My Give a Damn's Busted (8 page)

“From Tennessee?” Hank asked.

“If her flight takes her through Nashville. Why are you so interested in where I came from anyway? It’s not important.”

“I like you and I’m just making conversation,” he said.

Hank felt like he was butting his head against a brick wall. His intentions were to glean information about the bartender, but the more he dug the less he knew, and the more he was around her the more he liked her. And he had absolutely no right to like her or lead her on.

It hadn’t taken ten minutes in the beer joint that first night for the customers to bring up the fact that a man by the last name of Radner was trying to buy up the town and that Larissa wasn’t selling. They said the last owner had turned down a million and a half for the old beer joint and Larissa was even more stubborn. Add that to the day when he’d been sitting on her porch and the icing was on the cake; Larissa wouldn’t sell her beer joint until angels opened a brothel in a holiness church.

Why?
Hank wondered as he sipped the beer and watched Larissa go from customer to customer, filling jars, packing buckets, and making blenders full of mixed drinks. She’d said it was because she had found a home. Why didn’t she have a home before and why wasn’t there a scrap of intel on her? Was she in the witness protection program? Was that why she wouldn’t even think about selling her beer joint? It made more sense than anything else. She’d witnessed something back in Tennessee and Mingus, Texas, was the perfect place to hide. Now she’d inherited the Honky Tonk and it wasn’t that she wouldn’t sell out but rather that she couldn’t.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but could I talk to you after closing time?” the lady asked Larissa when she reached the part of the bar where she waited.

“Who are you?” Larissa asked in a tone so cold that it would have frozen the hair from the devil’s ears. The woman wasn’t a day over twenty, had red hair cut in a short, over-the-ears, no-nonsense style, and green eyes. She wore a denim miniskirt, a hot pink tank top stretched over boobs that were bigger than her hips, and cowboy boots with sharp toes and a walking heel.

“Sharlene Waverly,” she answered.

“Did Hayes Radner send you in here?” Larissa asked.

Hank was two stools down and leaned forward to listen when he heard the Radner name. The ice in Larissa’s voice could have brought on a snowstorm right there in the middle of July.

“No, but I know who he is by reputation,” Sharlene said. “He’s from Dallas and richer than Midas.”

Hank leaned back but strained to catch every word.

Sharlene went on, “I know that he’s trying to buy all the land in Mingus for an amusement park, that you have a town meeting scheduled, and it’s looking like Mr. Radner is going to hit a brick wall. I might incorporate that into my story, but it’s not the headline. I work for the
Dallas Morning News
and I want to do a feature on the Honky Tonk. The headline will be
Party and Pick Out a Part’ner
.”

Larissa frowned. “What?”

“You are the fourth person to own the Honky Tonk. Ruby Lee gave it to Daisy and it took a while but she found her soul mate right here in the beer joint. Then she gave it to Cathy who also found love here. I want to follow your life for a few months and see if you are the third. Plus there’s the Walker triplets, Angel and Garrett, and numerous others who’ve met and fallen in love in this place. Is it blessed?” Sharlene asked.

“More like cursed,” Larissa chuckled.

“Whatever it is, I’d like to shadow you for a while. Would that be possible?” Sharlene asked.

Larissa thought about it a few seconds before saying, “You know how to pull a handle and fill up a Mason jar with beer?”

“No, but I could learn.”

“How often are you going to shadow me?”

“Until I get the story. I’m working on my own on this one trying to show the boss I’ve got enough initiative to work my way out of obits. I get off work on Friday at five. I could work Friday and Saturday nights,” Sharlene offered.

“It’s going to be a dud,” Larissa said.

“A what?”

“You ever light firecrackers on the Fourth of July?”

Sharlene nodded.

“Ever light one that just fizzed and died?”

She nodded again.

“That’s a dud. You can shadow me and help behind the bar but you won’t get a story. Hayes Radner can buy the whole damn state of Texas but he’s not getting my beer joint. Put that in your article and tell him to take the day-old newspaper to the outhouse and wipe his ass with it,” Larissa said.

“When do I start?” Sharlene asked.

“Right now. Come on back here and get a handle in your hands.”

Hank tipped up his beer and drank deeply. When he set it down Larissa was in front of him. It was beginning to look like nothing could shake that woman out of Mingus or the Honky Tonk, but he didn’t give up easily. There just might be a way if he dug hard enough and long enough.

“Another one?” she asked.

“No, I think I’ll have a Grey Goose martini,” he said.

“Never pictured you for a martini man,” she said.

“It’s my mixed drink of choice. You were pretty vocal about Hayes Radner. Ever seen him?”

“No I have not, but I’m sending one of our fliers for our town meeting to his Dallas business address with a note to come out and show his face or stop pestering us. He’s the biggest sissy I’ve ever heard about. I bet he doesn’t even have a set. Anyone with balls would come in here and talk to me in person. We’d just love to have him attend the meeting and figure out once and for all that he’s not buying Mingus for a damned amusement park,” she said.

“Well, I think I’ll go on home and get a good night’s sleep. We’ll be starting to paint your house bright and early, right?” Hank said.

The smile on Larissa’s face was warm and sweet, erasing the bitter expression that she’d had when she spoke about Hayes Radner. “If you knock on my door before eleven o’clock I’ll shoot you. I don’t go home until two thirty and I’m not pleasant without eight hours of sleep. So come between eleven and noon and we’ll work all afternoon. Kind of like the hay baling hours.”

“But I kept working half the night after you left,” he said.

“And I’ll keep working until two in the morning after you leave.”

“Fair is fair. I’ll be there between eleven and noon.” He waved. Whew! She did get riled easy when Hayes Radner’s name came up. He wondered what she’d do if old Hayes walked into that meeting with a briefcase full of real money. Would the sight of that many hundred dollar bills make her backpedal all the way to the bank?

She watched him until the door closed behind him. They’d worked every day for a week in the hay fields and there’d been a couple of near-miss kisses, but every time there was a split second hesitation. As if he wasn’t sure he wanted to open Pandora’s Box again, which made Larissa even more wary. She could never remember being so attracted to a man and so afraid to wade right into the water to see how deep it really was.

Sharlene set four pints on a tray. “Is that the one?”

“One what?”

“The lucky cowboy who gets to take you out of the Honky Tonk?”

“I told you that your article is going to be a dud. I’m getting free work and you are going to get nothing. Hank is my friend. I helped him haul hay. He’s going to help me paint my house. He is a sexy thing but that much heat would burn out in a hurry. He’s not for me.” Larissa laughed. “So are you married, attached to a significant other, or what’s your story?”

“None of the above. I’m just a hardworking girl from Corn, Oklahoma, who’d love to carve out a place at the
Dallas Morning News
with an office and a view,” she answered.

“And you think the Honky Tonk is going to give you that kind of edge?” Larissa asked.

“Never know. It’s worth a try. Women buy magazines with articles on how to find their soul mate. Why shouldn’t they pin my article on their refrigerator door and then rush to the Honky Tonk every night? It’s easier than some of those things I see in magazines and it’ll stir up some business.”

Larissa refilled the peanuts and pretzel bowls. “I’m full to capacity several nights a week already. I’m not sure I want to stir up any more business.”

“That song that’s playin’ is the story of my life,” Sharlene said.

“How’s that?” Larissa asked.

“Jason Boland is true country. Not any of this bubblegum rock mixed up in alternative country. Listen to what he’s singing about. Cheap bourbon whiskey and pearl snap shirts are the things that stay the same. That’s me. I’m as pure country as Strait, Jones, and Williams,” she said.

“Then what in the hell are you doing in the newspaper business? Girl, you should be workin’ behind the bar all the time. You want a full-time job?” Larissa said.

“Maybe someday but right now I got this hankering to write. Always wanted to do romance novels but that’s even harder to break into than newspaper. Here they come. Three line dances and they’re thirsty. Get ready,” she said.

Larissa made drinks by the pitchers and singles and Sharlene worked the beer end of the bar. Shadowing her for a story might not be so bad if Sharlene was really willing to work her two busiest nights. But by closing she might decide that shadowing a bartender was even harder work than writing an article about an old beer joint and go on to her next idea for a story that would put her in a corner office with a view.

“Hey, hey, who you got workin’ for you?” Amos claimed a bar stool between two of his biker friends. They were all harmless folks in spite of their tats and pierced skin. For the most part they’d been professional white-collar workers and their only rebel streak was riding Harleys and blowing off a little steam on the weekends.

The previous fall Amos had put an office trailer behind the Honky Tonk with twenty travel trailer hookups back behind that. He moved the trailer at the beginning of the summer, putting the office in a renovated house not far from the post office and city hall. Larissa had leased the acres that the trailer hookups were on and rented them out to travelers and truck drivers.

“Get ready for some serious business, Sharlene. Trouble just arrived and his name is Amos. This is Sharlene, my new weekend help who thinks she’s going to find a story by working for me.” She smiled at the three bikers in their black leather ’do rags and vests. “What’re you boys drinkin’ tonight?”

“I want a Coors in a bottle and what are you talking about, a story?” Amos asked.

“Momma wants one of them fancy martinis you make and I need a bucket of Miller,” Will said.

“And my table wants two buckets of Bud,” Barron said. “Who’d you say your new help is?”

“I got the martini. Buckets are under the counter there. Six to a bucket. Two scoops of ice,” Larissa told Sharlene. “And guys, her name is Sharlene Waverly and she’s a reporter from the
Dallas Morning News
. Remember, everything you say can and will be printed for your wives and girlfriends to see.”

Amos chuckled. “I see. She’s going to write a story about the Honky Tonk now that it’s getting to be a popular place. So where’s the midnight cowboy who’s been hangin’ around the past couple of weeks?”

“Pleased to meet all y’all. The cowboy has gone home. I asked if he was the lucky one that she’d leave the Honky Tonk over and she says not.” Sharlene talked as she worked.

“I’ve heard that story before,” Amos said.

“Want to talk about it?” Sharlene asked.

“Oh, no, you’re not getting me to tell tales that might end up in print.” Amos picked up his beer and carried it to the pool tables to watch a game between Merle and Julio.

“This your first time to bartend?” Barron asked Sharlene.

“It sure is.”

Larissa spun around. “You are twenty-one, aren’t you?”

“Twenty-five last birthday, July 21, two days ago.”

Larissa set a martini on the bar. “What have you been doing the last seven years since you got out of high school?”

“Joined the army and that lasted four years. Did two stints in Iraq, came home, and went to college. Got enough of that in two years so I stopped when I had the associate’s degree and went to work. Did some bookkeeping, a little of this and a little of that. Past six months I’ve been writing obits and doing whatever grunt work no one else wants to do.”

“How’d you hear about the Honky Tonk?” Will asked.

“Some friends in the office came over here to party and told me all about it and the magic spell it weaves on lovers. Get ready for the rush again, Larissa. They’ve danced through four fast ones and they’re spittin’ dust.”

“You got the lingo down pretty good. You sure you haven’t worked in a bar?” Larissa asked.

“No, ma’am, but I got to admit I’m already in love with it,” Sharlene said.

“Tell me that at two in the mornin’ when your feet are dead tired.”

The customers had thinned out by quitting time to half a dozen diehards. Luther unplugged the jukebox and told them the place was closing in five minutes. They didn’t even grumble as they dragged their tired feet out the door. He set his red and white cooler on the bar, tossed four Dr Pepper cans into the trash, and put the two full ones back in the refrigerator for the next night.

“Busy night when I can’t polish off a six-pack,” he said as he reached behind the cash register and picked up his check.

“I’m Sharlene. Who are you?” She wiped down the bar one final time.

“Luther. Did Rissa hire you?”

“On weekends so I can watch her. I’m a newspaper person who’s trying to break into the lifestyle section.”

Luther chuckled and shook his head. “See you tomorrow night, Rissa.”

“Be safe.” She waved.

“Clean up?” Sharlene asked.

“Not tonight. It’ll wait until an hour before opening tomorrow night.”

“Where’s the nearest and cheapest motel? I’m not driving all the way back to Dallas tonight as tired as I am.”

Larissa was a pretty damned good judge of character and Sharlene hadn’t sent off her “bullshit” radar one time that night. “I’ll make a deal with you. Through that door is an apartment that the bartender slash owner always lived in. When Cathy moved she took the bedroom furniture with her. She did leave the living room and kitchen intact as well as towels in the bathroom in case I ever wanted to crash there. Sofa makes out into a bed. You clean up the place tomorrow in time for opening and you can sleep there. Long as you work for me on Friday and Saturday nights you can have the place for the cleanup.”

“It’s a deal,” Sharlene said.

“Get a beer and we’ll prop our feet up for a few minutes. Cathy taught me that back when I first worked for her.”

Sharlene drew up a pint jar of Coors Light and carried it to a table where she pulled out a chair and propped her boots on it just like Larissa had done. “Ah! Lord, that tastes good.”

“You like beer?”

“Yes, ma’am, and I’m the one spittin’ dust right now.” Sharlene tipped up the jar and took a long drink.

“How’d you end up in the army?”

“I grew up in a little bitty town in Mennonite country up in Oklahoma. Corn’s not much bigger than Mingus. Five kids and our parents lived in a two-bedroom house out in the country. I had four older brothers. It was get mean or get whupped. I got mean and didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life so when I graduated I joined up. Do I need a key to get into that apartment?”

“No, but come mornin’ you might want to make a trip down to Stephenville to stock the refrigerator if you’re going to spend a couple of days a week back there,” Larissa said.

“I’m going to get my bag and call it a night then. I could sleep standing up in a broom closet right now,” Sharlene said.

“See you at eight tomorrow evening,” Larissa said.

“You always this trusting? I could take everything in that cash register plus a trunk full of high-dollar liquor.”