Jim - Eight

Jim

 

When the bus finally came to a stop inside the city, we practically flew on to the street. I don’t know what they were expecting, but I was f*****g excited. The biggest city I had ever seen was Milwaukee, and that was nothing compared to this.

London was enormous. Absolutely, goddamn, f*****g enormous. For another thing, every other f*****g building was blown up. And apparently no one had taken the time to see how long it would take to get there, so, with all the torn up roads, the trip had taken almost three hours. Seriously, the whole city was basically a pile of rubble, and for me that was the most goddamn exciting thing I had ever seen in my life.

We were dropped off in a dark, deserted neighborhood. I knew absolutely nothing about London and could not have told anyone where I was if my life depended on it. Still, I leaped, flailing, off the bus with a huge grin on my face. “Holy s**t!” I exclaimed, falling into a half dancing, half boxing kind of movement with Hersch, who at least humored me. “Holy s**t, guys! This place is great!”

“Yeah, it’s really something,” Erich said unexcitedly.

“Should we find a hotel or something,” Hersch asked, batting me away.

“Have you got the money for a goddamn hotel?” Erich asked sarcastically, “No, we’ll just find a bar and stay there ‘til the bus comes at five.”

“Well then let’s find it then,” Gabe said agitatedly. “I don’t know about you guys but I don’t want to be on this street after dark.”

“Aw, don’t be a fairy, Moretti,” I groaned. That had pretty much become the automatic reply to anything Gabe said. “We’ve got all the security we need right here,” I punched Erich in the arm, too excited to care that if he punched me back I would be drooling on the streets of London. “Right? Huh? Huh? Huh?”  I kept punching.

“Cut it, Jim,” Erich swung his arm over my head and I ducked, though I could tell he had deliberately missed. “You lived here, Moretti,” he said, giving Gabe a whack on the chest that clearly left him more winded than he let on, “where can we get hooch and girls?”

“At the same time!” I laughed

“Um…” Gabe mumbled, obviously stalling,

“Aw, Gabe won’t know where that s**t is,” Hersch said. “What we ought to do is… hey, what’s that?” Goddamn that guy could see well with those glasses. I would have walked right past the dusty sign that read Paul’s Tavern.

“Couldn’t say,” Gabe said. “Looks like a bar, though,”

“Should we start here?” Hersch asked.

“Hell yes, we should start here,” Erich exclaimed. “It says ‘Tavern,’ doesn’t it? That’s good enough for me!”

“Looks kind of shady to me…” Gabe said hesitantly.

“Well let’s just peek inside,” I urged, grabbing his wrists and yanking him inside with the rest of us.

The outside door opened into a long, dimly lit corridor with another door at the end. The four of us tiptoed down the hall, listening to the fast, unfamiliar music that came from the other side, until we were nearly leaping over each other in excitement.

We pushed the second door open just enough for the four of us to peek our heads into the room. And, damn, were we ever glad we did. The room was dark and scattered with round tables. There was a long bar to our left and a stage directly in front of us.

And on the stage a red headed broad with a huge rack stuffed in a tiny brassiere was taking her bows and gathering her clothes.

            Well, let me tell you, we had never moved faster in our lives than that split second it took us to get ourselves a table. The redhead kept bowing, swinging her enormous tits to the ground, as a husky guy in a tuxedo stepped on to the stage. “Let’s here it for the lovely Lola!” The lucky b******s who had actually seen the show exploded in applause. “The beautiful broads will be back in an hour,” he said when the ovation died, though this announcement resulted in the collective groans of the entire audience including us four, “now, now,” he held his hands up in apology. “Of course, as always, my girls are ready for gentleman callers after the show. Until then, drink up, boys, ‘cause Paul’s girls will be right back!”

            After another explosive cheer the four of us turned to each other. “Banhart,” Erich said, “this was the best goddamn idea anyone has ever had.”

            “Yeah,” Gabe agreed unenthusiastically, “I’ll go get some drinks.”

            “Oh, you wont be able to carry what I’ve got in mind by yourself,” Erich laughed, running after him.

            Once we were alone, I noticed that Hersch was looking pretty damn uncomfortable. “Your girl would die if she knew you were here, wouldn’t she, Abrahamson?” I said after a minute.

            Hersch laughed to himself. “She would,” he said.

            “Hey,” I nudged him, “just have fun for once, why don’t you?”

            He looked down and smiled just a little, “yeah.”

            It was suddenly incredibly awkward, and I was ridiculously glad to see Erich and Gabe returning with a huge tray of drinks.

            “Holy s**t!” Hersch exclaimed. “We can’t drink all of this.”

            “Don’t worry,” Erich smiled as he settled into his chair, sliding about six of the drinks towards himself, “this half is for me.”

            I’m not going to lie; I’m really not sure what happened in that hour while we waited for the girls to come back out. I couldn’t even tell you what we drank. You see, I would never admit it to the guys, but I have never been the best at holding my liquor. All I know is that I had two glasses in the time it took Hersch and Gabe to have three and Erich to have five.

So the three of us, at least, were pretty fried, and boy did that make for some real fun. I know the band was playing Glenn Miller and I think I tried to teach the rest of them the dances from back home. The only thing I knew for a fact was that no one was impressed and that Erich knocked me over and I didn’t get up for several minutes.

That guy can drink like no guy I had met then or since. Six drinks in (and less than an hour after we got there) and Erich was up on his chair bellowing for the show to start. I’m pretty sure we almost got kicked out when he yanked a waitress on to his lap and tried to give her a cigarette in exchange for a f**k. I think a manager had to come explain that the waitresses were not for sale, and the ones that were for sale were not exchangeable for cigs. But, like I said, it’s possible that calmly discussed literature with Winston Churchill. I have absolutely no idea.

I sure as f**k remember when the show started back up, though. And I’m pretty damn sure it took longer than an hour. I guess they were counting on idiots like us to get tanked up and not be able to tell time. Anyway the emcee returned and the crowd descended into an uproar.

“Thank you, thank you,” as if the idiot thought anyone was clapping for him. “Now gentlemen, please welcome to Paul’s stage our newest performer. She’s a Jewish harlot on the run and eager to please… put your hands together for… Delilah!”

Before the cheering could even start up again, Hersch was up and gone, noticeably insulted. “F**k.” I got up unsteadily to follow him.

“Aw, let him go,” Erich slurred so it sounded like: ‘ahlehimgah.’ “He’ll be fine.”

I was either too stupid or too drunk to listen to him and kept walking. Then the music jolted to a start and a gloved hand shot out from behind the red curtain. I jumped and stopped where I was, which was right at the end of the bar. A girl appeared on the stage, a girl with long blonde hair, wearing a white fur coat and a red scarf. A girl with the most extraordinary face I had ever seen.

She carried herself across the stage in a few long strides, then dropped her coat on the drumbeat. Underneath she wore a black corset with torn stockings and high heeled slippers. She bent her knees and ran her hands down her thighs with a devilish smile on her face. Then she backed up and grabbed the stool behind her. She bent over it, grinding her a*s against the air. My dick literally shivered.

She flipped back around to face the audience and dropped backwards on the stool. She lay there on her back with her head hanging behind her and her long legs practically over her head. She rotated them in the air and her fingers trailed from her overflowing chest down to her own crotch, where she then grabbed herself and howled with the crowd.

Then she was back on her feet. She ripped away the middle of her corset and was suddenly in only a brassiere, panties, and that scarf, which she wrapped around herself suggestively.

Suddenly she was off the stage. She hopped from chair to chair until she was standing on the bar. She took three long strides, oblivious to the hands groping at her ankles, then lowered herself. She lifted her body up and down like she was f*****g the bar. The crowd around me was going crazy, but couldn’t have seen, heard, or smelled anything but her if I wanted to. She was feet away from me.

Then she was up again, walking back down the bar. Walking right towards me. She met my eyes, I was sure she did, and smiled. When she finally reached me, I extended my arms, desperate to touch her. But she kept me at a distance, pressed her foot to my forehead and pushed so I almost fell on my a*s. The scarf dropped off her shoulders and into my hands.

I was too focused on defending my prize from jealous hands and didn’t see how she got back on the stage. But when I looked back up she was suddenly out of her bra, covering her tits with her hands and shaking her head like she wouldn’t show us anything. I swore to myself that I would commit suicide if she didn’t. Then the drum roll began and she backed up, her pout turning into a smile, and on the last notes of the song she took one last step backwards and threw her hands in the air, giving us the shortest peek in the history of mankind before the red curtain fell in front of her.

When my brain finally started working, I focused on closing my jaw, which had apparently become unhinged during the performance, while the men around me howled with disappointment. I, for one, was not howling. I didn’t care. If Erich poked my eyes out with a fork when I returned to the table (it seemed like a legitimate possibility at that point), it wouldn’t have made a difference to me. I had seen everything I would ever need to see in my entire life.

I stood in a daze for a long, long few minutes, waiting for my brain function to fully return before I head back to the guys. I never made it that far, though.  No more than two minutes after that beautiful girl stepped off the stage, that eerie, high pitched, deafening wail came seeping into the bar, drowning out the music and bringing everything to a halt.

Bomb sirens.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

To be young and in a bar with dancing naked woman. I like the description of the city and finding the dance bar. I like the emotion and the desire expressed in this chapter. A surprise ending to a good time. A excellent chapter.
Coyote