ftp.wwiv.com/ftp.wwiv.com.zip/ftp.wwiv.com/pub/BBS/RUBYV40.ZIP/RUB40-10

Text File | 1995-01-02 | 7KB | 132 lines

Copyright 1994(c)

                        BALLAD OF BALLARD
                 The Kent's Place Saga Lives on

     The stranger wandered into Ruby's Pearls Truck Stop and gazed
up at the moosehead -- the one Ruby had stolen from the defunct
Kent's Place and hung over the counter between the velvet Ruby
paintings.
     "Handsome trophy," the stranger commented to the waitress in
mock Ruby garb with an apron. He looked around at the dozen or so
velvet Ruby paintings, each showing a glimpse of eyelash and a
flash of thigh but none showing the full face. He noted the
similarity of costuming on the waitresses. "Interesting place," he
added. "Good burgers?"
     Big Sally looked him over. "Right tasty," she commented,
dryly, her meaning clear. He waited. "Try the Ruby burger," she
suggested. He nodded and she went off to place the order, still
trying to remember where she'd seen him. He returned his attention
to the moosehead and nodded to himself.
     And the moosehead winked!
     "Wha?" he muttered, shaking his head.
     "Hi'ya!" said the moosehead. "Don't I know you?"
     "I was just thinking the same thing, myself," said the
stranger, "but I've never been here before."
     "Haven't always been here myself," said the moosehead. "Once
upon a time, in a land far away..."
     "Uh-oh," said the stranger. "Is this one of those stories
where somebody gets kissed and turns into a prince or princess?"
he asked suspiciously. "I hate those."
     "Hardly," said the moosehead, and began to recount a tale of
a joint nestled somewhere in Indianapolis where it all began.
                               ***
     "Why isn't anybody smart enough to make brown food dye?"
complained Kent Ballard, owner and bartender of a place called
Kent's Place.
     "Why ya' want brown, honey?" asked Brassy, Kent's ever-
vigilant and oh, so luscious barmaid of the cheek cut-out toreador
pants and the mysterious tattoo no one could decipher, but which
was the basis of much wagering among patrons.
     "For the scotch, of course," answered Kent. "It don't have to
be hooch," he muttered, making up more of his special Sue-Dough
Scotch house brand scotch, 7 parts water and one part cheap scotch,
"but it ought to sort of look like it, don't you think?"
     "Looks can be deceiving," agreed Brassy, sagely.
     "Words to live by," said Kent, eyeing the tattoo himself.
     Clark Burner wandered in, glanced at the tattoo, shook his
head and plopped a ten spot onto the bar. "The ninth mystery of the
world," he commented as Kent sat a barely beige liquid before him
and changed his ten into a few dimes and pennies.
     "You know, you do that coin changing faster than Ruby and the
immortal Lyn Rust, but somehow it loses something when you do it,"
Clark commented.
     "You want dancing on the bar, you got to put quarters in the
jukebox," Kent advised, holding out his hand. "I'll be glad to
supply you with a few quarters."
     Clark handed over a 5 and Kent promptly changed it into 17
quarters. Clark examined the stack and frowned. "That's not right,"
he said.
     "Works for me," Kent answered blithely. "A little here, a
little there... the small business is on its last legs, you know?
A fellow's got to make it where he can. Consider it a floor show
cover charge."
     "And the floor show?" asked Clark.
     "Put a quarter in the machine and play E-2," Kent advised.
     Clark complied and as the strains of Devil With a Blue Dress
On throbbed into the silence Ruby Begonia entered. She leaped atop
the bar and began to gyrate with gusto. As though a secret call had
gone out, (much like a dog whistle), patrons began to pour through
the doors. Clark watched as Eric Loeb, Zach Klein and Shakib Otaqui
strolled in. They were followed by Greg Kirby and Allison
McDermott, who entered to the accompaniment of the strains of "One
Alone," which wafted over the throb of Devil With a Blue Dress and
severely hampered Ruby's movements.
     "Siddown!" shouted the regulars, and Greg and Allison seated
themselves as the Caruso-like song died away.
     Howard Belasco pushed through the doors next, soon followed
by Herman Holtz, Jerry Taylor, and a cast of hundreds from the RIME
days of old.
     "Wow," breathed Clark. "The gang's all here."
     Sam, the cat from hell, wandered by and sprayed Clark's
pantleg to show his indignation at being excluded.
     "Ick," Clark complained. Sam smiled. Life was as normal as it
got at Kent's Place...
                               ***
     "Hey!" complained the moosehead as the stranger rose and
dropped a bill onto the counter. "Where ya going? I haven't told
you about the pterodactyl and Herman's arrest for disturbin' the
peace ... or the time Ruby got medicated with thorazine and sat
around thonking her head on the bartop and driving the customers
away... or the time --"
     "Save it," said the stranger. "Ah'll be back," he promised.
     "Ran off another one, huh?" asked Big Sally, coming from the
kitchen to ring up the sale and pocket her silver dollar tip. She
made as if to bite the coin before dropping it into her pocket.
"Can't be too careful, you know," she told the moosehead. "I did
train under Kent, after all."
     "I didn't run him off," protested the moosehead. A Kent
loyalist to the end, he ignored her last comment. "I was just
telling him some tales about the old place and he was very
interested," said the moosehead. "He even took notes."
     "Hmmph," said Big Sally, looking after the stranger. "He
looked awful familiar, didn't he? Sort of like that Evan Loop
character that used to hang around at Kent's Place."
     "Not Evan Loop," said the moosehead. "The guy's name was Emmet
Lowe... or Elvis Lamb... or Ennis Lane... or something like that.
Now that you mention it..." he let his thought trail off, casting
his eyes in the direction of the stranger.
     Sam, the cat from hell, jumped up into the window and looked
after the stranger. These bozos might not recognize him, but Sam
knew well who that had been. "If he comes back, I'm feeding him to
the man-eating plant," Sam decided as he groomed himself in the
sunshine. If anybody was going to write the saga of the defunct
Kent's Place, it was going to be him. He hadn't been cultivating
the moosehead's memories all this time for nothing. Writer or no
writer, Eric Loeb could just forget it. The story of Kent's Place
was his and he was prepared to defend it, whatever it took.
     Sam sharpened his claws on the doorframe and purred.
Cockroaches weren't the only ones who could pound a keyboard and
he had five chapters polished up already. Yes sir, he thought
again, Eric Loeb wasn't going to steal his thunder without some
pretty painful ankles and a lot of wet pantlegs.
     "Good riddance," he told himself as he saw Eric's convertible
drive away into the sunshine.
                               ***
     Marty Weiss adjusted the rearview mirror in his convertible
and looked back at Ruby's Pearls Truck Stop disappearing in the
long expanse of information superhighway to his rear. Interesting
place, he told himself, and that moosehead was really a trip. He'd
have to tell his good buddy, Eric Loeb, about the new hang-out he'd
discovered. Maybe Eric would write a book about it.
                               END