Bar Stories

By John R. Hodgson

James Trip Bonham, Jr. was born rich. He grew up with his family in the swanky Holmby Hills of California. He went to college and had no idea what he wanted to be. After all, he didnt need to work; he was a trust-fund kid. In college, though, Trip found unexpected direction, and his direction was drinking. He found comfort in the stories of fellow bar flies. He felt at home.

Much to the dismay of his high-class parents, Trip becomes a bartender. He soon goes a step further and buys a bar of his owna dive in the small town of Sunset Beach. He thrives off the stories of his favorite drunks. He finds purpose as a compassionate, listening ear. As a bar owner, Trip arguably drinks too much, but hes not a drunknot yet, at least.

His life could have gone on like this, late nights and hung-over mornings, but then he meets Holly, and things start to change. Holly is a do-gooder, and shes serious about having a positive effect on the world. Trip isnt sure he deserves her, but as his love grows, he realizes he might have to change. He might have to leave the bar and make some stories of his own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491717097

John R. Hodgson

John R. Hodgson grew up in Southern California. He is a Vietnam veteran and served in the US Army as a medic. He entered the Roseburg Police Department in 1975 and retired as Chief of Police in 1998. This is his third book. He is a husband, father, and grandfather in Bend, Oregon.  

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

J ames Bartlett Bonham Jr. never told anyone his real name. When he was a kid, everyone called him Trip. Only his parents called him by his given name—James. It was never Jim or Jimmy or Junior. It was always James. His parents had been formal in his upbringing, and were quite certain that nobody named Jim could be a real Bonham. He couldn’t remember how he came by the name Trip, but he thought it may have come from classmates in grade school saying things like, he’s a trip, and they didn’t mean it in a nice way. He had always been a loner, but he was also a great listener. It wasn’t that he found other people particularly interesting or their stories irresistibly compelling… it was more that he found himself completely boring and hopelessly unable to articulate a funny, or even vaguely interesting, account of virtually anything. So he learned to listen.

It wasn’t that Trip lacked an education. He had attended a private high school, and with the help of tutors, managed to make good grades. His parents insisted he attend the University of Southern California. He didn’t much care where he went, so he agreed. His mother had filled out all the paperwork and dad made a very nice contribution to the general scholarship fund. They both liked to remind him that they had attended Ivy League colleges, but they knew he would never make it at any of them. USC was about as good as it would get for him. Dad wanted him to major in business, maybe work with him someday. Trip majored in History. He remembered his dad confronting him after he’d announced his choice.

Who in the world majors in history, James? Are you going to teach? What else can you do with a history degree?

Trip shrugged his shoulders. He had no answer for his industrialist father. The captain of industry finally gave up his questioning on the subject, but that wasn’t until the end of his freshman year. James Sr. had moved on to more pressing issues than his son’s major.

If you looked at young James Bartlett Bonham, you would never guess this was a person who lived inside himself. He was tall and well built. He had inherited his mother’s good looks and his father’s strong chin and blue eyes. He had a pleasant smile, when he chose to show it, and his dark brown hair completed a package that said he was sure of himself. But on the inside, there was really no one there.

It was during his junior year at USC that he discovered drinking. It began innocently enough, and Trip would have never guessed the impact it would have on his life. One of the few friends he had made at school asked him to go to a bar he’d had heard of in Hollywood. Trip had nothing better to do than watch TV that night, so he decided to go.

Hollywood had never held much interest for him. Trip thought of it as a place for down-and-outers, drug addicts and male prostitutes. It had lost its interest for locals long before Trip was born. Now it was a place where people from Iowa or Kansas thought they might run into a movie star walking down the street. Fat chance, he thought.

The bar was off Sunset and his friend was sure that the hottest babes in the area hung out there. They had arrived at about ten, and the place was just starting to fill up. Trip sat at the bar while his friend walked around surveying the available women. The bartender was a young woman who couldn’t have been much over the legal age of 21. She was blond and had a bored stare that said she was somewhere else. Trip was sure he must convey the same image most of the time. She asked for his ID and then only glanced briefly at it.

So what will it be? she asked after handing him back his driver’s license.

I don’t know, what do you recommend? Trip asked hoping for some conversation.

I make a mean martini, but you look like a shot of tequila and a beer chaser to me.

Trip agreed and she brought a shot of clear liquid with a slice of lemon and a salt shaker. A mug of draft beer followed. He knew there was a ceremony that went along with the shot of tequila, but he wasn’t sure of the order. He had never drunk straight tequila before, so he just stared at the shot glass for a minute, not sure exactly what to do.

The bartender stared at him and finally a smile crossed her face. First lick the space between your thumb and index finger. She quickly licked her own hand then poured some salt on the now wet spot. Like this. She picked up his shot of tequila, licked the salt then downed the drink. She followed this by biting into the wedge of lemon. All in all Trip thought it looked pretty sexy.

Your turn, she said setting up another round. I’m really not supposed to be drinking, but we sneak in a couple once in a while.

Trip followed her example and downed the shot of tequila. His whole body rumbled as he swallowed Mexico’s national drink. After the initial shock to his system, Trip felt pretty good… relaxed, for the first time in a long while. After the second round, he was finding the bartender very attractive. He hadn’t yet noticed the older woman who’d been sitting next to him.

Pardon me, would you please pass the salt? she asked. I think I might try one of those myself.

Trip turned toward the sound of the earthy, low voice. She had to be at least 40, maybe more he imagined, and she was definitely overdressed for this place. The knit suit must have been expensive. Her legs were crossed, showing off what looked like expensive shoes. A simple gold chain hung from her neck, and a diamond and gold Rolex flashed in front of his face, as she reached for the salt. In an old Bogart movie she would have asked him to light her cigarette, he thought. Now days, you couldn’t smoke in bars if you wanted to.

Trip reached quickly for the salt shaker and handed it to her. Her eyes never left his and it made him uncomfortable. She was staring into his brain. Either that or the tequila was really getting to him. Her fingers lingered on his before she slipped the shaker from his hand. In that short second, Trip knew that she was in charge. Even with the tequila, his mouth went dry. He had an instantaneous vision of Mrs. Robinson in The Graduate. He waited for her to talk, but she slid forward in the bar stool and turned to face the bar. The cute bartender scurried over for her order. It was then that Trip realized Mrs. Robinson didn’t really need the salt; she ordered a martini!

She took a couple sips of the clear liquid; Trip watched as she checked her reflection in the bar-length mirror. She quickly glanced over at his reflection and caught his stare. He looked down at his now empty shot of tequila and prayed for the bartender to walk up so he could order another. Why was he feeling so uncomfortable? He already knew the answer. He was attracted to her and she was probably his mother’s age.

Maybe some of the old movie stars still did come down here, because that’s what she looked like. He saw no wrinkles on her face. Maybe Botox, he couldn’t tell. She had large intense brown eyes and, unlike many of his mother’s friends, she had gone light on the make-up. She didn’t need it, he thought. Her body could have rivaled any 20 year old. That made him nervous. He ordered another drink from the bartender and tried to look cool. She turned back towards him as she lifted her drink to her lips. She swallowed and set the drink down on the bar.

I’ve never seen you here before. Did you just discover my little hideout? She asked in the same low, inviting voice.

Trip slid in his barstool towards her. Their knees were almost touching as they faced each other.

It’s my first time. I came here with a friend I go to school with. Trip pushed back his hair which had fallen across his eyes. I’m Trip. He extended his hand towards her, but she didn’t reach out to meet it.

Trip? What kind of a name is that? You’re not some kind of doper are you? She looked at him suspiciously waiting for his answer.

No, it’s a nickname from when I was a little kid. My given name is James, but I prefer Trip.

Umm. She held out her hand. I’m Kim… not short for Kimberly. Just Kim.

Her hand was warm and Trip was sure he must be blushing. He managed a short handshake.

For a moment she looked like she might be getting bored. She pulled down on her skirt bringing the hemline to just above her knee. So school, which one? What are you studying? Again the eyes were focused on him.

I’m at USC, majoring in history.

She nodded and took another sip of her drink. That sounds pretty boring.

Trip sank further down in the barstool. She was getting bored, and why not? He was a listener not a conversationalist.

So what about you, what’s your story? He sat up, hoping he looked completely interested.

Well first, I’m not here to get picked up by some young stud like yourself. She paused. Still interested in talking?

Yes, I like hearing other people’s stories.

CHAPTER 2

T he Chairman of the Board was Avery Simpleton. He had made his money by… inheriting it, and having good business advisors, who had kept him rich. He was conservative by nature and not known as a risk taker when it came to protecting the stockholders in Bonham Industries. Now he was grilling James Bartlett Bonham Sr., president and Chief Executive Officer of the firm that bore his name. His latest proposal was to acquire a new start-up company that produced wind turbines.

Mr. Bonham didn’t like it. At one point he started to straighten his tie and caught himself just as he was about to raise his hand to his neck. He had always thought that move was a sign of being nervous, and being nervous showed weakness. It galled him that he now had to sell his ideas to a Board of Directors. That happened when he sold the company. But it made him a billionaire, and they retained him as the president. Now, however, he had to answer to a bunch of white haired pussies. His son could easily sit on this Board, he thought. He didn’t have white hair, but he was a pussy. None of these contemptible emotions showed on his face. He would never have allowed them the pleasure of seeing him sweat. Instead, he smiled across the table at the Chairman and the other Board Members, thankful he was still the majority stockholder.

Avery, this acquisition will put us on the good guys list of green companies even if our other industries don’t reflect that thinking. And remember, it’s all still contingent upon acquiring the land and permits we’ll need to build the plant in Iowa. I think the State will bend over backwards to get us there, not to mention the tax breaks we’ll get from the Feds.

Simpleton nodded and seemed to be at least trying to see the big picture. Bonham took a sip from the water glass in front of him and eased back in his chair waiting for an answer.

I’d like to talk again with our legal department before we make a decision, James. Simpleton looked around the Board table and noted the other members were nodding in the affirmative. We’ll reconvene tomorrow and give you our answer.

Bonham immediately stood up, looked around the table. Thank you for your time and I’ll see you tomorrow. He left the room and returned to his office. He looked out at the City of Santa Monica and the Pacific Ocean in the distance.

He was 45 years old. He had a mansion in Holmby Hills, a beach house in nearby Malibu, a chateau in the South of France and a personal Gulfstream G550 jet to take him there, or any other place he wanted. He was, after all, a billionaire and he wondered why he ever came to work, where he had to listen to the idiots on the Board. His grandfather had started the company. It initially supplied natural gas to Southern California. The building boom after World War II got the old man into the construction business. By the time his grandfather retired, and his father took over, Bonham Industries was one of the largest independent, privately owned companies on the West Coast. His father had made it even bigger. The initial technology advances in the 80’s had caught his attention. Not only had he invested in what would become the computer industry, he also bought a small cable T.V. company and built it into a national conglomerate before selling it for millions. Grandfather Bonham had left the company in his 50’s to enjoy his money. James Sr. was only 30 years old when he took the reins and he had always hoped that someday James Jr. would take control of the company, finding new and innovative ways to make money. That clearly was not to be. His son had no interest in the business, or money for that matter. No, he was a quiet, introverted young man. He thanked God he was never really a problem child. The truth was that the kid rarely complained about anything and asked for little. Junior just wasn’t motivated in the way that his father and mother had been. Bonham Sr. had attended Harvard as an undergrad and then went on to the business school there for his Masters. His wife, Vanessa, was at Radcliffe when they met during his senior year. They married after he graduated in 1987. James Jr. was born two years later.

The company went public in 2000. The terms of the sale dictated he would remain as the company President. He was 40 then, and he didn’t think that sitting at home listening to his wife talk about the gossip surrounding Holmby Hills or the latest charity event she was hosting, sounded like much of a challenge. The truth was, he admitted there in his office while sipping on a cup of coffee, he liked the adrenaline rush that big business