The Extra by Kenneth Rosenberg Read Free Book Online Page A

behind him.
    A young blonde hostess in a red dress stood awestruck behind a podium.  Warren merely breezed on past.  “We’re here for drinks, thanks,” he said, taking a seat at the bar.  “You guys coming?” he called out to his friends, who huddled sheepishly by the door.  Slim looked around at the antagonistic eyes but then shrugged and walked over.  A free drink was a free drink.  The others followed more tentatively.  The bartender was a large man with a shaved head and a tight black shirt that showed off his bulging muscles.  He eyed them warily while the hostess disappeared into the back.
    “What are you fellows drinking tonight?” Warren asked.
    “Anything you’re buying, chief,” said Smiley.
    “Stoli’s on the rocks all around,” said Warren, but the bartender didn’t move.
    “You planning to pay for these?” the bartender said.
    “Of course,” said Warren.  He reached into his pocket, pulled out some money, and threw it onto the bar.  The bartender stared at the bills, considering his next move.  Finally he seemed to relent, picking up the money and walking to a cash register to ring up the four drinks.  He came back and handed Warren his change before taking four glasses and filling them each with ice.
    Before the drinks were even poured, a short, stocky man in a brown suit came hustling up from a back room with the hostess trailing behind.  The veins on the man’s brow throbbed in anticipation.  His eyes were bloodshot, his teeth clenched tight, like an angry dog girding for a fight.  “What are you doing in here?  Out!  Get out of here!  Right now!” he shouted, pointing with one finger toward the door.
    “What’s the problem?” said Warren, taken aback.
    “The four of you.  Out!  Now!”  The man put his hands on his hips and glowered.
    “Why, what’s wrong with my money?!” said Warren, growing agitated himself.
    “You don’t fit the dress code!  Now move it!  You’re upsetting the customers!” hollered the manager.
    “I’m one of the customers!” said Warren.  “And you’re upsetting me !”
    “You have ten seconds to get out of that chair!”
    “But I paid for the damn drinks already!” said Warren, exasperated.
    “You heard the man!” said the bartender, flexing his muscles.
    “Come on, Warren, we don’t need this place.  We’ll take our business elsewhere,” said Smiley.
    Warren looked around the room clearly for the first time.  He saw white tablecloths and marble floors.  Expensive paintings, flowers and a swan carved in ice.  He saw men in tailored suits and women in fancy dresses, loaded down with jewelry.  In their eyes he saw fear; the fear of people with something to lose confronted by a man who had nothing.  Not even any dignity.  Warren realized once again exactly who he was.  He slid off his barstool and slowly walked out the door with his friends.
    “We don’t need that place, nohow,” said Smiley when they were standing on the sidewalk.
    “That’s right, let’s just go to the store,” said Slim.  “No use puttin’ on airs.  Don’t do a man no good.”
    “I paid for the drinks already,” said Warren quietly before he followed the others down the street toward a blinking neon ‘Liquor’ sign.
    “Warren, man, where’d you get that money, anyhow?  That must a been a hundred bucks,” said Smiley.
    “I already told you, I’m a movie star,” said Warren, tired of having to explain himself.
    “Come on, man.  Who’d you steal it from?’ said Slim.
    “You sold that sweet sax, didn’t you?” said Smiley.
    “Are you kidding?” said Duke.  “My man Warren would sell his mother before he’d sell that sax.”
    “Did you sell your mother?” said Smiley.
    “No man, I sold yours.  Got good money for her, too,” said Warren, his mood lifting again.
    “His ain’t worth no hundred bucks, that’s for sure,” said Slim.
    “That’s not what I hear,” said Warren.
    “Hey, man, you leave my momma