waitresses in the strip joints felt a competition with the dancers, and tried to really throw it out there under the customers' noses. Blathering and flirting, putting a hand on your arm, giving the plastic smile. Everybody going for the same lousy buck.
The need to sigh rose in his chest but he crushed it back down. She had a strong chin, a delicate cheek, and short brown hair that framed her heart-shaped face. A sudden jab of melancholy got him low, the way it always did when he realized he couldn't think sweet thoughts about girls like this anymore. They just made him into a dirty old man now, and he didn't know how it had happened.
"No, just a beer this time," he said.
"Charlie's on break," she told him, with a worried tone. It perked him up in his seat. She frowned in a little girl, brooding manner, and he thought anybody who made her pout like that should be buried under the cesspools of hell.
"Who's Charlie?"
"The bouncer. It looked like a calm night so he took off with his girlfriend for a little while." She caught her bottom lip between two teeth and worked it for a second. "They're making fun of him, aren't they? And he doesn't know it."
"He knows it," Vin told her. "Even his dog knows it."
"He sells magazines on the corner with another old guy."
"I know, I see him all the time."
"I hope there's no trouble."
She'd been handing Vin his drinks for two hours, but the sudden shift in mood somehow brought them together now, alerted them to one another's presence. She gave him a hard look, the kind that took in details besides your face.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"What do you mean?"
"This is a dive," she said. "Mostly for drunks and bachelor parties and dumb kids who don't have the money to go see real erotic dancers."
"You don't show much loyalty to your boss."
"This is a stop-gap. I just got out of school. Fashion design. Visual merchandising. The real job in the city with Truex & Balenciaga doesn't start until the end of the month."
"Seventh Avenue," Vin said. "Quite a step up from this neighborhood." He shrugged and, almost with an air of surrender, nodded. "My father used to drink here with his buddies, back in the day. We lived around the corner. I still do, five houses down from where I grew up. This wasn't a strip joint back then, just a local pub. Not choice by any stretch, but some class, at least for the locals. A couple of the Brooklyn golden gloves champs, Johnny Tormino and Jojo Lebowski , used to hang around here."
"I don't know who they are."
"No reason why you should. Just a couple of guys who had some great stories."
"Are you a boxer?" she asked. "You look in shape, like you could do some damage if you wanted to."
"For my age?"
"You're not that old."
It was true, but it almost never felt that way. He'd turned some kind of corner not long ago and hadn't been the same since. He was thirty-nine and hadn't gone too far to fat yet, and he could still quote Browning and Keats when the mood called for it, but that didn't happen anymore. Perhaps it never really had.
Another eruption of scarcely-contained malicious laughter, the kind of giggles the psychopaths on the ten o'clock news gave all the time. The blind man spoke quietly and they were still touching him, thumping his shoulder. Vin wanted to smash a bottle over somebody's face, but there still wasn't any visible reason for all the tension going through his guts. He wondered if he was starting to lose the nature of his character, the way his father had at about this age. Getting a little stupid, always sitting in the chair, silent and staring off. With almost no real identity at all at the end.
The jocks called her over and she went to take their orders. Vin locked up again. One kid put his hand on her hip, another pressed himself in close, showing off his teeth.
It always came down to this, the anger
The need to sigh rose in his chest but he crushed it back down. She had a strong chin, a delicate cheek, and short brown hair that framed her heart-shaped face. A sudden jab of melancholy got him low, the way it always did when he realized he couldn't think sweet thoughts about girls like this anymore. They just made him into a dirty old man now, and he didn't know how it had happened.
"No, just a beer this time," he said.
"Charlie's on break," she told him, with a worried tone. It perked him up in his seat. She frowned in a little girl, brooding manner, and he thought anybody who made her pout like that should be buried under the cesspools of hell.
"Who's Charlie?"
"The bouncer. It looked like a calm night so he took off with his girlfriend for a little while." She caught her bottom lip between two teeth and worked it for a second. "They're making fun of him, aren't they? And he doesn't know it."
"He knows it," Vin told her. "Even his dog knows it."
"He sells magazines on the corner with another old guy."
"I know, I see him all the time."
"I hope there's no trouble."
She'd been handing Vin his drinks for two hours, but the sudden shift in mood somehow brought them together now, alerted them to one another's presence. She gave him a hard look, the kind that took in details besides your face.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"What do you mean?"
"This is a dive," she said. "Mostly for drunks and bachelor parties and dumb kids who don't have the money to go see real erotic dancers."
"You don't show much loyalty to your boss."
"This is a stop-gap. I just got out of school. Fashion design. Visual merchandising. The real job in the city with Truex & Balenciaga doesn't start until the end of the month."
"Seventh Avenue," Vin said. "Quite a step up from this neighborhood." He shrugged and, almost with an air of surrender, nodded. "My father used to drink here with his buddies, back in the day. We lived around the corner. I still do, five houses down from where I grew up. This wasn't a strip joint back then, just a local pub. Not choice by any stretch, but some class, at least for the locals. A couple of the Brooklyn golden gloves champs, Johnny Tormino and Jojo Lebowski , used to hang around here."
"I don't know who they are."
"No reason why you should. Just a couple of guys who had some great stories."
"Are you a boxer?" she asked. "You look in shape, like you could do some damage if you wanted to."
"For my age?"
"You're not that old."
It was true, but it almost never felt that way. He'd turned some kind of corner not long ago and hadn't been the same since. He was thirty-nine and hadn't gone too far to fat yet, and he could still quote Browning and Keats when the mood called for it, but that didn't happen anymore. Perhaps it never really had.
Another eruption of scarcely-contained malicious laughter, the kind of giggles the psychopaths on the ten o'clock news gave all the time. The blind man spoke quietly and they were still touching him, thumping his shoulder. Vin wanted to smash a bottle over somebody's face, but there still wasn't any visible reason for all the tension going through his guts. He wondered if he was starting to lose the nature of his character, the way his father had at about this age. Getting a little stupid, always sitting in the chair, silent and staring off. With almost no real identity at all at the end.
The jocks called her over and she went to take their orders. Vin locked up again. One kid put his hand on her hip, another pressed himself in close, showing off his teeth.
It always came down to this, the anger
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