Fluke (30 page)

“Okay, here’s what I want you to do.”

She moved her fingers and opened her eyes, allowing her hands to drop on the bed at her sides.
 
She looked at me sleepily, and I realized how sexy she was when she first woke up.
 
I had seen it countless times by now, but was continually and pleasantly surprised.

 
“I want you to go to the bathroom and check your…umm…” I fumbled, not knowing how to put it.

“My what?” she sat up.

“Your, um, self,” was the only thing I could come up with.
 
She appeared confused, so I tried again.
 
“Your parts.”

Wow, that’s classy, Adam-boy.
 
Parts? Why not just tell her to check her meat curtains? Or tell her that her junk is bleeding?

Articulation: not always my strong suit.

“My parts?” she knew what I was referring to and stood up, her hand moving to her crotch region.
 
“Was something wrong down there? You didn’t—“

“No, no, just go in the bathroom, Sara,” I said.

She walked into the bathroom, wavering slightly, holding her hand slightly out for balance, in the way that people do when they first wake up and are a little confused and fuzzy.
 
It was cute, I thought, watching her.

There was no sound for several seconds.
 
I was about to call out to her and make sure she hadn’t fallen back to sleep when she called out, “Adam, honey, can you go into the zipper pocket inside my purse and bring me a tampon, please?”

I did as I was told.

****

To say that our moods were different after our bloody encounter would be an understatement.
 
While we were both willing to face the music and be responsible adults, neither of us were, in reality, ready to be parents.

We talked about our earlier discovery while sitting in the restaurant, both of us haltingly agreeing with the general sense of relief that the other admitted to, feeling each other out, until we reached a point where we just let our individual worries about the other’s fragility go, and the dinner ended with both of us happy as hell that “Aunt Flow” decided to visit.

The night had taken on a decidedly festive aura for us, what with the casino winnings and Aunt Flow.
 
New Orleans was a welcome sight to our eyes.
 
Without a fertilized egg lurking within Sara’s depths we had no reason to go easy on drinking was what I thought to myself as we embarked from the hotel.

“I think we should head to Pat O’s first,” she told me as we rounded the corner on to Bourbon Street.
 
“I like their Hurricanes.”

“Am I going to have to carry you back to the hotel, Sara?”

“Definitely,” she replied.
 
She laughed then, and her cheeks got just the slightest bit of color in them with her excitement.
 
I loved this woman, and I would have gone anywhere in the world she wanted.
 

“Then Pat’s it is.”

We made our way through the throngs of people slowly, hollering at each other to be heard.
 
The city was as alive as ever, even though there were no festivals or holidays that I was aware of.
 
People walked around with strings of beads hanging from their necks, some small, some huge, all wildly colored, and most likely acquired through the display of various body parts.
 
We checked out the people that passed us by, and Sara and I exchanged knowing looks of humor at many of them.
 
Transvestites, men in drag, people in costumes.
 
A man on a unicycle came dangerously close to hitting us as he worked his way down the street and we laughed.
 
Eat your heart out Barnum & Bailey, I thought to myself.
 
I wouldn’t have
been surprised if I had seen a trapeze, strung across the old buildings, with people doing acrobatics in the air above the crowd.

Nothing would have shocked me in New Orleans.

The appreciative looks and occasional shouts of “Show us your tits!” that Sara was getting had caused me to walk with my arm protectively around her waist as we pushed through the dense jungle of people.
 
I didn’t mind the attention she received; in fact, it was a twisted sense of flattery I felt.
 
I just wanted to make sure that the drunkards roaming Bourbon Street were well aware that Sara was unavailable for their little tit-showing games…she was with the Fluke.

And, admittedly, I enjoyed the envious looks I received.
 
Each time I got one (which I always recognized immediately, having given so many myself), I knew that some guy was thinking to himself, or asking his buddies, “What the hell is she doing with
that
guy?”

You know what? I liked that feeling.

Soon enough we came to Peter Street, and hooked a right onto it towards Pat O’Brien’s “world famous piano bar.”
 
Being one of the staples of New Orleans and Bourbon Street, I had been there a couple of times before.
 
Unlike those other times, though, I was with a woman that I loved this time.

A night never passed at Pat O’s without at least a dozen requests made by men caught in the throes of love for songs to be sung for their ladies.
 
Every now and then, someone actually got on the stage and sang to their significant other.

I debated as to whether I should do this tonight.

Women love that kind of thing, Adam.

But, I hate getting in front of crowds like that.

For god’s sake, get a pair of nuts, and impress the woman you love…

But I’m going to fuck it all up!

Maybe…but fucking it up isn’t going to matter when she is giving it to you in the sack tonight like you’ve never gotten it before in your life!

My final thought sealed it for me.
 
I was going to have to get some liquor in me, and quick, if I were going to do anything like that.

The crowd had thinned out quite a bit off the main thoroughfare of Bourbon.
 
We made our way easily to the large burnt-orange building with dark green shutters that housed
Pat’s.
 
The 19
th
century design never failed to stimulate my imagination, causing me to feel as if I were really in another time.
 
The French Quarter always felt like a completely different world.

“Adam?” Sara said, snapping me out of my daydream.

“Yes, beautiful lady?”

“
Hurrrricannnesss
….” She said, drawing out the name of the drink they were known for.

“
Mmmm
,” I agreed.
 
We pushed the large swinging green doors open and stepped through, hand-in-hand.

We walked down the brick corridor and showed our ID’s to the man at the doorway who quickly ushered us through.
 
Someone was talking over a microphone, and he was answered by a roomful of laughter.
 
I thought again about singing something to Sara in front of all those people, and my stomach rolled a couple of times.

“I love this place,” Sara said, throwing her arm around my waist and giving me a playful slap on the chest.

“Umm…Me, too,” I told her, praying that my nerves would settle.
 
I needed a drink.
 
Several drinks.

We went to the only open table, near the front of the room, and sat down.
 
We were within 10 feet of the stage, on which were two pianos, back-to-back, in front of mirrors that covered the entire wall behind them.
 
I glanced at the ceiling and the steins that dangled from hooks on every beam.
 
The crowd was in a great mood, and the two men at the pianos were
yukking
it up, working them.

“Okay, all-right.
 
This next little ditty that me and Bill…” the first one began.

“That’s Bill and I, Chuck,” Bill corrected him.

“This next little number that Bill and I are doing is dedicated to Ron.
 
You out there, Ron?”
 
As Chuck finished a roar went up from two large tables at the end of the room.
 
The tables were jammed full of couples, and Ron stood up, giving a little bow.
 
“Anyway, as I was saying…this one is for Ron.
 
Ron’s a native of Texas…hmm, don’t see any horns on you there, Ron, and we all know that only two things come from Texas…”

“STEERS AND QUEERS!” the crowd finished for him.
 
I flashed a quick smile at Sara, my Texas girl, who simply rolled her eyes.

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, but, yes…that is what I have heard, Ron.
 
To cut to the chase, Ron just got hitched, as they say back on the ranch.
 
And, this is a special little number we do just for guys like old Ron.
 
Guys who have decided to devote their lives to that special someone.
 
Hit it, Bill!”

The two broke into a quick-and-rowdy song about strapping on the old ball-and-chain.
 
Sara and I ordered Hurricanes from the waiter while we listened, and laughed as the two men poked fun at Ron.
 
I could hardly pay attention to the words as my own fears nagged at me.
 
Our drinks arrived before the song ended so I paid the waiter
and
ordered two more before he left, and began sucking mine down.

“Whoa!
 
Take it easy, big boy.
 
I don’t think I can carry
you
back to the hotel,” Sara said.

She didn’t know my intentions, and therefore, my need for a quick buzz.

We continued watching the show, and when I finished my third drink I excused myself for a restroom break.
 
I walked away, and seeing that Sara was raptly watching, and laughing, on cue with everyone else, shot over to the bar where I passed my request along to the man there.
 
Twenty bucks and a song title.
 
I waited a minute longer, watching Sara’s beautiful profile as she laughed.
 
Her face was reddening just a little in the cheeks from the alcohol, and my heart stopped in my chest.
 
I went back to the table.

“That was quick,” she commented, glancing at me, smiling.

“I’ve got a bladder like a little girl,” I told her.
 
“ I go every 10 minutes.
 
It’s horrible.”

We laughed and turned our attention to the stage again.
 
I watched, my stomach growing slightly queasy with nervousness, as the bartender sent my message with the waitress to the stage.
 
She spoke to Bill about it, and I saw them chuckle.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

But it was too late to stop.
 
No turning back now, Adam-boy.
 
Bill grabbed the microphone from atop his piano and looked around the room.
 
“Got a special request, ladies and gentleman.
 
Adam Fluke, where are you, man?”
h
e asked to the room, and I very briefly thought about grabbing Sara and running for the door.
 
I wished that, at the very least, I had gotten another drink.

“Adam?
 
Stand up!” Sara prodded me, smiling, unaware yet that I had brought this on myself for her.
 
I stood up, and I lifted the back of my hand to wipe the sheen of sweat forming over my brow.
 
I smiled at Bill, and around the room.

“COME ON DOWN!!!” Bill shouted into the microphone.
 
“Don’t be shy, love is in the air, and alcohol is in your blood.
 
Come tell your lady what you think of her!”
 
With that he began chanting “Adam! Adam!” and the crowd quickly joined in, Sara included.
 
I grinned sheepishly at her and started working through the few tables in front of us to get to the stage.
 
I tripped over the leg of a chair on my way and almost took a digger face-first.
 
A large man righted me and pushed me on my way, helping me avert disaster and more embarrassment.
 
I made it up the stairs without incident, and Bill was waiting with an extra mike, all for me.