The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove - By Christopher Moore Page 0,14
up, caught a shirt button, then looked up farther to find Theo's smile. She had never met the constable, but she knew who he was.
"I don't even know why I came in here. I'm not a drinker."
"Something going around," Theo said. "I think maybe we're going to have a stormy winter or something. People are coming out of the woodwork."
They exchanged introductions and Theo complimented Estelle on her paintings, which he'd seen in the local galleries. Estelle dismissed the compliment.
"This seems like a strange place to find the constable," Estelle said.
Theo showed her the cell phone on his belt. "Base of operations," he said. "Most of the trouble has been starting in here anyway. If I'm here already, I can stop it before it escalates."
"Very conscientious of you."
"No, I'm just lazy," Theo said. "And tired. In the last three weeks I've been called to five domestic disputes, ten fights, two people who barricaded themselves in the bathroom and threatened suicide, a guy who was going house to house knocking the heads off garden gnomes with a sledgehammer, and a woman who tried to take her husband's eye out with a spoon."
"Oh my. Sounds like one day in the life of an L.A. cop."
"This isn't L.A.," Theo said. "I don't mean to complain, but I'm not really prepared for a crime wave."
"And there's nowhere left to run," Estelle said.
"Pardon?"
"People come here to run away from conflict, don't you think? Come to a small town to get out of the violence and the competition in the city. If you can't handle it here, there's nowhere else to go. You might as well give up."
"Well, that's a little cynical. I thought artists were supposed to be idealists."
"Scratch a cynic and you'll find a disappointed romantic," Estelle said.
"That's you?" Theo asked. "A disappointed romantic?"
"The only man I ever loved died."
"I'm sorry," Theo said.
"Me too." She drained her cup of wine.
"Easy on that, Estelle. It doesn't help."
"I'm not a drinker. I just had to get out of the house."
There was some shouting over by the pool table. "My presence is required," Theo said. "Excuse me." He made his way through the crowd to where two men were squaring off to fight.
Estelle signaled Mavis for a refill and turned to watch Theo try to make peace. Catfish Jefferson sang a sad song about a mean old woman doing him wrong. That's me, Estelle thought. A mean old worthless woman.
Self-medication was working by midnight. Most of the customers at the Slug had given in and started clapping and wailing along with Catfish's Blues. Quite a few had given up and gone home. By closing time, there were only five people left in the Slug and Mavis was cackling over a drawer full of money. Catfish Jefferson put down his National steel guitar and picked up the two-gallon pickle jar that held his tips. Dollar bills spilled over the top, change skated in the bottom, and here and there in the middle fives and tens struggled for air. There was even a twenty down there, and Catfish dug in after it like a kid going for a Cracker Jack prize. He carried the jar to the bar and plopped down next to Estelle, who was gloriously, eloquently crocked.
"Hey, baby," Catfish said. "You like the Blues?"
Estelle searched the air for the source of the question, as if it might have come from a moth spiraling around one of the lights behind the bar. Her gaze finally settled on the Bluesman and she said, "You're very good. I was going to leave, but I liked the music."
"Well, you done stayed now," Catfish said. "Look at this." He shook the money jar. "I got me upward o' two hundred dollar here, and that mean old woman owe me least that much too. What you say we take a pint and my guitar and go down to the beach, have us a party?"
"I'd better get home," Estelle said. "I have to paint in the morning."
"You a painter? I never knowed me a painter. What you say we go down to the beach and watch us a sunrise?"
"Wrong coast," Estelle said. "The sun comes up over the mountains."
Catfish laughed. "See, you done saved me a heap of waiting already. Let's you and me go down to the beach."
"No, I can't."
"It 'cause I'm Black, ain't it?"
"No."
"'Cause I'm old, right?"
"No."
"'Cause I'm bald. You don't like old bald men, right?"
"No!" Estelle said.
"'Cause I'm a musician. You heard we irresponsible?"