‘J.D., straight up, Do Do!’ I look at his ruddy complexion, his W.C. Fields red nose, pull away the second dish of peanuts he is about to finish off and warn him for the hundredth time, ‘Stop calling me Do Do or you’ll never put your fat ass on my bar chair again.’ From where I stand, I can still notice his red face getting redder. ‘Come on, Donald, everybody calls you Do Do but you only get mad at me. That’s goofy. Do I bitch when you call me Coo Coo?’ I do feel a little guilty when he brings that to my attention and explain, ‘Coo is short for ‘Cool. You’re cool man! I’m not making fun of you.’
I short him ½ oz, of J.D., slide his glass down the bar. It stops within an inch of his waiting fingers and down his throat before I start to concoct a fancy Pink Lady for Suzy, one of my regular lovely ladies. She’s alone so far tonight but won’t be for long. I never bother her, fix her drink and she sits with it, sipping slowly, just waiting.
Business is a little slow. I kneel below the bar as if to get clean glasses and take a fast swig of Gibley’s gin. It’s tough to swallow but works fast. I feel its warmth immediately and lift a carton of glasses on to the bar. To sort of apologize to Coo Coo, I take a fresh bowl of peanuts to him and get the surprise of my life. He raises the bowl over my head and lets the peanuts cascade down my shirt, down my pants and onto the floor. No sense me taking a swing at him. Coo Coo could clobber me flat as a pancake with one blow. Instead, I laugh, make a joke out of what he did to me and bring him fresh Dutch pretzels, a small jar of mustard and a tongue depressor to smear the mustard on the pretzels. ‘ Coo Coo says to me, ‘Thank you, Donald.’ I reply, Thank you, Cool Guy.’ He accidentally spills mustard on my pants but I say not a word and move back to Suzy.
A doddering old drunk comes in and sits next to Suzy even though there are empty stools. His hand slides towards her knee. As soon as it makes contact, her hand grabs his and in her anger, she roars at him. ‘Get away from my you old man. Move at least three stools down or I’m calling the cops to come get another pervert off the street.’ The souse does not move three seats away. He brazenly reaches across her breasts, gives them a quick feel, and hurries out the door.
A new Pink Lady, on the house, is called for. ‘That guy,’ I tell her, has never been in here before and isn’t coming back, I can assure you.’ Suzy is still upset, doesn’t touch her drink. All she does is stare into the big old fashioned mirror I had put in when I took over Jo Jo’s.
Customers are slow coming in. Nobody approaches Suzy. I really feel sorry for her when I see tears running down her cheeks.
Harvey, my new barkeep, has been with me three months. He is nice looking, adept, can toss a cocktail out of the cone and catch the cocktail in a stemmed glass. He is dependable, comes promptly, hustles and bustles, handling three or four customers simultaneously. We’re a great team. Tonight he takes notice of sad Suzy and fixes her a freebee Pink Lady. Her face is pale. She doesn’t look at the drink. Harvey gives her plenty of time and then takes it away. ‘Harv, go comfort Suzy,’ I tell him. He comes out from the bar and sits next to her. A change happens. Blue eyes dry, light up. A soft warm smile works wonders. I’m a genius.
I see her whisper in Harvey’s ear. He seems a bit upset as he comes over to me. ‘Do Do,’ he says to me. ‘Suzy won’t go home with me. She suggests I tell you, and I am doing it now, she would rather go home with you. So go. I’ll handle the bar and lock up.’
‘Let’s take a walk, Suzy. Let’s talk.’ We walk, we talk,. She leads the way to her house around the corner, a nice, white shingle house, not too big, not too little. We go in, talk and talk and eventually go upstairs. I stay the night, the week, the year and Suzy gets all the freebee Pink Ladies she can drink.
I make Harvey my manager and we all intend living happily ever after.
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