Walking up Field's Avenue, casually and colourfully attired, Trevor could feel the light touch of cotton rub sorely over the sunburned flesh of his chest and legs. His bare forearms glowed crimson on top and bottom, but remained white, inside and out. It was five-o'clock and the street was filled with girls in ones, twos and threes walking up or down, on the way to the bars where they worked. Outside each bar there were now groups of girls greeting passers-by and inviting them inside. As they entered Kokomo's, all the seating overlooking the street appeared to be taken, but a group got up to leave and Jake, Evan and Trevor, quickly slipped onto the vacated stools.
A diminutive waitress in T-shirt and shorts took their order. Jake and Evan enthused over the Thai curry; Trevor took their advice. Soon, he was gulping down chilled beer to cool his burning mouth. Jake and Evan knowledgeably appraised the passing girls, who in turn cast sly glimpses at the array of potential clients seated at Kokomo's wall, seeking an inviting face.
Jake's eyes met those of one girl, walking arm in arm with a friend, and they locked, "Hey, you're cute. Come over here," he called.
She and her companion, veered over towards the wall.
"Where're you girls off to?"
"We go to work now," one replied to Jake.
Her friend first sought Trevor's eyes then, when he looked away, Evan's. The girls were pretty and coquettish.
"Where's work?" asked Jake.
"Top Hat."
"Dancer or waitress?"
"We are dancers, me and my cousin."
"Can I get you girls a drink before work?"
"We start in twenty minutes," Jake was told.
"Come and have a chat, maybe we can walk down with you."
The girls walked around, into Kokomo's. The one who had been talking came right up next to Jake and he passed his arm around her. Her cousin stood back a little looking from Trevor to Evan. Evan slapped his thigh and nodded at her, and she walked up and clasped his waist. Names were exchanged, drinks ordered, and the girls smiled and fawned on their prospective beau's.
Jake and Evan were large, middle aged, in disrepair, loud and presumptive, hugging and stroking the youthful - no more than twenty - elegant, diminutive girls, who returned their caresses enthusiastically. Jake drew his captive's head towards him, and whispered in her ear; she nodded; he whispered a couple more times, on each occasion she nodded.
"OK. I'm gonna pay your bar-fine and we can go bar-hop," announced Jake.
"Me and my cousin, we are a team," the girl said, looking at Evan.
Evan pulled his girl to him, and a second intimate conversation took place, the girl again nodding enthusiastically.
"OK, We're fine," confirmed Evan.
One of the girls flagged another, passing in the street, "Tell Mama, me and my cousin are bar-fine. We will come in later to pay."
Now that that was settled, Jake remembered Trevor.
"We're gonna go down to Top Hat and settle up, maybe have a few beers, then go bar-hop. You're welcome to come with us. Unlucky there was only two of them, but there's plenty more to choose from, but choose early on a Friday, or only the dogs'll be left."
Trevor, burning on the outside, burning on the inside, with his senses blurred by alcohol, and aroused by the upbeat music coming from all quarters, no longer wished for an early night. This was the first time in years he had been out, drinking with companions on a Friday night - never mind picking up girls. Yes, he knew what the girls were, but they were young, beautiful and available, and that yearning, so long suppressed, had resurfaced. He wanted to be a part of the action. He, however, did not want to be a gooseberry, and felt uncomfortable with the instant, public intimacy struck up between his companions and their pick-ups.
"You guy's have a good time. I'll catch you tomorrow," he said, "I'm going to take a walk up the road, look in a few clubs, and have a few beers."
He called the waitress and settled up. With shakes of the hand, and best wishes all round, he parted and headed up what he now knew was called Fields Avenue. After dark, it was much cooler, though still humid, but pleasantly warm. Trevor walked slowly, taking in the raucous street-scene.
Nearly every roadside premises appeared to be a bar, and at the door of each stood a group of girls, calling and cajoling, some taking passers-by by the arm and attempting to pull them inside. It was all new, and confused by the number and similarity, he failed to choose, and continued upward. Then he saw Roadhouse. That name he knew. 'Great bar. Great girls,' Jake had said, and the two nymphs who had left the swimming pool a few hours earlier were a testimony to the later assertion.
He entered, passing through a door, then through a curtain into the twilight interior pulsing with rock music. To the left, on a stage, a line up of dainty Filipinas in brightly fluorescing white bikinis, with cute garters on their right leg, and white, skirted ankle-socks under red, low-heeled, shoes, shuffled synchronously to the music. Their high-hip bikinis were kept high by an elasticated, red suspender passing from one hip, up around the back of their neck and descending to the other hip. The dry, cool, air-conditioned atmosphere brought a refreshing sense of comfort, though the odour of stale cigarette smoke lent a rank edge to the atmosphere.
