The old man thought a minute.
“It’s a funny time to be peddling rigs,” he said. “This town’s nothing but a parking lot for rigs, right now. Pretty soon they’ll have to start parking them over in Midland, I guess. Odessa’s about got all the parked rigs it can hold.”
He paused for a moment, evidently thinking of Midland, twenty-six miles to the east.
“Midland was once a nice town,” he said with a hint of apology for the neighboring community’s decline. “It filt up with them necktie people, though. I never understood the point of neckties, except that it would make it easier for somebody to hang you. I don’t know why a feller would want to make it easier for somebody to hang him.”
“It sure puzzles me,” Duane said.
The old man was silent for several minutes. He took a sip of his coffee and made a face.
“Worst coffee in West Texas, this right here,” he said.
“It’s not too good,” Duane admitted.
“I been thinking of going to Norway,” Mr. Sime said. “They’re getting quite a bit of production up in Norway, but I don’t know if I’ll go. They’ve got some socialism up there.”
Duane sipped the horrible coffee, which tasted as if it had been made from linoleum chips. He waited. There was absolutely no reason why C. L. Sime should help him, when probably at least a thousand other people had just as much claim on his concern—and his concern, in any case, was clearly sparse. Yet he continued to feel hopeful. He didn’t feel that things were going badly.
“You must not know me very well or you wouldn’t drive all the way out here in a sandstorm, hoping I’d do something stupid,” C.L. said.
“When this thing bottoms out some people will still be in the oil business and a lot of people won’t,” Duane said. “I’d like to be one of the ones who are still in it. I think we’ll live to see oil go up again, and when it does, a cut of my production wouldn’t be a bad thing to have.”
“I’ve got a fair amount of money,” C.L. remarked.
“I know you do, but there’s no such thing as too much,” Duane said.
“You ain’t a necktie person, at least,” the old man remarked. “I doubt you’ll end up in Midland. It was once a nice little town.
“Have you got anything written up?” he asked.
Duane had written a proposition several days before. He had the proposition plus his production records for the last five years in an envelope.
“It ain’t true that I’ve wrote deals on napkins,” the old man said with sudden heat. “I’ve never wrote nothing on no napkin in my life. You couldn’t write much on a napkin, even if you wanted to. They soak up ink too quick. Then you couldn’t read what you wrote even if you wrote it.”
“My proposition isn’t written on a napkin,” Duane assured him.
“Well, give it to me then,” C.L. said. “I’m sick of this napkin talk.”
Duane handed him the envelope. The old man opened it carefully and looked inside.
“I see you typed it up,” he said. “That’s good. They say I write deals on the backs of envelopes, and that’s another black lie. This napkin and envelope talk gets irritating. That would be no way to run an oil business.”
“I agree,” Duane said.
“I think I’m going up to Norway and see how I make out with that socialism,” the old man said. “They’re making good production up there. I like the way you typed this up. I’ll look it over and ring you on the phone when I get back.”
“Thanks, Mr. Sime,” Duane said.
CHAPTER 38
JACY CAME TO THE DOOR OF THE MOTEL ROOM wrapped in a towel. Her hair was pinned on top of her head and the TV was on. The room contained two beds—Shorty was stretched out on one of them, warily watching a game show. Jacy walked back to the TV and turned the sound down.
“I had it turned up to drown out the wind,” she said.
A room-service tray containing a grilled cheese sandwich and a glass of milk sat on the floor by her bed.
Jacy got back in the bed and put the tray on her lap.
“I figure a grilled cheese sandwich is safe even in Odessa,” she said. “Did you make your deal?”
“I didn’t get turned down,” Duane said. “I can think hopeful thoughts for two or three weeks, at least. That’s something.”
“Yes,” Jacy said, her voice dropping. She looked at the sandwich in her hand and put it back on the tray. She stared at the television, frowning a little, as if trying to force herself to concentrate on something.
Duane felt awkward. He felt he had said something wrong. Jacy picked up her sandwich and took a listless bite. She chewed it slowly, as if even that small effort took more energy than she had to spare. But then her appetite appeared to revive and she ate half the sandwich and drank all the milk.
“Want the other half?” she asked.
Duane shook his head.
“Here, puppy,” Jacy said, tossing the other half to Shorty. Never shy in the face of food, Shorty ate it in a gulp. Jacy offered Duane the slice of pickle on her plate.
“I could pay you back that pickle I stole from your boat,” she said. “Who would have thought an opportunity to do that would come so soon?”
“Not me,” Duane said.
Jacy switched her attention to the TV. A plump young couple had just won a motorboat, a new station wagon, a dishwasher and a dining-room set. They beamed with happiness. The young wife was wearing very bright red lipstick.
“Do you think they’re happy?” Jacy asked.
Duane glanced at the TV. The young couple seemed ecstatic. The plump young wife kept saying “Oh, I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it.” The host, a dapper man in his sixties, offered them a chance to say hello to their families, which they did rather timidly.
“They just won a pile of stuff,” Duane said. “They might be happy.”
“That’s a junky dining-room set, but do you think they know that?” Jacy asked.
Duane looked again.
“It sort of looks like our dining-room set,” he said. “Or our breakfast-room set. I keep forgetting we have a dining room. We only use it twice a year.”
“Christmas and Thanksgiving?” Jacy asked.
Duane nodded.
“Do you think they have a nice home life?” Jacy asked.
Duane’s mind was back in the coffee shop with C. L. Sime. He wondered if the old man was sitting reading his proposition and pausing occasionally to bicker with the waitress. He found himself hoping that C.L. would like what he read so much that he would call and make him the loan before he even went to Norway. After all, Duane had offered him a quarter of his production for five years. It might strike a billionaire as a very fair offer.
Attempts to read C. L. Sime’s mind from halfway across Odessa made it difficult for him to analyze the home life of the beaming young couple who had just won the motorboat.
“She might be a good cook,” he ventured.
“You’re not trying,” Jacy said. “You don’t even care about them. I don’t think she’s a good cook. I bet they eat frozen pizzas half the time. They look like big pizza eaters to me.”
“I’m too far in debt to care about anything but getting out,” Duane admitted.
“That’s not what Karla thinks,” Jacy said. “Karla thinks you get fucked about every five minutes. Do you?”
“No,” Duane said.
Jacy was still intent on the game show. “I wonder about little couples like that,” she said. “They look silly but maybe they’re great in the sack. I’ve had silly-looking men who were great in the sack.”
Shorty stood up and began to lick the crumbs of the grilled cheese sandwich off the bedspread.
“Do you think she goes down on him?” Jacy asked, still looking at the TV.
Duane found that it was a strain to get his imagination even to undress the young couple who had just won all the goodies. His imagination was reluctant to take them as far as oral sex, or any sex. They were dress
ed in their Sunday finery—in the case of the young man, a green suit—and the jump from their Sunday finery to oral sex was a bigger jump than his mind was willing to make.
“I don’t have any idea what they do,” he admitted.
Jacy looked amused. “You certainly have a dull attitude toward television,” she said. “What’s the point of it, if you’re not going to speculate about the sex lives of people on game shows?”
“I hardly ever watch game shows,” Duane said.
“I can see that,” Jacy said. She got out of bed, picked up her T-shirt and running shorts and went into the bathroom. She shut the door and came out a minute later, dressed. She reached around the TV and turned it off without looking at it.
“If I see another couple I’ll just get interested and you’ll have to sit here and be bored,” she said. “Come on, puppy, I guess we’re leaving our little home away from home.”
Once in the Mercedes she carefully buckled her seat belt, carefully locked the door and then leaned back against the door she had just locked and kicked off her sandals.
“Are you so far in debt that it would bother you to rub my feet?” she asked.
“Nope,” Duane said. He massaged one foot and then the other. Soon they passed Midland with its little cluster of skyscrapers. The skyscrapers, shrouded in a haze of dust, seemed as forlorn as the occasional hitchhikers they passed.
“You oughta watch more game shows,” Jacy said. “You see some lucky people on game shows.”
“It’s one thing I haven’t tried, getting on a game show,” Duane said.
“You’d just lose,” Jacy said. “You don’t have an open mind. A lot of people think soap operas are successful because they’re like life, but that’s horseshit. Soap operas are successful because they aren’t very much like life. Game shows are what’s really like life. You win things that look great at the time but turn out to be junk, and you lose things you might want to keep forever, just because you’re unlucky.”
She reached into the back seat, got her towel, wadded it into a pillow and was soon asleep.
From time to time, back through Big Spring and across the gray range country west of Abilene, Duane looked over at Jacy. In sleep some people became peaceful and looked younger. Karla did. No matter how hard her day, how filled with shouting, tears and trauma, sleep returned her beauty to her, and also her youth. Asleep, Karla could be taken for a woman in her late twenties.
With Jacy the opposite occurred. The deeper she sank into slumber, the more her unhappiness seeped into her face. She did not sleep silently, either. Occasionally she jerked and made sounds that were like grunts. The composure with which she carried herself soon vanished. Her body sagged; her mouth fell open.
Duane soon stopped looking at her—it seemed inconsiderate. He felt depressed, not so much by the change in Jacy as by the change in everything.
He didn’t notice when she woke, but happened to glance over and catch her looking at him, her eyes big. The mere fact of waking had restored her dignity—she had not bothered to correct the sag of her body, but her look was tranquil, even a little amused.
“Well, you’re pretty good at foot rubs, but I don’t believe you get fucked every five minutes,” she said. “I guess married people always believe their mates are doing better than they are.”
“You’ve been married, I hear,” Duane said. “How’d you do?”
Jacy smiled. “I did fine,” she said.
CHAPTER 39
’ARE YOU REALLY ATTACHED TO THAT DOG?’ JACY asked, when they drove up beside his pickup in the supermarket parking lot.
The question took Duane by surprise.
“He’s my dog,” he said. “Or else I’m his person, however you want to look at it.” Shorty, in the back seat, was looking particularly drunken. He was not the sort of creature one easily confessed an attachment to.
“I hate to tell you, but I think I’ve won him away from you, despite my vow not to,” Jacy said. “I think he’d go with me in a minute.”
“Well, he might,” Duane said, though previous to that moment infidelity was the last thing he would have accused Shorty of.
“Maybe it’s time you two tried a trial separation,” Jacy said. She was brushing her hair, but without much energy.
“You mean you want him?” Duane asked. “You want Shorty?”
“Well, kind of,” Jacy said, grinning.
“He’s probably the single most hated animal in Hardtop County,” Duane said. “He’s more hated than any living thing in these parts, people included.”
“He might just be misunderstood,” Jacy said. “Maybe he just needs a good woman’s love.”
Duane realized that she really wanted Shorty. He had assumed at first that she was only joking. He looked so puzzled that Jacy laughed.
“Come on, he’s not Hitler, he’s just a dog,” she said. “I’m too alone, Duane. I have to start trying to let some living creature back in my life, even if it’s just your scroungy old dog. Just tell me what to feed him—I wouldn’t want to hurt his digestion.”
“Shorty’s digestion?” Duane said, his amazement growing. Shorty had eaten parts of several human elbows, along with a great variety of dog food, road kill and scraps. It had never occurred to anyone that his digestion need be considered.
“Feed him dead skunks,” he said. “Feed him ground-up rocks or nearly anything else.”
“Can I have him, then?” Jacy asked.
“Yeah, if you really want him,” Duane said, though he realized it was all happening too fast for him to believe.
“Thanks,” Jacy said. “I just want to try a companion and see how it works out. Otherwise there’s a big chance I’ll spend the rest of my life totally alone.”
“But you wouldn’t want to try a human companion?” Duane asked.
Duane got out. He felt the conversation was unfinished in some way, but he didn’t know how to finish it.
“Thanks for letting me have the dog,” Jacy said. “And for showing me the ugliest town in the world.”
“I’m glad you could come,” he said. “We didn’t really catch up, though.”
Jacy scooted under the wheel.
“Let’s not bother catching up,” she said. “I hate talking about the past, and not just because Benny got killed. And if there’s one person I really don’t want to talk about the past with it’s my first boyfriend.”
She looked at him with sudden hostility, a spot of color in her pale cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Duane said. “It’s just one of those things you say. I guess it was stupid to say it.”
Jacy was squeezing the steering wheel of the Mercedes. He could see her hands tightening on it.
Duane was not quite sure what he had said wrong, or what he might say to correct it. He felt very awkward.
“I’m real glad you went with me,” he said finally.
Jacy gave him an irritated look and then relaxed and leaned back in the seat.
“Yeah,” she said. “I liked that motel room. The longer I lived in Europe the more American I felt. Staying in a motel room like that was perfect. That motel room was pretty American.”
She started the car. Shorty was wide-awake—Duane thought there was a good chance that he would try to jump out of the window as soon as he realized that a momentous change was about to take place in his life.
To make Shorty aware of just how momentous, he walked over to his pickup and opened the door.
“Hey, tell that woman I’ll be Eve,” Jacy said. “I’ve gotta stop being so reclusive. Causing the fall of humanity might be just the kind of challenge I need.”
“She’ll be thrilled to hear that you want to do it,” Duane said.
Jacy looked at him for a moment and then drove slowly off. Duane was not sure what the look meant. The Mercedes turned toward the street and then made a slow circle and came back toward him. Obviously she had had second thoughts about Shorty, Duane thought.
But Jacy completed her circle
and drove slowly up to where he stood, his pickup door open.
“Hey, I’m not mad at you, honey pie,” she said, smiling.
Then she drove on and turned up the highway. Duane waited for Shorty to come flying out of the car. Soon he would be racing back on his little short legs. But in a minute the Mercedes was no more that a dot, and the racing Shorty did not appear.
“Shorty, you’re too damn dumb even to know what’s happening,” Duane said, though all the way to Thalia he expected to see his dog running back to him.
CHAPTER 40
UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES DUANE FOUND THE centennial meeting hard to focus on. He spent much of it wondering what Jacy and Shorty were doing. Several times he lost track of the agenda, causing Suzie and Jenny to look at him anxiously. He was as absent on this occasion as Sonny was during his lapses.
Sonny, fortunately, showed no trace of his problem and conducted much of the meeting himself. Few of the issues to be settled were large. Jenny, the universal den mother, was in charge of getting people to take tickets, run concessions, print programs, pick up trash, etc., and she delivered a brisk report on her efforts to line up volunteers.
Meanwhile Suzie Nolan smiled her mysterious, unusually fetching smile. Duane decided she smiled that way because for some reason she looked at life happily, unlike almost everyone else he knew. Suzie didn’t tax herself with knowledge of the world and was not even particularly interested in what was going on in Thalia. She took the committee work, like almost everything else, lightly. The burning issues over which the committee raged did not burn for Suzie. She took her days slow, watching a little television, reading a fat paperback romance, doing a little washing, delivering her kids to the athletic events in which they always triumphed. She might wash a window if one seemed particularly dirty, she might do a spot of yard work; but she was always happy to lay aside her modest chores or her fat paperbacks if Duane showed up. Adultery interested her more than dirty windows, but neither blemished her serenity.
“It’s funny,” she reflected. “I was totally faithful to Junior for fifteen years. Then we got rich and that loosened me up. Then we went broke and I was all loosened up and started sleeping with Dickie. Now Junior’s gone and all I can think of is that there’s lots more room in the house.