2
Bess
Stuffed to the brim, I sit at the diner table for a few minutes after my plate has been cleared. I don’t want to go back to the quiet hotel just yet, but I’m not entirely sure what to do with my evening. Hmm, what do the good citizens of Sheridan do when it comes to entertainment? Head to their local dive bar for a few beers? Grab a friend for some boot-stomping line-dancing?
But then, I glance at my watch, surprised to see that it’s closer to nine o’clock in the evening than I had realized. I do some quick math on my fingers, surprised to note that I’ve been in the city for about four hours now. It feels like several days. I know immediately that I can’t go back to the hotel room because it’ll just make me feel stir crazy.
I wave down the waitress for my bill and pay in cash, ready to leave the diner but still unsure of where to go.
As the older woman pulls out a billfold to hand me my change, I decide to ask her for her thoughts on what to do.
“Anything interesting going on around here tonight?” I ask, not really expecting a response.
The surly waitress raises one skeptical eyebrow at me. “In Sheridan? On a Wednesday?”
I nod, hoping for the best, but expecting very little.
“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “There are a couple of bars open I guess. You could try Rodeo Ranch. It’s a bit of a dump, but they have dancing. Or you could go home and keep out of trouble,” she admonishes.
I smile as sweetly as possible, irked that this stranger is patronizing me but appreciative of the information about the bar.
“Well, I’m just visiting for a few days so I thought I’d see what there is to do around here,” I tell her, my voice coated in molasses.
The grumpy woman just grunts and walks away, underwhelmed by my attempt at congeniality. I want to roll my eyes but I control the instinct. I’m not a child anymore, but I hate when strangers treat me like one.
Determined to misbehave a little, I grab my purse and make my way out of the diner, suddenly feeling a little bit smothered. Old people do that to me sometimes, especially when they keep acting like the Grinch. As I exit the diner, I decide to wander about a bit. Maybe there will be something fun.
Within a few minutes, I come upon the place the waitress mentioned, a neon pink sign spelling “Rodeo Ranch” making it impossible to miss. On top of the roof are flashing lights surrounding the moving image of a bucking bronco with a cowboy on top, as well as quite a few people lingering outside and laughing. It looks decent.
I cross the street, giddy at the idea of a wild night in a town where I don’t know a soul. What kind of girl have I become? Well, to be honest, I’ve always been a bit mischievous. Let’s just say I know how to party when the time is right, and sometimes when the time isn’t right too.
At the door, a bouncer nods, not bothering to check my ID. I smile brilliantly, waggling my hips, and slip through the heavy wooden door and into a dimly lit, smoky interior. Once inside, I see that Rodeo Ranch isn’t a dive exactly, but more of a honky tonk. It’s a packed room, filled with folks in jeans, denim shirts, and ten gallon hats. Quite a few of the women are in mini-skirts and scanty tops, and I even see one flirty redhead with the turquoise cowboy boots I was lusting over earlier. What are the chances?
The music is loud and twangy, filled with the familiar sounds of guitar and crooning. In the middle of the bar, several people are participating in a rousing line dance, their bodies twisting and turning in beat to the song pounding through the speakers. The majority of the crowd looks to be in their twenties and thirties, with a few older folks peppered into the mix.
Liking the scene, I walk quickly to the bar and smile at a grizzled-looking bartender.
“What will ya have?” he asks, his voice hoarse, like he’s smoked a pack of cigarettes a day since he was a little kid.
“Gin and tonic,” I shout over the noise. The leathery man nods and turns to make my drink.
With a cocktail in hand, I search for a spot to camp out so I can observe the crowd more easily. I’m already sweaty from the humid air inside and grateful for the icy beverage. I perch myself at a high top table and watch the locals as they mingle, dance, drink and laugh, oblivious to the world outside. Clearly, the Rodeo Ranch is its own environment, and it’s a fun one.