Marathon Cowboys (14 page)

your boots. If you have a mind to run into Alpine, I could ask

you to pick us up some groceries.”

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“Can you get some strawberries? Or blueberries if they

don’t have strawberries.” Jesse was yawning behind his

hand.

“Sure.” I studied his face. “Jesse, go take a break and

lay down for a while. You look tired.”

The Original put his hand on the back of Jesse’s neck,

but he was looking at me. “It’s hard to take that uniform off

some days, isn’t it, Staff Sergeant? I can see how you were,

taking care of your men. Jesse, when do you plan on going

back to San Francisco?”

“I don’t know. Once I get the Grievous Angel done, I’m

going to send it up, let Sammy get started on his deal.

Marketing and whatnot.”

I felt a little like I’d been turned into a pillar of salt, Lot’s

wife staring with longing at something she had lost for all

time.
Oh, right, right. He was
going back to San Francisco.

Like, going back to the place he lived. There had been no talk

about him taking me with him.

“Have you thought about staying down here with us for

a time?”

He shook his head. “I can’t, Granddad, but thanks. Too

much happening up there in my world. I can’t be gone for

too long or they’ll forget who I am.” He bent his head over his

eggs, didn’t seem to notice the way The Original was looking

at me.

The old man stood up and got the coffeepot, refilled my

cup. His hand dropped down onto my shoulder. “Son, I hate

to see you getting in over your head. He’s the same person

he was when he was six years old, willful and spoiled rotten.

I don’t suppose he’s gonna change now. Take a little break,

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go into town. Blow some of this Marathon dust off your

boots.”

I nodded, glancing briefly up into his face. Jesse had

missed our entire exchange, his face clouded with fatigue. He

scooped the last of the eggs into his mouth, held out his

coffee cup for a refill, and then scooted his chair back. “I’m

gonna work just a little bit longer.” He stared at me, his eyes

running over my face, and I swear, for a moment, he looked

at me like he didn’t know who I was.

The Original sat down at the table with me. “I don’t

know what to say to you, son.”

“I didn’t mean to… well. I’m sure it’s uncomfortable for

you, with him and me carrying on like this.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, Lorenzo.”

Ouch. My stomach twisted down into a knot.

“I feel like I’ve pulled you into this situation without you

knowing what you were getting into, and when it breaks

down, like it always does… I don’t want to ruin your chance.

For Devil Dog. You’ve started something fine, Lorenzo. That

work used to be more important to you than anything else.”

He sighed, rubbed his forehead. “That boy wouldn’t hurt

you for the world. You must know that. But he’s got to have

the freedom to circle his sun. Nothing comes between him

and that crazy art of his, and everybody who has ever tried

to turn his face away, even for a little while, has ended up

hurt. He can’t help who he is. And he’s never been in the

USMC, so he hasn’t developed the habit of doing what you

tell him to do.” He lifted his cup, took a long drink. “Lorenzo,

forgive me if I’m out of line here, but I didn’t get the

impression you were real experienced with this sort of thing.

Romance, love, whatever.”

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“No, I’m not.”

“Can I ask you how you planned to proceed with this

relationship?”

“With Jesse? I… I planned to just take no prisoners. You

know, forge ahead with confidence.”

He nodded. “The thing about love, though. It can

swallow you whole. It can take the passion you have in every

part of your life and suck you dry until you got nothing left

inside. I’m not calling you off the boy. Don’t misunderstand

me. I can see the way he feels about you, and you aren’t shy

about letting him know how you feel. But I want you to think

about giving this thing a little space. Give yourself a blast

zone.”

“So I’ll be injured, not killed, when things go wrong. I

mean, if things go wrong.”

He nodded. “Where are you in your work?”

“I’ve got my platoon, their names, and the first narrative

started. I’m thinking about investing in some better

computer equipment. A good printer and one of those big

Macs with all the graphics packages.”

“We could ride into town in a couple of days, see what

they have at the computer store. You show me your first

couple of days before you go? And I’ll make up a grocery

list.”

Out in the studio, Los Lonely Boys still held the floor,

and I had to laugh at Jesse singing along in Spanish. I

sketched out the first panel of the first comic, wrote the

characters’ names at the bottom, and signed it. This would

be for Gary down in Lajitas. Maybe I could take him out for a

beer, ask him to tell me about Jesse. No question the old

man was right and I was in over my head, but I could tread

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water. I knew how to swim with the big scary sharks. The

key was you had to pretend you were as big as they were.

I gathered up the pages, stuck my head on Jesse’s side

of the studio. “Hey, come kiss me good-bye.”

He looked up, a little frown between his eyes, then he

smiled, and his face had that wild and sweet beauty that

sent my heart into a slow stumble. He put down his palette,

held my face in his hands. Then he kissed me, just a little off

center, kissed the corner of my mouth, then my chin and my

nose and each closed eye, and then he went back to my

mouth. “Don’t forget my strawberries, zo-zo.”

In the house, I put the cartoons on the kitchen table,

and the Original came over and studied them. He touched a

finger to the title
, Devil Dogs at War
. “Why’d you decide to

use this title?”

“I want to keep this narrative comic separate from what

I’ve done before, and might still want to do—some one-off’s,

light humor. And it’s a bit more descriptive. These boys,” I

pointed to my platoon, “they’re always going to be at war.”

He was rubbing his chin. “It might put some people off

at first, but I think you’re right. When we talk about sending

these out, that’s when I can help you a bit more. We want to

be very specific in those first markets.” He studied the strip

some more. “Lorenzo… you don’t have any girls. They let

girls in the Corps now, you know. I think maybe you need a

girl in your platoon.”

Oh, shit.
“Yeah, they sure do. I’ll be thinking on that on

the way to Lajitas. You got the list? You need anything from

the bootmaker?”

He shook his head and handed me the list, written on a

small piece of yellow legal paper. Steaks. Eggs. Coffee.

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Bisquick. 2 cans of beans. Bag of rice. Then, in a different

hand, Strawberries. Skim milk. A box of Great Grains with

pecans. Bok choy. Cilantro. Small wedge of Stilton. I sat

down and added my list. Apples. Lettuce. Carrots. Tortillas.

Cheddar Cheese. Salsa. Whole grain bread. I looked up at

The Original. “I think we’re ready to go.”

“Better wash the paint off your face.”

I went into the bathroom. Jesse had left smudges of

Bathtub Mary Blue on my cheek.

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Chapter Nine

MY PACK of running dogs followed the truck a few hundred

yards out of town, then they gave up and lay down in the

dust next to the road. I turned on the radio, laughed when

Gram and Emmy Lou started singing about the grievous

angels. The drive was long and dusty, and I missed having

Jesse next to me, but it was a pretty drive, in a lonesome

cowboy sort of way, and I had always enjoyed solitude.

Gary was at work in his sweet-smelling shop, working

saddle soap into the leather reins of a saddle on his

workbench. “Maryboy!” He looked behind me. “You didn’t

bring JC3 the boy-wonder with you?”

“I couldn’t drag him out of the studio.”

“Yeah, he’s a monster talent. I’m sure the gallery owners

and the museum folks would like to just lock him in and slip

paint and brushes under the door. He painted me, did I tell

you that?”

I shook my head. “Down here, or up in San Francisco?”

“I was in San Francisco. Sitting on the steps of a

bookstore in the Castro. I can’t say I was happy about it at

first, ’cause he painted me looking so pathetic and lonely.

But there is no use arguing with Jesse about art. It took me

awhile to realize I was sitting on the steps of the wrong

bookstore if I was looking for girls. Have you met Sam?”

“Is that the old boyfriend? No, Jesse and me, we met

down here. I haven’t seen him in his San Francisco skin.”

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“It’ll make you sick, the way men fawn all over him. I

swear, he could get a blow job every ten minutes, just

walking down the street. And it’s not just his pretty face.

He’s got something. Something rich inside, and people see

him, and they want to use him to fill up their own

emptiness.”

He stood up, pulled a box down from the shelf. “You’re

gonna love your boots.” He put a hand on my arm, and I

could feel the warmth of his skin and the calluses on his

palm. “Sam may be the
old
boyfriend, but I’m not sure he

knows that. They seem to swing apart, then swing back

together. Sam still handles most of his sales. I mean, if I

ditched an old boyfriend, I would want to make sure he

didn’t have access to my checking account. You know what

I’m saying?”

The boots were so beautiful I felt my mouth go dry,

looking at them. The croc was rough and nobbly leather, and

the shaft was thick, the Cavalry design embossed in the

leather. I pulled them on, walked around the shop a bit. “I’m

not going to take these off for the next fifty years, I promise.”

“You can just tell anybody who asks you where you got

them to come on down to Lajitas. When you’re a famous

cartoonist, that is, and people start staring at your clothes.”

“Hey, that reminds me. I’ve got something for you.” I

went out to the truck while he rang up the sale and ran my

credit card. I handed him the drawing. “This is the first panel

for the new comic,
Devil Dogs at War
.”

He looked at it, grinning, and then looked up at me.

“You already know you’re gonna make it, don’t you? You

haven’t left any room to fuck it up.” He reached out and

shook my hand. “Thanks, Lorenzo Maryboy. I’m glad I had

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the chance to make your boots. And thanks for this. You’re

strong inside, like Jesse. I can see that in you. I hope you

two make it.”

“Thanks, man. I have every intention of being with him

for as long as these boots hold out.”

He laughed at that. “Bring them back to me anytime you

need to get a new sole. Oh, wait, I’ve got the riata Jesse

wanted for his painting.” He brought a paper bag out of the

back and I looked inside. It was a braided rope, made out of

some kind of leather. “Braided rawhide,” he said. “Tell him

keep it as long as he needs it.”

I SPENT a few hard miles on the way to Alpine, thinking

about what Gary had said. About Sam not knowing he was

the old boyfriend. What was Jesse doing? Did Sam still have

control over his money? That was a dangerous way to go. I

had a feeling Jesse just let this old boyfriend take care of

everything so he wouldn’t have to worry about it, and he

could just paint. Which would probably work fine, as long as

Sam had the notion there was still a chance for them to get

back together. What would Sam do when he realized I was in

the picture? What would Jesse do? When he realized I wasn’t

going away? It was true he was older, more experienced, had

known more men than I had. He was slicker than pig shit. It

was true I was probably in over my head, and my current