Mother Of Three Night Out

After work, Mary and I meet at Chilli's out on the Northwest Highway. It is our regular first stop. Mary and I, being single mothers, always drive our own cars. In part because our cars are a big part of our persona. Mary drives a neon yellow Corvette of classic fame. I drive an arrow body style, silver Celica. Mostly we drive our own cars because it puts us in control. We can come and go as we please.

Mary is fond of saying that she' looks around a room and sees me in the middle of whatever-from, getting naked and dancing on the bar to hot and heavy necking... Then moments later, she looks up and my face indicates I am envisioning my picture on the front page of the OKC Times. Above the headline "Mother of Three found..." I'm gone.

Chilli's always provides a good start to an evening out. We know the bartenders intimately. We can always count on finding Sharon and Lynne there. Sharon and Lynne are extensions of our ladies' night out crew. They seldom make it past Chilli's, unless we are headed to a concert or the like. Sharon is married and she and Lynne always come and go together.

Chilli's is the air traffic control school attendee's haunt. They are here for a few months for training. While they are in OKC, they give credence to the stereotype of "wild and crazy guys." They put quite a bit of effort into gaining our attention and keep us in drinks. It never goes past the bar. Most of them are married or looking to get serious. Not sure about Mary's position on the latter, but I'm not up for either. I did that once, no more. That goes for both fucking a married man and marriage.

I'm fond of saying in answer to marriage proposals, "We can have the party. We can buy the cake and the Champagne at Piggly Wiggly. We are already "doing the deed. Who needs the piece of paper?"

Some nights we' have dinner at Chilli's to soak up the excess tequila before heading home or moving on. Some nights we close the place down, leaving with a bartender in tow. Tonight, we are heading for Norman to stop in on B.S., who is currently the Sooners' Coach. Mary garnered his attention several months ago and periodically she likes to hit the little sports bar dive in Norman he frequents. To "stir the shit," so to speak.

B.S., to this day, is one of my least favorite men. I've never liked him, not even when he was coaching the Dallas Cowboys. He is one of those mindless, insecure, braggarts that are so full of themselves they make me want to barf. I am neither a B.S. fan nor a football fan. I tag along at Mary's request often enough that my Celiac and I are recognized in this small piece of Norman.

When we enter, B.S. is holding court with a table full of women. The women are buying the drinks. There is one tall, skinny brunette, wearing way too much eye shadow, who seems to consider herself 'with' him. Paying her no mind, Mary approaches B.S., bends over and kisses him on the cheek. He responds by grabbing her and pulling her in for a bit more.

As I'm watching from the end table closest to the bar, Mary straightens continuing to hold B.S.'s full attention. Suddenly, the brunette grabs Mary by the hair and pins her head against the table. I can't hear what is being said over the jukebox. Mary breaks the brunette's hold and grabs her hair pulling her to the ground. They are wrestling in the narrow isle, on the sticky bar floor, entangling themselves in the metal chair legs.

B.S. backs his chair up a bit to keep from being in the middle of the action and just keeps drinking. I move in to pull the brunette off of Mary. The two other women closest to the action move in to pull me off. A beer bottle hits the table and breaks. I scream for the bartender to break it up. He doesn't immediately respond. I back away from the brawl and keep yelling for help.

When it is finally broken up, Mary stands and comes toward me looking a bit angry. "You aren't much help in a fight, are you?" I snatch a drink off the table, dump the ice in a napkin and hand it to Mary. Her eye and lip are bleeding. She takes it and we head to the parking lot, just as the police are arriving. A real "Mother of three" moment is avoided. With B.S. in the mix, it actually could make the papers. We pile in our respective rides.

Mary stops and yells over the roof of her Corvette, "Let's hit Ruby's on the way home."

I signal a "thumbs up" and we leave.

At Ruby's, Mary enjoys telling her story while nursing her wounds. The story keeps us both in drinks. She puts a "you should have seen the other bitch" slant on it and of course drops B.S.'s well-known name. I hang back at the bar with Tommy and Eddy. Tommy is a regular at Ruby's. He is a sweet guy, but barely exceeds a vagrant's lifestyle. Eddy is Ruby's son and most nights plays the role of proprietor. We play some pool and then I excuse myself to head home. Mary, indicates she is staying and that all is forgiven.

I tell her there is no need for apologies, "I am not a fighter."

The whole bar simultaneously fills in the "she's a lover" end to the refrain and I leave shaking my head and laughing.

On the way home, replaying the evening in my head, I think, at least I didn't cop a "Mother of Three" get away while she was rolling around on the floor of that dive. I'm pretty much a pacifist. I am not comfortable with violence. I vow it is my last trip with Mary to get a rise out of B.S. He really showed his colors tonight, talk about "no help in a fight." He professes to "love" her when he is trying to bed her. He has his head too far up his own ass to lift a hand to help her up off the nasty bar room floor. I'm sure he was enjoying the attention in some sick way and anticipating bedding the winner.

Shari and Rick are with Lisa, Mary's daughter, at Mary's apartment. We leave them together at one house or the other regularly when we go out. I guess we think there is safety in numbers. All three are crashed out when I arrive. I use my key because I can't raise them. Usually, I just let them sleep, they have breakfast with Lisa and walk home. I want them home with me for some reason. Not wanting to leave Lisa on her own, I leave Mary a note and take Lisa with us.

Once they are all tucked in, I take a shower. I spend some time combing out my wet tangles, sitting in front of the fire and pondering. My ears perk up at a vehicle sound. It isn't Monster, nor Jack. It doesn't sound like Charlie either. The engine stops and a door slams. I'm panicked, thinking I have forgotten to lock the sliding glass door. I'm really not interested in having my silence intruded upon.

It is Charlie. He has a new truck, and wants me to come take a ride. He is drunk, so I refuse. He keeps insisting until I tell him he can stay and we'll go for a ride after breakfast.