The Black Train

Collier couldn’t imagine an appropriate response, so he just said, “Your mother’s very nice indeed, Jiff, and very attractive for her age.”

“Yeah, she is, and ya wanna know how I know she likes ya? Huh?”

“Uuuuuuum…sure.”

“It weren’t that she told me, now, but it’s ’cos whenever a single fella checks in that she’s got a twinkle for, she gives him room three. Your room.”

Collier’s brain chugged through preinebriation. What the hell? What could my room have to do with…“Oh, you mean because it’s better than the other rooms?”

“Naw, naw.” Jiff waved his hand. He elbowed Collier one more time and whispered, “It’s ’cos of the view. Bet she even told ya that, huh? That room three’s got the best view?”

“Actually, she did but—” The ridiculous conversation was growing more ridiculous. I guess the view from my balcony is pretty good but it’s nothing really special. “The view of the mountain? The garden?”

“Naw, naw,” Jiff wheezed in his own amusement. He slapped his knees. “I’m gonna leave ya in suspense, Mr. Collier.” A glance to the bar clock. “I best git my tail back to the house ’cos I still got some work to do.”

“Oh, well, let me drive you back.”

Another dismissive wave of hand. “Naw, naw, wouldn’t think of it. You stay here’n jaw with Dominique. It ain’t but a ten-minute walk and tell ya the truth I could use some fresh air ’cos I am more hammered than a hunnert-year-old fence post.” Jiff wobbled when he pushed his stool out. “But thanks again for treatin’ me, Mr. Collier. You really are a swell guy”—he winked—“and one I’d be proud to see datin’ my ma.”

I don’t believe it. This guy’s trying to set me up with his MOTHER. “Uh, yeah, Jiff, thanks for coming out.” He awkwardly shook Jiff’s hand and bid him a good night.

Yep. Strange damn day—the bar clock showed him it was only nine P.M.— and it’s not even over yet.

He turned on his stool just to people-watch but noticed Jiff walking the wrong way up the street. The inn’s in the opposite direction…But what did it matter? Probably bored shitless listening to Dominique and me talk beer facts. Still…

Collier got up and walked to the front window; Jiff took uneven strides to the corner and entered a door under a neon sign. Another bar, Collier realized. The one Jiff had mentioned earlier, where this man J.G. Sute frequented? But again Collier couldn’t imagine why he cared. Jiff was a hardworking and no doubt hard-drinking Southern rube; not the kind of guy to spend much time in a tourist spot like Cusher’s. Collier squinted through the glass. He thought he could barely make out the neon: THE RAILROAD SPIKE.

Dumbest name I ever heard for a bar…He turned back for his bar stool, hoping Dominique would return. I can’t wait to talk to her some more…In Collier’s business, he met few women he could relate to professionally. And she’s cute as hell…But then he felt as though fate had just hit him in the face with a pie when he got back to his seat and found Lottie sitting in the stool Jiff had just vacated.

I thought she had to do laundry!

He put on his best face. “Hi, Lottie.”

She gave him a big smile and waved.

“Finished your work early, I see.”

She wagged her head up and down. She’d pinned her hair back and changed into a shocking tight evening dress that was diaphanous black. Jesus, Collier thought. She looks like a slot queen on a casino boat. Redneck housemaids needn’t dress like this, but there was Collier again, supporting the stereotype. Why shouldn’t the poor girl go out to a bar? He struggled not to shake his head when he noted her shoes: black high heels several sizes too large. Collier thought of an adolescent trying on her mother’s shoes, to feel grown up.

But despite her petite frame, the rest of her was grown up, and the howlingly inappropriate dress spotlighted her body. Immediately, he noticed an absence of pantie lines…

A lot of dichotomies here, Collier pondered: Mrs. Butler, the equivalent of Raquel Welch’s physique circa 1980 topped by an old man’s head with a wig; Dominique, the beautiful European-trained brewmaster who only drinks one beer a day because she’s a Christian; and now Lottie, a racehorse bod who couldn’t talk and had a face that…wasn’t the prettiest. But after all the quirks that had already befallen Collier today, what else could he expect?

Lottie crossed her legs in the tight gown, a foot rocking. Collier gritted his teeth after one glance at the athletic legs, and a spark came to his groin when he imagined them entwined about his back. Oh, man…Next, his eyes flicked to her top and noticed the pert, braless breasts free behind the shiny black fabric, nipples erect. Then a glance to her face…

Absurd, excited, half-crazy eyes and a warped grin.

“Uh, would you like to something to eat?”

Grinning, she shook her head no.

“How about a beer?”

She wagged her head yes.

Collier ordered her a lager from the first barmaid. He felt obliged to engage in conversation with Lottie but of course he couldn’t do that, could he?

Please, Dominique. Finish checking the wort and get back here.

“Oh, you just missed Jiff,” he thought to mention.

She nodded and slugged a quarter of the beer in one gulp. The glass looked huge in her little hand.

“Looks like he went down the street to another bar.”

She put her hand to her mouth as if laughing. Her other hand slapped her bare knee.

“I…don’t get it.” He thought back. “Oh, do you know this local historian? J.G. Sute?”

Now she belly-laughed—silently, of course—but this time slapped Collier’s knee.

“I still don’t get it. What, is Mr. Sute a funny man?”

Another silent belly-howl, and her hand slid halfway up his thigh and squeezed.

The pig in Collier didn’t really mind her hand there, but…Not here! Dominique would be back, and he didn’t want her to witness this weirdo spectacle. Just as he contemplated a way to remove it, she slipped it higher, her thumb edging his crotch—

That’s it!

He plucked the hand off and put in her lap. But she was still silently laughing.

“Come on, Lottie. What’s so funny about this guy Sute? He’s, like, the town fool?”

Lottie slugged more beer while roving her hand in a circle.

“You’ll tell me later?”

More rapid nods.

Collier frowned. He knew it was his own flaw, though—his intent curiosity. Why can’t I forget about all this bullshit and just finish my book? That’s what I’m here for, not gossip.

Nor was he here to revel in all this lust. He tried to glance around inadvertently, but anytime his eyes fell on an attractive woman, his crotch tingled. It got to the point that he forced himself not to look anywhere. He pretended to peruse the cased uniforms on display but even this he couldn’t do without catching a glimpse of someone. Eventually he pointed to a case of Confederate double-breasted frock coats. “Lots of uniforms here,” he said, if only to not sit in silence.

Lottie tapped him on the shoulder, looked right at him, and mouthed I love you!

Somebody please shoot me, Collier thought. He struggled for anything to deflect his unease. “So, uh, are you, uh, sure you don’t want something to eat?”

You! she mouthed and grinned.

He pretended not to understand. I’m dying here. His next errant glance fell on her foot in the too-big shoe, which she was still anxiously rocking.

Even her ankle was attractive. Even the vein up the top