“There’s a fight, and I need this one, Hendrix. I. Need. It.” He takes a drink then looks down. “Just like you need to meet those bands.”
Jagger has been in a real bad spot since Mom died, and he got his ass kicked at the last fight. He went and let himself fall in lust with the chick who’s fucking the Cobra—his fighter name fits his ass, too. The fucking snake knocked his girl around in front of the wrong Caldwell. Then, Cobra’s guys jumped Jagger’s ass one night. The next night, though, they got hit back, trust that shit.
“If you’re fighting, I’m going with you.”
“No. Morrison is coming back for the fight. H, you need this. Get them while they’re hungry. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s black fucking tie. I don’t do that shit.”
“Already got the tux and picked up the mask to go with it. No one will know you were even there.”
...
I stand in front of the mirror, looking at a man I can’t recognize, a man I have never known. I’m not a suit. This isn’t me. I will never fit the mold.
Hell, my high school prom night was spent at the bar because my dad was too drunk and belligerent, and Mom had to take him upstairs. I followed to make sure he didn’t get heavy-handed. When he passed out, Mom started heading down, but I told her I would take care of locking up with Amy.
Amy? Yeah, Amy was the bartender. She was just twenty-one, and although a little on the plus side, she was sexy as hell. We had a few shots and talked about the boy who broke her heart. Then, the jukebox played Daughtry’s “Feels Like Tonight,” and we ended up fucking on the bar. Hot as hell, even with a condom.
Ever since Amy, I have been attracted to curvy women. There’s just something about a woman who can take a pounding while giving you something to hang onto and push into, almost like a soft place to fall.
I don’t date. Expectations, titles, and all that shit doesn’t really fit me. I have gone out with more than a few women and some I hook up with more often than others. I have made the mistake of hooking up with Sadi, a fill-in barmaid a few times, when the old man ran the place. It has turned out to be a fucking annoyance to have her around.
The first time I left the bar with a friend when Sadi was working, she copped an attitude. Right then and there, we had the talk about me and her. We were not in a relationship, we were in a mutually beneficial exchange. She was warned that day that it would be the last time she dropped an attitude with any of my female friends.
I respect women. Hell, no woman in the world was more respected than my mom. Sadi was told if she pulls that shit again, it would be the last time she worked in my bar and warmed my bed. Hard worker, decent lay, but a pain in my ass every chance she can be.
Looking in the mirror, I try to fix the crooked tie, but that isn’t happening, so I take it off. Just another reminder that this isn’t me. I look down at the mask and feel like a fucking fool. Shaking my head, I shove the stupid thing in my pocket and give one last glance in the mirror before walking out the damn door.
It’s too cold for the bike, my preferred mode of transportation around the city. In this monkey suit, I would be far from comfortable, anyway. As a result, I think about taking my 1971, flat black Chevy Nova SS, the Heavy Chevy, as it was called in its day. My beast, my good, old American muscle car, restored and brought back to life by my very own hands. However, if I have to wear this suit and rub elbows with a bunch of people wearing masks, I’m going to at least get buzzed, so I make the decision to take a cab.
I walk into the Fairmount half an hour into the event and hand my ticket to the man at the door who is dressed pretty damn close to how I am. Donning my mask, I look around for the nearest bar and make my way to it, wading through the masked crowd. Even the bartenders are wearing masks. I have to laugh, thinking it may not be a half bad idea to have my staff start doing the same damn thing. Hell, with the mugs on the most recent applicants, I’m sure business would be better off.
“Southern Comfort Manhattan.”
“Do you want a cherry?” The barmaid smirks at me.
“Nah, that just makes things messy.” I smirk back.
I hear a girl beside me giggle and look to my left.
She laughs again, snorting, then covers her mouth. “Sorry.” The lights are low, but I can see her cheeks flush.
I shake my head. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing.” She shakes her head as she giggles again.
“Nah, I think you have something more than nothing going on in that head of yours.”
She laughs again and covers her mouth as she tries to hide another snort.
“See? I knew it. I bet under that mask of yours is a very dirty girl just dying to come out.”
She smiles a big, sloppy smile. “Oh, there is. There really is.”
I slam my drink down and motion to the barmaid, holding up two fingers. When she sets our drinks on the bar, I grab them and hand the dirty girl one of them.
“Oh, I don’t think that is a good idea.”