Carnal Carrie Comes a Callin’

“That woman’s got no panties on,” said Noel, referring to the drunken bimbo sitting at the bar-top slot machine. We had stopped in to a sleazy little bar not far from the Vegas Greyhound bus station for a drink or two.

I glanced over. The woman was wearing a metallic copper colored dress which was currently hiked up to her waist. She sat oblivious to the state of her skirt, legs spread akimbo, and subjected me to the full view of her nether regions. The image still haunts me much like ‘being in the shit’ still haunts a Vietnam veteran. To say that she was unattractive is to say that a red hot poker to the eye smarts a little.

Her ratty bleached blonde hair was pulled haphazardly back into a pony tail, revealing the face lift scars behind her ears and her makeup looked like it was put on with a putty knife. She looked over at me, stood, steadied herself on the bar, took a long drag of her cigarette, pulled her skirt down, and started towards Noel and I.

“Shit,” I said. “She’s coming this way.”

Noel took a swig of her rum and Coke.

“Hi ya baby, what’s your name?” she asked in a low, heavy smoker’s voice.
“Uhhh… Lucius.”
“Mmm… Lucius, I like that name. Who’s your friend?”
“Brandy,” said Noel.
“I’m Carnal Carrie. I can take care of all your needs.”
“Um,” I said.

Carnal Carrie planted herself in the open seat at our table.

“Debbie, get us some drinks sweetheart,” said Carnal Carrie to the bored looking waitress at the end of the bar. “You don’t mind if I join ya do ya? Tricks ain’t what they used to be.”