Friends in Low Places
Rodeos bar was especially crowded. It was all hardwood and dimly lit like an Old West ranch house. The walls were decorated with saddles, serapes, mounted longhorns, cowboy hats, lassos, pictures of cowboys corralling livestock and riding the open range. Waitresses in Daisy Duke shorts and cowboys boots floated through the crowd, flirting for their tips.
Alan leaned his back against the bar, ogling a busty blonde waitress in pigtails. "Now I understand why you wanted to come here Denny."
Denny cut his eyes at her lasciviously. "Think I'll come here more often. Be right back." He followed her, disappearing into the crowd.
Miranda moved close to Alan, looking in the same direction. "Hm. I wasn't aware that buxom blondes were your type, Alan."
He sipped his beer and turned slowly to her, sliding one arm along the counter behind her. "Most women are my type."
"Noted," she said. "However, I really thought you would have preferred her." Miranda pointed to a leggy waitress with long dark hair, olive skin and dark eyes.
"Well now that you mention it. I think you're right." He spoke to her as he studied the waitress. "You have impeccable taste." He toyed absently with the ends of Miranda's hair.
She leaned closer and said, "I'd really like to hear all about it later."
"About what?"
"About the little fantasy you've already begun to concoct."
He chuckled and looked down into her face. "In full detail." He trailed his fingers down to the small of her back. "Tell me, do you have a pair of shorts like that?"
Denny interrupted, "I'm glad you two decided to come with me." He leaned on the bar, getting the bartender's attention.
"So how did you make out?"
"Got her number."
Alan looked at Denny clearly impressed.
"Where's Joan?" Miranda asked pointedly.
"She's visiting with her sister or something."
"Wouldn't she have a problem with you getting waitresses phone numbers?"
"Joan and I have an understanding; besides, this number…" He patted his pocket. "Is only for back up—just in case."
Alan turned to Miranda. "Do we have one of those understandings?" He asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Yes. I understand that you're a rascal and you understand that I tolerate your rascally ways only with me."
He laughed. "Touché."
The bartender handed Denny a beer.
"Now…let's find that bull." Denny said, heading in the direction of the mechanical bull room.
"Denny," Alan said, grabbing Denny's arm. "I don't think this is a good idea. You just got clearance from your doctor on the concussion you had back in February."
"Don't be such a girl." Denny grumbled, pulling his arm away. "Sometimes you got to take life by the balls." He clenched his hands in fists.
Miranda said, "You mean by the horns?"
"Not in this case."
Alan and Miranda laughed.
Each with beer in hand, they navigated the crowd toward the mechanical bull room.
"It's just that I would really hate for something to happen, Denny," Alan continued.
"There's plenty of padding, Alan," Miranda added. "I think he'll be okay."
"You're supposed to be helping me not encouraging him."
She shrugged, sipping from her bottle.
"Besides," Alan said, turning to face her, his eyes floating lustily over her body, "I'm much more interested in seeing you ride the bull."
She smiled and winked.
They leaned on the wooden fence surrounding the bull ring and watched someone fall to the ground.
The moderator announced, "Three seconds." The crowd jeered as the man stood up shaking his head.
They watched the next person get on and soon get tossed to the mat.
Alan said to Denny, "Looks tough. You sure you're up for this?"
"Of course. I've been up since I spoke to that waitress." He adjusted his cowboy hat,
"I bet I stay on longer than that guy."
Alan turned to his other side where Miranda stood. "Are you going to do this?"
"Sure, why not?"
"Really?" His interest was piqued.
She nodded.
"How long do you think you'd last?"
"At least 10 seconds—on medium speed."
He scoffed.
"Do you doubt me Alan Shore?"
"How on earth do you know how to ride a mechanical bull?"
"You act like my life began when I met you."
"Didn't it?" He smiled. "So," he added, leaning on the rail. "Care to make it interesting?"
"I'll bet you fifty bucks."
"Money's boring." He rolled his eyes.
"Then what would you like to bet?" she said, a challenging twinkle in her eye.
Denny said, "Hey what are you two talking about?"
Alan stood and said to Denny. "Miranda is betting me that she can stay on the bull for at least 10 seconds on medium speed."
"Oooh. I'd like to see that," Denny said. "What's the bet?"
"We're deciding the terms now."
Denny said, "I want in on this for ten thousand."
Alan's eyes widened, surprised. "Very well. We'll give it to the children's hospital charity thing we're going to next week."
"Fine. I don't care what you do with the money."
"Okay," Alan said. "Are you betting on her or the bull?"
"Let me ask you a question," he said seriously. "Does she have strong thighs?"
Alan shook his head. "Denny that's inappropriate."
"No it's not. The stronger her thighs, the better chance she has of staying on the bull. If five is the strongest, how would you rate her?"
"How do you determine the strength of a 5?" Alan asked.
"Can she crack walnuts with her thighs?"
Miranda laughed.
Alan looked at her thighs and thought about it for a second. "I'd say about a 2.5, at best a 3."
"Ooooooh." Denny said hungrily. "I'm betting on her."
Alan said, "No way."
"So, what are your terms, Alan?" She said, hand on her hip.
"Your bet. Your terms."
"Okay. If I win," she put her finger to her chin and looked up, thinking. "You take me to Paris for a week."
Alan looked at her puzzled. "I don't think you understand how this works. The goal is to humiliate and shame your opponent."
"That may be the way you operate, Alan Shore, but when I bet, my terms are based on something I really want—and I want to go to Paris. My French is getting rusty and I need to brush up."
He rolled his eyes. "But don't you understand; that's not a punishment for me. The point is to punish."
She shrugged. "It's what I want." She took a drink of her beer.
"Fine," he said, shaking his head. Then he added, "What if I win?"
"Name your terms. I don't care."
"That's your first mistake." He looked her up and down then said, "The French maid's costume. You have to wear it to work all day on Monday, with those stiletto heels I like."
She rolled her eyes. "Too easy."
"That's what you think," he smirked. "If Shirley sees you…" he chuckled, sipping his beer.
"I can avoid her."
Alan smiled, knowingly. "That's what you think," he said warningly. He thought for a moment and said, "On top of it you have to speak French all day." He ran his finger over the back of her hand resting on the rail. "I do so love to hear you speak French."
"All day?"
"Those are my terms—and you can't cover up the costume either."
"Fine. As long as you keep Shirley from firing me."
"Agreed."
She ripped pieces of the neck label off her bottle. "What is it about seeing people in costumes that you enjoy so much?"
"Costumes are whimsical. We can step out of reality for awhile. And there's nothing more fun than seeing some ultra conservative, straight-laced prig dressed up in something silly."
"Like Brad Chase a few months ago?"
"Exactly," he chuckled. "Which reminds me: in a couple of months, I will have another bet to claim from him."
"Yea, but I'm not an ultra conservative prig, so what's the big deal?"
"No, you're not." He moved closer touching her belly with his finger. "But there's so much fun in it for me if I win."
"To be such a complicated man, you sure are easy to entertain."
He chuckled. "One of my many contradictions."
"All right," Denny said, slapping Alan on the back. "Here I go!" He entered the ring, hands in air, cheering himself on.
"Denny!" Alan called after him.
Miranda clapped and cheered for Denny.
Alan said, "He should not do this." His face was tense, anxious.
She nudged him. "He's watching us. At least cheer for him."
Alan clapped, half-heartedly.
"What's your name, partner?" The moderator said into the microphone.
"Denny Crane," Denny said proudly.
"The Denny Crane?" The moderator pushed his black cowboy hat off his forehead.
"That's right."
"We've got a homegrown celebrity tonight folks!" The moderator patted Denny's back. "A legal bull pitted against the mechanical bull!"
"But I can do a lot more damage," Denny said, chuckling.
"We have no doubt of that. Everyone hold on to your wallets." The moderator chuckled then he patted the saddle. "Climb on up here, Denny."
Denny sat astride the bull.
The bull rocked back and forth and side to side slowly, and soon pitched Denny to the mats below.
Alan watched tensely.
The crowd moaned sympathetically, then applauded for Denny as he scrambled to his feet and exited the ring. Alan exhaled, relieved.
The moderator grabbed the microphone to rustle up some new riders.
Denny made his way back to Alan and Miranda and stood between them, putting his arms around them. "Did you see that?"
"We did," Alan smiled at him. "Did you have fun?"
"I did. Wish I could've stayed on longer."
"You were great," Miranda said. "Looked like a real cowboy."
"Is that so?" he said. Denny waved his hand over Miranda's head to get the moderator's attention; he pointed at her while she was distracted with Alan.
The moderator said, "Well, ladies and gentleman, it appears we might have another victim…I mean, uh, rider."
Denny patted Miranda on the back and said, "Ride 'em cowboy!"
"You don't have to do this, Miranda," Alan said.
"I'll do it." She took a swig of beer.
Alan said, "You know I hate to lose a bet."
"Me too," she said, her eyes glinting playfully. She handed her beer to Alan. "Hold this for me?"
"Certainly."
Miranda climbed the wooden fence and jumped into the ring.
The moderator called out, "Here we go folks. We've got a pretty little daisy to ride this bull. We don't get enough of these, do we fellas?"
The crowd applauded. Some men in the crowd hooted and whistled.
The moderator leaned in with the mic and said, "What's your name darlin'?
"Miranda."
"All right. Let's give Miranda a big hand folks. Saddle up, sweetheart."
Miranda put her foot in the stirrup and swung her leg over the back of the bull. She put the glove on her hand and held on to the saddle bar.
The moderator asked, "What speed you want?" He held the microphone up to her.
She said, "Medium speed."
"How long you think you'll last?"
"Ten seconds."
"Whoa," he laughed. "Watch out boys. We got a spirited filly on our hands here." Some men whistled and shouted at her.
She took the hat off the moderator's head and put it on her own.
The bull started up and bucked back and forth, swinging and tossing Miranda. Alan tilted his head to the side, watching the way her body moved in rhythm with the bull.
Denny stared with his mouth open. He muttered, "You lucky bastard."
Soon she was tossed from the animal and landed on her back on the mat. She jumped up and asked the moderator her time.
"9 seconds, darling. Let's give Miranda a hand folks!" The crowd applauded.
She handed the hat back to the moderator.
"You come back anytime, sweetheart," he said. "We do love to see the ladies ride the bull, don't we fellas?"
The men in the crowd cheered loudly.
Miranda walked back over to where Alan and Denny stood and climbed over the fence, jumping to the floor.
Denny said, "You know, if you ever want to practice your bull riding skills, I'm more than happy to assist."
Alan nudged in front of him. "I believe we have a wager to settle," he smugly. Denny inched his way around to Alan's other side.
She rolled her eyes and sipped her beer. "One second! I lost by one lousy second!"
"One glorious second." Alan said, "You'll look adorable in the maid's costume. I simply can't wait for Monday." He turned suddenly and said, "Oh, I think I forgot to mention that on Monday Shirley and the other most senior partners will be schmoozing with a new client. I hear he's extremely wealthy and extremely conservative. He needs someone to handle his anti-trust work and it's my understanding he could potentially bring millions into Crane, Poole and Schmidt."
Miranda's jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me?"
"I'm not. I told you your first mistake was to so quickly dismiss the terms of the bet. But then the bet wouldn't have been near as fun if there weren't something more at stake."
"You set me up."
He chuckled. "I did."
Miranda was speechless.
Denny said, "I like this place. Let's go to the karaoke lounge in the next room." Denny pushed through the crowd, leading the way.
"I like this place too," Alan said. "I'm just having a wonderful time."
Miranda glared at him and playfully shoved him in the back as he filed in behind Denny.
Once in the karaoke bar, Denny sang "To All the Girls I've Loved Before." Alan and Miranda beamed like proud parents as they watched him, Miranda recording it with her iPhone. When Denny tried to convince Alan to come up and sing a song, Alan adamantly refused; so Denny turned to Miranda. Having had a few drinks, she didn't need much coaxing. She sang "Walking after Midnight."
As she was about to leave the stage, Denny charged back up and said, "Sing a duet with me." They broke into a half drunk rendition of "I Got Friends in Low Places" and the entire lounge sang along with them.
Alan smiled up at Denny and Miranda. When they finished the song, he gave them a standing ovation, laughing and clapping.
They returned to the table and the three of them sat chatting and drinking. When Alan's cell phone vibrated, he retrieved it from his jeans pocket. He looked at the screen then leaned in toward Denny and Miranda and said, "It's Shirley…about our case. I'll be right back."
Miranda reached up and touched his arm. "Denny and I might be in the pool room, if I can talk him into a game."
Alan nodded and headed toward the exit. Denny eagerly accepted Miranda's pool invitation.
Denny racked the balls. "Ladies first," he said.
Miranda leaned over the table with her pool cue and slammed the cue ball into the others; balls rolled and spread over the table, one dropping in the corner pocket.
"Looks like I'm stripes," she said.
Denny chalked his cue stick and leaned over the table. He quickly jerked the stick back and accidentally thumped the rear end of a large, hulking man behind him.
The man stood straight and said, "Hey old timer, watch where you put your stick."
"Old timer? Who are you calling old timer?"
"I'm calling you old timer," the man said, poking Denny in the chest.
Denny said, poking the man in return, "That's not what your girlfriend said last night and she didn't care where I put my stick."
The man shoved Denny. "Is that so?"
Miranda stepped up beside them and put her hand on the man's arm. "C'mon guys. Let's not do this. It was an accident." She said to the man, "Denny is sorry."
Denny said, angrily, "No I'm not!"
"Look," Miranda said, "We've all been drinking. Let's just calm down and try to have a good time."
The man said, threateningly, "You'd better tell your bitch to back off."
"How very clever and original of you," Miranda said, hand on hip, stepping between the two men. She put her hand on the man's chest. "Perhaps you can do this alpha male act some other time."
"Huh?"
She looked up at him innocently. "We don't really want to cause a scene, now do we? We've said we're sorry and we'll watch what we're doing from now on." She could see him soften a little.
Across the pool table, against the wall, the man's girlfriend paused her conversation to watch the scene unfold. When she saw Miranda put her hand on her boyfriend's chest, she stormed over.
She now stepped between her boyfriend and Miranda. She wore her makeup three inches thick. "What the hell! You'd better back up bitch."
"You two must read the same books," Miranda said.
"You'd better keep your hands off my man."
"So personal space is a big issue?"
The woman moved increasingly closer to Miranda's face, yelling and screaming.
Miranda said, "You really don't want to do that." Her eyes sparked with anger.
"Oh! Why? You think you handle this? I will stomp you." The girl shoved Miranda's shoulders. "C'mon!"
Miranda inhaled deeply then turned to Denny. "C'mon, Denny. Let's go back to the karaoke bar."
This time, the woman shoved Miranda's back, causing her to stumble against Denny; he caught her.
Miranda looked over her shoulder and smiled menacingly. "Thank you; that's all I needed."
She grabbed a beer bottle off the table beside her, spun, and slammed it into the side of the woman's head. The bottle shattered and the woman screamed, grabbing her
head. She staggered and fell back onto the ground.
"If you're smart, you'll stay down there," Miranda said, tossing the broken bottle onto the table. She started to turn and walk away, but the woman jumped up and charged her. The fight now began in earnest, each woman punching, kicking, scratching.
The man pushed Denny. "You'd better call off your girl off."
"I said, don't shove me!" Denny said, pulling a gun from under his brushed leather vest.
Someone screamed, "He's got a gun!"
Several people fled the scene, turning over chairs and tables, glasses and bottles crashing to the floor. Everyone else froze.
The man stepped back, throwing his hands up defensively. "All right. All right. Be cool man. Be cool."
Denny shot the gun up in the air. One of the lights over the pool table fell half way onto the table, ripping the felt; the other half hung precariously from the ceiling.
Denny looked at the pistol. "Damn! Wrong gun," he muttered. He turned, the gun pointing loosely in the man's direction. "Thought I had my paintball pistol."
"Don't shoot me, man. Don't shoot. Will you get your girl off my girl?"
"She's not my girl. And I may have mad cow, but I'm not crazy enough to get in the middle of that cat fight."
The women were now on the ground. Miranda straddled her opponent and threw as many punches as she could get in before the woman kicked her off.
Alan approached carrying three beer bottles. He walked up to Denny, "What's going on?"
He peered over Denny's shoulder and saw Miranda scrambling on the floor with the other woman. He froze in shock.
Denny said, tucking his gun into the waistband of his jeans. He removed a cigar from his pocket. "She's a hellcat." He lit his cigar. "You lucky bastard." He chuckled.
"Denny!" Alan exclaimed. "We can't allow this…" Pushing past Denny to attempt to break up the fight.
Denny grabbed his arm and said, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
"We've got to do something," Alan said.
"She's doing fine." Denny took a drag from his cigar. "I bet you a steak dinner," Denny said, "Miranda wins."
Alan stood dumbfounded. "You're on," he said distantly. Then he broke from his reverie and said, "Wait a minute. I can't bet against my girlfriend."
"Too late. I've already called it."
The girls staggered to their feet and Miranda grabbed a cue stick off of a nearby table and cracked it against the woman's back. The girl screamed.
Alan and Denny winced and sucked in their breath.
"Oooh!" Denny said. "That had to hurt."
Alan nodded.
The police burst in and surrounded the scene. They pulled the girls apart, arms and legs kicking and flailing.
"Damn," Denny said. "The cops ruin all the fun."
A couple of policemen grabbed Denny and disarmed him. He said, "What took you guys so long? Must be a busy night." He handed his cigar to Alan.
The policemen carried off Miranda and the other girl, both kicking and screaming, still trying to get at each other.
Another policeman shoved at Denny.
Denny said, "Hey! Touch me like that again and you'd better ask me for a date."
Alan said, "I'll meet you at the station," as Denny and the women were carted out the door. Alan handed off the beers to a small table of people. "Here, I no longer need these."
Alan followed the officer back to the holding cell. Denny and Miranda were sitting on the bench, playing cards.
"Hey! You're cheating," Denny cried.
"No I'm not." Miranda held a handkerchief to her cheek.
"You had a pair last hand and now a flush. No one's that lucky."
"You dealt both hands, Denny. You've only got yourself to blame."
Alan indicated he would like to go in and the officer slide the door open.
Upon hearing the door, Denny and Miranda looked up.
"Hey!" she said.
Alan pulled a chair up in front of them, clearly perturbed. He crossed one leg over the other. "So…what happened?"
Denny pointed at Miranda with his thumb. "She cheats."
"I did not cheat."
"Not with the cards," Alan said impatiently. "At the bar."
Denny shook his head. "I'm not sure." He tapped his head with his forefinger. "Mad cow."
"I'm astounded," Alan said, quietly, "How I can leave the two of you alone for all of seven minutes and within that brief time you manage to cause thousands of dollars in property damage, an additional hundreds of dollars in medical expenses, and get arrested."
"It wasn't our fault," Miranda said, her hair still disheveled from the fight and a set of scratches down one side of her face. She looked up at him with large, blue eyes.
"And you can drop the innocent eyes, Miranda. I long ago discovered your innocence is little more than a ruse you employ to handle me."
She rolled her eyes. "Interesting you should say that because as it turns out, I am, in fact, innocent and I'm not attempting to handle you."
"Innocent? That's not what it looked like from where I stood. From my vantage point I saw you astride another woman—which I admit is rather like many a fantasy I've entertained, except for the blood and flying fists of fury."
She choked back a laugh.
"I am not amused."
"It's not funny, I know."
"It's not," Alan said.
"It's just the alliteration at the end: 'flying fists of fury." She suppressed a smile.
"Miranda, I want to know what happened."
"There's not much to tell," Miranda said shrugging.
"Humor me."
She said, "It really wasn't our fault. What you saw was self defense."
"Really?" He said, angry.
"Denny and I were playing pool. Denny accidentally poked the guy with his pool stick and because the guy was drunk, he got all bent out of shape about it. He shoved Denny first, you know."
Alan looked at Denny. "Did he?"
Denny nodded with innocent eyes. "And he called me 'old timer.'"
"Then what?" Alan's eyes slid back to Miranda.
"Then I stepped between them and tried to reason with the guy. I probably would have succeeded if his girlfriend hadn't gotten in the way."
"How did she get involved?"
Miranda shrugged. "I don't know. She had been drinking too so I guess she didn't like me talking to her boyfriend and she misread the whole situation. All I know is she jumped up in my face. I told her to back off and then she shoved me."
Alan looked at Denny. "Is that how it happened?"
Denny nodded. "And Miranda tried to walk away after the first time."
"You did?" Alan seemed to soften a little.
"Yes." She nodded. "She shoved me and I turned to ask Denny to take me back to the karaoke lounge. When my back was turned, she shoved me again—hard enough that I fell into Denny."
"Then you hit her." Alan said matter-of-factly.
Miranda nodded. "When she fell to the ground, I told her to stay down, but she didn't. Instead she charged me. I had to defend myself."
"And what about the gun?"
Miranda shrugged. "I don't know anything about that. All I know is at one point I heard it go off and then heard the light crash to the table."
Alan looked at Denny. "Denny I have repeatedly asked you to leave the guns at home when we go out into public."
"I thought I had my paint pellet pistol. I had the wrong gun."
"Nevertheless."
Miranda crossed her arms over her chest and flopped back against the wall in a huff.
"Do you not even feel any remorse?" Alan glared at her.
"Remorse?" Miranda said angrily. "Are you kidding me? Have we not learned in the past eight years that it's acceptable and preferable to enter into war for the sake of gaining some peace?" she said sarcastically.
"Hey!" Denny said, perking up. "That's Bush-bashing."
Alan said, "What we should have learned is that violence is rarely the answer."
"Even when someone else starts it and you feel compelled to defend yourself?"
"A violence which is only justifiable when met with equitable force. You went above and beyond what was necessary."
"She kept coming at me," Miranda said, angry. "Had she stopped, I would have stopped."
Alan shook his head.
"I reiterate: they started a fight that I finished."
"Stop Bush-bashing!" Denny said.
"Denny, I'm not…" Miranda said.
Alan stood. "I'll see what I can do, but I warn both of you, I may have already cashed in all my favors."
Miranda pouted as Alan left the cell. "He's really angry, isn't he?" she said.
"Ah! I've seen worse," Denny said, waving his hand, "It's nothing like the time I ratted him out about betting on a case. I thought it was over between us that day. Don't worry." He patted her knee. "He's more worried than angry. I promise."
Miranda smiled. She held up the cards. "Play again?"
"You deal," he said. Denny looked up at her. "She got you pretty good didn't she?" He said, pointing at her face.
"She's still in the ER, so I guess I got her better."
Denny laughed. "It was like a bar brawl in one of those old western movies." He thought for a moment. "And it was between two chicks….sexiest thing I've seen since that mud-wrestling event in Tijuana."
Miranda dealt the cards, shaking her head. "I guess I should apologize to Alan for getting arrested again. I told him I would stay out of trouble."
"Apologize?" Denny said. "What for? No need to do that unless you really do make him angry. Trust me. Alan's the sort of guy who gets bored easy, so you got to keep him on his toes, keep him guessing. He likes the…unexpected."
Miranda smiled crookedly. "Are you sure?"
"Look who you're talking to. Do you know how many times he's bailed me out?"
"I'm going to trust you on this. You wouldn't lead me astray would you?"
"Are you kidding? You're my lead paintball sniper."
She discarded a card and he dealt her another. "You know, Denny, forgive me for saying so, but I can't help but notice there are times when you are amazingly lucid."
He looked up at her and pursed his lips. "It's the nature of the mad cow and like I said—you've got to keep people guessing."
Her eyes glittered and she chuckled.
Alan entered the cell again. "There's good news and bad news."
They looked up at him.
"Which do you want first?" He said.
"The good," Denny said.
"I can bail you both out for $200,000."
"$200,000!" Denny exclaimed.
"The bad news is that you have to spend the night in jail."
"What?" Miranda said, jumping to her feet and walking up to Alan.
"It seems the judge is Crowley."
"Uh-oh," Denny said.
"You're kidding." Miranda said.
"I'm not," Alan said, smiling.
"Are you smiling, Alan?" she said.
"No." He straightened his face, shaking his head.
Miranda put her hands on her hips. "Is it really possible that he's going to hold that paintball match against us?"
"It is," Alan said, smiling. "It seems Judge Crowley doesn't like having half his squad, including himself, sniped—especially by a girl…uh, I mean, a woman."
She eyed him suspiciously. "I think you're enjoying this."
"I admit I am—a little…though my typically big, warm bed will be awfully empty and cold tonight."
"Crowley," Denny grumbled, "That numb-nut namby pamby. Ooohhh…I'm going to get him. Just you wait."
"Well, what time are you going to come get us?" Miranda said.
"I've been instructed that I cannot come get you until after Noon."
"What time is it now?"
"2 a.m."
"We have to stay here for another 10 hours?"
"Minimum."
"Can we at least stay together? I don't want to stay in a cell by myself."
"I'll see what I can work out for you."
Alan brushed a strand of hair out of her face, his eyes glancing over her messy hair. He gently touched the scratches on her face. "Does this hurt?" He winced.
"Not near as much as she's hurting right now."
He smiled. "That's my girl."
"It probably won't be healed by Wednesday for the charity ball though. I won't blame you if you want to take someone else."
"I wouldn't dream of it. Scars and all I want you there. After all, we've been banned from that dress shop in order to get the dress for you to wear. We don't want that to be in vain."
She smiled. "That was fun."
"It was."
"Surely we won't be banned forever for a little harmless dressing room action."
"Money has a way of smoothing a lot of things over. Fortunately, I have plenty of it and can therefore ease a great deal of anger—especially among shop owners."
She chuckled.
"I look forward to seeing that dress on you."
"I think I'll wear my cowboy boots with it."
He laughed. "Perfect; it would suit you."
He leaned in and lightly kissed her scratches, then her forehead, then her lips. "Goodnight, Miranda."
"Goodnight."
He patted Denny on the back on the way out. "Take care of each other," he said.
"Don't worry," Denny said.
"I'll bring some breakfast to you two in the morning."
"Bring it early," Denny said. "I'm already hungry."
Alan nodded. "Will do. Goodnight, my friend."
He left the cell, lingering for a moment.
Denny turned to Miranda. "Where were we in our game?"
"I don't remember."
"Let's start over. Do you know how to play Rummy?"
"No."
"I'll teach you," Denny said shuffling the cards.
Alan watched them through the bars, enjoying the sight of his best friend and his best girl playing cards together.
"Well you've certainly got plenty of time to teach me," she said.
Denny chuckled.
Alan smiled to himself and turned away.
Miranda sang lowly to herself, "I got friends in low places, where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases my blues away…"
Then Denny joined in. "But I'll be okay…." He began dealing cards.
They sang together loudly, "I'm not big on social graces, think I'll slip on down to the oasis, cuz I got friends in low places."
Alan left, laughing to himself, listening to the echoes of Denny and Miranda singing behind him.