The Barrytown Trilogy (64 page)

—Where? said Bimbo.

Doyle’s, Bowe’s, the Palace; two pints in each of them. They were new places to Bimbo, and to Jimmy Sr although he’d walked past them and had a look in. He’d promised himself that if he ever had any money again he’d inspect them properly. And here he was.

—Good consistent pints, he said. —So far anyway.

—Very good, yeah.

They were in the Palace, standing up against the wall, near the door cos there was no room further in. The women were a disappointment, not what he’d imagined. They were hippyish, scrawny women. He’d expected a bit of glitter; not in Mulligans – they’d gone in there strictly for the pints – but in the other ones. That was why they were in the Palace now, in town, in their suits. Jimmy Sr wanted something to happen.
Maybe they should have gone to Howth. Still though, it was good to be just out, with Bimbo, away from everything.

—Yeh finished? he said to Bimbo.

—Are we goin’ already?

—This place isn’t up to much. Yeh righ’?

—Okay, said Bimbo. —You’re the boss.

That’s right, Jimmy Sr thought while he waited for Bimbo to get the last of his pint into his mouth; I am the boss.

It had always been that way.

They went outside and it was nice and cool.

—This way, said Jimmy Sr.

Jimmy Sr had always been the one who’d made the decisions, who’d mapped out their weekends for them. Jimmy Sr would say, See yeh in the Hikers after half-twelve mass, and Bimbo would be there. Jimmy Sr would put down Bimbo’s name to play pitch and putt and Bimbo would go off and play. Jimmy Sr had rented the pair of caravans in Courtown a couple of years back and the two families had gone down in a convoy and stayed there for the fortnight.

—Where’re we goin’ now? said Bimbo.

—Somewhere different, said Jimmy Sr. —Wait an’ see.

—I’m dyin’ for a piddle.

—Fuck off complainin’.

There were huge crowds out, lots of kids – they were on Grafton Street now – big gangs of girls outside McDonalds. Not like the young ones in Barrytown; these young ones were used to money. They were confident, more grown up; they shouted and they didn’t mind being heard – they wanted to be heard. They had accents like newsreaders. They’d legs up to their shoulders. Jimmy Sr did a rough count; there were only about three of them that weren’t absolutely gorgeous.

This was more like it.

—There aren’t any pubs up here, are there?

—Shut up.

* * *

Bimbo wanted to get out; Jimmy Sr could tell. He was murdering the Budweiser, guzzling and belching at the same time to get rid of it so they could go. Jimmy Sr wasn’t going anywhere yet though. He hated this place, and liked it. It was crazy; himself and Bimbo were the only two men in here who needed braces to hold up their trousers and they were the only two not wearing them. They were also the only two that weren’t complete and utter fuckin’ eejits, as far as he could see. There was lots of loud laughing, at fuck all. The women though – not all of them that young either.

The crowd kind of shuffled and there was a pair of women beside Bimbo and Jimmy Sr, by themselves. Jimmy Sr nudged Bimbo.

—I don’t like your one, he told Bimbo, although he did like her.

—Wha’? said Bimbo.

—Your women there, said Jimmy Sr.

—What abou’ them?

—Back me up, said Jimmy Sr. —Howyeh, he said to the one nearest him.

—Oh, she said. —Hi, and they climbed back into the crowd, the two of them, the wagons.

—Stuck-up brassers, said Jimmy Sr. —One o’ them was as bandy as fuck, did yeh notice?

But it was a start; he felt great.

He grinned at Bimbo.

—Wha’ did yeh think of your women? he said.

—Wha’ d’yeh mean?

—Don’t start. Did yeh like them?

Bimbo was squirming.

—Did yeh?

—Eh —— they were nice enough —

—Nice enough? If—if Sophia Loren came up to yeh an’ stuck her diddies in your face would you say tha’ she was nice enough?

But he was happy enough.

A woman about his own age bumped into him.

—Mind yourself, love, he said.

—Sorry.

—No problem.

And she was gone but no matter. All he needed was a bit of practice. If she came back in an hour or so he’d get off with her no problem. Not that he’d want to get off with her. Or anyone really. He was just messing; seeing if he could click with a woman if he wanted to. He looked around.

—Over here, he said to Bimbo.

—Why? said Bimbo, but he followed Jimmy Sr. He didn’t want to be left alone.

If all Jimmy Sr’d wanted to do was get a woman behind a wall and feel her up or even ride her he wouldn’t have come all the way into town; there were plenty of women in Barrytown who’d have come behind the clinic with him; all he’d have to have done was buy them a few bottles of Stag and listen to their problems for a while and tell them that they were still good-looking women when they started crying. He knew them all, and some of them were still good-looking women. But he’d never even been tempted, and not because he’d have been afraid of being caught.

They were in the middle of the crowd now, not at the edge.

What he wanted was to see if he could manage a young one or one of these glamorous, rich-looking, not-so-young ones. He’d back off once he knew it was on the cards; actually getting his hole wasn’t what he was after at all – he just wanted to know if he could get his hole.

—D’yeh want another drink, here, Jimmy? Bimbo asked him.

Maybe just the once he’d like to get the leg over one of these kind of women, only the once, in a hotel room or in her apartment, and then he’d be satisfied. Jimmy Sr had never been in a hotel room.

—’Course I do, Jimmy Sr said to Bimbo.

—Here though?

—Yeah, here. —— Only one more, righ’?

Bimbo nodded and slipped through to the bar.

Jimmy Sr smiled at a woman, over a little fella’s shoulder. She smiled back quickly, just in case she knew him. Jimmy Sr waited for her to look over his way again, but she didn’t. She was about forty but she was wearing a mini-skirt. The little fella must have been worth a fortune.

Bimbo was back.

—It’s robbery in here, he said.

—You pay for the style, Jimmy Sr told him.

—Not after I’ve finished this I don’t.

—Okay, okay. — Watch it; brassers at six o’clock!

—Wha’?

—Howyeh, girls. D’yis need a drink?

They walked straight past him. They mustn’t have known he was talking to them. They must have though; he spoke straight at them.

—Fuckin’ bitches, he said. —Look at her. Her; your woman. With your man over there.

—Oh yeah.

—She’s fuckin’ gorgeous, isn’t she?

—Yeah.

—She’s got real bedroom eyes, said Jimmy Sr.

She was lovely looking alright.

—Yeah, said Bimbo.

—Bedroom eyes, said Jimmy Sr again. —An’ a jacks mouth.

They laughed.

Bimbo’s Budweiser was nearly gone.

—Are we goin’? he said.

—Yeah, said Jimmy Sr. —Okay.

Bimbo looked at his watch. It was after eleven.

—I could do with a proper pint, he said.

—Good thinkin’ Batman, said Jimmy Sr. —Come on.

* * *

—D’yeh know how yeh click with women like tha’? said Jimmy Sr.

—How?

—Money.

—Ah yeah.

It was good to be back in a real pub.

Bimbo got two very healthy-looking pints and Jimmy Sr got two more immediately because it was coming up to closing time and Jimmy Jr had warned him that the city centre pubs were fuckers for shutting down on the dot of half-eleven.

They took over two low stools at a table.

—Yeah, said Jimmy Sr. —Nine ou’ o’ ten women, if they had the choice between money an’ looks, they’d go for the money.

—What abou’ Maggie an’ Veronica?

—Not women like Maggie an’ Veronica, said Jimmy Sr. —I’m not talkin’ abou’ women like tha’. Ordinary women, if yeh know what I mean.

He waited for Bimbo to nod.

—I mean the kind o’ women we saw in tha’ place back there. Stylish an’ glamorous —

—I think Maggie an’ —

Jimmy Sr stopped him.

—I know wha’ you’re going to say, Bimbo. And I agree with yeh. They are as good lookin’. But they’re not like those brassers back there, sure they’re not?

—No, said Bimbo. —Not really.

—Thank God, wha’, said Jimmy Sr. —Can yeh imagine lettin’ any o’ them floozies rear your kids?

—God, said Bimbo.

Jimmy Sr sat up straight.

—But, let’s face it, Bimbo, said Jimmy Sr. —They’re rides, aren’t they?

—Ah, I don’t —

—Go on, yeh cunt. Admit it.

They laughed. That was good, Jimmy Sr thought. They weren’t on their way home yet.

—That’s the thing though, said Jimmy Sr, back serious. —Veronica an’ Maggie. We’re lucky fuckin’ men. But ——they’re wives. Am I makin’ sense?

—Yeah.

—Those ones back there aren’t. They might be married an’ tha’ but —— they’re more women than wives, eh ——Fuck it, that’s the only way I can say it.

—I know wha’ yeh mean, said Bimbo.

Jimmy Sr felt so good, like he’d got something huge off his chest.

—Will I see if they’ll give us another? he said.

—What abou’ —?

—We’ll get a taxi. Will I have a bash?

—Okay, said Bimbo. —Yeh’d better make it a short though, Jim. I’m full o’ drink.

Jimmy Sr picked on the younger barman and managed to get two Jamesons out of him, and that made him feel even better.

—How’s tha’?

—Fair play to yeh, said Bimbo. —Good man.

It was hard getting back down onto the stool, there were so many people around them, but Jimmy Sr did it without pushing anyone too hard. He was dying to get going again with Bimbo.

—Women like tha’ —

He waited to see if Bimbo was following him.

—Women like your women go for money, Jimmy Sr told Bimbo. —They’ll wet themselves abou’ any ugly fucker or spastic just as long as they’re rich.

—I don’t know, said Bimbo.

—It’s true, said Jimmy Sr. —Look at your woman, Jackie Onassis. You’re not goin’ to tell me tha’ she loved your man, Aristotle, are yeh?

—She might’ve

—Me arse. Sure, she had a contract an’ all drawn up before they got married, guaranteeing her millions o’ dollars; millions.

—Tha’ doesn’t mean tha’ —

—An’ Grace Kelly.

—Princess Grace?

—She only married Prince what’s his fuckin’ name cos he was a prince. An’ Princess Diana as well.

—Wha’ —

—She only married fuckin’ Big Ears for the same reason.

—I always thought there was somethin’ a bit odd about tha’ match alrigh’.

—I’m tellin’ yeh, Bimbo, said Jimmy Sr. —There are some women would do annythin’ for money. The women back there in tha’ place would annyway.

—You could never respect a woman like tha’, said Bimbo.

—No, Jimmy Sr agreed. —But yeh could ride the arse off her.

They roared.

—It’s grand, said Jimmy Sr before they’d really finished laughing. —When yeh think abou’ it. If you’ve money, that is.

——Yeah, said Bimbo. —I suppose. If you’re interested in tha’ sort o’ thing.

—Who wouldn’t be? said Jimmy Sr.

Bimbo didn’t say anything, and that was good enough for Jimmy Sr. He had Bimbo thinking with his bollix.

The pub was beginning to empty. Jimmy Sr looked at his watch; it wasn’t near midnight yet. It was good in a way, because now he could ask Bimbo the question.

—What’ll we do now?

Bimbo looked around, like he was waking up.

—Wha’ d’yeh mean?

—Where’ll we go? said Jimmy Sr.

Bimbo looked at his watch.

——I suppose we’d better head —

—We can’t go fuckin’ home, said Jimmy Sr. —Not yet. Jaysis; it’s our fuckin’ big night ou’.

Bimbo was game, Jimmy Sr could tell, but lost. He let him speak first.

—Where can we go? said Bimbo.

—Somewhere where we can get a drink, said Jimmy Sr.

—Ah yeah, said Bimbo. —’Course.

Jimmy Sr spoke through a yawn.

—We ——we could try Leeson Street, I suppose; I don’t know. —— Wha’ d’yeh think? It might be a laugh, wha’.

Jimmy Sr’s heart was loafing his breast plate.

So was Bimbo’s.

——Would yeh get a pint there? he said.

—Yeh would, yeah, said Jimmy Sr. —No problem.

* * *

They were on their way.

—Hang on though, said Jimmy Sr out of nowhere. —Wha’ colour socks are yeh wearin’?

They stopped. Bimbo looked down. He hoisted up a trouser leg.

—Eh —— blue, it looks like —

—Thank God for tha’, said Jimmy Sr.

—Why?

—They don’t let yeh in if you’re wearin’ white socks, he told Bimbo. —The bouncers don’t. They’ve been told not to.

—Why’s tha’?

—Don’t know. Young Jimmy warned me about it. Wankers an’ trouble-makers wear white socks.

—Wouldn’t yeh think they’d cop on an’ wear another colour? said Bimbo.

—Who?

—The wankers.

—True, said Jimmy Sr. —Still, that’s wha’ makes them wankers, I suppose.

—Yeah. Wha’ colour are yeh wearin’ yourself?

Jimmy didn’t have to look.

—Not white anyway, he said.

* * *

They dashed to get into the gang of men going down the basement stairs. They were all pissed and loud, a few drinks away from being sick; business men, they looked like, about the same age as Jimmy Sr and Bimbo. The door opened; the
ones in front said something to the bouncer; they all laughed, including Jimmy Sr, and they sailed in, no problem. It cost nothing, just like young Jimmy’d said.

—Thanks very much, Bimbo said when he was going past the bouncer.

—Shut up, for fuck sake! Jimmy Sr whispered. —Good bouncers can smell fear, he told Bimbo. —They’re like dogs.

—I only said Thanks to him, said Bimbo.

—Ah, forget it, said Jimmy Sr. —Forget it.

They were in now anyway.

—Will we hand in our jackets? said Bimbo.

—No, said Jimmy Sr.

A suit without a jacket was just a pair of trousers; his jacket was staying on.

The wallpaper was that hairy, velvety stuff. This was a good sign, Jimmy Sr decided. There was something about it, something a bit dirty. He could feel the music in the floorboards even before he turned into the dance and bar place. This was the business. He looked to see if Bimbo thought that as well, and caught him gawking into the women’s jacks. Two women were standing at the door, one of them holding it open.