Alyce Miller
                     

After his second beer at the corner bar, Hooper lit the candle inside his pumpkin. To the woman bartender's expressed delight, the face glowed wickedly.  There were a lot of comments; people seemed to think it was funny.  Niccolo caught the mood and lit the candle in his pumpkin as well. 

"What's wrong with your pumpkin, man?" a man in a Daffy Duck costume shouted from several bar stools down.  "He's only got one eye."

Niccolo frowned and looked at Hooper.  "My pumpkin is deformed.  But I don't care."

"Look at that big pumpkin!" remarked a girl, passing by Hooper. Her face was pierced in a dozen places.  She was wearing a pirate's eye patch, and some kind of black crinoline and spiky heels. "It's awesome, man."

"I wonder," murmured Niccolo, downing his third beer, "which of those guys Anita chose."

"Who cares?" said Hooper.  "It was a complete waste of time. Pretty insulting, if you ask me.  Makes me just want to stay home from now on."

"It's like one of those dating shows on television, you know where they fix people up?"

Hooper chuckled.  "You're right.  She had her pick of the bunch, didn't she.  Bachelor Number One, Bachelor Number Two, Bachelor Number Three. I'm surprised we didn't have to fill out a questionnaire, take a health test."

"Not a very pretty girl." Niccolo shook his head. "Not my kind at all. I like Asian women."

"Sour grapes?" asked Hooper.

"Sour grapes?" repeated Niccolo, not comprehending.

"It's an expression, that's all.  Means when you can't have something, you point out its flaws."

"Oh, I see," said Niccolo, eyes focused on two gorgeous young women in 60's style mini-skirts and tall platform shoes cross to the rest room. 

"Never mind," Hooper told him.  He was feeling oddly hopeful.  He thought how he would look forward to getting a good night's sleep and starting off for the gym early in the morning.  Yes, his luck could change very soon. Just watching the two girls in the short skirts pause and pose, put their heads together and giggle, renewed his faith in the possibility of romance.  One of them spotted him looking, noticed the pumpkin burning behind him, pointed, and laughed appreciatively.  Hooper smiled back.  Could it be this easy?

"You have much luck with the personal ads?" asked Niccolo.  He ordered another beer.

Hooper shrugged.  He was hoping to catch the girl's eye again, to signal interest.

"Me, I meet lots of girls, but none of them are right," said Niccolo.

"I think first off, you want to call them women," Hooper corrected. "Anyone over 18 is a woman, unless you're  . . ." He let the thought trail off.

"You meet lots of girls  in the personals?" Niccolo asked.

"I'm beginning to have my doubts about the personals, but I promised my friend Myrna I'd give them a try."  The mini-skirted girl turned and offered her profile to Hooper.  Her body bent and swayed as she talked and gestured. She was too young, he knew it, but at this point he didn't care.  After all, Myrna had said he should stay open. He was about to get off his bar stool and approach her, when Niccolo leaned across, his eyes receding behind their lids. He was clearly drunk.  "Hooper," he said in a husky voice.

Hooper lost his train of thought. "Huh?"

"Hooper, I would like to go home with you."

"What?"  Hooper bumped against his pumpkin.  The candle flame flickered. "Don't you have a -----?  Oh, you mean like go home?"

Niccolo nodded meaningfully.

Hooper spread his hands. "Hey, you've got me all wrong. I'm flattered and all, but frankly you're not my type."  He swallowed the last drop of beer.

"I'm bi," said Niccolo.
            "Oh, no, I'll buy," said Hooper. "Beer's on me."

"No, I said I'm bi," said Niccolo. "Aren't you bi too?"

"No, not really," said Hooper with a sigh  and slapped a twenty on the counter.  "Put your wallet away. I've already got it.  And yours too."

"Hey, don't worry," said Niccolo.  "I just thought we could both use a little company . . .  you know, until we meet women . . . ."

"Thanks, but no thanks," said Hooper. "Not my style." He wanted to feel flattered, but Niccolo's desperation was not attractive.

Niccolo turned to the bartender and ordered another beer. "I'm staying then----see if my luck changes," he said to Hooper with a wink. The top of his pumpkin smoldered and smoked, and a sickly sweet scent of burning pumpkin shell issued forth.

Hooper wished Niccolo good luck, then glanced over to where the two girls were standing.  They had just been approached by two younger men, men with lots of hair, men with smooth faces and expectant eyes. 

Something about their freshness, their eagerness made Hooper smile in spite of himself.  They still believed, he thought.

He was almost to the door of the bar when he heard someone call over the low din, "Excuse me, sir!"

He half-turned.  The bartender, a girl with long dark hair and a pierced eyebrow, was traveling toward him in her black tights and ballerina skirt at a fast clip.  She wore an expectant look on her face.  For a moment Hooper thought his luck was changing.  But then he realized the girl was lugging his giant pumpkin. "Here, you left this," she said thrusting the pumpkin at him.  "He's really cute, but he's not my type."

She was making a joke . . . Hooper paused, accepting the pumpkin half-heartedly.

"Oh, thanks -- I'm supposed to take this to a party," Hooper lied. "Thanks very much."  The bartender winked and turned around, disappearing back inside through the crowd.  Hooper stood a moment with the grinning pumpkin in his arms, wondering if he should go back inside and boldly place his phone number in her hand, but he didn't.  Instead, he crossed over the sidewalk and set the pumpkin down on the curb.  Flickering there, it added an air of festivity to the street. Looking up, he saw the night sky now thickening with the promise of rain.  Two couples dressed like something out of Louis the Fourteenth's court strolled by and pointed.  One of the women made a joke and everyone laughed.

Three drag queens striding along in heels and ball gowns bent down and shook their fans in the pumpkin's face.  "Now there's a nice big boy," camped one, and beamed at Hooper as he passed.

 The night was still young. Hooper sauntered back to his car, but turned to observe the pumpkin briefly before inserting  the key in the lock.  From this distance he thought how the cheerful disembodied face was a funny version of himself, cast from a strange bar into a foggy San Francisco night.  Instead of getting into his car, he glanced at his watch and looked around to see where he might go next.  Another eight hours until sunrise.  No guarantees, but if Myrna had her way, the night, itself so young, was an invitation. 

Go to part:  1,  2,  3,  4,  5

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Copyright 2002, Alyce Miller

nidus is an online publication supported by the Writing Program at the University of Pittsburgh's English Department.