Welcome to E. Mayberry
“Don’t worry,” I said. “You’ll be buzzing again in no time at all.”
As if on cue, The Dive Bar lights came into view. It was one of my favorite places to go even though I rarely went out.
The parking lot was filled with motorcycles and hot rods.
“This is your kind of place?” Tension asked.
“It’s gritty,” I said. “It’s real.”
“It’s real alright.”
We parked and didn’t even make it to the door before a burly bald biker walked by, eyed my ass, and commented, “That’s one helluva ride you got there.”
He was talking to Tension of course and when I looked back to give Tension a warning glance, he fell right into line and replied, “Just tuned her up an hour ago.”
“Ahahahaha,” the man laughed louder than necessary and slapped Tension on the back.
“You see what I mean?” I said.
“Gritty,” Tension agreed.
The heavy oak door had gnarly gashes and black circles where cigarette butts had been stubbed out on it. On the other side, a hard rock version of The Turtles’ Happy Together blared. I pulled Tension through the door and under the cloud of smoke to a side booth where we could watch all the action but far enough from the center that we wouldn’t immediately become a part of it.
The music was headed off in a different direction and our angle to the small stage allowed us a low enough volume to be able to talk. After all, I had a story to tell.
It didn’t take long for one of the trashy waitresses, this one with blonde hair extensions that clashed with the rest of her brown hair. Her pockets hung much lower than the rest of her cut off jean shorts. Instead of a camel toe, the tightness of the shorts gave her more of a soft camel pillow at the center.
“Handsome,” she called Tension and then turned her attention toward me and said, “Doll. What ya be havin?”
“You guys do bottles here?” Tension asked.
“Baby, if you’re paying, we do it,” she replied with a wink.
Instead of being jealous, I found it amusing. Now she would have done well in Erotic Mayberry. She had the stuff town legends were made of. That thought made me laugh. Like a statue would be erected outside the shopping plaza with this waitress’s mean mug on it.
“A bottle of Jack then,” he said.
“And two shots of tequila,” I added.
She smiled and walked away. Tension grabbed my hand and held it on top of the table. We looked like a young couple in love.
“You really wanna get fucked up,” Tension said.
“You have no idea,” I replied. “This story does something to me. It goes so much better with alcohol. Lots of it.”
“Then bring on the alcohol,” he said.
This was a great example of why I liked Tension. He’d grown on me since entering my house earlier that day. He was cut and dry, black and white, he liked you or he didn’t, he believed you or he didn’t, he cared about you or he didn’t. He knew you either needed a drink…or you didn’t. No games with him. As a detective, I think he believed he had a strong poker face, a mask capable of hiding his true feelings, but he didn’t. His feelings were easy to interpret. And at that moment he wanted a bottle of Jack and me seated next to him. So I got up and sat next to him, sliding my ass over to nudge him in the traditional “scoot the fuck over so I can sit here too” gesture.
“This is better,” he said, dropping one hand down to clutch my waist.
The waitress set a bottle of Jack Daniels down on the table with two glasses. Then she set a shot of tequila down in front of each of us along with a plate packed with salt and two lime slices.
“Throw a hand in the air if you need anything else,” she said.
“Will do,” Tension said.
She passed him another smile and this time I did feel a tad jealous.