Not that I’m trying to turn this place into a dance club, fuck that. What I want is a rocking, biker bar. Local talent and local people filling the place up on nights we have entertainment. No fucking cover, no drink price increase, no bullshit. Just a good fucking time to be had by some people who love music like Momma did.
In only two more weeks, this place should look a little less like a dive—on the inside, anyway. I like the outside as is. Nothing over-the-top, nothing fancy, no more lights hanging on the windows than the joints down the road. Nothing saying we are something we aren’t.
Sally, the new girl, is doing okay. Lola got her trained well enough so I can at least focus on hiring someone else without having all new employees at the same time. She is a little rough around the edges, though. Hell, you have to be in order to survive here. She is in her mid-thirties, a single mom with a sixteen-year-old daughter who watches the younger two while she works. She has been on time every day, which is a plus.
While she works, I spend my time making the custom railings in my garage, my place, my heaven in the midst of the hell I am sometimes surrounded in. The space is not overly large, but it is more than adequate to hold my tools, my rides, my toys, and give me room to work.
I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty. Besides, there is nothing better than a few splinters along the way to creating something beautiful. Take a tree covered in hardened bark, shave it down to the inner lumber, and you find something beautiful. Cutting, sawing, sanding, priming, staining, and molding into a new creation, all done by my hands. There is a pride in that creation, in the final product. The rails are coming along nicely. Shouldn’t be long before they are finished.
I look up when the door swings open and Jagger strolls in.
“Looks good, man.” He rubs up the wooden handrail I just applied a coat of poly to. “Looks real fucking good.”
I wipe my hand off on the rag and then set it down. “Beer?”
“Of course.”
As I walk to the fridge, I ask, “What brings you here?”
“You know that fundraiser, the one for HPV—”
“The one I said I wouldn’t attend, yes.” I walk over to hand him his beer.
“Three local bands are playing. I bought two tickets and called them, letting them know I wanted to see them, that my big shot brother may want to book them.”
“Cool, I appreciate it.” I reach forward and tap my bottle to his. Guess I am going to the fundraiser after all. Not my thing, but local bands are good for business.
“But here’s the thing—”
“Jagger, I don’t wanna hear it.”
“There’s a fight, and I need this one, Hendrix. I. Need. It.” He takes a drink then looks down. “Just like you need to meet those bands.”
Jagger has been in a real bad spot since Mom died, and he got his ass kicked at the last fight. He went and let himself fall in lust with the chick who’s fucking the Cobra—his fighter name fits his ass, too. The fucking snake knocked his girl around in front of the wrong Caldwell. Then, Cobra’s guys jumped Jagger’s ass one night. The next night, though, they got hit back, trust that shit.
“If you’re fighting, I’m going with you.”
“No. Morrison is coming back for the fight. H, you need this. Get them while they’re hungry. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s black fucking tie. I don’t do that shit.”
“Already got the tux and picked up the mask to go with it. No one will know you were even there.”
I stand in front of the mirror, looking at a man I can’t recognize, a man I have never known. I’m not a suit. This isn’t me. I will never fit the mold.
Hell, my high school prom night was spent at the bar because my dad was too drunk and belligerent, and Mom had to take him upstairs. I followed to make sure he didn’t get heavy-handed. When he passed out, Mom started heading down, but I told her I would take care of locking up with Amy.
Amy? Yeah, Amy was the bartender. She was just twenty-one, and although a little on the plus side, she was sexy as hell. We had a few shots and talked about the boy who broke her heart. Then, the jukebox played Daughtry’s “Feels Like Tonight,” and we ended up fucking on the bar. Hot as hell, even with a condom.
Ever since Amy, I have been attracted to curvy women. There’s just something about a woman who can take a pounding while giving you something to hang onto and push into, almost like a soft place to fall.