A Thousand Ships Ain't Enough and One is Too Many

I tore one up that week.  I’ve been known to do that on occasion… whenever I get a few days off. This time I took a company cab and drove it to the Bay Area. Normally, I would have taken my own cab but it was in the garage for service. I didn’t have a day off that was legit. It was one of those days I stopped by the Ofice for just one Bloody Mary before my shift. One or two turned into a snifter of Glenlivet and a snifter of Glenlivet devolved into several shots of JD and beer. It was a typical day off, in other words, the fates determined I wasn't supposed to be working.

A woman… a beautiful young woman… fresh and clean looking like a Grace Kelly blonde took the stool next to mine while I was in the can doing a line of coke. I came back and, well, it was her fault… she said, “I’ll have what you’re having.”

“Sure," She was too fucking gorgeous to be in this dive bar. Her face could launch my ship for sure. I ordered a shot of JD and a beer while slipping her a bindle under her coaster. “There’s enough for a line… maybe. But you have to promise me something.”

She smiled a Helen of Troy to Paris, come-get-me, smile, “Oh boy, here goes…”

I tried to assure her, “Not what you think.”

Still smiling, she unbuttoned a top button of her blouse, “You know what I’m thinking?”

“I want you to do your slumming down there at the other end of the bar. Let me drink in peace. I have to get back to work.” I called out to Nancy, “give the lady anything she wants.”

Damn it. Her Helen of Troy come-on became a Cheshire Cat's grin, “Is that your cab out front?”

I was annoyed that she wouldn’t disappear like for Alice, “Yeh, so what if it is?”

“I need to get to San Jose.”

“You want a Greyhound, not a cab.”

“Sure, I’ll have that to drink but I want to take your cab.” She unbuttoned her blouse a few more notches displaying ample cleavage pushed up by a black power bra, “Can I get a flat rate? I mean, can we negotiate?”

“No offense, Miss, those tits are nice to look at but they ain’t gonna pay my lease.”

Nancy mixed the drink and delivered it. The look she gave me was one that warned I was navigating too close to this siren's shoal. She was looking at me when she told the woman, “Crash isn’t working tonight. Not now. He’s too shit-faced to drive.”

“Thanks Nancy.” She was right on cue. I played my hand, feigning impatience, “Can’t you wait ‘til I find out what she’s willing to pay.”

“It’s plain to see what she’ll pay.” Nancy cupped her breasts and glared at the woman. “Nada, that’s what she’s willing to pay.”

“It’s Nadya not Nada.”

Nancy was sometimes overly protective of her regulars and she was always right. However, her concern sometimes drove me to do the opposite of her advice. I gave the woman a once over and asked, “Before we negotiate, they call me Crash. What do they call you?”

“I said, Nadya… sheeze, you people! It's Nadya with a Y.”

“Nadya with a why not, then? Let’s say we negotiate this deal on the way to San Jose.”

I remember Nancy saying, “Here goes again,” and shouting as we stepped outside, “I’m not bailing you out this time.” But I only remember bits and pieces from there... something about a thousand ships.