"Christmas at Mel's"

Short Short Fiction, by C.J. Heck

A broken neon sign flashed "Mel’s" on top of a seedy bar at the edge of town. The air inside was heavy with stale smoke, blending faintly with an odd odor of dried spit on unclean bodies.

Sadie sat at a small table alone pondering life and her problems, two drinks past seeing the chipped nails she drummed on the Formica table. The lines in her face looked knit as if by a palsied hand dropping stitches here and there and turned to small scars.

For Sadie, this was home … at least until tonight’s ‘john’ with an empty glass and a full libido swaggered over and invited her to the nearest no-tell motel. “Life sucks --but it’s my life.” She whispered.

Feeling in control, a spider in her web, Sadie threw back her drink and raised a finger at the barkeep to bring another.

The hours passed and Sadie slumped in her chair. “Merry Christmas. Yeah, so what? Mer-ry Chris-my-ass!”  

She counted the empty shot glasses in front of her on the table .… five, six, seven. Hey, rhymes with heaven. How about that —as if I'll ever be there. They prob'ly don't let people like me in a classy joint like that.

Sadie studied the half empty glass in her hand with the same intensity a gypsy might as she watched her favorite crystal ball suddenly deflate. It was late, she was tired, and her lips were numb.

She frowned as the room blinked red, then green, then yellow through the gently swirling smoke. Damn Mel and damn his twinkle lights —they hurt my eyes! He had to put twinkle lights in here, as if anyone wants to see the graffiti better.  She tried to laugh at her own joke, but it came out as a cackle.

Who the hell cares if it's Christmas Eve? Every day's the same to me. Bells ringing on corners, snow and slush in every step, decorations everywhere to remind me I’m alone. It makes me want to puke, that’s all.

“Merry Christmas ... yeah, Mer-ry Chris-my-ASS.”

Damn, business was slow this time of year. Every john she knew was home playing Santy Claus with the kiddies and Husband Of The Year with the wifie. What they really want, I give 'em. What they really need, I give 'em. They're all the same. What a frigging joke ... yeah, only the joke's on me. I'm the one sitting here drinking by myself in a blinking-stinking bar on Christmas Eve.

Sadie carefully stacked empty glass number eight on the others and raised a finger to the barkeep for one more.

Just then, a shadow fell through the swirling smoke and settled on her table. The shadow was strangely blinking mixed colors through the empty glasses stacked in front of her. She looked up to see one of her regulars.

Finally, and ‘bout time, too.  She thought.  A plan formed in her mind to do him fast and then get some shut-eye. She gave the john her best crimson smile.

The man leaned down, handed Sadie something, and whispered, "Go home, Sadie. This one's on me, and … Merry Christmas to you." Then he turned and walked back through the swirling colored smoke, with Sadie staring slack-jawed at the door as it closed behind him.

Slowly Sadie unfolded a crisp one-hundred dollar bill. “Damn, if that don't beat all.” She pushed her chair back from the table, stood, and for the first time in years, Sadie’s face softened into a genuine smile.

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