My Seoul Man

Chapter 42

After the day I'd just had, I didn't need any encouragement to start tossing back shots at the party Wally took us to.

Private pachanga at this big old barn of a bar just outside one of the tiny towns near the rodeo grounds. And when we got there, the riders and the people who did all the dirty work behind those stalls were whoopin' and hollerin' and stompin' around the dance floor like they hadn't just been flung all over that arena by angry animals all day long.

It was big enough to have a whole restaurant, game and pool room along with the bar part. Took me back to the days when John Travolta made that movie that was like a cowboy Saturday Night Fever and college kids started learning how to Boot Scoot.

Wally didn't like the more modern country music. But Rita fell right into the old school steps he was used to and let the younger folks whirl and twirl around them.

High point of the night for me was busting a gut watching AJ and Ronnie getting spun off one of those mechanical bull things. They'd gone out of style along with that country craze died. And the big bars were converted into big "family fun" joints with all the video games and whatnot.

But some legendary bars survived 'way out in the sticks where country was always more than just a craze. And folks from all the little towns dropped in on weekends to get drunk and disorderly.

This one had a Coke machine outside that someone had shot up for not giving him the soda he paid for. Yeah, that kinda drunk and disorderly.

Our boys were pretty chaotic that night, too. The Patrón hit their dead tired bodies a lot harder than usual.

The Buffalo Trace bourbon Yoli and I had tossed back liquor had the same effect on us, too. It was Rita's favorite, and after we'd tossed back a few shots, Yoli slapped me on the back, crowed, "You go girl," and let out a little whoop as Wally and Rita went Texas Two Stepped by like a couple of teenage kids on their first date.

"I like that woman," I said.

And Yoli said, "He likes 'er more. And your man likes you so much it scares me."

"Cause it's too much too soon, maybe?" I asked her. Trying to focus through the alcohol-induced fog clouding my brain.

She sat back, folded her arms and said, "I got one word for you, baby: Cali-fuckin'-fornia."

I leaned toward her and squinted. "You sure that's one word?"

"Alls I'm sure of is whenever you start doubting this thing, think back to what your life was like back there. Cause right now, you're finally doing what you always wanted to do with a man who loves everything you do right by your side."

"Yeah but I don't even really own that truck, remember. Didn't that first one we got from AJ's people, either. I'm livin' on borrowed...everything. And AJ's ideas."

She raised up a foot and shoved me so hard with it that I almost slipped off my chair. And bellowed, "You know how Oprah got what she got? You know how it started?"

I righted myself and laughed, "No, but you're about to tell me, though, right?"

And she slapped the table and said, "Date with that Roger Ebert guy, used to be a movie critic. Had that TV show with another guy where they'd vote thumbs up or thumbs down, remember?'"

"A little bit."

"Well, he recommended her to some producer or somethin' and pretty soon she was the hottest host in Chicago. And you got that Belle Bondurant tryin'a help you now, too."

"I've had people say stuff like that before. They grin in your face, talk you up and then they see somebody else they like better or that can give 'em a bigger boost in the ratings than you can. Don't forget, I lived with a man whose mind got all twisted up from believing in people like that. Chasing after 'em and being disappointed damned near every time."