As soon as my eyes fell upon Gwen, I was hooked. This skinny punk chick wearing a plaid skirt, platform leather boots with knee high white socks, sporting a pixie hair cut dyed pink, a leather jacket slapped with band logos that I didn't know of and snakebite piercings on her face - and here I was in a suit.
So what's a successful real estate agent at 43 like myself doing in a dive bar looking at punk girls? Well, it's been a long fucking day. A day that started off good with a kiss from the wife, and a deal to close a downtown property in the works. This one was worth millions, and I was planning on buying a new car with the commission. Unfortunately, that all went to shit when the buyer backed out at the last minute. Needless to say, I was pissed about it. So pissed that I yelled at the old man and his lawyers and spit in his face.
No wonder he threatened to sue.
So I left the office, hopped in my not so new BMW, and looked for someplace to have a drink and try and forget about the day. Of course, this was playoff season, and the NHL was ruining my chances at having some solitude in my usual drinking establishments.
It was time to go off-grid.
I never knew anything about the Albert, some old building from way back when. A hotel with a bar, and of course seeing as it was on the side of town where, we'll call them the less-fortunates, live - there was no chance at a big screen TV and college kids hooting and hollering for their team. What was in there was the smell of stale beer, a haze of smoke, some pool tables, VLTs and a bar that time basically forgot. As soon as I walked in, an old native man looked up from his gambling machine and flashed me a toothy grin. I was about to pull a 180 and get the fuck out when I spotted Gwen; though I didn't know her name at the time.
Well, it wasn't just Gwen - her bandmates were there too, setting up for a punk show that would be later that evening, a group called "The Sallies" (whatever the fuck that was supposed to be). You know the kind, local band playing for maybe 50 bucks just to try and get their shitty music out there. Me? I liked some older rock. Give me Metallica or Megadeth, not whatever these kids scream-sang into their microphones.
My phone buzzed in the pocket of my blazer, it was the wife. Ignore. I needed a fucking drink. The female bartender, who looked as though she did enough meth to put a cough syrup magnate out of business, gave me the once over and asked what I wanted. I settled on a Jack and Coke; having 3 of them as I now and then looked to the band setting up their instruments and testing their speakers - especially that pink-haired bassist girl.
Typically, I am all about the hot blonde broads with the IQ of a loaf of Wonder Bread, girls like Gwen? Shit, I find it hard to even jerk to a girl in porn with a tattoo - but something about her, man. That smile, the way she joked around with the male members of her band, she was full of confidence. This became more apparent when she approached the bar,
"Hey, Martha. Do you have someone working the door tonight?" She asked the woman bartender.
"Yup, Jimmy's on tonight. Don't worry, won't be any trouble."
"Rough neighbourhood?" I asked out of the blue. Both of them whipped their heads at me and stared as though I was a piece of meat and they were two hungry pit bulls, pulling at their chains to rip into my flesh.
"Well, it's certainly not the type of place I am sure you're used to." The pink-haired punk girl said with a wry grin.
"Hey now, I grew up in a trailer park. Don't let the suit fool you, I have seen my fair share of shit." A smirk right back in her direction from me. No bullshit either, I grew up poor as dirt. I mean, like dusty as dirt and not fertilizer. My dad was an out of work factory labourer, mom liked to spend money on lottery tickets - a real pair. They used to get drunk and beat the shit out of each other. Needless to say, I worked my ass off to get where I am and not be anything like my folks.
"Ain't no one asked you." The bartender snarled. Before I could tell the old bitch to go fuck herself, punk girl defused the situation.
"It's cool, I like this guy. I was trailer trash too. What's your name, guy?"
"Chris."
"I'm Gwen, Chris. Nice to meet ya." She held out a slender hand with black painted fingernails that were half chipped away, I gave it a quick shake.
"Nice to meet you. So you're playing tonight?"
"Every second Tuesday. You gonna stick around for the show?"
"It's not really my thing." Wait, what the fuck are you saying man!? This chick obviously wants you to check her out...her band out...whatever.
"Ah, c'mon, plenty of old school punks out there." She poked her tongue out at me with that comment. It was pierced.
"I'm not that old." I rolled my eyes.
"Well then, stick around. You just might enjoy yourself."
Fuck it, I would. With Martha the meth-head keeping me in drinks and pretzels I am sure were from 1978.
Each person that walked into the bar looked at me as though they were seeing Big Foot in the flesh, or an alien. Hard looking skin head punks, skinny emo boys, mohawks and dirty clothes. I was a stranger in a strange land, but my lifeline in the form of Gwen would pop by the bar now and then, chatting it up with me.
She was 19, highschool drop out but she was a smart one. We chatted about politics, books, even got into a light hearted debate about religion. Then she saw my ring.
"So, married huh?"
Shit. Busted.
"Ah, no, no, wife left me." Well she would if she found out where I was and who I was with. "I keep meaning to take it off."
"Shit, that sucks dude. I'm sorry. How long?"
"Couple months now." Chris, you lying sack of shit.
"So how long has it been since you been laid?" The question made me sputter on the drink I brought to my lips and made her laugh, "Too personal?"
"No, no..." I wiped down my shirt and tie with a bar napkin. "It's fine. Yeah, it's been a bit."
"Poor man." She teased, reaching over to pinch one of my cheeks. "Who knows, you may find someone here you like."
I wanted to say something witty like 'I already have', play it all cool like in the movies. Instead I just nodded and gave her a dopey,
"Uh huh."
Half an hour later, I was watching Gwen do her thing on stage with her band. I won't lie, while punk really isn't my thing - they rocked. Then three songs in, Gwen was on the mic.
"Everyone see that suit over there?" She called out. The crowd turned to me and I got booed.
"FUCKING CORPORATE ASSHOLE!" One of them yelled out.
"Whoa, whoa, chill guys. That's my new friend Chris. He's cool as fuck and don't give a fuck, ain't that right Chris?"
All eyes on me. Talk about awkward...and intimidating.
I nodded.
