Chapter 155: Wasn’t that a party

Editor: nnpdad 9 June 2021

Could-a been the whisky, might-a been the ginCould-a been the three or four six packs, I don’t know
But won’t you look at the mess I’m in
A head like a football, I think I’m going to die
But tell me, a-me oh, me oh my
Wasn’t that a party

Someone had a grapefruit, wore it like a hat
I saw someone under my kitchen table, talking to an old tomcat
He were talking about football
The cat was talking back
Along about then everything went black
Wasn’t that a party
- Tom Paxton

The call of the chamber pot woke me and holy crap did I feel like crap. SinfulClaire was draped over me in the sticky summer heat. My body stuck to the sheets in a manner that told me we’d had a lot of fun last night.

But I needed that chamber pot and I needed it now. I didn’t slip out of bed. I merely pushed her to the side while I rolled to my feet and went to visit the chamber pot. With my bladder regulated once again to its unobtrusive role as an internal organ, I found the washing bowl, filled it from the pitcher, and cleaned my face.

I pulled on my trousers and made my way downstairs. It was time for a coffee, cigarette and a quick cold shower. Cook was actually in the kitchen this time and I requested a cup of coffee be delivered to the porch, then headed out to the tent and the shower within.

There was enough water left in the delivery system that I didn’t need to pump. After a quick clean-off, I was on the porch in my reluctant rocker enjoying a coffee and a cigarette in the morning sunlight. Well, that enjoyment didn’t come easy, so I decided I need some hair of the dog to ease the morning pain a bit. I went inside and behind the bar, to see what I could find.

My idea was simple: hair of the dog, a decent breakfast, and a long nap was all it would take to make me right with the world again. Thankfully, I found a bottle of Byrne’s Bourbon. That would work perfectly for my plan. Yeah, right. The best laid plans of mice and men and all that.

The cook caught me; she wanted a word. Well, this could only head in one direction, but that wasn’t necessarily bad. Either I was in down here in St. Charles, or I was out and this was part of being in. If it was cheap, as expected, then I was in. I told her to grab a pot of coffee and join me on the porch. I took the bourbon with me.

We took our seats at the small table on the porch. I added a serving of whiskey to my coffee cup before I let her pour. She accepted my offered dram and then filled our coffee cups to finish the mixture. It was tasty and right on time. I knew this had to do with worries of job security and money somehow, so I reached into my pocket to see what I had. Times had been hard around here and I doubted that she had been adequately paid yet. I understood hard times and knew how build loyalty.

On the other hand, her heavy Irish brogue was a bit difficult to fully understand. I assumed it was worsened due to the stress of the conversation. So I kicked things off.

“I assume you’ve not been paid yet,” I casually said as I placed two dollar coins down in front of her. The look of relief on her face was instantaneous.

“I also assume we need better supplies,” I counted out three more dollars. That was now five weeks wages setting in front of her.