Fat Fred's was just across the line from us, within spitting distance across into the edge of Louisiana. Real drinks could be had there, hard liquor... not the watered down beer we in south Mississippi had to deal with on a regular basis. We always felt a bit wicked just walking through the door. Usually we went on Friday nights. After dark on Saturday was too close to 10:00 AM-Sunday-School-time.
It was a chicken wire juke joint alright.
"You furnish the towels?" Leonard asked the man, looking at the chicken wire, knowing we was gonna need 'em. "We gotta have our own?"
"Folks don't throw bottles much they still got beer in 'em," the man said. "Mostly it's just empty's ."
"Anybody messes up my guitar I'm gonna bust 'im," I said.
The man looked at me. "We heard you was a real bad ass," he said.
The man looked at Leonard. "How come you put up with a man's gonna bust payin' customers?"
Leonard laughed. "Ain't nobody else picks guitar like Dexter," he said. Then: "I recon we got to have our own towels?"
"I'll round you up some bar towels," the man told Leonard. "Park around back. Close up against the door. We git a crowd, we ain't got enough spaces."
They watched the crown start gathering. Pick-ups with rifle racks. Mississippi plates, come down from Columbia, McComb. Some from Louisiana, Bogalusa and Hammond. Red necks, all of 'em. But that was okay, we was too: red necks.
"Goddamn, it's gonna be a show tonight," Dexter said. Took a deep drag on a Chesterfield. "Look at all them farmers, them truck drivers."
"Long as they got real money," Leonard said.
The man sent out for some burgers. Real burgers, not that Daisy Queen shit. I'll say that for him. Real burgers with fries, washed down with some Dixie beer he had in the back.
"And some lookers too.... That red head yonder," Dexter pointed the Chesterfield toward a Crown Vic just pulled up, hadn't even parked yet. "I might try her on for size.... A fine piece of leather, and well put together!"
The dance floor was built up a step higher than where the tables were. Would hold, just lookin' at it, thirty couples. Thirty-five, thirty-eight for a slow dance. Them getting close together and all. We didn't plan on playing much slow stuff, just one at the end of each set. Maybe two just before closing time.
The little stage for the band was another step higher, the chicken wire stretched between the front of the stage and the dance floor.
Leonard started plinking on the piano around 8:45, just dark. Two guys all the way in the back threw a couple of Miller bottles against the wire, laughed. Hell, they wasn't even drunk yet, not pissed or anything. Just part of the goings-on, getting in the mood.
The Crown Vic fellow and the redhead pushed their way up front, he dropped a couple of twenties on an occupied table against the wall. Suggested to that the early arrivers already sitting there they consider giving up their spot. The guy at the table stood up, took off his Bayou Bengal cap, suggested that Crown Vic go fuck himself.
His wife, however, grabbed the Andrew Jackson's, grabbed Bayou Bengal's arm. "This is four football tickets," she said. "A week's groceries."
"Goddammit, Rose. You was the one wanted to git here early. A seat up front."
"I know," Rose said, "I know... " She pulled him through the growing crowd.
We played the first line of Move It On Over... Hank Williams. Move over little dog, the big dog's moving in. The redhead winked at me. Sat down, touched her hair, swayed her shoulders side to side. Set of nice boobs moving underneath a buttoned up white blouse.
"This is gonna be fun," Dexter told Leonard. "What you wantta play first?"
We gave them twelve minutes of "What'd I Say". Heavy on the music, light on lyrics. Ray Charles would have been proud. You could smell the sweat. It was gonna be a hot night, more ways than one.
At about ten minutes into What'd I Say the redhead caught my eye. She was dancing, facing the bandstand, looking across Crown Vic's shoulder. Looking straight at me. He gave her a look, held the Martin guitar out at arm's length, pointed the neck straight at her, played a riff. She licked the sweat off her upper lip. That set 'a boobs was lookin' nicer all the time.
