All the Women Think I’m Fine

All the women think I’m fine

All the women, when they see me, want me

I’m walkin’ down the street

They can’t get enough of me

I’m smilin’ my smile

They can’t get enough of me

I’m strutting my stuff

They can’t get enough of me

I’m drivin’ my short

They follow me down the road

Around the curves

Into the straightaway

They follow me wherever I go

I wanna get somethin’ to eat.

They’re there with their faces pressed against the window glass

I get home and there are three or four waitin’ for me

Two or three scramble in before I can git in and close the door

It’s a long night I gotta put in

It’s a long night takin’ care of ’em all

It’s a long night being me

All the women think I’m fine

Ellen’s Long Shot

I recently posted a few of my hitching adventures. Some of you may have read them. Today’s story took place about five years after I got off the road. I was twenty-seven years old. Every word is true, though some of you might find parts of it hard to believe. That’s okay. It was my life, and I lived it.

ellen

Ellen’s Long Shot

Ellen Long was beautiful. Ellen Long was hip. Ellen Long was my lover, and Ellen Long could sure get herself into big trouble for such a little girl.

I do not remember how I came to know Ellen Long, but I do remember it was shortly after our first meeting that we were in bed devouring each other’s bodies. For a couple of wonderful months, we ran together and made love together. And I must admit, I was smitten. Although once I got to know her a little better, it was obvious that it was not going to be a long-term relationship. I took my cues from Ellen Long and I decided to enjoy her while I could.

To give you an example of her way of thinking, which was very progressive, two days after a weekend in which we locked ourselves on my boat and did nothing but drink and make love, she called me to say she was having trouble recuperating from the intensity of our weekend sexual adventures. She then went on to inform me that she had told her sister the gruesome details and seeing as how she was going to be out of commission for a few days, would it be alright if her sister came over that night. It seems the sister wanted to find out what all the fuss was about; well, that was the first of five women Ellen Long sent my way.

With that sort of attitude, it’s no wonder the relationship lasted only two months. However, once the sex stopped, we remained close. We had no choice. I drank at whatever bar she was working. At least I was assured of a decent drink.

Every time Ellen Long had a new lover, I heard about it in great detail. There was the time she told me of the guy who was flying her to England. My only comment: “Make sure you get a round trip ticket.” Wouldn’t you know it? She calls me a week later and says, “I’m stuck in London, can you send me an airline ticket?” I make sure there’s one at the airline counter within the hour. I didn’t hear from her after that for about a month. No phone call to say I’m back. No call of thanks. Nothing.

I finally ran into her at a bar we both frequented and the first thing out of her mouth was the fact she had a new love. She went on and on, telling me of his great beauty, his gorgeous skin, etc. After a few minutes of that, I started calling him “Pretty Boy” to myself. At that point, I had had enough of her crazy loves, so I feigned business elsewhere and excused myself. I should not have been so hasty. If I had waited around and met Pretty Boy, I might have averted the defining moment in Ellen Long’s and my relationship.

Fast-forward two weeks.

The loud, insistent ringing of the telephone brought me out of a sound sleep. I looked at the clock next to the bed … 4:07 am. Putting the receiver to my ear, I heard, “He’s going to kill me; he just tried to throw me off a roof!” It was 1978, a time before cell phones, and the person on the other end of the line was Ellen Long. In a whispered voice, she told me she had been riding in Pretty Boy’s car, and he became enraged when she told him she did not want to see him anymore. He then drove into the parking area of an apartment complex, pulled her from the car, and dragged her to the roof of one of the buildings.

Ellen Long was a bartender; she’d had plenty of experience dealing with drunks, so she thought she could handle this nut. It wasn’t until he tried to throw her off the roof that the seriousness of the situation struck her and her training in dealing with angry people kicked in. She somehow convinced him that everything would be all right, and if he would allow her to first find a bathroom, she would then go wherever he wished.

On the way down from the roof, the first door she knocked on was answered—as luck would have it—by a nice little old lady who had no problem letting two strangers into her apartment at 4:00 o’clock in the morning.

Once inside the apartment, my Ellen could not tell of her predicament without putting the nice little old lady in danger. And by now the nut was mollified enough to allow Ellen to leave his sight, though he stood guard at the door as she went to the back of the apartment where the bathroom was located.

Instead of going into the bathroom, she slipped into the bedroom, picked up the phone, and called me. She didn’t have the exact address, but gave me the intersection of two streets and asked me to come to her rescue. I was half out the door by the time she got around to asking for help, the length of the telephone cord the only thing keeping me from being all the way out the door.

As I got behind the wheel of the car, a voice in my head said, “She gave you the wrong location. The place she gave is miles from where she is. She is on the opposite side of the island” (Miami Beach). I then had a mental vision of her location.

Starting the car, I decided not to go where Ellen Long told me to go. Instead, I went in the opposite direction. When I got to the place I believed her to be, I saw Ellen and Pretty Boy standing alone in the parking lot of the complex. She expected me, he did not. She calmly walked up to the car and said, “Hello.” Like we were meeting accidentally in the middle of the day, and not the early hours of the morning. She then introduced her “friend,” and while his attention was momentarily diverted in my direction, she ran around to the other side of the car, dove through the open window into the passenger seat, and yelled, “Get out of here!”

It took Pretty Boy half a half a second longer than I to realize what was happening, and that half of a second was all we needed to effect our get-a-way. The only thing he could do at that point was grab onto the side-view mirror, and scream incoherent fulminations as loud as he could. Though slight of stature, he was so enraged, he had the strength to tear the mirror from the car and throw it at us as we sped away.

As I drove her home that morning, she told me I had arrived just in the nick of time. She had stalled him as long as she could and he was about to drag her to his car as I drove up. (Just in the nick of time? What would have happened to Ellen if I had not listened to that voice telling me where to go? What would have happened if I had gone to where she had directed me?)

After that morning, I never saw Ellen Long again, except once about a year later, for a few minutes, in a real dive of a bar. She was with friends, and we were both genuinely glad when we saw one another. After saying hello to me, she turned to her friends and said the following: “This is Andrew. He saved my life.”

I had finally made an impression on Ellen Long.

Yellow Hair

Three Steps

cowboy

I am three steps from meeting my maker. Three more steps to the noose. I am ready to die; I think I deserve to die. I have killed before, but never for such a frivolous reason as brings me to these last three steps.

The whole mess started down El Paso way when I walked into the cantina. It was a bucket of blood, a real dive. But I had a thirst and it was the first saloon I saw as I came into town. Once inside, it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. When I could see again, I saw a bar against the far wall with only two men at it. They had their elbows upon the bar, staring into their drinks. A few tables separated me from the bar and they were all empty. It was mid-day, so that was no surprise.

I made my way to the bar and put my foot on the rail. The barman was a little slow in coming my way. I had just rode twenty-five miles and the dust was thick in my throat. I had no patience for a slow movin’ barkeep. When he was opposite me at the bar, I grabbed his shirt and pulled his face to mine. Looking him dead in the eye I said, “Give me your finest rotgut and if you dilly-dally, I’ll put a bullet in your leg.” As I said it, I drew my .44 from its leather and pointed the barrel at his right leg. His eyes widened and he reached under the bar and came up with an almost full bottle of some good stuff. “Here mister, it’s on the house,” he said.

Now that that was taken care of, I leaned my back against the bar, and leaving the glass where it was, took a good pull from the bottle. I had rode my horse almost to death. I had to move fast, they were on my trail. I mean the posse. Yes, I had killed two men, but they were trying to kill me. I finally lost the posse in the badlands. Now I’m only a few miles from Mexico and freedom. But as it turned out, I might as well have been a million miles from the border.

I don’t know what she was doing coming into that hellhole of a bar, but when I saw her, my plans changed. She pushed through the swing doors as though she owned the place. And in a way she did. She was tall and blond. Her hair was up and her smile could kill. Her figure had more curves then a coiled rattler. Her eyes were gray and they looked my way.

She came right up to me and said, “Ain’t you the big one.”

Without a word, I took the empty glass from the bar and poured out some of the amber liquid into it. She took the proffered glass from my hand and said, “My name is Rose and I like a man that will buy a girl a drink.”

When the bottle was half-gone, she told me to grab it. Then she took me by the hand and led me to the stairs. We ascended to the second floor to a door at the far end of the hall. “This is where I call home,” she purred. By now I had forgotten about the twenty-five dust coated miles, the posse, the killings, everything.

Once in the room with the door locked, she pointed to a table and said, “You’ll find some glasses over there, pour us a shot. I went to the table and found the glasses, blew the dust out of them and did as I was told. When I turned around with the glasses in hand, she was sitting on the bed. Patting the mattress she softly said, “Come and sit by me.”

Well partners that was all she wrote. We had our booze and food sent up, and for the next three days we did not leave that room. I have never known a woman like her. I’ve mostly only been with whores, but she was no whore. She told me that she loved me. We spent three days exploring every inch of each other’s bodies and I fell in love for the first time in my life.

It was on the morning of the fourth day that my head started to clear. We were lying in bed, I was on my back and she was propped up on one elbow running her finger down my chest when she said she wanted to go to Mexico with me. I told her that was fine by me, but there was no rush. That’s when she got a funny look on her face and exclaimed, “No, we have to leave today!” Before I could say anything there was a knock on the door. I got out of bed and slipped on my pants. I knew who it was; it was the little Mex boy who had been bringing us our food and booze. I usually took the tray at the door and handed him a dollar. But this time was different. He beckoned me out into the hall and asked me to shut the door. When the door was closed behind me he whispered, “Senor, you have been good to me so I must tell you that you are in great danger.”

I took the tray from his hands and said, “Don’t worry son this is the kind of danger I like,” and winked at him.

I started to turn, but he grabbed my arm. “You do not understand. She belongs to another man, a bad man. She has done this before and three men have died. Her man will be back tomorrow, so today she will ask you to leave and take her with you. If you are here tomorrow José will kill you.”

I put the tray on the floor and asked the boy to tell me all that he knew. He told me people were making bets with each other if I’d get away before José got back or if I’d be planted up on the hill with the other three. It seems Rose, my great love, was using me to get away from José. In this country a woman can’t travel alone. And besides, the boy told me José leaves her with no money when he goes away.

The news kinda punched me in the gut. I gave the boy a five-dollar gold piece and thanked him. Picking up the tray, I entered the room with a smile on my face.

“Where have you been? I missed you big boy,” she intoned.

Still smiling, I placed the tray on the bed and told her to have some breakfast. I was going to have a drink. I had me some thinking to do.

As I sat in the chair and watched her eat, I weighed my options. We could leave together and avoid this man José, or I could leave alone. Or, we could stay and I’d have it out with José. The problem was I didn’t know if she was worth it. She had played me. If I took her with me would she ditch me once we were in Mexico?

I was still thinking on those thoughts when she broke my reverie by saying, “I want to be out of here by noon. I’m going to take a bath; you pack and then settle our bill. I’ll meet you at the livery stable.” Still smiling I answered, “I’ll see you at the livery.” She gathered up some clothes, got herself dressed and left to take her bath.

When she had gone, I sat there in thought and added another option that I could take. I could just kill the lying bitch and be done with her. What to do? What to do?

I put on my shirt and boots and went downstairs still undecided. By the time I reached the livery I had decided that I’d leave without her. She was a fine looking woman and the sex was good, but I had enough trouble and I didn’t need no crazy man after me. I saddled my pinto and started down the street at a slow pace. As I passed the saloon, Rose pushed through the swing doors and saw me. She dropped her bags and ran up, grabbed ahold of the saddle and walked along side. Looking up at me she implored, “Where you going? Wait, I’ll get my horse.”

“I’m sorry, it was nice, but this here is where we go down separate trails.”

She wouldn’t let go of the saddle, so I picked up the pace a mite. She still hung on. Then I saw her look down the street and the look on her face said it all. She let go and hightailed it back to the saloon.

I didn’t have to look, but I did. Astride a sorrel rode a big man, a big mean looking man. It had to be José. As we came abreast of each other he grabbed the reins of my horse. There we stood, eye to eye, neither one of us speaking. Finally he said in a very deep voice, “Whatcha doin’ with my woman?”

“Nothing, just trying to get outta town,” I answered.

I saw it in his eyes; he was going to draw on me. I may be slow when it comes to women, but I’m fast on the draw. I had a bullet through his forehead before he cleared leather. That was my mistake, that and taking up with Rose. I should have let him draw first. The whole thing was seen by the town marshal and I was quickly arrested. I thought for a moment of killing the marshal before he arrested me, but I never did kill no man that was not trying to kill me.

For three days I knew of love. In three steps I die.