16- What happened to Peggy’s Paddington Bear?
Peggy was in a foul mood when I got
to the bar the next night, and she eyed me and my notebook from the stage as if
I carried a disease.
Mary
hurried over as I sat on the same stool at the previous night.
“Don’t do
anything foolish,” Mary warned. “Peggy’ll gear your head off.”
“Is it
something I did?”
“Not unless
you swiped the Paddington Bear off her car last night.”
“Paddington
Bear?”
“A thing
she had on her car – a bear in a NY Giants uniform. She’s a real sucker for NY
Giants stuff like that.”
“And she
suspects me of taking it?”
“She
suspects everybody. So just lay low and don’t cause trouble.”
I didn’t
have a lot of money, so I figured I wouldn’t be around long enough to cause
much trouble anyway.
Just the
same, I slid my notebook to the floor at my feet, just on the off chance Peggy
had changed her mind over night. I didn’t want to start a fight over something
silly.
Bad mood or
not, Peggy made her way to where I sat when her set ended, popping up on the
stool next to mine.
“Buy me a
drink,” she said, lighting a cigarette.
I waved to
Mary.
“Boy, am I
pissed,” Peggy said.
“I hear
about the bear.”
This drew a
suspicious glance.
“How?”
Peggy asked. “You just got here.”
“From
Mary,” I said as Mary arrived. “Isn’t that so, Mary?”
Mary nodded
as she slipped the drink in front of Peggy, then a bottle of beer in front of
me.
“How cheap
can someone get?” Peggy growled. “Charlie looks crappy enough without someone
ripping off my bear.”
“Charlie?”
“It’s the
name of my car. I named it after the guy who gave it to me.”
“A
boyfriend?”
“I never
said that – just a nice man I know, although he would have a fit if he knew I
never got it inspected or registered.”
“You’re
driving in an unregistered car?”
“They don’t
let you register unless you have insurance, and they won’t inspect the car
unless it’s registered.”
“Let me get
this straight. You’re driving an unregistered, uninsured and un-inspected car
around town?”
“That’s
right.”
“How do you
get away with driving the car without an inspection sticker?”
“I got one
of those pink cards you get when you register a car.”
“I thought
you said it wasn’t registered.”
“It’s not.
The card belongs to a friend of mine. It’s from his Pinto.’
“What
happens if you get stopped? Aren’t you afraid you’ll lose your license?”
“Oh that? I
lost that a long time ago on account of all the tickets I got and never paid.”
“That means
if you get stopped, they’ll take you to jail.”
“They
haven’t yet.”
“Why not?”
Peggy batted
her eyelashes coyly.
“A girl has
her ways,” she said. “Buy me another drink. This one’s empty.”
“You drink
too much.”
“Oh don’t
you start, too. I’m not in the mood.”
“Well, you
do.”
“Please,
I’m in pain, I need it.”
“What kind
of pain?”
“You name
it, I get it, but if you must know it’s that time of month.”
“You mean
it’s a full moon already?”
“Damn you,
you know what I’m talking about.”
“I know. I
was just kidding.”
“Don’t kid.
It’s not nice.”
“But you
kid with me all the time.”
“Girls are
allowed to kid; boys aren’t.”
“That
doesn’t exactly seem fair.”
“Fair?”
Peggy snarled. “You mean fair like that fat fuck across from us was when he
said he could cure my pain by fucking me?”
“Maybe he
can”
“Would you
want me to find out?” Peggy asked, one painted eyebrow rising.
“I wasn’t
suggesting anything,” I said, suddenly uncomfortable.
“No,” Peggy
mumbled. “I suppose not.”
“What is
that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,”
Peggy said with a shrug. “Here I thought you wanted to fuck me, too.”
“I never
said that.”
“You mean
you don’t want to fuck me?”
“I didn’t
say that either.”
“I wish you
would make up your mind. Do you want to fuck me or not?”
“I’m
getting confused,” I said.
“It sounds
like you need another drink, too. Are you going to order some or do I have to
go over to the fat fuck to get one from him?”
I waved for
Mary. She brought drinks for both us. I drained my first bottle and took a
hefty swig on the second.
Then, I
tried changing subjects and asked about sports. Did Peggy have any favorite
college football teams? Did she follow football when she was in high school?
“I only
follow professional sports,” she said. “As for high school, I spent as little
time there as possible.”
“But you
did graduate?”
“Barely,”
she said, stubbing out one cigarette to immediately light around. “I’ve more or
less been on my own since 16 years old. I got through high school, but it
wasn’t easy.”
“What about
a boyfriend?” I asked. “Are you going out with anybody?”
“What is
this?” Peggy asked, staring hard at me, “What’s My Line?”
“I’m just
interested.”
“Why?”
“I was
thinking about asking you out on a date.”
“Maybe you
should, I might way yes.”
“Really?”
“Down boy,
I said maybe. I have had my fill of pushy guys. This place is filled with them,
always trying to get my phone number so they can get in my paints.”
“You didn’t
answer me about whether you have a boyfriend or not.”
“I know I
didn’t.”
“So you’re
not going to tell me?”
“I had a
boyfriend once,” Peggy said suddenly sounding sad. “He was a guy I was really
nuts for.”
“And?”
“It didn’t
work out the way I’d planned,” she said and shook herself, and gave me a sharp
look again. “Now quit stalling and pop the question so I can go back up and
dance.”
“What
question?”
“The
fucking question you said you might ask, jerk,” she said. “You keep this up,
stupid, and I might just change my mind and tell you no.”
“All
right,” I said. “Would you like to go out on a date with me?”
“Maybe.”
“What does
that mean?”
“Maybe is
maybe, Alfred. Or am I not talking loud enough for you to hear me.”
“Too loud,”
the dancer on the stage growled. “Will the two of you pipe down. Some of us are
trying to earn a living up here.”
“Fuck you,
bitch,” Peggy said, but laughed. The dancer laughed to.
“I don’t
understand,” I said, and I didn’t, my head spinning with confused thoughts.
“Here,”
Peggy said, sliding a bar napkin at me. “Use your pen for a good purpose and
write down your phone number. I’ll give you a call when I’ve made up my mind.”
I wrote
down my number and slid the napkin back at her. She picked up it, folded it,
and slid it into the top of her dancing outfit.
“There,”
she said. “Now give me a hug.”
“A what?”
“A hug,
stupid. You know what a hug is, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
“Then hug
me.”
So I hugged
her. She patted my back as she pulled away.
“Such a
silly boy,” she said.
“So when will I find out?” I asked.
“When I call you.”
“Am I supposed to sit by the phone
and wait?”
“ I would if I were you,” Peggy
said as Wolfman grumbled and Mary came over with Peggy’s quarters. “I wouldn’t
want you to miss out on your chance to get lucky.”
“Am I going to get lucky?”
“Well,”
Peggy said with an odd smile. “You’d help your chances if you did something
nice for me.”
****************************
Journal: March 17, 1987
So Peggy is
a Republican.
And an
active Republican, who participates in the local political machine.
It seems
strange to me that a woman, a go-go dancer should be working so diligently for
her own oppressor.
But why
not?
She is also
a certified public accountant working her way up the corporate ladder, with
dreams of taking her boss’s place, a reality impeded only by the fact that she
hasn’t yet learned how to become a boss.
“I don’t
know how I could tell someone I worked with that they’re fired,” she said,
sitting beside me at the bar.
I wanted to
tell her that if she didn’t know already, she probably would never know, that
it takes a cold fish to do that kind of thing and still have some sense of
self, that if she had to think about it, then she was working for the wrong
political party.
But she
wouldn’t have listened. The Reagan mandate – of which she has become a part –
gobbles up millions if idealistic people like her, brainwashing them into
thinking they are working for something good and real, working for the
betterment of
Peggy said
that all her time is filled up between work and her political commitments, and
that she even does some volunteer work for
I’m
stunned, but I shouldn’t be.
She wants
to be tough, wants to be able to fire people, and sees her inability as a flaw.
This
intrigues me even more.
But I’m in
over my head, screwing myself up into something I’m not sure I can get out of
again.
I’ve
already told her I’ll see her at the bar again tonight.
I’m over
anxious, and it is something I know might scare her off as a potential lover.
I still
have to figure out why I’m doing any of this and what exactly it is that I find
appealing about her. Maybe it’s her intelligence, maybe it is because she
speaks too loudly that I’m deaf to all the common sense warnings my own heart
is screaming at me.
She talked
so loud that the other go-go girl said not so kindly that she would pay me to
drag Peggy down to the other end of the bar.
But this
bit of nastiness comes out of jealously. Girls here do not like seeing someone
else get the attention they want. Being on stage is all about ego.
Which made
me ask yet one more time why Peggy does and once more for her to tell me she
needs the money.
Maybe there
is some truth in this after all.
Peggy has
expensive tastes, tastes I know I can’t afford – and I fear that if I can’t
afford them, I won’t be able to keep her happy.
How the
hell did I wind up with an alcoholic Republican go-go girl with millionaire
tastes?
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