Bartender cocks an eyebrow, raises a glass to the light, checks it for dust. Cool dude, this bartender. Big. Stands a bit like John Wayne in ‘The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance’. If he’s never seen a Mexican-inspired restaurant and a celebrity stallion walk into the joint before he’s not letting on.
Y’all together?
Yup, says random trucker guy. And I’m buying.
They’ve never seen each other before, but Random doesn’t want to drink alone. Not tonight. God no.
Taco and Champion struggle to get onto the stools. Bartender tilts his head towards a large empty space at the back of the room, where the line-dancers meet Tuesday afternoons.
Y’all can sit over there. I’ll bring the drinks.
The three strangers make their way across the saloon. Bartender’s staring. He’s never seen anyone or anything move like Taco Bell: forward propulsion by a concertina-type manoeuvre of the steel frame, with a balancing twist to keep the glass rainscreen-walling in place. Elegant. Real elegant. Bartender gives a low whistle and takes the drinks over.
Champion kicks off the conversation:
You guys from around here?
Yup, Random says, staring into his Jack Daniels.
Hey! We got ourselves a real Chatty Cathy here! (Taco’s quite the joker.)
Champion whinnies in amusement, and his sparkling mineral water goes up his nose and down the wrong way. Taco’s flattered Champion enjoyed the joke, and as the horse gasps for air Taco admires his thick, almost-white lashes. Gorgeous. But Champion’s still spluttering and it’s Random who springs into action and slaps him on the back.
You okay, bud?
Champion recovers and thanks Random. He feels bad for laughing at the Chatty Cathy jibe now that Random’s saved his life, but he’ll make it up to him. Bigtime. He is Champion the Wonder Horse after all.
Bartender calls over:
Taco Bell!? Got a call for a Taco Bell!
Taco scrunches over to the bar. Bartender clears his throat.
Listen, Taco. There’s nobody on the line. Just wanted to talk to you on your own.
Boy, am I the lucky one!
Thing is, Taco, I’ve been watching you. And I like what I see. I like it a whole lot.
Meaning…?
A man gets lonesome at my time of life, coming home to a cold kitchen every night. Comes a time when a man needs someone – something – special in his life. Something to warm his…
Where’s this going?
Stop with me a while, Taco? You could set up next door. Nights we could share cheesy quesadillas and a Diet Dr. Pepper, maybe dance a little – you move so well…
In the sparkling highball glass on the counter Taco sees the reflection of Champion nuzzling Random’s shoulder. His glazing mists over. Bartender knows a brush-off when he sees it, but still…
You hear a word I’m saying, Taco Bell?
Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Something about quesadillas. Got none left. Might have some old nachos someplace …
Bartender picks up another glass to polish, but what’s the point? For one golden moment he’d seen himself striding through Taco’s entrance like a husband. All the lights would flash on and the smell of Taco’s Gordita Crunch would enfold him in cheese-beef bliss from the nose down… Sundays he’d polish the plate glass inside and out with newspaper and white vinegar till it shone like a highball glass…
Taco rejoins the others. Champion’s gazing all big-eyed at Random. Random’s frowning into his drink. Neither notices Taco. He shouts over at the bar:
Another margarita, drinks-guy! And make it a decent one this time!
Cruel, after what’s just passed between them, but Taco’s made of glass and cold steel, with only a few soft furnishings inside. Bartender knows this of course, yet at the same time he’s convinced Taco has all the heart and burritos a lonesome bartender needs, even though he knows it isn’t so. And yet, maybe it is?
Taco downs his second margarita and yearns to feel Champion’s almost-white eyelashes brushing against his strengthened-glass torso. But Champion has eyes only for Random. Bit of a rescuer, our Champion. Sucker for a hard-luck story. Still, being a rescuer got him the starring role in that movie. They paid him good money for that and he’s invested it wisely. There’s enough for him and Random to settle down someplace, maybe set up a dude ranch…
Random makes a strange sound.
You crying? Taco asks, more out of curiosity than sympathy.
Why?
It’s ten years. Ten years to the day since I lost her.
Lost who? Champion and Taco ask in unison.
My Lizzie-Sue! My sweetheart. My gal. Least she was till she upped and left me. Ten years ago to this very day. Went off to Arkansas to become a Bride of the Lord and nothing I could do to stop her.
Bartender stops wiping a nearby table and looks thoughtful. Taco tries to think of some wisecrack but fails. Champion speaks, softly:
- Maybe it’s time to forget about Lizzie-Sue. Saddle up with someone who really appreciates you.
- Can’t never stop loving my Lizzie-Sue. Reckon I don’t want to even try.
And Random puts his head on the table and weeps. Champion looks confused. Champion’s beautiful when he’s confused, Taco’s thinking, and there’s an ache in the kitchen area as Taco realises Champion will only ever have almost-white-lashed eyes for Random. Bartender’s watching Taco, thinking of what might have been.
Nobody speaks.
Eventually Random stops sobbing and blows his nose. The night is over.
Taco, Champion and Random walk out of the bar. They head off in three different directions under the same big sky, towards the next place and the next day, towards the next bartender and the next stranger, and towards all the next souls making their own little accommodations, holding their own sweet hollow nugget of a dream to light them through.