Queen of the Silver Dollar

QUEEN OF THE SILVER DOLLAR

There is still splendour, faded now but still showing in the flashes and glitter of bright colour here and there on her clothes. A silk rose, silver combs in her hair, a bright wide ribbon. A deep tight belt accentuates the waist, sometimes black if her tops or skirt has colour, sometimes red or silver or maroon or even white if her skirt or dress is dark. And jewellery, bracelets, rings and necklaces festoon her fingers, wrists and neck adding sparkle and noise to her outfits.

Faded maybe but no fear of colours, black may cover and hide what other women see as undesirable deteriorations in their figures, breasts that are no longer as firm and full as they were, hips that are wider than vanity allows for or bellies which demand discretion and may well have outwitted even the most ingenious of control garments but she has the savvy and style to carry the colours and her figure will still turn heads and raise the heart rate .

Music had been her life and despite the ups and many downs her spirit had survived them all but the glitter and glitz of the big nights has gone and in Dublin's fair city what is left of her days of stardom lives on only in the minds of adoring fans for whom Rose Farrell is still their Queen of the Silver Dollar.

Years ago Dolan's bar in Ballymore had been renamed the Silver Dollar in honour of the lass from their county who had taken the country and western world by storm and found fame across the globe. A couple of owners had the idea of creating a country and western pub in this very ordinary back street bar and hall in this very ordinary Irish midlands town and bring singers and bands every night of the week to draw the fans from the surrounding district. Word would spread, customers would come from even farther away as bigger acts were engaged and the Silver Dollar Bar in Ballymore would be the centre of entertainment.

The enterprise started off well but struggled, drowned, gave up and vanished. The music was never more than a background to the serious work of drinking. The vision of fans and customers relaxing at the tables immersed in the music may have been reality at times for ten or fifteen minutes but eventually no one even noticed or at best the whole thing deteriorated into a raucous sing along.

Bands and singers refused to come, their money was never safe and there were too many bad nights where they were handed only a fraction of their fee.

Charlie Driscoll took the old place over and longed to bring some life back, longed to see its dance hall filled with happy punters and with a passion for country music would have given anything to make it happen.

He knew that only one act could do it for him and if he could get her for just one night it might just kick start the revival.... Rose Farrell, at one time the biggest name in Irish music before she took her talent to the States, it had to be Rose but it could never be more than a dream.

She was the only one who could fill the pub and the only singer who could hold their attention. The punters knew her, knew her story and knew that almost every sad ballad she sang held an element of her life. They knew that the tremor in her voice wasn't there for effect nor were the tears, they were real and were there because she had lived the sadness and trials in their words.

She had the presence to carry it off, a charisma created around the quality of her voice , her sincerity, the triumphs of her singing career and the sheer attraction of her style and looks. All of this bound by the awe of knowing that she had been up there, at the top, she had toured a good part of the world, had rubbed shoulders with stardom, she had been stardom, her records were best sellers. But there was more, she was accessible, she offered a chance to fulfil dreams, to live out fantasies if you were lucky enough. Just as in the song that had made her famous the jesters flocked around her, trying to win her favours, to see who gets to take the Queen of the Silver Dollar home.

But that fame was all many years ago, two crooks of managers not only got into her bed but into her bank account and left her almost penniless and with two miscarriages her world crumbled and before long she had become a forgotten face in a sea of talent which her particular part of the music business seemed to spawn.

Home to Ireland was all she could think about and selling more than her soul and her story in the bars of that tinsel town in the States which had once looked up at her talent on stage set out to try and gather enough cash to take her home. Many of the men she serviced had no idea who it was that was providing their pleasure, one or two remarked on familiarity of some sort but put it down to probably having seen her before on the street or in the neighbourhood. Most were kindly enough, she avoided the drunks and the junkies and still had looks and shape enough to be desirable. She was able to choose her clients, there was money to be made and enjoyment in the obvious desire of her men but it was unrelenting and there were times when she simply didn't want to see and smell the inside of another bar .

Rose allowed no serious attachments, no one came home to her room. All business was transacted in five dollar an hour rent rooms and in the backs of cars. There were regulars and that made things a lot simpler and safer and they knew if their time was limited she would take them in the car park of whatever bar was arranged.

It was years before she could make her move. The plan was to return to Dublin and try to find a way back into entertainment. Memories tended to be longer at home, she would be remembered as a star, there would be work and a living could be had.

A month back home served to remind her just how parochial it all was. The strange world of stetsoned entertainers singing the same old stuff in their same old copy cat style in that awful version of an American accent.

No one knew her, agents looked at her twenty five year old photos and agreed they must have been great times but pointed to the fresh faced lads who now filled the halls and were the idols of rows of grey haired women who clapped and sang along with them and who would each and everyone and many did, have opened their legs for them in the field behind the hall or in their van if there'd been any interest shown.

There were suggestions of course, maybe try and get a few spots in hotels and bars around the country, get onto some of the country and western nights concerts which toured all over. Would she want to come into the back room, have a drink and they could look over some possibilities.

She had heard that line or similar in agents offices from Cork to California but was prevented from tearing these latest hopefuls apart for she knew their grapevine would close down all possibilities for her and as she had done a hundred times before diplomatically extricated herself and slipped away.

She had more or less exhausted all her leads until on a return visit to one promoter he showed her a letter from Charlie Driscoll, owner of the Silver Dollar Bar in Ballymore. The communication outlined his intention to build up a venue for country and western singers, bands and musicians and he intended to leave no stone unturned as he put it in getting Ballymore on the map. Rose was dubious but agreed there was little enough to lose by letting the office contact Driscoll and put forward her name.

Halloran who ran the agency rang the Silver Dollar and informed Charlie that the only artiste he could offer at the moment was Rose Farrell as for the foreseeable future nearly all his stable of stars as he called them were on tour or just about to. Driscoll's incredulous voice stammered almost at the other end of the phone, was this Rose Farrell who had starred all over this country and the States and where not and recorded that Queen of the Silver Dollar song that nearly toppled Kenny and Dolly's recording. The Rose Farrell who had appeared time after time in Nashville, surely not?

Halloran then realised that Charlie knew nothing of Rose's circumstances and pointed out that she was one and the same and had recently returned from the States and was just taking on a few special dates to re-aquaint herself with the Irish scene but that before long she would re launch and so if the idea appealed not to hesitate, her diary was already filling up and to keep an eye on the Late Show for it was only a matter of time before she was called to the RTE studios and after that there would be little chance of an opening .

Driscoll needed to know the fee, fearing that it would be well out of reach but Halloran pointed out that although it would normally be in the region of seven or eight hundred Euros it was the Silver Dollar's first night of the new venture and wasn't Rose originally from that very part of the country then five hundred and fifty would be the one off charge plus overnight accommodation and the Silver Dollar would have to arrange a three piece band to provide her backing. A full list of her twelve songs would be provided in good time, the band should aquaint themselves with the music and where possible listen to any recordings of Miss Farrell's that might be accessible. The songs involved would be those which she is best known for so should be easily available.

Driscoll informed Halloran that he had every record the woman ever made and they would play them noon and night for the band to learn. The date was set, the terms accepted, Driscoll had a week after he received the invoice to pay in advance in full and on the night a month hence Rose Farrell would give a once only concert to launch the enterprise.

Rose was delighted when Halloran called her. The two hundred Euros would be a start at least and better still if she would meet Halloran for a celebratory drink at the Column Bar at seven that evening he would hand over a welcome one hundred in advance and as soon as Driscoll's cheque was cashed in a week or ten days she would have the other half.

The toasts were made to good luck for Rose on her first appointment and to Driscoll in his ambitious project although Halloran doubted if it would come to anything for he knew the habits of the Irish drinker in bars and places like Ballymore and it would be a hard road to match the drink against the music and what self respecting artiste wants to pour his or her soul out to a bunch hell bent on total oblivion as soon as possible.

He said nothing of this to Rose who was in good spirits after a few drinks and Halloran's assurance that this would lead to other things. He handed over the cash and after a few more drinks was encouraged when Rose showed no objection as his fingers squeezed and massaged her knee. He was in mid conversation repeating the hope that Driscoll's idea might take root and provide more work and at the same time sliding his hand higher on the inside of her thigh. He moved farther again until the closeness of her thighs prevented any farther progress but after a glance around the room to see if anyone was paying them any attention he felt them part. She looked at him and smiled as under the table his fingers found that source of damp heat at the top of her legs and there was a lurch of excitement when after another glance around Rose deftly placed her hand on his groin, no movement just enough downward pressure for him to realise it was there.

She felt his excitement, almost hard, and knew that his fingers had already raised her own arousal and that released from tights and knickers she would be swollen and wet. His breath came short and fast as she traced the length of his sex and under the lace edge of her knickers he found a slit of smooth and silky slickness, hot to the touch of his finger tips and greedily enveloping them as they entered. Her eyes were closed and her own breathing laced with low whimpers as he moved deeper.

Halloran suggested they go to the office which was only a few hundred yards away and have another drink or two in peace. He tossed back the last of his whiskey when Rose immediately got up and gathered her coat and bag.

His hands were shaking as he undid the buttons of her blouse and there was a grunt of disbelieving admiration at the perfect symmetry and fullness of her breasts supported in the sheer fabric of her bra. In the fine fabric her nipples stood out, begging for attention and he sucked each in turn while she loosened his pants and slipped her hand under his balls. There was no holding back, he would wait no longer, she wanted it and so did he and a minute later with one foot supporting on the floor and the other up high on the office sofa she lay back as with his pants round his ankles she guided him inside her, he pushed hard, hard into the wet heat. She was able to bring her legs around him and it was in that position with her hips thrashing up against him in true bronco busting style that Halloran exploded and spent himself, spasming time and time again as she held him there like a rodeo rider trying desperately to stay aboard.

In Ballymore, excitement was mounting in the Silver Dollar Bar. Driscoll had had the place painted up inside and out and the lighted sign above the doorway which for years had read Silver Doll Bar due to total apathy and the theory that two light bulbs wern't about to bring in any extra business so why bother renewing them.

Willie and Joe Donnell who were regarded as passable guitarists and Sean Dunne who had drummed here and there with a local showband were engaged to provide the backing music and studiously studied the notes and rhythms of the songs that would form Rose's itinerary on the big night.

Fliers were posted and distributed around the district and the local paper from Mullingar twelve miles away would send a photographer and reporter to cover the story of what they hailed in an article accompanied by a photo of Driscoll pointing skywards at the pub sign, with all bulbs blazing as a momentous event in the history of Irish country and western music as one of the country's most famous daughters returned to her roots or near enough and was prepared to share with her own people the highlights of a world -wide career which had taken her to the very top.

Rose arrived in Ballymore earlier in the day in a taxi which had met her as she stepped off the Dublin Express in Mullingar. Driscoll had arranged it and Tom Finn her driver peeped his horn at every person they passed as they went across the town and gestured enthusiastically into the back seat when folk waved back. Once or twice with the window down he shouted her name to larger groups who issued wild yahoos of delight. Tom, satisfied with the combined reaction assured Rose that there was no doubt about it they'd all be there that night.

She was less enthusiastic about it all as they cruised down the long straight main street in Ballymore and although Tom's shouts brought similar gestures of welcome the sight of the Silver Dollar Bar didn't exactly fill her with confidence.

Driscoll's delight and enthusiasm helped to lift a growing depression and the man had gone to considerable trouble to convert one end of his liquor stockroom into a passable dressing room.

"Fit for a country queen," he had said as he threw open the door. "Only the best for Rose Farrell, I still can't believe you're here."

Rose almost agreed with his surprise but kept it to herself and at Driscoll's invitation accompanied him upstairs to the living quarters where Mary Doyle his housekeeper had prepared a bite to eat before the band turned up for a run through the songs for that night. The boys were jittery about the coming nights work and nervous about their ability to produce what would have to match the standing of their singer and after a run through a couple of songs Rose had some doubts as well. They were having trouble keeping their timing and Sean Dunne admitted that the dance music he was used to allowed for more flexibility than Rose's slower ballads.

Rose tried to assure them. " Lads, I'll be keeping the time with my right foot and the same beat with my hand on my right thigh, concentrate on that and it'll help to keep you right, now we'll go through Wyoming Nights again and see how you get on."

With her back to them she went through the first song again while behind her Sean Doyle struggled to keep his eyes and mind on her hand and foot and not on her shapely swaying backside which stretched the denim jeans to bursting. But it worked despite the distractions and as he grew in confidence and the guitarists found their rhythm they all agreed that they could relax a bit more and look forward to the performance.

Driscoll had never really doubted the outcome and any fears were finally allayed as people from all over the town and district and many a place far beyond gradually filled the Silver Dollar until an hour before the performance was scheduled to begin the doormen had warned that the place would hold no more. With the house full to the doors and the bar doing a roaring trade Driscoll knocked on the dressing room door. In he went on Rose's bidding but turned on his heel almost immediately when he realised she was wearing only her skirt.

"Ah, sorry Rose, I didn't mean to barge in, sure I'll come back when you're decent ."

"Charlie, for Gods' sake would you come in, don't be an idiot. There's nothing you haven't seen before and anyway I hope to hell these are as decent as any others . "

"I was just coming to tell you the place is filled, there's close to two hundred folk out there and we've turned a big lot away. You'll be the toast of the country Rose and you're right I have seen a few half naked women but if you'll forgive me for saying, none were of the class and style of the one before me now. I'll just slip out now before I embarrass myself any farther".

Rose could see his reflection in the dressing mirror as he stood behind her, his eyes fixed on her chest and as he was about to turn away and leave she gestured for him to come closer and as he did cradled her breasts, lifting them almost in a gesture of offer. He glanced back at her face to reassure himself that he wasn't dreaming and saw only her smile as she spoke.

"They're holding up alright for a pair that have appeared all over the world, aren't they Charlie. Here give them each a kiss for luck".

After Charlie Driscoll had staggered groggily out of the room she finished dressing and resplendent in her fine buckskin jacket and skirt looked every inch the star she had been. In the tan boots and with her hair piled up and tied with a black satin ribbon bow completing the outfit she made her way behind the bar to where she could look out unseen at the gathered crowd.

Eventually it was almost show time. Driscoll came to tell her that he would welcome the punters and introduce the star and after photos along with the boys in the band for the press the show could get under way. The noise was deafening as he called her onstage, Sean Dunne giving her a crashing drum roll with cymbals blazing to background guitar notes from one of her songs and all against a wall of whistles, shouts and cheers. Rose posed with Driscoll, with the band and as things calmed a little told the audience how delighted she was to be there and that she hoped they would all have a great night. The years rolled back and rolled away, there were no nerves, the audience before her saw only the star of their collective youth and looked wide eyed at the stage as they would have done thirty and more years before. They saw no wrinkles, no tiredness, no changes to the figure, no echoes of the countless nights and men she had sold her body to. She felt as if she had just come from Las Vegas instead of off a bus from Dublin and this was no hick bar in Ireland's back of beyond it was at the very least the London Palladium.