded by little hula girls at the back of the bar. I watch the dolls sway and wonder what the hell I’m doing in this place.
Lucky moves around the bar until I’m finally ditched at a booth with two guys, a bottle of whiskey, and three shot glasses. Everyone’s names are mixed in my head including the guys I’m sitting with. I do know they’re hot. They both have thick hair and beards. One is blond, the other dark haired. I watch them down shots of whiskey then a second round. I sip my shot while they bang back another.
Flustered by their good looks, I’m glad I look like crap. If they show me any interest, I doubt I’ll be able to say no. That impulsive part of me is already grading them and imagining kissing each guy. I’m wondering who I’ll choose when I mentally slap myself. Hot dangerous men are the scourge for chicks like me.
“How old are you?” the blond one asks.
I down half of my whiskey shot then lick my lips. The liquor burns my throat and deep into my stomach. It also gives me a little courage.
“I can’t remember your names.”
They glance at each other and grin. When they look back at me, the blond one points at the other guy.
“He’s Ford. I’m Pax. We’re brothers, so don’t get any ideas about sharing. We’re strongly against incest.”
“It’s one of the few things we’re strongly against,” Ford says, downing another shot before filling his glass again. “Are you old enough to get liquored up? Should I play the responsible adult and take away your drink?”
I down the last of the whiskey and hand Ford the shot glass. “I’m twenty five and three quarters.”
They laugh at the three quarters part. Ford fills my glass and hands it back.