She is of Mexican/Hawaiian descent, she says. I guess that is European, Indian, and Polynesian. Dark hair and a ready smile. She gets plenty of attention and the Billionaires Boy's Club is all about her. Tennessee and I met her at The Pig in the outdoor beer garden. She was sweet and friendly and could laugh at a joke. When the Black Sheep son of the wealthy family showed up, he was all pop-eyed and turned on his considerable dark charm. She was tipped well for her indulgence.
The boys saw her again on Oktoberfest, the night I blew the boys off and went home. Tennessee said she was asking where I was and sent a selfie with her. She wasn't asking where I was. Tennessee is a flatterer. The black sheep was with them.
Last night, Tennessee and I went back to The Pig for dinner. We sat at the bar and ate. I had said the beer garden was only open on the weekends, but I was wrong. They had begun to open every night now that the weather is nice.
"You want to go out and have a beer?" he asked.
We took a table.
"Hey, look. . . it's Aileen."
She looked busy. A boy came out to take our order.
"Damn, we sat in the wrong section."
In a bit, however, she wandered over.
"You guys didn't want me to wait on you?" she smiled.
"We didn't even know the beer garden was open. We just ate inside."
She kibitzed for a bit.
"I work tomorrow night and Sunday," she offered. "I am going out of town this weekend."
"Are you going to see your boyfriend?" Tennessee asked with a big grin.
She rolled her eyes yes. T asked what he did. He had just graduated with a degree in something I don't remember. He got a job as a project manager on a construction site.
"Doesn't sound like he'll be moving here anytime soon."
Again she rolled her eyes. "No."
Then she giggled. "I'm here for a good time, not a long time." Then she left to hop her tables.
"Do you want another beer?" Tennessee asked.
"Let's go back to the house and have a scotch."
The boy brought out check. It was $14.92.
"Hey. . . what happened in 1492?" I quizzed him.
"Columbus sailed the ocean blue," said the waiter. I liked him right away.
"I always used to ask waiters 'Columbus sailed the ocean blue in. . . ' and they wouldn't know or they'd say something like 'a boat?' Sometimes I'd ask them the dates of WWI or the Civil War."
"These Country Club College kids don't know shit," he said. Yea, this kid was alright. As we finished up our beers, the boy was teaching Aileen to swing dance. They were cute.
But here's the thing that strikes me. All these people, all this money, but when she walks across the floor and smiles, all the boys forget they are married or have girlfriends. They want her to pay attention to them. They want her to like them. The kid is sweet, but this is her power. Black Sheeps will lick her feet. She knows to be demure about having a boyfriend. She is savvy.
But, of course, I think about love. She rolled her eyes about her boyfriend. Isn't that something? Is it traitorous? The "good time not a long time" comment? O.K. I know, she's young and the world is a box of chocolates and all that. I am not blaming or shaming, just thinking. And it is all good fun, I guess. Tennessee just wants her attention. He isn't trying to bed her. Black Sheep is another matter and I hope she has sense enough to eye him with great suspicion.
But I'm not trying to be the moral one here. It doesn't really matter to me what happens. It is all an adventure. But I can't help but think about things. It is impossible not to. She is Queen of the Rodeo when she is waiting tables. What happens when she leaves and goes home to her little apartment? What does she dream of? What does she hope will happen? Does she want a Mercedes Benz? How badly? And how quickly? She looks at the hour glass on the dresser and there is still plenty of sand. It doesn't seem to really move. Nothing is urgent. There is still time. She can make mistakes for awhile.
But that is not what I was really thinking about. That's the writer's part of the brain creating narrative. I was thinking about how people love, what happens that they no longer do, how a lover can come to betray the trust once possessed. I don't know how people get over love.
We'll find it is genetic one day. The Love Gene. Some possess it and some don't. Or it is a recessive gene and takes two to make the phenotype. . . like having rare blood.
That sounds about right.
One scotch and Tennessee bounced. His wife comes home from her long business trip tonight. He'll be back on the connubial leash. He loves his wife deeply. He has both of the recessive genes, it would seem. He's a member of the genetic club. So is Q. So is Sky. So is C.C. So is my mountain friend in Yosemite. Like attracts like if you are lucky.
Brando, on the other hand, was Aileen's type. Or vice-versa.
"I'm here for a good time, not a long time."
I can hear the words forming in his mouth.
While we were sitting in the beer garden which always plays the best music, I heard a cover of The Beatles' "Hide Your Love Away," that was awesome. I wanted it, so when Tennessee left, I used The Google. I couldn't find it. I found about a hundred versions, but not the one I wanted. It seems everyone has covered that song. Even The Beach Boys. The Beach Boys? What? Fer sure, dudes. Crazy.
But I need to find that other one.