twinkling mutedly behind the bar； and syphons； and even beer dripping from the
spigots of all three highly polished taps。 Yes； he could even smell beer； that
damp and fermented and yeasty odor； no different from the smell that had hung
finely misted around his father's face every night when he came home from work。
Eyes widening； he fumbled for the wall switch； and the low； intimate bar…
lighting came on； circles of twenty…watt bulbs emplanted on the tops of the
three wagon…wheel chandeliers overhead。
The shelves were all empty。 They had not even as yet gathered a good coat of
dust。 The beer taps were dry； as were the chrome drains beneath them。 To his
left and right； the velvet…upholstered booths stood like men with high backs；
each one designed to give a maximum of privacy to the couple inside。 Straight
ahead； across the red…carpeted floor； forty barstools stood around the
horseshoe…shaped bar。 Each stool was upholstered in leather and embossed with
cattle brands — Circle H； Bar D Bar （that was fitting）； Rocking W； Lazy B。
He approached it； giving his head a little shake of bewilderment as he did so。
It was like that day on the playground when 。。。 but there was no sense in
thinking about that。 Still he could have sworn he had seen those bottles；
vaguely； it was true； the way you see the darkened shapes of furniture in a room
where the curtains have been drawn。 Mild glints on glass。 The only thing that
remained was that smell of beer； and Jack knew that was a smell that faded into
the woodwork of every bar in the world after a certain period of time； not to be
eradicated by any cleaner invented。 Yet the smell here seemed sharp 。。。 almost
fresh。
He sat down on one of the stools and propped his elbows on the bar's leather…
cushioned edge。 At his left hand was a bowl for peanuts now empty； of course。
The first bar he'd been in for nineteen months and the damned thing was dry just
his luck。 All the same； a bitterly powerful wave of nostalgia swept over him；
and the physical craving for a drink seemed to work itself up from his belly to
his throat to his mouth and nose； shriveling and wrinkling the tissues as it
went； making them cry out for something wet and long and cold。
He glanced at the shelves again in wild； irrational hope but the shelves were
just as empty as before。 He grinned in pain and frustration。 His fists；
clenching slowly； made minute scratchings on the bar's leather…padded edge。
〃Hi； Lloyd；〃 he said。 〃A little slow tonight； isn't it？〃
Lloyd said it was。 Lloyd asked him what it would be。
〃Now I'm really glad you asked me that；〃 Jack said； 〃really glad。 Because I
happen to have two twenties and two tens in my wallet and I was afraid they'd be
sitting there until sometime next April。 There isn't a Seven…Eleven around here；
would you believe it？ And I thought they had Seven…Elevens on the fucking moon。〃
Lloyd sympathized。
〃So here's what；〃 Jack said。 〃You set me up an even twenty martinis。 An even
twenty； just like that； kazang。 One for every month I've been on the wagon and
one to grow on。 You can do that； can't you？ You aren't too busy？〃
Lloyd said he wasn't busy at all。
〃Good man。 You line those martians up right along the bar and I'm going to
take them down； one by one。 White man's burden； Lloyd my man。〃
Lloyd turned to do the job。 Jack reached into his pocket for his money clip
and came out with an Excedrin bottle instead。 His money clip was on the bedroom
bureau； and of course his skinny…shanks wife had locked him out of the bedroom。
Nice going； Wendy。 You bleeding bitch。
〃I seem to be momentarily light；〃 Jack said。 〃How's my credit in this joint；
anyhow？〃
Lloyd said his credit was fine。
〃That's super。 I like you； Lloyd。 You were always the best of them。 Best
damned barkeep between Barre and Portland； Maine。 Portland； Oregon； for that
matter。〃
Lloyd thanked him for saying so。
Jack thumped the cap from his Excedrin bottle； shook two tablets out； and
flipped them into his mouth。 The familiar acid…pelling taste flooded in。
He had a sudden sensation that people were watching him； curiously and with
some contempt。 The booths behind him were full there were graying； distinguished
men and beautiful young girls； all of them in costume； watching this sad
exercise in the dramatic arts with cold amusement。
Jack whirled on his stool。
The booths were all empty； stretching away from the lounge door to the left
and right； the line on his left cornering to flank the bar's horseshoe curve
down the short length of the room。 Padded leather seats and backs。 Gleaming dark
Formica tables； an ashtray on each one； a book of matches in each ashtray； the
words Colorado Lounge stamped on each in gold leaf above the batwing…door logo。
He turned back； swallowing the rest of the dissolving Excedrin with a grimace。
〃Lloyd； you're a wonder；〃 he said。 〃Set up already。 Your speed is only
exceeded by the soulful beauty of your Neapolitan eyes。 Salud。〃
Jack contemplated the twenty imaginary drinks； the martini glasses blushing
droplets of condensation； each with a swizzle poked through a plump green olive。
He could almost smell gin on the air。
〃The wagon；〃 he said。 〃Have you ever been acquainted with a gentleman who has
hopped up on the wagon？〃
Lloyd allowed as how he had met such men from time to time。
〃Have you ever renewed acquaintances with such a man after he hopped back off？〃
Lloyd could not； in all honesty； recall。
〃You never did； then；〃 Jack said。 He curled his hand around the first drink；
carried his fist to his mouth； which was open； and turned his fist up。 He
swallowed and then tossed the imaginary glass over his shoulder。 The people were
back again； fresh from their costume ball； studying him； laughing behind their
hands。 He could feel them。 If the backbar had featured a mirror instead of those
damn stupid empty shelves； he could have seen them。 Let them stare。 Fuck them。
Let anybody stare who wanted to stare。
〃No； you never did；〃 he told Lloyd。 〃Few men ever return from the fabled
Wagon； but those who do e with a fearful tale to tell。 When you jump on； it
seems like the brightest； cleanest Wagon you ever saw； with ten…foot wheels to
keep the bed of it high out of the gutter where all the drunks are laying around
with their brown bags and their Thunderbird and their Granddad Flash's Popskull
Bourbon。 You're away from all the people who throw you nasty looks and tell you
to clean up your act or go put it on in another town。 From the gutter； that's
the finest…lookin Wagon you ever saw； Lloyd my boy。 All hung with bunting and a
brass band in front and three majorettes to each side； twirling their batons and
flashing their panties at you。 Man； you got to get on that Wagon and away from
the juicers that are straining canned heat and smelling their own puke to get
high again and poking along the gutter for butts with half an inch left below
the filter。〃
He drained two more imaginary drinks and tossed the glasses back over his
shoulder。 He could almost hear them smashing on the floor。 And goddam if he
wasn't starting to feel high。 It was the Excedrin。
〃So you climb up；〃 he told Lloyd。 〃and ain't you glad to be there。 My God yes；
that's affirmative。 That Wagon is the biggest and best float in the whole
parade； and everybody is lining the streets and clapping and cheering and
waving； all for you。 Except for the winos passed out in the gutter。 Those guys
used to be your friends； but that's all behind you now。〃
He carried his empty fist to his mouth and sluiced down another — four down；
sixteen to go。 Making excellent progress。 He swayed a little on the stool。 Let
em stare； if that was how they got off。 Take a picture； folks； it'll last
longer。
〃Then you start to see things； Lloydy…my…boy。 Things you missed from the
gutter。 Like how the floor of the Wagon is nothing but straight pine boards； so
fresh they're still bleeding sap； and if you took your shoes off you'd be sure
to get a splinter。 Like how the only furniture in the Wagon is these long
benches with high backs and no cushions to sit on； and in fact they are nothing
but pews with a songbook every five feet or so。 Like how all the people sitting
in the pews on the Wagon are these flatchested el birdos in long dresses with a
little lace around the collar and their hair pulled back into buns until it's so
tight you can almost hear it screaming。 And every face is flat and pale and
shiny； and they're all singing ‘Shall we gather at the riiiiver； the beautiful；
the beautiful； the riiiiiver；' and up front there's this reekin bitch with blond
hair playing the organ and tellin em to sing louder； sing louder。 And somebody
slams a songbook into your hands and says； ‘Sing it out； brother。 If you expect
to stay on this Wagon； you got to sing morning； noon； and night。 Especially at
night。' And that's when you realize what the Wagon really is； Lloyd。 It's a
church with bars on the windows； a church for women and a prison for you。〃
He stopped。 Lloyd was gone。 Worse still； he had never been there。 The drinks
had never been there。 Only the people in the booths； the people from the costume
party； and he could almost hear their muffled laughter as they held their hands
to their mouths and pointed； their eyes sparkling with cruel pinpoints of light。
He whirled around again。 〃Leave me — 〃
（alone？）
All the booths were empty。 The sound of laughter had died like a stir of
autumn leaves。 Jack stared at the empty lounge for a tick of time； his eyes wide
and dark。 A pulse beat noticeably in the center of his forehead。 In the very
center of him a cold certainty was forming and the certainty was that he was
losing his mind。 He felt an urge to pick up the bar stool next to him； reverse
it； and go through the place like an avenging whirlwind。 Instead he whirled back
around to the bar and began to bellow：
〃Roll me over
In the clo…ho…ver；
Roll me over； lay me down and do it again。〃
Danny's face rose before him； not Danny