I changed out of my more formal wear into some plain, soft denim jeans and a nice, sleeveless blouse. There were pictures of penguins embroidered along were the buttons were, which I thought was pretty cute, especially when I basically lived in the desert. Camilla was the first one to ever laugh at the joke without needing to have it explained to her. I had wanted to go sexy, really impress him, and show him how interested I was, but I wasn’t quite sure what Cooper was planning. So I figured the jeans and penguins—peng-ins as I called them when I was feeling cute—would do for almost anything the sexy boy had in mind. He could have been taking me to the philharmonic, but somehow, I doubted it.
I thought Cooper’s eyes might fall out of his head when he saw me. He seemed almost as surprised to see me at his office as I was to be there. At least we were starting off on a point of agreement, which could only be a good thing.
“Your car or mine?” he asked, after confirming I hadn’t actually had his baby sister abducted.
“Yours,” I said with a coy wink
At least I hoped it was coy. The truth was my car was a bit of a wreck. A ‘65 Mustang that hadn’t been within ten feet of a mechanic’s shop since about ‘85. It still ran but barely and got a pretty bad shimmy whenever I put it over fifty miles per hour. Whatever it was that Cooper drove, it had to be better than my heap. Besides which, one of the few lessons I had heard from my dad was how much pride a man could take in his car. I didn’t know if Cooper was one such man, but it seemed worth it to hedge my bets.
I really didn’t know what it was about this man with the sad eyes the intrigued me so. All I really did know about that situation, at least, was that I really wanted him to like me.
Where he took me was a total shock. I had heard stories about such places, even seen a few in movies and T.V. and stuff, though, I never would have thought I would have set foot, booted as it might have been, into a cowboy bar. They had really gone all out too, authenticity apparently being the name of the game—at least in terms of the spaghetti western version of authenticity. I half expected Clint Eastwood wearing a poncho to come strutting in through the door behind us. The spurs on his boots making a happy jingle like sleigh bells.
“I’ve never really brought anyone here before. The guys don’t really like the music or the atmosphere. I tried with Camilla, but she just took one look at the name and insisted that I take her to Caesar’s Palace.” Cooper shrugged. “Probably because it was her birthday, and she was just old enough to gamble. Cleaned up too. I was surprised we weren’t subtly asked to leave by large men in tuxedos with earpieces.”
I could believe it. Not just the part about Camilla excelling at gambling that really wouldn’t surprise me. She would always kick my ass when we would play poker at school. It got to the point that no one really wanted to play with her anymore; their student loans already quite high enough. I wasn’t surprised that Cooper’s colleges weren’t interested in the music and atmosphere of The Dude Ranch Bar & Grill. It struck me as slightly dirty, and not just in terms of cleanliness.
The closest thing to the country I ever got growing up was my daddy’s golf club functions, where he would show me off like I was just another trophy. If he’d had more friends around, I might have wondered the same thing about Cooper, but I could tell from his expression that his enthusiasm for the place was quite genuine. I decided to put on a brave face. It might even be fun if I gave it a chance.
It was an ale storm. I was never much of a drinker before. Yet, that night with Cooper, the empties were arranged on the bar counter like some kind of post-modern musical instrument. To be fair, most of it had been taken in by Cooper, who appeared to have an endless tolerance for punishment. I caught myself wondering idly if Cooper Jones might have some kind of relation to Keith Jones, the hockey player.
I made the mistake of ordering wine at first. They’d had some and brought me a glass without much trouble, but it tasted like vinegar, to the point that I suspected that they might have been playing a trick on the new girl.
“I suggest you switch to beer,” Cooper teased.
I did, and it actually started to taste really good after the second or third bottle. My contribution to the collection lagging well behind his. I didn’t want to get drunk. I was having way too much fun just being near him, almost nothing else mattered.