The Vain Ones

The jukebox sat hunkered down in the smoky corner of the bar and started playing Neil Young. And I mean old Neil Young, not that Crosby, Stills and Nash crap and if there’s one thing I loved it’s Neil Young singing out to my better self while I sat in a dark bar getting slightly lit. Since the bar was in fact dark and I was well on my way to other part of the business I was feeling pretty damn good about the whole Trifecta.

I leaned back against the comfortable padding of the top rail sipping on my beer with satisfaction. Ole BJ right next to me, as always, doing pretty much the same thing except his preferred libation was J&B neat and he was sitting forward talking to Arty Burton; the bartender and quite possibly the oldest living thing on the face of the planet. My eye had drifted over to a stringy haired blond who was drinking alone at a table by the dartboards. She had her eyes closed lightly and her head was swaying back and forth in rhythmic enjoyment to our friend Mr. Young.

“She ain’t much to look at is she?” I said to BJ who turned with the suppleness only buzzed languor could provide and squinted into the darkness towards the lady.

“Ehh,” he committed, “guess not…. You ain’t exactly anybody’s first prize either.”

“Booby prize maybe.” Arty added chuckling through his ancient jowls.

“Prize pig maybe.” BJ laughed. “Hey; fair’s next week. I can probably still get you entered!”

“Fuck you both.” I finished my beer and handed it backwards to Arty as I studied the women a bit further.

“Lemme have another please… and a glass of gut rot for my comedically challenged friend here.”

She wasn’t really all that bad. Late thirties, looked like her rack had held up ok which meant she wasn’t shooting out rugrats every other year. I couldn’t really see her legs or ass due to the fact she was sitting down and her face was kinda strange. Not in a demonic or ugly tree kind of way but just kind of off center. Her features skewed to the right like the whole pie needed a front end alignment. In a way though the dysfunctional symmetry of it was kind of attractive; plus she did have great taste in music.

“Fifty bucks I tear that ass up tonight.” I turned to BJ clinking my beer against his glass.

“Hell you say.”

“Hell I do say my furry little friend.” I replied and with the suddenly new potential of lost income he swiveled his stool to study the decidedly un-fair maiden more closely. She had gotten up at this point and with drink in hand was pulling darts from the corkboard on the wall.

I was relieved to see the more than serviceable ass and legs since the ball, as they say, was now in BJ’s court. I was expecting plume’s of smoke to begin wafting from his head with the process of actual thought while he decided.

“Unless of course you’ve spent all of your expendable income again on dry cleaning the skid marks from your panties.” I added simply for shits and giggles.

He took a long pull from his drink and looked to Arty for another. “So what’s your plan?” BJ asked. ” Going to impress her first with your kingly dogcatcher salary and then sweep her off her feet with your string bean arms, cottage cheese ass and move that bird beak nose outta the way enough to kiss her madly with that mouth full a teeth that could eat an apple through a picket fence?”

You just can’t find friends like ole BJ. He’s a one of a kind for sure.

“First of all you moron it’s Animal Control Engineer… how many times do I have to correct you?” “Second, third, fourth and fifth you soggy-headed, natural born butt-fuck…” I rose up and spread my arms both for effect and to hopefully show the young lady they were not, in fact, string beanie at all….

“I have something in abundance you will never know the pleasure of owning.” I said.

“Genital warts?” BJ quipped and then slurped down the remainder of his drink.

“Personality.” I said loudly and undaunted. “Person-fucking-all day long-ality.” I had more; loads more, but seeing my error I paused. He knew it was true and I needed the fifty bucks almost as much as the piece of ass.

“You in or out douche bag?” I asked.

Why had I worried? I had him at skidmarks.

“In.” He said. “This ain’t no honor fucking system Ringo, I need proof.”

“Are we really ten years old.”

“PROOF.”

“Fine.” I said and turned to the shaking head and smiling old leather mug of Arty and asked him for a beer and whatever the lady was having.

With beer and vodka tonic in hand I sauntered over to her. She was standing at the white tape line on the floor lining up her dart with the board and I stopped at a respectful two inches from the back of her.

“Nice darts.” I said to her stringy head which was apparently more very old dishwater than blonde.

“Lame.” She said with surprising ambivalence as the dart flew from her hand and smacked directly into the red bulls-eye like it was ordained to do so.

I took a step backwards and whistled with appreciation.

“Drink?” I asked her back.

“Better.” She said with a warmth that would melt an ice cube in around ten-thousand years or so.

She turned and took the drink while offering me the darts at the same time. Her slightly cockeyed eyes studied me up and down briefly and I suddenly felt like a horse auctioneers voice would ring out at any moment.

“You play?” She asked.

“I do many things.” I said

After soundly kicking my ass five out of five games we sat down at a table for prerequisite banter. Two further drinks had put a slight thaw into her and I was feeling pretty damn fine as the inevitable sounds of “Freebird” rang out from the jukebox.

“Like clockwork.” I said as she looked at me with a cocked and remarkably thin eyebrow.

“Skynnard.” I offered for explanation. “There is no bar in existence that will not, at some point in the evening, avoid playing Freebird.”

She looked at me with something that felt like a patient owner trying to teach a stupid dog to roll over.

“So what do you do again Ernie?”

“Government work mostly.” I said. Feeling this was insufficient I added, ” I do some consulting in the animal cruelty area.”

“Ohh, I love animals.” She said and leaned forward a bit. She seemed to be looking at my nose but that would be ridiculous.

“Who doesn’t?” I said. “Another drink?”

She was telling me about her life a bit later and if you haven’t guessed by now I’m no fool so listened with intent rapture to her blah blah blah and yadda yadda yadda. She worked in some Dr’s office as a dental hygienist and when I told her that explained her pretty smile she almost let go a genuine laugh. When she mentioned something about wanting more out of life I told her she seemed smart enough to do anything she wanted.

It’s all about key words. You really have to pay attention.

She was saying something about something when she stopped suddenly and looked me in the eyes. Finishing her drink in one swallow she gently took the cigarette I was smoking out of my fingers, drew back on it and asked,

“So if I just blow you in the car will that be enough to win the bet?”

The beer almost shot right out of my nose as I coughed with shock and fear. I really didn’t have the fifty bucks to lose and I was really starting to like the girl in some abstract, maybe there’s more here than stringy hair and a crooked face kind of way.

“Look….I don’t know what you’re….” I started but her frozen look told me I’d be better served telling her I didn’t speak English.

“You heard us?” I asked with shrinking testicles.

“How could I hear you all the way over there.” She stated.

I stared at her wondering just how evil a person could be.

“Women’s intuition.” She said simply and then a small, feline smile bubbled up on her lips and eyes. She was mulling something over and I had a sinking feeling the cat had now become the mouse.

“Make me laugh.” She said.

“What?”

“Make me laugh.” She repeated. “Hard.” She took her finger and ran it gently across my hand and up my arm. “If you can do that I’ll fuck you silly.”

Now although this glimmer of hope was intriguing I thought it certainly was unfair. I am a pretty crafty guy, good sense of humor too. Hell, I can tell a dirty joke with the best of them but this simply was uncalled for. Spur of the moment like this… on command even! I’m good but I’m no porn star. I can’t just cum on cue!

This was a predicament but I couldn’t just fold now; not with a light (dimly lit) at the end of the tunnel now could I? I pondered briefly, casting aside numerous tales of brevity and jokes of questionable moral fiber. What would make this goddess of challenge laugh? Something came to me. There was something about her that seemed wonderfully iconoclastic.

“So are you a religious woman?” I asked and dammed if she didn’t almost laugh out loud at that but checked herself just in the nick of time.

“Do I look like I believe in anything more than a paycheck every other week and the slim hope that not all men are complete dickheads?”

Taking that as a no I got up and went to the bar and ordered two double vodka and tonics and while BJ smiled at me in silent laughter grabbed a pen from behind the counter.

I sat back down, gave her a fresh drink and began drawing on a cocktail napkin.

“I’ve actually come up with a bumper sticker which I’m having made up to sell at the fair next week.” I explained as the drawing continued. I could feel her leaning in with curious attention as she sipped her drink but I blocked her sight with my arm as I finished.

“Here it is.” I said proudly and handed it over to her. As she read it her eyes widened with joyousness and the laughter, the laughter exploded from her mouth like a thousand cannons!

She was laughing still and drying her eyes as she stood up and said simply,

“Let’s go.”

I walked beside her as we passed the amazed gaze of BJ and old ass Arty. I threw a crumpled up white wad at BJ as I went by and with one arm around my lady put the other behind my back and offered up a glorious one finger salute to my friend. He opened up the crumpled napkin I had tossed at him and read the simple words written there in bumper sticker style and a tight little smile fell across his face.

I opened the door for my lady and as we walked out into the cool night and I whispered into her beautiful ear, “umm, I’m going to need some proof.”

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Tags: Fiction, flash fiction, vanity, writing

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