Slam the Big Door (17 page)

“Moanin’ to you, Durelda,” he said. He saw a quick glint of amusement in her eye. He wasn’t intending to mock her, and she knew it too. But it didn’t hurt anything to let her know he was aware of being Uncle-Tommed. It was a part of the essential defenses she had raised against her environment. It was a maintenance of established order, and thus comforting to all involved.

“Suppose I set you in the dinin’ aye-ria on account everything’s soaked wet on the patio this morning.” The final word came out with a crispness of diction that matched and replied to his gentle dig at her.

“That’ll be fine.”

“Miz Debbie Ann isn’t up and the mister isn’t up and I got no idea what he’ll want.”

“I’d plan on just juice and coffee when he does get up.”

“Your eggs same way today?”

“Same way every day, thanks.”

“Sun’ll burn this yeer fog away quick.”

The morning paper was on the table. He found the item on Troy on the bottom of page three, headed BUILDER ARRESTED. It was short and reasonably fair, neither exaggerated nor underplayed. Estimated damages to the car were four hundred dollars, plus eight hundred dollars other property damage.

After he finished breakfast he went quietly to the bedroom and looked at Troy. He didn’t look like anybody who was about to wake up. There was a sour musty smell in the room. He decided he would have time to run in and get the cash for Jerranna front the bank. After he got the thick packet of tens and twenties from the bank, he looked up Signs of Ravenna and went to the sign company and talked to a reasonable man about the boards for Horseshoe Pass Estates. Despite Mike’s assurance that soon he would be in a position to make some fair settlement on the previous contract and set up a contract for a slightly smaller program, the man was reluctant to promise any cooperation. But after Mike, smiling confidently, said, “Mr. Purdy Elmarr is anxious to have this project run smoothly. Why don’t you give him a ring?”—after that the man said he would phone the attorneys and tell them to delay action on the past due contract until Mike had a chance to make arrangements.

It was a little after eleven when he got back. Troy was in the shower. He came out to the patio at eleven-thirty, in a blue mesh sports shirt, spotless beige slacks, clean-shaven, in an obviously ghastly condition, physically, mentally, spiritually. How come, Mike thought, a hangover is comical, like a black eye, or somebody slipping on a banana peel and cracking their pelvis?

Troy lowered himself carefully into a redwood chair and said, “I drank so much water I’ve got the bloat.”

Durelda came to the doorway and said, “Fix you up something, Mist’ Jamison?”

“I’ll try some black coffee, thanks.” As soon as she left Troy said, “Take a good look at a fun-loving playboy.”

“Got any questions?”

“I cracked up the car and spent some time in the drunk tank. Debbie Ann got me out. You got me to bed. Is that the essentials?”

“Yes.”

“Was anybody hurt?”

“No.

“Thank God for that. Thank God for there being no kid on a scooter or a bicycle. Another thing. Does Mary know?”

“Yes.”

“She told me when she took off for me not to try to get in touch with her. She said you’d be in touch. Did it make you feel important, relaying my little disasters?”

“For God’s sake, Troy.”

“Is she coming back today?”

“No.”

“I don’t think I could take her on top of everything else. She’s no goddamn noble and understanding and unselfish.”

“She’s all three of those, truly.”

“And I’m a pig? It follows.”

“You’re sick.”

“That’s just about the most meaningless thing you could say.”

“How about that thing right in the middle of your head, Troy? It takes up too much room. It’s round and black and lumpy, like a ball of black rubber snakes. You thought it had gone away yesterday.”

Troy stared at him, his eyes pinched almost shut, his face slack. Mike could sense his enormous surprise, his fear. But in a few moments he saw the forced smile he had expected. “Now who’s sick, Mike? You giving it to yourself right in the vein?”

“You told me about the round black thing, last night.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“I think you do.”

“I was as drunk as a man can get, Mike. I was out on my feet. I probably babbled. Drunks talk nonsense. You’re a fool to take stuff like that seriously.”

“I did. You promised to see a doctor.”

“That’s a promise I don’t remember. I don’t keep promises I can’t remember. What’s wrong with you? I haven’t got time for nonsense like that. I’ve got work to do.”

“I looked into that too the last few days, Troy. I think I know a way you can make out all right.”

Durelda brought the coffee and put it on the wide arm of the chair. As soon as she had gone, Troy said, “It was only a question of time until you got your nose into that too. Somewhere you got the idea you can run my life better than I can.”

Mike looked at him for long heavy seconds. He got up. “You can go to hell, Jamison. I’ll be gone from here in twenty minutes.”

He’d walked ten feet before Troy said in a different voice, “Wait a minute, Mike.”

“You want a chance to see if you can make it worse? I don’t need proof. You can. You’re good at it.”

“No. I want to say… I’m sorry. It was a hell of a thing to say. I didn’t mean it. I’m… not myself. Sit down.”

Mike sat down again, wary and still angry. “Only because of Mary, boy. Not you. Take your choice, boy. You’re either sicker than you’ll admit, or you’re a worthless s.o.b. Take your choice.”

“Great choice.”

“I’m fresh out of alternatives. You weren’t raving last night. There’s something wrong with you. If you don’t think so, see a doctor and prove there isn’t. Or go to hell, believing you’re sane.”

“Now I’m nuts. Is that it?”

“Your actions aren’t rational. They’re self-destructive. They were like that once before.”

“Now a few drinks is suicide.”

“For some people. How about that doctor?”

Troy turned his face away. He waited long seconds. “Maybe there is… something going wrong. And maybe it scares me a little. But I can work it out myself.”

“You’re doing so well at working it out yourself. Unbelievable!”

“Get off my back!”

“The doctor, boy. The doctor!”

“Listen. I’m in no shape to make a decision like that now. Today. For God’s sake, give me a chance to unwind a little.”

“How long will that take?”

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow, Mike. Tomorrow. Nothing is going to be any good today. The only feeling I’ve got about today is to try to live through it. That will be the only project I can handle. By tomorrow afternoon I can talk about this thing and make sense.”

“All right. We’ll leave it that way.”

“What’s this about the development?”

“That will keep. Don’t think about that. Think about yourself. For once in your life, try to look at yourself as a stranger might.”

The attempted smile was a horrid grimace as Troy said, “It’s a lot easier not looking too squarely at some of the things you do.”

“For you, it’s time.”

“The thing is, I’ve never felt like a bad guy, really. I act like one. Then I want to get away from myself. But that’s the one thing they won’t let you do. That’s the big trap.”

“What are you going to do today?”

“Be a vegetable. Lie in the sun. Take a nap later. Even standing up makes me feel weak and sweaty.”

“You’ll stay around? You won’t leave?”

“God, no!”

Mike spent the brief time before lunch writing to the boys. He had lunch alone. Debbie Ann had gone into town to have lunch with somebody. Troy didn’t yet feel like eating.

After lunch he finished the letters and mailed them on his way to Ravenna Key. He got to Red’s at two-thirty. Birdy and Jerranna weren’t there. He asked Red about them. “Haven’t been in yet today. Probably at the cottage.”

He went to the cottage. Birdy sat on the floor of the small porch, bare to the waist, intently weaving some unidentifiable object out of long thin leather thongs. His thick fingers were nimble, his expression intent. Muscles pulsed in his chest and shoulders as he worked.

He looked up, the fingers still working. “Go on in, hey. She’s sacked out. She said you’d be around.” He had made no attempt to lower his voice.

“Did she tell you what I’d…”

“Mike?” she called, her voice faint and grainy with sleep.

“Go on in, hey,” Birdy said.

He went inside. Venetian blinds cut the white light to thin slivers. Doors stood open inside. There was a small living room, a small bedroom, a bath, a kitchen corner in the living room. The place was a welter of clothing, magazines, empty bottles, unemptied ashtrays. She had been sleeping on the living-room couch. She sat up as he came in, combing her hair back with the spread fingers of both hands, yawning so widely he saw where back molars were missing. She wore crumpled white shorts and a red canvas sheath top.

“Christ!” she said. “Sleeping in the daytime gives me a mouth like a bird cage. Dump the stuff off that chair and sit, Mike.”

He picked the pants and magazines off the chair, tossed them onto another chair and sat down, facing her.

“I brought the money.”

“I told you, Birdy,” she called. “He brought it.”

“That’s nice,” Birdy said sourly. “That’s real nice.”

“So what’s the deal?”

She yawned again, and shuddered. “Somebody walking on my grave. The deal? That’s the trouble. A deal. It’s another way to say I get pushed around. You know?”

“Not exactly. It’s a thousand bucks. I’m not flipping you a four-bit piece to stop singing.”

Birdy came in, blocking the light from the doorway for a moment, and then leaned against the door frame just inside the room. He patted his hair. “It’s still a deal, buddy. You pay us and we say, ‘thank you sir, oh thank you sir,’ and take off.”

“Maybe we’re not getting through to each other,” Mike said patiently. “Or maybe I’m stupid. I’m paying you to do something. Paying you damn well.”

“And you don’t care if we like it here or not. You don’t care if we’re ready to go yet,” Birdy said in a complaining tone. “People are always pushing.”

“Won’t you go sooner or later?”

“Sure. Sometime.”

“So go now and get paid for it.”

“That means we’re doing what you want, not what we want,” Birdy said.

“That’s why I’m paying you!” Mike yelled. “To do what I want instead of what you want.”

“You see?” Birdy said. “Pressure. All the time pressure. And I don’t like it. No matter where we go then, we got to get used to the idea the only reason we’re there is you pushed us out of here.”

“Doesn’t the money mean a damn thing?”

“That’s a nice piece of money,” Birdy said.

“Don’t you want it?”

“Sure, we want it.”

“Then what the hell kind of an agreement
do
you want?”

“I talked it over with her,” Birdy said. “I didn’t think you’d come up with it. I said if you did, okay. You can give it to us. Like a present. Then after you give it to us, no strings, then we decide if we’ll leave. Maybe we will and maybe we won’t, but that way we’re not being pushed around none.”

“Do I look like a sap?”

“Buddy, I don’t know what you look like. You figure she’s poison for your pal. You want her out. Did you ever think of asking real nice, no money or anything, please take off?”

“Frankly, no. But if that’s what you…”

“It’s too late for that now, buddy. That’s what you do first. And if it don’t work the money comes next. You bitched yourself, buddy, thinking you could buy us. So you only got one choice left. Leave the grand and we’ll think it over.”

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Jerranna said. “Troy was getting kinda boring, but not yesterday, man. Yesterday he was real crazy. Yesterday was full of kicks; I saw in the paper he didn’t make it home.”

“So now you’ll stay even if I turn over the money.”

“Did anybody say that?” Birdy demanded. “That crazy Troy wanted to trade punches with Birdy. He smacked Birdy one good one, and Birdy hit him—pow—and I swear to God he slid eight feet on his back and got up laughing so hard he was crying. He was having a ball yesterday.”

“I’m not getting into any kind of crazy arrangement about the money, the way you people want me to do it.”

“Suit yourself, buddy,” Birdy said.

Mike got up and said, “There’s no reason why you can’t take it away from me, I suppose.”

“Then it would be the same thing,” Birdy said.

“What do you mean?”

“We’d have to leave. We’re people, like anybody else. I took it away from you, it would be the same deal again. If we were going anyway, we would. I would. You’re heavy and you look solid, but I could snap your back across my knee.”

“Good for you.”

“He can pick up the front end of a new Caddy,” Jerranna said.

“If I
don’t
give you the money, will you stay longer?” Mike asked, feeling confused and desperate.

“The way I feel right now, buddy, when both of us get ready to leave at the same time, we’ll take off, and I don’t know when. You don’t get with things very good. You don’t come on very fast.”

“I feel like I’m dreaming this damn conversation,” Mike said. He stood up and pried the bills out of his pocket and looked at them stupidly. He sighed and opened the packet and slowly counted out five hundred and put the rest in his pocket, placed the five hundred on the table.

“What’s that for?” Birdy demanded.

“It’s a present,” Mike said thinly. “For two lovely people. I like your eyes. I like your hairdos.”

“And we go or stay. It’s up to us,” Birdy said.

“Yes. This is—a gesture of undying friendship.”

Birdy grinned. “Man, now you’re coming on better. You could even get with it, you keep straining.”

“Stick a gold star on my forehead,” he said and walked wearily out. When he was ten feet from the porch door Jerranna said something he couldn’t quite catch. And then they both began laughing. Mike flushed. When he got to the station wagon, he could still hear the laughter, very faint and far away. He drowned it with an angry roar of the engine.