Probably 1 of the only places these days I don't look too out of place, more working class stiff than anything. Lot of dressy characters, long bars along each wall, fake wood paneled radios done up like they came straight out of the factory from the 30s. Playing that satellite radio, the 30s channel. Bartenders wearing tuxes, handing out lots of martini glasses. Even smells kinda like it was older, fresher.
Real low ceilings, nearly busted my noggin open on one of them low hanging green lamp lights. Paid my 20 bones for a bourbon. Too bad the prices weren't throwbacks.
Tried talking with the bartender, but he knows me, wasn't too happy. I always get 1 or 2 drinks, treat em like they're sick, and I'm trying to nurse em back to health.
Phone started ringing, but I figured it was just Dara, couldn'ta been too important. They don't like it in Nostalgia when you break their game, wanna keep it as real as they can. Problem was, it kept ringing, and I couldn't remember what to do to shut it off. Kept hitting all the buttons in my pocket. Probably looked like I just hit puberty and found out what else I could use that for. It finally stopped, but then she called me again. Dames.
Finally, when it stopped the 2nd time, I got up to mingle. Kinda hate it. I gotta play nice, not make people mad, get a real fake smile on my face, just like I see on their faces. Like a buncha empty faced mirrors are grinning like fake idiots. Out on the street, you know they'd shoot each other in a heartbeat.
Mostly, I made em squirm and look away. It's not like they know me, it's just something in me makes em feel wrong. I wanna say it's because they feel me being sorta on the side of Johnny Law, but it's probably cause my mug is all busted up and sewn back together.
Had to wait a while till I found my mark. Young guy, striped blue tie, skinny, already loose at the knot, waltzing around, same as me, offering drinks to anyone pay him a scrap of attention. Real baby face, but a big mouth on him, never shutting up. Married into the mob, or someone's babied son. Nothing else, figured I might get a drink off him.
Worked better than I thought. Alone, each of us was creepy. Together, we were still creepy, but at least we were social. Wasn't completely dangerous to come towards us. Plus, slob was getting plastered quick. I could apologize for him, replace drinks he spilled with his money, start talking to the fine suits and evening gowns.
Took a while, musta cost him a fortune, but around 3 AM, I get my name: Cass. Of course, Hercules over here ain't ready for the night to end. Name like Hercules, I wasn't surprised he normally didn't drink much. I had to lug him out of Nostalgia, toss him in a cab, hand the cabbie one of Hercules' 50s.
Watching them taillights fade, I think I shoulda got something for myself from Hercules' pocket, but then I figure he got me 8 shots of bourbon and the name. More than most people get for me. If that ain't a friend, I don't know what is.
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