Chapter 2

“Screen six?” Diane asked, watching the petite girl’s buttocks flex and undulate away.

“Be right back; just need bring this to the kitchen,” the girl called out, scurrying away.

“God damn, hell of a time for Candy and Selena both have the flu,” a short, stocky man in need of a shave grumbled. “And Demi’s on vacation…sit anywhere, hear?”

“Screen six? Walchester Wolves and Lady Jays?” Diane asked.

“Screen six is over here, ma’am,” the strawberry blonde chirped, pointing to a ceiling mounted forty two inch screen.

Diane found an empty table that faced the indicated television. The girl brought a single sheet laminated menu to the table, waving to another table that she would be right there.

Diane saw that the girl wore sprocket shaped pasties over her nipples. Her cone shaped breasts sat high and proud on her slender frame. Her long hair was parted on the right and a thick lock of the hair kept falling into her bright green eyes. The waitress smiled, parting her plump light pink lips to reveal small teeth with one twisted incisor.

“Go take care of them; I’ll be a few minutes,” Diane suggested, taking the menu.

“Well, see Mr. Gearbox has never heard of cholesterol,” Diane mused, looking at the selection of grease drenched, sodium laden foods. “Or low carb.”

“The wings are the best,” the girl suggested, standing close to Diane. “Hot? Ooh they are so hot! Makes me sweat every time!”

“How is the Reuben?” Diane asked, deciding it had been too long since she’d had a good Reuben sandwich.

“I, honestly? I don’t know. I, I ain’t never tried them,” the girl said. “See, Jamie? He was my boyfriend?”

“Aw, thought I was your boyfriend,” a middle-aged balding patron called out.

“In your dreams, buddy,” the girl muttered darkly.

“Told you; I don’t do smokers,” the girl said out loud.

“Well, let me try the Reuben and the um, hmm, side salad…” Diane decided.

“Side salad’s made with that pre-packaged salad out the bag,” the girl whispered to Diane. “Just get the celery and carrot sticks if you’re trying eat healthy. Least that stuff’s fresh.”

“With Italian dressing on the side, please,” Diane smiled.

“To drink?” The waitress asked. “Yes, Danny, I see you; I’ll be right there, all right?”

“What the hell, give me a Ridger; you have it on draft?” Diane asked.

“That’s my beer,” the waitress agreed, smiling. “Yes, Danny, I see you.”

“You know, for someone who needs them tips, you sure don’t act like you wanting no tips,” Danny snapped.

“You ain’t the only customer in here but I am the only waitress,” the girl snapped in reply.

“There. There’s a penny,” Danny snarled as he paid his bill. “‘Bout all you worth.”

“Hey Danny? Odie told you; she’s the only girl in here right now,” Jimbo called out. “You can’t be no gentleman? Then maybe you don’t need be coming ’round, hear?”

“Well maybe I won’t,” Danny said, swaggering out of the bar.

Odie brought Diane a large frosted mug, a good half inch head of foam slowly dribbling down the sides. Diane did not know how Ridger Beer managed to always have a crisp, almost tart bite to it and this draft was no exception. Slowly sipping the beer, she watched previous highlights of games between the two collegiate rivals.

“Oh my God!” Diane gasped, watching herself and the play that had incurred the wrath of Kelli Burke on the television.

Subconsciously, Diane reached up and touched her short pageboy hairstyle. On the screen, Diane Davis had waist length brown hair in a doubled up ponytail. She watched as she masterfully stopped the ball with her left foot, then swept the ball to her right foot, her dominant foot. Pivoting her body between Kelli and the ball, Diane attempted to pass the ball to Stacy Garner, a talented Wolf player. But a Lady Jay rushed up to block Stacy and in doing so, managed to strike the ball with her knee.

“And…goooaaal!” Diane laughed as the game film slowed to show the ball sailing right past the startled Lady Jays goalkeeper.

“Oh my God! That, is that your sister?” Odie asked, watching the television as she stood behind Diane.

“No, that’s…” Diane started to say but the middle aged balding patron called out for another St. Elizabeth Light and Odie rushed away.

Then Diane watched the play that ended her aspirations of going to the 2008 Olympics. She watched as one hot headed player allowed her anger to overrule her sportsmanship and ended Diane’s hopes of competing on the international soccer stage. The camera focused on Diane’s s silently screaming face, then the satisfied face of Kelli Wilma Burke.

“Jesus! That, I hope they kicked that bitch out of the game,” Odie said. “Reuben should be ready in just ’bout a minute, hear?”

The next scene showed a photograph of Kelli Wilma Burke, May 7th, 1984–February 27th, 2006. Diane stared at the screen; she had not known that Kelli Burke was deceased.

“Let me know how it is,” Odie said, bringing the Reuben to the table. “I ain’t never had one them.”

“Mm! Oh, that, and he uses Russian dressing, not that thousand Island,” Diane murmured her approval.

“It’s good?” Odie smiled, eyeballing Diane’s beer.

“Here, try it,” Diane said, holding out the wedge of sandwich.

It was a thick sandwich. Jimbo had sliced the corned beef paper thin but layered several slices, folding them over and over until he had a thick hunk of meat. The Swiss cheese was a thick slice and he’d been generous with the sauerkraut. Diane felt something churn in her guts when Odie leaned forward, causing her cute cone shaped titties to dangle close to Diane’s face while she opened her plump lips wide.

“I, hmm, mm! That, you know, I would have never ordered that, but that’s good!” Odie approved after thoroughly shewing her large mouthful and swallowing it.

Diane resumed eating her sandwich, wondering at her behavior. She had hated whenever her husband, her ex-husband Andy would take a bite of any of her food. Every bite after he used her fork seemed like it had his saliva all over it. Even after wiping and wiping her fork, she still imagined she could taste his spit.

Yet, Diane had just allowed a complete stranger to take a bite of her sandwich right after she’d taken a bite of it. And, then she’d taken a bite right after Odie had just had her lips and teeth and tongue on her food. She looked at the screen again and saw that the game was now in progress.

“Go, go, go…” Diane murmured, volume increasing as a Wolf passed the ball to another wolf, who passed it right back and the two girls continued to advance to the goal.

“Go! Go! Go!” Diane screamed, standing and shouting at the screen.

But the Myndee goalkeeper denied the Wolves any points. A few patrons looked over and laughed when Diane screamed ‘you cunt!’ at the Lady Jay.

“Had the Eagles in Super Bowl Fifty Seven,” one man smiled tightly, nodding as Diane dropped into her seat again. “Dropped a thousand on that shit.”

“I went to Walchester,” Diane explained, flaming red when she realized her outburst had been witnessed by the entire bar.

“Wait. That, that girl that got hurt. That was you?” Odie asked, standing next to Diane again.

“Yeah. That was me. Needed three surgeries to set my knee right and my ankle’s still pretty messed up,” Diane admitted.

“You had that long hair,” Odie said, gently touching Diane’s hair, fingers tracing along Diane’s shoulder. “Think it’s kind of cute like this, though.”

“Thanks,” Diane stammered, absently dunking a celery stick into her Italian dressing.

“Welcome,” Odie breathed. “Ready for another beer?”

“I uh, yeah, yes,” Diane said, draining her mug.

“No, no, no! Block, where, where the hell is the defense?” Diane cried out as the Lady Jays marched like a well-oiled machine toward the Walchester goal.

“Tell you what,” the Eagles fan offered. “I’ll buy you a shot of tequila for every goal them Wolves score. You buy me a shot for every Lady Jays goal.”

“You’re on,” Diane enthusiastically agreed when a Wolf blocked the Lady Jay’s advance with her chest, then passed the ball toward another Wolf.

“God damn, I tell you, I bought stock in toilet paper? Smelling like shit would all of a sudden become the latest fashion,” the Eagles fan grumbled with a smile as the Wolves managed a goal.

The ladies’ room was clean and well-lighted. Privacy was not to be had; there were no doors on the three individual stalls. So, Diane walked in and was able to determine that Odie’s strawberry blonde tresses were natural. In the mirror above the twin sinks, Diane saw Odie dab at her patch of pinkish curls before wiggling into her very short cutoffs again.

“So…Odie? That a nickname or something?” Diane asked, working her very snug jeans down her thighs.

“Short for Odilia; it’s German,” Odie smiled, looking at Diane’s reflection in the mirror as she washed her hands.

“Odilia. Riches or wealth,” Diane remembered from her High School German.

She’d taken German; everyone else had taken Spanish or French, so, just to be different, Diane had opted for German. By the third week, Diane saw the error of her decision; she had no one to study with. Everyone else was taking Spanish or French. This gave them others to study with.

“Uh huh. Well, Jimbo got Tiffany coming in. Thank God; I’m about fall all out,” Odie smiled and turned to leave the bathroom.

Diane watched the girl’s delectable backside as she left. Typical youth; her buttocks were nice and firm. There was very little jiggle to Odie’s buttocks but there was the flex and strain of well-formed musculature as the young woman walked.

“Would love to…” Diane murmured, shivering with the thought of cupping, squeezing, slapping those two firm hillocks of flesh.

“Yeah, yeah, got another one coming,” Ray Dodson smiled as Diane again sat at her table.

“They…Woo hoo hoo!” Diane whooped as she saw the score was two to zero now.

Tiffany, or an older blonde woman that Diane assumed was Tiffany entered the bar. The woman wore a very long tee shirt and an angry scowl on her face as she marched to the kitchen. A moment later, the same woman appeared, wearing two sprocket shaped pasties over her nipples, very short denim cutoffs and the same scowl on her pretty face.

“You good?” Tiffany barked, passing Diane’s table.

Diane saw that Tiffany was approximately thirty, possibly thirty five years old. There was a heavy layer of makeup on her face and her buttocks jiggled and wiggled as she strode around the bar. When she turned to make another circuit, Diane saw that Tiffany’s belly had a slight paunch to it.

“Tiffany, how’s Woody?” a man called out.

“Woody? He’s good, he’s good. Getting big and fat,” Tiffany allowed a smile to crack her face.

Looking again at Tiffany’s belly, Diane now recognized the signs of motherhood etched on the woman’s flesh. She now looked at Tiffany’s breasts again and saw further signs of Tiffany’s status as a mother.

Diane bought one shot of Artigas Tequila for Ray; he bought her three shots. After the final buzzer sounded, he wished her a good afternoon; he needed to get home and clean up the house before his wife got off of work.