he lead singer's name is Mario. Only we say it like this - "Mah-reee-ohh" - trilling the R, kissing every syllable. He is small and Italian, dressed up in cowboy clothes, looking too young to be in a bar, and we would normally never look twice at him except when he sings, well you can just forget it.
When he sings, we nudge each other and exchange soft sighs and shake our heads. Goddamn Mario. Mah-reee-ohh. He curls his lip, he leans in during the chorus, he wipes his brow with a red bandanna that he tucks in his back pocket. He does this little pelvic thrust when he plays a certain lick on the guitar. You'll know it when you see it. He is the lead singer for the Weary Boys , the country band who play every Tuesday night at the Continental Club, the old smoky honkytonk where the customers dance a reckless twirl, one hand holding another hand, one hand holding a beer, where the city's most beloved play in front of the red velvet curtain, oldtimers like Toni Price, who gets loaded every Tuesday night, a five-foot-tall double-barrel shotgun of a woman, and she ends her set the same way each time, all soft and drippy with booze, "Thanks, y'all. Love y'all."
"You having a good time?" The guy beside us in the audience puts his hand on the small of Julie's back, leans in to her ear. "I just wanna make sure you're having a good time."
We nod. We're having a good time.
"I'm here celebrating." He slurs a bit. "I'm not here to party. Just so you know."
We nod. It's a school night.
"I'm gonna have a baby soon. Twins." He smiles and accepts our congratulations. "Only she doesn't know if they're gonna be girl twins or boy twins so we came up with four names. You guys having a good time?"
We nod. We're having a good time.
Soon Julie is dancing with some other guy, and Lauren and Mariela and I nudge each other and exchange soft sighs and say how goddamn CUTE that is, Julie out there dancing with this stranger. In front, the audience is tearing it up. Toni Price, liquored up from her earlier set, is losing her shit, throwing her long wavy hair around, pounding the stage with her fists. Whoa, it's getting late. It's getting late and we're getting sober. Bad news is we gotta leave early. Good news is they're here every week.