Short: DB’s Exclusive, West Virginia
(This is a rough draft. When I complete the series, I’ll assemble all the parts into one cohesive story.)
The four of us piled into Jonathan’s white Dodge Ram and wound our way from Tom’s house to downtown Welch. The sun quickly set over the ridge and left clear black sky in its wake. Brad and David continued their pop culture discussion and I gazed out the window. Windows and the creek alike glittered in the moon light, and for a brief moment I forgot where I was.
“Where are we going?” asked David.
“DBs,” said Jonathan.
“Dude. Why?” David shot back.
“Cause it’s West Virginia classy. Everyone needs to experience it.”
And for the first time I relaxed as I saw my chance. “So, you’d bring your mother?”
“Oh yeah mate, she’d have a blast.”
And then we entered downtown Welch which was nothing more than empty three avenues and a series of alley ways, laid out to form a triangle. No traffic lights or fancy patterns, only seven blocks- a point and then two by three- with a row of old brick buildings beyond them. Jonathan gave a us a quick tour of the area, which consisted of three left turns. Each building was two or three stories, industrial and past their prime. Most were abandoned and sad. And the creek we’d followed emptied into the Tug River on the west side of town, with a rail line running parallel to the river. And beyond the river and rail, piles of slag still visible in the darkness. From there and on all sides of the town, were rows of houses built right into the side of the surrounding mountains, their dim porch lights twinkling like lights on a Christmas tree.
After the tour, we parked in an alley way next to a bank and walked to boring block building with a purple awning and new sign that read WELCOME TO DB’s EXCLUSIVE. Clip art martinis decorated either side of the sign. And just before passing through the entrance a glint caught my eye and I noticed something very strange. Once inside, I felt as though I’d stepped back in time by two decades. To the left of the empty dinning room was a rather well-stocked and long bar spanning the length of the room. The large oak bar was bedazzled with a mirrored back wall, brass fixtures and glaring vanity lights like something from a Hollywood movie set. And across the dining room, opposite the bar, stood an equally large stage with lime green curtains and worn red carpet. The lights were off and made the stage feel more like a cave than platform. A skinny teenage girl with a red sequin vest led us to our wood panel table and handed each of us a laminated menu. The table was topped with folded pink napkins, faux crystal water glasses and paper placemats. And Jonathan grinned as a gawked about the room like a tourist in Time Square trying to drink it all in. And before he could speak, a young man in an ill-fitting tuxedo shirt, tie, and pleated cummerbund appeared.
“Hi,” he said meekly.
“I’m Jacob and I’ll be your server today. Would you like to hear about the specials?”
“Yes,” I said with too much excitement.
“Today we have fish and chips with tartar sauce and chicken marsala with mushrooms and baked Alaska for dessert.”
“Sounds good. What do you think Zach?” Jonathan asked gleefully.
I nodded and pulled my upper lip down into my mouth to keep from giggling.
Brad and David now in on the gag remained quiet as Jacob towered over us with his pad and pen. Finally, Jonathan relented, “We’ll need a minute. Let’s get drinks first. I’ll have a Guinness.”
As soon as Jacob left with our drink order, I let out a forceful breath and pulled my sweatshirt over my head to hide my laughter.
“You ok, mate?”
“Yeah dude. What is this place? Is that front door a time machine? The carpet is brown and the bar has more liquor than a liquor store and we are the only people here.”
Brad and David chuckled and Jonathan shook me by the shoulder.
“This! Is Welch’s finest dining establishment.”
“Oh, is it?”
“Indeed. And that’s the joke. Because it is and it isn’t. You’ll see.”
A moment later, Jacob returned with our drinks and gingerly handed them out, though in no particular order. For dinner, Brad ordered the chicken parmesan and David the pasta primavera. After asking way too many questions regarding the origin of the fish, Jonathan got the fish and chips and I settled on chicken Alfredo. The meal had a certain microwave quality but slurped down every bite and stayed for dessert all the same. Baked Alaska was an old classic and I had to have it. And before dessert arrived I leaned over to Jonathan to inquire about the odd item I’d seen outside.
“What’s up with the cameras outside the building? There’s nothing here,” I said as I panned the dimly lit room. “Does it pop off on the weekend or something?”
The grin on Jonathan’s face disappeared and he slid closer to me with his chair. With both of us facing the back wall, he lowered his chin and motioned to a lone metal door in middle of the wall. A menacing sign on the door read, “DO NOT ENTER.”
“Don’t you think that’s odd?” he asked.
“Well, when you lower your voice and act that way, yes. I suppose it is odd. That door and the camera. But why?”
“High stakes gambling. They say mostly on the weekends and only very late at night. There wouldn’t be anyone back there tonight.”
“Who is high stakes gambling here?”
“The miners still make a good buck. Their houses are cheap or free. And they aren’t taking trips to Italy or Bahamas, so, they gamble.”
“No shit.” I replied as I shook my head in disbelief.
After dessert, Jonathan pushed himself back from the table and smiled as he looked at his watch. Then to the table he began, “We’ve got a big day tomorrow. We’ll all go down to Bluefield for supplies then get ready for the students to arrive.” The mirth now gone, we nodded our agreement. “Alright lads, let’s go.”
