Serge went over to the juke and pushed coins in a slot. “Let’s see. So many to choose from. Can’t make a mistake. Have to pick the perfect tunes. Tunes are everything. Tunes affect emotions. Tunes change behavior. The wrong tunes could ruin everything. Which one, which one, which one? Let’s see what we’ve got here….” His finger ran down the glass. “…She’s waiting by the phone, he needs to be free, she’ll stab you in the back, he’s cryin’ on the inside, her body’s a danger zone, his heart’s on fire, she needs more lovin’, his watch is set to cheatin’ time, she never dances anymore, he wants one last chance, she’s takin’ a midnight train. Someone dies at the end of that one. In that song, it’s always raining. In that one, it’s not raining but the sun don’t shine. The horn section in that one gives me the nagging sensation I’ve forgotten to study for an exam. That one reminds me of costly errors in foreign policy….”
“Pick a song!” yelled Coleman.
“Okay, okay! There, that’s a good love song.” Serge hit B-12. Six times.
He rejoined them at the table and sat sideways, appreciating the layout of the room, tapping along with the music.
Molly studied his content profile. But all she could think about was the horror from the side of the restaurant. And just because some idiot had insulted her, like they always did.
“Yes.”
Serge didn’t hear her at first.
“I said yes.”
Serge turned. “Yes what?”
“I’ll marry you.”
Everyone at the bar startled at the outcry.
Serge jumped up and began doing the twist, singing along with the juke.
The commotion drew the owner out of the back room. “Serge! Get the hell off the pool table! What are you thinking?”
Serge hopped down. He did the moonwalk, the hand jive, the chicken dance, the Iggy Shuffle.
“She said
Sop Choppy walked over to Coleman. “What’s going on?”
“I just got laid.”
“No, I mean Serge.”
“Oh, I think he’s engaged.”
“No kidding?”
The already festive mood inside the pub became reckless as the news spread. People bought rounds of drinks, toasted, got loud, went by to shake Serge’s hand. They pulled the newly betrothed couple out of their chairs and got them to dance. At least Serge was dancing. Molly just sort of stood there while Serge pogo-sticked in a circle around her.
MOLLY GOT UP on her tiptoes to give Serge a quick peck goodnight.
The Buick raced south on U.S. 1, Serge’s head out the window in the night breeze. He came back inside. “This is the best day of my life!”
“I got laid.”
“That’s right, you did! Congratulations! When was the last time?”
“Last time what?”
“Sex. You have had sex before, right?”
“Oh, sure.”
“When?”
“All the time. Yesterday morning, twice again in the afternoon.”
“I mean with someone else.”
“That doesn’t count?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then that would be” — Coleman began counting on his fingers — “the first.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope.”
Serge slapped the steering wheel. “Hot damn! Now we
Coleman made a suggestion.
“You read my mind.”
Moments later, Coleman stared through hot glass at rotating corn dogs. “What would we do without convenience stores?”
“You know who can’t go to convenience stores?”
“Who?”
“Barbra Streisand.”
“That’s right. She’s a prisoner.”
They carried their haul out to the car in five plastic bags and drove back to the trailer. Soon it was spread across the floor of Coleman’s mobile home. A Looney Tunes marathon came on. They toasted with Slurpee cups.
“What about Brenda?”
“That’s right. We should probably bring her inside before we forget.”
“Next commercial.”
They each grabbed an armpit and dragged Brenda up the steps. Coleman lovingly tucked her into one of the two single beds in the back of the trailer.
He stood and smiled.
Serge pointed. “What about JoJo?”
Coleman looked at the tiny deer in the corner. “How can he sleep standing up like that?”
“The people at the post office do it all the time.”
“I’m going to put him in the other bed. Someday I want to get him some little clothes.”
Coleman set the deer on its side and began tucking him in.
“What’s all that red stuff on the blankets?” said Serge.
“What?”
“What do you mean, ‘what?’ You got ketchup everywhere.”
Coleman looked at his hands. “I always forget napkins.” He wiped them on his pants, then smiled at Serge. Serge smiled back. Nothing could ruin this evening. They watched the beds like proud parents.
“They’re so peaceful,” said Coleman.
“Life is good.”
24
SUNLIGHT STREAMED INTO the trailer. Brenda’s eyelids fluttered.
