What a day.  The first full day the blog went live it received nearly 900 views. A bunch of people subscribed, and the Captain My Captain mugs were flying off the shelf.  I don’t know what any of that means, for sure.  It’s kinda like the time Gullwing ate a whole bowl full of Okra gumbo Buttercup had made for dinner and had sitting on the kitchen counter.  It was so slippery and went down so fast, he wasn’t really sure whether it had been worth the risk or not.

I’m going to take it as a win, just like he did.

Truth be told, it went so well that Buttercup and I skipped over to the Lucky Lady for a little celebration.  Pretty good sized crowd, even for a Saturday.  Turns out a rumor had spread around Fort Stockton that Taylor Swift was actually going to sneak into town and do a set at the Lucky Lady.  Stranger things have happened.  By the time Trixie over at the Klip-N-Die got ahold of it, it was being sold as fact rather than rumor.  Later that day Chad reported a run on mascara, hair spray, and Maybelline  red lipstick over at the Piggly Wiggly, proving it was going to be a big night in town, for some people anyway.

All that to say, when I got back from the Rex Hall Drug with Gullwing’s oral ointment and saw Buttercup dressed to the nines and all made up, it completely caught me off guard.  “You know Taylor Swift’s not really going to be at the Lucky Lady tonight, right?”  The question was met with silence.  Of course that happens a lot when you’ve been married 44 years.  Sometimes because it’s just not worth the effort.  But more often, it’s because you really just don’t hear each other.  Assuming it was the latter rather than the former, I started again.  “You know Taylor . . .”

“Of course she’s not.  When was the last time I ever believed anything Trixie said?”  She replied.  “This is for you.  I wouldn’t put on lipstick for Taylor Swift, even if she was coming to Fort Stockton.  It’s your big night.” 

I was speechless.  “Now, go spread some of that ointment on Gullwing’s gums and get ready.  I’ll lay out your best 501’s and the Our Lady of Immeasurable Concern Athletic Dept. T-shirt you only wear for special occasions.  The one you had on when we first met in History class 46 years ago.”  The woman has a way.  The only thing that broke the spell of that moment was Gullwing coming up beside me and licking my hand.  God, the smell.

Anyway, the crowd was big.  Several of them were tanked up pretty well by the time we even made our late entry.  Chad and Prudence were there at a table for four with Lucinda and some guy none of us had ever seen before.  Seemed to be a handsome gent, obviously well-heeled.  Lucinda does not troll for bottom feeders in the Sea of Love.

Trixie and her sixth husband were on the dance floor.  He’s not from Fort Stockton.  If he was, he’d know that the number six was not going to be lucky for him.  Rex Hall and his wife were tucked into the corner booth staring into each other’s eyes like they were the only ones in the whole room, indicating the shipment of Viagra that had been delayed due to the train derailment outside Odessa had finally come in.

Pastor and Mrs. Peterson were in a booth with Sister Thelma and a college friend of hers in town visiting for the weekend.  He seemed nice enough, though I couldn’t get a sense for whether he was Catholic or not.

Lots of guys from Bring a Trailer.  It was almost like a morning at the Grounds for Divorce, but they were dressed up more than usual.  Seemed to be on their best behavior, probably because they had their wives with them.  Several of the wives were asking their husbands to point out which one Lucinda was.  I saw them pointing towards Trixie, instead of Lucinda.  Just covering their bases, I suppose.

Harold, behind the bar, rang the bell for some type of an announcement.  “I know some of you may be here for Taylor Swift.  We all know that ain’t happening,” he said.  There was only one or two groans in the crowd, surprisingly.  “The real reason we’re here is to offer a toast to the Captain and his new blog!”  

A roar went up from the crowd.  A few applause.  In the excitement, Hairless dropped his margarita right down the front of Lucinda’s shirt.  It was embarrassing for both of them.  I thanked the assembled crowd, then went over to Lucinda’s table and talked with her date, so she could go to the ladies room and clean up.  We shook hands and then he smelled his, indicating Gullwing had not been completely washed off before I left the house.  Interestingly, he asked me what I drove.  

“An Edsel Bermuda.  1958,” I told him.  “It’s the turquoise and white one out front.  The 9-passenger model, not the more common 6-passenger.  Only made 779 of ‘em, so they’re pretty exclusive.  Never see one any more.”  I was doing my best not to gloat, but it was hard.  “You?”

“A 2006 Ford GT.  One of 2,011 built for the model year,” he said.  I hoped he wouldn’t see the smirk bust out on my face at the thought of 2,011 being ‘exclusive’.  Not like a 9-passenger Bermuda.  But, I felt sure it was probably a nice car, nonetheless.  “One of only 541 finished in Tungsten Grey.”  My smile faded very slightly.  “One of only 22 ‘Side Stripe Only’ produced in the world that year,” he finished.  The Bald Bomber was doing all he could to hold in a belly laugh.

My first thought was to ask him if he had a blog.  Then I thought that all the way through.  “I’m sure it’s lovely,” I said.  “Love to see it some time.”  

I wanted to ask him why his hand smelled like death, but before I could, he said, “It’s right out front.  Hardly ever drive it, but wanted to impress Lucinda, so I added a few more miles to the 4,600 it already has.”  I couldn’t very well say no.  Figured I’d show off the Bermuda while we were out there.  A Ford product that had stood the test of time, not some flash-in-the-pan.

We headed for the door, a small crowd gathering as we made our way through the Lucky Lady.  Like they’d never seen a 1-of-22 car before.

As the growing crowd walked out the front door, there appeared in the sky a bright light, almost like the sun, but traveling at a high rate of speed over the horizon, getting closer.  And closer.  Brother Bob ran out of the bar with a drink in his hand, shouting something about the end of times, then back in for a to-go cup.  Lucinda calmly put her sunglasses on and watched the object trek through the sky.  Several ran over to the Piggly Wiggly for cover as the object drew closer.

And then, in what was surely one of the most bizarre events to take place in Fort Stockton since Mayor Goodman was reelected, the glowing red object with an orange tail of fire crashed to earth right on top of the Ford GT, crushing it as well as a pickup truck or three parked near by.  “Guess there’s only 21, now,” I said, attempting to lighten the mood.

Turns out it was debris from the atmosphere as a result of the Space X rocket launch failure over in Brownsville.   “That Elon Musk is doing more damage to Fort Stockton than he is to the auto industry,” Pastor Peterson said, walking back inside to get the missus.

Rex Hall and his wife hurried out the front door towards their Buick, glad it wasn’t caught in the chaos.  “Only got an hour!” he said.  “See you at the Grounds for Divorce on Monday!”

Tears were streaming down the owner’s face.  Lucinda put her arm around him and pulled him close.  “Don’t worry about it.  It was insured.  We’ll take the Jeep to my place so you can call your agent.  I’ll give you something else to think about.”  She took him by the hand and lead him towards her turquoise Gladiator as he smelled his other hand one more time and looked back at me.

I just nodded.  Thought to myself, 1-of-779 looks pretty good again.  At least here in Fort Stockton.