Marathon Cowboys (21 page)

back to Marathon for a while to recuperate. I’m not up for

any reporters. A couple of months, then we’ll see.” He

paused again, then, “I don’t care! Sam, I just…. No. Not

now.”

“Jesse, hang up the phone.”

He closed the phone, scooted up in bed, and I pulled the

table over in front of him. “Sam says you threatened to crush

his balls with your cowboy boots.”

“Did I? I can’t remember. I’d hate to get anything on my

new boots.”

“He also said you tried to fire him.”

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“Well, actually, I told him I’d take my shirt off in front of

God and the world, and if I did, he had to get out of your life.

So it was really more of a bargain.”

“What did he say?”

“Something like, ‘Fine, cowboy. Take him. He’s yours.’”

Jesse gave me a slow grin. I thought he was starting to

look like himself again. “Sounds like the testosterone was

flying! I’m sorry I missed that. But that wasn’t much of a

bargain for you.”

“Because you were already mine? Eat your strawberries.

I don’t know what’s with this town, you can’t find decent

strawberries. Don’t they know Mexico is working night and

day to grow strawberries for America?”

“Did you really take off your shirt at the march?”

“Jesse, it was red silk, the color of blood, and the

fuckhead put some of that blush powder on the scars before

I went out, so everyone could see them better. They wanted

to haul a cross up on stage and hang me up, but I said no.

That’s a line even I wouldn’t cross.”

Jesse giggled, lifted the cover from the Greek yogurt.

“This is good. It’s my favorite kind. They don’t have it in

Alpine, though.”

“I bet you miss having all your shops when you’re down

in Marathon. Jesse, I’ll take you back to San Francisco if

that’s where you want to go.” I closed my eyes. “Wait. I didn’t

mean it like that. I mean we can go together if you would like

to.” I rubbed hard over my forehead. “I don’t mean to keep

treating you like you’re a child.”

He looked up then, and his blue eyes were clear and

pretty, no clouds, no pain. “I need to go home to Texas, if

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that’s okay with you. Are you gonna get mad if I say I need to

start painting again?”

I shook my head. “Here’s the way it’s gonna be between

you and me. You paint whatever you want. You’ve got

blanket permission from this point to paint whatever parts of

me you want to paint. I suspect that will get old pretty damn

quick, and you can move on to some other target.”

“What do you get in exchange?”

I took a strawberry. It tasted like cardboard. “I want us

to try again. Try and love each other, now that we know each

other a little better. Because it’s not really something I have

any control over, loving you.”

He scooped up another spoonful of yogurt. “Is there

something about my getting shot in the chest that caused

you to not be mad at me anymore?”

“No. I had stopped being mad at you some time ago. I

was settling into misery, missing you, and loving you, but

too proud to go find you and beg you to come home. Give me

another chance to love you. Pride is easier to get over than

mad, at least for a marine.”

“Oh. I thought it was one of those deals where you

thought I was dead and suddenly realized you had loved me

all along.” I tossed the strawberries in the trash. “Hey, can

you get me a computer? I want to watch you strip on

YouTube. Sammy said there had already been six million

hits. My shooting has had seventeen million hits.”

“Sammy’s tracking your YouTube hits? The Original is

going down to talk to the police today. Have you seen

anybody?”

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He shook his head. “They just looked at the painting,

figured that must be the cause. I wonder if anybody gave

them all the hate mail?”

“What hate mail?”

“Sammy’s got it, I think. My experience has been that

the people I paint are usually the maddest at me, but

sometimes I get mail. Usually when people write me hate

mail, they start out by calling me a degenerate fag. Usually

there’s something about sodomy, and a promise of jail time if

there is any justice in the world, but this time the hate mail

has been totally different. The whole gay element has been

missing.”

“That’s good news. You must have forgotten to paint the

rainbow on my ass.” Blue eyes rolled in my direction. “Of

course, I would think it’s a downside that one of them

actually tried to go through with it this time. Has Sam called

the police or given them the letters or anything like that?”

“I don’t think so.”

I picked up the phone, called The Original. “The

fuckhead had a bunch of hate mail, collected since the

painting went public. He hasn’t given it to the police.”

“Oh, great. That’s brilliant. I’ll tell the cops. Have you

seen the magazine? I got a copy for us to take home. We can

put it in the drawer with the family Bible and Jesse’s baby

teeth.” He hesitated. “Lorenzo, Sadie still hasn’t called. Let’s

try not to bring it up unless he asks, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Can we plan on driving

home? I’m gonna rent us a car with a big backseat. I think

we’re gonna be out of here in three days.”

He sighed. “I’m looking forward to that.”

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Jesse was out in the hall, trying to sweet-talk a nurse

into bringing him a laptop. He didn’t have any slippers, only

the little blue foam slippers the hospital had given him. Sam

had brought his luggage from the hotel where he had been

staying, but it was just an overnight bag. I bought him a pair

of Scooby-Doo pajamas in the gift shop. He was happy to see

that his good boots had escaped any real damage.

The nurse wouldn’t let him on to the computer, for

which I was very grateful, and we both settled down for a

nap. I slept in the big recliner in his room, scooted over next

to the bed, so we could hold hands. When I woke up it was

late, and he was talking to his granddad, sitting on the other

side of the bed.

“So they’re gonna keep looking, but they don’t have

anything really to go on. They did say they called the FBI

when they got the threatening mail, because hate crimes and

mail are federal jurisdiction or something. I didn’t follow it

all. But there will be people looking out for you, Jesse.”

“Okay.”

“Son… I can’t help but notice you’re in a good mood.

Like you aren’t really bothered at all about this person with a

gun.”

Jesse was quiet a moment, and I got the feeling he was

looking over at me. “I know this isn’t what it’s really about,

but I didn’t know what to do to get him to talk to me, not to

mention being willing to give us another chance.” He was

whispering, so I kept my eyes closed. “So I’m just going to

take this as a gift from the Virgin. I said I’d take any

punishment she wanted to give me, if we could just have

another chance. That little one, you remember, near Santa

Elena Canyon? Where I prayed after Gran died. ”

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He sighed. “This is your penance? Jesse, are you telling

me you think some nut job shot you because the
Virgin of

Guadalupe
sent…. I need to get you boys home. You don’t

have any idea how miserable Lorenzo was with you gone. I

was worried he….”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just believe me, he missed you as much as

you missed him. But we need to get all this settled. I don’t

think I can take too much more.”

“Granddad, Sadie hasn’t called me. Is she still in

Marathon? She hasn’t left?”

“Far as I know, she’s still there.” They were quiet for a

moment.

“Okay. It’s okay.”

I yawned and stretched, then moved the recliner to

upright. “That is one comfortable chair. But I still miss the

couches out in the studio.”

Jesse perked up at that. “I had Miguel and his father

put extra cushioning in them, then reupholster them in that

green velvet. It was the first thing I did when I got home.”

“I thought you dragged them home from the antique

shop.”

“Well, I did, via Miguel’s shop. He was the class behind

me in school.”

“I thought that green velvet was in good shape for two

old couches coming out of an antique store. Where’s the rest

of your furniture?”

“Sammy’s apartment. Well, my apartment too.”

I walked over to the window, pulled the blinds up.

“Jesse, you told me you weren’t living together.”

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He sat up on the side of the bed, his hand pressed hard

against the bullet wound in his chest. He got up and walked

over to me. “Why does this still hurt so much every time I

move?”

“You’ve got a broken bone in your chest. The bullet hit a

rib, remember?”

“Oh, right. I had forgotten.” He slid his arm around my

waist. “Yes, you did ask me, but what you really wanted to

know was if we were sleeping together. And I said no,

because we weren’t. Aren’t. You have no idea what the real

estate market is like in San Francisco!” He put his other arm

around my waist. “You know, you’re just the tiniest bit

controlling, Mary. Do you think you can work on that?

Because you’re not my platoon leader.”

The Original stood up. “I wonder if there is any place in

this town you can get a decent steak? If I have to look at

another can of soup heated up in the microwave, I don’t

know what I’m going to do.”

Jesse leaned against me, put his head on my arm.

“Let’s get you back in bed, tiger. I don’t think you’re

ready to hunt down a steak house, are you?”

“Maybe not. You go, have some ribs, okay? Will you

bring me back a couple of ribs? And some potato salad. And

while you’re gone, I’m going to call Sam and have him come

over and we can talk about our business. About ending our

business. Okay? And I’m telling you so you don’t go all Devil

Dog on him and threaten to crush his balls with your boots

again.”

“That is a total fabrication, just so you know.”

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“I think you’re just mad at him because you don’t want

to be mad at me anymore, but you’ve still got some mad to

use up.”

“Maybe so. I forget sometimes how smart you are.” I

helped him back to bed, then leaned over and kissed him. He

looked up at me, his face filled with so much sweetness, eyes

like the ocean, looking at me like I was the sun. I had to kiss

him again, harder, just to keep the feelings from exploding

out of my chest, and I kept on kissing him until The Original

cleared his throat and said it was time to go.

WE REPAIRED to a barbecue joint recommended by the

security guard the Million Man peace march organizers had

hired to keep the reporters out of Jesse’s room. It was a little

strip mall joint, with paper plates, but the smell coming out

from the back had both of us sighing and settling back in the

vinyl booth. The Original ordered us a couple of beers.

“Son, you’ve about got yourself worn out. You’ve been

busy making sure I slept and Jesse slept, maybe you’ve

forgotten to sleep yourself.”

“I just want to get out of here before something else

happens. I’ve been in plenty of situations where people were

shooting at me or my men, but I always had a gun so I could

shoot back. I don’t know this place. I can’t get a feel for the

way people move. At least in Marathon we’ll be able to see

them coming.”

“You think there’s still some danger, then.”

“I think until we know who it was and their crazy ass is

locked up for life, there’s danger.” I jerked a thumb back

toward the hospital. “And SpongeBob, over there, thought he

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deserved it? The Virgin of Guadalupe was bending him over

her knee? Jesus Christ.”

“You heard that? Well, all I can say is he is not a cynical

boy, despite living in California for all those years.”

“Maybe I am a bit controlling, but the urge to get him