Polling for Love - Mike P

 Polling for Love

(sung to Nazareth’s Love Hurts)

The city bus rumbled to a stop, and he got out. Shook off the cold

and went inside. Every eye took a walk all over him. Here to case

the joint or pull a robbery now? From his pocket out came a

tooth. A big honking molar. Solid gold tooth in mint condition.

Passed down from his great grandfather, who grave-robbed a

gypsy in Transylvania. But times now, they were hard and cash, it

was short. Often since his criminal conviction as Chief Financial

Officer of Enron had he cried out to the heavens, “hard times,

don’t come around here no more!”

But that was then, and this is now. Sprung from the federal pen

almost a year ago. He’d become a regular at adult bookstores

and strip joints dotted along North Industrial Blvd. Surprisingly,

that was proving not to be a path to eternal enlightenment. He

now had plans. Big plans! And they started now with this tooth.

He plopped it down on the counter. ‘How much?” The Dallas

Gold and Silver sales rep looked incredulous. But upon closer

examination and a lot of head scratching, he looked up and said,

“$1,700…take it or leave it.”

He jammed the bills into his pocket and looked up to the clock.

Just 15 minutes before showtime. This was to be his day. His big

day. The day his life turned around and headed north. But for

now, he needed a bus that headed south. Fast. South on North

Industrial.

He was always a clock watcher. His mother said he was

naturally skittish. Said he reminded her of a gerbil rooming with a

tomcat.

Lickety-split, the bus was in front of Cabaret East. His Timex had

taken a lickin’ but kept on tickin’. He had 7 minutes to spare. His

heart pumped faster. He plunked down on a bar stool. Bruno

burped and looked up. “Back again, eh, pal?” “Yep, today’s the

day my life changes …for the good. Hit me with your finest

Frangelico.”

The top of the hour came, and the top of the hour went. He

scratched his head and pounded down a second Frangelico.

“Hey Bruno, where’s Coco? She’s not working the pole.” Bruno

never looked up from the bar, grumbling, “da’ dame done quit on

me. Right out of the blue. Claimed she wanted something better.

Better than this? Can you believe that?”

“No way…she was Baryshnikov on the pole.” “Yah, whatever.

Said she wanted to ‘make something ‘of her life.” Bruno scratched

his head and with a greasy laugh, “they all say that. She’ll be

back. They all come crawling back.”

He hoped Bruno was right. His eyes had long followed her pole

gyrations with canine devotion. He was going to use the money

from his gold tooth to ask her to marry him. Oh sure, they’d never

been out on a date, but that was just a technicality. Never even

actually met. She always smiled and called him handsome John.

That was a head-scratcher. His name wasn’t John. And no one

had ever accused him of being handsome. But he knew she was

honest. Coco would never think of him as a endless tip machine.

Would she?

He watched the clock tick. Watched the arms move. Mind racing,

head down heart breaking, where could his strip joint goddess

be? Stirred his drink with his finger and sighed deeply. Love was

still on the back burner.