Page 18 of Kind of a Dirty Talker

“Not at all, Bettie loves animals,” Binx says, swinging out of the passenger’s side.

Covering Freya’s ears, I add in a softer voice, “And if there are dogs in there, their owners won’t let them attack my emotional support weasel and rip her beautiful little body to shreds?”

Binx glances back at me with a bemused grin. “Um, no. Of course not. But you know she’s a ferret, right? Not a weasel?”

I laugh—nervously—as I shut the car door. “Yeah. It’s a joke. Mel started it. A nod to me preferring an actual weasel to the weaselly men around here.”

“Aw, got it,” Binx says, leading the way toward the entrance. “And I get it. I mean, I’m glad Mel found a great guy, but it’s not so easy for the rest of us. Half the men around here are douchebags and the other half…I’m related to.” She shoots me a narrow glance over her shoulder as she reaches for the door. “I can’t date McGuires, but you can. Have you ever thought about my cousin Maynard? Yes, he has a god-awful name, but he’s a great guy. Super cool, fun, loves going out on his boat in the summer… And his kids are almost grown, so you wouldn’t have to worry about stepmom drama.”

I shrug, playing it cool, like I didn’t spend most of the past eighteen months fantasizing about her brother pulling my hair while he took me from behind. “I’m on a break from dating right now, but thanks.”

“Girl, I hear that.” She swings the door wide, calling out as she steps inside, “Sometimes a girls’ night is all you need. Isn’t that right, Bettie?”

I peek past her, still cradling Freya close as I catch my first glimpse of an old copper bar with a scarred wooden top and the most adorable blue-haired woman behind it. Truly, she’s a tiny angel in a fuzzy pink sweater, with turquoise cat-eye glasses and curly turquoise hair to match.

“Binx!” Bettie’s eyes widen behind her thick lenses as she smiles. “Baby bird, get in here. We’ve missed you. What the heck have you been up to?”

My jaw drops as the door closes behind us and the dimly lit bar comes fully into view. Binx is right, it’s adorable. From the wood-paneled walls covered in vintage photographs to the doily-covered couches in one corner to the mismatched mid-century tables and chair sets—each topped with a glittering animal figurine and more doilies—it’s like your cool grandma threw a party and invited all her friends.

And though I see a cat climbing structure against one wall and several water bowls by the door, there don’t appear to be any other animals in the house tonight, aside from an ancient hound dog asleep by a rocking chair in one corner. But he’s wearing a leash that’s looped around the wrist of his equally sleepy owner, making me feel safe enough to follow Binx down to the empty end of the bar.

“Yeah, Baldy, we missed you,” a giant man in a gray flannel says as we pass his stool, offering Binx a fist to bump. “I haven’t had a decent dart game in ages. People around here can’t see straight, let alone shoot straight.”

“I heard that.” Another man, as narrow as Flannel Guy is wide, pipes up from his place a few stools closer to the door. “And I’ll remember it next time you beg me to play, asshole.”

“Now, now, watch your language,” Bettie says, still beaming as she leans over the bar to pull Binx in for a big hug. “Oh, sugar, it’s so good to see you.” She draws back, running a fond hand over Binx’s spiky hair, a shine in her eyes. “You’re just our miracle worker, that’s it. No other word for it.”

Red spots rise on Binx’s cheeks as she pulls back with a wave of her hand. “Don’t start, Bettie. It wasn’t a big deal. I’m just glad Sprout got the help she needs. That’s all the matters.”

Bettie’s focus shifts my way. “I bet she didn’t tell you, did she? That she pretty much single-handedly raised the money for my grandbaby’s surgery? Sprout got her implants last month and heard music for the first time right here in the bar.” She motions toward the jukebox. “We put on Blue Moon and she danced and danced. The awe on her face…” Bettie presses a hand to her chest, clearly working through a wave of emotion. “Well, that’s something I’ll never forget, that’s for sure. One of the best moments of my life.” Pulling herself together, she claps her ringed hands. “So, what’ll you have? Drinks for you and your friend are on me.” Glancing back to me, she extends her tiny fingers. “I’m Bettie by the way, darlin. We haven’t been properly introduced.”

“Tessa,” I say, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I can’t believe I’ve never heard about your place. It’s the cutest.”

Bettie beams. “Thank you so much. We’re not the fanciest place in town, but when you’re here, you’re family.” She leans down, grinning at Freya. “And so are your critters. What’s this lovely lady’s name?”

“That’s Freya,” Binx cuts in, “and I’m paying for drinks, Bettie. I told you, you don’t owe me anything. I don’t want things to be weird.”

“Things aren’t weird,” Bettie says, cooing as Freya rubs against her scratching fingers. “Now, sit your bootie down and accept your free drink without being a pain in my backside.”

“Yeah,” Flannel Guy says. “And I’m buying your second round.” He tips his beer my way as he explains, “Sprout’s my niece. Sweetest kid in the world.”

Binx grumbles but settles into a stool at the back of the bar, not far from the cat climbing structure. I’m debating whether or not it’s safe for Freya to explore the environment with her leash on when Bettie appears with two waters and whispers, “Go ahead and let her off the lead. It’s only Old Blue in here tonight and he doesn’t have the energy to chase after anything anymore.”

“Thanks,” I say, unclipping the leash from Freya’s harness and freeing my eagerly squirming girl to play. “She loves exploring things like this,” I add, laughing as she slithers into a tiny hole at the bottom only to poke her nose out a hole near the top a second later.

“Well, of course,” Bettie says. “Who wouldn’t? I’m coming back as a pet in my next life. No doubt about that. So, what can I get ya?”

“I’ll have a Doris Day,” Binx says, before turning to me. “It’s champagne, pomegranate juice, winter citrus spray, mint, and some kind of orange liqueur Bettie keeps hidden under the bar. So fresh and fabulous.”

I hum in anticipation. “That sounds amazing. I’ll have one, too.”

“Coming right up.” Bettie sets a 3D card menu with a martini glass popping out in the middle of it between us on the bar. “But be sure to check out the rest of the drinks, too. We have a lot of fun stuff this spring.”

“She rotates the menu seasonally,” Binx explains as Bettie fetches her cocktail shaker. “But the drinks are always named after famous people from the 1950s. It’s pretty cute.”

“This whole place is cute,” I say, smiling as I spot a row of felt jackalope heads mounted about the liquor display. “Definitely a case of the insides not matching the outsides.”

Binx winks. “That’s part of the magic. Only the bold make it through the front door. And keeping things quiet keeps the cops away. Bettie would lose her license if they realized how often she sells to minors. But she thinks if you’re old enough to vote and die for your country in a war, you ought to be able to order a beer. Can’t say I disagree.”

---