Travis looked at the menu, relieved to see hamburgers, wishing he could order a bourbon instead of a Coke. He'd probably end up knocking the damn Coke over...
"And Christopher is a darling. Do you visit them often?"
"Naw, this is the first time." He didn't know how to explain that, so he shut up again. The waiter came and took their order.
"So," he said. "You gonna buy the book?"
Ms. Carmichael looked slightly startled at his directness, and he squirmed a little. There was probably some complicated bunch of rules to business lunches, and he didn't know them. But he'd stick with what he did know, and he wasn't going to sit here and chat about Ken, Chris, and the nice weather we're having.
After a moment she said, "Travis, who do you think would like to read your book?"
"Teenagers. Kids like me." He was sure they would because he'd read it and loved it.
"I agree. We have an extensive young-adult line, books we market directly to young people."
"Yeah, I know." Travis paused while the waiter set his hamburger in front of him. "That's why I sent it to you guys."
"Oh, so you're aware of marketing?"
Travis wasn't sure what that meant, so he didn't say anything. He'd just thought if you had a book about teenagers, you'd try a publisher who did books about teenagers. They sat in silence a minute while she poked at her salad and he put ketchup on his burger.
"Do you hang out in bookstores a lot? Do your friends?"
"Well, I do, but most of my friends don't."
"How do they get introduced to books?"
"I don't know--school, I guess. We have to do book reports. The library. Sometimes if we see a movie and there's a book ... You ever see Rambo?"
"Travis, you mentioned schools. Schools are a very large part of the young-adult market. Teachers and librarians are some of our best salespeople. I think word of mouth will be fantastic on your book, but we'll have to get it to the kids initially."
Travis could barely sit still, he was getting so excited. She was talking about his book, like it really was a book, a book out there, selling!
"Yeah," he said.
"Well, frankly, no teacher or librarian wants to lose his job. And recommending your book, as it is now, could cost someone his job."
It dawned on Travis what she was getting around to: "You want me to clean up the language? Hell, I'll clean up the language. No sweat."
"You don't have a problem with that?"
She was so relieved, Travis realized she didn't know he would have promised anything to get her to publish it. Almost.
"Naw, I can fix it. Everybody's going to know what they're saying, anyway."
"That point aside, we still have a few problems--no major girl characters, for instance, and the majority of book buyers your age are girls."
Travis's eyebrows met over his nose. "I'll clean up the language some, but I ain't going to turn it into a romance. Let the guys read it--there's nothing for guys to read anyway, if you're not into sci-fi."
She might as well get clear on this now. "I don't know what girls do, so I don't write about them. And that junk they like to read makes me barf."
"What do you like to read?"
"Some nonfiction, like biographies. Stephen King. Hemingway. I think I'm going to like Fitzgerald sometime, but not now."
"Not now?"
"Well, I tried to read one of his books once, the one where everybody is hanging out on the beach sippin' sherry, but I didn't get it. I figured if I read it now I wouldn't like it, so I'll give it another try when I get older."
"What makes you think you'll like it at all?"
Travis stopped, trying to define it. "I like the way his sentences feel," he said finally. "Smooth and cool like Laddie pencils."
"Are you a mystery fan?"
"No," Travis said flatly. "I hate it when the only reason to read something is to know what happens next."
"But that is a good reason to read something."
"Yeah. But it shouldn't be the only one."
It was amazing, to be talking about reading. He never talked about reading with anyone. And it was such a major part of his life. Sometime, he thought, someday, he'd get Ms. Carmichael to split a bottle of bourbon with him and they'd sit up all night and talk about books...
She was talking about his book right now, and he focused back on the conversation.
"...more style than you know what to do with. It's so full of energy, so sincere, you'll be able to get away with the melodramatics. But not twice, Travis. The critics won't be indulgent twice. You'll have to use some discipline on the next one."
Critics. Markets. Styles. This was really book talk! He tried to stay intent on her every word, but his mind was racing so fast it was hard to hear.
Grammar. His grammar could really stand some improvement, although stylistically it was right for the dialogue. His spelling was, well, imaginative. But the narrative flowed, there was a strong sense of place, and his characters--well, his characters were wonderfully realized human beings, everyone would come away from this book convinced that these people really existed. He'd have to cut some description, he really didn't have to describe everyone again in each chapter--
"Are any of these characters based on real people?"
"No," Travis said slowly. "Not exactly ... but like, they're real to me. You know Dusty?"
"The one that gets killed in the car crash."
"Yeah. Well, he's made up, totally, but sometimes I think about him, sometimes he even shows up in my dreams, like a real person. It's weird. I just forget he's not real."
"Shouldn't there be at least one sympathetic adult, though? Surely you know some sympathetic adults..." She paused. "Or any adults, for that matter."
"Yeah." He shrugged. "But this is about kids. What have adults got to do with it?"
Finally, the waiter brought the check. Travis felt a little funny about letting her buy lunch, but Ken, who knew about business lunches, said she should. To cover his awkwardness he spoke up. "So. You can fix up the spelling, huh?"
She smiled up at him and slipped her credit card back into her billfold. "You know, when we first met, I couldn't believe you had written that book. Your speaking style is so different from the way you write."
"I got two languages." He realized he meant "vocabularies." "One in my head and one in my mouth."
"Interesting. Save it for interviews. Think you'll be able to do interviews?"
"Oh, yeah. I'll figure it out."
"You should photograph beautifully--"
"Ms. Carmichael?"
"Yes."
"Will my mom have to sign the contract, since I'm not eighteen?"
"Yes. Is that a problem?"
"No. No problem."
They paused in the airport hallway to shake hands again; she was going to her next flight, he was going to meet Ken at the baggage claim.
"Are you working on anything now?"
Travis shook his head.
"Start something new, right now, get it going before this one comes out. First-novel block is a very real phenomenon. You know," she said carefully, "this is going to change your life."
Travis shrugged. "It was changing anyway."
Chapter 9
Casey was getting ready for the last big show of the season. She was out on the Star Runner when Travis caught the bus in the morning for school, and usually rode him again following the afternoon lessons. Travis worried about her, at school. If something happened, out there alone during the day, it'd be hours before anyone found her.
Once, on the weekend, when Ken had drifted down to watch, they nearly witnessed a major crash when the Star Runner threw a bucking fit in the corner and Casey put him over a four-foot fence anyway; she'd lost both her stirrups and nearly went over his head as he landed.
"I don't see why she does damn stupid stuff like that," he'd said. Ken answered, "It's her life, isn't it?" Travis wanted to slug him. But when Casey rode up laughing, they laughed too
.
If only the Star Runner were just, just, well, normal. A normal horse. Jennifer's horse, Sandman, was high-strung, apt to spook at things and occasionally run out at a jump; Travis learned to watch it when he haltered him because he would bite.
But that was normal. Travis had always liked animals, had no trouble liking most of the horses. He'd been embarrassed once while brushing a pony, to realize he was listening for a purr. The signals the horses used weren't as blatant as cats' or dogs', but they were there.
The Star Runner ... Travis and Jennifer were watching him trot up and down in the paddock, and Jennifer shivered.
"He's so creepy," she said. "You ever noticed his eyes? There's white showing all the way around. That's supposed to mean he's crazy."
"I can believe it." Travis had an idea for a story--an outer-space alien stuck on earth, but nobody'd know it since it looked like a horse.
"I don't see why Casey loves him so much."
"Love?" Travis couldn't believe she still didn't know better. "Let's ask her. Hey, Case."
Casey had just turned out the ponies in the next paddock. Now she joined them, hanging over the railing.
"Jennifer," Travis said, in a breathless Jennifer-voice, "doesn't know why you love the Star Runner so much."
He really liked Jennifer, but sometimes she was so sweet it irritated him.
"Love?" Casey unknowingly echoed Travis. "Hell, the day he stops jumping I'll shoot him."
"Oh, Casey!" Jennifer was horrified.
"She'd do it," Travis agreed. Then, because he was sorry he'd mocked her, he started tickling her, and ended up chasing her back to the barn.
When he looked back, Casey was still watching the Star Runner. Waiting.
The Thursday night before the show, Travis worked late in the barn. He had to pack tack, make sure the big eight-horse trailer was clean, legwrap some of the horses. He'd learned how to pull manes, so that they were short and easy to braid, but the braiding itself, weaving a small strand and knotting it, was beyond him. Christopher could have done a better job.
Kelsey stayed for an extra hour and got four horses braided. They looked classy with the little row of knots down their necks. Travis assumed braiding was just to make them look better, but Kelsey said braiding had been started to keep manes from getting tangled in brush on the hunt field.
Casey was working on post entries. Some people had made up their minds about what classes to enter, or to go at all, at the last second. He remembered a dream he had the night before, involving Casey and her long legs...
"Through?" Her voice made him jump.
"Just about." He turned away, afraid she'd see him reddening.
"Put the light blanket on Silver Hawk, would you? He's fairly clean right now, but those white ponies can get filthy overnight."
"Okay." Travis paused to study her handwriting. She printed, in strong clean lines, like a child.
When he went back to the house and saw Teresa's car but not Ken's, he almost turned around and went back. Being alone with Teresa was not something he looked forward to.
Well, hell, he thought, at least this time he knew she was in the house. Maybe if he made a good impression on her, she wouldn't give Ken such a hard time about splitting custody. He slammed the door so he wouldn't be surprising her.
"Ken?"
Travis went on into the living room. "Naw, it's me."
Teresa glanced up from the photo album she'd been looking through and took another sip of red wine.
"Oh. Hi. I brought Chris early, I've got to leave town again, tomorrow. It looks like Ken's going to be late."
Travis thought: Leaving with David? but didn't say anything. It obviously wasn't her first glass of wine.
"Been working in the barn?"
"Yeah." Travis hoped she could tell by the way he was dressed, not by the way he smelled.
"Ken said you'd been helping Casey. I wish that girl would wear some sun block."
Travis couldn't make that connection, but said, "Yeah. Hey," he added, "I'm sorry about the other night. I didn't mean to scare you guys."
Teresa nodded. She had beautiful dark deer-eyes, like Christopher's.
"Ken told me you were having a fight with your mom. She called earlier, by the way. She sounds real sweet. You ought to talk to her."
"She doesn't care about me," Travis said, the anger at her betrayal flooding back. "She doesn't even know me. She had a baby once, and still loves it."
"Well, honey, don't knock it. That's the strongest hold you'll ever have on anybody."
She went back to her pictures, but something made Travis think: She's picturing the fights she'll have with Chris when he's my age.
Ken had already made him feel peculiar that way; sometimes he'd look from Chris to Travis with an expression just short of horror. Like: This is what's coming.
"You ever see these?" Teresa held out the album. "Ken and I took a trip to Morocco in--oh, a long time ago. We took a freighter over, slept in train stations, on decks, in fifty-cent rooms."
"Geez, did you guys really look like that?" Travis stared at the photos. Teresa was so young-looking, really skinny, her hair longer and darker, parted in the middle and hanging down her back. She was wearing granny glasses and an Indian headband. She said that was Ken with her, but he wasn't even recognizable, with his hair to his shoulders and a drooping walrus mustache around his mouth. Both had on outlandishly long bell-bottomed jeans and gauzy Eastern shirts.
Travis was flabbergasted. Sure, he'd heard about hippies and stuff, but to actually have walked around looking like that! Didn't people laugh?
"This was my Gloria Steinem look. I think Ken was supposed to be Elliot Gould."
This didn't help Travis much, since he didn't know who those people were.
"I'm really glad we did that once, scrounging around and sleeping on sidewalks--but Ken's really sad we won't do it again."
"Yeah." Travis was on an entirely new train of thought. "So--you guys were into drugs and everything?"
"You think you invented it?" Teresa laughed, then said quickly, "You ought to know by now Ken is no substance abuser. Oh, no. Ken has entirely too much control for that." Teresa polished off her wine and said, "Would you get me just another half glass?"
When he brought it he said, "How'd you guys mess up, anyway?"
"What's Ken's story?"
"Well, when I asked him all he said was 'It all started with the Cuisinart.' "
"Sounds like him." She went on turning the pages of her album, and Travis gave up on getting a straight answer. Adults probably didn't even know straight answers anymore.
"You ever see Ken at the barn?" she said suddenly.
Travis thought it over. "Not much," he answered. Ken never did go to the barn, other than to stop by with a message or watch for a second. Travis had never seen him on a horse.
"See? It was always his big dream to raise quarter horses, and when that didn't work out just the way he planned, he quit the whole thing. He just can't stand any deviation from the plan.
"I just don't think I'm working out the way he planned either."
"So--Ken got into being a lawyer to help people and all that stuff?"
"Don't be silly. Ken got into being a lawyer because he thought he could make money. Don't get him wrong. Ken likes having money, it's just spending it that bothers him ... well, he grew up poor and I didn't, what do I know? And--don't tell him I said this--but the law's just up his alley. He always did want to know the rules, the penalties ... I just think there's more than one dream to have. And I don't know why happiness shouldn't be as trustworthy as any other emotion."
Travis was ticked off now. Garbage. She was sad, Ken was sad, why didn't they do something?
Ticked off, and scared too. Not me. Not me. I'll always know what I want, how to get it...
She said, "You ever have to read that poem at school, about the guy sitting in the snow at the fork in the road, wondering about the road not taken?"
"Yeah." Travis had read it, but not at school. He just liked Robert Frost.
"What they don't tell you is, every time you turn around there's another goddamn fork."
He didn't think he'd be able to sleep that night, but he conked out immediately. He was real surprised to find Teresa in the kitchen the next morning, making pancakes with Christopher.
"Hi," she said cheerfully as he poured himself some coffee. She didn't look at him. He managed "Hi" with a straight face, but it was real hard to keep from smirking when he ran into Ken at the bottom of the stairs.
"Teresa thought she'd stay over," Ken explained, a little too rapidly. "She doesn't like to drive when she's been drinking."
"Yeah," Travis said. "Sure."
When their eyes met, Ken grinned and turned red.
Travis was oddly happy the rest of the day, though he couldn't put his finger on just why.
Chapter 10
Girls and horses! What was the big deal about girls and horses? It was weird. It was almost sick. At first he thought being at the show, being surrounded by cute girls in skintight breeches, was going to drive him horny-crazy; he could understand now what had happened to the twins--why if you worked at McDonald's, the sight of a fry could make you sick.
They petted the horses, fussed over them, combed and brushed them like they were going to a prom. Baby-talked them and even kissed them! That was a definite turnoff. He didn't get it. Like, he loved Motorboat, but couldn't imagine ever carrying on like this.
He was grumpy anyway. Five o'clock in the morning wasn't his favorite time to get up. It wasn't a bad time to go to bed sometimes, it usually meant a pretty good night before; but there wasn't anything great about a five o'clock rising.
And here it was eight-thirty, the show had been going on for a half an hour, and he'd been too busy to go watch anyone.
He was helping a frantic Jennifer tack up for her first class. Somehow it didn't surprise him that she was late.
He barely had the throatlatch of Sandman's bridle buckled when Jennifer grabbed the reins and trotted him out.
"Tell Casey I'm in the schooling ring."
"Where is she?" Travis hadn't seen her for an hour.
"Small arena." Jennifer's voice floated back. "With the ponies."
Casey was standing by the rail next to a woman Travis recognized as one of the pony moms, although he wasn't sure which.