I'm Not Henry

Where It’s Always a Full Moon

Even for Saturday night, the bar crowd has a wild, nervous edge. A bespectacled fireplug of a woman swaps gum mouth-to-mouth with her escort. She’s 40-something. He’s a scruffy kid whose ID says he’s only 23. They look like Shaggy and Velma’s mother from Scooby Do!

“Kiss me, Fool!” she shouts to him.

For the jukebox is going full-blast. A regular known as Sir Gaga has loaded a half-dozen plays of Bad Romance—egged on by a tipsy bachelorette party. Seated nearby, Mark the Narc whispers—

“I’m really with the CIA.”

“I don’t care,” Bryce replies.

Mark’s not exactly a regular, but he’s shifty enough that people remember him anyway. Which is probably why Bryce scoots his stool closer to Shaggy. Seated nearby with two of her girls, Aisha would normally be causing a ruckus herself, though tonight she says nothing until she sees—

“Steve!”

Who enters and shimmies around Mark as he scoots after Bryce.

“Full moon in the saloon?” Steve asks, batting a pair of impossibly long eyelashes.

Velma’s mother turns, lowering a big hand on his shoulder.

“Black man! Black man!” she sings—right into the ear of Mark the Narc.

“Do you mind?” he demands.

“Where did you come from?” she wonders.

“Louisiana,” Mark replies. “But I’m with the Secret Service now.”

This stops Bryce and his stool-scooting a moment.

“Wait,” he says. “You’re not CIA?”

“No, a Cajun!” the large woman cries.

And she reaches to grab Shaggy. They corral Mark in a bear hug, exchanging a wet kiss over his scalp.

“I’m a cop!” Mark calls.

Bryce sighs. The large woman and her escort paw Mark some more. Aisha and her girls laugh as Steve sings—

“Black man! Black man!”

“I want your love and I want your revenge,” the bridesmaids squawk, reducing their bachelorette to brays of laughter.

Huddled in her apron near one end of the bar, Jackie watches warily. The boss appears from the basement and stands beside her a moment.

“Why aren’t you on the floor?” he demands.

“I don’t get paid enough,” she replies.

“You have a station to serve,” he reminds her.

“Just listen to that!” she insists. “That’s not a station, it’s a barnyard.”

The large woman and her paramour release Mark and attack one another lustily. Mark shakes himself off and resumes stalking Bryce. The boss shrugs, retreating to his lair. The bridal party cackles, along with Aisha and her girls, even Steve, as the large woman bellows—

“We have a Cajun! That makes this a Cajun Moon!”

To which her young friend appends—

“Full moon in the saloon!”

Though outside on the street, where the real moon shines brightly, the only sound besides muffled music and laughter is a faint, feral howl.