a parade, barrel racing, a bunch of roping events — and then we’re at the motel.
“I think I’ll turn in,” he says. “I’m bushed. You?”
I hesitate.
“I heard all the cowboys are going to a bar to celebrate,” I say.
Bruce raises his eyebrows a fraction of an inch.
“I might go down and document a little,” I say. “Get some flavor for the article.”
“If you’re not too tired, it’s a good idea,” he says. “Oh, to be young again and able to stay up all night. Have a good time.”
* * *
I parallel park our small white rental car right in front of Betty’s Lounge, amazed at the sheer amount of street parking that’s available here.
I could park anywhere , in front of whatever store I want. I don’t even own a car in New York, but I’m familiar with the nightmare of trying to find a parking spot. In Kettle, Oklahoma, I’ve got my pick.
Bettty’s is a pretty standard bar, and everything about it screams regular America : the neon beer signs in the window, the men wearing jeans and baseball caps at the bar, the news on the TV over the bar. As soon as I walk in I hear a shout go up and look over to the right, where a group of cowboys are sitting around on some couches around tables and doing shots.
Jackson’s in the middle, and he puts the shot glass down on the table, shakes his head from side to side, and shouts, “Yeah!”
There’s already a girl next to him, wearing tiny cutoff shorts and a plaid shirt even in November, smiling up at him and laughing.
You’re here for flavor , I think. This is flavor .
I get a good grip on my camera and walk toward them.
8
Jackson
I ’ve only had three shots of tequila but I’m starting to get buzzed. They keep showing up and so I keep doing them, and I’ll probably keep going until they stop coming or I can’t do another one.
There’s a cute blonde on my left and a cute girl with golden-brown hair on my right, and every time I say something they both laugh, so that’s good. Betty’s is filling up, even though it’s still only nine-thirty.
I don’t think Mae’s gonna show up, and the disappointment chafes at me like a stiff tag in a new shirt, even though I try to ignore it. I shouldn’t have even invited her in the first place, so it serves me right.
Betty herself comes over. She’s in her forties, her hair just going gray, and she brings a pitcher of beer and a slew of pint glasses.
“On the house,” she says, setting it all on a table. “Y’all are good for business, you know.”
Raylan laughs.
“I’ll drink to that,” he says.
“I know you will,” Betty says, wiping her hands on her apron. “You’ll drink plenty to that.”
“Cheers,” Raylan says. He pours himself a beer, clinks it against the pitcher, and then drinks half of it.
“You ladies want some?” I ask the girls on my left and right.
“Sure!” says Left.
“I’d love some,” says Right.
I’m a gentleman, so I pour their drinks before I pour my own. Someone’s shouting something a couple feet away, and I hear the clink of shot glasses again. People hoot. Another girl comes and sits next to Raylan.
“All right,” I say loudly, holding up my glass. A few people stop talking and look at me, then hold up their own glasses. “Here’s to Oklahoma!”
It’s the first thing I thought of, but everyone cheers. We clink glasses and drink beers.
More shots show up. We drink to more things. The girl on my right gets replaced with another girl, or at least, I think she does. The new girl is a little more handsy, always touching me on the arm and shit.
Raylan gets Betty to put out the karaoke machine, and him and Clay go over and work on figuring it out until they’ve found the power switch, and then they argue over which Johnny Cash song they should sing first.
I head to the bathroom. When I come back, my seat’s still there, and I realize that Betty’s is wall-to-wall plaid and cowboy boots. It makes me smile, and I sit back down and
“I think I’ll turn in,” he says. “I’m bushed. You?”
I hesitate.
“I heard all the cowboys are going to a bar to celebrate,” I say.
Bruce raises his eyebrows a fraction of an inch.
“I might go down and document a little,” I say. “Get some flavor for the article.”
“If you’re not too tired, it’s a good idea,” he says. “Oh, to be young again and able to stay up all night. Have a good time.”
* * *
I parallel park our small white rental car right in front of Betty’s Lounge, amazed at the sheer amount of street parking that’s available here.
I could park anywhere , in front of whatever store I want. I don’t even own a car in New York, but I’m familiar with the nightmare of trying to find a parking spot. In Kettle, Oklahoma, I’ve got my pick.
Bettty’s is a pretty standard bar, and everything about it screams regular America : the neon beer signs in the window, the men wearing jeans and baseball caps at the bar, the news on the TV over the bar. As soon as I walk in I hear a shout go up and look over to the right, where a group of cowboys are sitting around on some couches around tables and doing shots.
Jackson’s in the middle, and he puts the shot glass down on the table, shakes his head from side to side, and shouts, “Yeah!”
There’s already a girl next to him, wearing tiny cutoff shorts and a plaid shirt even in November, smiling up at him and laughing.
You’re here for flavor , I think. This is flavor .
I get a good grip on my camera and walk toward them.
8
Jackson
I ’ve only had three shots of tequila but I’m starting to get buzzed. They keep showing up and so I keep doing them, and I’ll probably keep going until they stop coming or I can’t do another one.
There’s a cute blonde on my left and a cute girl with golden-brown hair on my right, and every time I say something they both laugh, so that’s good. Betty’s is filling up, even though it’s still only nine-thirty.
I don’t think Mae’s gonna show up, and the disappointment chafes at me like a stiff tag in a new shirt, even though I try to ignore it. I shouldn’t have even invited her in the first place, so it serves me right.
Betty herself comes over. She’s in her forties, her hair just going gray, and she brings a pitcher of beer and a slew of pint glasses.
“On the house,” she says, setting it all on a table. “Y’all are good for business, you know.”
Raylan laughs.
“I’ll drink to that,” he says.
“I know you will,” Betty says, wiping her hands on her apron. “You’ll drink plenty to that.”
“Cheers,” Raylan says. He pours himself a beer, clinks it against the pitcher, and then drinks half of it.
“You ladies want some?” I ask the girls on my left and right.
“Sure!” says Left.
“I’d love some,” says Right.
I’m a gentleman, so I pour their drinks before I pour my own. Someone’s shouting something a couple feet away, and I hear the clink of shot glasses again. People hoot. Another girl comes and sits next to Raylan.
“All right,” I say loudly, holding up my glass. A few people stop talking and look at me, then hold up their own glasses. “Here’s to Oklahoma!”
It’s the first thing I thought of, but everyone cheers. We clink glasses and drink beers.
More shots show up. We drink to more things. The girl on my right gets replaced with another girl, or at least, I think she does. The new girl is a little more handsy, always touching me on the arm and shit.
Raylan gets Betty to put out the karaoke machine, and him and Clay go over and work on figuring it out until they’ve found the power switch, and then they argue over which Johnny Cash song they should sing first.
I head to the bathroom. When I come back, my seat’s still there, and I realize that Betty’s is wall-to-wall plaid and cowboy boots. It makes me smile, and I sit back down and
Similar Books
