It was a rainy, gloomy night. Tupelo hadn’t seen snow in years, but the sleet and slush were keeping everybody indoors. It was Christmas Eve,1972, and Beth was working at the Party Corral, a honky tonk on the outskirts of town. And she wasn’t happy! “Why, of all nights, is this place open?” she thought. “Who would come out for a beer on a night like this!” She had done all the cleaning she could, and straightened all the pool cues, and cleaned the felt on the tables. Shooting pool was the biggest draw in this place, and Beth had gotten pretty good herself. She dropped a couple quarters in the slot and racked up the balls. Then she went and flipped the switch on the jukebox so she could play for free. Soon the sounds of Waylon and Willie filled the room, their plaintive wails suiting her mood just fine. She grabbed a bottle of beer and bent over to break the rack. As she did the door opened.
Looking up in surprise she saw two of her favorite customers walk in. Jesse was the oldest at 20, tall and dark and lean muscled. Wiley, at 19, was already stocky and barrel chested. No fat, just big and muscular. With his long blonde hair and twinkling blue eyes he made everyone smile when they saw him. They were from Wyoming, come to Mississippi for the winter to work for an uncle who owned a large bridge construction company.
“Hey, you guys!! Merry Christmas, and what the hell are you doin out tonight, of all nights?” Beth asked, as she went behind the bar and grabbed a couple Buds. “It’s on me” she said as Jesse reached for his wallet. “I’d almost pay you guys for being here, I’ve been so bored!” They laughed and walked to the pool table, and Wiley asked, “What are we shooting for?” “Who cares!” said Beth. “Just play!” Jesse lit a joint and passed it to Beth and said “We were just as bored in the motel so we hoped someone was here; sure are glad to see you!”
They played several games, and then sat at a table, getting mellower and quieter as the night went on. Beth dimmed the lights and they sat; drinking beer and smoking, each with their own private thoughts. Finally, at 10:00, Beth stood up and said “Enough! Let’s get out of here!” In record time they had the place cleaned and locked and were heading for their trucks. Beth hesitated, and then asked if they’d like breakfast. “I’ll cook at my place.” she said.
Beth lived in a small, 9 room, old fashioned motel on Rt 40, south of Tupelo. It was a small but cozy room with real pine on the walls and a clawfoot tub in the bath. She had added some of her own things to make it homey, and had a small kitchenette. With three people in the room it seemed crowded, but soon everyone had boots off and found room to sit at a small table. Biscuits and gravy didn’t take long, and after breakfast the three piled up on the bed to watch a movie.