CHAPTER SIX
Catch stashed his report into his briefcase and turned out the lights in his office. The outer office still smelled of Miss Tyne's heavy floral cologne. Catch turned the air conditioner, thinking that perhaps by morning the office would be cleared of the odor, and he quickly switched it off. What's the use? Miss Tyne would be back in the morning, wearing the same sickening scent. He made a mental note to tell her about it.
He locked the outer office door and before leaving the Bayou Country Club, Catch made the rounds of the various social rooms to see what was going on. Not much. The bar was 'populated' by two regulars-old gentlemen in their fifties who were both widowers and alcoholics. They sat sipping gin and arguing over the past. There was no one on the dance floor and Catch clicked his tongue against his cheek with irritation.
No one was in the various game rooms except for the backgammon room, which was occupied by four elderly couples playing a listless game. Catch would soon change all that. If he had his way, the swinging singles would be sitting around playing strip poker in the game rooms and doing the hustle in the bar.
The sky was a deep red violet. The distant lights of the city were lit and Catch felt more alone than ever. He climbed into his Porsche and drove back to the hotel. He checked the desk clerk but there were no messages. When he was inside his room, he stripped and went into the bathroom to shower.
Catch stepped into the shower and using a loofa sponge, vigorously scrubbed his muscular body. After showering, he shaved and blew dry his hair, taking care that the cowlick didn't stick up. He sat down on the edge of the hotel bed and placed a call to his parents. They were delighted to hear from him. He promised to visit as soon as his work for the country club project was finished.
Upon impulse, he called information to get the number of the Ballinger residence in River Oaks. The operator put him through.
'Miss Lila is out for the evening,' Catch was informed by a servant. 'Any message?'
'No, thank you.'
Catch was disappointed. He'd liked the young girl, not only sexually, but he'd liked her sense of humor.
'Shit. Well, I might as well take myself to dinner.'
He got dressed in a navy blue safari suit and powder blue turtle neck which made his eyes look even bluer. He took the elevator down to the hotel's dining room and ordered himself a dry Rob Roy, a rare filet, and a large salad with Roquefort dressing. The Rob Roy tasted good and he decided to order another one to help lighten his mood.
He paid the bill with his American Express card and kept the receipt to file as part of his expenses. The hotel had a small bar which was decorated in a Victorian manner-flocked wallpaper, fake gaslight globes and grinning nudes in heavy gilt frames. It was definitely not Catch's style. He ordered a Scotch on the rocks from a young bartender who looked out of place in the surroundings. The customers at the bar resembled those who frequented the Bayou Country Club.
Catch asked the bartender, 'is there any place that's, well, a little livelier around here?'
The bartender grinned. 'I know what you mean. An old folks' home would be livelier than this. Well, sir, you might try down the street a piece. There's a brand new disco that's opened up and from what I hear it's pretty swinging.'
'What's it called?'
'Would you believe the Bum Steer?'
'I'm willing to believe anything at this point. Thanks a lot.' Catch drained his drink and left the bartender a dollar tip.
Catch had no difficulty in finding the Bum Steer. The outside was lit up like a carnival sideshow. A large neon sign of a girl in a brief cowgirl's vest and fringed skirt moved her hips back and forth as she threw her neon lasso at a decidedly cool cowboy.
He paid the entrance fee of five dollars and went through the heavy wood double doors. A blast of acid rock music assaulted his ears and flashing lights assailed his eyes. Catch leaned against a wall for a moment to become accustomed to the surroundings and to look over the place. There was a giant free-form bar to his right. To his left were a series of tiny tables and chairs placed on a raised platform. Next to them the rest rooms.
The walls of the room were covered with giant plastic panels, lit from behind by flashing neon. The floor was made of a shiny clear substance with flashing lights beneath it also. The ceiling was mirrored at odd angles. The play of the hidden lights on the ceiling caused shafts of color to bounce around the room, highlighting some of the dancers.
The music was loud and recorded, and the selection was good if not exactly to Catch's taste, which ran more to Dixieland jazz.
He made his way through the crowds to the bar. A flighty bartender deigned to take his order.
'I'll have a Dewars on the rocks,' Catch said. He thought the tariff for the drink was rather stiff-two dollars and fifty cents. He lifted the glass to his lips, took a long drink and made a face.
'Hey,' he said to the bartender. 'I ordered Dewars.'
'That's what I gave you, Mac,' replied the bartender, holding up the bottle.
'It may be in a Dewars bottle but this is cow piss. Now get me a Dewars or else get me the manager.'
The bartender knelt down and dug a real bottle of Dewars out of the cabinet. He poured Catch another drink.
'Sorry, Mac, but I got my orders.'
The whole incident irritated Catch. He hated being ripped off. He wasn't cheap but he believed in getting value received for his money. Catch would rather eat at McDonalds and know that he was getting decent food at a decent price than go to a fancy French restaurant which overcharged for bad service and poor food.
'You're a man after my own heart,' he heard someone say. Catch turned and discovered that he'd been standing next to a very attractive young woman. She had a mane of strawberry blonde hair which fell to her shoulders, bright green eyes and a large, voluptuous mouth.
'I just don't like to get screwed,' said Catch.
'Oh you don't?' replied the girl with a smile. 'Maybe I'm talking to the wrong guy.'
'Well,' Catch smiled, 'there's getting screwed and there's getting screwed.'
'I'm Caroline Hadlee, and this,' she said, moving back on her bar stool, 'is my friend Joellen Thompson.'
Catch hadn't noticed the other girl either. In her own way she was just as pretty as Caroline. Joellen had dark auburn hair cut in a similar manner to her friend's, a deep tan and large blue eyes.
'I'm Catch Callahan.'
'Oh, are we pleased to meet you,' murmured Joellen breathlessly. 'Why?' asked Catch.
'Well there are no real men in here,' said Caroline. 'They're all doing their macho trip in platform shoes and flowered shirts.'
'Or else,' continued Joellen, 'they're erstwhile cowboys strutting around in their pre bleached denims and Frye boots. I mean it's all a costume party.'
'And they all look exactly the same,' continued Caroline. 'Curly hair all done at the same hair styling shop and sporting mustaches that come in one of four or five varieties.'
Catch laughed at the girls' well-chosen remarks, but couldn't help noticing that they were, in hairstyle, makeup and dress, interchangeable with any of the other young girls at the disco.
'Would you girls like drinks?'
'We just have wine in places like this,' said Caroline, lifting her glass. 'It's hardly a good year but at least it's not rotgut liquor.'
Catch signaled for the bartender and ordered a round.
'Ohhhhh,' squealed Joellen. 'All these flashing lights make me feel dizzy. I'd just like to go somewhere and lie down.' Caroline looked at her friend and pursed her lips, then whispered, 'you're rushing things, Joellen, don't scare him off.'
Catch overheard what was said and was bemused by the situation. When a less violent rock number started he asked, 'Would one of you girls like to dance?'
