Chapter 3
What does the sign on an out-of-business brothel say? Beat it. We’re closed. ~ Text from Hailey to Pops
“Hi, Honey, I’m home,” I shout as I walk into my dad’s bar. I love Pops’ bar, the McGraw’s Pub. It feels like home to me. As it should, I practically grew up in the place.
The bar is exactly what you expect from a place called McGraw’s Pub. There’s a polished wooden bar covering one side of the room with bottles of whiskey from everywhere from Tennessee to Ireland to Japan displayed on the wall behind. There are three taps – one for the Irish pub must-have Guinness, one for the local favorite Miller Lite, and one for whatever microbrew is all the rage at the moment. Battered but well-kept wooden chairs and tables are scattered throughout the room. Along the walls are booths with bench seats in dark-green upholstery. On the brick walls hang the requisite antique advertisements for anything Irish from whiskey to corny images about cold beer and warm friends.
“Get over here and give your old dad a hug,” Pops shouts from behind the bar.
Old dad. Not even close. He was barely twenty-five when I was born making him a whooping fifty-six-years old. He’s what romance novelists like to call a silver fox. Maybe it sounds sick to think your dad is good-looking, but I’m being objective. Also, I’d have to be blind not to notice the number of women who come into the pub, order frou-frou drinks, and then spend the entire evening making googly eyes at my dad.
Pops hates those women. Not me. I can recognize a cash opportunity when I see one. When I was a teenager working at the bar, I bought a bunch of martini glasses to service this crowd. Not to brag or anything, but Pops now has a whole stash of frou-frou glasses from Copa de Balons for gin and tonics to Collins glasses for mojitos.
“Hi, Pops,” I greet as I walk behind the bar. He enfolds me in his arms and – presto chango – every bad thing from the day disappears. His hugs are magic.
“Bad day?” he asks when I cling to him like a sock stuck to a sweater straight out of the dryer.
“Meh.”
“Hey! What’s this? You only got loving for your old pops? What about me?”
I smile as I release Pops. “Hey, Lenny.”
Lenny waggles his brow as he leans over the bar to squeeze my shoulder. “How’s it going, doll?”
I shrug. I can’t lie to him. Pops’ group of poker buddies can spot a lie a mile off. They take their poker and poker faces very seriously. But I’m not telling him I ran into my high school nemesis either. I’m not in high school anymore. I can deal with my problems on my own, thank you very much.
“Why are men like diapers?” Barney shouts as he walks into the bar.
I roll my eyes. Here we go. My dad’s poker buddies like to one-up each other with jokes, often dirty jokes. Pops used to have a fit about them telling dirty jokes in front of me, but he gave up last year when I turned thirty. As if I was some innocent virgin who didn’t take dirty pictures for a living until I hit the big 3-0 or something.
“Why?” I ask Barney.
“They’re usually full of shit but thankfully disposable.”
I laugh. He hit the nail on the hammer there. “Right on, brother.” I bump Barney’s fist as he joins our group huddled at the end of the bar.
“What’s happened?” he asks. “And who do we need to kill?”
Am I so easy to read? Do I need to ask my college for a refund for all those drama classes? I need to work on my poker face.
“No, Babycakes, you don’t,” Pops says as he puts his arm around me and squeezes. Damn. I spoke my thoughts out loud again.
“It’s no big deal. Just a long day of taking pictures of men cheating on their wives.”
“Not all men are cheaters, honey.” Pops is speaking from experience. He has never cheated on Mom despite her leaving him high and dry when I was twelve. We’ve heard neither hide nor hair of her since, but his loyalty to her remains.
Trust me, I’ve done everything I can to get my dad to move on. I’ve set him up with my friends’ mothers. I tried hooking him up with single teachers in high school. Hell, I’ve brought random strangers into the bar to meet him. Nothing works. Nothing. The man is still in love with my mom. On the one hand, I have to admit I love how loyal he is. But Mom does not deserve his loyalty. Not one single bit.
“What’s everyone whispering about?” Wally asks as he and Sid join us.
“Someone has man trouble,” Sid guesses.
Pops’ poker group consists of four men besides him – Lenny, Barney, Wally, and Sid. The five of them served in the same unit in the Gulf War. Pops got out after he served his five years, but the rest of them were lifers. They did their twenty years and retired around the same time Mom took off for good. They saw me through my teenage years and consider themselves my uncles. I love them. I truly do. But it’s irritating as all get out, they can read me like an open book. I’m an actress for crying out loud. Well, not a paid actress, but I studied drama and graduated summa cum laude. That should count for something.
“I do not have man troubles. I’m just hungry.”
Pops jumps into action. “Carol, we need a hamburger and fries stat.”