I\u2019m spreading on a sticky wood bar stool, under hanging fluorescent lights, at my happy place, Hooters, listening to country music. It\u2019s a muggy summer night, like a hundred-ten percent humidity, and the air-conditioners can\u2019t keep up. I\u2019m wearing shorts, both backs of my thighs plastered to the stool. I\u2019ll admit it: I\u2019ve got pasty thighs. Fat, hairy, white. Runs in the family. That, a Mr. Potato head, no neck, lot of sweat glands. It\u2019s on account of the genes, just like my brothers (although they don\u2019t seem to want to talk to me anymore. Their loss).<\/p>\n
I\u2019m waiting for Kyle, because, in my humble opinion, he needs to get some\u2013as soon as possible. I\u2019ll tell him about the Brazil girls. Show him pics. Hook him up. Nice girls\u2013know what I mean? All from Brazil. They\u2019re everywhere around town (Brazilians). We\u2019re practically drowning in them. Don\u2019t know how they all got here from Central America. Must\u2019ve been trucked up.<\/p>\n
Kyle seems sad these days. Like I said, he needs to get some. I could say it\u2019s because he needs love. Yeah, right. I could say that. Wife bailed a few months back, just like mine did. Mine is a waitress. Kyle\u2019s is an actress, like Shakespeare-type shit. Real hoity-toity. Ran off with some other actress. All of Kyle\u2019s exes ran off with other women. Gotta hand it to him.<\/p>\n
\u2019Course, Kyle\u2019s not gonna score here, not at Hooters. Not Kyle. It\u2019s not that it\u2019s a skank-hole or anything like that. Far from it. It\u2019s just that Kyle, well, he dresses eloquent. He\u2019d have to go to one of the swanky joints in Boston for a hook-up. You know, some French shack that charges twenty-five bucks for a shot of crap well vodka because they concoct some fancy-ass drink they call Ooo-la-la, in some hole-in-the-wall they call a bistro, to get away with charging suckers like Kyle. I love the French girls, of course, but the food\u2013give me a break. Then they give you some tiny piece of poo-poo on a stick they call New-vell Cuisine, and they charge you fifty-five bucks for the poo-poo, and probably another fifty for the stick. Plus, Kyle\u2019s all liberal and PC and woke, which won\u2019t fly at Hooters, at least not this one, in Oxtail. This is a meat and tomatoes town, know what I mean? Ooo-la-la.<\/p>\n
At first Kyle refused to meet me here on account of the Hooters uniforms\u2013can you believe that?<\/p>\n
\u201cOffensive to women,\u201d he said on the phone last week, \u201cmy daughter would be horrified.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, really, are you kidding?\u201d<\/p>\n
He wasn\u2019t kidding.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know a bunch of Hooters girls,\u201d I said, \u201cthey think the outfits are cool. I don\u2019t go to gawk. I just like the all-you-can-eat deal. I mean, I even take my mom there on Mother\u2019s Day for the chicken.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, right,\u201d Kyle said, \u201cI bet you go to check out the chicken legs.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot legs. Wings. I just like Hooters for the wings, Kyle. Even my mom likes them. What? No, Ma, I wasn\u2019t talking to you. What? No, I can\u2019t help fish out your hearing aid from the toilet, I\u2019m on the phone with Kyle. What? Wings? No, we\u2019re not going for wings now, Ma. What? We\u2019ll find your hearing aid later. I\u2019m on the phone, Ma. Yeah, the tele-phone. That\u2019s right, just like in the old days. Paper? Yeah, there\u2019s another roll in there, somewhere, look in the closet, wouldya? No, I can\u2019t now. What? Wings? Look, Ma\u2013\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLloyd?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSorry, Kyle. Mom\u2019s lost her hearing aid, probably flushed it down the crapper again. But like I told you, Kyle, it\u2019s just for the wings special on Thursday, OK? Yeah, Ma, I\u2019m coming, for Christ\u2019s sake! No, Ma, there\u2019s no snake. What? Wings? Look, Ma\u2013\u201d<\/p>\n
Kyle said he didn\u2019t buy any of it, but he\u2019d meet me at Hooters this one time, and one time only, after I got him to admit he\u2019d never actually been inside a Hooters.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t judge a book by its cover,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cOr a chicken shack by its uniforms,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Not sure what he meant. Kyle can be a strange bird.<\/p>\n
Five bucks a bucket at Hooters on wings night\u2013can you beat that? They\u2019re kick-ass wings, too. And things are tight. I don\u2019t mean the uniforms. I work for Kyle at his company, a livery service. I\u2019m his top driver. But it\u2019s been tough, what with the inflation. We do weddings, mostly. Kyle\u2019s a Justice of the Peace, too. You probably heard of him or maybe you\u2019ve seen the billboards: Kyle Moor\u2013Moor the Marrier.<\/p>\n
Anywho, here it is, Thursday\u2013wings night\u2013and I\u2019ve got a bucket in front of me. I\u2019ve already drained my first Bud, waiting for Kyle. There are a few girl bartenders buzzing like bees behind the bar, but mine must be a new bee, \u2019cause I haven\u2019t seen her here before, and I\u2019m here all the time. Like I said, my happy place.<\/p>\n
I lift a finger at Newbie when she glances my way, then I point to my empty bottle, to let her know I\u2019ll take another (I got the spicy wings\u2013they make you thirsty as all get-out). She\u2019s a little chunky, with shoulder length black hair, brown skin, milky-white teeth, and a nice broad soft-looking dumper. She\u2019s got the classic Hooters tee, white with the big owl in front right where it should be. Those two big owl eyes burning into my brain, and beyond. The bottom of her skin-tight orange Hooters shorts rides up just enough to reveal two thin crescent moons of lighter skin.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m sure she\u2019s from Brazil. She\u2019s got that look, and I heard her mumble something in Portuguese. I say \u201cobrigado\u201d when she gives me the Bud, and she says, \u201cde nada\u201d and gives me a little smile. I\u2019m in. Brazil girl alright.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve been practicing Portuguese on my app because I like to learn new stuff\u2013I\u2019m a knowledge sponge\u2013and, like I said, we\u2019re practically swimming in Brazil girls around here. They like me, these Brazil girls. For some reason, I never get anywhere with the American girls. But the Brazil girls\u2013they love me.<\/p>\n
Anywho, I chomp on another juicy wing while dreaming about those crescent moons. I imagine what\u2019s behind those round orange shorts, where the sun never sets. Newbie is busy\u2013the place is full as a favela\u2013and she\u2019s talking (in decent English) to some guy in a cowboy hat a couple of stools over. Maverick\u2019s gotta be wearing at least a gallon of cologne because even from where I\u2019m sitting all I can smell is whatever skunk-piss brand it is. Probably Moldy Saddle or Old Boot or maybe Spittoon. Anywho, I\u2019m going to chat my girl up a bit and ask for her number when she comes back. The way she smiled at me, the bit of Portuguese we shared\u2013I\u2019ve got a good shot, know what I mean? Oh, those moons! Then I end up lost in a weird daydream (I\u2019m an astronaut standing on those crescent moons, looking for a place to plant the American flag. I\u2019m even in one of those moon suits). I\u2019m so lost in the dream I don\u2019t see Kyle walk in until he\u2019s standing right next to me and says, hello. He\u2019s so out of place. Tall, gawky. Tan chinos, white polo shirt, leather slip-ons, fancy wristwatch. Gucci at a hootenanny.<\/p>\n
My girl walks over to us, asks me if I want another, and when she asks Kyle what she can get him, that\u2019s when the trouble begins. I can see Kyle\u2019s already got his haddocks up. He eyes her up and down, then says, \u201cAre you good wearing that?\u201d I can tell from her little smile, and the way her eyes get big, that Newbie\u2019s already uncomfortable. She avoids looking at Kyle, says she\u2019ll give us a few minutes, scoots over to some customers at the opposite side of the bar.<\/p>\n
\u201cKyle, what are you doing? You can\u2019t talk to the girls like that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s right, Lloyd. Girls. What is she, barely eighteen? They\u2019re all girls, not women. She\u2019s old enough to serve, but not to legally take a drink.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI hadn\u2019t noticed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJesus, Lloyd, let\u2019s just be honest. You\u2019re a middle-age divorced man ogling a kid barely out of high school. Why don\u2019t you just ask them to install a pole on the bar?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKyle, look,\u201d I say, holding up a wing as brown juice dribbles from my fingers onto the paper napkin on my plate, \u201cI\u2019m just eating wings. You could loosen up. These are nice girls. I know these girls, some of them. I thought I\u2019d show you a few pics. Maybe introduce you if there\u2019s one you like.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLloyd, you know I have a daughter. I know you know that. But what you apparently don\u2019t know is that it just so happens that, coincidentally, like my sisters, my mother, my exes, and half my friends, clients, and, well, half the planet, she\u2019s a woman.\u201d<\/p>\n
I shake my head a little then eat another wing. Some people just don\u2019t understand things.<\/p>\n
Newbie is back, asking Kyle what he wants as she leans over the bar. What a view.<\/p>\n
She asks what he wants again, and he asks if her mother and father know she\u2019s here. Do they approve of the uniform? Is she forced to wear it? Is she given a choice? What else is she forced to do? Newbie\u2019s blushing now, which I can see even on her brown skin. But Kyle\u2019s not done. No, not by a long shot. Is her family OK with a lot of middle-aged and older men staring at her body? Men old enough to be her father? Men thinking about what they\u2019d like to do to her. Yes, you need a job, I understand. But there must be something else, some other way.<\/p>\n
Yeah, Kyle\u2019s really got his haddocks up alright. I can see Newbie is starting to tear up as Kyle continues. Kyle just does that to people. Now she\u2019s flat out crying. The other bartenders come over to us. They\u2019re asking what\u2019s up, what\u2019s wrong? Then Midnight Cowboy from a few stools on my other side comes over and says hey little lady is this guy giving you any trouble? The manager is behind the bar now, and here comes the owner. They\u2019re Brazilian, too. A three-ring circus. The cowboy is getting red in the face, the manager and owner raising their voices. Everyone talking over everyone else. I see John Wayne\u2019s open shirt move enough to catch a glimpse of his holster. In a minute it’s gonna be the WWF Smackdown in the Favela or Gunfight at the OK Coral. So, I make a decision. Why, I don\u2019t know.<\/p>\n
\u201cI quit!\u201d I shout.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d Kyle says.<\/p>\n
\u201cI quit!\u201d<\/p>\n
The boys from Brazil, the waitresses, and the cowpoke all go quiet, looking at Kyle and me. I fish the limo keys from my front pocket. They jangle on the key ring as I hold them out toward Kyle. I know I\u2019m gonna regret this. Rent is due in two weeks. And Kyle gave me a shot. Not everyone will hire a guy with a record.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou want to think very carefully, Lloyd,\u201d Kyle says. \u201cYou\u2019ve put in a lot of hard work. I don\u2019t think you mean this.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, I do. I do mean it. You can\u2019t treat people like this, Kyle.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWith disrespect. You can\u2019t disrespect them. I quit. It\u2019s final.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kyle shakes his head, says fine, I can have it my way, then heads to the front door. He\u2019s just out into the parking lot when I realize he didn\u2019t take the limo keys from me, so I scoot after him. I catch up to him by his car and go to hand him the keys, but my hands are so sweaty they slip to the ground.<\/p>\n
\u201cLloyd,\u201d he says, \u201cHow can you hit on girls half your age at this watered-down version of a strip club, then quit your job on principle?\u201d<\/p>\n
I hear his words, but they don\u2019t register. I\u2019m already dreaming about my lunar landing, looking for a place to plant my flag.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know, Kyle. You just can\u2019t treat the girls like that. She was real embarrassed. And it\u2019s my happy place, know what I mean? You just can\u2019t piss on another man\u2019s happy place.\u201d<\/p>\n
I\u2019m thinking about how Newbie will react to my standing up for her as I walk back inside Hooters. Now I\u2019m really in with her. I\u2019ll get her number and find out when her shift ends. Ba-da-bing, ba-da-bang, know what I mean? I find my way to my stool, but some other guy\u2019s thighs are already glued to it. I look around, can\u2019t find Newbie. Another Brazil bar girl comes over and asks what I\u2019m drinking.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan you send over the Newbie? I\u2019d like to order from her if that\u2019s OK.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe scrammed,\u201d the bartender says. \u201cQuit, right through the back door, cryin\u2019 all the way.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWow. No kidding?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, what\u2019ll it be?\u201d the bartender says.<\/p>\n
She\u2019s thinner than Newbie. A delicate nose and face, soulful eyes. Brazil girl, though her dumper is smaller than most of them. Maybe a mutt. Brazil, yes, and maybe some European, could even be French. The French girls have small dumpers, right? I order a Bud, and she says sure with those pouty lips. Yeah, I\u2019m in. \u00a0Ooo-la-la, know what I mean?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
“Lloyd,” he says, \u201chow can you hit on girls half your age at this watered-down version of a strip club, then quit your job on principle?\u201d I hear his words, but they don\u2019t register. I\u2019m already dreaming about my lunar landing, looking for a place to plant my flag. \u201cI don\u2019t know, it\u2019s my happy place, know what I mean? You just can\u2019t piss on another man\u2019s happy place.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":21409,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-20951","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-jeffrey-m-feingold"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20951","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20951"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20951\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":21414,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20951\/revisions\/21414"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/21409"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20951"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20951"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20951"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}