Lots of cool human lizards slither at the El Chameleon – Best Dive Bar in Ajijic.
CORA
Did we go there? Can’t remember.
RON
Yes, we did. You probably can’t remember because you were in deep conversation with Captain Morgan that night.
CORA
I remember you taking me home. Couldn’t remember the name of that bar. I didn’t think it was a dive. Kinda cute. And that hot little Mexican cutie thought you were cute. Did you ever find her again?
RON
No. It’s a dive. A nice dive. But a dive.
CORA
Now I am embarrassed to show you, my dives. Hahaha. Lol! Why do you call it a dive bar? What kind of bar is it?
RON
It’s the No Chance Saloon. It’s the Bedrock Bar, The End of the Line Cafe, The bottom of the Sea Rathskeller! Although they do try to keep up appearances with all their pipe dreams of yesterdays and tomorrows, as you will see for yourself if you are there very long.
I was at a hotel seminar led by former marine generals. The meeting was about turning a company around. I was one of the employees of the company that needed to be prepared to make a speech, but I was not called on to do so. The seminar was held in one of the large hotel conference rooms. Ballroom A? And there were about 100 people attending.
After the seminar was over, I was heading back to my room when I was approached by a short, plain, middle-aged woman who bore a remarkable resemblance to Madelaine Albright.
She came up to me and I looked down at her upcast eyes which seemed to be imploring me to do something. She begged me to come back to her room with her.
“I’m so all alone,” she said. It seemed as if we already knew each other and had had an affair in the past.
At the same time Madeleine and I were talking, I was approached by another individual who turned out to be Christopher Hitchens. He gave me a bear hug.
“I lost a dear friend last night old boy,” he said.
“Died?” I asked.
“No, he passed out with drink,” Christopher smiled.
“Where are you going now?” I asked his receding figure.
“I am going to the bar for a double scotch, old boy.”
“OK, I’ll meet you there later.”
“I hope you have more to say than you did at the meeting earlier tonight.” Then he was gone.
I looked back at Madeleine and told her I was very sorry, but I couldn’t be with her tonight. That I had to talk to Christopher.
Aunt Renie came to Louisville, Kentucky for a visit. It was in the spring of the year and nearing Derby Day, so I decided to take her out to Churchill Downs to watch the horses run.
We drove to south Louisville where the track is located and parked the car a few blocks away and walked the remaining distance to the track entrance. Aunt Renie is pretty spry for an old lady.
We were both able to get in for the admission price of only $1.00 as we were both senior citizens. Louisville likes to encourage its seniors to go to the track. We made our way through the throng of horseracing fans to a booth where they sell racing forms. I bought one and stuck it in my pocket. Then we walked out to the track and sat in the sun on hard benches and studied the form to make our picks.
We studied the racing form and saw that there was a field of eight horses for the next race. Aunt Renie had never been to a racetrack before so I had to teach her how to handicap the race. I am not an expert myself but here’s how I do it. The first thing I do is to study the form for the information listed about the horses for that particular race. First of all, I look for names I like. Something that clicks. Then, I look at the stats on that horse. Who is the trainer, who is the jockey, how much weight does the horse carry, how many races did the horse win this year, and last, what are the odds?
I take all these things into consideration and make a selection. I picked what looked like a winner: Psycho Blue Boots, the number 5 horse in the 3rd race. I suggested to Aunt Renie that we bet $10.00 to win on the 5 horse. If it won, we would split the winnings. She agreed.
I pushed my way through the crowd to the parimutuel window and placed my bet.
“$10.00 to win on the 5 horse in the 3rd race,” I said. The teller smiled, took my money, and punched my ticket.
The race was about to begin as was indicated by the trumpet call to the gate. I hurried back to where Aunt Renie was sitting and showed her our ticket. Just then the announcer announced, “They’re off!” And the race began.
“On the lead was Solient Green, on the outside Golden Band. On the rail was Shiftless Joe followed by Psycho Blue Boots. Royal Pain was moving up to fourth place, Psycho Blue Boots makes a sudden move…They are in the turn, Royal Pain is in third. Psycho Blue Boots moving up on the outside…now moving in…in the stretch Psycho Blue Boots takes the lead…at the wire…Psycho Blue Boots wins by nose!”
The crowd goes wild. I go wild Aunt Renie goes wild. We are winners!
We won enough on the race we were able to celebrate at one of Louisville’s most prestigious steak houses, Jack Fry’s. We had quite a day at the races and a nice meal to boot.
The next morning, I took Aunt Renie to the airport where she resumed her travels.
Eloise woke early on a Saturday morning. The bedroom was filled with light and the sheer curtains hanging over the large windows danced lightly in the cool breeze. She sat straight up in bed and stretched her arms out overhead, twisted her body to the left and let out a pleasant sigh as she yawned trying to wake her body up. She could smell the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
Fred, her husband, had gotten up earlier and went downstairs to make the coffee. This made Eloise happy. She got out of bed and put on her white silk dressing gown and went downstairs to meet the day. She was lighthearted and there was a spring in her step as she walked down the steps. On the way down she noticed the pictures of Brigid, her daughter, in a series from when she was a little girl until she was grown. These pictures were hung on the wall in stages as one descended the stairs and told the life story of little girl who grew into a beautiful woman. It had been her wedding day just a few short days ago and she was now on her honeymoon with her new husband, Bob. The newlyweds traveled to Paris right after they got married. Eloise could not be happier. She felt like it was a good match and that Bob and Brigid were a good fit together.
After coffee, Eloise decided to go out into her garden and pull weeds. It was situated in the backyard of their spacious house next to the pool. The house was a two-story Colonial located in a subdivision in the east part of town. The rooms were light and airy and filled with beautiful furniture. They had lived there the whole time Brigid was growing up. Now that she was gone Eloise would have to find more ways to spend her time. She couldn’t help but being happy for her though and a great feeling of pride rose in her bosom as she gazed out over her flowers.
Fred descended the stairs in the gloom of the early morning and headed to the kitchen for his first cup of coffee. The ancient wooden steps creaked under each of his footfalls as he traversed the stairs. He walked slowly through the dark hallway into the living room to pick up the morning paper so he would have something to read with his coffee. He noticed the tattered tapestries hanging from the dark gray walls which perfectly matched his mood for the day. He has been living in an atmosphere of sorrow ever since the day his only daughter, Melissande, left home with that guy from the carnival, Lukas.
Once in the kitchen Fred opened a tin of expresso coffee and filled the filter basket. The window of the kitchen looked out over a dull and deadly terrain. Viewed from the outside the window looked like a vacant eye. There was a large tree in the center of the yard which was still hidden in shadows. It had been struck by lightning a few years back and was in a steady state of dying. There was a malodorous fragrance wafting inside through the open window from the slate colored pond that smelled like decaying organic matter. Fred closed the window, nearly gagging as he did so.
As he drank his coffee Fred looked around. A lot needed to be done he thought. This kitchen is a mess. The dishes have piled up in the sink ever since she left begging to be washed. There were crumbs on the counters and in the corners the linoleum was starting to curl up. Oh well, he said to himself. I’ll get started tomorrow. Maybe she’ll stop by for a visit someday this week.
Fred sighed and drank his coffee. Then he put his head down on his arms resting on the table and you could see his shoulders gently rise and fall.
Instruments of death that fit snugly into the palm of your hand were gleaming dully in their showcases lovingly caressed by blue velvet. Oiled wooden handles jutted from solid blue-black bodies. There was a faint odor of oil and metal lingering on the air-conditioned atmosphere of the room. The soft sound of creaking leather reverberated through the reverential quiet as the clerk tenderly, ever so gently, eased a delicately balanced, but heavily weighted .357 magnum pistol out of its holster. Firmly, but gently, he gripped the butt of the gun in his right hand. He placed the web of his thumb over the hammer of the awesome black revolver and slowly began to exert pressure on it. The man’s hands trembled slightly and he closed his eyes. Small beads of perspiration began popping over his upper lip. A little metal clicking noise emerged from the gun as the hammer went through it first cocking phase. A slight smile appeared on the lips of the clerk as he continued to pull back on the heavy hammer and another click emerged – the gun was half-cocked – the clerk began breathing heavily now and rapidly and his face grew flush. He slid his thumb to the edge of the hammer and applied the tip of it to the ridges cut deeply into the top edge. He pushed down hard and fully cocked the revolver. A tiny teardrop appeared in the corner of the clerk’s eye. The gap between the ridged head of the steel hammer and the body of the gun was a chasm. It looked like the jaws of a primordial reptile. It was powerful and it was frightening – the stored-up energy of the hammer begged to be released. He pulled the trigger. Snap! I jumped. The hair on the back of my neck prickled and a shiver ran down my left arm. The clerk placed the gun back into its holster. He lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and blew clouds of tobacco smoke across the room. He had a distant look in his eyes. I turned on my boot heels and walked out of the store into the bright afternoon sunlight.
I stopped into the strip club out near the race track early on a Friday night. They had just opened so there wasn’t a whole lot of action going on. Strippers sitting in little clumps here and there. I sat down at the bar and ordered a Budweiser. This is de rigueur for me at strip clubs because its an easy drink to order, it’s cheap, and doesn’t call a lot of attention. Usually a good way to change a twenty and get a lot of singles for the strippers. Strippers love singles.
“What’ll it be Bud?”
“I’ll have a Budweiser, please.”
“This Bud’s for you.”
She opened one of the glass paneled doors covering the refrigerated room back of the bar and retrieved a bottle of beer and set it down before me.
“Just a minute,” she said when I tried to pay her.
They were still opening the joint and she and another barmaid were hovering over the cash register counting money and signing in. It was OK with me. I was in no hurry.
I was sitting there on my bar stool swigging my beer and swiveling around on the stool to check the place out. Back behind me there was a large main stage with two stripper poles. Music was playing in the background. Kind of low for a stripper place I thought. There were tables and chairs in the space between me and the stage. The lighting was low and seductive and of course mirrors everywhere. I had turned back around to the bar facing the mirror on the back wall when I noticed a thin young girl with long brown mousy hair wearing a black athletic jacket heading in my direction. She was wearing black heels. Under the jacket was a nice lingerie set of matching black bra and panties. She was distinguished from the other girls because one, she was wearing a jacket, and two because her lingerie was nicer than the rest. The panties were high waisted and the brassier was rather full, more like a bustier, and while she looked good, she really wasn’t that sexy.
“Hi. What’s your name, cowboy?” She asked.
“Philip”, I answered. “What’s yours?”
She lowered her head and got closer and got a silly grin on her face.
“My real name or my stripper name?” She purred into my ear.
“Well, I always like to know a girl’s real name.”
“We’re not supposed to tell what our real name is.” She dropped her head and laughed. “It’s Crystal. My stripper name is Bella.”
“Oh, Bella! That’s a pretty name!” I was wondering if she knew what it really meant.
She smiled. “Thanks! Yours is pretty too.”
I smiled back.
“I don’t usually do this. I only work a couple days a month. Just enough to make a little money to pay the rent. I’m a single mother. I have a six-year-old daughter at home I have to take care of. She’ll be six in August.”
“Oh really? What day?”
“The ninth. August the ninth.”
“Wow! Really? That’s my birthday too!”
Her smile got bigger.
“Really? You’re a Leo?”
“Yep! Just like your daughter. What’s yours?”
“Scorpio.”
“Oh! The most dangerous sign in the universe!”
“Do you study signs?”
“A little bit. You?”
She nodded her assent.
“Are Leos and Scorpios compatible?”
She laughed and allowed that they were. “I’m very passionate.” She said.
Then she went on about how she didn’t’ drink but that she smoked a lot.
“Weed?”
“Yeah. Buy me a drink?”
“I thought you just said you didn’t drink.”
“I don’t. Except when I come here. I couldn’t do this unless I drank.”
“How much are they? I don’t usually buy girls drinks because they jack the prices up and I don’t like that.”
She grimaced. “I really don’t know. Get me a shot of tequila. I’m going over here to talk to my friend to make sure she is alright. I’ll be right back.”
So, I ordered a shot. I figured if the barmaid thought it was for me, she would just charge me regular price.
“Silver or gold?” She asked.
“Silver.”
She poured a shot and set it down in front of me.
“Lemon or lime?”
“Lemon.”
“You want salt with that?”
“No.”
“That’ll be seven dollars.”
In a few minutes Crystal drifted back over to where I was sitting and spotted the shot of Patron sitting on the bar.
“Where’s your shot?”
“I’m drinking beer.”
This seemed to satisfy her. She picked up the shot of tequila and poured it down her gullet and then sucked on the lemon and made a face.
“Oh, that was awful!”
“The lemon?”
“No, the tequila. I told you I didn’t drink.”
The she proceeded to tell me the story of her life. “You know, when I was younger, I was pretty wild and I did a lot of bad things. My boyfriend was killed right in front of me.”
“Bad drug deal?”
“Yeah. We were sitting in the car together somewhere in the west end and they just shot him right then and there.”
“Jesus!”
“Yeah, that was kind of a wakeup call for me. Ever since then I have been trying to get my act together and turn my life around.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
She lowered her head again and smiled.
“Hey! Don’t go anywhere. I’m going back over there to check on my friend again.”
So, she walked back over to her friend who was sitting at the other end of the bar.
I figured she be back for another drink but it looked like she got caught up in the conversation with her friend and some others who joined them. Thought it might be a good time to blow so I took the air.
Note: I published this story once before, but this is a new and revised version.
I was having breakfast in one of my favorite hamburger joints, Burger Boy, down on Burnett Street. I was concentrating on my reading when I noticed a shadow falling over me and a rush of wind as someone walked past. I looked up and caught the figure of a young woman in a black leather jacket. She walked up to the lunch counter and sat on one of the stools that had seats covered in red vinyl. She ordered some food and then stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. She never came back. She left behind her leather jacket and her purse. The jacket she set on the stool and the purse she set on the counter. When she spoke to the counter person, she ordered breakfast to go: scrambled eggs and hash browns with rye toast. As I recall, officer, when I looked up from the book I was reading, I noticed a single black female, short in stature, with long black hair and fake eyelashes. She was wearing a black ball cap with the black leather jacket. The jacket had silver studs on the collar and along the half circle for each of her shoulders. She had on tight blue jeans and brown suede fringed moccasins that went half way up her well-shaped calves. There was a red leather purse with a gold chain sitting on the counter in front of her. It’s still there. I figured her for a pretty wild character. Judging by the way she was dressed she might have been a working girl. Although I, doubt it. She had an air of confidence about and looked like she wouldn’t take shit from anyone. Especially a pimp.
I noticed just before she went outside, she kept glancing at her cell, scrolling through her messages. Yeah, she might have been an independent all right. When she turned around to leave was when I witnessed and felt the full force of her great beauty. She was quite a looker. Shame about what happened. Do you think you will catch the guy?
It was late and everyone had left the café except for me. I was sitting at a sidewalk table in front of the window and could watch the passersby on their way home. A tree sat a few feet from me in a large round pot casting a shadow over the empty table sitting next to it. A slight breeze gently moved the leaves on the tree. There was enough light to read by. I liked to sit late at night in this café and read and drink my whiskey and soda in peace. It was quiet now that all the other customers had left. There only remained two waiters, one old like me and the other young. The younger one seemed impatient to go home. Probably had a wife to go home too. That was not the case for me or I suspect the other waiter.
Last week I attempted suicide.
Why, you may ask?
Loneliness, despair, I don’t know. Just couldn’t stand the pain of going on.
It wasn’t for lack of money. No, no, I have plenty. There just didn’t seem to be any point going on. I was saved at the last minute by my niece who cut me down. I’m not sure she did me any favors.
I noticed out in the street a soldier and a girl walking briskly by. They better get home soon, I thought, or they will be out past curfew and have to pay the price. Hope he gets what he wants.
I signaled the waiter for another drink.
The younger waiter sauntered over.
“What will you have?”
“Another whisky and soda.”
“You’ll be drunk.”
I just looked at him. He went away.
The two waiters were huddled together at a table near the door. They were whispering. Probably talking about me I thought. Probably want me to go. Well, I’m not ready to go.
The waiter went to the bar and poured a shot of Woodford into a tumbler of ice and spritzed it with soda water. He carried the drink outside to where I was sitting. He placed the drink in front of me and said, “You should have killed yourself last week.”
He probably thought I couldn’t hear what he was saying as I am practically deaf. But I hear well enough in a quiet environment.
The waiter went back into café and sat down with his work mate. They began whispering again. Probably think I’m drunk and need to leave, I thought. Oh, well, I’ll stay a little longer and have one more for the road. I had a wife once. She left me long ago.
I like this place. It is clean, well-lighted, and quiet.
I motioned to the waiters for another drink.
“Another whiskey and soda, amigo.”
“No,” the young waiter said. “You’re done. Time to go.”
“Another,” I insisted.
“We are closing now.” He began to wipe the table clean with his towel.
I slowly stood up, looked at the bill he had unceremoniously laid on the table. I pulled my cash from my pocket and paid the bill, leaving a modest tip.
I walked down the street away from the café slowly, a bit unsteadily, but with as much dignity as I could muster. I could feel the eyes of the two waiters burning a hole in my back. I wasn’t ready to go home yet. I didn’t want to face my dark room and the empty bed. One more drink, I thought. There must be some place open tonight. Only thing was, they would unlikely be as clean and well-lighted or as nice as this last one was. I didn’t want any music. No, I really couldn’t stand to listen to any music. And it would be difficult to stand with dignity in front of a bar. What was it I wanted? Just a clean, quiet, well-lighted place. What was it I had? A whole lot of nothing. I faced a cold void, full of nothing. A darkness. Deliver us from nothingness.
I came to a bar that was open and stood at the counter.
“What will it be?” asked the counter man.
“Nothing. I’ll have a cup of nothing.”
“What, are you crazy, old man?”
I laughed.
“I’ll have shot of Tequila, then. Patron.”
“This is a very bright place you have here,” I said, “and it is very pleasant, but the bar needs cleaning.”
The counterman gave me a look, but did not speak. It was too late to talk.
“You want another shot?” he asked.
“No thanks,” I said and left. I dislike bars and dirty cafes. A quiet, clean, well-lighted place is a different matter altogether.
Now, I will go home. I will lie in my bed and fall asleep just as the day is breaking. I am probably not the only one who has trouble sleeping, I thought to myself, as I walked the six blocks back to my apartment.
Ghost Dog 