Margarita
John A. Ward
San Antonio, Saturday, August 8, 2015, the temperature peaked at 101 degrees at 5 p.m. Cooder put a dollar in the juke box.  It was one that played a whole CD or multiple selections.  A woman at the bar was drinking a Margarita.  When the juke box played “Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off,” he asked her to dance.


“I’m Cooder, what’s your name?”

“I’m Margarita,” she said.

“No, really,” he said.

“Yes, really,” she said.

He spun her and her earring fell off.  “Does tequila make your clothes fall off?” he asked.

“An earring’s not clothes,” she said.  “It’s jewelry.”

“We’d better stop and pick it up, so we don’t step on it and break it,” he said.

“No, just be careful.  We’re the only ones on the floor.  Besides, you can always buy me more jewelry.”

She was wearing a tight white translucent blouse and blue jeans.  He spun her again to see what would happen and the top button popped off.

Cooder’s eyes bugged out like two hard boiled eggs with irises, blue irises.  “I guess it does.”

“Does what?” she asked.

“Tequila,” he said.  “It makes your clothes fall off.”

“Oh,” she looked down at her chest.  “It didn’t fall off, but it sure slipped a bit.  I can see clear to the navel base.”

“Naval Base?” asked Cooder.

“My belly button,” she said.  “It’s a double intender.”

“What’s a double intender?”

“I want it to mean two things,” she said.  “But that’s nuthin’.  Once my partner spun me twice and my panties fell off.  That’s why I don’t wear skirts no more.”

Cooder was going to try a double spin, just to see what would happen, but the song ended.

The next song was “Baby Makes Her Blue Jeans Talk.” Her blue jeans sang, “Come on, let’s go.”

Outside, they climbed into his Ford F-150. Cooder opened the windows and put the fan and AC on full to cool it down. Heat lightning hit a transformer and plunged the lot into darkness.

Margarita couldn’t see to get her seat belt on. “Can you help me with this? It’s not long enough.”

“Pull on it and I’ll try to get it where it goes.”

“Is that better?”

“Yeah, but you’re sittin’ on the part I need.”

She shifted her hips and rolled to the side. “Can you get it in now?”

“Uh-huh.” It slid all the way in. “How does it feel?”

“Mmm, good,” she said.

The off-duty cop who was working security approached with his flashlight. “Hey, if y’all are foolin’ around in there, keep it down. Everyone can hear you.”

“Just fastenin’ the seat belt, Officer.”

“Right, click it or ticket.”



First published: August 2016
© All rights reserved by the writer
Comments to the writer:
doorknobsandbodypaint@gmail.com