Roxanne's No Floozy

Roxanne's No Floozy
by Mark Plimsoll

        Roxanne seemed happy enough, though she thought he took way too much time cleaning it. "Roll a joint, I don't care if there's a seed or two in it."
        "I hate it when they get hot and blow up, sometimes they spray coals all over the place, and it always tastes like burning a bug. The seeds have too much protein."
        "I need to smoke a joint. Roll one."
        "It's not like these are leaves. We'll be smoking mostly seed casings."
        After they smoked, she wanted to go out and dance. "It's Christmas time, time to celebrate. I don't care where we go, but let's go out somewhere."
        As León drove around the cow town of De Laguna, he got Roxanne to laugh about the giant Pickup trucks, all cleaned and polished shiny, driven by self-described Cowboys, although the landed aristocracy in the area devoted their land to sheep, yet no one ever mentioned it much, or dared to call each other Sheepboys.
        "Hey Roxanne, you know many of the Landed Aristocracy around De Laguna?"
        "I guess I've partied with just about everyone. I'm sure. Why?"
        "How do they dress?"
        "Like everyone, I guess, what do you mean, How do they dress? You think they're different from everybody else?"
        "No, but they do, and they have a dress code so they can tell who they are. That's what separates the socio-economic classes."
        "Socio-economic so-and-so. People are people."
        "Well around here, if you go to the bank in the afternoon, you'll see these old duffers in Stetsons and brand-new unwashed over-starched Blue Jeans ironed with a deep crease down the middle front, hung out over cowboy boots that may be made of reptile or snake, but Ostrich is a little too trendy for them."

        She stood out in the parking lot, screaming at him, "I'm not a floozy. Don't you ever think that I'm a floozy, buster. You can get the hell out of here. I don't need you. I can get a cab to take me home."
        "You want money for a cab?"       
        "I don't need anything from you. I've got friends, I can ask Bernie for money to get a cab. Maybe somebody will walk in that will want to give me a rid home."
        "I can give you a ride home if you want."
        "Oh no, you've got too many more important things to do. Hey before I forget, let me get my medicine out of that car of yours I almost blew up."
        "OK. What do you mean, you almost blew up?"
        "When you took me over to Mexico, I thought about blowing up your car, you know, coming over to your place when you were off biking somewhere, and blowing up your car because you wouldn't take me back to the USA."
        "Oh, is that all. I thought maybe you drove it once and I forgot."
        She took snatched the medicine from out of his hand and strutted across the dark asphalt back towards the bar.
        "Roxanne, I can give you a ride if you want."
        She ignored him, and walked up onto the sidewalk
        He watched her as he opened the passenger door of his car.
        She walked away and entered the bar.
        He got in his car, started it up, looked at the door of the bar, then drove his car over to the door of the bar. There, he waited a bit.
        A moment of truth; his next decision could shape the new year to come, or even farther into the future. He thought about going into the bar and asking if she would like him to drive her home, to do that in front of all her bar friends and risk public ridicule.
        Or he could drive off now and hope she never called him again.
       
        Inside the bar, Bernie flips the big white dishrag before he wipes the inside of a beer mug, and notices Roxanne's face quiver as she chews her lip. "Hey Roxanne, something wrong? Who was that?"
        "Nobody. Just a lousy fuck. Forgetaboutit, OK?"