Shouts And Mallomars

Bonnie Bernstein

bonnie bernstein

bonnie bernstein
New York, New York,
November 02
Starving Writer
Quirky, Edgy Authoress, Phanatically Baseball Lite. Writing the great American smutty memoir. Bonnie's words can be found in places like TheFix, YourTango, Modern Love Rejects, Salon, Petside, Babble, Perils of Divorced Pauline, Newsday and NYResident. Lisa Belkin wrote about Bonnie in Motherlode and Anderson Cooper interviewed her. Follow Bonnie on Twitter: bonnieb_writer


APRIL 20, 2011 12:05AM

A Raunchy Hudson Valley Bar Scene

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Originally titled -- She Wanted A William And Kate Ever After 

Kara, the divorced Jewish city girl in her forties, with the flaming red, curly long hair and chocolate colored eyes, arrives at the Hudson Valley pub.  Johnny Cash croons over the jukebox.  Trace Adkins sings something to do with a “badonk kadonk.”  And, Janis Joplin cries about a baby. One television is showing football, the other the movie Braveheart and Kara can’t tell the difference.  To her, the two are flaunting men running around in tights. 


Making herself comfortable at a bar stool next to Pamela, Kara turns to Lisa, on the other side of her, to ask about the guy sitting lonesome drinking his Seven & Seven. Kara is told, “nice guy, we used to be involved, not anymore, just friends.”  Though it really depends on who she asks.  Pamela, who’s been eavesdropping, shoots back, “He would deny Rogers claim of being a coke dealer, but he smiles, and so do many women, at the thought of his being called the town whore.”


The locals of this church filled upstate community are busy hiccuping on stale beer and watered down well booze before they head back over for bible study.   They never notice the river view or the mountains.  And politics and religion are not spoken about, unless sanctioned.


There’s Casey over by the jukebox.  He stops in occasionally, but knows there’s no man here for him.  He thinks he’s the Dancing Queen, bopping to ABBA before he goes home to his boyfriend.  None of that’s allowed here.  The door used to be rubber stamped with, “No Queers.”  Some of the townies, including Roger, want to repaint the posting.  However, a real prince of a guy owns that title of Dancing Queen, as he tries to get a woman, any woman to do the hustle with him.


One of the regulars yells to the cowboy hat dude entering the bar, “mazel tov.”  It sounds out of place, like he doesn't know what he's saying, but he does.  They nod in agreement.  There’s a non believer in the room.  It’s a code word.  Kara, looking at the whiskey bottles up against the mirrored wall, feels uneasy and thinks, “What’s going on?  What am I doing here?”


The proprietor of a local café gets drunk on a bottle of pinot grigio, after a day of yelling at his employees and serving up vegetarian chili that was accidentally thrown into the garbage.  Competing with a fellow nicknamed Fruit Loops for the ladies, Mr. Café Owner goes after all the gals, even the ones who work for him.  And Kara thinks they have what she wants here.  But it’s not the fries city girl desires, that would be a poor sub for the love she’d rather starve herself to get.


Dancing Queen, that prince of a boy, says about Kara, “Not my type,” as he checks her out.  Kara hears that, and to no one in particular, retorts, “Fine, he’s not what I want, either.”  Picking up on that tidbit, he hankers for her ever more because she has become the unattainable to be hunted.

Knowing full well they don’t have it, Kara still orders a Cape Cod with her favorite vodka, Ketel One.  These places never have the high end stuff.   In the background, a rough grizzly voice yells at the television, “Mel, you were right bout dem peoples.  Keep it up.”  Kara winces, accepts a poor substitute with her Ocean Spray.  Funny, she can’t taste the hard stuff, but she puts down her twenty to pay anyway.  Doesn’t want to be thought as cheap.  Knows she must leave more than a buck for a tip.


Kara remembers what she is here for.  Lonesome Guy, the one she saw moments ago, eyes her boobs from his post.  She’s wearing a push up bra tonight and those boobies are pointedly making her appear horny.  He mentally masturbates to himself, “Looks are different from around here, might be good for the night, tonight.”  Feeling antsy, Kara takes herself to the ladies room, passing who the other females know as their Casanova. Visually undressing her, Lonesome Guy can tell the curly haired red head isn’t wearing underwear.  There’s no thong wedging out of the lady’s pants.   As she bangs on the powder room door, Kara realizes he is stripping her with his blue eyes.  City girl wants to exclaim a “Help,” seeing she has gotten in over her head, but knows no one will answer her.  It’s getting to be a Happy Hour. 


Finally alone in the restroom, Kara is stunned by what she takes notice of over by the closed window, a yahrzeit candle that Jews light to remember the dead. She worries, “Do they have any idea what they have placed here?”  Kara washes the shock off her face after seeing something that is used for religious purposes being tapped as wax in a glass air freshener.   The door is stuck.  Lisa is playfully holding it closed.  Kara pushes it, falling out of the ladies room on her hands and knees onto a mound of peanut shells.  Lonesome Guy and his buddies, who are now surrounding him, laugh.  Not knowing how to react, she looks at him and giggles. 


Back at her seat, the bartender hands Kara a fresh drink from her Lonesome Guy.  As she looks over to him to lift her drink and take a sip to say thank you, she gets all wet from spilling some of the cocktail on her favorite True Religion jeans.  Kara's zinged by the alcohol’s strength.


Lonesome Guy, checking out Kara, is heard saying, “I’d like a massage.  Someone to stroke my back, rub my ass, turn me over…”  Kara feels uncomfortable, knows she’s not there to put out.   Pamela’s showing the whole deck on the pool table.  The halter top’s coming off. Kara decides that’s not her style.  Single, after a loveless marriage, she’s ready for someone to adore her for more than an hour’s time with a cue stick.  Café owner, hitting on one of the girls, divulges, “Miss those days of the KKK.”  Back then he was high up in the club and didn’t have to go trolling for a lay.


Strutting his Levi’s, his Frye boots out of that place, Lonesome Guy walks past Kara and decides the price of some hootch is to leave a message. From nymphoman’s past experience with the bitches, he assumes she’ll want to answer his calling card, his branding on how to treat a lady in public.  Lonesome Guy slaps Kara's super tight jeans, the ones from Bloomies that don’t leave anything to fantasy.  The men, now belching on Jack Daniels shots, pretend to pretend to ignore the transaction.  Furious at the humiliation, Kara follows Lonesome Guy outside to find him off in his Mustang, burning rubber.  Kara admits, “I could have had him.  I really did want him.”

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thank you everyone for reading -- i hope you liked my first fiction piece
Enjoyed. Know this place, these folks, that desperation smell. Rings true.