“You mean from now till the end of the world you’re going to hate me just because I made a stupid joke?” Laurie asked. “You’re going to hate me for one little stupid comment forever and forever?”
“Yes,” Eddie said. Then he looked at Laurie’s face and changed his mind.
“Well, I won’t hate you,” he said. “You made me sad because of those words, though.”
“If you hated me I couldn’t bear it, Eddie,” Laurie said.
“Well,” Eddie said again. It was his philosophical “well.”
“I apologize, how’s that?” Laurie said. “How about if we just move on to pancakes?”
“Yes, let’s move on to pancakes,” Eddie said. “We’ll take Otis and Sheba because my mom looks too sleepy to go down to the street.”
“What if I tie your shoelaces?” Laurie said.
While Laurie was tying the sneakers Iggy began to try to bite the strings even though Laurie’s fingers were in the way.
“He thinks he owns my shoelaces,” Eddie said.
“He thinks he owns you!” Laurie corrected.
“He doesn’t own me and I don’t own him,” Eddie said. “We’re friends. He’s a dog and I’m a person.”
“I don’t think Iggy realizes he’s a dog, though,” Laurie said. “I think he thinks he’s a person too.
“I know he thinks he’s a person,” she said, picking Iggy up. “He’s looking at me right now the way a person would look if another person were holding him up.”
“I like to hold him up because he’s small,” Eddie said. “Anyway, he’s not a person, he’s a dog.”
He looked at Iggy and reflected on the business of who was a person and who wasn’t.
“He might think he’s a person now because he lives with me and my mom,” Eddie said. “Before that he was an orphan and somebody put him out on the road in Arizona, where the Hopi people live.”
“Okay, those sneakers are tied and even a dog who thinks shoelaces are pasta can’t get them untied,” Laurie said. “Now can we go see about those pancakes?”
A minute or two later Harmony looked out the window and saw Laurie and Eddie walking down the littered street. Laurie was holding Eddie’s hand. Neddie wandered in and looked down at them too.
“She’s sweet, ain’t she?” Neddie said.
“She’s sweet,” Harmony said.
21.
While waiting for Eddie and Laurie to get back from having pancakes, Harmony decided she couldn’t wait any longer to check in with Gary—it was the longest she had been out of touch with him in almost thirty years. In the back of her mind was the hope that maybe Gary would have had some contact with Ross, who still didn’t know that his daughter was dead.
Of course it would have to be chance contact, because Gary didn’t like Ross and Ross didn’t like Gary; still, Las Vegas was a pretty small world, they might just sit down by one another at Burger King or something. Sometimes she would just be having a burger or maybe a taco and some showgirl she hadn’t seen in years would wander in and sit by her; or maybe it would be a stagehand or a light man or even an old boyfriend who had sort of passed beyond the hots and still had a little tender feeling for her. She herself had tender feelings for quite a number of guys who had been in her life for a while and then passed on. After all, why hold grudges? Life or maybe just love or certainly the hots had that temporary aspect to it—somebody was around, making lots of waves and occupying a lot of space, and then, one day, they weren’t around, or maybe they were still around but occupying less space and less space until they just gradually stopped occupying any space.
Harmony didn’t really expect to get Gary on the first try, usually it took seven or eight calls, and messages would have to be left with people who might run into him, but this time she was lucky and got Gary on the first try.
“Harmony?” he said, when he answered. His voice didn’t sound quite right, it had a different tone.
“So did you see Eddie on TV? He’s a big celebrity because his dog fell off the Statue of Liberty and lived,” Harmony said at once.
“Really?” Gary said—his voice still didn’t sound quite right.
“Gosh, if I had a TV I’d turn it on,” Gary added. “Has he been on Letterman yet?”
“That’s today,” Harmony said. “Why don’t you have a TV? I gave you my old one, remember?”
“Of course I remember, I’m not a mental defective,” Gary said—Harmony was shocked that he would be so bitchy right off, when they hadn’t talked to one another for quite a few days.
“Gary, do you have a hangover?” she asked.
“It’s not a hangover, it’s a broken neck,” Gary said. “All I have left of that TV you gave me is the remote. I’m clicking it right now but nothing’s coming on because Derek stole the TV set.”
“Gary, who’s Derek? I never heard of him, why do you have a broken neck?” Harmony asked.
No wonder he doesn’t sound right, she thought—if he had a broken neck his vocal cords might have been affected.
“I have a broken neck because Derek knocked me off a wall I was sitting on,” Gary said. “It was about a ten-foot drop and the worst part of it is that I landed on a grill where some people were barbecuing, so I got a bad burn and now it’s infected.
“I knew something like this would happen if you went away and left me,” he said, in a sort of accusing voice.
“Gary, you could have come, you were already in the car, it’s not my fault you jumped out,” Harmony said, annoyed that he was trying to make it sound like it was her fault because his boyfriend pushed him off a wall.
“Okay, forget it, when are you coming back?” Gary asked. “I have to have an operation in six weeks, I was really hoping you could be here.”
“Oh my God, why do you need an operation, is it for your burn?” Harmony asked.
“No, Harmony, it’s for my broken neck,” Gary said. “They have to take a piece of bone out of my hip and graft it into the place that got broken in my neck.”
“Gary, that sounds horrible,” she said. Thinking about Gary with part of his hip somehow stuck onto his neck made her want to cry. It was as if there was no direction she could turn her mind’s eye to that didn’t present a horrible sight, unless she turned her mind’s eye toward Eddie, who was never a horrible sight. Probably even now he was getting happily sticky from eating pancakes.
“It is horrible, I imagine I’ll lose my job, too,” Gary said, morosely.
“I don’t know Derek but if I see him I’m going to rip his head off,” Harmony said. The thought that someone would cause Gary such a terrible injury made her feel like slapping whoever did it.
“He’s just a little faggot, he had no idea they were barbecuing that chicken on the balcony below,” Gary said.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t just the burn—he broke your neck,” Harmony reminded him. “Can’t you make yourself love someone nice for a change, Gary?”
“You’re no one to talk,” Gary said. “How long has it been since you loved someone nice?”
“Never mind, I’m sorry I ever brought it up,” Harmony said. She knew she was no one to talk, although it had been a while since a boyfriend had done anything as bad as what Derek had done to Gary. She had never had anyone break her neck, although a boyfriend named Randy had slugged her so hard she couldn’t do aerobics for six months, she had dizzy spells whenever she bent over.
“Harmony, please just say you’ll come for the operation and all will be forgiven,” Gary said—he sounded like he needed to know that he still had his best friend. It occurred to her that he had forgotten that she had left Las Vegas forever—that had been her feeling anyway, when they loaded Eddie’s bunk bed and all his stuffed animals and took off.
“Gary, of course I’ll come for the operation,” Harmony said. “I don’t live anywhere now, so I don’t know where I’ll be coming from, but I’ll come. Have you seen Ross?”
“No, why would I see that ugly son of a bitch?” Gar
y asked. He had always taken the attitude that Harmony had degraded herself by sleeping with Ross and getting pregnant by him—probably it was because Ross only had a seventh-grade education. Ross was from Kentucky and in Kentucky it was not uncommon for kids to drop out of school about the time of the seventh grade—Harmony had only been through the tenth grade herself and didn’t see that it was such a big deal, but Gary felt differently.
“You have natural smarts,” he told her one time, when the subject came up. “Ross on the other hand has natural dumbs.
“He’s ugly besides,” Gary had added, unnecessarily in Harmony’s view. That was even before Ross had gone bald, too.
“Eddie didn’t have a dog when you left Las Vegas,” Gary said. He had figured out that he needed to change the subject.
“No, we picked him up on the Hopi reservation,” Harmony said. “He was an orphan and now he’s a national hero.”
“It sounds gimmicky to me,” Gary said. “How could a dog fall all the way off the Statue of Liberty and live?”
“Gary, are you in a bad mood because your burn’s infected, or are you just mad at me for leaving?” Harmony asked. It was trying her patience a little, that Gary was being so negative.
“What kind of mood would you be in if your best friend left town and you had no TV and your burn was infected and all you had to look forward to was having part of your hipbone transplanted to your neck?” Gary asked. “Plus, probably losing your job. What kind of mood would all that put you in?”
“I wish you hadn’t been gay, so we could have got married,” Harmony said, unexpectedly.
There was silence on the other end—Gary hadn’t expected such a comment, probably.
“Harmony, did I hear you correctly?” Gary asked, in a subdued, almost shocked tone.
“Gary, I can’t help it,” Harmony said. “You’re the only man I trust.”
“Well, I was bi at one point, but I didn’t know you then,” Gary said. “It’s kind of a pity.”
“Yeah,” Harmony said, but she didn’t want to emphasize how big a pity she thought it was, it would only make Gary feel guilty. She felt she must have gone a little crazy, as a result of her grief. She had been around Gary for years and had even slept in the same bed with him without ever really feeling the urge to have sex with him, but now that she was two thousand miles away in Laurie Chalk’s apartment in New York, she was wondering if maybe it would have been fun to have sex with Gary.
“You never acted like you were attracted to me,” Gary said.
“Gary, it’s just that I don’t trust anybody else,” Harmony said. “It seems like it would be better if there could be some trust and some sex with the same guy.”
“I see your point, you sure couldn’t trust any of the guys you sleep with, at least not the ones I’ve known.
“I haven’t felt too sexy since Derek pushed me off the wall,” Gary said. “My burn is pretty bad, I imagine that’s the reason.”
Then there was a long silence. Harmony felt a little embarrassed by what she had said. Ever since she had been afraid to get out of the car on the Hopi mesa, for fear of being sucked away, she had sort of had the feeling that she wanted to be married again, to someone who would want to always be with her. Gary was just the sort of person who came to mind, if the trusting and the always being there were part of the qualifications.
“I never should have said it—now I’ve upset you,” she said. “I didn’t plan to say it, Gary. It just popped out.”
“Harmony, I’m not upset,” Gary said. “No guy is going to be upset by the thought that you might want to sleep with him. Even if I’m gay I’m still a guy, and it’s flattering. After all, you were the most beautiful woman Las Vegas has ever seen.”
“Gary, was I?” she asked.
“Absolutely—Mr. Sinatra even said that to me once,” Gary said.
“But now it’s past,” Harmony said. “I’m in a different time of life. I’m older and I don’t know what to do next, other than raise Eddie.”
“Harmony, can we put the part about getting married on hold, until you come out for my operation?” Gary asked.
“On hold—how do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean just sort of not rule it out a hundred percent,” Gary said. “It’s a pretty flattering thought. It’s even taken my mind off my burn for a few minutes, and it’s pretty hard to get my mind off my burn these days.”
“Okay,” Harmony said. “Okay. If it will help with your burn that’s fine. Let’s just put it on hold.”
“I wish I had a TV, that’s all,” Gary said. “It’s pretty boring not to have a TV when you’re burned. Sometimes I click my remote and try to imagine the shows that would be there, if I had a TV.”
“I should have left you my new one,” Harmony said. “Now it’s gone forever.”
“What?” Gary said. “You mean some jerk stole your new TV?”
“No, it went over into a canyon, all my possessions did,” Harmony said. “The trailer came unhitched and all was lost except Eddie’s stuffed animals. Those were in the trunk of your car.”
“Speaking of my car, how is it doing in New York?” Gary asked.
“It isn’t in New York—it had a bad explosion in New Mexico,” Harmony said. “We had to fly to New York.”
“Hey, easy come, easy go,” Gary said.
Then there was another silence—a longer silence.
“So, okay, the marriage stuff is on hold. I don’t want to think about it too much or I’ll get nervous,” Gary said. “I’m supposed to try and keep the stress levels down between now and the time of my operation.”
“Fine, it’s on hold, don’t give it another thought,” Harmony said.
Rather than take the chance of any more silences developing, they hung up.
“What was that all about?” Neddie asked. She had been eavesdropping on the last part of the conversation.
“Oh, nothing. Gary and I were thinking about getting married but he has to have surgery first,” Harmony said.
Pat wandered in just as she said it.
“You and Gary? That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard,” Pat said. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Gary gay?”
“Shut up, Pat,” Harmony said.
22.
“My opinion is, we ought to be thinking about how to get back to Tarwater, the quickest way,” Neddie said, when everybody was awake and they were trying to decide what to do with themselves.
“Can’t leave before Eddie do Letterman,” Sheba said. “Those Letterman people be mad as hops if we do that.”
“Well, but when’s that?” Neddie asked. “We’ve already seen the Statue of Liberty—I’d like to get started home sometime today.
“Anything could be happening, back in Tarwater,” she added.
“But, Neddie, you’re here, in the greatest city in the world,” Laurie pointed out. She and Eddie had just returned. Eddie was feeding Iggy a piece of pancake he had brought home in a napkin.
“Don’t mean much to Neddie,” Pat said. “She’d rather get back to Tarwater and listen to the wind blow.”
“Ed got to take advantage of all these opportunities while he’s hot,” Otis said. “Nobody stay hot but two or three days, not in New York. By tomorrow people be starting to forget about the dog that fell off the Statue of Liberty.”
“You should at least go out and walk the streets a little,” Laurie said. “It’s a great place to people-watch.”
“Yeah, but too many of the people watch back,” Pat said. “Like muggers and rapists and winos and the homeless.”
“You should be kind to the homeless,” Eddie said, a little sternly. “Sheba was homeless till she met us, and Otis lived in the Dumpster.”
“Yeah, and I be homeless again when you go, Bright,” Sheba said. “Who knows if Otis even let me in the Dumpster.”
“This place a lot nicer than the Dumpster,” Otis said, looking around Laurie’s cheerful apartment. The floor was bare and there was n
ot a lot of furniture, but the apartment had high windows and the sun had just come out and was shining through them brightly.
“Wait a minute,” Eddie said, to Sheba. “What did you say?”
“What did I say?” Sheba asked, a little startled by Eddie’s statement.
“You said you’d be homeless again, once Ed leave,” Otis said.
“Yeah, that’s right, I was just speaking the facts, Bright,” Sheba said.
“No way,” Eddie said. “I’m not going to Oklahoma unless Sheba and Otis come with me, and Iggy’s not going either, and that’s final. I don’t want to leave my new friends.
“Then there’s Omar and Abdul and Salah and G.,” he added. “I don’t want to leave anybody out. It might make them sad.”
“It might make them sadder to live in Tarwater,” Pat said.
“Oh, shut up, Pat,” Harmony said. “Eddie’s not pessimistic, like you are.”
“Harmony, that’s twice you’ve told me to shut up in twenty minutes,” Pat said.
Laurie had brought pastries from a local bakery. She put big white plates on her table and divided the pastries between the plates.
“These are knishes,” she said.
“I don’t think I want to eat something if its name starts with k,” Neddie said, looking at the knishes suspiciously.
“Boy, are you weird, Neddie,” Pat said. “It’s a dish. What difference does it make what letter of the alphabet its name starts with?”
“They’re very good knishes,” Laurie said.
“Every time you say the name of them I get the shivers,” Neddie said, and she gave a little shudder, to prove her point.
“You eat kraut, don’t you?” Pat said. “Kraut starts with a k.”
“Not the kraut I eat,” Neddie said. “I only eat sauerkraut, which starts with an s.”
“Oklahoma must be one funny place,” Otis said, not unkindly.
“It is, Otis—it’s a great, friendly place,” Neddie said, responding to the kindness.
“To tell you the truth, Otis, it’s only friendly if you’re white and have lived there all your life, and it ain’t that friendly even if you are white and have lived there all your life,” Pat said.