The heavy-duty soles of leather boots serenaded his entrance into the downtown Dallas joint. There were no pretty women who hastened to escort him to his private table; the only welcome he received was from the black Labrador Retriever aptly christened Jet. He briskly bypassed the elderly animal, who appeared unfazed by the lack of attention shown and returned nonchalantly to his bed beside the pool table.
"J.R.," the sole barman and owner of the establishment apathetically received his arrival. "What can I do for you?" He continued to wipe dry the freshly-cleaned stemware used by earlier clientele while the newest patron appraised the spirits displayed at furthest reach.
"Get me a Bourbon." Jock's was little more than a dive bar yet it stocked the finest liquor in the state of Texas. J.R. smacked his lips in satisfaction. Toasted vanilla, hints of cherry and charred oak warmed his chest. His nails asynchronously drummed the reclaimed pine bartop to the rich, contralto tones of Patsy Cline and he bathed in the yesteryear aesthetic. He tipped his Stetson in salutation to a solitary barfly nearby and cautiously lowered his voice, "Was she here?"
The bartender cast a white dish towel over his shoulder and steadily exhaled a breath of harnessed exasperation, "I'm not on your payroll, J.R.," he observed the nearby habitué with contempt. "Why don't you ask your pitbull?"
"Your boy don't like me very much, J.R.," Bum sneered. "Now that's hurtful. After all, I am one of his best customers." The private eye playfully rattled the empty old fashioned and indicated for a refill.
John Ross retrieved a bottle of Shire Oak from the shelf and conceded a little. "She was here yesterday. She ordered a Vodka, stared at it for hours and walked out. I haven't seen or heard from her since." He appeared to restrain himself, "What did you do this time, J.R.?" If there was any blame for their familial discord, it was this - his fathers faithless endeavours and his mothers eternal weakness. There were only so many second chances he could afford his father until the betrayals became too hard to bear, or too despicable to defend. "Or should I ask who?"
J.R. clenched his jaw. John Ross had inherited his mothers suspicious disposition. "Watch your mouth, boy."
John Ross effortlessly stood a little taller. He hadn't been a boy for some time, certainly not in the several years since he left his childhood home. John Ross had never known true freedom until the day he crossed the threshold of Southfork with only the shirt on his back. "If I hear from her, I'll be sure to let uncle Bobby know," he calmly replied, his remark a spiteful reminder that Bobby had always been the more dependable of the Ewing brothers.
J.R. refrained from a lecture about respect, for their relationship had sunk into the depths of irretrievable despair in recent years. Somewhat placated, he threw back the Bourbon and silently motioned for Bum to exit the premises with him.
In the hours that followed, John Ross called last orders and rallied the final few ramblers from the bar, before he locked up securely and rode home with Jet in an old pick-up truck he had restored. Home was an old loft apartment he rented in the Bishop Arts district, and the elevator ascended with a creak to the ninth floor where he was welcomed by an empty silence. "Mama?" The faint hint of her favourite perfume hung in the air but there was no response as he filled Jet's water bowl. "Here boy."
He wearily climbed the stairs to an open plan bedroom. His mother was on the floor with her back to the foot of the bed and an open album in her lap. She had honed in on one photograph in particular of herself, J.R. and John Ross at a Southfork barbeque. "We were happy once," she fondly surmised. "Weren't we?"
When she peered up at him, her eyes were reddened with sombre despair and her visible heartache twisted his stomach into knots. He had walked away from her, too, the day he left the ranch. It was too hard to sit by and bear witness to his parents' tumultuous dynamic. "Yeah, mama," John Ross hunkered down beside his mother with a small smile of reassurance. "We were."