Peaches

their drinks, he waved off their money. He placed the drinks next to the ancient yellow phone sitting on the bar in front of them.
    “Compliments of the guys across the bar.”
    They all peered across the way. Two men, they had to be in their late twenties at least, with huge bushy beards and beer guts, waved at them with their fingers, smiling. They each wore a big squared-off cap. One said I Brake for …. And then it had a picture of a beaver. The other just said Destin, Florida.
    “Ew,” Leeda whispered.
    “There you go, Birdie,” Murphy said, whipping out a cigarette. “We’re gonna get you kissed good and proper.” Leeda took a desperate swig of her drink.
    “I just love crazy people like this,” Murphy said. “Jack Kerouac people. Mad to live, mad to die, that kind of thing. My mom met my dad here. He used to work here as a bartender.”
    Birdie thought Murphy said it with a certain air of BS, but she nodded and sucked her drink through the tiny red straw.
    By the time they finished their first round, the band had launched into a David Allen Coe song and Murphy jumped up to dance, pulling Birdie and Leeda with her. She looked funnyin her Mick Jagger T-shirt, grooving to country. It seemed to Leeda like Murphy would have danced to just about anything, she had so much energy. When they came back to the bar again a few songs later, both Birdie and Murphy were covered in sweat. Leeda was still cool as a cucumber because she’d danced stiffly and slowly, sipping her sloe gin.
    As the girls waited for more drinks, the phone next to Murphy rang and Murphy picked it up. “Hello? I don’t know. Hold on.”
    Murphy stood up on tiptoes. “Don Martin?” she yelled as Leeda and Birdie watched in awe.
    Nobody answered. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think he’s here.” Pause. “This is Murphy.” Pause. “Okay, if I see him, I’ll tell him.” Murphy hung up and looked at the girls and shrugged. They all cracked up.
    “Would you girls care to dance?”
    The two men from earlier were standing behind them and looming above them.
    “Leeda and Birdie would,” Murphy said, pushing Birdie forward into the arms of the guy with the beaver hat. She shoved her drink into Murphy’s hand as she was dragged away.
    They jostled out onto the dance floor. Leeda danced stiffly at first. But then the guy started dipping her and showing her all these two-step moves, and as she seemed to relax, she started to dance fabulously. She seemed to have an innate sense of rhythm and her body moved like a bird. Birdie watched her smile melt from tight and polite to genuine.
    Birdie smiled too. Leeda and Murphy were both dazzling. For the moment, being here with them made her feel happybeing Birdie, and not so stuck inside herself like a pea in a pod. She forgot to think about the orchard completely, which was a miracle. The weight of its problems slid off her shoulders to the rhythm of the music.
    Even being here with…“What’s your name?” Birdie asked.
    “Saddle Tramp,” the guy answered, grinning at her through his beard. “That’s what everybody calls me. It’s my CB handle.”
    Even being here with Saddle Tramp made her feel bolder. Or maybe it was the whiskey.
    Birdie could see Murphy on the sidelines, watching them both proudly, like an evangelist staring at her converts. Birdie felt a wave of affection for her. And Leeda too.
    She was so engrossed in the feeling that she didn’t see Saddle Tramp’s puffy, hair-ringed lips making a beeline for hers until it was too late.

    Out in the parking lot the air—normally hot but cool compared to the temperature inside the bar—carried their voices into the empty lot. Murphy reveled in the feeling of sweat cooling on her body. It wasn’t often she felt sated.
    “What time is it?” Leeda asked, swiping her hair from where it was stuck across her forehead.
    “Damn, it’s nearly three,” Murphy said, looking at her wrist.
    “My dad’ll be up in two hours,” Birdie said gleefully, a happily scandalized look on her face. God, Murphy couldn’t remember ever being as innocent as Birdie. When Birdie had been kissed by the trucker out on the dance floor, she’d frozen like a statue for a moment, then darted away as fast as she could. Now she was absolutely giddy.
    About half an hour ago Leeda had stumbled into some guy holding a pitcher and now it was all down the front of her flimsy turquoise tank top on her white tennis skirt. She plucked at her clothes,