BOOK II - CHEERS
Chapter 1
George was feeling pretty chipper by Monday evening. His business meetings earlier in the day had gone fabulously; the prospects for sales to at least two of the firms that he had visited today were all but assured. He had just finished a delicious meal at the Orion Room, a restaurant recommended by one of the day's contacts.
George asked a waiter at the Orion Room to recommend a bar. The waiter gave him directions to a place a mile away that had a large screen TV and was always crowded with Monday night football viewers. As a second choice, the waiter said that the Orion's bar served excellent drinks, but its purpose in life was to hold the overflow dinner crowd waiting for seating in the restaurant. It would be pretty deserted on a slow Monday night.
George was not much of a football fan even though he had played cornerback for Massachusetts. He even had a slight limp from a knee injury to prove it. Therefore he walked into the Holding Tank bar next to the Orion Room to have a quiet drink and contemplate what to do with a lonely evening.
The waiter who directed him was right; there were only three customers in the bar and they were grouped at one table. There were two middle aged men and one younger man; they looked like blue-collar types, in fact they were all wearing bowling shirts, but for three different teams. George selected a table near them and seated himself.
The waitress that appeared in front of George a few seconds later was a lovely sight. She stood about five feet, six inches tall with dark hair and a pretty face, highlighted by a sparkling smile. She had a half-inch scar on her chin, but it didn't detract at all from her looks. She had on an enticing, starched, white blouse tucked into tight canary yellow hot pants. George ordered a Corona with lime before she said a word.
"Thank you," she trilled in a medium pitched voice. She smiled even brighter. "I like a customer who knows what he wants." She turned and walked away before George could think up a reply.
George sat silently watching the three men across from him. The waitress brought them a round of draft beers and the men engaged her in conversation. It was apparent to George that the girl knew the men at least a little. George eavesdropped on their conversation. One of the men called the waitress Jenny and asked her about "Tommy." Apparently, Tommy was her young son.
Further conversation revealed that Jenny was divorced, dating someone on a somewhat regular basis but not living with him. When asked about the scar on her chin, she admitted that her ex-husband had slapped her and his ring had cut her chin.
Jenny turned down a date offer from the younger man at the table saying that she had a rule against dating customers. She enjoyed her job and would not risk trouble by dating a regular customer. George got the distinct impression that she was trying to find a convenient excuse because she didn't want to date the man but also didn't want to hurt his feelings. She seemed like a very nice person and George wondered what had precipitated a divorce for her. It must be tough raising a small child alone.
George's eyes followed Jenny as she walked back to the bar. She passed behind it and began washing glasses and George realized that she must also be the bartender. It really was a slow night.
A minute later, Jenny dug out a bottle of beer and a chilled glass; she opened the bottle, stuffed a quarter lime in the top, and brought them to the table. George asked her to run a tab and thanked her for the beer.
"You're welcome," she smiled. "Are you from out of town?"
"Yes, I am. Why did you suspect that?"
"There wouldn't be any local people in here on Monday night that I don't recognize."
"I live in Tucson. Name is George," he offered.
"I live in Dayton. Name is Jenny," she mimicked him. "Enjoy your beer, George." Jenny walked back to the bar.
George resumed eaves dropping on the conversation at the next table. In his years as a traveling marketer, he had become adept at evaluating people quickly just by listening in on their conversations. Over the next ten minutes, he was able to get the basics of the three men he listened to.
One of the middle-aged men, Tom, was married and had two grown children. He was dissatisfied with his sex life at home and preferred the companionship of his friends to that of his wife. He was rather loud and seemed to consider himself the leader of the trio.
Dick, the younger man was single with a girl friend; he saw her about twice a week. It sounded like she was more serious about the relationship than he was. He boasted openly about their sexual activities to impress his friends. They clearly did not believe everything that came from Dick's mouth.
Ralph did not seem to fit in with the other two. He was much quieter but George found that he was divorced. His wife had left him because she thought he drank too much. Ralph claimed that his only drinking was done at the bowling alley twice a week and one or two nights with Tom and Dick. He claimed that he never drank at home.
The conversation at the table took a turn as Dick brought out a pen and Ralph was writing something on a napkin. They each pulled out a coin and flipped them simultaneously. They looked at each other's coins.
"I'm odd man," Tom said, "I get first pick."
Dick flipped his coin again and Ralph called, "Heads." The coin apparently was heads and so the order was determined for whatever the hell they were doing.
Tom picked, "white" and Ralph wrote on the napkin. Ralph picked "black" and Dick laughed at him. "Black ain't won yet," he jeered.
"I'm due," answered Ralph. "I just got a feelin'." He recorded the selection on the napkin.
Dick seemed to ponder his choice until Tom became impatient. "Pink," he finally chose. The selection was recorded on the napkin.
For his second pick, Tom chose beige. "Beige," whooped Dick, there ain't no way the honey is going to have beige panties on!" George's interest in the choices suddenly perked up.
Ralph selected blue as his second choice and Dick chose red, although he expressed much doubt that it would be a winner. Again the selections were recorded.
At this point, Tom noticed that George was watching the proceedings. He said, "You can have the field for ten dollars."
George thought he understood the offer but he pretended ignorance. "I'm sorry! I don't know what you're talking about."
Tom lowered his voice and explained, "The manager of this place, Don, brings a girl in here nearly every Monday night; not always the same girl. We've got a pool going on what color underpants tonight's chick will be wearing. We each put up ten bucks and picked two colors; you can have all of the other colors for ten."
George thought for a moment, "If you guys put up five for each of the six favorites, then I ought to get the field for five."
The men at the other table looked at one another. No one objected and Tom finally said, "It's a bet. This is our fifth pool and the field hasn't won yet."
"Neither has blaack or beeiige," Dick chortled, stretching out the words.
"How do we determine the winner?" George asked, knowing it sounded like a really dumb question. He wanted to keep up conversation and find out more about what was transpiring here.
The men at the other table laughed. "Absolute proof; you'll see it with your very own eyes," Dick finally answered.
"Two weeks ago," Tom continued, "he had a hot red-head in here. He took her panties off and tossed 'em on the floor." Dick pointed to a spot about five feet from where George was sitting.
Tom chimed in, "We not only got to see her panties; we had a good look at what was underneath 'em. She was a real redhead all right. Had about the nicest fur pie I ever saw, not too thick and all neatly trimmed. Yummm! I could have ate the whole thing."
"That was the night I won with pink," Ralph volunteered. "All honeys ought to wear pink panties. They look the best."
Everyone fell silent and George sipped his beer. Finally he asked, "Who is this Don anyway? What make him so special?"
Tom was the one to respond again. "Don is a tennis hack. He was actually ranked in the top twenty in the world a couple of years. Then he tore up his knee and retired from tournament competition. He saved his money though and invested it too; He's worth several million now. He started giving private lessons at the local club. Many of his students are young women who want to stay fit and bored married sluts among the idle rich."
Ralph carried on; Needless to say, his lessons included more than just stroking a tennis ball. He teaches a different stroke too. And from what I hear he's better at that one than the tennis. Three months ago he bought an interest in this bar. He spells the manager a couple of nights a week and on Monday's he entertains the few of us here with his latest project."
"Why do you think he does that?" George interrupted.
"He don't have anything else to do here on Monday's He's just bored so he brings along something to help him pass the time."
Back to Tom, "From what I've heard around town, he meets a woman he likes at the club, gives her a couple of tennis lessons for free, gives her a couple of strokes in bed and he has her hooked. Then he toys with her for a couple of months till he's tired of her and brushes her off. That's his reputation and the women know it up front; but there seem to be very few beautiful women around these parts who can resist him. The several millions probably don't hurt."
Dick had been listening and now broke his silence. "I think there are few beautiful women around here that he hasn't dickered already."
"Dickered! What the hell kind of word is that?" Tom chortled. "The word is fucked!"
