Living and Writing in Mexico

It’ll Do
Copyright William J. Conaway, 1989

Episode 13 – SULLY’S PLACE

I was sitting at the long oak bar of the It’ll Do sipping on a Bud. I was waiting for someone who wanted to shoot some pool, when this girl came in. She looked just old enough to order (although I’ve known Sully to make some exceptions for under-agers when they had one of his regulars with them). She was pretty, all right. J.C. and I were talking about something-or-other. We both turned around a little to get a better look at her, naturally. She was really a looker—in a clean sort of way. Her hair was black and cut short. J.C. and I weren’t the only ones looking, Sully was too. We all enjoyed a good look as she glided across the room. She slid up on one of the bar stools about mid-way betweenJ.C. and me.

“My name’s Orville,” I said. “Care to shoot a game of pool?”

“No thank you Orville. Could you tell me where to find the boss?”

“That’s him behind the bar,” I said, more than a little disappointedly.

Sully’s not a letch, he couldn’t get away with it in Cherryville. He might have been just a little more susceptible what with Vera out of town. At least, he seemed friendlier than he usually was with strangers.

I could tell you what they said back-and-forth, but it was just get acquainted talk. Her name was Jane. His was Jerome Sullivan, but just call me Sully; all my friends do.

About that time J.C. said he thought he’d go over and make her welcome. He were back in a few minutes. Jane asked for a couple of minutes alone with Sully. What I guess she didn’t know was that the It’ll Do is a quiet bar, a family bar, sort of…

“Mr. Sullivan, I’m looking for a job”.

“Well, you could try `The Barn’ just outside of town”.

“I was there last night”.

Her normal smile turned into a frown. It didn’t make Jane look any less pretty, though.

“It doesn’t have the—what do you call it? The right atmosphere. Not for me, it’s pretty rowdy. The manager out there! I don’t think he is a very classy man”. Mr. Sullivan, this is such a NICE bar, really it is. I could tell right away.”

“Jane, we’ve never ever needed a bar-maid here”.

“Never?”

“Un uh. Not much call for one in a place like the It’ll Do. This is a pretty quiet place, you know”.

J.C. turned back to me and whispered, “I’ll bet you five that Sully hires her”.

“Are you smoking some of that funny tobacco, J.C.? Sully doesn’t need any bar-maid. Besides, Vera would probably cut him off for a month for hiring her without her say-so”.

“J.C., I’m a hell of a lot older than you, and I can read people as well as you can read a comic book. It’s a bet”.

“Mr. Sullivan,” Jane said. “I really do need this job. I can work the booths. Full-time or evenings, if you want me to”.

“I’m really sorry, Jane, but I can’t use you,” Sully said.

When Sully hired Jane it did brighten up the place considerably. She was one hell of better person to look at than Sully that’s for sure. I’m not saying anything against Vera, but Jane was a good fifteen years younger.

Business did pick up some. Jane got all the normal passes you’d expect, regulars and salesmen, even some of the town folk who didn’t normally stop into the It’ll Do. She didn’t go out with anybody (we would have known about that) and she didn’t make any big fuss about the passes either. She just kept on being a nice, clean, sweet girl. Of course Sully didn’t have her dress up in any of those fancy costumes like they do in other places.

Sully seemed pleased to have her around. People sitting in the booths used to have to get up and serve themselves. When Jane started serving them, there seemed to be a lot more people sitting over there. It wasn’t the service so much as it was Jane. Ladies seemed to like her just fine. When the booths were empty, she would go back behind the
bar and help Sully with the clean-up work. Sully liked that, I could tell.

I kept on thinking on what would happen when Vera got home. That didn’t turn out to be the problem, no, sir.

One day, about a week after Jane came to work, a stranger came in. He went over and sat down in one of the booths. When a stranger comes in we’re polite but wary. The regulars check him out. This fellow dressed in smart fashion. About thirty-five, I’d say, with long hair for this part of the country. He was wearing a tie. Jane went over to take his order.

“Sully,” she said later, “I know that man from somewhere”.

“Is he giving you any trouble?” Sully asked.

“Oh, no. I just know him from someplace”.

“Well, if he does, just come over and tell me”.

Jane gave him a big smile and nodded a few times. A few minutes later I went over and asked this stranger if he’d care to shoot some pool, he accepted. Instead of lagging for the break, I told to go ahead and shoot first. This is just plain good strategy—it bound him to play a second game, giving me the break. I’m not a shark. I shoot good pool, that’s all. I don’t, as a matter of principle, pull my shots. Sometimes one game with me is enough for some people. So why not let him take the break? Why not? He ran the table on me. I might as well have been out baling hay, for all it mattered.

One thing I did notice about this fellow was, not only was he one hell of a shooter, but he sort of swished as he moved around the table, positioning his shots. I swear—he waggled his ass four or five times before and after every shot. You get the picture? That damn well didn’t keep him from taking the first game and my five dollars.

I went up for two more beers from Sully and overheard:

“Sully, how long has it been since you’ve given the It’ll Do a face-lift? It’s none of my business, I know, but, it’s getting a little dingy,” Jane was saying.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Sully said looking around the place.

“What made me think of it was I remember who that man is. The one shooting pool with Orville. He’s the decorator who redid the Park Place over in Wichita not long ago. I was working there. He improved that place about four-hundred percent. He might have some ideas for you”.

Well that confirmed it for me; about Delbert, I mean…an interior decorator. Sully called him over to the bar before I could get back to start the second game.

They talked for quite some time, until the regulars started drifting in. I couldn’t hear what they were saying because I was over at the table practicing shots. They talked so long that two farmers came over and claimed the table out from under me.

The next day the deer head was down, the beer signs were off the walls. Tim Foley was busy at work dismantling the horse-shoe booths. Delbert was doing some supervising, parading around the room looking this way and that. The day after, the juke box was taken out. It went on from there. Sully even closed the It’ll Do, for repairs.

When he opened up a week later all the regulars came back. It was terrible. As if your favorite bird dog had turned into a toad.

We knew who the culprit was. He was the fellow in the fancy sports jacket and shiny shoes who was jumping all of us. Pointing out this or that and taking credit for all of it. Thank God Sully didn’t, no-one would’ve ever talked to him again.

First, the pool table was gone. A good sized dancing floor was where it used to be. Some big speakers were hanging on the wall sending out so much music a body couldn’t talk. The oak bar was now padded plastic. Above it were wooden glass holders that held the glasses upside-down. Carpet was on the floor. It wasn’t even regular carpet. It was pieces of carpet in different colors cut to fit any-which-a-way curves. The ceiling was about seven feet overhead and had all these little colored lights poking out here and there. Seating? I’ll tell you. There were little round tables with ice cream parlor chairs around them.

The bar stools had been changed to things with chrome tubing and clear Plexiglas. Maybe a body could perch on one of them—I didn’t know. On the wall opposite to the bar was this painting. All different colors in circles, triangles and squares.

I had a double dark beer while standing up between two of those chrome things. Mavis actually got up on one. She ordered a double dark too. I imagine just about everyone ordered the same while sitting in those dumb ice cream chairs. They were served by Jane. She was wearing a halter top and short-shorts. Well, she was a looker, all right.

Sully was smiling. There was a twitch to it. “What do you all think?”

J.C. tried to bang his beer glass down on the bar, but it just thudded.

“Where in the hell is the God-damned pool table, Sully?” J.C. strangled”.

As we were all leaving we saw some men taking down the “It’ll Do” sign. There, in their truck, was a brand new one. It had colored lights and neon both, it read: “Sully’s Place”.

Well, you know what happened. We ended up hanging around in this dump on the other side of town. It had a pool table, even though it was as ratty, as the bar was.

Vera finally got home a few days later. We got the rest of what happened from her. She came in the front door and nearly fainted. Shocked or not, she didn’t turn mad. When Vera gets mad it’s something. Then Jane came out of the Ladies Room and Vera saw her. THEN it was something.

While she was working Sully over, the bank called to say that Sully had charged a bunch of materials. If he wanted a loan, they said, he would have to check with his partner, McGinty first.

Sully had to call McGinty and he drove over. One good look around the place and he told Sully he was dissolving their partnership. Just as soon as he could get his cousin, the lawyer, to draw up papers. Vera said she was going back to visit her sister again.

During the day a lot of curious people came in Sully’s Place to see what was what. Word spreads around Cherryville faster than your bad check will get to the bank. Before it got dark a strange thing happened. You wouldn’t think there were so many weird people living in a small town like this one. There are, they all started coming in until the bar looked like some of those you read about. It must have been a sight.

Sully started taking his own medicine, double dark’s. He normally wouldn’t do this. He was losing his senses fast. Finally he just put a bottle of bourbon on the bar and was pouring him self straight shots into a beer mug. One of the normal people in town must have come in and seen it.

The next you knew, Toot swings in the door and goes over to the bar. He lifted Sully’s head from the bar counter and tried to explain to him he was under arrest. For serving liquor contrary to State Law.

Vera, bless her heart, didn’t get on the bus. She stayed home so she could bail Sully out the next day. That left Jane to run the bar. Vera didn’t want to see Jane very much, so that was fine with her.

About noon the next day Sully returned to the scene of the crime. Jane, Delbert and the money from the till was gone. they had pulled a fast one. They were last seen arm-in-arm, boarding a bus headed west.

It took almost a month to put the It’ll Do back together again. One thing, Sully insisted on personally pulling down the “Sully’s Place” sign—and cut an ankle stomping on it.

Tags: books, Comedy, short stories

It’ll Do

Copyright William J. Conaway, 1989

Episode 12 – THE HOT AIR BALLOON

Anyone knows that hot air will rise; Thad Holtzer decided he would build a hot air balloon.We thought that it was a good idea, but his wife, Berenice didn’t. Thad is a determined person. He worked a farm for his dad, east of Cherryville. It wasn’t exactly the best land and it sure didn’t have all the best equipment. He was supporting his folks as well as his two kids.

He was a serious sort. Outside of stopping in for an occasional beer and going to church Wednesday nights and Sundays, he never got much recreation. We at the bar agreed that flying in a hot air balloon certainly came under the heading of recreation!

“Thad, buddy, you don’t know jack-shit about running one of those things, do you?” said J.C. as he lined out what could have been a balloon in a beer puddle on the bar”.

Nope, but it can’t be too hard to learn. I mean, what do you have to know about floating around?” He put Berenice to work sewing it. It turned out to be a patch-work quilt balloon.

Thad came into the It’ll Do on a Thursday afternoon. He said the necessaries to everyone and smiled over his dark beer.

“I figure to go up in my hot air balloon tomorrow, and I’d like for all of you to be there. You’ve always been good to me. I want you all to come to see me off”.

Mavis said that if Montgolfier could do it, she would bet that Thad could, Alice Mae cried.

In the back room J.C. was giving three-to-one that it wouldn’t get off the ground. We all agreed to meet at the farm the next morning, when it was cool and the balloon would have a better chance.

He shouldn’t have tried to take his dog, Jethro, up with him though—if he hadn’t, there might not have been any problem.

Jethro was just about as good a farm dog as a person would want—he was more-or-less yellow in color and big enough that you didn’t have to worry about him. We didn’t think he’d be any good up in the air, though. That may not be fair: as far as any of us knew he had never been further up in the air than when he jumped up to catch a fly or moth. In any case, it was Thad’s responsibility—it was his hot air balloon.

When the sun came up Thad had already laid out his hot air balloon on the ground and had connected up the burner for it, his welding outfit. There were only two problems: it’s not easy to fill up a gunny sack with hot air, and it’s not easy to get a big dog, like Jethro, into it. But it got done.

So a little before noon they took off together. They went right up and drifted off to the East. Lake Fenian is over that way. Not since Vera and I had sank in the submarine has any of our crowd been out to the lake. There they went, and I want to tell you that there has never been a prettier sight in Cherryville.

Jethro was barking and Thad was standing there in the basket as proud as if he’d just had twins. Jethro, of course, didn’t know very much about flying—and he took a mind to jump out. This could have been serious, but they were directly over Lake Fenian.

We all saw Jethro go—he sailed out of the hot air balloon like he was going home and he landed in the lake, and there’s one thing about Jethro—he can swim.

When Jethro left, the balloon must have jumped up a good thousand feet. That left Thad floating around up there all alone. The last Berenice heard, he was somewhere over Nebraska.

Tags: books, Comedy, short stories

It’ll Do

Copyright William J. Conaway, 1989

Episode 11 – Orville

There is, as they say, more than one way to skin a cat—and I suspect that Orville knew every one of them, for Orville had been around the track a few times, and he wasn’t slow. He had managed to work the Bank out of a foreclosure property they were sure to get, and had picked up a Quarter-Section just by paying the taxes. That took a certain amount of doing.

Orville was smart but just as human as the rest of us. He proved it one afternoon when “She” walked in to the It’ll Do all very lady-like. She found her way to the pool table in really quick order. This was a fine- looking Lady, and I have no doubt that Orville was willing to give her every advantage.

After he was down about twenty dollars, his attitude changed. Her name, incidentally, was Beatrix. She came from Paris, France (she said). We wouldn’t hold that against her. Orville had a difficult time accepting one particular shot that she made where she put three balls in the pockets—one done on a second bank. To Orville, that was nearly unforgivable.

We could tell, Old Man Williams and I, that Orville wanted revenge so bad he could have bitten through a nail. At the same time, he was staring awfully hard at all the charms this lady had. He was confused. She knew this and kept on shooting like Sergeant York. Where was poor Orville to go?

He came up to the bar. “Sully,” he said, “I’m in trouble.”

“Of course you’re in trouble,” I said.

“This Beatrix, or whatever her name is, is ruining my life.”

“Come on, Orville.”

“No, she is. I need some help. You know I don’t usually go around screaming for help, but she just finished off one rack and is going after another. Instead of getting mad, I just keep looking down her dress and thinking things.”

“Well,” I said, “quit looking.”

“Sully, it’s not that easy. She does it on purpose. There’s one way you can help me out—I ask it as a friend—load the hell out of her drinks.”

Of course I didn’t load up her drinks—that wouldn’t have been any fun. Orville went back to the pool table (that had seen so many Dollars pass into his hands) just stood there and lost.

Closing time came as a Blessing—for Orville. He was probably down more than a hundred, and for a person like Orville this was a tremendous blow to his ego.

The next morning he had a talk with J.C., who was just about as good a pool shooter as he was, although Orville had a good ten years on him. Exactly what they had to say, I don’t know. Even though J.C. is a younger man, he knows a thing or two. He and Orville were competitors, but they were friends, too. He couldn’t stand by and let a stranger take advantage of his friend. He set up a rematch between this Beatrix and Orville for the next afternoon. A high stakes game with just the two of them playing.

Word got around town pretty good and the It’ll Do was about as full as it could get. I was busier than a one armed paper hanger, drawing beers when in walks Beatrix. The stage was set.

She had on a flimsy something that was guaranteed to drive Orville right up the wall. Orville took his hand-made Mother of Pearl inlaid cue stick, out of its case and delicately laid it on the pool table.

“Would you care to play for two, or five?”

She went for the whole five. What she didn’t know was that J.C. had sent all the way to Kansas City for the most expensive call-girl he could find.

Orville was ready to concentrate totally on shooting pool.

Needless to say we didn’t see Beatrix around the It’ll Do anymore after that, but Orville seemed to spend a lot more time up in Kansas City!

Tags: books, Comedy, short stories

It’ll Do
Copyright William J. Conaway, 1989

Episode 10 – George Washington Farragut

The day George Washington Farragut announced that he was going to get married. He brought his bride-to-be, Gertrude (we didn’t know her), to the It’ll Do with him. Now, Gertrude was—I’m not going to go into details—very definitely a woman.

George wore funny spectacles and, I’d guess, was about ten pounds shy of her. George never cut much of a figure, but Lord, you’d have to admit that every damned pound of her seemed to be put in the right places.

This was fine, and we were all happy for George. We never considered that he’d date some girl, much less get married to one. Folks that hang out in the It’ll Do will up and surprise you.

There seemed to be one problem, though. Gertrude lived about ten miles out of town and she had three brothers who weren’t noted for their hospitality. The smallest of the three must have stood about 6’2 and the others went up from there. I think maybe they were Vikings. As it turned out, they didn’t think too much of George as a proper husband for Gertrude.

One of them (I don’t know which one) came into the It’ll Do while George and Gertrude were sitting there, just having a beer. This guy (I don’t know what his name was) clomped over in front of George.

“Get up, you son-of-a-bitch. Then I’m going to put you so far down that Gertrude won’t even notice you when she steps over you.”

I didn’t know whether to call Toot, or go for some of the equipment I keep under the bar.

Whatever George did, he did it pretty fast. It had something to do with this fellow’s neck.

One way or another, this Viking fell to the floor just as if he’d gotten a taste of Henry the VIII’s head-ax. Of course I called Toot and he sent Penoble over to drag this guy out of the bar. It doesn’t help trade to have a Viking stretched out on the floor in the middle of the place. George didn’t seem to be particularly disturbed and, I think, Gertrude was kind of enjoying the whole thing. I’d hate to think what would have happened if George had been wearing that old sword he sometimes carries around.

Anyway, things were getting back to normal after Penoble hauled off this hulk—until the other two brothers pushed their way in the door. I just, kind of quietly, laid my sawed-off 12 gauge on the bar. George came over and leaned on the bar.

“Put it away,” he said.

Well, I didn’t think that was a good idea, but I don’t like violence and, besides, my doctor has advised me to avoid stress. So I did. The next thing I saw was that one of the two remaining brothers was down (I suppose it was one of those neck-things again) and the last brother—6’5″, I swear— was looking over George as if he was getting ready to eat him.

“Toot, where are you when I really need you?” I asked myself.

“Alfred,” George said. “why don’t you just take your brother here home and put him to bed?”

“Not without a piece of you first,” Alfred said.

Now, this Alfred was tall and muscular and all-that. George definitely was not.

“O.K.,” George said.

The next thing I knew, this Alfred had his head sticking through my juke box. It sure couldn’t have been very comfortable for him, but it was my juke box and his head was in it!

“Sully,” George said,”I’d like another round for Gertrude and myself.”

I had to call Toot again. He was pretty understanding (although he couldn’t figure out how George had put down all three of Gertrude’s brothers) this time, he came over himself—and grabbed a free dark beer before hauling off the last two brothers across the vacant lot to the jail.

Before he left, I asked him,”Do you understand any of this?”

“Not me, that’s for sure,” Toot said, shaking his head.

Vera answered. “It’s Love, that’s what.”

It was the first time Toot or I (we did it together) gave a Bride away. I think George Washington Farragut was pleased.

Tags: books, Comedy, short stories

It’ll Do
Copyright William J. Conaway,1989

Episode 9 – James Calhoun Baldwin

This is what Mavis would call an auto-biographical story, bless her heart.

Folks around here call me J.C. It started just as you’d expect—in the It’ll Do. It was a Saturday and I was just lounging around, hoping to work up a money pool game.

There are some of us who consider the It’ll Do to be a second home, and I guess I’m one of those. Now that Vera and Sully are married, it seems almost like a family in here.

Second home or not, it just wasn’t enough for me. I spent more time over at the “Barn” and fooled around with some of the girls over there. It helped some, but something still was missing. When I was at the It’ll Do I’d catch Sully and Vera taking looks at each other while they were going about their business, and it would come on me. I just didn’t know any proper unattached women. One day, after about six dark beers, I edged up to the subject with Vera.

“Vera,” I said, “I’ve got a problem.”

“I know you do, J.C.”

“Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I’m starting to get miserable.”

About that time Sully came over to the end of the bar and he put his arm around Vera. That seemed to make it somewhat worse. Strange as it may seem, those two are nearly perfect for each other. Vera looked over the bar at me. Her brown eyes, which seemed like they could see through a lead-lined box, looked right into mine.

“Hang on a while, J.C.,” she said.

So, I had been feeling sorry for myself, and some drunk too. When Vera puts her mind to something, you’d better either run for cover or expect a miracle, whichever is appropriate.

Eph Swain came into the bar a few days later. This was surprising. Eph is a pretty well-known farmer around here, but he didn’t come into the It’ll Do, ever. Even stranger, he brought his niece, Cherry Davis, with him.

Now, I don’t want to tell you that I saw her as being beautiful—about all I saw was that she was The Niece of Mr. Swain. They went over to one of the booths and he ordered two beers.

Everyone in town knew Eph Swain—he was one of the smartest, and most prosperous, farmers in the county. It was his niece we didn’t know. She was pretty. Well, I was in the It’ll Do when they came in, and Vera was there too. I had been sort of hanging around the pool table when Vera came over and gave me one of those looks.

“J.C., it’s your time,”she said.

“What?”

“Shut your mouth and come with me.”

I wasn’t about to argue. I followed her. She made a bee-line for the table where Mr. Swain and this girl were sitting. Vera introduced herself, and then introduced me, James Calhoun Baldwin—damned if she didn’t—old Eph invited me to sit with them, which of course I did.

I could see that this girl had that look of a pool shooter that has lost way too many games. Eph just sat there, sipping his beer, and left the conversation up to us.

“I haven’t seen you around Cherryville before,” I said, feeling like a fool and sounding like one, too.

“No, I’m from Little Rock.”

There was something sad in her voice. Before you knew it, I found myself wanting to protect her, although I didn’t know exactly from what. We started to talk. Old Eph sat between us, not saying a word. It came out that she had been married, but it hadn’t worked out. She was just an average girl. No children. Suddenly, I imagined I might just possibly be falling in love. I would have sworn that Eph smiled just about the same time as I was thinking this.

That’s also when Vera came back over and invited Mr. Swain up to the bar for a minute. Cherry and I, started to talk without a halter on. Mind you, we were sitting on opposite sides of the table.

What she was searching for (I think) was someone who would treat her right—and she sure as hell didn’t find that in her first husband. There I was, half-convinced that I could be falling for her. She sure wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t in that class at all.

So, we started getting together pretty often and, sure enough, it wasn’t too long before we were engaged. And, quicker than I’d have thought possible, there I was up at the altar, getting married.

Cherry was a good and loving wife. We made a good family, I thought. I’d quit hanging around the It’ll Do so much and gone to work at my dad’s Ford Agency—starting as a stock clerk, but that was all right. Dad was glad to get me in the business.

How can I put this? Cherry was wonderful, but she was shy. She was even shy with me, which didn’t make any sense. She must have had some hellacious times with her first husband. She was just shy, and, whatever I tried to do, I couldn’t seem to bring her out of it. On the top of it, we were doing all right, below, there was something that wouldn’t let us truly be together.

At last, I got up my nerve and went and asked Vera about it. I guess Vera knows more about people—with no nonsense—than any other person I know. I asked her what I could do.

“J.C.,” she said, “you’re a good man, and I know you’re trying to do your best by her. I’ll tell you this; you just keep on trying—the rest is up to her.”

No nonsense, that Vera—but it wasn’t seeming to help much. Three weeks later Cherry left. To go back to her first husband. Damned if I know why. I went back to the It’ll Do for double dark beers—as many and as fast as I could get them down.

Vera came up to me. “I heard,” she said.

“Yeh.”

“Come over here with me, J.C.,” and she waved toward one of the booths.

Well, hell, I was more than half-drunk by that time, but I went along. I’ve always liked Vera, and I trust her.

“You can go running all over five states looking for her,” she said, “but if she can’t live with you, she just can’t. Get your divorce and be done with it. There are more women—good women—than you think. You just happened to latch on to one where it didn’t work. So, go off in the woods and cry or cuss, if you feel a need to. It won’t change one thing. So you go ahead and get your divorce and put it behind you.”

I’ll be damned if she didn’t have a tear or two in her eyes, like maybe she’d had to do that same thing, some time or another.

“Someday,” and she nodded over to where Sully was tending bar,” you’ll find—not the perfect one, there’s too many memories will come back to haunt you—but a really GOOD one. And she’ll make you happy, maybe then you’ll know what love is all about.”

“But, Vera…” I started to say.

“Hell, J.C., love isn’t what you thought it was. You have to learn it, little-by-little. Grow with it, weeds and all.”

“I don’t think so, Vera.”

“You shoot pool, don’t you?”

“Sure.”

“Did you ever miss a shot that you KNEW you could make?”

“Sure.”

“Did you give up the game?”

“Well, hell, no.”

“As I said, your a good man. I’ll be damned and gone to hell before I’d believe you’re a quitter. Now you go off somewhere and sleep it off or cry it out—I’m going to call my sister in Saint Louis and tell her to get her pretty little butt out here right away. I want you to be in good shape when she gets here.

I’ll be damned if she didn’t do just that.

Tags: books, Comedy, short stories