“The truth of the matter is, I don’t blame her.”
The slurred voice startled me, spoken directly in my ear. I jerked and turned, and came face-to-face with a large, flat nose. The man struggled to focus his bleary eyes as he leaned an elbow on the bar. He wavered a bit, his breath wheezing as if he had perforated lungs.
I gave a noncommittal nod and returned to my beer. I didn’t want to be rude, but I wasn’t in the mood for maudlin conversation with some strange inebriate about his failed love life.
I felt a hand on my arm. “No, really, I don’t blame her,” he persisted. “He’s a handsome stud. He lives right next door. I’m gone all day and she gets bored being home alone.”
I tipped my glass to him, somewhat at a loss. “Sorry for your troubles,” was all I could muster.
“S’all right,” he said. “I should’ve seen it coming. Ruby’s young, she’s beautiful. She has needs. I’m getting old. I can’t keep up.” He stared at the half-full shot glass. “Women,” he muttered. “Killed more men…” His voice trailed off.
“Sorry? I didn’t get…” I couldn’t help it. I’m somewhat deaf, and that’s my automatic response to words I don’t catch. I should have kept quiet.
“It’s what my Dad used to say. ‘Billy,’ he’d say, ‘Billy, women have killed more men than whiskey ever did.’ Smart man, my Dad.”
The barfly drained the shot glass, grimacing while inhaling sharply though his yellowed teeth. You could almost see the brown liquid’s progress as it made its way into his system, the stretch of his neck as he swallowed, the resulting twitch in his chest, and the slight shudder in his gut as the spreading warmth hit home.
“Tony!” He waved. “Tony!” He gestured to his glass as he caught the bartender’s eye. Billy saw mine was almost empty. “And another one for my friend here.” He leaned into my face and breathed, “What’re you drinking?” and without waiting for an answer he yelled at Tony, “Whatever he’s drinking.”
I waved away the fumes he expelled into my face. Now I was in for it. My newfound friend had bought me a drink. I’d be obliged to play the role of Miss Lonely Hearts, at least until the beer was gone.
“Two years,” he began again. “We’ve been together two years.” He leaned into me. “I met her at my friend Mike’s. She’d been hanging out there for a couple of weeks. She needed a place to stay so Mike let her stay with him. Mike was like that. Kind-hearted.” He paused. “Of course there was probably more to it than that. I should have known.”
Tony brought the drinks. My bar-mate took a sip of his, and acted like he was drinking battery acid, grimacing and inhaling, followed by the whole neck-stretch, chest-twitch, and gut-shudder thing.
“Anyway,” he continued, “we really hit it off. I loved her long golden hair. It was so sleek and shiny. And she was all over me. Afterwards she sort of followed me home. Ruby’s been with me ever since.” He stared at his drink. “Mike never forgave me. He said I was a bad friend, a traitor.” He sipped some more acid.
“Was it worth it? Losing your friend I mean?” Maybe if he talked more, he’d drink faster, and I could go home.
He rubbed his week-old beard. “Yeah, I think so,” he said, as his head bobbed. “These have been the happiest two years ever. I was so lonely before. We really get along, you know?” His eyes glistened. “We go on long walks together, snuggle on the couch and watch TV—it’s been great.” He paused. “I never had that much fun with Mike.”
“Well, I’m sure it was different, being with her, versus being with Mike.”
He was quiet for a time. He patted his pockets as if looking for cigarettes, seemed to think better of it, and shrugged. His flannel shirt and jeans were clean, but rumpled, and spoke blue collar.
“He’s there all the time,” he mumbled. “He just lies out there in his back yard, sunning himself. Clancy. His name is Clancy. He’s a red-haired Irish—”
I interrupted what was sure to be an epithet. “Okay, okay, I get the picture.” I didn’t approve of ethnic slurs. “Can’t you just move away?”
Billy pushed out his lips and squinted. I could almost hear the thought gears grinding. “Nah, I can’t afford to break my lease. Besides, she’d get depressed. At least now she’s happy.”
I shook my head in sympathy, and took a long draught from the pilsner glass. It was only half gone. I’d have to endure more talk.
“I try, you know?” Billy went on. “I do everything for her. She’s on this special all-protein diet, and I buy the best cuts of meat. I cook breakfast for her every day—always with bacon. She loves bacon.” His shoulders slumped. “I feel unappreciated.”
“It sounds like she takes you for granted.”
Billy leaned into me, grasping my shoulder for support, a pleading look on his face. “It’s hard on me, you know? Every night I come home from work, she’s over there with him.” A tear leaked out of the corner of one eye and rolled down his cheek.
“Isn’t that kind of strange? Doesn’t she try to hide it?”
“Nope. She comes sashaying home like nothing happened. I get mad and yell at him over the fence, and he just sits there and smiles.”
“What do you say to her? Don’t you get mad at her?”
“You don’t understand,” he blubbered, his tears flowing in earnest. “I can’t get mad at her. She gets in my lap and kisses me and I just melt and run my hands through her hair. I love her so much.”
I felt bad for Billy. He sounded like a good guy. And Ruby was the worst sort of tramp—a brazen hussy that threw her affair in his face every day. And don’t even get me started about this Clancy fellow. He was a profligate home wrecker, a lazy good-for-nothing that deserved to be tarred and feathered and run out of town on a rail. If only they still did that sort of thing.
I had a thought. “Do you think she’s trying to make you jealous?”
Billy’s tears subsided. He shook his head. “Nah, she doesn’t mean anything by it. She doesn’t think at all about how it affects me.”
I still didn’t get it. I didn’t understand how Ruby could be that insensitive, or how Billy could tolerate that kind of treatment. He must have been really whipped over this dame. I mulled over everything I had ever read in those women’s magazines at the doctor’s office.
“Maybe,” I said, “just maybe she wants something more.”
“What are you saying? What else could she want? We have a nice house in the ‘burbs with a back yard. I treat her real well. I give her everything. I don’t know what else I can do.”
“Well, I hesitate to suggest this, given the situation, but…”
“What? Tell me what.”
“What about marrying her? Maybe she wants you to be more committed.”
He wrinkled his nose and curled his lip into a sneer. “What are you talking about? What’s wrong with you? I could never marry her.”
“Why not? You said you loved her.”
He stuttered meaningless syllables until words spilled out. “I can’t marry her. She’s a dog.”
“That’s harsh. You mean you wouldn’t marry her because she’s not pretty? That seems kind of shallow, if you don’t mind my saying. Besides, I thought you said she was beautiful.”
Billy pulled away from me like I was contagious. “No! I mean she’s a dog. A real dog, as in a four-footed canine. Ruby’s a Golden Retriever. You’re sick, man.”
I was having a hard time comprehending. It might have been the seven beers. “A dog? I don’t understand. I thought you were talking about your girlfriend. What was all that talk about the next-door neighbor? That Clancy guy.”
“Clancy’s an Irish Setter, you idiot.” He slipped off his stool. “I gotta go—Ruby will be waiting for me. Thanks for listening.”
I watched him stagger through the bar and out the door. Now I knew the real truth of the matter.