McMurtry, Larry - Novel 05 (46 page)

 
          
 
Little Joe was not in the least discouraged.
After a moment he went over and looked at the glassy-eyed cowboy.

 
          
 
"That son of a bitch took himself a real
dose," he said. "If he'd come to he could help you load the
boots."

 
          
 
I loaded them myself, making several trips.
Josie had started the motor in order to keep warm. Streams of white exhaust
poured out into the cold night. I had to make several trips. Little Joe went
back to watching the movie, the gas mask still back over his nose. Josie played
a Willie Nelson tape on my stereo. Finally I got all the boots into the luggage
compartment, tucking them carefully around the various other objects that were
there. As I was fitting in the last of the boots the glassy-eyed cowboy walked
out of the house. His spurs jingled slightly as he walked across the gravel
driveway. He no longer looked glassy-eyed. When he saw the rear end full of
boots he stopped a moment, looking at them.

 
          
 
"Now what would anybody want with that
many boots?" he said, in a slow drawl. "A man ain't got but two
feet."

 
          
 
Then he went to the nearest pickup, got in,
and drove off.

 
          
 
"I guess Mitch got all right," Josie
said, when I got in. "If the ambulance shows up now all they'll get is
Little Joe."

 
          
 
She was snapping her fingers quietly, in time
with the music. As we drove out of the driveway, dust from Mitch's pickup rose
ahead of us, white as the moonlight.

 
          
 
At the end of the Twine driveway I turned
left, toward
Washington
,
D.C.

 
          
 
"I hope you'd just as soon go to
Washington
," I said to Josie.

 
          
 
"Why not?" she
said.
"That's my motto, why not. Little Joe got me some license
plates with that on 'em, for my birthday once. That was one of the nicest
presents he ever gave me."

 
          
 
Josie began to watch me as we drove toward
Dallas
. I had a feeling she was more intelligent
than I had first supposed her to be. Also, she seemed kind.

 
          
 
"How come you're not happy?” she asked.
"You sure got a nice car."

 
          
 
"Do you think anybody's really
happy?" I asked. I had a feeling that the one person I knew who was really
happy was Belinda Arber. Her sister Beverly had traces of doubt in her eyes,
traces of anxiety, but Belinda had none. In all likelihood, Belinda simply
wouldn't tolerate unhappiness; for all I knew it might never touch her, or
touch her at most momentarily.

 
          
 
"Shoot, my baby sister's happy as a frog,"
Josie said. "She's real pretty and she knows how to take up for herself.
She ain't but eighteen and she's already had more boyfriends than I've had in
my whole life. She don't take
nothing
off any of them,
either, unless it's something she wants. If one of them
don't
do right she just kicks him out of bed and gets another."

 
          
 
"Was Little Joe ever nice?" I asked.

 
          
 
Josie considered for a moment, looking out at
the pale plains.

 
          
 
"Well, he wasn't mean," she said.
"Little Joe ain't never been mean. That's something. All he really wanted
to do was get away from Big Joe. We was gonna run off, but shoot, we never
stood a chance. They wasn't about to let Little Joe loose or nothing."

 
          
 
Josie sighed. "Actually, he was kinda
sweet for a while," she said. "He still is kinda sweet, only now he
just takes dope all the time. You wouldn't believe how much that man spends on
dope. If he was a normal person he'd be broke in no time."

 
          
 
She sighed again, a small quiet sigh. The next
time I looked at her she was asleep.

 
          
 
I hit 1-30 and drove across
East Texas
, leaving the plains and entering the pines.
By four in the morning I was into
Arkansas
, and a little tired. The first real
stopping place inside
Arkansas
is a little town called Hope, where I often stopped. Why Hope was
called Hope has always interested me. The pioneers who settled it must have
been in a good mood the day they arrived there, so they named it Hope.

 
          
 
But most of their descendants, the residents
of present-day Hope, looked as if they wished their ancestors had kept on
trucking. They did not seem rich in the quality for which the town was named.

 
          
 
In the faint light of the dashboard Josie
Twine looked very young—a girl, really.
One whose hair had
recently been dyed several times.

 
          
 
I drove over to the Holiday Inn and asked for
a room with two beds.

 
          
 
When I came out, Josie was sitting up, looking
blankly at the motel.

 
          
 
"I went to sleep," she said, in the
tones of a child. "Where are we?”

 
          
 
"
Arkansas
,” I said.

 
          
 
"My momma was born in
Fayetteville
,” Josie said. "Are we anywhere near
there?”

 
          
 
"It's not too far," I said.

 
          
 
"I'm gonna send her a postcard,"
Josie said. "She loves to get postcards. You think it's too late to buy
one now?"

 
          
 
"No, but it won't go off until
tomorrow," I said.

 
          
 
"Okay, but don't let me forget,"
Josie said. "I gotta take advantage of my opportunities."

 
          
 
In the room, Josie went right to the TV set
and turned it on. Naturally all she got was snow. There is nothing happening on
TV at four in the morning in
Arkansas
. Josie flipped through all the channels
with mild disbelief.

 
          
 
"Shoot, we are out in the sticks,"
she said. "They ain't even on the cable. We've been on the cable for over
a year. Now little Joe's got one of them $7,000 discs and we can get 120
channels. He can watch live fucking straight from
Denmark
. I don't know what we'd do without the
cable."

 
          
 
At the mention of fucking she looked at me
with sort of a puzzled expression, as if she were not sure what ought to happen
next. The mere fact that we were driving around
America
together did not necessarily mean we were
going to get involved. However, the fact that we were also in a bedroom
together carried implications. I sat down on one bed, drained of will. Josie
stood in front of the TV set, as if she hoped a program would suddenly come on
and break the silence. What I mostly felt was an urge to brush my teeth, only I
had forgotten to bring in my traveling kit.

 
          
 
"Excuse me," I said, getting up.
"I forgot my toothbrush and stuff."

 
          
 
Just as I opened my car door to get my kit
from the back seat the phone rang.

 
          
 
"Where are you?" Cindy said. "I
called you a lot of times yesterday. Then I called you tonight. You said I
could call you any time but it isn't true."

 
          
 
She sounded very distraught.

 
          
 
"I've been driving for most of the last
eight hours," I said. "You could have got me."

 
          
 
"Yeah, but I was afraid to call
then," she said. "Spud was supposed to come and I didn't want him to
walk in and find me talking to you. I only can call at times when I know he's
not supposed to come. And then I never get you even though you said I could get
you anytime."

 
          
 
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I said.
"Now and then I'm out of the car. What's the matter?"

 
          
 
"This is the most terrible thing that's
ever happened to me," Cindy said. "I wish it had never
happened."

 
          
 
"What happened?"

 
          
 
"Nothing," she said. "He hasn't
come to see me yet. His secretary called and said he was coming about four this
afternoon, but he didn't."

 
          
 
I was secretly glad, but I thought it best to
conceal this.

 
          
 
"How soon can you get here?" she
asked.

 
          
 
"I don't know," I said, a little
surprised. "I've got to sleep for a while. I guess I could get there in a
day and a half."

 
          
 
"You don't have to drive
everywhere," she said. "Just go somewhere and take an airplane. I'll
be crazy in a day and a half."

 
          
 
"Why don't you just go on back to
Washington
?" I said. "Why sit around
Miami
if the man isn't even going to come and see
you? He made you go there, you know. I think
it's
terrible behavior."

 
          
 
"I didn't call to listen to you criticize
him," she said, anger replacing hurt in her voice.

 
          
 
"Well, you have to admit he's behaved
terribly," I said.

 
          
 
"I don't know why you think you have any
room to talk," Cindy said- "You said I could get you anytime but it
wasn't true.

 
          
 
"You were impotent, too," she
reminded me. "You have no right to criticize anybody."

 
          
 
"I was impotent once,'" I pointed
out.

 
          
 
There was silence on the line. Our
conversation was getting nowhere.

 
          
 
"I cried for hours,*' Cindy said
. "
Now I’m puffy. He probably won't sleep with me now
even if he does come."

 
          
 
"I doubt he'll come this time of
night," I said. "What do you suppose he's doing?"

 
          
 
"He's with Betsy," Cindy said.

 
          
 
"Who's Betsy?"

 
          
 
"His wife.
I
told you that. Can't you remember anything?" Cindy said.

 
          
 
"Why did he bring his wife if he wanted
to see you?" I asked. "I think you should leave on the first plane in
the morning."

 
          
 
"I didn't ask for your advice,"
Cindy said. "Just come and help me."

 
          
 
"Help you do what?" I asked.

 
          
 
"Help me wait."

 
          
 
"How's that supposed to work? If I'm
sitting there helping you wait and Spud shows up he might be a little annoyed,
don't you think?"

 
          
 
"You won't be in the room with me,"
Cindy said.

 
          
 
"Then where will I be?"

 
          
 
"You could be somewhere in the
hotel," she said.
"In another room."

 
          
 
"How would that help you wait?" I
asked.

 
          
 
"I never thought you'd ask so many
questions," Cindy said. "God, you ask a lot of questions."

 
          
 
"Well, it seems strange," I said.
"What help can I be if I'm in another room?"

 
          
 
"Because you'll be there if I give
up," she said. "I don't want to give up, but I might."

 
          
 
She said it in a voice that was not quite in
control of itself. It was clear she was not that far from giving up, even as we
spoke.