Читать книгу The Lonely Hearts Bar - Конни Гранма - Страница 2

I remember that day, sitting endlessly on the hood of my car with a map of the States, I thought about all sorts of things. About what’s out there on the mysterious, invisible far side of the moon, about how often our planet is swallowed by black holes, about why there are such empty and lonely places like this one and… where I’m supposed to go next to get out of this godforsaken place.

Tumbleweeds, wind and sand, the bright blazing sun… and, just like in a Western movie, that traditional saloon. It looked like one of those haunted houses from a scary movie. But the empty water bottle in my backpack overcame my fear of going in.

An old man in a cap swept up bits of broken bottles. Beyond him, an empty dance floor, a tall Indian vase and a broken piece of wood that resembled a pole. A man sleeping at the bar. The barman was serving beer and an assortment of crap to the rest. Suddenly I felt the acute sensation that my turn had come, that now I too had experienced déjà-vu. Some people drink to blur their minds, others to fall over and not get up again. Everyone’s dealing with something that no one else can understand, I thought, and sat down at the cleanest-looking place, right next to the sleeping guy.

«What’ll it be?» asked the barman.

«Ice water.»

«You better look fer fancy stuff like that somewhere else, little lady. There’s only beer, whiskey, rum, gin…» he listed in a bass voice, rubbing glasses with an orange rag.

«Shit in a glass,» abruptly grumbled the guy who turned out not be passed out all, and cracked his knuckles without raising his head.

«Um… what about… lemonade?» I inquired.

«Fer someone like you, who can’t stand a good honest drink, I’ll make an exception this time and git you yer lemonade.»

With a slightly crazy look in his eyes, he left. If you’d seen it, you’d also feel the spiritual emptiness, the pain of all these people. Strangely, at the time I sensed that I knew every single person in the room. God, is that it? The far side of the moon?

As I mused, the barman reappeared with a tall glass of sparkling liquid.

«Thanks,» I said, taking a closer look at my new friend.

He was a stout, short man with a tattooed, beefy neck that read «Sofia.» He had a tired gaze, but his mind must’ve been in fine form, bringing me warm lemonade in that heat.

The barman walked over to Sleeping Beauty.

«Hey! You need to git goin’, son.»

«Heard’dat, kiddo?» A man sitting on the other side shoved his neighbor, who promptly rolled over onto the squeaky wood floor.

I shuddered and slowly turned around. Sleeping Beauty turned out to be a young guy who looked only slightly older than me. But his eyes… they were like some poor old man’s: surly and resentful.

With a resigned expression, as if this were a daily ritual, the barman splashed murky tap water in his face.

«Son, you gotta go on home now.»

«Ugh…» The young guy pushed away the barmen’s extended hand.

He finally lifted his head and sized up everyone around him, his brows furrowed. When his gaze fell on me, I slowly resumed my original pose and continued to sip my lemonade. He dusted himself off and left, the batwing doors swinging wildly behind him. It seemed I’d somehow ended up in old-school America, in the Wild West. For a second I almost looked around for John Wayne!

«Who knows what brings these young punks in here…» muttered the barman and resumed his work behind the bar, rubbing glasses.

«Sorry…sir,» I looked up at him, «who was that?»

«David Ogden. Poor kid!» The barman sighed heavily. «His mother left him on his birthday. When he turned sixteen, again rat on his birthday, he ran away from his foster family with a friend. No idea where ‘r how he’s livin’ now. Comes in here at nat, as he says, to give’is liver sum’m to do.» He chuckled. «He’s not a bad kid, just always got the shit end of the stick.»

He put away the glasses, leaned heavily on the bar, and said sardonically:

«They all got hearts a’ gold, don’t they?»

«How old is he?» I pressed on.

«No clue. But you can believe me: he’s one helluva lot wiser than he seems, no matter how much he likes a good drink or whatever drugs they’re doin’ nowadays. Who knows what he’s up to; could be anything these days. If you ask me, he looks like he’s hittin’ sixty-five.»

I drank a little lemonade, paid the bill, thanked him and headed to my car, which clearly had decided to take a time-out.

«Come on! Go!»

Just at that moment, the barmen came out with several trash bags.

«What’s the matter?» he shouted from a distance, «did the old clanker finally kick the bucket?»

«Sorry?»

«Yer car.» He shuffled slowly, limping, over to me.

«It won’t start.»

«Let’s have a look at ‘er.»

The barman peered under the hood, tightened and tapped a few things and finally said:

«That’s it.»

«Wow, thank you!» I exclaimed.

«– it’s dead,» he finished.

«What do you mean, dead?»

«Dead as a doornail. Kaput. Fi-neeto.»

«Is the city far?»

«’Bout 700 miles.»

«What about the nearest hotel?»

«Yer lookin’ at it.»

«I’m looking at you, sir.»

«Not at me, honey, at mah bar. There’s rooms upstairs.»

«And how much do you charge per night?»

«Dependin’ on how long you stay. Meantime I’ll git our handyman over to have a look.»

I returned to the bar and asked for the key to a room from a youngish woman in a blindingly scarlet dress. She had beautiful hands, her fingernails painted purple.

«Room 14’s fray,» she said in a gravelly, unhealthy voice and smoked continuously, staring at a little, soundless black-and-white TV.

I was apparently the first human to have set foot in this room, and the mattress appeared to be home to a family of mice. Well, it wasn’t going to be lonely!

I stepped into the bathroom and immediately lurched backwards, slamming the door and jumping up and down uncontrollably: my greatest fear – spiders – hung in the corners. It looked like the easy chair was my best bet…until morning.

The bar was open 24–7; there were twice as many people at 1am. Where in this godforsaken place did they come from?

«’Nuther lemonade, honey?» the barman raised his voice over the din, softening it with a barely detectable smile.

«Yeah, if that’s okay.»

«How I do know if it’s okay fer you or not? I’m not yer doctor.»

«Okay, okay. Just a lemonade, please, and, if it’s o – I mean, can I get a cold one, like, with ice?»

«Only way they come!» he chuckled.

Once again, I got a «cold» lemonade.

«Sorry sir, but can I get some ice?»

«Sure thing, comin’ right up!»

I dropped four ice cubes into the glass and began thinking about the car and how I was going to get to Los Angeles. A sudden fear gripped me that I’d get into some kind of trouble on the way.

«Nick, whiskey!» shouted David Ogden next to me.

«Yer killin’ yerself, son.»

«Already did, so come on you old geezer, get that whiskey over here. That’s what I pay you for. Need me to do a striptease on top of that?»

«Mi casa es su casa. Do whatever you want.»

David yawned and looked at me.

«There are ladies present. I’ll do one for you next time. Thanks, you old bastard,» he added when he finally got his glass.

He rolled up the sleeves of his frayed sweatshirt and looked at me again.

«Sorry ‘bout that.»

I was silent; I hadn’t heard him and was staring at the wooden carving of a Native American Indian girl by the bar.

«Hmmmm… ‘scuse me?»

David waited for a moment.

«Girl, are you deaf?» he shouted in my ear.

«Oh! Sorry?»

«What were you thinking about?»

«Um… stuff.»

«’Bout your boyfriend?»

«No.»

«Really? You’re not even thinking about all that stupid romantic shit and your, like, dates together?

«I don’t have a boyfriend.»

David Ogden’s look expressed surprise. He yawned again and looked at me. That is, at my hands, which firmly held my glass of lemonade.

«You have funny fingers.»

«Why do you say that?» I asked, my face lighting up with a smile.

«They’re like a child’s! Do you play the piano?»

«Yep.»

«Ha! Knew it!»

He went back to his whiskey and, several minutes later, exclaimed:

«Seriously?»

«Seriously… what?»

«You don’t have a boyfriend?»

«Do you think I’d lie?» I grumbled, studying the dancing bubbles in the liquid behind the clear glass.

«Hm. No shit! So how old are you?»

«What would you say?»

«Sixty-five.» He smiled the stupid smile of a drunk macho man. «You’re not offended or anything, are you?»

«No, not at all!»

«Well, that’s good. These days, seems like everyone I meet is humorless.»

«Somehow I’m not surprised.»

David lowered his head onto the bar and closed his eyes. I looked sideways at him, and the thought that a hole in his sweatshirt reminded me of a quasar made me smile. However, in five minutes he screamed at the top of his lungs:

«TWENTY!» and slammed his glass down on the table.

«David, please trah to pull yerself together,» Nick whispered.

«You’re twenty! Right?» he went on, ignoring Nick and my own fit of coughing.

«M-hm.» I nodded.

«What do you mean ‘m-hm’? Don’t tell me you’re offended.»

«Nope! Just trying to enjoy the moment.»

«Enjoy? The moment? In this shithole? Are you insane?»

I got up, took my glass and went to my room. His eyes followed me. And no, he wasn’t drunk: his gaze was sober. For some reason, I suddenly recalled the moment when David Ogden fell down and left the bar. There was something about the stern look in his light-brown eyes.

I guess I fell asleep in the easy chair without noticing. But that didn’t last long: wild shouts, cursing and a tremendous crash shook the floorboards beneath me.

«Christ! What else could be happening down there?» I whispered, leaving my room and crouching on the staircase. That was when I noticed a group of adult men beating up a young guy who lay on the floor.

It was David Ogden. They seized him by the sweatshirt and threw him onto the dance floor, shattering the vase. It seemed that at any moment a perfectly imperturbable sheriff with his loyal sidekick would arrive, but just then Nick bolted out of the bathroom, buttoning up his pants.

«What the hell is going on here? Are you outta yer minds? Idiots! A bunch of you old farts decided to beat up a boy? Goddammit, what the hell happened?!»

«This punk here is a thieving bastard!»

«I was trying to leave my money on the table, not steal it, you idiot! Why the hell would I want to steal my own money?»

«What were you doin’ touchin’ mah money?»

«Look, douchebag, I didn’t touch your money! It was my goddamn money!» yelled David and took another hit in the face.

«You’d better quiet down this minute, before I take out the lot of you!» Nick aimed a hunting rifle at them. «Now go home, you miserable drunks, or else my dog’ll have your tongues for breakfast!»

The entire crowd dispersed and only David and Nick remained. I slowly descended and froze at the sight of them.

«My apologies fer the ruckus. Ah believe we may have woken you?» Nick inquired politely.

«I wasn’t asleep.»

He went over to David and helped him up.

«You’d better sit down and tilt your head back. You’re bleeding.» I said, pointing to his nose.

«Do as yer told, tilt yer head back,» grumbled Nick.

«Quite a classy clientele you’ve got, Nick.» David looked at me. «You don’t count.»

They began righting chairs and tables, and I helped.

«Where you crashin’ tonight?» Nick turned to David.

«None of your business.»

«Son, please. Stay here.»

«Nope.»

«Why not?»

«I said no!»

«Alright, then would you at least do me the great honor of tellin’ me where yer goin’?»

David was silent and tugged at his torn sweatshirt.

«David, I won’t be takin’ any o’ yer money.»

«Nicholas, you old bastard! I don’t plan on owing people for my whole life! Got it? Everywhere I go I owe someone something. Here, at least, could you just let me chill out and be alone?» He tripped on a chair and fell over.

We ran over and helped him to his feet.

«What are you, deaf? You need to sit in that chair and tilt your head back,» I said harshly, tilting his head back and pressing a tissue from my pocket under his nose.

David stared at me, hard.

«Yer stayin’ here tonight!» Nick declared, his tone final.

«Your nose doesn’t look that long, Nick, but you’re always sticking it where you shouldn’t!»

I washed my hands in the sink behind the bar and stopped by the staircase, looking at David. His gaze slowly retreated.

«Fine. I’ll stay.»

«There are yer keys. I won’t be dragging you to yer room now. You can haul yer scrawny ass up there and git some sleep, goddammit!»

David took the keys and went up, his pace slowing as he walked past me.

«Hmph! That boy’ll fall into his own grave one of these days,» grumbled Nick and turned to me. «Thanks honey. I can take it from here.»

«Good night.»

«Lord! That doesn’t exist round here, but thanks anyway. You too!»

I returned to my room and sank into my easy chair. I sat, my eyes wide, and gazed out the window. The sky looked like a field of peonies: all night I searched for flowers among the clouds. It was so beautiful… The whistle of the wind soothed me, and at last I fell asleep.

Early in the morning, I was awoken once again by a loud noise. From the window, I spotted a pair of legs sticking out from under my car, so I left the bar and walked over, staring at the worn chucks.

«Morning,» came David’s muffled voice.

«Morning!» I replied, somewhat annoyed, examining the black spots that stained his clothing.

«Your car’s ready. To. Roll,» he declared, pulling himself completely out from under the vehicle.

«Thanks. How much do I owe you?»

«It’s on the house.»

«But you —»

«The car’s ready to go, alright? Have a nice day.» He headed to the bar.

I followed him and ran into Nick.

«Mornin’ honey! I was just comin’ out to fix yer car. The ol’ handyman hit the bottle and now he’s lyin’ somewhere on the road with a bunch o’ Injuns, tryin’ to prove it’s his land. So I’ll be takin’ care of this masself.»

«That actually won’t be necessary, but thanks!»

«What do you mean… it won’t be necessary?» he drawled, his brows furrowed.

«It’s working again.»

«Well I never! Was outback lookin’ for my toolkit all night!»

«Well, this is for the sleep you lost over my car. And would you mind giving that money to David Ogden?»

«He do a striptease for you or something?»

«Not exactly. Thanks again.»

I got into the car and drove off, a plume of sand rising in the rearview mirror.

«Don’t look back in anger,» by my favorite band, Oasis, blasted at full volume. It’s an oldie but a goodie. Whew! I was singing at the top of my lungs! My thoughts were far away, somewhere on the far side of the moon.

I’d packed up as soon as I got the letter saying I’d been accepted to a master’s degree in filmmaking and screenwriting. Only a couple weeks remained until the start of classes. So I got into my car and decided to go it alone – well, with one sidekick – my GPS, and a useless map. No planes, trains, greyhound buses… just me, my good old homegrown clanker, Murica and the far side of the moon.

The line of downtown skyscrapers peeked over the horizon and my hands tightened around the steering wheel. I slowly took off my dad’s old Ray-Ban Wayfarers.

«Los Angeles.» The words made my heart skip a beat. Long, tangled roads, palm trees, graffiti, that signpost with all of Los Angeles’s sister cities and their distance in miles, Walt Disney Concert Hall, the Sunset Strip, the Angel’s Flight railway, Watts Towers… The colors of the traffic lights seem different, the crowds on the crosswalks, the little stores with real American Coca-Cola and, of course, the sky…

My name is Connie, and I’m not sixty-five. I came to Los Angeles because I was accepted into a filmmaking and screenwriting course. Winning-at-life level: 50 %.

This is where my new story starts.