The Big Easy
For three songs a woman who was not his girlfriend had been grinding on Rodger.He was in the House of Blues in New Orleans, the final night of a ten-day road trip thatbegan 2,300 miles ago in California. His girlfriend had taken a lectureship position at LSUand tomorrow Rodger will fly back to Stanton, population 4,512, and his job at Harper’sMarket.Bo Diddly was on stage with his box guitar, singing about himself in the thirdperson. "
Bo Diddly, Bo Diddly, do you like my stuff
?" He threw his arms and legs out intime to the beat, movements that would look foolish on a younger man but are decidedlycool when accomplished by a seventy year old. Roger couldn’t deny the press of thewoman's breasts against his back, nor the presence of Linda next to him. But the thing hecouldn’t deny the most, the feeling he wished he was free from, was how goddamn goodit felt to have a complete stranger come on to him.Four songs ago he had felt breath in his ear, a long powerful gust that gave himchills. He leaned over to ask Linda if she was enjoying the show and snuck a look behindhim. A woman was smiling at him. She was much older than him, maybe fifty. Even inthe darkness of the club he could see a lifetime of coffee drinking in the stains that framedher teeth. The man next to her was even older and shorter than her, a bald spot on thecrown of his head and thick glasses resting half way down the bridge of his nose. Roger