The Overpass was where I had been introduced to Hitch the month before. It was where I had met with Ezzie hoping she would help me figure out my next move. A ridiculously handsome pastor had overheard the two of us ordering appletinis and smoke-infused bourbon and ran interference by ordering a vodka seven with extra limes and a Beam on the rocks, after accusing us of being a couple of rich girls who were “slumming.” Evidently, he spoke dive-bar and we didn’t. Then he heard me tell Ezzie in a rambling, tear filled speech how I ended up sleeping in my storage unit, (not my finest hour) and offered me a job at the shelter which included room and board. Mr. Sheffield had told me to steer clear of any place where I might run into people I knew, and since this was the seediest place I had ever seen outside of a TV set, the chance of anyone from my former life seeing me here was literally zero percent. This was the neighborhood where Hitch had grown up, and everyone in the bar had treated him with respect and something akin to awe. Oddly it was the exact same reaction he got from his parishioners as well. Reverand Hitchmayer was interesting, I needed to get to know him better, I decided.
“Hi Sarge,” I said, greeting the bartender when we walked in.
“Hey Appletini, how’re doin? I would have bet money I’d never see you in here again,” he said.
“I’m fine, thank you. How have you been since we last met?” I answered him. Apparently, that reply was hilarious, because he threw his head back and laughed. I looked at Ez who just shrugged.
“I have something for you,” I said, pulling out the Apple Schnapps.
“What the hell do I do with this?” he asked, shaking his head.
“Just mix it with vodka, shake it on some ice, and pour it into a martini glass,” I said.
“Well on your next visit, you’ll have to bring a shaker and martini glasses,” he laughed.
The Overpass was more of a beer and ‘all the ingredients in the title’ sort of place.
“I’ll just have vodka and Apple Schnapps on the rocks in any old glass,” Ez said.
“Regular-sized ice okay with you?” Sarge asked, smirking at her.
The last time we were in Ezzie had asked for two-inch cubed ice. It was a pretty standard request at the bars we had frequented in my former life.
“I’ll suffer with whatever you have,” she smiled, “and I’ll have the shrimp po-boy basket.”
“I’ll have the same,” I added, nodding at the drink he had already started for Ezzie. Then, looking up at the menu on the chalkboard above the kitchen serving window, I said, “But make my sandwich the pulled pork basket.”
“Bold choice with the white dress,” Ez said.
We had both changed before we came over. We wanted to keep things casual. I had on a Kate Spade, white eyelet sundress, with simple Jimmy Choo white patent cork wedges with an ankle strap. Ezzie was wearing a black Halston cross-neck halter jersey-knit dresss with black Tori Burch flat sandals making us about the same height.
Sarge dropped off our drinks and then went off to order, or possibly make, our food. I spun around on my barstool to get a better look around the room. I couldn’t be sure but it seemed to me that the room was full of the same exact people, in the same exact places, wearing the same exact clothes as the last time I was here. Ezzie and I had a second drink, and I had just successfully swallowed my last bite of pulled pork without incident when the two men who had been playing pool came up on either side of us.
“So, you two mamas looking for a good time?” the one with the leather vest standing next to Ezzie said. I couldn’t take my eyes off his tattoo. It was a snake that wrapped around his neck twice and ended by his right ear with its jaw wide open like it was going to bite off the lobe.
“Mamas? Really?” Ez deadpanned.
“Yeah,” the guy next to me said. “I call you mama and by the end of the night you’ll be calling me daddy.” He was considerably shorter than the guy with the ear in jeopardy but was meaty and had a face that looked like he had been in too many fights.
“Mmm, yeah, that’s not going to happen,” I said.
“Well, you don’t show up dressed like that without hoping for some action,” the guy next to Ez said.
“I’d leave it alone boys,” Sarge said, strolling over towards us from the other end of the bar. As he finished his sentence the door opened and I could feel the warm summer breeze and humidity waft over my back.
“Yeah, why’s that?” Mr. Meaty asked.
“That’s why,” Sarge said, nodding towards the door.
The two guys turned around but before Ezzie or I could spin in our chairs I heard Hitch’s voice saying, “Snake, Ralphie, you’re both lookin’ good, can I buy you two a beer?”
He pushed his way between me and the man who had to be Ralphie, wrapped his hand around the back of my neck, and tilted my head back as he leaned in and gave me a knee-weakening, breath-stopping, heart-pounding kiss. A kiss that went on a few seconds longer than was respectable for a public greeting. Or for a pastor.
“Hey Hitch,” Ralphie said, stepping back. “No hard feelings man, didn’t know this lady was claimed.”
Claimed? There was so much wrong with the last two minutes I didn’t even know what to sputter first. Hitch did a circle thing with his finger and Sarge grabbed three bottles of beer from the cooler and handed one to Snake, one to Ralphie, and one to Hitch. Since Hitch had clearly marked his territory, Ralphie moved to stand by Snake.
Ezzie looked at me and said, “Well at least he didn’t pee on you.”
I was trying to decide if I was furious with, or grateful to, the Reverend Hitchmayer.
Carrin Mahmood 