A Love Story In Progress

[A Guest Post From Trooper York]

Julia sat in the diner sipping her tea and looking at the plate of eggs that the harried waitress had set before her. They looked greasy and hurried. Much like the rest of the patrons of the diner.

Why had she agreed to come to his horrible place to research an article for “The Huffington Post?” She had to leave her comfortable studio apartment that she paid five thousand a month for in Williamsburg Brooklyn to come to this cold winter landscape of North Dakota. She had to leave behind so much. Her books. Her supportive friends. Her organic food market. Her cat. Oh God her cat. She missed her so much.

The little bell at the top of the door jingled and a man walked into the diner. He was tall and lean. Wearing jeans and a down parka with a yellow hard hat. He must be an oil worker. The type of person she was supposed to talk to in order to get a good article. He walked up to the counter and sat down. He put his hat and gloves on the counter and opened his coat.

“Hi Jack” said the waitress as she set a cup in front of him and filled it with steaming hot coffee from a battered glass pot. “Any luck last night?”

“Yeah Flo I was pretty lucky. But you know me. When I drill I always strike a gusher. I push and push and push my tool down the shaft until I make something happen. That’s what I do.” “Ha you’re a kidder” laughed Flo as she flushed red. “The usual?” “Sure.”


Julia’s ears perked up. This is something she should investigate. Drilling. Gushing. Somehow she felt strange. Ezra never talked about things like that. He just wanted to sit on her couch in his flannel pajamas and drink cocoa and talk about how great Obama was and how lucky we are to have him as President. Maybe she would learn something.

Jack sipped his coffee and looked at the mirror above the cut out of the kitchen. He noticed a young woman all dressed in black pushing some eggs around her plate. She had mousy brown hair and no makeup. But at least she had a vagina. Or at least he hoped she did. Vaginas were in short supply these days.

Flo brought over his plate. A bloody, rare breakfast steak. A couple of eggs over easy. Mounds of greasy home fries. Breakfast fit for a man. A working man. Someone who had to go out into the freezing cold and get the raw materials that let the weenies sit in their soft offices sending emails to each other about how benighted Jesusland was.

It looked like the girl was trying to get her gumption up. That is if she had any gumption. Jack’s experience with these types was that they lacked in the gumption department. They made up for it with loads and loads of bitchiness. Who needed that? But there still was the vagina thing. It was at least worth a look. You never knew if a hole was good unless you drilled it. So to speak.

“Excuse me waitress but could I have some more tea” the woman said in a typical New York snotty accent. She sounded just like that ugly girl with all the tats on that HBO show. He hated to admit he watched it but hey a naked woman was a naked woman. Beaters can’t be choosers.

“Her name is Flo ma’am” said Jack. “Sometimes it helps if you know people’s names. Or say please. That’s how we do it here in North Dakota missy.” He said it with a smile that took the sting out of it. Jack had a smile that had got him in plenty of panties back in Texas. Maybe it would work the same with this New York girl.

Julia felt a little crestfallen. She was a polite girl. She had learned that back in Connecticut before she had her consciousness raised and her expectations lowered. Plus most of all she had to fit with the natives. She could be polite. But she wasn’t going to go to shoot a gun. Or go to church. You had to draw the line somewhere.

“I’m sorry Flo, what was I thinking? Can I please have another cup of tea? Thank you.” She turned to the oil line cowboy. “I was a little preoccupied. I have a lot on my mind. My name is Julia by the way.”

“Hi Julia my name is Jack. But most folks call me Rod. Hot Rod to be exact. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Julia smiled in a demure way that devastated the geeks at the wine bar. “I wonder if I can interview you for my article. I am a journalist and I want to learn about the boom times you are having here in North Dakota.”

“Well I am originally from Texas ma’am and we think the only thing worse than a journalist is a lawyer. So I am not interested in talking to a journalist. But I will be happy to talk to you as a man talking to a woman.”

“I could work with that” Julia said. How hard would it be to outwit this bumpkin. He is from Texas after all. She just hoped he didn't have a black man dragging from the back of his pickup truck. But she could work with that. After all she had interviewed a Republican. Once. It took a long time to feel clean afterward. Anything for the truth.

A short balding man came into the diner. He was dressed like an oil worker but he carried a dented, dirty guitar case. He didn’t wear a hat which was unusual in this cold climate. He resembled nothing so much as a demented Walter Brennan with a list to the right as he limped up to the counter.

“Let’s go Hot Rod. We have to practice before work. We got us a couple of minutes before the starting whistle. Our gig is down at the Long Branch tonight and I want to practice our licks before then.” “Sure Stubby.” Hot Rod got up and started buttoning his jacket. “This here’s my compadre Stubby. He plays in my band. The Stray Dawg’s. Stubby, this is Julia. She's visiting. She is one of those jo-no-lists, so watch what you say. She might report you to the government or something.”

“Nice to meet you Miss.” “Yes nice to meet you as well. Please call me Julia. So what is this Long Branch you are talking about?” “Why it’s the bar where the band has a standing gig every Friday night. They named it after the one in “Gunsmoke” Stubby replied. “We go on tonight at eight o’clock” said the balding gnome with an animated delivery that belied his corpse-like pallor. “That sounds like fun. What do you play Jack?” she enquired with a smile. “I’m a drummer as a matter of fact.” “Yes he is” laughed Stubby. “Like the song goes he likes to bang on the drum all night. Ha, ha, ha” he chortled. Jack shook his head. There was no controlling Stubby when he went off on tirade. He hoped he didn’t start in on white women. They could be here all day. Who had time for that?

“Well it’s still a free country. At least out here” said Jack. “Why don’t I come down to hear you play. Maybe we can talk a little between sets. I’ll buy you a drink” said Julia. “That’s nice but I always make it a practice to pay for a lady” replied Jack as he put on his yellow hard hat and prepared to go out into the cold. Julia shook her head. Here we go. Sexism rears its ugly head. “We can argue about it later cowboy. But just so you know I don’t surrender to Patriarchy. Ever!” “Not to worry Mizz Julia. I hate those cheaters up in Boston. I am a Cowboys Fan” said Jack. He winked at her and strode confidently out the door without a backward glance. His little friend too.

Was he serious or was he pulling her leg. The thought of him pulling at her legs gave her pause. She felt a little flushed. It had been a while since she felt like this. She adjusted the cowl neck of her sweater. Maybe North Dakota would be interesting after all.

Flo came over with another cup of tea and a piece of apple pie. “Here you go sweetie. You are gonna need your strength if you are gonna hook up with Hot Rod.” “Who said anything about hooking up?” Julia was nonplussed. They knew about hooking up in North Dakota?

Flo could read her thoughts. “We know all about hooking up here in the sticks dearie. We call it being a slut bag.” She was fiercely protective of her boys who deserved better than a dried up stick of New York dog shit. “But you know best I am sure. Enjoy your pie.”

Julia hated apple pie. Also hot dogs and Chevrolet. After all she was a liberal. She had an Audi and only ate veggie burgers. And tofu cheesecake. But there wasn’t any tofu in North Dakota. When she asked for it at the hotel dining room they thought she was talking about toe cheese.

She sat there lost in thought. How was she going to get a purchase on these simple minds? The cowboy might be an interesting diversion. She knew how to handle difficult men. After all she was pushing forty even though she looked much younger. She had enough experience to know better.

She thought back through the years -- about her college boyfriend when they were both at Vassar. They had discovered so much together. Tennessee Williams. Marx and Engels. Che. Balzac. His ball sack. Cunnilingus. It was a time of discovery for the both of them.

Julia laughed a little to herself. Ratso Stoddard was a very smart guy. Never let a word serve when he could use fifty five of them. He would argue about anything. Any time. With anybody. The only way she knew how to shut him up was to stick her tit in his mouth. Good times.

But like most men he was a big disappointment. She should have known when he took Ratso Rizzo as his professed role model. He only answered to the nickname Ratso. Of course you could understand that when you knew his real name was Mort. He left her for a Brazilian stripper with size 44 D’s and a suspiciously large scar where her Adam’s apple should be. She shouldn’t judge. She was a liberal after all. Non-judgmental. Superior in all regards.

The only thing that gave her pause was that she was all alone. Again. Her eggs were getting as unappealing and congealed as the cold glob sitting forlorn on her breakfast plate.

Enough introspection! Time to go back to the hotel and blog. She had a spot on Blogging Heads to prepare for today. She hoped it was with Bob Wright. She felt like slapping around a girlie man.

[added in the comments, - ed.]:

Julia went to her hotel room to wait out the day before she went to the bar to hear that loser band play. She could get some work in on the computer before then. Order room service. Stay in her room. Not talk to anyone except on-line. It would almost be as if she was back home in Williamsburg. All she needed was the chubby gay guy who did pen and ink drawings and had the collection of esoteric vinegars. She would hear him moaning through the paper thin walls and know that he was getting it on with his Peruvian busboy boyfriend. At least someone was getting some. As a matter of fact, she had not seen him for a while. Oh well that’s the way it goes. People came in and out of her life now. She really had very few friends in real life anymore. All of her social intercourse took place on the internet.

She stripped down to her bra and panties. They were sensible ones. A basic black bra with a heavy underwire and not quite granny panties. Not frilly. Not lace. She wasn’t about to wear something like that. She didn’t even have any sets like that anymore. Who would get to see them anyway? Her cat?

Julia examined herself in the mirror over the dresser. She cupped her somewhat large breasts to bring them to a point. Points way down low and soft. Julia hated Bob Seger. She wondered what kind of music she would have to endure tonight. Probably country. Cowboy music. She hated country music. It wouldn’t be what she was used to hearing. Techno. Industrial. Rap. Hip hop. She didn’t like the last two anyway. Black people scared her. She couldn’t admit that. Then she would be a racist like the people here in North Dakota. She didn’t have any black friends. Well not real black people who worked at regular jobs like a bus driver or a school teacher. They were basically beneath her. She had some African American “friends” but they were all academics. You know. The Cosby kids. Not the Boys in the Hood.

She jiggled her breasts up and down. They were her best feature. It was how she attracted male attention. Of course it didn’t take much to get the geeks she normally met at blogger conventions. They were basically the dweebs that went to comic book conventions except they could spell. Some loser would always ride up in the elevator with her and hit on her [lol - ed.]. Or least in her mind they hit on her. It could be true. But even that hadn’t happened lately. Maybe she should wear her tight jeans and her most revealing top. Who was she kidding? All of her jeans were tight these days. She might as well let it work for her.

She opened up her lap top and turned on the Internet Explorer. She decided to do a quick run through of her favorite sites. She went to Blogging Heads to see the featured bloggers today. Oh crap. It was that simpering ninny from Wisconsin who looked a deracinated Florence Henderson vainly flirting with that racist black college professor Ivan Dixon guy. Damn. She had been watching too much MeTV. Julia was starting to identify everyone she met as sitcom characters from the 1960’s and 1970’s. But what’s a lonely girl to do. She couldn’t watch the current TV shows. They were all too violent. CSI and Hannibal Lector and Walking Dead bodies all over the place. If it wasn’t violent it was gay. Nothing against gay people. All of her best friends were gay guys. Her last three boyfriends were gay. Or she turned them gay. But why did every sitcom have to be obsessed with gays? Back in the day the only gays you saw were Charles Nelson Reilly and Tony Randall and Paul Lynde. Julia liked to watch the old shows that she remembered from when she was a little girl. She could be Mary Richards working at the News Station. Or Rhoda working as a window dresser. Or even Dixie McCall who was the nurse who ran the Rampart Hospital. But instead she was alone in her underwear playing with her computer.

Julia surfed from site to site. She usually hit the same ones all the time. The one with the angry black man who hated racism, new age gurus, French women and anyone who’s skin was lighter than Harry Belafonte's. The guy or girl who pretended to be a cow and posted funny pictures and conservative political stuff. Even that strange fellow who was obsessed with food and pop up books. It was an eclectic bunch. But still very incestuous. They all posted and commented on each other’s blogs. It wasn’t a cool incestuous relationship like Angelina Jolie and her hot brother. It was more of a creepy Woody Allen in the attic sniffing your lady bits kind of incest. So every once in a while she wanted to change it up.

Maybe she could do that with this oil worker dude. He sort of reminded her of Johnny Gage the paramedic. At least he wasn’t Corporal Lebec like her last boyfriend. She had decided. She would wash her vag again before she went out. You never know what might happen.

[To be continued]