A few months back, while having some drinks at a live music spot in the city, Mike had intentionally stumbled into Krystal’s chair on his way back from the restroom. Upon spilling half of his Bombay Sapphire and tonic across her lap, Mike looked up into her shocked and widened eyes, and without missing a beat sang along with the cover of the Clash’s anthem “Should I Stay or Should I Go” that the band was playing. This was bold enough to impress Krystal and allow him to join her at the table and partake in a drunken game of Name That Tune for rounds of drinks. Their chemistry was instant. Mike won the Name That Tune game, and apparently the prize was bringing her back out to his place in the sticks and having indiscretions at his community pool and hot tub after hours.
Krystal fit the mold as your stereotypical ‘concert arm candy.’ You know the type; the very attractive and laid back stoner who wore minimal makeup, with long brown hair that seemed to drape over her thin shoulders that framed her high cheekbones and brown eyes. Mike was mesmerized by how she made moving her hips to the blues guitar solo while getting a drink at the smoky bar look incredibly sexy.
Krystal lived in the city and worked for an environmental non-profit, but also free-lanced as a photographer for one of the local underground newspapers where she’d cover the local talent. Mike would casually see Krystal about once or twice a month, and they would go see shows together at various little clubs around town. On their concert date-nights Mike would stay out at Krystal’s because she lived downtown, although not much sleep would usually happen. The sexual chemistry with Krystal was amazing. Krystal was what Mike referred to as a role-player, meaning she was good to go to shows with, do some tequila shots, and just let loose with, but her lifestyle was not suitable for long term potential in his mind. She was most likely seeing other guys, and the distance to downtown was too much of an obstacle, as was the early mornings of being a teacher. Mike’s friends gave Krystal the nickname ‘Indie’, short for Independent Music Label. They all enjoyed hanging out with Krystal. Mike felt that had he met her a few years earlier she’d be a perfect match for him, but not now, while he was trying to start a career.
Trying to make the most of his last weekend living out in the rural golf course community where Mike rented a spacious one-bedroom apartment, Mike had met some friends at The Boat, which was his favorite hunting grounds for women in that part of town. The laid back atmosphere and live music appealed to Mike’s interests. He particularly liked to go up there on slow week nights and sit at the bar, play the trivia games on the TV, and hit on the waitresses and barmaids, several of which he had already hooked up with. He’d had particularly good luck with the women there over the last several years, but he’d never admit to it as luck. One of his favorite sayings was “if you do it all the time it’s not luck.” This made sense. It was very normal for him to leave there with at least a phone number, if not more.
This happened to be one of those rare slow nights at The Boat, and Mike wasn’t going to let the lack of local talent and shitty band ruin his last hurrah at his old place. He decided to see if Krystal would join him for a a few beers and then some after hours, and sent her a text. He didn’t want to mislead her with his intentions, so he simply wrote, “Where U at? I want company.”
He was surprised at the promptness of her reply, “I’m doing a show, but will swing by later. Wait up.”
And so with that decided, Mike closed his tab and went home. It seemed like a good night to just sit on the balcony while drinking some Shiner Bock from the fridge and listen to some grunge. Krystal came over around 3 am Mike had the company he so desired. A few times.
A Dollar Out of Fifteen Cents 