“Jesus Jeri, you’ve got to stop sneaking up on people like this,” Chip chided mockingly.
“It’s an old, loud bar, Chip,” Jeri fired back. “Almost as old and loud as something else in this room. An epileptic elephant could sneak up on you.”
Tom watched Jeri as she spoke to the older man, her face soft with affection. Her jaw suddenly tightened when she caught Tom’s stare, the softness vaporizing as she turned to look at him.
“Something to drink?” she asked.
Tom ordered a beer and then silently stared in admiration as Jeri turned and walked away. His eyes followed her body as it moved beneath her worn jeans and faded blue Joe’s Last Stand t-shirt. He watched as she reached up to grab a glass, exposing a thin strip of pale unblemished skin along her lower back that forced him to imagine the smooth, warm texture he would undoubtedly feel if his hands were pressed against her. After a moment of enjoying the fantasy, Tom realized he was staring. He turned and looked at Chip.
“Anything new from her mysterious admirer?”
Chip shook his head as he drained his beer and rested the empty glass on the bar. “Nope… not that I’ve seen. But then, he’s not a once-a-week kind of writer.” He glanced at Jeri pouring beer on the other side of the bar. His expression softened with affection as he watched her, like a proud father finding perfection in the simple act of a daughter. “If the past is any indication, she’ll be getting another letter from him in the next few days or so.”
“From another new town, I’d guess.” Tom muttered.
“I’d say that’s a safe bet.”
Both men fell silent as Jeri returned with their drinks. She smiled curiously at Chip as she handed him his beer, then glanced suspiciously at Tom. “Everything okay over here?” she asked flatly, placing his beer on the counter. Tom shook his head slowly, unable to remove his eyes from her.
“Everything’s great,” Chip replied. “Just discussing the consistency of my bowel movements with my friend Tom. Tom here thinks my once-a-week schedule is grossly inadequate. Fortunately, my enlarged liver is keeping all other bodily functions flowing like a fresh beer tap.” He gave Jeri a wide grin. “Speaking of my liver, I think I’ll excuse myself for a moment.” The older man slid from his stool and slowly made his way to the restroom.
Tom glanced over at Jeri and smiled awkwardly. “I owe you for my beer,” he said, reaching into his pocket.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jeri replied. “Anyone that keeps Chip entertained is entitled to one on the house.” She picked up a thick hardback book lying on the counter and slipped back onto her barstool in the corner.
“Thanks,” he replied, giving her a thin smile. “But Chip probably considers me to be more annoying than entertaining.”
“If he lets you sit by him for more than five minutes, he must find something useful about you.”
“Then I suppose I’ll consider myself lucky.”
Tom sipped his beer and watched Jeri as she quietly read her book. He was feeling lucky. For the last week he’d spent half of his evenings occupying the corner stool of Joe’s in the hopes of getting to know Jeri and the people at the saloon she associated with, only to come up with almost nothing of substance. Most of that time had been utterly unrevealing, and Tom had finally given up on the idea that Jeri was anything other than a reclusive, reticent young woman who preferred books to men and had the rare quality of being as beautiful as she was aloof. In fact, the only men she’d had more than a passing word with were Joe the owner and Chip the old regular. The few sentences Tom had just exchanged with her were the closest he’d come to a conversation, and he now felt oddly privileged.
He decided it was time to press his luck.
“Mind if I ask you a question?” he said, glancing at her with a keen expression.
“Shoot,” she replied, her eyes still fixed on the page in front of her.
“What’s Chip’s story?”
Jeri appeared to ignore the questions and continue reading. Tom was about to ask the question again when she suddenly flipped the book closed and turned to face him. “What makes you think I know anything more about Chip than you do?” she asked defensively. “You’re the one who’s been sitting next to him for the better part of a week.”
“True,” Tom replied, “but he seems more interested in talking about you than himself.” He noticed Jeri’s eyes narrow slightly at his remark. “Anyway, he just seems like a nice guy, and I was curious to know what brings a guy like Chip to the saloon every night. Given the way you two talk to each other, I figured you knew him well enough know the answer. But hey, it’s no big deal,” he said, shrugging dismissively. “Forget I even asked.”