Hot Dog was the coolest guy I ever met. He always wore a black leather bomber jacket and pale blue jeans. His hair was slicked back and it always stayed in place but it wasn’t greasy. Not Brylcreemed into place I mean.
I was chilling at O’Reilly’s sat on a high stool with a half-drained Mojito in front of me – you know the real deal… white rum, fresh lime juice, sugar, fresh mint leaves, and soda water. It was a hot summer night made hotter by the fact that we were below ground in the cellar bar – a little nearer the earth’s core.
There was a tap on my shoulder and I looked in the mirror behind the bar and it was Hot Dog.
“Hey man, what’s going on?” I said.
“Well Onions” he smiled “you about to make me cry I expect.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well it’s getting near closing time and I haven’t got a drink…”
I lifted my hand and waved at Pierre the barman to say “I’m next” in a manner of speaking.
“That’s a state of affairs you are not going to have to endure for too long my friend” I said to HD.
“Always can rely on you Onions. We’re like …”
“Jam and bread?” I suggested.
HD was frowning while he thought and said “No…not jam and bread… I was thinking of something else…”
I thought I’d help him out and said “Peanut butter and jelly?”
Thankfully Pierre came and rescued us, handing over whiskey and ginger over ice to HD. I’d nixed Pierre’s suggestion of another drink for me.
Emptying his glass in one fell swoop hot dog said “oh I needed that. Feels like the first drink I had all day. Hey why don’t we go down the Wigwam?”
‘I’ve gotta be honest HD I was just thinking it might be time for a bit of shut-eye” I said to him.
‘Hey Onions don’t do this to me! I fight my way through all these people” he waved a dark, bejewelled hand expensively at the crowd behind “just to find you tonight, and when I do, you tell me you’re going home? Come on man we’re going down the Wigwam, no question.”
We fought our way out through all those people, flagged down a cab and in a matter of 10 minutes we landed outside the Wigwam. It’s not called the Wigwam for nothing. When you arrive at the door you can feel the heat and energy you’re about to be absorbed by. Indeed it leaks out through the cracks around and under the door. It was like a speakeasy. You had to knock at the door for them to decide if they were going to let you in.
A little door opens and an eye peers at you. If you pass the test you can go in and be with the best – well, that’s what they say.
“No!” Said the all-seeing eye and the tiny opening slammed shut. We were bereft.
“Goddamnit! That never happened to me before” said Hot Dog.
“I can believe it man. I guess I must’ve let you down. I’m really sorry.” HD put his big arm around me nearly squeezing the life out.
“Hey man, don’t be hard on yourself. One of those things. Wasn’t meant to be, not tonight, but maybe tomorrow or next night nobody knows how the all-seeing eye’s gonna react. Never liked that damn place anyway. Let’s go down the Scales!”
HD pointed across the road at a brighter place, behind the opaque glass you could see the shadows of people and hear a hubbub of happy punters quaffing yards of ale and probably Smith’s crisps, still with a little blue twist of paper for the salt. In other words a real English pub right here in good old Noo Yawk! There was no little peephole for them to decide if they wanted you to come in or not. Everyone was welcome.
“Another mojito for you I expect. it’s my round” HD said waving around that expansive hand again so I followed him to the bar.
The barman said “Well I never, it’s Hot Dog and Onions… the Dream Team!”
Looking more delighted than ever Hot Dog said “Jumping frog! That’s it! That’s what I was thinking about at O’Reillys! And you said peanut butter and jelly…” he had the good grace not to look disgustedly at me.
“Oh Onions!” He just left it hanging in the air…
I commiserated with myself he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the box either, even if I had to admit, he did look the coolest.
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