McMurtry, Larry - Novel 05 (53 page)

 
          
 
"What's the matter?" I asked.

 
          
 
"You wouldn't sell me that icon," he
said. He was quite greedy, actually—not fond of being denied anything his eye
had lit on.

 
          
 
"I've still got it," I said.

 
          
 
"I don't care," he said. He drank
two beers in quick succession.

 
          
 
"It's hard to get drunk in the
morning," he said.
"Particularly on beer."

 
          
 
Boss was looking at him coldly, so coldly that
he subsided, sat gloomily for a minute, and then went out in the yard.

 
          
 
"It's probably just a phase," Josie
said, washing the biscuit dough off her hands. "Do you want orange juice,
Eviste?"

 
          
 
Eviste just smiled. It was plain that he was
enchanted with Josie. I decided it was a good time to leave.

 
          
 
I found Boog in the front seat of my car. The
icon was in the back seat but he wasn't looking at it. He was just sitting.

 
          
 
"What's the matter with you?" I
asked.

 
          
 
He stared dully at his own lawn for a time.

 
          
 
"I'm thanking of leavin'," he said.
"
Me
and Boss don't get along like we used
to."

 
          
 
"You got along last week," I pointed
out.

 
          
 
"Yeah, but this week we don’t,” he said.
"I thank I'll go to the Little Bomber's 'n get the whole line of specials,
one after another. If that don't lift my spirits nothing will. Have you really
got a Henry rifle in this car?"

 
          
 
I got it out and showed it to him.
"Fourteen thousand to you," I said.

 
          
 
"Why not?"
Boog said. "Come to the Little Bomber's and I'll give you a check."

 
          
 
He walked up the driveway with the rifle in
his hand, looking utterly sad.

 
          
 
Twenty minutes later I was in
Wheaton
. When Jean Arber, in her blue bathrobe,
stepped out on her porch to get her morning paper I was sitting in the car in
front of her house. The fifty pairs of Twine boots were lined up along her
curb, waiting.

 
          
 
Jean saw me just as she picked up the paper.
Then she saw the boots. After a moment, she went back inside. I waited. Almost
immediately she came back out, a little girl on each hand. They were in
bathrobes and slippers, their hair seemingly curlier than ever. They all looked
at me, the car, and the fifty pairs of boots.

 
          
 
Belinda immediately broke ranks and came out
to look the boots over. She squatted down in front of them.

 
          
 
"Where's any for me?" she asked.
"Don't ya
got
little boots?"

 
          
 
"This man wasn't put on earth to bring
you things," Jean remarked.

 
          
 
Belinda shrugged. "He could,
though," she said.

 
          
 
"Where did you spend the night?"
Jean asked.

 
          
 
"
Baltimore
," I said. "You'll never guess
what I bought."

 
          
 
"You probably bought some stupid trunk,
thinking you could bribe your way back into my good graces," Jean said,
finishing her inspection of the boots.

 
          
 
"It's in the back seat."

 
          
 
Belinda began to hop up and down, trying to
see. Jean went over and looked, but didn't pick her up.

 
          
 
"Fm the trunk person," she said.
"You don't need to see."

 
          
 
She didn't change her expression, when she saw
the trunk. She was not wearing a particularly friendly expression, either.
Still, she looked at the trunk for quite a while.

 
          
 
"You can get in the car and look," I
said.

 
          
 
Jean reached down and picked up Belinda.
"Nope," she said. "I'm not amenable to bribes. Belinda is but
Beverly and I aren't. Beverly and I have better values."

 
          
 
"Yeah, Belinda's greedy,"
Beverly
agreed.

 
          
 
Jean gave me a cool, critical look. If she
liked the trunk, she wasn't going to say so. If she liked me, she wasn't going
to say so, either. She kissed Belinda's neck a few times, savoring the smell of
her daughter.

 
          
 
"Do you think we ought to cook him
breakfast?" she asked, looking at
Beverly
.

 
          
 
"Sure,"
Beverly
said.

 
          
 
"You're a pushover, Beverly," Jean
said. "I'm surprised at you."

 
          
 
"We could go out for breakfast," I
said. "There's a Waffle House up the road."

 
          
 
"Yeah, Waffle House," both girls
said, in unison.

 
          
 
"No," Jean said.

 
          
 
"Why not?"
Beverly
asked. "We never go out for
breakfast."

 
          
 
"Forget it," Jean said. "I'm
not ready for society and I don't want to get ready for a while yet."

 
          
 
"I think you're being selfish,"
Beverly
said, taking her mother's free hand.
"Everybody wants to go out to breakfast but you. We have to put on our
clothes anyway, don't we?"

 
          
 
"Yeah, but we don't have to get syrup all
over us," Jean said. "That's what happens at the Waffle House.
Belinda gets syrup all over us."

 
          
 
"Not over me,"
Beverly
said. "I keep away from her."

 
          
 
"Somebody has to sit next to her,"
Jean said.

 
          
 
"Jack could,"
Beverly
pointed out. "He likes her."

 
          
 
"Hey, you're right," Jean said.
"He goes for the selfish ones, doesn't
he.
Let's
give her away while we have the chance."

 
          
 
She handed me her daughter, who immediately
began to feel around in my pockets.

 
          
 
"But you're selfish, too,"
Beverly
said. "You won't let us do what we
wanta do. You almost never do, you know."

 
          
 
"All right, all right,
Beverly
," Jean said. "I can't bear your
accusations. We'll go to the Waffle House and Belinda can get syrup all over
Jack."

 
          
 
We went, and Belinda did display an amazing
talent for recklessness with syrup. She insisted on a full waffle all her own
and then did everything to it but eat it. Jean and Beverly watched from the
safety of the other side of the booth. Belinda strolled around between bites,
sampled my French toast, and generally indulged herself.

 
          
 
"Eat your waffle," I said several
times, to Jean's amusement. Each time I said it Belinda poured more syrup on
the waffle.

 
          
 
"Too dry," she said. She filled each
of the little squares on the waffle with syrup. When the plate ran over she
stuck her elbow in the puddle. On the way home she insisted on helping me drive,
which resulted in a very sticky steering wheel.

 
          
 
Jean didn't say much, the whole time. Her
attitude was rather spectatorial. When we got back to her house we dawdled in
my car for a while, the girls trying out different tapes in my tape deck.
Belinda discovered a pen in my pocket and badgered Jean until she produced a
small pad from her purse. Then the girls drew pictures.
Beverly
drew neat representational pictures of
animals, chiefly pigs and cows, while Belinda drew swirls that bore a vague
resemblance to people.

 
          
 
After a while I borrowed the pen and wrote
Jean a note asking her if I could take her out that night. I folded the note
into a little square and handed it to her.

 
          
 
"What does it say?" Belinda asked.

 
          
 
"I can't tell you," Jean said.
"It's top secret information."

 
          
 
"It is not," Belinda said, trying to
snatch it.

 
          
 
To thwart her, Jean ate the note.

 
          
 
"Did you eat it?" Belinda asked,
rather impressed.

 
          
 
Jean chewed it up and when it was hopelessly
chewed she took it out of her mouth and handed it to Belinda.

 
          
 
"Have some chewing gum," she said.

 
          
 
"I bet he asked you for a date,"
Beverly
said.

 
          
 
"There's such a thing as being too smart
for your own good,
Beverly
," Jean said. "Try and remember that."

 
          
 
"Are you going to go?"
Beverly
asked.

 
          
 
Both girls seemed to think the question of
some importance. They looked studiously at Jean.

 
          
 
"Don't look at me that way," Jean
said. "It's none of your business, at I do. Besides, it's no big deal.
Lots of men ask me for dates."

 
          
 
"Who else?"
Beverly
asked.

 
          
 
"What's a date?" Belinda inquired.

 
          
 
"You know, like going to a movie,"
Beverly
said.

 
          
 
"Oh, Star Wars," Belinda said.

 
          
 
"
Beverly
's right, I'm out of practice," Jean
said. "The truth is nobody asks me for dates."

 
          
 
"Who's the babysitter?" Belinda
asked. "Not Linda?"

 
          
 
"Why not Linda?"

 
          
 
"Not Linda," Belinda repeated.

 
          
 
"Okay," Jean said, opening the door.
"You can take me out, but only because I need the practice. Get out,
girls."

 
          
 
Belinda gave me a sticky kiss before
departing.

 
          
 
They ran up the steps to their house, eager to
get on with other things.

 
          
 
Jean walked around to my side of the car.

 
          
 
"Out where?" she asked.

 
          
 
"I haven't decided," I said.

 
          
 
"Since it's a practice date, take me to a
fancy restaurant," Jean said. "Then I can spend the whole day
deciding what to wear."

 
          
 
"Okay," 1 said.

 
          
 
"I don't think Belinda's ever seen me
dressed up," she said. "I don't even know if I'm still capable of it
I'll probably go buy a new dress."

 
          
 
She was silent for a moment.

 
          
 
"You're causing me a lot of
trouble," she said. "It's nerve-racking, knowing I have a date. I'll
probably worry about it all day. Who knows what you might try?"

 
          
 
"It's a first date, sort of," I
said. "I might not try too much."

 
          
 
"Anything’s too much if it makes me
nervous," Jean said.

 
          
 
"
My gosh
,
relax," I said. "We are not quite total strangers, you know."

 
          
 
"Yes we are," Jean said. "I'm
not counting that time you're counting. I was just holding my own with Belinda,
that time. Besides, you lied to me since. This is a new ball game,
understand?"