Magnolia City (41 page)

Lamar squinted his eyes. “Another well? Maybe. We’ve got plenty of our own, as you can see.”

“Afraid of becoming too rich?”

Lamar laughed. “One of my deepest fears, my dear.” He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “I’d have to think about it.”

“Oh, don’t be such a flat tire, Lam. Do it for old times’ sake. I need some quick cash.”

“All right. But I’d want to buy it from Charmaine, not from Mrs. Garret MacBride.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll have to sweeten the deal.”

“Oh?” Hetty held his gaze while she drew a long velvety drag off the Lucky.

“Come to my hotel room tonight.”

I can’t believe he just said that.
“No way, Buster. This is strictly business.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

“You really think I’m that easy?”

“I think you’re that desperate. Besides,” he said, rolling his chair over to her. “What I’m talking about here is not a one-night stand.” He ran his hand over her curving calf, smooth and fragrant with lotion. She had no stockings on.

“Oh? I get to stay for two?”

“You get to stay forever, Hetty.”

She dropped her cigarette on the crude wooden floor and squashed it with her sandal. “What are you talking about, Lam?”

He edged his chair in until his knees were prying hers open.
Should I pull away or see where this is leading?
“I’m not going to be coy anymore. When I saw you walk up today, Het, after working all morning with those greasy weevils, I thought—damn! That’s the woman I’ve always wanted. You just looked so cool and pretty under that big hat. Like you never sweat or something. I said to myself, she’s too good for that Irishman she married. She ought to be my wife.”

“But you’ve got one. The last time I checked, bigamy was still against the law in Texas.”

“I love Char. She and I are one of a kind. But she’s had two more miscarriages. I don’t know if you’ve heard.”

“No. I’m the black sheep, remember?”

“The doc says she has something called an incompetent cervix. Can’t hold a fetus in. It looks like she’s not going to be able to have any kids.”

“I’m sorry, Lam.”

“I won’t lie to you. It’s a big disappointment. I would have to marry the sister with the incompetent cervix.”

Keep the line of gab going.
“Well, we could always move to Utah. Become Mormons.”

“I’m serious, Het. Once I pay Splendora Oil for their expenses, all the profits from this field will be mine. We’ve hit a deep deposit here. Chief wants me to spud in thirty wells. Do you have any idea what the revenue on thirty wells is going to be someday? I’m poised to become one of the richest men in Texas. Maybe even in America. You could be my queen. You weren’t made for poverty, Hetty. You need money, and lots of it.”

“And you need children, and lots of them.”

“You got it. Chief wants heirs, and I’m his only shot. Think of what you and I could do together. You’re so juicy, kiddo. You could give me the sons I want, the sons of Splendora. I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with your cervix. We could start one of the great dynasties in Texas. Come with me, right now. I’ll take the day off.”

He buried his face in her hands, and she stroked his brown hair.
Can I really afford to turn this down?
she asked herself.
With less than fifty dollars to my name? I’m a free woman. I could say that Garret left me. I could bed Lamar without a pang of guilt and solve all my problems. I would never see that shotgun house again. I could live in utter luxury while I show them all up, including my sister.
Hetty’s thoughts poked at her heart to see if they could stir up any interest, but there was only the white blankness from under the sheet, paralyzing everything.

“It’s funny, my little Lam,” she said tenderly. “There was a time I would have jumped at an offer like this. Thank you, it’s very flattering. But I can’t think about it now. I have to get this well sold first.”

Lamar leaped to his feet and sent his chair spinning. “God, woman! It makes me want you all the more!”

“Well, buy my well, and I might consider giving you a kiss.” Hetty stood and smoothed her skirt.

“I’ll only buy it from Charmaine.”

“She’s not selling.”

“Goddamn, you’re hardheaded, Hetty. You know I’m your only shot. I don’t need to buy your little well. I’ll get the oil from it anyway. And nobody else is buying leases now. Just give me what I want.”

So he finally admitted he’s stealing!
Hetty forced herself to hold back her rage, the rage she had felt when she found out that he was draining her oil right from under her feet by the Rule of Capture. She put on a poker face. “You’re nuts. I’ve got a good producer that could make a lot of money for the right investor.” She picked the log up off the couch and waved it at him. “The equipment alone is worth five thousand. I don’t have to sell to you.”

“But I want to buy from you. Like you said. For old times’ sake.”

“You know, Lamar, you could have what you wanted, if you just knew how to get it.”

He glared at her, pure frustration frosting his eyes. “Can’t you give me a hint?”

“Well, buy the Ada Hillyer for starters. Just a business deal between old friends. That’ll show me you really care.”

Lamar shook his head. “Not without the fine print.”

“Well then, if you won’t do it for me, do it for Kirb and Mamá.”

He sniggered. “Oh, now we’re bringing in the in-laws hoping to rouse my sympathy!”

“I’m hoping to rouse your sense of decency. My folks need their money back. The Warwick’s being sold at auction. Nella thought you might buy the well as a favor to her.”

“I don’t think your mother needs any favors from me.”

“Please, Lam. They’re your wife’s parents.” Hetty hoped to see a haze of guilt spread over Lamar’s face, but what came instead was the self-righteous smirk that made her want to slap him.

“Let’s leave them out of this, kiddo. Like you said, it’s just a business deal between old friends.”

“Okay. So you’ll buy the Ada Hillyer from me?”

“Depends on which me is selling.”

“Hetty MacBride,” she said proudly.

“Not without the fine print.”

From under the hat brim, Hetty shot him a rueful glance and turned away. “That’s the deal breaker, I’m afraid, that fine print.”

“Okay, then, Mrs. Shanty MacBride! Run back to your shotgun house. Live in squalor. See if I give a goddamn.”

“Going . . . going . . .” She edged toward the door.

She could hear his exasperated breathing.

“Gone!” she chirped and slid through the door.

He pried it open behind her and shouted, “One hour with you naked. My final offer!”

Hetty held on to her composure as she sauntered back to the Wichita, climbing into the truck as gracefully as possible. She waved at Lamar as she revved up the motor and backed away. She didn’t exit the way she’d come in, but headed straight into the field. As soon as she was out of his sight, she tore her picture hat off. “Men!”

“Lamar wouldn’t buy?”

“Oh, he wanted to buy all right. Me along with the well.”

Pearl’s mouth flew open. “You don’t mean it? Lord! That man’s got horns holding up his halo.”

“That’s a good way to put it.” Hetty fumed as they bumped along the rutted road, slick with grease spread from the wells. “It wouldn’t hurt him to help me out for once. It’s pocket change to him. If he really cared about me, he’d do it—wouldn’t he?”

“I should hope so.”

“That means he doesn’t really care. He’s playing with me.”

“He’s showing his colors, that’s what he’s doing.”

“He sure is: puke green. He and my sister deserve each other, that’s all I can say.” Hetty drove deeper into the field.

“Are we taking the long way home?”

“I just want to spy on Splendora a little. See what they’re up to.” She drove along the line of derricks, through the blasted meadows. Black grime covered everything. A wide circle spread out from each platform, a good hundred yards around, choking all vegetation. Only one scraggly plant had wedged its roots into the dry red dirt on the fringes. It was creeping in, taking over.

“That’s what we used to call goat weed,” Pearl said. “It’s a terrible nuisance.”

The drilling petered out as they approached a swampy part of the woods, but they could see pipelines snaking into the wetlands, pumping salt water. As she came around a curve, what Hetty saw caused her to brake in the middle of the road and climb out. Pearl joined her, carrying Pierce. They looked down into a cesspool that used to be a marsh. Everything, cankered with death. Hetty could hardly stand to breathe. A foul stench arose out of the stagnant water, reminding her of the dead frogs in Caney Creek. But this was much worse than a few dead frogs. As far as they could see there were acres of dead trees. Leafless hickories encrusted halfway up with salt. Rotting willows. Yellow pines. A skeleton of a forest. Utterly still, deeply decaying. The only things that moved were oil slicks shimmering across the surface like mother-of-pearl in the sun. Mixed in with the reek of death was another odor, heavier than air, a harsh chemical smell that scorched Hetty’s nostrils as she breathed it in. She stood there, choking, shaking her head.
Lamar’s legacy to the world,
she thought.
A dead forest.

Pearl clucked. “This ain’t God’s country anymore. It’s the devil’s.”

“Amen,” Hetty said. “And I want to get as far away from it as I can.”

Hetty drove straight to Tulsa’s barbershop on Commerce Street in Kilgore. She tucked her hair into the white picture hat and applied fresh pink lipstick in the dusty rearview mirror.

“Pray for a miracle,” Hetty told Pearl before leaving her in the cab with Pierce. Standing under the spinning candy cane with the log in hand, Hetty peered into the shop. It was filled with the usual crowd of men, most of them in shirtsleeves and ties. There was a group huddled around the table stacked with
Collier’s
magazines, sweating out a poker game and wiping their brows every now and then with striped handkerchiefs. A sign hung on the door by a little chain: OPEN. Hetty wondered how “open” Tulsa’s would be to a member of her sex. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The brisk scent of aftershave cut the air. A ceiling fan whirled. She scanned the room from under the wide brim of her hat, meeting the eyes of the poker players unflinchingly as they looked up scowling. The chatter died down. All you could hear was the
slap-slap
of the shoeshine boy, buffing leather.

Hetty was careful to speak with an easy grace. “Gentlemen! I apologize for trespassing on your territory, but I understand this is where one comes when one has a lease to sell.”

Snickers ricocheted through the room. “We all got leases to sell, lady,” someone drawled. “Why don’t y’all buy ours?”

“I understand that, sir. I realize that leases aren’t worth much these days. It’s the well I’m talking about. I have a rig I’m willing to sell against future profits for only five thousand dollars.”

“We like the rig you’re wearing better,” a gruff voice barked from the back of the shop and was followed by cheers.

“Thank you, gentlemen. Now that you’ve had a chance to express your taste in fashion, is there anyone here who’s ready to talk business? I don’t have all day.”

Silence floated under the ceiling fan, broken only by the flap of cards being dealt.

“You come to the wrong place, ma’am,” the man in the barber chair finally said. “We all got wells we can’t operate.”

The barber agreed. “Right now”—
rat now
—“they’re about as handy as last year’s bird nest.”

“Not this one.”

“Yeah? What’s any different about yours?”

“My promoter is Cleveland Yoakum.”

One of the card players spoke up, a Yankee from the sound of his voice. “The Cliff?”

She walked straight over to him. “That’s right. Buy my well and I’ll make you partners with the slab o’ granite himself.”

“You really think we’re going to buy a rig from someone wearing little white sandals? You ever been on a derrick, baby? You know anything about them?”

“Of course. My husband and I drilled the Ada Hillyer. I can name all the parts of the well and how much they’re worth.” She looked him straight in the eye, hoping he wouldn’t call her bluff.

“Oh, yeah? Name one.” He stood up, while the other players exchanged amused glances.

“Well . . . let’s see . . . where shall I start?” Hetty said, buying herself some time. She called up the derrick in her mind and scanned the image. Then she remembered the cold February dusk when Scott had introduced her to her alter ego and alias, Kelly Bushings. “There’s always my favorite part, of course, the kelly. Named after a woman.”

“And what does the kelly do?”

Hetty rolled her eyes to heaven in mock exasperation. “The kelly makes everything turn for the drilling. It fits into the kelly bushings. It’s always hexagonal in shape.”

“Well, not always,” the man said, cocking an eye at her and then sitting back down. “Sometimes it’s square.” He played his hand, then looked back up at her. “What’s the production on the well? You got any proof?”

“Here’s the log right here,” she said, lifting it from under her arm.

He seemed impressed with that. When it was his turn again, he folded his cards and announced, “I’m out, baby.” He grabbed his winnings, then walked over and swiveled the door open, gesturing for the lady to go first. His fuzzy red hair had just been neatly trimmed. “Kozak, ma’am. I don’t know if you remember me,” he said as she passed outside.

“You sound familiar.”

“I’m the guy from Jersey.” It came to her, a flash from their first night in Kilgore: the rain, the smell of hamburgers sizzling on the grill at Brown’s Drugs, the way this carrottop honked his words through his nose.

“Now I remember. You were the one trying to buy all the leases in town.”

“And your husband thought he had a share in Joiner’s syndicate.”

Hetty felt herself blush a little. “We didn’t know much back then.”

He turned away from the barbershop. “You knew more than I did. Talk to farmers, you told me. I took your advice and did quite well.”