Breaking and Entering (29 page)

“Come in, come in,” Howard said. “Chrissie has built this meal from the ground up. Believe me, this is going to be one of the meals of your life.”

The house had been built in the fifties. It was all angles and hidden ducts in turquoise and gray. The lights resembled torpedoes. A Southwestern look had been imposed upon it. Cactus. Kachina dolls. Bent willow. Roadrunner appliques on the throw pillows. And the aquarium.

“Chrissie’s pride and joy over there,” Howard said.

“None of them are rare or anything, but they’re good fish,” Chrissie said earnestly.

“You’re not browsers, I hope,” Howard said. “No place for browsers here tonight. This is supper! The Big S.”

Drinks were mixed. The bar was behind a rotating bookcase that Howard exposed with a flourish.
We all have to go sometime
, a cartoon above the bottles said.
Try the first door on your right
.

“The fifties were a gleefully secretive time,” Howard said. “It wasn’t all just raba-raba-ding-dong.”

“I’m sorry I had to ask you to leave your dog in the truck,” Chrissie said in a small voice. “It’s just that my little doggie isn’t feeling well.”

“He’s fine out there,” Liberty said. “It’s all right.”

“He seems like a very nice dog,” Chrissie said. “Big.”

“So,” Howard said, “you’re traveling. No obligations, no commitments. Footloose and fancy-free.”

Chrissie had put out little bowls of nuts, of olives. She was spreading cheese on crackers. “This is the nicest cheese,” she said to Liberty. She smiled shyly. Her teeth were not good. They were all drinking. Music was being piped in from somewhere. There was the sound too of something like a toilet running.

“Living up to your names,” Howard went on. “Try living up to our names—Howard and Chrissie—it’s difficult.”

Willie was looking at a display of Indian baskets on a shelf. “You’ve got some nice things here,” he said. “Man in the maze, lightning bolts, spider webs.”

“It’s still a relatively easy thing to cheat an Indian,” Howard said.

“Apache, Pima, Hopi.” Willie shook his head. “These are old. The makers of these are long dead.” He picked up a conical basket that was woven in a design of diminishing concentric rings. At the bottom was a single dot. “These are valuable.”

“He’s casing the joint, honey,” Howard said.

Chrissie looked a little alarmed. She prepared more crackers with cheese.

“I’m just holding them for a friend actually,” Howard said. “I don’t know shit from Indians. They all mean something, but it’s simple beyond belief. See that one hanging? The one with all the crisscrosses? Indian thought she was copying the Milky Way.”

“A lot of the designs are based on the patterns wind makes on sand,” Willie said. “Designs made by no visible agency.”

Howard looked into his glass. “Let me freshen our drinks,” he said.

“It was wonderful of you to stop when our car broke down,” Chrissie said. “It was just genius what you did.”

“It was a jump start,” Willie said.

“But no one was stopping and when you stopped, I thought—‘I am going to be raped!’ ” Chrissie widened her eyes. Howard looked at her.

“Giving you a great meal is the least we can do,” he said. “I can give you a job too.”

“Howard’s in development,” Chrissie said.

“No thanks,” Willie said.

“We like meeting new people,” Chrissie said. She looked at Willie and smiled. She uncrossed her legs. “Howard’s paved over a good deal of Arizona,” she said absently.

“That was then,” he said. “This is Louisiana.”

“Howard enjoys a challenge. Wetlands are a challenge to Howard.”

“A swamp don’t generally stand much of a chance around me,” Howard said. “Concrete is honest. It’s a lot more honest than a swamp.”

Chrissie leaned forward, her knees almost touching Liberty’s own. “Is this your first marriage?” she asked. “Howard’s been married twice.” She seemed to find this amusing. She squeezed Liberty’s arm.

A spotted puppy staggered in from the kitchen. Liberty scooped it up and put it in her lap. The puppy was listless. Its heart pounded wetly beneath loose skin.

“I don’t think she should have been spayed so soon,” Howard said. “I don’t think she’s going to make it. What did the vet say?”

“I just took her over to the school,” Chrissie said. “A friend of mine did it. No charge.”

“No charge,” Howard said. He rolled his eyes.

Chrissie picked the puppy up. It gave a small yip, then fell silent. “I just have a few tiny things to do in the kitchen before we eat,” she said.

Liberty walked over to the baskets. She picked up a flat-backed breast-shaped basket. It was a rich earthen color, tightly coiled with a zigzag pattern. A Hopi woman, if she was a virgin, would not finish off a basket. The grasses would flow out from the last stitch of the coil.
The flowing gate
. A married woman who could have children would cut the strands a little closer.
Open gate
. The barren woman would tie off the grasses, stitch it tightly shut.
Closed gate
.

“She’s casing the joint, honey,” Howard called out cheerfully.

Liberty returned to her chair and looked at the aquarium, at the fish moving languidly back and forth.

Willie and Howard were talking about the Southwest. Howard was speaking animatedly about the saguaro. “They’re like condos,” he said. “All kinds of shit live in them.” Howard was clearly fond of the saguaro.

Willie seemed to be enjoying himself. It was as though he had entered a satisfactory game, one still wide open to choice and interpretation. Liberty constructed a yawn, wondering vaguely why she had chosen to do so. She finished her drink, noting that her ice cube harbored a hair. They ate dinner. Howard uncorked several bottles of wine.

“I’m a woman among women and a man among men,” Chrissie said to Liberty, “but sometimes I like to be a woman among men.”

“Chrissie’s a great little homebody,” Howard said. “You
gotta take back a loaf of Chrissie’s bread. She makes all her own bread, our Chrissie does.”

In the candlelight, Chrissie smiled with abandon. Liberty drank bemusedly. After they ate, they returned to the living room, clutching their glasses.

“Toot time,” Howard said. “Want some toot?”

“No,” Willie said.

“You’re right,” Howard said. “Toot’s passé.”

Willie stretched his legs out. He rubbed the back of his neck with his fingers.

“You want a massage?” Howard asked. “Chrissie gives great massage. Guys don’t even get erections when she does them. It’s real pure stuff.”

“Howard,” Chrissie said shyly, “… really …”

“She’s a penitent at heart,” Howard said. “Our Chrissie’s got a zeal for penance.”

“Howard’s got an appetite for life. It’s like a real hunger,” Chrissie said.

“Mutual admiration time,” Howard said.

Willie looked around, his legs outstretched. He smiled at Liberty.

“How about a little tour of the house?” Chrissie said. “It’s such a nice house. I love my little house.”

“House tour time,” Howard said. He giggled, then blew his nose.

Chrissie stood up and put her hand on Willie’s shoulder. They all walked through the kitchen, where the spotted puppy lay panting on a pillow in the corner. Howard carried a wine bottle, brandishing it, pouring erratically. The rooms were in disarray. More baskets. Cardboard boxes and drawn drapes. Television sets ran soundlessly. Liberty watched as James Cagney had a headache in
White Heat
.

“What do you think of them adding color to the classics?” Howard asked her.

Jimmy Cagney clutched his head, he spun around, sagged to the floor, crawled to cover.

“In this case, it makes the fire brighter,” Liberty said.

“That’s some fire at the end of this all right,” Howard said. “A big, bright fire. Say, play the question game with old Howard.”

“I don’t know the question game,” Liberty said. She was deeply repulsed by Howard.

“Sure you do. I say, ‘I am in torment’ and then you say, ‘What kind of torment?,’ then I say ‘There is a river of fire bubbling above our backs, as high as the sky, and another such river beneath our feet and we are in between these fires. We are back to back and cannot see one another’s faces. But occasionally we are given a little rest,’ and then you say, ‘What kind of rest?,’ and then I say …” Howard rested his tongue on his upper lip.

Liberty heard Willie’s voice behind her, some distance from her, and Chrissie laughing, saying, “Isn’t that a howl!”

“We four have a lot in common,” Howard said to Liberty. “We could become very close. You’re unhappy, I’m unhappy.” He watched her expectantly, raising his eyebrows. Chrissie laughed again.

“You know how to play the question game,” Howard urged Liberty. “Don’t try to fool old Howard.” He took a step forward and bumped his hard distended stomach against Liberty’s hip. “You say, ‘What kind of rest?’ and I say, ‘For a very brief moment, we see each other’s faces.’ ”

“Honey,” Chrissie called, “I’m showing Willie the little man. He thinks it’s a howl.”

“I see you,” Howard said to Liberty. “Howard knows.”

“Honey,” Chrissie was calling, “I think he looks particularly arch tonight.”

“You should be touched by the question game,” Howard said to Liberty. “Your compassion should be aroused.” He turned and practically lunged toward Chrissie. “What is this ‘particularly arch’ shit,” he said. “Since when has it been the ‘little man’?”

Chrissie and Willie were looking at a skeleton painted in gay colors in a balsa wood box a foot high. They were the same bright colors as the fish in the aquarium—vermillion and green and blue. The pelvis was a chalky, scaly white. The skeleton came complete with an hourglass and a scythe, and a scroll at its feet said
Heute Nacht, vielleicht?

They were all looking at it now.

“Keeps you alert, I imagine,” Willie said. “Keeps you awake and vigilant at night.”

“Sure does,” Howard said.

“You know, when I die, I want to be buried by lions,” Chrissie said. “I’ve always wanted that, ever since I was little.” She smiled at Liberty.

“It never occurred to me to want that actually,” Liberty said.

“They could do it, you know,” Chrissie said. “They got these big claws.” She curled her fingers and pawed at the air.

“Our Chrissie is certainly being saucy tonight,” Howard said.

Chrissie turned to Willie. “We don’t sleep much. Sleep is disgusting, don’t you think?”

“Got to keep our eye on one another,” Howard said.

“Where’s the goal in sleep? If you’re goal oriented, you’re not fond of sleep,” Chrissie said dreamily.

“Is house tour time over?” Howard asked. “Is it fish training time?”

“They’re coming along,” Chrissie said. “It’s not easy for them but they are coming along.”

“You’re training your fish,” Willie said. He looked relaxed. It was just a night at the theater for Willie.

“Fish give me the willies,” Howard said. “Bet you get that stuff all the time—you give me the willies, Willie—.” Howard laughed, leaving his mouth ajar.

“I’ve established little goals for them,” Chrissie said. “They like it.”

“She dumps ’em out on the rug for a while each night,” Howard said. “Wants to have that kind of fish.”

“Each night, a little longer on the rug,” Chrissie said happily.

Liberty was disturbed by this prospect.

“She doesn’t really leave ’em out longer each night,” Howard said, “she just thinks she does.”

“Maybe not tonight,” Willie said.

Chrissie’s smile faded but she rallied quickly. “Well, I’m glad you got a chance to see our little man at least. We got him in Mexico.”

“Jesus, Chrissie,” Howard said. “What does it say? Is that in Spanish? Jesus.”

Chrissie’s lip trembled. “We could have gotten him in Mexico, anyway.” She said to Liberty, “I like your shoes.”

Liberty looked at her feet. There was nothing going on with her shoes. They were sandals, actually, broken and repaired with staples.

“Don’t go yet,” Chrissie said. “Please stay a little while.”

“You’re a little stupid, Chrissie, you know that?” Howard said.

“It isn’t what you think,” Chrissie said to Liberty. “Howard
loves me deeply. There’s something in me, see, that Howard would love anywhere.”

“Tell us,” Willie said.

Liberty was afraid.

“Story telling time,” Howard said. “It’s take your places time.”

“I have to let the dog out of the truck,” Liberty said. “He’s been there all night. He needs a run.” She went hurriedly back through the house, past the dirty dinner dishes stacked haphazardly, the guttering candles. She felt a little calmer in the room where they had sat earlier. She could see the truck outside, and Clem’s head in the cab, big as a medicine ball.

Chrissie had scampered after her. She was holding a loaf of bread in a plastic bag. “You’ve got to take some bread. It’s hard to get good bread in stores. This is the old Pullman loaf recipe. I make all kinds but this is my favorite. It makes excellent toast,” she said formally.

Howard rushed in, seemingly contrite. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, “a heedless display of my bad nerves. Or it’s this shitty wine. Let’s have a decent drink. We’ll have a nightcap. You can’t go now and miss story telling time. It means a lot to our Chrissie.” He fussed about, making drinks. Liberty stood awkwardly, holding the bread. It felt waxy, somewhat heavy. Howard pushed a glass at her and she shook her head. “Your hubby,” he said somewhat mysteriously, “is a cool cookie.” He appeared disarmed by this insight.

Willie flicked a switch on a copper-plated console recessed in a wall. There was music. Strings. A mawkish movement in progress. Willie’s gesture was too smoothly casual to be insolent.

“Aren’t those little toggle switches nice?” Chrissie said. “They’re so much nicer than knobs.”

“Yeah, put on some music.
Mi casa su casa
, or whatever the hell it is they say,” Howard said.

Willie accepted a drink. Liberty sighed. It was cold out and they just had the truck and nowhere to go exactly. They could stay a while, she supposed.

Chrissie had, at some point, tied an apron around her waist. There were tiny blue flowers on a white background and the pockets were edged in lace.