The
stranger with the soft drawl drops a nickel in the jukebox and the
familiar strains of Patsy Kline's Walkin' After Midnight fill
every corner of the smoky canteen. Stern, suspicious faces relax,
some even begin to smile. You can make a lot of new friends with
Patsy Kline.
“Buy
you a beer, Slick?” Sparrow offers and extends his hand.
“Don't
mind if I do,” the stranger says agreeably although it comes out
“Don' mah'n if Ah do.” He accepts the handshake and Sparrow nods
to old Bill behind the counter then slides over to make room in the
cracked leather booth. The stranger joins us with a lazy grin and a
tip of his cowboy hat.
“Ma'am,”
he nods to me, “How ya'll doin'.”
Johnny
gives me a swift kick beneath the tabletop to stir my manners.
“Shut
yer mouth, girl,” Sparrow rumbles, “You'll catch flies.”
“Oh,
sorry,” I manage to say. I'm having trouble because the stranger
bears an unsettling resemblance to Paul Newman and I'm thinking his
blue eyes could surely get a girl into trouble. As if he could read
my mind - and is used to such reactions, I suspect - he gives me a
friendly wink.
“No
cause to worry, ma'am,” he tells me, “Ah'm as harmless as they
come.”
Johnny's
between me and the door and there's no place to run. Worse, no way to
stop the blush I feel rising like a hot cloud. I make a show over
lighting an Export but fumble the match and Johnny has to steady my
hands. Pull yourself together! a disgusted and
violently embarrassed voice in my head is yelling, Jesus,
will somebody make some small talk!
Sparrow
does exactly that and I feel myself cringe with relief. I don't hear
much of it because of the roaring in my ears but at least the heat on
my face is cooling off and presently I'm able to take a breath and
lift my head again. That's the moment when I realize that the
stranger, Sparrow and Johnny are all chatting amiably and no one is
paying me the slightest attention.
Imagine
that. Making a fool of yourself over a stranger with a southern drawl
and Paul Newman eyes isn't fatal. Not even at sixteen.
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