This story takes place a few years, quite a few pounds and lots of gray hairs ago, around the time I was 36, and newly divorced. My best friend Liz and I decided to go check out the famed Karaoke night at Rocky's one chilly fall Saturday. As we pushed open the door into the haze of smoke we heard a woman dramatically flatten a note of "Crazy" by Patsy Cline. We grimaced as we made our way through the tables, noticing that the crowd that evening was a bit on the elderly side except for the 20-something group of guys watching college football on the corner TV. There were a few couples around our age; husbands sitting with wives who tightened their grips on their man's arms as we passed by on our way to an empty booth. Liz took off her jacket and leaned across the table to whisper to me, while glancing around quickly, that there appeared to be no single men near our age in the building that evening. We shrugged, discussed what we would order to drink, and I wondered how much I would have to drink to get up the courage to sing Karaoke. There was one bartender on duty that night, and he was also the table hopper. He stopped by our table after delivering a round of beer bottles to the table behind us and asked what we would like. We both ordered bottled beer and he headed to the bar to fetch them. As he placed them on the table he waved away our money, telling us that a couple of "gents" at the bar had paid for our beer. We both glanced over to the bar, then looked at each other with horror and I whispered between clenched teeth, "Don't make eye contact!"
Too late. One of the "gents" pushed off from the bar and made his way over. He looked to be in his mid fifties, tall and slender except for the prominent belly all but hiding his silver belt buckle. Despite the black cowboy hat on his head, the belt buckle wasn't won at any rodeo, instead it sported the logo Winston. Winston, as in, get this buckle free with the purchase of X cartons of Winston cigarettes. As he approached, Liz and I slid to the very edge of our seats, preventing anyone from sliding in next to us without invitation. This didn't appear to phase our suitor one little bit. He doffed his hat, exposing a sweaty few strands of gray hair combed sideways to camouflage a bald head. He introduced himself as Hank. He pointed to the bar and said, "That there's Robert. Robert bet me a twenty that I wouldn't have the guts to come over here and talk to you. I paid for them beers with my winnings." He grinned broadly, quickly clapped his mouth shut to adjust the poorly fitting dentures he sported, then grinned again. He scooted a little closer to Liz, and it was clear that she was his intended target. I glanced at her to guage how she wanted to handle the rejection of Hank but was shocked to see that she was smiling at Hank with her head tipped just a bit sideways. I knew what was happening and was helpless to stop it. Liz was unable to stop herself from flirting. She's the most accomplished flirt I know, and sometimes she's powerless to turn it off. Hank looked like a man who'd just won the lottery. He gestured to Robert to come over, as he slid in next to Liz. He had to push her a little, because I could see it was dawning on her how our evening was going to go from then on. Hank turned to check on Robert's arrival and gestured again more emphatically this time, as Robert just stood there at the bar, slack jawed.
I listened as an older gentleman rendered a very rich version of "Behind Closed Doors" at the Karoake mike. As I turned to watch the gentleman sing my view was blocked by a blue and black striped shirt with pearl buttons, still stiff from the hanger at the western wear section of Walmart. Robert. He stood, still slack jawed, staring at me from the end of the table. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and he grinned. Obviously, dental care was not a priority in Robert's life, as his grin looked a bit like a Jack-O-Lantern, with all the missing teeth. I looked away, and Robert returned to his steady slack jawed stare. Liz and Hank took a turn on the dance floor, leaving me and Robert alone at the table. I refused to slide over, and not one word was said. He stood there with his beer bottle in hand, staring. I studied the label of my beer bottle as if my life depended on it. Hank and Liz returned, Karoake book in hand. It seems that a duet was planned, something from Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn, Or Dottie West and Kenny Rogers. While Liz pored over the titles Hank filled me in on Robert's tale of marital woe and how this evening was planned to "cheer the poor guy up." Robert was separated from his wife, had been kicked out of the trailer, and served with child support papers. Robert had four kids under the age of five to support, work at the mill was slow, and his truck needed a transmission. I was waiting to hear about the hound dog dying, but Hank droned on instead about Robert's no good cheatin' fat slob of a wife. Robert nodded now and then, but said nothing. He kept his gaze fixed on me, unblinking. I still refused to slide over, but it didn't appear to bother any of the other three. As Hank spoke it became clear that his deodorant, if there had been any, had given up the battle. I gave Liz a little kick under the table to get her attention and our glances met. Hank excused himself to go visit the "Little Cowboy's Room," and as soon as he disappeared through the door we sprang into action. I glanced at my watch, exclaimed loudly, "Look at the time, my babysitter will be frantic!" Grabbing my coat I pushed past the stunned Robert and caught up with Liz who was already nearly out the door. As we pulled out of the parking lot we laughed and decided it would be a long while before we returned to Rocky's for Karaoke Night. We decided to call it quits for the evening, and I drove her home. It was around 10 pm, after all! Before I went to bed that night I checked my email. There was an email from Liz with the title in big bold type: HANK AND ROBERT STRIKE GOLD. It gave me the inspiration for this little tale.
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