A Man, a Fender and a Duck Walk into a Bar
There wasn’t a single person in the bar who did not forget what Teddy Roundman looked like. A big man, they all said, all who were in the bar the night of Teddy’s return. A very big man. Decent guitar player, decent singer but a better singer than guitar player. A very poor teller of jokes. He had only one joke, thank goodness. They all thanked their lucky stars for that. Having been on the radio, Teddy Roundman was their only star. Tonight, after spending three years in prison for aggravated assault, Teddy was returning to play, one night only, at Jack’s. No one could remember this much excitement ever at the bar.
PAM
They call me Mrs. Lee around here because they think I look like Pamela Anderson (when she was younger) who married rock drummer Tommy Lee. Annoying isn’t the half of it; the name stuck and that’s all they call me now. I’m Pam. I am the bartender here, at Jack’s. Have been ten years now. Must like it or I must like to be annoyed, frustrated and tired every night. I was born to be a bartender; it’s in my blood. Mom was one, all her life, the way she explained it. Claims she raised two of us kids behind a bar. I was one of them.
I was bartender even before I was married. Stopped when I got married. Came back to it when my husband died. Derek. Great guy. Died before we could start a family. A scaffold he was on at a construction site where he was working, collapsed. Died on the spot. We met when I was working the bar at the old Embassy downtown. Hangout bar. Great bands. Cheap pitchers. I fell for him, like, instantly. Beautiful blue eyes, drop dead (oops, didn’t mean that as a joke) smile, crazy about me. We got married year after we met. Derek left me – died – three months later.
Bartending, the job, the work, helped take my mind off missing him. When I thought about him, the pain was like nothing I’d ever known; I knew it would be with me the rest of my life. Jack’s is a hoppin’ enough place to keep me busy, my brain occupied. Teddy. Jeez. Teddy Roundman. Got three years for aggravated assault. Called me at work two weeks ago asking if we had any entertainment booked for such and such a date – tonight, actually – and asked if he could have the gig if it was available. I told him sure, you’re a crowd favourite, Teddy. He said he might be a little rusty, but he’ll practice hard for the gig. I told him not to worry about that. He thanked me. I didn’t ask him how he was or how it felt being out of prison.
Everyone I told, gave me a look. They were pissed at me, trying to hide they were excited and anxious to see it happen. I admit, I was all of that, too. Talking to him, I’d forgotten he’d went away for aggravated assault. A policeman friend of mine told me Teddy was lucky, he could have gotten fourteen years, but, since there was no weapon used – just his hands – they gave him three. I’ll bet, because Teddy’s a nice, quiet guy, he probably got it easy on good behaviour.
I’ll have to see how he is when he comes in tonight. I don’t want to grill him too hard on being in, being out, how he feels. Teddy doesn’t say much. He leaves that for the stage.
ROGER
Mrs. Lee’s opened up a can of worms letting Teddy come back. Who is she, anyway? She doesn’t own the place. That’s Jack, Jack Bremel, and he’s out of country. She can’t make decisions like that. Shouldn’t. She’s inviting trouble, is all I can say.
Why should I care? As long as she brings me my whiskey when I want it. I don’t care what happens. I’ll just watch everyone else, see what they do when Teddy comes walking through the door.
My hand’s shaking. She won’t serve me if my hand’s shaking bad. It’s always shaking. What’s the difference she serves me or not? I don’t need to be here. I can go somewhere else. I’m here because Jack’s is close to home. Five-minute walk, unless my legs give out or want to roam on their own. Been known to happen.
But. Teddy. Man. Who would have thought, eh? Me. I did. Always thought he had it in him. The way he talked. Way he sang. That look in his eyes. Always thought it was a matter of time before he blew up. Everyone reaches that point. Everyone.
Didn’t think he could do it, physically, though. Guy’s as big as a house – tall and wide. Have to be in shape to do what he did to that guy. Course. One punch from Teddy and your face will cave in.
I used to be in shape. When I was a firefighter for this city. My good years. Ten of them. My story’s like a lot of the guys’: the job got to me. Saw too much shit and horror I couldn’t take no more.
Life gets to you. Teddy knew that. Maybe why he snapped. I watched him up on stage. Eyes closed, mouth in a big O, his cheeks red and shaking like Jello. I could tell: Teddy was hurting. Something, someone, hurt him. Knew it whenever I asked him to play “Your Cheatin’ Heart” and he wouldn’t look me in the eye, but just nod and grunt (meaning, yes, he’ll play it), every time I asked him.
Maybe Teddy, like me, has a broken heart. Someone he loved left him; accused him of being someone he wasn’t and left him. He didn’t have the opportunity, the time, to change, to make things better. Someone he loved told him they didn’t love him anymore and left him.
Like me.
Mrs. Lee sees my glass is empty. I watch her take her time to pour a two-ounce shot of Crown. Like I have all the time in the world. I don’t. I don’t want to. I am impatient for the end to come.
