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She shook her head and skated toward the exit that led to the women’s locker room.
“That’s it? You beat me and leave?” I asked.
She smiled and waved at me. Although, I could hear it in her voice - the pure smugness – when she said:
“Toe pick!”
Fucking figure skaters.
2
Later That Night
One-Eyed Gull
Dillon
Friday night at the Gull during the summer was pure insanity. Every tourist looking for some local flavor came to take advantage of Wendy’s drink specials – especially the women. There’d been a line two deep at the bar for hours.
Luckily it was too busy to have to do more than pour beer, take some pictures and sign some bar napkins.
“You owe me!” I shouted to Wendy over a group of women singing a Taylor Swift song at the top of their collective, drunk lungs. All of them had my autograph scrawled on some part of their body.
A PG part of their body. I wasn’t that kind of caveman either.
Wendy shot me her evil grin and rang the bell behind the bar. “My brother is buying a round!” she shouted, and the place went apeshit.
During a lull in the action, I went into the back to bring out some more cases of Allagash and Bud, and, thanks to Wendy’s drink specials, Margarita mix and tequila.
When Dad ran this place, that was after Mom left and his career as a professional wrestler had collapsed under the weight of injuries and poor management, the Gull had been a sleepy dive bar. A locals only hang out.
Lately, my sister was turning it into more of a kitschy destination. She’d leaned in on Dad’s cheesy old nautical decorations and the scary mermaid painted on the far wall. She’d even started to serve better food, even though all drunk people wanted at midnight was french fries.
The other really smart thing she’d done was put in the sound system upgrade.
At some point every weekend, the place turned into either a karaoke song fest or a dance party.
That was usually when I left.
By the time I got the booze organized and put away, the tourists had mostly cleared out.
“Hey,” Neil Hayes, a fisherman who’d been holding down the end of the bar all night, slid a napkin across the scarred oak bar towards me. “That group of women?”
I knew exactly who he meant, and I was slightly terrified. “Yeah?”
“The tall one left her number.”
“Thanks, Neil,” I said. I took the napkin and subtly tossed it in the trash. “Another Bud?”
“A’yup.”
Matt Sullivan, another local and the town’s ferry boat captain, came in and sat down next to Neil. They exchanged silent hellos.
“Sullivan,” I said with a smile. We went to high school together back in the day. He’d been a track and field star and had always been joined at the lips with Carrie Piedmont, who’d gone on to be a giant movie star.
Coincidentally, the gorgeous redhead was in town filming a Christmas movie. The cast and crew came in sometimes to sing karaoke and blow off steam.
“What can I get you?”
