The Love Saga Continues....

[Guest Post From Trooper York - this installment is a continuation-in-part from here]

Julia wasted most of the day reading “Television Without Pity” and posting snarky nasty comments on the “Honey Boo Boo” thread. Anything to stick a finger in the eye of these rubes. After a short nap and an even shorter grooming session, Julia left her hotel room and went down to the lobby. She went to the concierge to ask how to find this “Long Branch” so she could check out the band and more importantly to question some of the locals. Julia found that her questioning always went better with alcohol. Maybe she could wrap this up tonight and get back to Williamsburg in time to read the Sunday Times alone in her room. With her cat George Sand.

The desk clerk was busy on her computer and looked up with a bright smile until she saw it was Julia. She wondered why she so often had that effect on service people. She didn’t understand that it was because she was an unreconstructed bitch on wheels and treated service people as what she saw them to be. Servants. Theoretically she supported these hard working people. In reality she tipped like a black person. Or a German. So they only gave her the minimum courtesy that any customer might be due.

“Do you know how to get to the 'Long Branch' saloon” she asked brusquely. She often felt that if she was rough and gruff she got better results from the “lower classes.” In fact it just meant that she always got spit in her latte but what she didn’t know wouldn’t burst her bubble.

“Really. You are going to the 'Long Branch'” well okey dokey.” The clerk looked amused. “Just drive down Main St and turn on Jefferson. Go about a mile until you see a down at the heels honkey tonk with a bunch of beat up old trucks and American cars. There’s a Buffalo head over the door and a neon sign with three letters out. That’s it.”
“Delightful.” Julia shuddered. She walked away without saying thank you. That was her style. Entitled. She left gratitude and humility to those less gifted. She did not have a PhD in Woman’s Studies so that she could be nice to desk clerks.

Julia got into her hideous rental car and drove down Main St. It was bustling with people and commerce even at this hour. The boom times from the energy explosion in North Dakota had brought a lot of money to so many undeserving types. They were prospering from the rape of the land. Like their ancestors who stole this land from the Native Americans. She had to expose them. She had to find the truth of their evil. This story must be told.

Julia walked into the raucous bar. There was a big crowd drinking and dancing on the straw dust covered floors. Hot Rod and Stubby and couple of other old dudes were wailing away on song. She couldn’t quite recognize it. Oh yeah. It was Zeppelin. “Black Dog.” Racists.

Julia went up to the bar. She found a seat and waited. A heavy breasted Latina with a scar and a purple streak in her hair walked to her with a bar towel and a smirk. “Hola Mommy wha chu want?” “Do you have any white wine perhaps a chandon blanc?” replied Julia.
“Red or white baby red or white you chooze.”
“Never mind I’ll have an Amstel Light.”
The bartender reached down and took out a bottle of Bud. “Bud or nada chica -- this is an Americana Bar.” She twisted off the top and walked away.

Julia turned toward the bar to watch the band. Hot Rod was wailing on the drums and Stubby was nodding out like a junkie on the needle in the park. There was a black guy with a grizzled beard playing the lead guitar and who stood4 in front of the mike. Another guitarist looked vaguely Hispanic. Julia was surprised. She didn’t know that were any minorities in North Dakota. Let alone in a cracker cover band.

The song ended with a flourish and the black guy went to the mike. “OK people one more song before we take a break. Here is an Al Green tune I bet you all know. Get up and dance bitches!” The band swung into a rollicking version of “Take it to the River.” The singer was pretty good and the band kept up with him as the rocked out the soul tune. They were surprisingly good. For North Dakota.
The song ended with a wail and the band started to put down their instruments. Somebody fired up the jukebox. Somebody shouted “Sing it Waylon!” Wasn’t he dead? Maybe not. Someone else would have picked up the puppet and carried on with the act. Lovely.

Hot Rod and Stubby and the black singer walked up to the bar. Stubby shouted across the raucous room “Three buds and three shots of tequila you filthy puta!” “Doncha make me come over there and rip what little you got off a you Stubby” said the busty barmaid as she frantically twisted open bottles and poured shots to the crowd that had rushed the bar after the band stopped playing. “I will be over there in one Segundo!”

Stubby turned to Julia with a laugh and said “Vanessa just loves me. We would get married if only she was a Filipino.” Julia was confused. “Why only Filipino’s?” “Because those are the only women for me. Don’t get me wrong. I would be happy to dip my wick in anything. Even a white girl from New York City if you know what I mean” he laughed at himself. Hot Rod knew when it was time to interrupt. He interposed his body between them. “That’s great Stubs. Go wrangle the drinks while I talk to the young lady. I promised her that we would palaver.” Stubby shrugged and continued shouting across the bar at Vanessa.

“Your friend is quite the charmer” Julia said. “He’s alright. Good man on the rig and he can play. Let me introduce you to my friend our lead singer. This here is Roscoe. Rosc this is Julia all the way from New York City.” The large lead singer of the Stray Dawgs bent down to shake her hand. He was a tall burly black man with a salt and pepper goatee and a shiny bald head. He strikingly resembled Delroy Lindo in a pair of stained overalls. “Nice to meet you. Name’s Meadowlark Lemon but you can call me Roscoe like all the rest of the ignorant crackers do.” “Stop screwing around Rosc she don’t get it. I told you she comes from New York City” sighed Hot Rod. “I most certainly get it” Julia huffed. What is it with this yokel? She gets it. Well she was very confused but she was not going to admit that. That is how she went through college and she didn’t admit it then either. She was good at fooling herself. “Anyway can we talk for a few minutes Jack?” “Sure enough just let me get my drink.” He turned and picked up his shot of tequila and downed it. Then he sipped from his long neck bottle of Bud and turned back to her. “Let’s go find a corner. I like to sit with my back to the wall.”


[to be continued]