Bar Scene 2

Scene; A bar in New Orleans. Darkish; a paucity of light, but pleasant, sufficient to soften, a relenting, forgiving dimness. A jukebox plays; a selection of Zydeco and Jazz, and New Orleans-y melodies; always full of brass, and fiddles played with bows, or picked like a banjo. Smells of sawdust on the floor, sharp tang of spilled beer, whiskey, perfume, tobacco. Smells like a bar in New Orleans. Full of possibility, and raucousness, and that New Orleans thing. If you know, you know. Its cool inside, hot outside, and thick with humidity, and thick with the possibilities of nighttime in New Orleans. Its late.

I see her as soon as I come in, but I stop in the doorway anyway, let the hot breeze blow in behind me, and the night sounds of Bourbon Street. Tourists. I light a cigarette and the door whooshes shut, rubber gasket scraping the concrete, sealing in the icy conditioned air, smells of whiskey, tobacco, perfume, night in the Quarter smells.

She's at the bar, on a stool, but facing the room, back to the dark wet wood, legs crossed. She has a drink in her hand, and a cigarette. Dark hair, dark eyes, face in shadow, fair skin. Short skirt. I check again. Very short skirt. Leggings or stockings. Tank top, shirt over that; off one shoulder. Pale, smooth neck, small, fine breasts. Dark lipstick. A thin, tight ribbon around her throat. Dark.

There's a guy on each side of her, one facing the bar, one half facing her, foot on the low brass rail, elbow on the bar, talking to her, well, talking at her. Looks like she's paying no mind. She takes a short drag on her cigarette and coughs a little. I grin, but stifle it. I walk over, step between her and the closer guy, lean over the bar and nod to the bartender, arrange for a short whiskey and a Turbo Dog, leave my change on the bar. I settle in, and talkin' dude gets hurt feelings; hey buddy, you mind, in my way here man, asshole. Like that. I ignore him. She ignores us both. The guy on the other side tries. She ignores him too. Nobody gettin' nothin' done. I look at her in profile, from close. We're jammed in pretty well, and I'm between her stool and the dude anyway. I can see a pulse in her throat, can smell her hair. I keep watching her. I know she can see me, but she gives no sign. She doesn't ash her cigarette. Taps her toe up and down a little. Dude pops my arm with the back of his hand.

"Hey asshole, you're in my way."

Very close to me. I can feel his breath on my face, smell beer. I pull on my cigarette and breathe it out into his face, just a little. I raise my eyebrows. Say nothing. Turn back to study her some more. He jabs stiff fingers between my shoulders.

"Hey fuckhead. Move it. I'm warning you."

I catch the bartender's eye, who's already watching this, and point to my beer and shot glass with two fingers; inverted victory sign. He nods, and pours fresh ones from where he is, flips his towel over his shoulder and is setting them down in front of me when dude grabs my arm.

"Hey asshole"

"Just stop it."

"What? What did you say?"

"Just stop."

"Stop?"

"Yeah, stop it. You've already made your position known. You made your threat. I didn't move. So quit it."

He's puzzled. Rallies brilliantly.

"Asshole."

"Yeah, you said that."

I turn towards him. This doesn't look like it's going away. The bartender is getting edgy, looking around for a bouncer. I hold up a hand, pat the air. I got this. I just want this done. I want to get back to her.

"Listen. This is not what you want. You have no idea who I am. Who I might be."

"Who you are?"

"Yeah, who I am."

"What the fuck are you..."

"I could be anybody. I could be Lieutenant James Vee, N.O.P.D Watch Commander for this precinct. Couldn't I Dave?"

The bartender nods.

"You could be, Jim."

Dude looks confused. I see him trying to scope it; my jeans, boots, plain black tee shirt, untucked.

"So are you?"

"See? That's my point. You don't know. See what a problem that could be?"

He thinks about it. Decides how I knew he would.

"Fuck it. Whatever."

Turns back to his drink.

"No, actually, now you've bothered everyone. You need to pay for your drink and leave."

"What?"

"Pay. For your drink. And leave. You fucking ass-clown."

He stares at me. Thinks about it for just a minute. Can't make himself do it. Pulls out his wallet. Puts a fifty on the bar. Waits.

"Dave can keep the change. See ya. Y'all come back now, hear?"

I turn my back on him. Look back to her. She's still not looking at me. Dude bangs out. Short burst of outside sounds and warm air, and strangely; the clear smell of pancakes, or maybe waffles. The bartender brings me a fresh glass, foam spilling over. I slide it to me.

"Thanks. What's your name?"

"It's not Dave."

"No?"

"No. You really a cop?"

"No."

"No?"

We laugh.

"Thanks Dave."

He holds up the fifty.

"Thanks Officer."

"How much?"

At first, she doesn't realize I'm talking to her. I have to lean closer and raise my voice over the music.

"How much?"

"What?"

"How much?"

"How much for what?"

"For you."

She pretends to think about it. "Depends on what you want."

"I want everything."

"That's expensive."

"Why I asked."

"You could be a cop."

"You could be a cop."

"You asked me first."

"Fair enough. I want you to come home with me in a cab, and have sex with me for money."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Just fuck?"

"Probably not."

"Probably not. Uh huh. What do you mean probably not?"

"I mean I may want to do more than just fuck you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Like what?"

"Well that depends."

"On what?"

"How much?

She laughs at this. I signal to the bartender that's not named Dave for my tab, but he waves me off. I guess the fifty from dude will cover me. I take her arm above the elbow.

"Ready?"

"Ready for what?"

"Haven't we been through this?"

"I'm not through with my drink."

"You sure?"

She looks at it, takes a little sip. I can't tell what it is. I put a finger under her glass and tilt up. She tries to stop, but can't, and the choice is drink it or spill it, and she does her best, but still spills a little, and she chokes a little and coughs, and her eyes tear up, and she glares at me.

"That was rude."

"I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry. You're not at all sorry, I can see it."

"Am I being charged for this?"

"For what?"

"For this. For the conversation here. Are we leaving or not? You're being kind of chatty being as how we've already got a deal."

"A deal?"

I sigh.

"You're really not supposed to be this difficult."

"Not supposed to be? You got this part down, huh? You hire a lot of girls in bars?"

"See, you're supposed to just come with me without any trouble, that's the point."

"The point? The point? What's the point? Tell me what the point is."

I sigh again. Signal Not Dave for another. Sip it.

"The point of a, of a, a..."

"A what?"

"A pro."

She laughs.

"A pro? You can't even say it? A whore. A hooker. A dirty little bar whore. Say it."

"Say it? You're kind of pushy."

"I'm a whore. I'm jaded and cynical."

"I don't like that word."

She smiles a little.

"I know."

I grin.

"Dirty little bar girl. I don't mind calling you a dirty little bar girl. Or slut."

"You can be a slut without being a whore."

"Clearly."

She looks at me suspiciously, but I give her a blank look. Sip my beer.

"So."

"So."

We eye each other. She leans back against the bar; clearly not ready to move.

"You want another drink?"

"Sure."

"What are you having?"

"Same."

I bark a little laugh.

"Jesus you're difficult. What do you want?"

"Jesse knows."

"Jesse?"

"Jesse is the bartender. His real name."

I look at her bemusedly, but she just looks unconcerned.

"We were chatting."

"Uh huh."

"I'm a whore. I'm always looking for customers."

"Uh huh."

Jesse brings the drink. He's grinning. Must have heard some of this. I give him a dirty look, but he laughs and winks. She takes her drink. Sips it.

"And by the way, we don't have a deal, as you call it."

"We don't?"

"No. You said you wanted me to come with you and fuck you for money, and I said that I hadn't finished my drink, and that was it. No deal."

"I think the last thing I asked you was how much?"

"Yeah, and we never determined that, did we?"

"No."

"'Cause you didn't tell me what you wanted, you just said you wanted to do more than fuck me."

"I think I said that I wanted to do a lot more than fuck you."

"Uh huh. Well, I'm expensive."

"Yeah?"

"Extremely."

"Extremely expensive?"

"Extremely expensive. Exorbitantly, ridiculously, unconscionably expensive."

"Wow."

She just looks smug.

"So..."

"So you need to tell me what you want, and I'll tell you if you can afford it."

"How about I tell you how much I have and you tell me what I can get for that."

She thinks about it for a minute.

"No. Won't work."

"Won't work?"

"Won't work. I'm a whore. If I know how much money you have, I'll just jack up my price and give you the minimum and take all your money. You need to tell me what you want, and I'll tell you a price, and we'll negotiate, and you'll try to get more than I'm offering."

"I will?"

"Oh, they all do."

I laugh.

"Okay."

"Okay, so go ahead. Tell me exactly what you want, and I'll tell you the price."

"How much detail do I need to supply?"

"Well, the more detail you give me the better I can set the fee."

"Okay. Is anything off the table?"

"Off the table?"

"Yeah, is there anything that you won't do?"

She looks at me, and for a moment looks so sweet and dirty and vulnerable that my stomach lurches and my cock stirs.

"I'm a whore. You hire me and I'm your whore. I'll do anything. I'll do anything you want. You can fuck me. You can hurt me. You can make me do anything you want."

I try to speak, but my mouth has gone suddenly dry. The world has of a sudden become just the two of us. I sip my beer and clear my throat. My chest feels tight. I can hear my heart pounding.

"So."

I clear my throat. Arrange my jeans to accommodate a partial hard-on.

"So I need to tell you exactly what I want, so you can tell me how much, and you need a lot of detail, so you can accurately set your rate?"

"Uh huh. A LOT of detail. I give itemized estimates."

I laugh.

"Itemized estimates."

"You're stalling. I might find another customer at any moment. That older guy over there looks like he's loaded."

"Okay."

"Okay so go. Tell me. Tell me what you want."

I lean in to her. She tucks her hair behind a perfect little ear so I can growl to her personally.

"Okay. I want you to finish your drink, and come with me, and get into the taxi like I said before. I want you to take my cock out in the back of the taxi and suck me while we drive to my place. I don't want a lot of conversation, I just want your mouth on my cock while we drive. The driver might see you, but I'll tip him and he won't mind. I want you to wrap your hand around the base of my cock, and jerk it slowly while you suck and lick the head of my cock. I might put my hand on the back of your head, and maybe grip your hair, and probably push down to put my cock further into your throat. You can take me in your throat right? Being a pro and all? I won't mind if it chokes you a little. I might wrap my hand around your throat so I can feel how deep my cock is going and so I can feel you jerk and choke a little if it's too deep. I won't come though. We'll get to my place, and I'll have you stand by the driver's window while I pay him from the back seat, and he'll have heard you sucking and choking on my cock the whole way there. That shouldn't cost extra, since you'll just be standing there while he looks at you, and thinks about me taking you upstairs. And then we'll go up. You go in front of me, and we'll get to my door, and I'll want you to stand there, and I'll reach around you, and unlock the door, and give you a little shove between your shoulders and push you into the room. I'll lock the door behind you, and the deadbolt, and you'll wonder if you made a mistake; maybe I'm a dangerous guy, that maybe I'll hurt you, but it'll be too late by then. I want you to walk over to the couch, there's a square leather ottoman there, and I want you to reach up under your skirt, and pull your panties down to mid-thigh, and kneel on the ottoman, and kneel with your knees apart, as far as you can, with your panties still on, and I want to flip your skirt up on your ass, and finger you a little, and push my fingers into your pussy, probably two fingers, and get my fingers all wet, and pull them out, and wipe my slippery fingers on your cunt, and wipe them around to get your little slit all wet and ready, and then push my fingers back in your pussy, and get them wet again, and drag them out, and wipe them on the head of my cock, and smear your juices, and my pre cum over the head of my cock, and the shaft, and line my cock up with your cunt, and put my fingers that were in your pussy into your mouth, and pull your head back, and drive my cock into you as hard as I can, you'll really have to grip the edge of the ottoman, and then I want to fuck you, with one hand gripping your hip, and my fingers in your mouth. I want to press down on your lower back, to jut your ass out towards me, and wrap your hair in my fist to pull your head back, hard, so it makes you gasp, and fuck you hard, so it hurts you. I want to pull my cock slowly from your pussy, and step around, and jerk your head up by your hair, and put my cock to your lips, and I want you to open your mouth, so I can slide my cock into your mouth, and deeply, into your throat so it chokes you a little, and makes your eyes water, and I want you to lick and suck my cock, until I pull your mouth off of me by pulling your hair up, and"

"Okay, wait."

"Wait?"

She takes a drink. Looks a little pale.

"Just give me a second. That's a lot."

"A lot?"

"A lot of things you want."

"You said you wanted a lot of detail."

"That's a lot of detail."

"You said. You said a lot of detail."

"Well."

"I was just"

"I know, it's just a lot of"

"I thought I should be clear."

"Clear on what you want to do to me."

"Yes. I thought. I mean, that's what you said."

She nods.

"Yes. I did say that. That's going to be very expensive."

"Well. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well. I wasn't done."

"You weren't done."

"No. I want to do other things too".

"Other things?"

"Yeah. I want some more things."

"More things."

"Yeah, more things. I want to wrap your hair up in my fist, and lift you up onto your toes, and pull the rest of your clothes off of you, and maybe just leave your panties on, but down around your thighs, and kick the ottoman over in front of the mirror..."

"The mirror?"

"I have a big mirror leaning against the wall. Its like seven feet tall and four feet across. Nothing can hold it up, so it leans there. It has a dull silver frame, and very, very fine dark lines, like black threads, running all through the glass. It's very old, I think."

"I see."

"And kick the ottoman over in front of the mirror, and make you kneel on it again, with just your panties on, but down around your thighs."

"You like that."

"Like that? What part?"

"My panties down around my thighs. Not naked."

"I think that your panties pulled down, down below your ass, down around your thighs, is more vulnerable and naked than naked."

"I think so too."

We stop talking for a minute. The jukebox is playing La Jolie Blonde, an old song in French with a Cajun accent. It's a squally, sawing song; heavy on fiddles and maybe an accordion. The bar is very dark, red and blue bulbs around the windows overlooking Royal Street, but only dim lights over the bar, and two red exit signs. I take a pull on my beer. My throat is dry. My heart is pounding. I can hear people walking past the bar, talking loudly, streaming towards Bourbon Street.

"So I'm kneeling on your leather ottoman now, and I'm kneeling in front of your big mirror that's leaning against the wall, and I'm facing the mirror?"

"Yes. Facing the mirror, and I'm standing behind you. And you're kneeling on the ottoman, and you're naked except for"

"Except for my panties down around my thighs."

"Correct."

"I see. And you're behind me."

"Yes."

"Okay, and you're behind me and I'm kneeling on your ottoman, and my panties are down around my thighs, and then what?"

"Then I take two fingers, and reach between your legs, and open you up again, open up your pussy, and fit my cock to your cunt again, and pull on your hip, and drive my cock back into your cunt, and now I can watch your face."

"The mirror."

"Right. That's the point."

"Watching my face?"

"Yes. I want to wrap your hair in my fist"

"Again."

"Yeah, I said that already I guess. Yeah, I want to though, I want to wrap your hair in my fist, and pull your head up, but this time I can watch your face, watch you in the mirror, and pull your hip back to me so I can drive into you with my cock and watch your face. Oh!"

"Oh? What oh?"

"I just thought of something."

"I'm sure."

"I want to smack your ass with my hand. Hard. While I'm fucking you. And watch your face. Reach back, and give you a hard, stinging, sharp, slap with my palm right at the bottom of your ass, at the top of your thigh."

"That's extra."

"I thought it might be."

"Yeah, WAY extra. I'm not sure you can afford it."

"Well."

"Well. We'll see."

"Okay, but I'm not done."

"Jesus."

"Well. I'm kind of on a roll now, it's kind of coming to me as I go."

"Uh huh."

I grin at her, and she grins back, then remembers, and tries to look aloof, and sips her drink.

"What's your name?"

"My name?"

"Yeah, what's your name."

She thinks.

"Evangeline."

"Wow."

"Yeah. It's beautiful isn't it?"

"It is. It's a famous"

"I know! She was an Acadian girl that was separated from her lover Louis and never found him again, and her loneliness and despair finally drove her mad, and she died, and Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote some of her story, and Longfellow wrote the poem about her."

I smile.

"Wow, 'her loneliness and despair drove her mad?'"

"It did. Mad. Mad with despair. Or maybe mad with loneliness."

"Wow. And that's your name?"

"That's the name I'm telling you."

"I see. It's a beautiful name."

"Thank you. So, to get back on track, I'm kneeling on your leather ottoman, naked,"

"Except for your panties..."

"Yes, we've covered that, my panties pulled down to my thighs, and you're watching my face while you fuck me"

"Hard."

"While you fuck me hard, and slap my ass"

"Hard."

"Hard, Jesus, you and your hard, and then what?"

"Then what?"

"Well, you already can't afford all that, so you might as well put in all on the table, and maybe you can pick a few premium items and"

"Premium items?"

"A few, um, high priority items. You're going to have to prioritize. You have to be reasonable."

"Uh huh."

"Yep. Prioritize."

She grins. Sips her drink. She looks delicious. I lean over to kiss her. She leans back.

"Whoa cowboy! What the hell is that?"

"You're right. That was out of line."

"Way out of line. I'm not your fucking girlfriend."

"I'm sorry."

"You should be."

"I apologize."

"Well."

"I was overcome. I forgot myself."

"Well, just, you just put a lid on it until we work this out. And you haven't said anything about kissing me."

"Okay. You're right."

"I know I'm right. You don't need to tell me I'm right."

We sit. Face forward. Sip our drinks.

"So."

"So."

"So you're kneeling..."

She laughs.