Green L'eggs and Lamb

“A man walks into a bar...” Limping Jimmy began. 

“Oh Lordy, yer not startin' again, are ya?” Fiona reached under the bar, fishing around for her purse. “I’ve heard so many of them jokes. Sure enough, got me own endin' now.” 

Jimmy looked up at Fiona, expectantly, his pint half full on a soaked Coors Light coaster reused so many times it only lays flat when his glass is on it. Coors is visible in blue ink, the ‘Light’ is between Jimmy’s thumb and forefinger being rolled into a paper ball he’d peeled off the cardboard by fingers looking for something to do. Limping Jimmy is always fidgety. 

Fiona found the purse and pulled the pink pleather to her chest where it rested against her bosom like a child laying its head on a pair of pillows. If pleather could smile it would.  

“Ready?” Fiona nodded across the bar toward two women sitting next to Limping Jimmy. Barbra, who they called Barbie because of the effect she has on most men, was closest to him, still in uniform. Green tights under a black kilt with peek-a-boo tartan pleats on the sides. A black t-shirt with “The Irish Rover” in Celtic font screen printed over her heart, is hidden under a hoodie signifying that she is off shift and that she is a customer, ‘So don’t be asking me to get you anything. ‘ 

Most of the female staff at The Irish Rover complain about the green tights and kilt they are expected to wear but not Barbie. Barbie loves them. “They match my tattoo” she grins when they whine, and she turns over her wrist to show a little green leprechaun in a black kilt and green tights etched into soft skin in green ink. Barbie considers herself Irish since 23 and Me told her she has 10.5 percent in her DNA.

 Fiona and Dot didn’t like the green tights, both argued rightly, that their days in cute kilts were long gone. It was bad enough, they moaned, that menopause made their skin sigh, their thighs thick, and there was no need to vex customers with the indecency of shoving old gals into green tights. The owner agreed they could wear green pants instead.

It was all this green; the Kelly-green leggings, the Emerald-green pants, combined with the leg of lamb dinner the pub put on for half price on Friday nights, that had the locals rename The Irish Rover, of 512 Windsor-Downs Road in Victory Square, The Green L’eggs and Lamb. 

Dot was sitting beside Barbie, in a pair of jeans and a tan leather jacket drinking her peach cider straight from a bottle because ice hurts her teeth. It was her day off, but she was back for paint night in the Attic at The Green L’eggs and Lamb, at least that’s what Maribelle printed on her business cards anyway.  

MARIBELLE’S PAINT NIGHT 

 and in small cursive below 

 In the Attic at the Green L’eggs and Lamb 

 Maribelle was upstairs setting up as she did every Wednesday night, getting ready to inspire the Van Gogh’s of Victory Square; filling plastic pallets with dollops of paint; red and yellows to be brushed into a sunset or a bowl of fruit with horsehair on a wooden stick. Tonight was a picture of a long-haired cow. Everybody loved cows. 

Fiona turned to Limping Jimmy and piped “A man walks into a bar and three women walk out. Come on ladies, we got us some painting to do!” 

Dot, and Barbie stood from their stools, collecting their purses and coasters and drinks. 

“That weren’t no joke?” Limping Jimmy’s mouth popped open needing to filled with a punchline. 

“Awe Jimmy...” Barbie touched a stray black curl that escaped his snap-back and twirled it between her fingers like she was tucking a pincurl into bed. “...it was a good one!” 

Jimmy blushed beet red, knowing already that he would go home after his pint was done, pick up a pizza and a six pack to wash it down. He would pop himself on the wagon-trail print sofa, pop a top on his beer and when he had eaten enough, he would lean back and think long and hard about how good it felt to be touched by Barbie, even if it was just his hair.  

“Cheryl, you done yet?” Dot poked her head into the kitchen and heard the sizzle of fish’n’chips in the fryer. 

“Yup,” Cheryl, the newest cook at The Green L’Eggs and Lamb, was pulling her long, thick hair out of a pink hair tie. “Give me a minute to get out of my whites and grab a pint and I’ll meet you up there.”  

“You smell like roast lamb.” Dot noted. Cheryl looked aghast. “It isn’t a bad thing.” Dot quickly added and then, “I kind of want to lick you though.” 

“Oh, God, I’m changing right now.” 

“I’ll wait for you here.” 

“Okay, I’ll be quick.” 

 Dot leaned against the wall, shoulders resting beside the framed Irish blessing Freddy brought back with him from a souvenir shop in Dublin. He wanted ‘Authentic’ in his bar. He was hanging it up and noticed the ‘made in China’ sticker on the back. He scraped it off with a fingernail and told everyone he bought the picture at an antique shop near the Arlington Hotel.

May those who love you love you,  

And those who don’t love you,  

May God turn their hearts.  

And if he doesn’t turn their hearts, 

May he turn their ankles, so you’ll know them by their limping.

 Dot took a sip of her cider, swallowed, and thought about Jimmy’s limp and wondered if there was anything to that.  

The double front doors of the pub swung open, and the night air pushed Kevin inside. Dot rolled her eyes when he nodded her way. 

 “Why are you giving the guy at the bar the evil eye?” Cheryl had returned, freshly changed with a pint in hand ready to paint.  

“Ech,” Dot started. “He’s a rake, that one. When he started coming, he was telling me how I reminded him of his poor dead wife. I looked like her. I talked like her. I smelled like her. Truth be told, I was honored a little, and then one day I overheard him telling Fiona the same thing. ‘You’re beautiful, you remind me of my poor wife who passed...’ Yada yada. Bastard! It turned from cute to creepy, quick. Then I wondered if he maybe didn’t have a wife, ever, because who could live with that, and then if he did have a wife, that maybe she just killed herself because, again, who could live with that?

Oh, Cheryl, that man would ask me up to his house because he needed help picking paint colour for the walls, he was colour blind you know, and didn’t I have great taste, you know. But this all ended when I caught wind of a rumor he started.” 

Cheryl’s dark eyes beckoned Dot to continue. 

“He was telling the bar that I slept with him.” 

“He didn’t!” 

“He did!” 

“What did you do?” 

“Well, the next time he rolled his skinny little arse into the pub I said. “How was it?”  

‘How was what?’ He looked at me blankly, so I continued. 

 “How was the night we apparently made love because I don’t remember it.” 

“You didn’t!” Cheryl said.

“I did!” 

“What did he say?” 

“Oh, his tongue went into a dither, ‘I never... I would never... you know me... I wouldn’t ever.’ 

I said, “No you’re wrong, I don’t know you at all, I know nothing about you. Maybe you killed your poor dead wife, I don’t know, but you can bloody well quit telling the bar we slept together. 

“You didn’t!” 

“I did! Then he got huffy and told me he was going to phone the owner about me being rude and all. So, I got my pen and my pad of paper, and I wrote down Freddy’s number and said, “have at er!” 

“Did he call?” 

“No idea, Freddy never said.” 

Cheryl glared across the pub at new enemy, Kevin, whom she didn’t know but didn’t like, because girls stick together. 

“Anyways, the ladies are waiting, we’d better get on up.” Dot and Cheryl moved to the stairs leading to the ‘The Attic’ named so because it was indeed the attic of the old two-story brick, renovated into a banquet room big enough for stags and stagettes, grad reunions, small wedding receptions and wakes and for parties like tonight. Paint Night. 

They found their spot next to Barbie, across from Fiona.  

“Who's the empty chair for?” Cheryl asked Fiona who was poking her brushes in a water jar. 

“Alexia asked me to hold a seat. I'm headed down to get Freddy to make her a martini too, I told her I’d have one ready, and sure now, I forgot.” Fiona pushed her chair back and headed downstairs. 

“Who's Alexia?” Cheryl asked the others.

“Who ISN'T Alexia!” Barbie popped her head up from the space she was arranging. Her pint to the right, paint water to the left, don’t mix the two up. Her plastic pallet with a rainbow of colour squeezed out in quarter sized dollops. Two dry brushes were waiting to get wet. 

“Alexia is AMAZING!” Barbie continued, dropping her tone so as not to disrupt the other painters settling in. “Sometimes she’s Alexia. Sometimes she’s Rose; Rose dresses a little like my mom. Sometimes she’s Angel. Sometimes she’s Vivian, I think I like Vivian best!” Barbie clapped her hands together then leaned over like she was about to tell a secret. Naturally, Cheryl bent forward to catch the juice. 

“Vivian wears these big...big casabas!” Barbie lifted her hands to her chest like she was cradling cantaloupe in each one, then burst out giggling. “Oh, they are super fake, once she took them off and threw them on the bar, you should have seen the look on Jimmy’s face! They let out this big sssmaaack sound as they flopped in front of him. Big, fleshy pink, plastic boobs laying there, brown nipples staring up at him waiting to wink. It was hilarious.” 

“Why does she wear fake boobs?” Cheryl asked. 

“Oh God, you don’t know? 

“Know what?” she raised her hand and waved, “Remember, new kid...” 

“Yes, yes, sorry. Alexia is really Alexander. He just loves to dress up like different ladies.” 

“Ohhhh.” Chery’s mouth moved into an O shape catching up to her eyes that were already there. 

“Alexia is the artist and that’s who’s coming tonight, she dresses like a hippie, with bangles and wooden bead bracelets and wears round glasses, you know, like John Lennon, and she just loves martinis, dirty Grey Goose with extra olives. Bombay Sapphire with a lime twist. Cantinis. Oh, look, Fiona’s back with one now. 

“Shuuuuush,” Dot twisted toward them. “We’re starting.”  

Immediately, Cheryl and Barbie sat back in their chairs, quiet and ridged, moving their eyes to the front where Maribelle was standing. Fiona placed the Crantini in Alexia's empty spot and sat to arranging herself. 

Pints and ciders, wine, in red and white were lifted and sipped by the group as they listened and observed Maribelle start the first of twelve long-haired cows that were waiting to exist, and would indeed be drying in different shades and shapes before the evening was done. 

Fiona stifled a yawn as she picked up her brush to begin. 

“What’s up with you? Past your bedtime?” Barbie mocked. 

“Good Lord child, all time is me bedtime, these bones nap before bed an' bed is at eight. But truth, Sam kept me up a wee bit last night. 

“Your neighbor, Sam?” Barbie asked. 

“Yup and his new lady. Nice enough gal, Karen? Kim? Ahh sure now, I can't believe I forgot, anyways, they were out back, I could hear em t'rough da winda goin' on 'bout how he wished he had a bigger dick, wonderin' if they could do somethin' 'bout makin' it bigger, I t'ought his dick was big enough, --couldn’t imagine needing it bigger meself. 

Next ting I knows, I hears da crack of beer cans poppin’ open, den da music starts up. So I goes over to shut da winda and sure enough they was there, inspectin' it. Kim has a beer in her hand and sure as anything she spills it on his dick. Sam laughs, gets a cloth and wipes it up. 

Next ting, they were gigglin' an kissin' while swingin' on his dick. And I thought to meself, Well now, ain’t that grand? Sam finally got himself a girl to swing on his dick, so he don’t need to be out there doin’ it alone no more. 

By midnight I’d had enough! I sticks me head out and hollers, "Alright now, that’s enough! Take it inside, some of us got work in the mornin’!" They just waves up at me, all sheepish, sayin’, 'Sorry now, didn’t know we was keepin’ ya up!' But sure, what could ya do? I just shut da winda and let ‘em carry on. 

Cheryl sucked back her spit a little too quickly and coughed it out of her lungs. 

“Wrong tube 'ere?” Fiona stopped her story to make sure Cheryl caught her breath. Cheryl picked up her pint with her left hand and waved an ‘I’m okay’ wave. But her eyes were as big and round as the cow’s she was painting. Dot looked up from her canvas and her brush froze mid stroke when she saw Chery’s face was zapped in collywobbles.  

 Dot leaned to Cheryl’s ear, “Fiona’s a Newfie.” 

“What’s a Newfie?” Cheryl whispered. 

 "A Newfie is a person from Newfoundland.” Dot could barely contain herself and the chuckle she could feel welling inside started to make her jiggle. “She’s talking about Sam’s DECK!” 

Cheryl sighed, long and slow, deep and relieved. 

“What?” Fiona caught the gist of what was going on. “Good Lord, girlie, you t'aught I was talkin' about his...You know, his.... member? Be-Jesus, I’d aft to move if I lived next door to someone the likes of that.” 

All four ladies pulled out a stick of laughter that peeled from inside of their belly’s and let it roll. 

“Oh, Thank God!” Cheryl sucked in deep breaths between laughing spasms. “I was wondering what kind of a crew you all were, all of you, just painting away and nodding your heads a little as Fiona talked about Sam’s dick like it was...like it was...” 

“Normal?” Barbie threw in. 

This pushed the four of them into another laughing tizzy, and the artists around them tossed questioning looks and some shussshes were pushed forth. 

Cheryl emptied her pint on her last laugh. “I’m out, I’m going down to get another. Anyone need anything?” 

“I’ll take another cider, peach please.” Dot requested.

“Can you carry two, I wouldn’t mind one myself.” Barbie piped up. 

“Of course. Anything for you Fiona?” 

“Nope, I don’t know where's Alexia, but I’ll jest drink her 'tini over here fore it can't be drunk.

“Gotcha.” 

“Sorry 'bout da noise over here.” Fiona lifted the martini glass up in an apologetic cheers to the shusshers, who were now busy highlighting brown fur with white paint. The tinkle of brushes in water glasses could be heard throughout the room. 

Cheryl returned with the drinks and placed them in front of the girls. “Say,” she started, a little unsure. The ladies looked up at her expectantly. “That Kevin guy... he seems to be getting a little hot and heavy with a lady downstairs.” All eyes were wide on Cheryl waiting for her to finish. “He’s like leaning in a little too close, you know like he’s sooo, intent on listening to everything she’s ever done and his hand... well... it’s on her knee and he’s rubbing his thumb in little circles on it... It's just ewwey.” She fake dry heaved to punctuate her point. 

“Who is she? Do you know?” Barbie asked.  

“I don’t know,” Cheryl stared, but it didn’t matter, Dot and Fiona leaped up and were heading toward the stairs bound and determined to save the pour woman. Barbie jumped to follow, Cheryl brought up the rear. They rushed down, stopping at the bottom step. Four heads popped around the corner to see what ‘the bastard’ Kevin was up to now. 

“Oh God!!” Fiona and Barbie and Dot said at almost the same time. 

“She won’t be needin' savin'!” Fiona chuckled. 

“Oh, no she won’t.” Dot concurred, giggling. 

“No?” Cheryl questioned. 

“Oh, God, no, That’s Alexia!” Barbie squealed in delight, clapping her hands together in glee. 

“Hey Dot, how much 'as Kevin had to drink, ya think?” Fiona asked. 

Dot grinned. “A lot. Looks to me like he doesn't have a clue.” 

“Oh, to be sure, I'd love to be a fly on that wall!” Fiona whooped. “Let's let them be, Kevin’s in good hands t'night.” She snort laughed. It couldn’t be helped. 

They went back to their canvases and resumed painting. Horns and eyes and noses, were highlighted with an occasional giggle, and one knew what the other was thinking. They painted on until they were almost done. 

“Hey, Dot...” Cheryl started as she lifted her brush to feather out the fur of the bovine she’s come to think of as Daisy. 

“Yes?” 

“Did you ever go up to Kevin’s house, you know, to help him pick his paint colours?” 

“Heck NO! That’s danger right there. Why would you even ask? 

“Oh, I don’t know, I suppose I was wondering if he had a deck.” 

Confused eyes of three women lifted from their cows to Cheryl. 

 “I just figured If he had a deck, there's bound to be some swinging on it tonight.” 

“OH. MY. GOD. Cheryl! Yer just a gem ya are!” Fiona breathed between gulps of laughter. “So happy yer with us here at the Green L’eggs and Lamb!”