Date Night

Date Night

We arrive early, and as always, the gentleman I’m with pushes the door open and holds it for me. It’s date night. I “accidentally” bump into him on my way in – he pretends not to notice. It is just a small nudge, a reminder…what can I say? I love being close to him all the time.

The full length mirror in the entryway always catches my attention. There is a marking pen provided for patrons to scrawl messages as they come and go. Like I said, we’re early, and the only message is “Welcome to the Moezy’s”. I stare into the mirror unselfconsciously. The bitch staring back is me. I’m okay with that. My new necklace sparkles like diamonds. It was a gift from my man.

The air in the room is heavy with grease and a faint scent of Clorox as steam escapes the dishwasher. We are part of the tight knit family here. To show my appreciation for their acceptance of me, I pitch in and do my part to help out. I make a quick but thorough sweep of the room, picking up whatever has been dropped. Finished with my task, I make my way to the bar, my steps clicking on the new laminate floor. One of our “family” members provided free installation. I love the generosity in our little community.

Half the red vinyl-covered stools are occupied, but I don’t worry for a minute. My stool is always empty and waiting for me. I hop up, prop my elbows on the pitted yellow Formica, and turn my doe-eyed gaze on the bartender, a move that works best early in the evening before poker starts. When it gets busy later my cute factor is more easily ignored.

The bartender runs the show recording players, taking buy-ins, setting up first drinks, greeting non-players to make them feel welcome in the frenzy for attention. Jason must be on vacation again because Jeremy is pulling double duty as game manager and busting it behind the bar, and that means that while he's dealing Avery will be performing bar-back duties and running orders. I rein in my charm and redirect my attention as Avery reaches over with the damp cloth swiping away the spilled puddle of PBR before I get into it.

“Hey, girl. How ya doin’ sweetheart.” Her tone is tired, distracted, and her face doesn’t match the words of greeting. The incongruity throws me off until I surmise this was a statement, not a question. Her drawn-on eyebrows are furrowed, making the tiny ruby piercing stick out a little, like an angry pimple.

I’m pretty good at reading people and I’m picking up an uncharacteristic vibe from Avery. Her frown isn’t directed at me, but likely the result of a confrontation with her boyfriend earlier in the day. Honestly, I don’t understand how young women put up with all the drama in their lives. Her mind is elsewhere so I break my gaze, respecting her obvious dis-ease in the moment. I push on the bar top and my stool swivels around so that I can survey the room.

The front door skritches open and a blast of fresh air hits me as Holly and Roger come in. I hop off my stool and head over to greet my friends. I feel eyes watching my back side with every step as I make my way across the room. Let’s face it, I sparkle and they just can’t help checking me out. I put a little more wiggle in my waggle just for fun; they have come to expect it, and I can’t let my fans down. I come up next to Holly; she smells of something new…coconut or Jojoba shampoo maybe? She and I were friends the minute we met; we just speak the same language. Others only see our differences, but I instinctively recognized a kindred spirit. She’s a little shy, still getting to know the regulars. I make sure she knows who is safe to hang out with, and more importantly, who is not.

The boys have performed their ritualistic fist bumps and wisecracks, ordered their drinks and joined the small crowd watching the giant tv waiting for poker to start. Since our idea of having a good time does not involve straights or flushes, royal or otherwise, Holly and I make our own entertainment, working the room as a team, greeting everyone. You never know what fun might be slipped your way under the table. Magic might happen on any given night.

Three pool players in the back are arguing loudly over something, punctuating the thick air with sharp jabs. A couple of old fogies at a nearby high top continue to work through the half empty basket of pull tabs tossing the discards in the growing pile between them, giving no indication that they are aware of the drama unfolding nearby. House flies (aka, regulars) sit perched on the red stools closest to the front entrance guaranteeing them first dibs on possible single-minglers dropping in, and with any luck, scoring free drinks. Not our style. Holly and I don’t wait for the action, we create our own mingle-tingle.

Things really start to pop about 6:55. The back door to the smoking patio opens and four rough ‘n’ tumbles slouch in, eyes working hard to focus through the hovering cloud of pot and cigarette smoke that encircles them like the dust around Pig Pen in the peanuts comic strip. They ignore us, probably can’t even see us, like we aren’t even there. That’s a good thing. We don’t want to attract the wrong kind of attention. My guy and Roger aren’t the jealous types so we can flirt and get away with it, but no one makes a serious move on us.

The next ones coming through the back door are regulars, here for the poker. Safe to approach, not out of bounds; they will be respectful. A belch rumbles loudly from one, his watery eyes at half-mast. He is too far gone to be interested in a couple of honeys like me and Holly and that also works for us. Jeremy looks over and asks the belcher if he wants another round to which the man responds, “Well, why wouldn’t I?” I’m not one to bet, but even I would have put money on his predictable answer.

Candy Man Dave arrives and a gaggle of folks run to grab a treat out of his bag. I have to look away. It’s been harder to hoist myself up on my bar stool of late, so I’m on a diet, working to keep my girlish figure. Holly and I discussed this subject last week, as if she has any insight. Girl is rail thin. I don’t know how she keeps that lithe figure. My roomie hasn’t said anything, but my new diet was more his idea than mine since he is in charge of all the food that comes into our house, and by default, into my mouth.

Candy Man pulls something out of the bag and hands it to my guy. I recognize the wrapper, and I’m pretty sure he will share it with me on our way home… Oh! Nope, not sharing tonight. He’s chewing and smiling…oh well. Holly misses the chance to grab something, but she just isn’t interested…maybe that explains why I can see her ribs. She’s more of a drinker and has wandered off in search of liquid refreshment.

Holly and I dodge the stampede of poker players lining up to pull a seating card, and head to our first target - the ladies-in-waiting at the table next to the dart board. Things look promising, Dawn arrived a little late and won’t be playing until someone gets knocked out. We jockey for a seat next to her. She always has something juicy to share.

Play begins when Jeremy calls out, “Put’em in the air, we’re live at the Moezy’s!” Holly, still a little shy, finds Roger and settles just behind him. She worries he might leave without her. I told her, “Girl, he ain’t that kind. And you know you’re a keeper; just look at your long svelte legs and those beautiful eyes.” But she still worries. I bet all that worry and lack of interest in treats contributes to her skinny ass condition. I join the house flies hanging out at the bar. Sure hope Rocky hasn’t gobbled up all the meat sticks. He can be that way, greedy bastard.

The night crawls on with players shuffling from one table to the next or out the door; Avery runs drinks and snacks to the tables. There is a lot of chatter, friendly for the most part. Then the buzzer sounds signifying the break. Most of the players are smokers and needing their fix, head out the back door. Holly and I follow them. We don’t smoke, it’s something we just can’t get our heads around, but we don’t wanna miss anything.

Back inside, Holly resumes her watch over Roger and I perch on my stool. The stories continue, probably never stopped while we were outside, but words are coming out in-slow-mo-shun now, a bit slurred, and no one but me notices that there are definitely some repeats. If their words are slurred, their memory is blurred. I don’t drink when I go out… it interferes with my ability to suss out the good stuff, besides they don’t stock my favorite. Holly isn’t picky. She drinks anything Jeremy puts down in front of her.

Sometime during the final hour, the guy in the funny black hat comes in with bunches of flowers to sell. Not many buyers among the poker players, but one of the bar stool “players” falls for the spiel, hands over money, then proffers his spur-of-the-moment floral gesture into the face of his target for the night, the one he’s been chattin’ up, hittin’ on, and buyin’ drinks for hoping to impress. There is the expected eye-rolling from the other ladies still in control of those body parts. But the target, I think her name is Flower, or Flo, no, wait, Flo is the mannequin dressed in Seahawks swag and propped on a stool next to the shuffleboard. Oh, yeah, it’s Fiona. Fiona is tonight’s winner. This player doesn’t need cards to get lucky, he’s got posies! My guy doesn’t fall for the flowers ploy, he doesn’t need to buy my affection in such a predictable way. And if he did, it wouldn’t be flowers, if you know what I mean.

Roger doesn’t buy flowers either. I don’t think he did well tonight. He was shaking his head as he got up from the last table, muttering as he grabbed Holly and left. The night winds down, my guy is smiling. He settles up with Jeremy, leaving a substantial tip on the counter and returns his wallet to his back pocket and whistles loudly as he points to the door and glances back to be sure I got the message. He will wait for me to do my thing, but he won’t wait long. I’m not dumb, I know I need to put it in gear when he signals it’s time to go. I been there, learned that lesson. It’s a long walk home.

I finish the last clean up round through the room, again doing my part for my extended family and head his direction. We are leaving. I make my way to his side. I assume my position as he leans in for a kiss. I plant a sloppy one upside his cheek as he scratches me behind the ear. “Good girl, Izzy. Did you have fun with Holly tonight?”

I did! I did have fun!

He clicks the leash on my pink bedazzled leather collar, and we head out the door. One last wiggle-waggle and we’re dust in the wind.