Marvins Room Jackson

I truly believe nothing, nor nobody, can hinder my positive mood as I walk into Marvin's Room at about 8:15. Marvin's Room is a bar with a large mixed urban crowd and serves as a club on the weekends. Tonight is Monday, and only a few isolated groups are lingering around. I am a 48-year-old white male. I'm also 6'5 and stand out like a sore thumb to the young black guys at a long table. They give me odd glances, and I walk past them, not making eye contact. I greet the familiar Hispanic patrons at a corner table with a wave. In the other corner, there was a booth with three older black gentlemen, who were also pretty friendly. I had lost a couple hundred playing them at the pool the other night and kept my greeting to a nod to save face. I wasn't a gambling man, but I did get too drunk occasionally and, in turn, made some bad decisions.

When I moved to this district 15 years ago, I had been pretty well off and lived in the suburbs. I would have never been drinking on this side of town. Back then, this bar had been a hole in the wall. The place had seen better days and was now my favorite bar. It was only a few minutes from my low-income apartment, which the city had also revamped since my return from federal prison. This bar was conveniently right next door to a smoke shop. I limited my smoking to cigarettes only since my parole officer came by randomly for a drug test. Plus, they didn't make Mary Jane like they used to, and it wasn't used to the potent stuff with the funny names.

I gave the bartender a broad smile and sat at the bar, "Hey, Marvin." I say in a thick southern drawl.

"Whiskey?" Marvin asked, putting a shot glass in front of me.

The older dark skin man was friendly and kept the place spotless for his customers. He also was great at remembering our vices, but this time, I shook my head.

"No, sir. Just a beer. I have a big day tomorrow. My son's mother is coming. She's going to bring my son and let me keep him for a whole week."

"That's nice. I'm sure you two will have a good time. Your boy is 16. Right, Gotta birthday coming up?"

"15. My son will be 16 next week." I smiled, "I have a big week planned. I haven't seen Troy in 12 years."

Marvin's eyes widened, "Damn, that's a shame, son. I had to deal with that crazy baby mama drama in my day, but she did at least let me see my kids."

I chuckle nervously, "No, sir. Not much drama. She's a good mother."

"She didn't come to see you when you were locked down?"

I shook my head bitterly, "They live in Louisiana. I was in Virginia. Too far of a drive, plus I didn't want him to see like that, you know?"

Marvin let it go, but I could see the sympathy in his eyes. It was my mistake, and I never wanted anyone to feel bad for my wrongdoings.

Angel and I had been high school sweethearts. We married quickly after graduation. We then separated for a year due to my drinking. I called myself trying to win her back one night, and I scored, and we created a son. I had begged her to take me back since I had bought a nice house in Georgia. But Angel didn't want to move with me to Atlanta, and I didn't blame her. I went back and forth between my son and the fast life.

I had been depressed, and the doctor had prescribed me something. It was a mixture of pills for both anxiety and depression. I soon learned that when it was mixed with alcohol, it made me feel supernatural. I messed up my whole life in a year and a half over those little pills.

When it all crashed, I was left with a deadly addiction and time to serve in prison for drug trafficking. Twelve years of pain and guilt, and other than pictures and phone calls, I hadn't seen my boy since. Angel remarried and had two other kids. I wasn't mad. I was glad someone was instructing my son to be a man since I couldn't.

"You got any money on them, cowboys?" Marvin asked, propping up against the slab.

"No sir, I think I'll sit this one out. Friday night put a dent in my pockets."

He chuckles and looks over toward the men at the booth, "Them boys almost took your drawers. You were determined that night."

"Yeah, I had a few too many and thought I knew how to play pool." I laughed, "I guess I was wrong."

"Well, I've got a 20 bill that says those cowgirls will lose tonight."

I glance at the score and laugh, "C'mon. Twenty it is."

Marvin nodded to the treaty and placed the draft beer before me.

I took a gulp and laughed, "Go ahead and get that twenty out, Mr. Marvin."

"What happened?" Marvin looked up from the table.

I beamed, "Those Lions are running out of plays, and Campbell is sweatin'."

"You've got another quarter left, son. You never know how things will play out."

I was halfway into my beer and cheering on my favorite team when my phone buzzed. It was Angel, so I walked outside, leaving my wallet and keys in the bar.

"Hello?"

"Jackson?"

"Yeah, I've got a few odds and ends to clear tomorrow. Then I will be ready for my little man. I know he's not little anymore, but I've got some big plans for us."

"Jackson. I'm sorry, we should probably wait until next month. I've been talking to my husband, and...."

"What? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Listen. We both think it's just too soon and-"

"Please say you're joking. Angel?"

"Jackson, you've been locked up for a long time. A week without my son, that's a lot for me to process."

"Try 12 years, Angel. I..."

I whacked the flip phone with my hand before listening to the rest of her excuses.

"Angel, please, Come on, help me out."

I was devastated and pushed away the tears threatening to fall. My son was the only person I had looked forward to seeing since coming back into society. I was furious and wanted to call her every name in the book. I didn't, but I spent about 30 minutes condemning her for canceling the meeting and begging her to change her mind. The setback hit me hard. Dabbing my eyes, I marched back into the bar to drink the sorrow away.

"Whiskey," I called out.

Marvin turned around and scanned my new attitude, "Everything okay, man?"

I rubbed my jaw and smiled, "You're a lucky man tonight, Marvin. I might drink till the sun comes up. She canceled on me."

"Dammit, for real?"

I nodded and gulped my beer, "I'll take another one of these too."

"I hate to see a good man like you down and out."

Marvin didn't know me. If he saw a good man, he was highly mistaken. I didn't feel like a decent guy. I felt like a failure as a man and a father. I had celebrated getting a rundown apartment and holding down a steady job. The past three months I had spent trying to rebuild my life seemed meaningless to me right now. Other than my son, I had no family or friends.

"This drink is on the house," Marvin tapped the bar.

"I appreciate it, man. To baby mamas," I laughed bitterly.

He chuckled and wiped his hands, "I'll pass on that one."

"I don't blame you."

Gulping the burning liquid, I looked at the TV to find my team had just lost. I couldn't help but laugh. Even the Dallas Cowboys couldn't pull it together for me. I placed the 20-dollar bill on the bar and washed my hands over my face.

"I hate women," I muttered, blaming Angel for my team's loss.

"Hey, that's not nice," a small voice announced.

I peered toward the tanned white girl sitting a few stools down, then looked around to see if she was real. The little lady looked out of place in the rugged barroom, wearing an oversized black hoodie that stopped past her knees.

"Sorry about that," I nodded in apology, "I'm sure you will be a good woman."

"I am a woman already. But I don't know how good I am. You will have to find out," she smirked.

I gave her another look over. Her short tan legs dangled off the stool in a silly manner, going in different directions. The hood was on her head, but I glimpsed some curly blonde hair peeking out of the nooks. I averted my eyes and took another swig of beer. She looked like someone's lost daughter.

She skipped to the next seat, "Why don't you like girls?"

"I said, 'Women.' And they're difficult."

"Difficult? Well, Maybe you're the complicated one."

"We all have problems, I guess."

I attempted to focus on the other sporting event to my left and hold my beer to my lips, hoping this girl would leave me alone. Despite the saying, I don't need any company in my misery.

"Do you like easy women?" I heard her say.

"Yeah."

She held her mouth and smiled, and I tried to hide a smile.

"Did someone break your heart?"

I groaned, "Yup."

"Do you need to help?"

I ignored her, thinking she would go away, but she moved a seat over.

"Do you need help finding a good woman?"

"No."

"Not every woman is complicated. Some know what they want."

Sighing in annoyance, I set my eyes back on the television in front of me to catch up on what I had missed during my phone call. I hoped my short replies would make the woman take a hint, but she carried on.

"My ex-boyfriend was a cheater. I found him in bed with my friend on my birthday. It was so crazy. But I ended up joining them."

I turn my head to actively survey her face, looking for a clue as to why she's talking to me or telling me about her sex life. I am not sure how old this girl is, but she's adorable with a button nose and the brightest light brown eyes. A blush colors her round cheeks, and I stare for a moment at her naturally pink lips.

"He got mad at me because I cheated on him with her. Then she fucked him after I told her we were together."

My eyes were wide, "So, you're both."

"Yeah, I am Bisexual. It was fun, but I broke up with him after that. Did she cheat on you?"

I immediately look back and shake my head, "My...It's not a relationship problem." I chuckle, "And that's some weird shit you just said."

Regardless of her beauty, I have no interest in her conversation and turn my back, focusing on the other television. I wasn't enthusiastic about soccer, but it was better than this.

"Where's your girlfriend?" She asked, and I could feel the vibrations of her moving to take the seat next to me.

"I don't have one."

"What? No way. You look like you get a lot of women."

A sweet giggle escaped the pretty girl's lips, and I rubbed my bearded jaw to escape my irritation.

"Guess what?"

I peeked toward her, and she smiled, revealing straight white teeth. "What?"

"Guess."

I waved my hand, "I don't like guessing games, and why don't you move back over there."

"Ugh, you're no fun. I'm gonna stay right here, and I'm single too."

"Good. Stay that way, less headache."

"I'm not a headache. I'm sweet."

I shake my head, "That's what they all say. Then they get bitter." I mumble.

"I mean, I taste sweet."

I glance over, and my brow arched not only from her sexual comment but the look in her eyes. She was a fucking knockout and looking at me as if I was anywhere in her league. I'm not a terrible-looking man, but I have wrinkles, and my hair is thinning at the top. It was why I had started to grow out my beard. The hair on my head and beard have a ragged mixture of gray, dark brown, and red, and the same muddy color coats my tanned arms and chest. I am reasonably muscular since I've had some time to kill over the past 12 years. But I am nowhere suitable for this woman, even if she is genuine. I peer out the corner of my eye to see she's still staring at me, and now I am nervous.

"What are you doing tonight?" She asks me.

"Drinking."

"Me too," She brought the clear beverage to her lips to drink and seductively licked off the access.

"What are you drinking?" I ask, nudging my head toward her drink.

"Sprite. What are you drinking?"

"Alcohol, 'cause I'm in a bar."

"What kind?"

"Whiskey, Jack Daniels." I frown. I sort of feel like I am being Punked or set up. Maybe I'm paranoid, but I haven't had a woman approach me in 12 years.

"You like to drink?"

"Yeah, how did you know?" I sip my beer.

"So, what are you doing when you finish drinking?"

"Sleeping."

"With?"

I roll my eyes, "Can you stop?"

"Can you smile?" She countered with an attitude.

"What?" I snickered, "How old are you?"

"18."

"Yeah, right."

"I am. Why else would I be in a bar, duh? Hah.haha."

Her laugh was contagious, and I chuckled, "You should go home. Seriously. What is a young girl like you even doing at a bar, alone? On a Monday night?"

Her mouth dropped in surprise, "Oh my God. Is that your pickup line?"

"No." I scrunch my nose, "No, I'm not trying to...." I gave a deep sigh of frustration, "Go back over there."

"It's okay. You can shoot your shot."

"You came to me. I was just fine by myself, sweetheart."

"Sweetheart?"

I groan, "I apologize. What's your name?"

"Why? Do you want to take me home?"

"No. I want to drink this beer and whiskey and watch this," I pointed toward the television.

"You sure? Cause you just gave me a pet name." She sighs dramatically, "Sweetheart."

I laugh, "I didn't mean it like that."

"Oh, you were trying to undermine me, huh? Or, Is it because you know I am sweet?" She winks, and I can't help but smile and roll my eyes at her little games.

"Next time, I'll call you 'sober girl at the bar drinking soda and annoying a man trying to get drunk'."

"That's a long name, but I'll take it. And I am not annoying you. You love it. What's your name?"

I speculate before answering, still dwelling on her motive, "Jackson."

"Jackson."

My name rolls off her lips with a lusty rhythm that makes me look toward her. I examine any flaws in her fresh complexion as I await her introduction. She has a mole above her left cheek that adds to her allure. She gave me a nervous smile that made him laugh.

"C'mon, don't be shy now. Tell me your name."

"Guess."

"What's with you and guessing?"

"Guess. I wanna see if you get it right," she whined, grabbing my hand, "Come on, gimme those guesses."

I grin and shake my head, "Fuck if I know, Samantha?"

She shakes her head, and I give a dramatic groan that makes her laugh, "Um, let's see. Uh, Belle?"

"No."

"Cinderella?"

"Be serious, Jackson. If you win, I'll reward you."

I look her up and down, "So, you're hiding a trophy under that big jacket?"

"Just guess," she giggled.

"Lorraine?"

"No."

"Seinfeld? George? Kramer?"

"No," She laughs, "No, you're so silly."

"Miley? Selena? Taylor Swift?"

Dropping her head onto the bar, she continued to giggle. However unwanted, I couldn't get over how strange it was that this beautiful girl was giving me the time of day.

"Am I getting close?"

"Nah, you're a bad guesser. It starts with uh, um."

I shake my head, "All Hell, See, you were going to have me guess a fake name. Suppose you're afraid that I'll look you up on social media. Don't worry about that. I don't have a face page or a snapshot," I urge, signaling Marvin for another shot of Jack.

He gives the girl an odd look and fills my glass to the rim. We exchange glances in curiosity about who this woman is, and she stares at me as I take a small sip of the liquor and I continue guessing.

"Goldie locks?"

That cute giggle sounds again, and I'm not sure if it is the alcohol or her that causes me to loosen up. "Nicole."

"No, I don't look like a Nicki."

"Trixie, then?"

"Jackson!"

"Suzy cue," I chuckle and remove a single curl from her hood as she shakes her head. It's soft against my fingers, and I assume the rest of her is just as delicate.

She whines and pops my shoulder, and I feel a jolt of adrenaline that warms me. Her hands are tiny against my shoulder, and she continues to rub me until I finally move, realizing how improper this may look.

"Candy?"

"That sounds like a stripper's name," she chuckled. "I've always wanted to be a stripper. They make a lot of money."

"It ain't worth it," I say.

"You've never seen me slide down a pole, Jack. I am flexible."

I suddenly became uncomfortable and discouraged my eyes from her pretty face. I start to think it's inappropriate for me to entertain her, and I can feel Marvin's sights on me. I'm not going to take advantage of this adorable young woman.

"My name is Olive." She finally says, and for some reason, it sounds like a lie.

"Olive? Like Olive oil?" I scrutinize, glancing at her.

"Yup. Olive. It's a pretty name. It means sweet in Italian."

I cough to hide my chuckle, "Now, I am not Italian, but I think olive is just an olive, darlin'.

"It's better than Jack-son, darlin'."

I laughed, "There is nothing wrong with my name."

"Can I call you daddy?" Her straight front teeth bite her bottom lip, and I feel my cock coming to life.

I cleared my throat, "I'm not your daddy."

"Wanna be?"

I chuckle and take my shot, popping the bar for Marvin's attention. This chick is trying to fuck me, but I can't even comprehend why. I can't remember the last time I laughed this much and instantly thought of how I wanted to enjoy this week with my son. That last shot burned me, and I clenched my jaw as I wrestled with my broken heart.

"You gonna cry, Jack?" She sounds, pushing me out of my head.

"No. No, I. I'm good," I managed a tight smile.

"If you ever need someone to talk to, we can talk and get to know each other."

Olive's statement flowed out so smoothly that I laughed, "Yeah, no. I'll be fine. I'm just going through the motions, Olive. But I'll be alright."

"What happened?"

"Family issues," I smile wide, not wishing to pour out my heart to this little lady.

"Your parents?"

"No, they're gone. So in this instance, I am the parent."

"Aw, I knew you were a daddy?"

"To my son, yeah. He's 15. He will be 16 next week." I stare at my beer and down the rest.

"Really? How old are you?"

"49 next month." I wiped my eyes and looked toward the TV screen at the updates, wanting our chat to end so I could return to feeling sorry for myself.

"You're not that old, sweetheart," Olive tapped the bar with her tiny fingers.

"I've got some years on you, sweetheart." I chuckle and keep my eyes on the screen above me.

"Who were you rooting for?"

"Cowboys."

"They lost in the fourth quarter. That's a sign you might need to pick another team," Olive smiles.

"No, I've been a fan since I was a kid."

"Hmm, back when they won games? When were they good? Like in the 60s?"

I point toward her, shaking my finger, "You're funny. I smirk, "Do you even watch football?"

"I watched it with my dad, but not so much anymore, too busy."

"Are you in college?"

"No, I am an entrepreneur."

Olive giggled and slapped my shoulder.

"What is your business, little lady?"

"I do it all," a sly grin cuts across her face. "What do you like to do?"

I assume we are talking about professions and hobbies and say, "I work at a shop not too far from here. I like cars, and I am somewhat of a nerd. I play video games. On the weekends, I do security here and at some of the clubs downtown."

"Redwings?"

My eyes widened at the mention of a local swingers club, "No. No. I don't think too many fights break out at that one." I laugh.

"I went in there once with a friend."

I let my gaze wander toward the television, feeling uncomfortable speaking sexually with the young beauty.

"There's this red room with whips and chains," she mentions.

I act uninterested, but I am curious, "I've never been."

Her mouth dropped open at my comment, "You've never been to a sex club?"

"Nope. I keep to myself."

"So you only masturbate?" Olive giggled.

I looked toward her to see her eyes on my hand.

I wiggled my coarse fingers and laughed, "You can say that."

"Well, I went. It was fun. This guy tied me up and spanked me. We could go together," Olive bit her lip, and my cock completely woke up.

"No. I don't do that. That's too crazy," I lie.

"It's not crazy. I like pain and pleasure. I love Spankings, and you look like you give good spankings. Your hands are huge."