Last Set at the Pressure Drop

by Bart Becker
© 2001

he Pressure Drop was hot, hot, hot. Cuban music, barbecue, Red Stripe Beer, lime slices, rubber flip flops, day-glo summer undershirts: by the time you made your way across the sweaty room, there's no telling what might be sticking to you. The room was packed hip-on-hip with sweet-tempered hillbillies and the tape came on Best of Don Cornelius Soul Train, Earth Wind & Fire, Teddy Pendergrass, and KC's "That's the way, uh-huh, uh-huh, I like it.'' That ended and the stereo cranked in with the Clash's "London Calling.'' People were feeling so good that a bunch of women went out on the porch to shoot off their guns at the moon. Back on the patio, the only glow was a string of Tiki-god lights and ripples of heat lightning way out across the prairie. A big argument started up inside. When it died down, somebody cut the main lights in there and Nat King Cole came on the box singing "Mona Lisa.'' What a night to fall in love.

 

Guy Shot at Him,
Got Me Right Here

 

t was on a Sunday afternoon at the Pressure Drop. Band was playing 'Messin' With the Kid,' fight break out. Everybody was running, I ran, too. Guy shot at him, got me right there.''

"Jesus Christ!''

"Bust that big leg bone. Laid me up for about six months, then on crutches. I ain't doing too bad now. Leg give out now and then.''

 

 

his all started right around Easter with a song I couldn't get out of my head--"Casanova'' by LeVert. I was sitting on a green park bench singing it when he sat down next to me and struck up a conversation so familiar you would have thought we knew each other from kindergarden. It couldn't have been even five minutes before he turned and said, "Hey, Sweet, knock me a kiss.'' After that we just kept on going. I can't help it if I'm lucky.

 

 

he Pressure Drop on a weeknight. I think you get the point. I said, "To you, my name is Lou,'' then somebody yelled, "Peachy, you're on your own, I'm going home."

He said, "Lou, what time you leave this gig?''

I straightened up his drink and my red wig, fixed my makeup. He stared in the mirror. I said, "What makes you think I'm working here?''

Black mesh stockings, crooked at the seam, he said I looked like I was 17 and ready to go steady; a yo-yo queen if he ever seen one. A stir of rain and snow was in the air. Radio played '50s r&b, he had one hand on the wheel and one on me.

"Too bad a ride like this can't last,'' he said to me sadly. Took a curve a little fast. Givin' it up to Daddy.