Daddy's Little Girl

The hazy mid-morning sun made the faded building look like a new coat of paint could elevate it to ‘dive’ status. It was the kind of place locals knew about in small coastal towns and hoped the vacationers never discovered. Inside, despite outward appearances, the fresh scent of Pine Sol wafted up like nature’s perfume from the dance-worn floors. Any sticky or aromatic accumulation of nighttime juke-joint ambiance had been removed like a facial given to an aging beauty.

Jimmy butted his way backwards through the swinging door, a metal toolbox gripped in one hand, his young daughter’s hand in the other.

Jersey, the owner, glanced up from polishing glassware and yelled over the rickety fan, “Jimmy! How you doin’? I sees you got your boss wit’ya today.”

“Wife says she’s got a beauty parlor appointment this morning,” Jimmy threw over his shoulder by way of explanation. He rattled his toolbox to the floor but settled his daughter precisely on top of a vinyl covered bar stool. “Now sit right here, Sweetheart, don’t be wiggling. You’ll fall off,” Jimmy said, with a parting kiss on the tip of her nose. “Jersey, get Mary Alice a Coke while I work on the juke box, will you? No shot in it this early in the day, OK?”

“Very funny, like I don’t know four years is underage, ha!

“Mary Alice, you want Uncle Jersey should make you some chocolate milk? Wouldn’t chocolate milk be a treat this morning?” He bent to look into her eyes and gave her a crooked, unpracticed smile.

“Yes, sir,” replied Mary Alice. She took her fingers from her mouth and wiped them on her rompers before gripping the edge of the Formica topped bar with the ten tiny tips. She slowly swiveled her stool top back and forth while Jersey stirred Hershey’s chocolate into a glass of milk.

“Jimmy,” Jersey yelled over the clacking spoon, “take that damn Cline song out for a while. That’s the one got stuck last night. By midnight, I was ready to go walking myself. Outta here!”

From the back of the bar, a young man emerged from the shadows, rumpled and looking like a gray specter despite his age. “Jersey, I need a shot. Hair of the dog. Been a night!” He ran his hand through his hair to flatten down a couple of cowlicks.

“Marty, you keep drinking like you drinking, you gonna wake up dead someday,” but he poured a brown liquid in a shot glass and sat it on the bar.

“So you one of them psychiatrists guys now or what?”

“Psychiatrist, bartender…all da same. And don’t think it ain’t, Buddy Boy. This just pays less.”

Marty threw back the whiskey and as the miracle elixir jolted his senses, he spotted Mary Alice atop the stool a few yards away.

“Well, if you aren’t the prettiest little thing I ever seen in these parts!” Marty declared in his lady killer voice. “You must be new in town. If I cleaned up my act, you think me and you might get together?”

Jimmy looked over his shoulder and exchanged a knowing nod with Jersey, ready to share the joke to come.

Mary Alice shook her curly locks and answered clearly, “My Daddy is the only man I will ever love.”

“Damn, I been put in my place by another woman!” Marty clutched his chest. “My heart is broken. I think I need to drown my sorrows, Jersey.”

“No, Marty, nothing more ‘til opening time. You got bottles to restock. I’ll fix you some eggs, though, soon’s I finish here.”

Jersey checked the bottom of the glass to make sure the chocolate was mixed, presented it to Mary Alice with a bow and turned to head to the kitchen. Mary Alice let go of the counter to take the glass, but the toadstool top was still moving a bit. When she reached for the glass, she stretched a little too far forward and toppled.

“Oh, my God,” yelled Marty. “I think I’m going to pass out. Somebody do something. The kid’s dying! Right in front of me! Jesus, God, there’s blood everywhere. Call some… somebody…Jimmy…Jersey…, I think she’s dead!”

#

Mary Alice lay beside her Daddy on the bench seat of his classic 1956 Buick, still drowsy from the sedative given her at the emergency room. Her sun rompers were covered with dried blood and traces tinted her right eyebrow. She had a bandage over her left eye and eyebrow that spun a cockeyed turban around her head.

Jimmy felt his daughter’s movement on the car seat. He talked, his voice soft. “You’re going to be OK, Mary Alice. I know it was scary. Must of hurt like hell, but your eye is fine. You have a cut on your eyebrow, and they put a few baby stitches in it and made it well. You will have a little scar and that little scar is going to make you special. Every man that sees you will fall in love with you and want to kiss that little scar. And what will you tell them?”

A tiny hand reached over and gripped the edge of Jimmy’s jeans. Without opening her eyes, Mary Alice softly replied, “My Daddy is the only man I will ever love.”

“That’s my Sweetheart,” whispered Jimmy.

“Now Mary Alice, it’s not right to lie, but just this one time, we are going to tell your Momma that you tripped and hit the edge of the jukebox. I will be in deep trouble, and she will have my hide if she finds out I put you on that bar stool. We’re just going to do some pretending, like in your story books. This will be a little secret we share, ok?”

“Yes, sir.” Weakly but clearly.

“You sure you understand what a secret is, Mary Alice? Something you aren’t to tell anyone?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you keep a secret, Mary Alice?” Jimmy glanced over at the ball of innocence.

A sedated reply: “Yes, Daddy. I keep Momma’s secrets.”