Drink in a brothel, frozen coyote, and relying on the arts.

We dropped off Lucy and drove to Pahrump to have a drink in a brothel, a glorified double wide. The whores were ugly, but they made good drinking buddies. One told us through a throat of two decades of chain-smoking that she cleared 80K a year, working half of it, and that her husband worked on oil rigs down in the gulf, so they basically had the same schedule, and they were going to retire early. Amanda watched her walk away with a fat trucker. She shook her head, “80 thousand. Jesus.”

Billy raised his beer to his lips, “She’s bullshitting you.”

The bartender laughed. He looked like Charlie Rich. I handed menus around. Each sex act had a title and price, mostly by the hour. It was a fancy menu, also, full-on uptown bistro. I smiled at the bartender, “Of course the prices are suggestive.”

He grinned, “They are.”

I leaned into Christine, “I mean, what trucker’s gonna lay down $750 for A Night at the Brown Roxbury?”    

It was night when we left. The gorgeous Martian layout of the drive was relegated by the Moon to oblong shapes and lumps in the light black desert. I passed a microbus, “Goddamn, that guy poured a strong drink.”

Christine looked over, “Stronger than Craig?”

“I want to say yes, but I don’t think so.”

She opened her phone, “I have service out here.” She dialed and put the call on speaker, “Craig, we wanted to tell you that a bartender in a brothel pours a better drink than you.”

He said bullshit and she hung up. We laughed. I smiled at the road, “Ruthless, Mama.”

“Wait,” she said, “that was mean, considering, you know.”

“The fact that his whole life is on the skids?” Billy said.

“That’s why,” she redialed and put him on speaker again. “Just joking, Craig. We love you.”

“No we don’t,” Billy said.

“Where’s John?” he asked.

“Right here, sweet tits.” “

“Hey.” “How are you, man?”

“Anyone else in the car besides you four?”

“Maybe some crabs Billy just picked up. You alright?”

“I’m alright. Court date’s in three weeks. Fucking attorney’s charging me for everything that goes on. Talked to his ass for ten minutes on the phone and he charged a hundred bucks.”

“Harsh.”

“Oh, and Donna’s pissed because she wants to work nights but the second hand smoke doesn’t fly with the kid. Days are alright, but she’s only making chump change. I keep telling Brad to go non-smoking. There aren’t any non-smoking bars on the drag, and the bar would kill because people with more money would come in here. Anyway, I hired her back last week. I see her here when I first come in, then at three in the morning when she’s asleep.”

“Anyway she can work somewhere else?” Billy said from the backseat, “a different bar or a swanky restaurant?”

“She’s looking. It’d be nice to have her on the same schedule as me. But maybe right now this is the way it’s gotta be.”

Billy leaned his head between our seats, “Craig, are you two fuckin’?”

“We did a few days ago. We’re getting along and shit, just hard to cope with the stress, and cab fare sucks ass. But no one’s hurt or dying. How’s Vegas?”

“Billy’s getting a tattoo,” Christine said.

“Get outta here. Of what?”

“He won’t tell us.”

I looked at the phone, “A tribal piece on his lower back.”

“Little slut.”

“Craig,” Billy said, “we’re going to hang up and drive and talk shit about you now.”

I closed the phone and handed it back. A text message returned.

Christine held the phone up:

-DICKS-

“Fuck, what’s that dude going to do?” Billy said.

I talked to the rearview, “He’s going to work and raise the kid and eat Donna’s shit. What else can he do?” I swerved to miss a coyote after my high beams wouldn’t move him any faster. Billy froze, “Holy shit. I’ve never seen a coyote in the flesh before.”

I looked for him in the rearview, “Boy needs to learn some self-preservation.”

“I keep thinking about those girls back there.” Amanda said, “I mean, don’t they see a problem with what they’re doing?”

“Oldest profession in the world,” Christine said, “that’s a choice they make. Not that I feel good about it, but if they’re happy with it, fuck it.”

I looked over at her, then to the rearview, “Pretty much. But I imagine it’s like being a stripper, only more honest than being a stripper. The money’s hard to walk away from.”

“Not that hard.” Amanda said.

Billy looked at me, “Thinking about becoming a whore, John?”

“It’s crossed my mind.”

“Dave’s not making your ends meet?”

“When I get back I’m going to start sending my writing out, maybe see what all the agent talk is about. I might need an agent. I don’t really know.”

“You never talk about your writing, man.”

“You’re welcome.”

Amanda laughed. Billy scratched his skull, “I hear you’re really good.”

“Been at it a lot and for a long time. Nothing makes me sicker than a writer or any type of artist who brings up the contents or reasoning of their work in conversation, even moderately.”

“Christine and I are from L.A., John,” Amanda said, “the fact that you don’t talk about yourself or your writing is fucking awesome.”

Christine laughed, “All the assholes out there, the insecure, narcissistic pantie wastes. They infest the music world, too. And they infect it.”

“I’m sure they infect all the forms,” Billy said, “I couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to rely on the arts for a living.”

“Which is why I don’t,” I told him, “but something needs to break soon, or rather I need to actually try to push my work, but the game sickens me. It feels like a trap either way I play it, but I’ve been thinking long and hard lately about a way to spring it.”

Christine smiled at me. Amanda looked at her and grinned, and we were quiet until we saw Vegas, which meant we saw the light of the Luxor stemming from a line of gold in the middle of nothing.

“You know what I want right now?” I said.

Billy looked ahead, “A thirteen year-old Korean boy to make out with.”

“And a big ass candy bar, like a slab of chocolate and a bottle of iced tea. Let’s hit the Sev on the east side.”

Christine laughed, “You’re serious, you want to drive to a certain 7 Eleven when they’re all over.” “I used to love this one. It’s right by my old place.”

Billy watched the road from his window, “I’m in.”  

I hadn’t been there in almost ten years, but I drove right to it. Amanda sat at a slot machine, next to an old couple who chain-smoked and fed the machine cups of quarters without winning or flinching. I found the chocolate and tea. Christine grabbed an orange juice. Billy sat next to Amanda. I paid up and we walked over. I broke off a corner of chocolate and sucked on it, swallowed a gulp of tea and offered a piece to Christine. She shook her head and laughed, leaned over and planted a kiss on my cheek. We watched Amanda play poker. Billy dug into his pocket and bet the maximum. She drew five jacks on deuces wild and won 250 quarters.

She laughed, “Oh my god!”

The couple next to her smiled reluctantly.

I looked at the jacks, “$62.50. Not bad.”

“Should I keep going?”

“Cash out,” I said, “keep the good luck. Plus, Lucy’s waiting.”

“Lucy Luce,” Christine said, “I miss Lucy.”

She went ahead and played two more hands and lost eight quarters, cashed out and we left.

“Told you that Sev was good mojo.”

“Hell yes,” she said, “go, East Side.”