“Please,” I say, and my stomach grumbles a reply too.
“Sure thing. My name’s Dixie. Holler if you need me.” She sets the menu down and places the pint of beer in front of me. My mouth waters. I know what I’m doing is wrong, but I’ve had a hell of a time, and you know what? If men and women can vote at eighteen, smoke at eighteen, go to war at eighteen, then I’m going to have a fucking beer.
Rules can damn themselves to hell. I was never good at following them anyway.
The beer is ice cold when I wrap my hand around the frosted glass. I bring it to my lips and guzzle it down, almost weeping with how good it tastes and how refreshing it is.
“Damn, darlin’. Slow down, I have more.” Dixie chuckles.
“Sorry, so thirsty. I know I should drink water, but—”
“Honey, you take a hit like that, you deserve a goddamn beer. How about an order of fried pickles, on the house, while you look at the menu?”
I wipe the foam mustache at the top of my mouth and the pint glass thuds against the aged countertop. Tears prickle my eyes from her kindness. It’s been so long since someone has gone out of their way for me, it’s hard to think kindness still exists.
“If it doesn’t put you out… I’d hate to inconvenience you.”
She waves a hand at me and scoffs, “Darlin’, you’re the first in a long while I’ve gotten to help. It ain’t no thing,” she says. “I’ll go put in that order. You go ahead and see what you want.”
I pick up the menu and beam a smile at her. As I’m reading, I can’t decide what I want. It all sounds good, but I think I’m going to go with the Rock Jollies burger. It’s a half-pound of angus beef with everything on it. I love food slopped through the kitchen sink. I love it all.
When she comes back, she has an order of fried pickles and sets them down in front of me. There’s a side of ranch dipping sauce, and the pickles are still sizzling from the fryer. “Here you go, honey.”
“Thank you,” I tell her. I pluck one off the plate and roll it around in my mouth because it’s too hot. I don’t care. I’m too hungry to give a damn.
Her smiles fades when her eyes land on the door. Her red lips squeeze together in discontent. There’s a few hard pounds of boots behind me, and whoever it is, she’s watching them like a hawk.
“Darryl, Hank, Bobby, I told you lot you ain’t welcome here no more.” She throws her hands on her hips and stares them down.
I pop another pickle in my mouth and turn around to see what the fuss is about. Three men, and all of them look like they’ve had a rough day on the farm with their dirty jeans and sweaty faces.
“Aw, come on, Dixie. Don’t be like that. We ain’t going to wreck another table. You know you got the best booze in town.”
“It ain’t just the table that got wrecked, Darryl. Get out before I call the sheriff.” She points to the door.
Damn, why is it wherever I go, there is drama?
“Who’s this, Dixie?” The one who calls himself Darryl takes a seat next to me, giving me a flirtatious grin. “She’s pretty.”
“She’s my cousin, and you ain’t allowed to touch her.”
That takes me by surprise, but I know how to go along with a lie.
“She’s from out of town. She stopped to say hello on her way to Vegas. Ain’t that right, Crystal?”
“Yeah, Dixie. I’ve missed you so much. Sorry, I can’t stay longer.”
“It’s okay. Maybe next time. You all ain’t to put your fucking hands on her; do you understand me?”
Darryl stands up from the stool and invades my space, his shirt brushing against my cheek as he lingers. He reeks of sweat.
“Your cousin looks like she’s been through hell.”
“She has, and she doesn’t need a repeat. So you three get on,” she seethes, pointing her finger toward the door again.
“I’ll be seein’ you around, doll face,” Darryl whispers in my ear, sending goose bumps along my skin.
The other two men laugh, and Darryl doesn’t leave without saying the last word to Dixie, “That’s alright. Plenty other bars around here that will take my money.”
“Idiots they are,” Dixie shouts to them as they stroll out the door.
I pop another pickle in my mouth and swallow it down with some beer. “They seem nice.”
“Nice as a damn deadly scorpion. Listen, sweetie, I don’t know how long you’re here for, and I don’t know what brought you to this town, but you need to be careful. Girls like you don’t show up here and just leave.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Girls like me always leave, Dixie.” I point to the plate I want on the menu and grin. “I’ll take the Rock Jollies burger.”
“You got it.”
A about a half-hour later, I’m full off two-beers, pickles, and a burger and fries. I get myself a to-go cup of Coke and give Dixie a good tip. “Thanks, Dixie. Best burger I’ve had.”
“Anytime! Stay safe, you hear me?” She bites her lip and then takes a pen from the brush of her hair. “Here, this is my number. Whatever fucked up shit you get into, call me. I’ll help.”
“Why?” I stare at the piece of paper in my hand, perplexed.
“Us girls got to stick together.”
“Thanks, Dixie.” I stuff the number in my back pocket and head out the door, sipping on my Coke just as a Kansas song comes on. I give her one last wave and vanish down the sidewalk in search of the nearest hotel.
All the buildings look alike, and the horses are fewer as the day gets later. No one seems to be giving me strange looks anymore since I’m carrying a ‘Rock Jollies’ cup.
Doesn’t take long to find the hotel. There’s a small inn at the end of the street, and it looks more like an odd saloon than a place to lay my head. There’s no way this town is real. It’s out of a movie or something. I have to be getting pranked.
I head through the door and see an old man with a mustache that curls up on each side standing behind the counter in a white shirt, black vest, with a watch hanging from his pocket. I’ve entered a time warp.
“Well, hi there, little lady. What can I do ya for?”
Oh, wow. His happy attitude is too much for me to handle.
I want to punch happy people. Sometimes.
“Just a room for the night if you have it?” I ask.
“Sure thing.”
I give him my fake I.D. and forty bucks for a room with a twin-size bed. He places the key in my hand, and it’s an actual key—iron-made and heavy, more like a prison key than a room key.
“Up the stairs, first door on your right, sweetie. Have a good night.” He smiles, twisting the curled mustache up even further.
I muster up the best fake grin I can, but I know it makes me look confused. “Thanks.” I head up the wooden steps, putting as much distance as I can between me and the world outside. The stairs are covered in old red velvet, something classier than I imagined, and lamps are on each side of the wall, ignited by a candle.
I’m not in the future anymore. I’m living in the past.
Sliding the key into the lock, I inspect it and then decide it’s safe to go inside. The silver door handle jiggles as I turn the key. I step into the room and search for the light. When I feel it, I flip the switch and a simple clean room greets me. The floors are wooden, the bed is small with a red comforter, and a dresser sits in the corner with a mirror above it. To the left, there’s the bathroom. Shower, toilet, and sink; nothing special.