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  That scene was the finale of a stop he made in LA to see Ryan, his older brother. It was on Bernie’s way home from Vietnam. His visit began when Ryan met him at the airport and drove them two miles to a concrete block building in an industrial section. A neon sign said it was The Excelsior. Inside, Bernie looked around. The building was big enough to hold a single stage, twenty-three tables and a twelve stool bar. The block exterior was painted light blue, while the interior walls were beige, if anybody noticed. Maybe the owners devoted extra cash to keep the place looking shiny and clean, because they felt that would attract a better paying clientele.

  Ryan motioned to the chair next to him and pulled it out. The fierce competition between his brother and Bernie made him wary of this excursion. He took a seat and leaned close to Ryan. “What are we doing here?”

  “Have a drink and watch the show. You’ll find it interesting.”

  Someone put a drink in front of Bernie. He picked it up and touched the liquid to his tongue. Glenlevit or something of similar quality. Ryan was going to pull something on him. “Come here often?”

  “I own a piece of it, no pun intended”

  “You must be shitting me.” That was good, but not good enough.

  “Twenty-five percent. Tell me what you think later.”

  A naked blonde woman strutted off the stage to the whistles and applause of the male crowd. As she hit the curtain the stage lights went out and the announcer’s voice floated from the sound system. “Do you remember the times when women of a certain religious persuasion kept you and your mates in line with a combination of conditional love and threats of physical violence? Now the Excelsior Gentlemen’s Club provides you with a special treat. For all of us who have enjoyed the disciplined life, we are happy to present Sister Mary Elizabeth!”

  The house lights snapped off and a spotlight shown on stage left as a nun in full habit stepped out. The response from the audience was an eruption of sound three or four times greater than the ovation for the blonde. The nun glided to the front of the stage and held up her hands, revealing a triangular wooden ruler, also used by engineers and draftsmen. Often remembered by elementary and secondary students as a knuckle buster. The audience fell silent.

  Pointing at a middle-aged, bald man sitting next to the stage she said, “Have you been a good boy?”

  He smiled and shouted, “No, Sister!”

  She turned to the rest of the room and said, “Have you all been good boys?”

  “No, Sister,” came the roared reply.

  “Then, I have a little treat for you,” responded the nun. She strutted to the back of the stage to a drum-beat that was joined by a cowbell and then a guitar.

  As she stopped Mick Jagger started.

  “I met a gin soaked, barroom queen in Memphis,”

  The nun began to sway in time with the lusty beat, undulating various parts of her black clad anatomy. As the volume of the song rose she twirled toward the front of the stage revealing shapely legs in four inch, black heels.

  “She tried to take me upstairs for a ride.

  She had to heave me right across her shoulder”

  The dancing nun reached the pole on the front third of the stage. She gripped it and did a back walkover, giving the guys a flash of black thong and a tight butt framed by a flying ankle length skirt. “'Cause I just can't seem to drink you off my mind.”

  A quick trip around the pole and another walkover led to a spin to the front where the dancer leaned back. In perfect time to the accompaniment she ripped the off the skirt to show the boys what she hinted at seconds before. They went wild.

  “It's the honky tonk women.

  Gimme, gimme, gimme the honky tonk blues.”

  The music pounded as she strutted and twirled the perimeter of the stage, giving everybody a good look. At the back of the stage she turned and ran toward her audience, did a cartwheel landing in the splits at exact stage front. She waited two beats for the music to catch up then tore the long sleeve top off. With great strength and agility she sprang up to stand before the guys in her high heels, thong, and wimple.

  “I laid a divorcee in New York City,

  I had to put up some kind of a fight.”

  The nun grabbed her ruler, pointed sternly at the bald man. Catching the beat of the music, she grabbed the front of her thong, pulled it of, and tossed it to Baldy. The sequences on her G-string flashed in the spotlight as the applause rose to a crescendo. Mick Jagger repeated

  “The lady then she covered me with roses,

  She blew my nose and then she blew my mind.”

  Every customer in the club pressed to the stage except the two who sat in the back. The dancer started to work the audience. With a series of rolling leg kicks, air kisses, and tit jiggles at stage edge she relieved the assembled throng of the money they stuck in her g-string and garter.

  “It's the honky tonk women.”

  Another cartwheel at the pole ended with her hanging upside down.

  “Gimme, gimme, gimme the honky tonk blues.”

  The boys out front would have applauded, whistled and hooted louder, but she had worn them out. Sister Mary Elizabeth gave a short encore and a victory lap as the song played itself out.

  The dancer exited back stage where she grabbed a towel off a rack and began to wipe the sweat off her body. The bald man from out front came up to her as she finished a large glass of water and gave her the discarded parts of her costume. She kissed him on the cheek, said, “Thanks, Glen,” and handed him her cash, “Sixty-five, keep it safe.”

  “Here’s a note for you,” Glen said proffering a folded napkin.

  “You know, I don’t go to the tables.”

  “From Ryan.”

  The dancer smirked as she opened the note. It read, “Great show. Come meet someone special.” She smiled and nodded to Glen.

  Minutes later she walked to the back of the barroom in her wimple, heels and a short silk dressing gown covered in lavender paisleys.

  A gut feeling or intuition or whatever itched in Bernie as the girl who had just been on the staged walked toward him and his brother. Maybe it was something about the way she moved her body and a faint memory of playing one-on-one in the alley behind his house. The context of that moment versus times and places where he knew her were not related in any way to their current surroundings. She didn’t look much like the girl he’d known all those years ago in parochial school. When she looked into his eyes and relaxed her smile, the penny dropped. Stunned, he gaped at her like a moron while a waitress brought her a glass of water and another single-malt for him.

  She seemed stunned too as well and she pulled her small cover tightly around her. She recovered herself more quickly than he did by using a glass of water to block his view of her face. She closed her eyes as she drank. Between gulps she asked, “What’d you think?”

  He offered a strained smile. “Very … ah … athletic.”

  “And?”

  “Popular.” He wasn’t prepared for the tightness in his chest.

  “And?”

  “I’m a fan of the Rolling Stones myself.” He paused and took a breath. “And, a long way from St. Catherine’s High School?” He shouldn’t have said that. From the look on her face he could tell that she knew exactly what he meant.

  She took a moment to put on a stiff smile and shook her head. “You remembered. I guess I’m flattered.”

  “Well, how about dinner?” he asked. It was as if he were alone with her again on those walks home from school.

  “Sure thing,” said Ryan. “I was planning on you comin’ with us Bernie.”

  Ah Ha! Back to the real world. And, Ryan’s knife.

  Rhonda got up, took her water, blew a kiss at him, and turned to go. “Meet me out back in half an hour.”

  As Rhonda crossed the room, a balding man in a business suit got up from his table and blocked her path. She smiled, said something, and tried to step around him. He moved to impede her and touched her shoulder. />
  “Oh crap, it’s that clown, Hiram Standish,” Ryan said. “The little dweeb is fixated on her.”

  Bernie hadn’t seen the two bouncers in the area, but they materialized behind the drunk. Without comment they grabbed the man’s arms, lifted him until he was on tiptoe, and ran him out of the building.

  Rhonda looked back at Bernie then shifted her gaze to Ryan. With a wink she moved on to the dressing rooms.

  “That was impressive.”

  “Nobody touches Rhonda,” Ryan said.

  Bernie took a sip of his drink. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Do that, bro. We’re talking about my wife.”

  He felt the ache in his chest where Ryan put the blade in. That’s what you were after bro.

  Chapter 42

  Bernie was flying high from the relief of getting back from ‘Nam in one piece and meeting Rhonda again seemed to fit in with that good luck. He knew Ryan invited him to the strip club to show off his prize. The fall to the pavement was painful.

  Rhonda was Bernie’s friend, his closest friend and his girl right up to the time her dad moved the family to California. They were fourteen. Now eight years later, she was married to his brother.

  Hunting Charlie in the bush taught Bernie patience and the wisdom to hold his fire until a surprise situation became clear. He could not control the situation, but he could control his attitude and reactions. Bernie grinned a stiff grin and resolved to enjoy his two weeks off in LA with his brother. What’s the saying, accept what you couldn’t change. Bullshit!

  Ryan, Rhonda and Bernie went around and did the tourist things - Knott’s Berry Farm, Disneyland, and the movie studios. They planned to take in the Dodgers, but Ryan had some business emergency so Rhonda and Bernie ended up at the game. For six days he kept his mind on his resolution.

  After the game the couple walked out to Ryan’s new Olds 88 convertible. “To bad he needed to do some business, he likes baseball,” Bernie said.

  “He went to San Diego.” She flipped Bernie the keys as they reached the car. ”He should be back late tonight or tomorrow. You guys can catch another game.”

  As Bernie pulled out of the stadium Rhonda said, “Stay on Sunset. There’s a bar down the way with a great juke box.”

  They ended up in a decent sized establishment with a billboard that advertised live music on the weekends, but this was Wednesday. They took a seat at a small table near the juke. There were three other patrons at the bar who looked like they were playing hooky from factory jobs. Rhonda and Bernie ordered beers and five bucks worth of change.

  She went over to play some tunes while he watched her. It was a sight worth seeing for any heterosexual male. She wore bellbottom jeans that looked like she’d painted them on, old cowboy boots and a white blouse over a top from some Frederick’s lingerie. She pumped eight quarters into the machine then bent at the waist and leaned on the juke to read the song titles. Wilson Picket began to sing Midnight Hour and Rhonda began to move her hips from side to side as she made her additional selections. When she was done she stood and stretched her arms out to him. “Hey, GI when’s the last time you danced with a white woman?”

  Bernie shook his head and took a sip from his long neck Schlitz. She waved her hands at him to follow her. He stood. She grabbed his hand and pranced out to the dance floor in time to the tambourine. They were half way through Heard It Through the Grapevine by Marvin Gaye when four construction workers rumbled through the door and up to the bar. Rhonda and Bernie relaxed as they danced, clutched together to Otis Redding while he was Sittin’ On the Dock of the Bay as the new patrons placed their orders.

  When Proud Mary came up Bernie said, “We’ll skip this one.” Rhonda put her hands on her hips and gave him a hard look. “I heard this song way too often in ‘Nam.”

  As he turned back toward the table one of the guys at the bar spoke, “If the lady wants to dance, I’ll dance with her.”

  “No thanks,” Rhonda said. “I’ll sit this one out.”

  The would-be dancer walked toward them in his worn jeans and dusty work boots. His arms bulged from a faded plaid shirt where the sleeves had been ripped off. He was big, maybe a head taller than Bernie and thirty pounds heavier. “Hey, sweet thing, I’m a great dancer.”

  “He is,” said an even bigger man from the bar.

  The dancer planted his feet and did a hip roll that started at his ankles and moved all the way up to his head.

  Bernie sighed and turned toward the would-be dancer. “She doesn’t care to just now.”

  “Hey, Jake, she’s a great dancer,” came a third voice from the bar. “I’ve seen her dance at that club by the airport. You know, The Excelsior. She’s got some moves that will keep you stiff for a week.”

  Jake nodded once then walked right up to Bernie’s shoe tips and tipped his battered, white hardhat to the back of his head. “I was talkin’ to the lady, asshole.”

  Rhonda put a hand on the construction worker’s chest. “Hey, hey, look, take you hat off and we’ll dance.”

  She was being the brave girl, trying to keep the peace. Bernie got a feeling it wasn’t going to go that way. He was ten days out of the rice paddies of the Mekong Delta and he wasn’t about to take any shit.

  The would-be dancer set his scarred hardhat on a table and followed Rhonda as she walked back to the dance floor.

  “Jake, maybe you can help her strip off the way she does at her job.”

  Jake kept his eyes locked on hers and fingered the collar of her shirt. “Maybe.”

  Rhonda’s smile stiffened. Bernie picked up the hard plastic cap by the brim and as Jake turned his head back to say something smart, Bernie hit him with it using a big roundhouse right that began down at the knees and ended at the tip of Jake’s chin. The construction worker’s eyes rolled back and he went down like a cut sequoia.

  In the silence the juke sang, “Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ on the river.”

  The dancer’s three buddies were off their bar stools in a flash and headed toward Bernie. He charged and caught the biggest one in the knee with another swing of the hardhat. The guy bellowed and went down. The last two stopped in their tracks.

  They danced around one of the little tables as the bartender called the cops. Bernie’s attackers circled with their backs to Rhonda. With care and speed she swept up a folding chair and blasted the largest of the pair in the back. He dove to take a mouthful of floor while she lost her balance and took a seat a few feet behind him. The remaining construction worker looked over at his buddies sprawled on the hardwood. Bernie stepped around the table and nailed the remaining guy in the left kidney. The wind went out of him as he dropped to his hands and knees.

  Rhonda jumped to her feet and led Bernie out the door at a full sprint. “You mother fuckers!” followed them out the door. While he dug the keys from his jeans, he caught her standing next to the panel truck in which their opponents had arrived.

  “Come on!” he yelled.

  She pulled a small knife from her skin-tight jeans and plunged the blade into the right rear tire.

  “Shit, hurry!”

  Rhonda trotted up to the passenger door as he backed the Olds out of the parking space. When her butt hit the seat he gave the gas to the big V-8 and laid rubber out onto Sunset Boulevard.

  She threw her head back and laughed while she pounded her hands on the dash. “Eeoow!”

  He shook his head as he gunned it for the nearest freeway ramp. “Son-of-a-bitch, you are one dangerous woman.”

  “But, I’m worth it.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” A little voice in the back of his head agreed with her.

  In the red glow of the afternoon smog, they cruised the LA freeways with the top down and the radio blasting until they reached the place Ryan and Rhonda shared in the Hollywood Hills.

  At the house, Rhonda and Bernie sat silently in the car and decompressed for a few minutes.

  “What are you smiling about?” she asked.

/>   “I was just thinking about the time you ripped into that kid who was torturing the dog on the Parkway.” He looked at her. “You were a maniac.”

  She smiled and nodded.

  “How old were we, eleven, twelve?”

  She opened the car door and stepped out. “Thirteen, I moved to LA the next summer.”

  He sat in the car until she was inside. They were buddies then. He would have liked it if the relationship had been more. When her family moved back to Milwaukee four years later she acted as if those times never existed. Ah well, except for that one month in the summer between high school and college. Best not to get into that just yet.

  Inside, Bernie went to the fridge for some beers while she hit the button on the blinking answering machine.

  It was Ryan. “Hey, Rhonda, I’ve got to go to TJ for a day. Call ya tomorrow.” The machine continues, “Don’t let Bernie get bored.”

  Bernie stood in the open refrigerator door with a long neck in each hand when she walked into his arms and kissed him. She ran her hands under his T-shirt and up his back as her tongue searched his mouth. He clamped his arms around her and crushed her to him. She didn’t wear perfume, but her scent gave his brain a 10,000 watt jolt. It was all he could do to put the bottles on the counter. His resolution was out the window, but boredom would not be an issue.

  “God, you smell good,” he said.

  “Just soap and water.”

  “And, Rhonda,” he whispered into her neck.

  He lurched backward as she pulled down his pants. “What about … “

  “Shh… “ She put her hand on his mouth as they stumbled toward the deck at the back of the house. It was high on a hill out of anyone’s view. She must have felt his frown under her fingers.

  “It’s private. I sunbathe here all the time.”

  By the time she slid open the door, they were working hard on each other’s principal erogenous zones.

  He climbed on the chaise. “Uh! Slower Rhonda.”

  “Sure, Bernie.” She smiled and put her head in his lap to re-double her efforts for the result she clearly wanted.