Late Night at Lucky's iii

This is the 3rd part of an ongoing series. Click here for the 1st.

“Where have you been?” Kevin asked rather loudly. “I’ve been saving your seat. I had to fight people off like dogs.” He seemed to be making a bigger deal out of it than necessary, so I had a seat beside him to soothe his troubled soul.

He was talking to some guy about Iraq. Not good. Politics and drinking don’t mix. Politics and anything don’t mix – except maybe corruption. And I don’t like either. I knew Laura and Eric were just biding their time, waiting for their drinks, and once they had them, they were going to bolt. And that’s exactly what they did. Whatever. If I saw them again, I saw them. If not, oh well. Sometimes you have to leave things to fate.

Damn, I had to go to the bathroom again. That’s how it is when I’m drinking. Once I go, I’m going for the rest of the night. It’s like the floodgates burst open, and as soon as a beer goes in one end, it’s ready to come out the other.

I saw Eric and Laura sitting at a table surrounded by plush couches. When I came out, I got my beer and joined them. My ass sank all the way into the cushion and I propped my boots up on the table. Laura and Eric looked at each other, looked at their feet, and put them up on the table too, like it was the best idea ever and they were surprised they hadn’t thought of it sooner.

The conversation wandered here and there and everywhere. Then somehow we got onto the subject of writing. “What kind of stuff do you write?” asked Eric. “Oh, I write about my life, adventures, you know, drinking and stuff.” I knew I wasn’t explaining it too well. As many times as I’ve answered this question, you think I would’ve mastered a response by now. Finally in frustration I said, “Have you ever read Bukowski?” They both laughed, “Funny you should say that. We were just talking about him today.” So we went on talking Bukowski. “If he was alive today,” Laura said, “I’d be having his babies.”
“Even though he’s a big chauvinist?” I asked.
“I don’t care,” she answered.
Cool. I love girls that can look past all the crap and fall in love with what’s at the heart of a man. Then she started reciting his poems right out of her head. I can’t even remember one line out of a poem and here she was reciting the whole thing. It was too much.

I’m not too good at listening to poetry though – my mind wanders. And all the beer, wine, and cigarette smoke sloshing around in my head wasn’t helping. So I just sat there watching her beautiful mouth form those words and fell more and more in love with each utterance.

Eric went to the bathroom. A good time for honesty I figured. “How old are you Laura?”
“21.”
I didn’t care. I looked into her eyes and said, “You’re beautiful,” with all the confidence and sincerity that it deserved. She kind of flinched. I guess I caught her off guard, but she quickly recomposed herself. “You’re fruitful,” she replied. What the hell did that mean??? I hoped it was a compliment, but I didn’t really care. I wasn’t expecting any kind of response. There are things that build-up inside and if you don’t get them out, they get all twisted and deformed, and then when they finally do come out, and they always come out eventually, they no longer resemble the thing of beauty they once were.

Eric returned. “Let’s have a smoke,” he said. “OK, let’s have a smoke,” she said. “Come on John. Let’s have a smoke.” I followed.


Click here for the 4th and final part.