Endangered Species

This is the season? asks the older one with long pink nails.

This is the season, says the barkeep, slopping a rag between the two women.

You got my pocketbook wet, screeches the younger.

Well, take something out of it, says the barkeep.

I guess a little something would help, she says. She's blonde here and there at the temples. But we're not that kind of woman, she says.

You're in a bar, says the barkeep.

Okay, well, I guess a beer, she says, and squeezes her pocketbook as if damp instead of money will be released.

The barkeep mumbles his beer brands but they aren't choosing. You pick, says the older, lighting a skinny cigarette. So where is everybody?

The barkeep flexes a bicep at the mirror and says, You mean, the men?

Both women laugh and look around the empty bar. You got it, says the older. Rich guys fly here to hunt, right?

The barkeep hoses two mugs full of the worst stuff and sets it down in front of them. A few. Who told you?

A friend. She also said we could stay with someone's mother.

Mrs. Darby, he says. Mrs. Darby doesn't put up with a lot of, you know, guests.

We want to get married, says the older.

What do you want to do that for? says the barkeep. Most of the women here want a divorce.

The older one exhales smoke. We have our reasons. Babies, for one.

That wouldn't seem so hard. He leans close.

Both women hug their purses and laugh.

A hunter swings in, huge, blood-soaked, and happy. I got you some dates, says the barkeep.

I'll be, he answers. Give me my lunch.

The barkeep brings out bologna and mayonnaise and white bread and puts them together. The hunter turns to the girls. Vacationing?

They shift on their stools. You might say that, says the older.

I have me two good dogs, he says back to the barkeep. Good for nothing but birds.

You look like you took the hide off something, says the barkeep. He lays the sandwich in front of him and divides it on the diagonal.

I got a Bambi, he says, and bites at the bologna dangling from the bread. What do you two do for a living?

Receptionist, they say together. A big corporation, says the older.

They watch him eat. The younger one asks, What's there to do around here besides kill things?

We get take-out pizza, says the hunter. You got that in New Jersey?

New York, says one. Funny guy, says the other.

Not too many men where they come from, says the barkeep.

Not many straight men, says the younger.

Guys that laugh at your jokes? says the barkeep. He laughs. They're straight here, straight and narrow. Married, most of them.

I wouldn't say that, says the hunter. But pretty married. At least some of the wives think so.

Schoolchildren push through the fall blow outside the bar picture window, peering in now and then. You could try the high school, says the barkeep.

This is Winslow, isn't it? asks the older, stuffing her cigarettes back in her bag.

Winslow, Nebraska. Yeah, says the hunter. A mayo dab sits on his cheek.

And this is the season?

If you mean hunting, it sure is. The man puts his money on the bar and the barkeep takes it. Want to come watch me dress out? He pats his red-soaked front.

The ladies move their beers from the bar to a place at a booth. The barkeep raises his voice. She got the last one, your friend did.

The older one corkscrews in the booth to look at him. Look, we spent good money getting here. We changed planes twice and took a bus.

Sounds desperate, all right, says the hunter, looking through the toothpicks.

The barkeep puts the food back in the fridge behind him, then opens a beer and hands it to the man who takes a long pull.

We can cook, says the...