yawned and sat up.
“I’m going to be leaving for a little
while.”
“Work?”
“Not exactly.”
“Where are you going?”
“The Hideaway.”
Amy smiled awkwardly at her father. “That
shitty bar?”
“It's not shitty. You sure you’ll be all
right?”
“I’m fine. Go ahead,” Amy said. “I’ll
probably be going to bed soon anyway.”
Isaac leaned over and kissed his daughter on
the forehead.
2
The neon sign lit the shadowy parking lot
with bright streaks of silver and gold.
THE HIDEAWAY, it read.
Signature beer signs glowed red, blue, and
green through the large dark tinted front windows. A couple of
Harley’s sat lonely in the motorcycle spaces near the front door.
On a Friday night, the entire lot could easily be filled with
twenty or more hogs, half classics, newly polished for the big
night of show and tell.
Oh, darn, Isaac thought. Tonight he
might not get to witness any wasted wives sing karaoke and shake
their fat asses while their badly tattooed leather jacket wearing
husbands holler obscenities like take it off Margie. Take it all off!
He parked the Charger in the center space, a
few spaces over from the Harley’s, and then walked into the bar. He
took a seat on a black bar stool and waited for Charlie, the owner
and bartender, to finish wiping down some spilt beer on the other
side of the counter.
When he noticed Isaac sitting at the bar,
Charlie immediately dropped the wet rag and headed over.
“Isaac,” he said, surprised. “I haven’t seen
you in a while. What you been up to?”
He reached his hand out and Isaac firmly
shook it.
“Same old.”
“You still putting people behind bars?”
Isaac nodded.
“Wow, how many years has it been now?”
“Too many.”
Isaac shuttered to think of the actual
number. Too many would suffice.
“So, how’s business?”
“The usual. Friday and Saturday nights we
pull a good number of people in here, but the rest of the week I’d
say we make moderate business. As you can see, Tuesday night isn’t
one of our strongest.”
Isaac swiveled in his stool and peered
around the rest of the bar. Other than a few scattered alcoholics
passed out on tables and two couples playing pool nearby, the bar
was a graveyard.
“Can I get you a beer?"
“Do dogs have smelly farts?”
"Well, yeah." Charlie filled the glass beer
mug until the white suds dripped over the top, and then pushed it
across the counter to Isaac.
Right as Isaac looked up at the Budweiser
clock on the back wall and thought how every bar in the world has
one of those, the hanging bell chimed and Simmons strolled through
the door. He sat down next to Isaac at the bar and ordered an ice
water.
“You sure?” Charlie asked.
Simmons nodded.
“Whatever you say.” Charlie scooped up the
ice and filled the glass with water. He pushed it in front of
Simmons and went back to wiping down the counter.
“Do you come here often?” Simmons asked.
Isaac waited a moment, nearly choking on his
beer, and then burst out laughing.
Simmons smiled. “What’s so funny?”
Isaac tried to catch his breath. His face
turned red as he coughed.
“Do I come here often? Are you trying to
pick me up?”
“What?”
“Cause if you are it’s not gonna work.”
Isaac took a deep breath and wiped some beer away from his mouth
with his hand. “Nothing personal, but you’re really not my
type.”
“Huh,” said Simmons, wearing the ridiculous
Kermit the Frog grin across his face. “I don’t get it.”
“Never mind. And no, I don’t come here that
often. But I did for many years after Linda died.”
“Linda was your wife?”
Isaac immediately stopped laughing, took
another long sip of beer, and stared into the large mirror spread
across the back wall of the bar.
“Yes,” he finally said. “She was my
wife.”
“When did she die?”
“Sixteen years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” said Simmons. “I didn’t know.
How did she die?”
Isaac guzzled the last half of his
“I’m going to be leaving for a little
while.”
“Work?”
“Not exactly.”
“Where are you going?”
“The Hideaway.”
Amy smiled awkwardly at her father. “That
shitty bar?”
“It's not shitty. You sure you’ll be all
right?”
“I’m fine. Go ahead,” Amy said. “I’ll
probably be going to bed soon anyway.”
Isaac leaned over and kissed his daughter on
the forehead.
2
The neon sign lit the shadowy parking lot
with bright streaks of silver and gold.
THE HIDEAWAY, it read.
Signature beer signs glowed red, blue, and
green through the large dark tinted front windows. A couple of
Harley’s sat lonely in the motorcycle spaces near the front door.
On a Friday night, the entire lot could easily be filled with
twenty or more hogs, half classics, newly polished for the big
night of show and tell.
Oh, darn, Isaac thought. Tonight he
might not get to witness any wasted wives sing karaoke and shake
their fat asses while their badly tattooed leather jacket wearing
husbands holler obscenities like take it off Margie. Take it all off!
He parked the Charger in the center space, a
few spaces over from the Harley’s, and then walked into the bar. He
took a seat on a black bar stool and waited for Charlie, the owner
and bartender, to finish wiping down some spilt beer on the other
side of the counter.
When he noticed Isaac sitting at the bar,
Charlie immediately dropped the wet rag and headed over.
“Isaac,” he said, surprised. “I haven’t seen
you in a while. What you been up to?”
He reached his hand out and Isaac firmly
shook it.
“Same old.”
“You still putting people behind bars?”
Isaac nodded.
“Wow, how many years has it been now?”
“Too many.”
Isaac shuttered to think of the actual
number. Too many would suffice.
“So, how’s business?”
“The usual. Friday and Saturday nights we
pull a good number of people in here, but the rest of the week I’d
say we make moderate business. As you can see, Tuesday night isn’t
one of our strongest.”
Isaac swiveled in his stool and peered
around the rest of the bar. Other than a few scattered alcoholics
passed out on tables and two couples playing pool nearby, the bar
was a graveyard.
“Can I get you a beer?"
“Do dogs have smelly farts?”
"Well, yeah." Charlie filled the glass beer
mug until the white suds dripped over the top, and then pushed it
across the counter to Isaac.
Right as Isaac looked up at the Budweiser
clock on the back wall and thought how every bar in the world has
one of those, the hanging bell chimed and Simmons strolled through
the door. He sat down next to Isaac at the bar and ordered an ice
water.
“You sure?” Charlie asked.
Simmons nodded.
“Whatever you say.” Charlie scooped up the
ice and filled the glass with water. He pushed it in front of
Simmons and went back to wiping down the counter.
“Do you come here often?” Simmons asked.
Isaac waited a moment, nearly choking on his
beer, and then burst out laughing.
Simmons smiled. “What’s so funny?”
Isaac tried to catch his breath. His face
turned red as he coughed.
“Do I come here often? Are you trying to
pick me up?”
“What?”
“Cause if you are it’s not gonna work.”
Isaac took a deep breath and wiped some beer away from his mouth
with his hand. “Nothing personal, but you’re really not my
type.”
“Huh,” said Simmons, wearing the ridiculous
Kermit the Frog grin across his face. “I don’t get it.”
“Never mind. And no, I don’t come here that
often. But I did for many years after Linda died.”
“Linda was your wife?”
Isaac immediately stopped laughing, took
another long sip of beer, and stared into the large mirror spread
across the back wall of the bar.
“Yes,” he finally said. “She was my
wife.”
“When did she die?”
“Sixteen years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” said Simmons. “I didn’t know.
How did she die?”
Isaac guzzled the last half of his
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