Excerpt from chapter 10--Wild Women!

Here is the promised excerpt about Cobby (see home page) If you haven't read the first chapter of the book, you'll need to scroll to the next entry first.

Our acknowledgement of our limitations
is the only thing that cements them.
—Christy Rein


Spring 1971

The first time I ever stepped into a tavern, I asked for a job. I showed up the next day as the bar maid in training and before the evening was over I was on my own with the instructions, “Handle as many problems as you can on your own. We don’t want the police called any more than necessary.”

Having worked the previous few months as a cocktail waitress at one of the most popular clubs in town, I wasn’t totally green to the types of problems my new boss was talking about. I had witnessed knifings, gang fights, and the total breakdown of one of my fellow waitresses. The difference was that I never had to handle any of those things on my own. There were plenty of bosses over me to take care of them. It also helped that my former boss had an agreement with the local authorities in exchange for an unknown amount of money that our establishment could deal drugs across the counter and be assured the cops would turn a blind eye to it and yet step in quickly to handle any problems beyond our own control. I saw heavy nightsticks used on stubborn skulls on more than one occasion.

I mustered a brave smile as I looked at my new boss sitting at the counter in front of me. Behind him to the left sat an enormous man who would be my first problem. An Indian nursed a bottle of Cold Duck in the corner, he would be my second. I swallowed. “No problem boss. I can handle it.” The words had no sooner left my mouth than the big man thumped his thick glass on the table and hollered for another beer.

“Okay.” The boss pointed with his thumb behind him. “The big guy’s had enough. Go tell him.”

If it weren’t for my three preschool children safely tucked in bed and watched over by a trusted neighbor, I would have flung off my apron and walked out the door. But I desperately needed this job. I straightened my shoulders. My smile was bright when I reached the big man.

I grabbed his empty glass. “How about a wonderful cup of our best coffee instead? It’s on the house.”

A flash of anger crossed his face so fast that I flinched. Then he turned and looked at the counter where the boss sat. The big man’s entire face crinkled into laugh lines. The transformation was incredible. “No problem, pretty thing. I’ll take a cup of that brew if it’s as sweet as you.”

His laughter still filled the tavern when I returned to the bar to get his coffee. The boss shook his head. “Never saw anything like it. No other waitress has ever been able to cut him off.” He reached out his hand. “You got the job if you want it.”

I shook his hand. “Thanks. I want it.”

The boss left the counter and slapped the big man on the back with a friendly laugh before he disappeared out the door, leaving me alone to manage the tavern.

Breathing out a deep sigh, I poured a cup of coffee and headed back to the big man’s table. As soon as I set it down, he stood, placed an enormous hand on the sides of each of my shoulders, squeezed, and lifted me off my feet as though I were no heavier than a small child. He carried me like that, with my feet dangling in the air, all the way back to the bar where he stood me in front of the draft machine. “Pour,” he said.

I poured.

He staggered out the door not long after.

I grabbed a wet cloth and started rubbing the already shiny counter with a vengeance. A law had recently been passed stating that I could be fined for allowing a patron to leave the tavern with enough alcohol in his system to be intoxicated. But even worse was the fact that I could face many years in prison if he hurt someone while driving under the influence. I stared at the counter where my hand pushed the cloth in circles. The very thing that was supposed to help me provide for my children might take me away from them. And how could I live with myself knowing I could have stopped the death of an innocent person?

“You did the right thing.”

I stopped rubbing and looked up. The Indian had moved from the corner to sit on one of the stools at the counter.

“He won’t hurt anyone. He’s a walker.”

“A walker?”

“Yeah. Lives down the road.”

“Now that’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time.” I held out a hand. “Name’s Sandy.”

He looked at my hand but didn’t take it. “Cobby here. You gotta lot to learn about this place.”

I dropped my hand. I could bet on his next words. He didn’t disappoint me.

“You don’t belong here.”

I had heard the same thing from several people when I worked as a cocktail waitress. It was that Christianity stuff. I just couldn’t get rid of it. Though it had been nearly ten years since I had given it up, it still had some kind of mark on me that certain people could spot. “It’s a job.” I shrugged. “What can I get for you?”

“Another Cold Duck.”

I held his eyes hard with my own. “You may not think I belong here, but I’ve been around enough to know that most Indians can’t handle Cold Duck. Why not have a draft instead?”

His dark eyes bored into mine, giving nothing away. I was instantly aware of the quiet building. The two of us were alone. Still, I held his stare until he finally smiled and said, “Draft it is.”

From that day on, Cobby became my self-appointed protector. He sat at the same stool at the counter and eyed everyone who came through the door. He was there on his stool the night a tall, good-looking man pushed up to the bar and pointed a long finger at me. Loud enough for every ear in the full tavern to hear, he announced, “That woman is going to be mine.”

Cobby looked at the cocky man, then back at me. I expected him to tell the guy to bug off like he did with every other man who had pulled such a dumb move. Instead, he smiled and ordered him a beer.

Of all the nerve. “Where’s your ID,” I demanded.

“You’re wasting your time,” a customer said. “Cat’s been coming in here for a couple of years.

Cat stood, reached in his jean’s pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flashed me an enormous smile and handed me his identification, but it was his eyes that grabbed me. They were the same blue as a mountain lake just after sunrise and they were full of his smile. “He has sensitive eyes,” I would later tell a girlfriend who was totally disgusted with me for not giving more details. Despite my resolve to ignore the cocky man, I found myself wanting to believe the honesty I thought I saw in his eyes.

Honesty? I read his ID and smirked. “Looky here,” I informed the entire tavern, “You say he’s been coming in for two years, but he just turned twenty-one this year. Joke’s on you.”

Laughter filled the tavern. “Buy him another round,” yelled one of the regulars. “He deserves it.” Everyone thought it was a great joke but me. For a moment, I had been ready to believe this guy was different.

I took my time and waited on other customers before returning Cat’s ID. When I finally did, he took it as a sign of interest. “Name’s Cat,” he said, holding onto my hand as he grabbed the offered ID.

Retrieving my hand, I went back to work. “Why didn’t you cream him?” I whispered to Cobby.

Cobby smiled and sipped his beer. It was interesting that after having appointed himself as my protector, he never once tried to ask me out. He simply wanted to see that no harm came to what he thought was a good girl. His reaction with Cat intrigued me. The tavern calmed as Cat joined the men in a game of pool. He was sitting at a table when I took him his beer. He stood and towered over me like a ponderosa pine. Then he spread his arms out, hands open, “Take me,” he said, “I’m yours.”

I couldn’t think of one word to say. But then, I never really had to. For the next few months, Cat became a regular in the tavern. Seemed he and Cobby had struck up some kind of agreement where they would both stay until all other customers left, then Cobby would say “Goodnight,” and leave me alone with Cat. Soon Cat was taking me out for coffee after work and telling me endless stories. I had never heard a man talk so much. And his stories…I didn’t know whether to believe them or not. Some of his stories seemed far-fetched for a man his age. I was sure I was much wiser at the ancient age of twenty-three. Yet, every story checked out until one fall evening...

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Sorry...you'll have to wait for the book for the rest of the story!

I hope you enjoyed this excerpt. It would be great to have your comments,
sandy