coat flapping
Frog stomped out of the Buckhead Saloon in his cowboy boots, making sort of a Christmas tree shape with his long duster and his long hair fanning out behind him. He even had his cowboy hat for an ornament on top.The saloon employees threw trashcans through the air, and beer bottles smashed around us. It was well past last call.
Frog stomped forward through ones and twos of the night's late revellers as we made our way to the car.
We drove to the late club, picking up Ward on the way. "We'll find some sluts here," Frog assured us. He was drifting slightly out of his lane.
"You're drifting." I said.
"Drunks drift on accident. I drift because it's my business."
"Uh, what?"
We pulled up and got out of the car. Mark Patterson and some girl were getting out of their car.
"Okay," Frog addressed us, "Stick close to me."
We walked in a pack up to the door, and weaved through the gates and whatnot that they use to control the crowds of people who are there when it's not five in the morning. The door guy waited for us at the end like a prize in a maze.
"Hey, Frog, how many you got, man?"
"Plus Four" Frog said, brushing past him. The rest of us followed him like ducklings.
"Okay. Come on through. Hey when you guys playing again?"
"Don't know" Frog shouted, opening the door and sweeping in with his long coat. We repeated this process at the entrance to the fancy-shmancy VIP area, where gangsters and their girlfriends sit around sipping drinks and not smiling at one another. A man in a white dress smiled at me and tried to make eye contact. I examined the art. The gangsters milled around with their stripper girlfriends.
"This sucks," Ward offered. "Let's go dance."
We filed back out into the cavernous main area of the club, past an asian gang and their girlfriends around a big round table. They all looked pretty young, so I guess they didn't have the pull to be VIPs yet. It was late, so the dancefloor was mostly empty. I was sobering up quickly.
A bleached blonde appeared next to me with a tray of test tubes.
"Want a shot?" she screamed over the music, trying to be cute at the same time.
"No"
"Buy one for her!" she pointed to the beer tub girl, who was watching us from under Frog's hat.
"I don't like her" I said.
"Well buy one for me! You like me don't you?"
"Not really"
She was a true professional. She didn't give the slightest fuck that I didn't like her. She didn't bother even being hurt that I said I didn't like her. She just wanted my money. She just shrugged and went on to the next guy.
Mark and his girl filed straight out onto the dancefloor with Frog close behind. Matt and the girl danced. Frog stood there with his hands jammed in his long coat. They motioned at him to join them in dancing.
Instead, he bent his knees slightly and flapped his coat along to the music, hands still inside his pockets.
As I was laughing at the coat flapping, the most bizarre moment of the evening snuck up on me. I felt something slap me on the leg. It was the man in the white dress.
"What are you gonna do?" he asked, "Sue me? I did two years of pre-law in Miami! Let's go!"
Here's the question, folks. How do you get a man in a white dress to leave you alone?
I don't know either, so I just turned around and started hitting on the beer tub girl, and he went away.
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