The True Father (7 page)

  
   Since the funeral Bella had so graciously cleaned the entire house. It smelled now of pine scented cleaner. The floors and furniture were dusted, the windows clean, and the toilet was now white and free from rusty stains. Even the wardrobe doors were closed properly and the bedclothes made. I remembered how Jodie had said that Bella had spoiled Jettie, and this was likely a good sampling of how she had taken care of him. But a stranger thought, it reminded me of how my mom took care of our home. It was always clean and spotless; in fact I think a person could eat off our floors.

   After unpacking all my bags and sharing a few laughs about my city clothes, Bella retrieved a few items of Jettie's clothing, including the expensive outfit she had bought for him in Las Vegas. She opened a dresser drawer and under several pair of faded jeans, located his one pair of Wranglers, unfolded them and held them up for me to see. Unlike the others they were still very dark.

   “You know,” she said, “you look about the same size.” She held them up to my waist.

   “What size did he wear?”

   She found a tag inside the waistline and read it off. “32 by 34.”

   “That's exactly my size.” 

   She grinned triumphantly and handed them to me. “Then let's see them on, cowboy!”

   She stood as if she were going to watch me take off my shorts, but I kindly asked her for some privacy. She apologized and said she would go to the kitchen and get us a beer. In an odd way, I liked the premonition that she felt so comfortable around me that she could watch me take my clothes off. But I quickly removed any stray thoughts of us getting naked and concentrated on the curiosity at hand.

   The jeans were much tighter than I was used to, but they had an interesting feel about them. As if I had just put on some uniquely designed gear that would help me better accomplish whatever it was I was supposed to do. I tucked in my shirt and zipped up the jeans, then found the ostrich skin boots near the base of the wardrobe. They were a bit dusty so I wiped them off with my hand, sat on the edge of the bed and pulled them on, then pushed the cuffs of the jeans down over the tall uppers. When I stood I felt like I had grown six inches in height, and almost felt as if I could see the world from a different perspective.

   I pulled down one of the straw hats from the stack on top the wardrobe. It seemed to fit okay, and like the other garments, made me feel as though I had just acquired something special, if not powerful. I looked at myself in a long mirror that hung on the inside of the wardrobe door. I turned and looked over my shoulder at my backside and heard a wolf whistle from the doorway.

   “Not bad,” Bella said, smiling and holding a longneck beer bottle in each hand.

   We spent the rest of the afternoon trying on pieces of Jettie's wardrobe, and I couldn't believe how well everything fit.

   “Jettie must have been pretty trim for an older guy,” I said.

   “He stayed in shape,” she said. “He had a constant routine of lifting weights and jogging.”

   “No kidding? Where did he work out?”

   “Right here in this room and out there on the street.” She dropped to her knees and pulled several items from under the bed. There was a pair of Adidas running shoes, several cast iron dumbbells of various weights, bars, and a back support belt.

   “I'm impressed,” I said.

   “He had a routine of jogging early every morning and lifting weights when he returned from the run. He was very adamant about staying in shape.”

   “Did you ever work out with him?”

   “No, I belong to a fitness center at the Poteau hospital. I just do aerobics and the treadmill. It keeps me in shape for riding. Do you work out?”

   “While I was in college I used the campus fitness center three days a week. My new employer provided me with a discount to a health club of my choice, and I planned to continue, but I hadn't thought about it until now.”

   “Well maybe you should work out with me?”

   I looked down at Jettie's equipment, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn't hurt her feelings. “How about we alternate?”

   “What do you mean?”

   “Every other day I work out with you at the fitness center, the other days you work out with me, here.”

   She nodded and smiled. “I can do that.”

   “Great. But for now, let's have another beer and relax.”

   She agreed, grabbed us each a fresh beer and we retired to the living room davenport. I was surprised to discover how tired I was, but more so how comfortable the old piece of furniture felt.

   “I had fun today,” Bella said.

   “Me, too.”

   This was the first I had seen her in such a relaxed state and wondered if it was the first of any time she had experienced such composure since Jettie's death. She spun sideways and folded her leg, placed her foot underneath her other thigh and faced me. “So, you think you can handle living the summer in this old cowboy castle?”

    I scanned around the room then smiled back at her. “Sure, why not?”

   She returned a tender smile. “You know, even though you are very different from Jettie, you do share that same amazing power of endurance.”

   “Oh, how's that?'

   “I'm just impressed at how you'd pack up and come down here, and expose yourself to a life you know nothing about.”

   “You're impressed, but I'm terrified.”

   “Then I was right about that, too.”

   “How so?”

   From the way the radiance in her face seemed to dwindle, I could tell we were entering a sensitive area, and suddenly I was mad at myself for leading her away from her serene state. But I was somewhat relieved to see her come back with a slight smile.

   “Well, what you're doing is sweet,” she said. “The interest you are showing in Jettie—it's almost as if you're answering his call.”

   “His call?”

   Whatever thoughts were in her head, she had to ponder them a bit, and she turned to face me completely now, with both legs up on the davenport, folded together.

   “Next to Jeremiah,” she said, “I probably knew Jettie better than anyone. But there was still a huge part of his life that was shut off and pushed away. I don't think he even allowed himself to face it very often.”

   “Do you have any idea what it was?”

   “Oh yes, I'm pretty sure.”

   “What?”

   “It was you.”

   “Me?”

   “Even though he spoke of you only twice, I'm sure it was you. It was when I asked him if he'd ever been married before. I could tell this was something he hated to bring up, but since we were close I think he felt I deserved an answer. So he told me that he had been married once, and that he had a son. He told me her name and your name, and that she left him when you were a baby and took you away.”

   “Was that it?”

   “That time, yes. But one time we were both having a very good time, out at a dance club in Fort Smith. I felt so close to him that night and I wanted to—you know—be with him. But when we got home, he wanted to say goodnight. I was very hurt and I asked him what was wrong with me. He tried to assure me that it had nothing to do with me. We got in a fight and didn't talk to each other for a couple days.”

   “So what happened?”

   “The next time we got together I asked him why he wouldn't get close to me. And that was the second and only other time I heard about you. He said that the last time he made love to a woman, she took the result away, and he couldn't bear to have that happen again.”

   “That's really strange. I mean, he didn't even know me, and all you wanted was to share some affection.”

   “That's what I felt at first. So I asked him why he didn't try and find you. He said that it had been too long, and that he didn't think it was fair to you to all the sudden show up and try to be a father to you.”

   “That would have been weird.”

   “You see, he was a very unselfish man. And I also think he was scared.”

   “A man who rides bulls is scared to face his only son?”

   “You might say he had a soft side. It's really no different than a man who deep sea dives, or walks along steel girders thirty stories in the air. Bull riding was his profession, and that was it.”

   Pieces of the puzzle were starting to fit together for me. I understood where she was coming from, and what she meant by “…answering his call”. It was like Jeremiah said, Jettie never got to be a father to me and the inheritance was all he was able to give. And me being here, learning about my heritage and the life my father lived, that maybe he hoped I would one day understand why things happened the way they did. I didn't have those answers yet, but it seemed I was on the right track.

   As I looked back at her, I wondered how much more she could tell me about Jettie. Then suddenly I realized that I knew very little about her. I knew that she was a barrel racer and a horse trainer, and that she was Jettie's closest companion.

   “So tell me about yourself,” I said.

   She smiled, almost embarrassingly. “What's to tell?”

   “I'm sure there's a lot of things. I'd like to know where you live and where you came from. And maybe I'll learn why Jettie cared so much about you.”

   “How do you know he did?”

   “Come on, Bella.”

   She took a deep breath and reached for her purse on the floor, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

   “Oh, no,” I said. “No smoking.”

   “What?”

   “If this is going to be my house I prefer a smoke free environment.”

   “You're serious?”

   “Really, I just want you to talk to me without the security of a Marlboro between your fingers.”

   Somewhat defeated, she dropped the pack of cigarettes on the floor and put her hands back in her lap. Then she looked at me and sneered. “And here I thought you were going to be a lot of fun.”

   “Sorry to disappoint you.”

   “Why don't we go out? It's too quiet around here. I almost feel like I'm talking to a shrink.”

   “What do you suggest?”

   “I know a place, and I promise I won't smoke, I just need a different atmosphere.”

   “Ok, let's do it.”

   My agreement put a healthy smile back on her face, and a spring in her step as she led me to the bedroom and picked out an outfit for me to wear. I was not surprised at the ensemble she laid before me—the Wrangler jeans, straw hat and Ostrich skin boots—and after putting it all together again I somehow knew that I was about to experience the nightlife of eastern Oklahoma.

  
   The hot spot for nightlife in Kansas City was the one and only Westport, an area of south central Kansas City known historically as a trading post for pioneers heading west. But today Westport and its antiquity was party central for the majority of area college students or any over twenty-one drink and dance personality. All the buildings had transformed into bars or dance clubs of some sort, promoting different genres of music and culture. Ernie and I usually started at Kelly's, an Irish pub that was nothing more than a watering hole for patrons to gather and get primed. Then it was off to whatever dance club we desired. One time we went to a club that played country music and offered a wooden platform for line dancing. Neither the music nor the fun were familiar to us, so we left and never went back.   But tonight that scene came back to me as Bella and I drove out east of Spiro and down a gravel road, to a joint that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, with a huge neon sign on the roof that blinked the word “BEER”.

   Inside this place called “BEER” was a crowd of people in cowboy hats and farm caps, talking loud and laughing over music from a jukebox (a country song I didn't recognize) all inside a gray haze of cigarette and cigar smoke and very dim light, which came mostly from neon lights that hung on the walls throughout the bar and advertised various brands of beer. In one corner two cowboys stood next to a billiard table (which I soon learned was properly termed “pool table”) holding cue sticks. A rectangular Busch Beer lamp hung above the table, which in the dim bar made the cowboys seem like a spectacle. And next to them stood a contraption that I could not identify, which looked like a large brown leather suitcase tilted on a pedestal. It sat idle and obscure, and for the life of me, I couldn't imagine a single valid use or purpose for its existence. 

   Between the contraption and the pool table were two sets of swinging doors, similar to those found in an old-fashioned saloon like seen in a western movie, and above each set of doors were signs, one reading “Cowboys” and the other “Cowgirls”.

   Bella and I found a vacant table at one end of the room opposite the pool table. We ordered a pitcher of Bud Light and the waitress, a young blonde in a cowboy hat, yellow T-shirt, and cutoff blue denim shorts, brought it to us along with two frosty mugs.

   I wasn't a connoisseur of any certain type of music; in fact my taste was pretty broad. I enjoyed everything from modern rock to classic guitar. Some of my favorite music came from local bands in Kansas City, some performing blues or reggae or a modern version of folk music. I had never drawn much of an opinion of country music, but some of it was pretty catchy, like the song that now played on the jukebox, which Bella informed me was Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under by Shania Twain.

   I motioned to Bella that she had a line of beer foam on her upper lip. “Bella, got beer?”

   She snickered and wiped it off.

   “So, are you a regular here?” I asked.

   “Not really. But I do like to come when they have live music.”

   “You mean people actually perform here?”

   “Every Friday night some local band will come in. Sometimes they bring in artists from Arkansas or Texas. They're really pretty good.”

   “Well, the name of the place is certainly original.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “What better name is there for a place like this than 'BEER'?”

   This made her laugh and nearly cough up a gulp of beer, but she managed to get it down without choking. “It's called The Oasis. The light on the main sign is burnt out. The only one working is the 'BEER' sign.”

   “Oh,” I said, winking at her, then taking a drink and looking around the room. “It seems like a popular place.”

   “It maintains a steady crowd. Been shut down a few times for serving to minors, but somehow they always manage to get their license back.”

   “Did Jettie like to come here?”

   “Never for the nightlife. He and Jeremiah would occa-sionally come down in the afternoon for a beer or two. But they mostly just enjoyed drinking while they fished, either in a boat on the Arkansas River or at Kerr Lake.”

   “What about you. Do you like places like this?”

   “Not alone. But it's nice to come with someone.”

   At that moment one of the pool-playing cowboys came up to us with cue stick in hand.

   “Howdy, Bella,” he said.

   He was a toothy looking swain, his face sunburned and freckled and dark red hair seeped from under his hat brim. He reminded me of someone—a celebrity, maybe—but I couldn't come up with the name.

   “Hi, Boyd,” Bella said.

   “How ya been doin'?” he asked.

   “Getting along. Boyd, I'd like you to meet Trevor Hodge. He's Jettie's boy.”

   Boyd's large incisors disappeared behind his lips, but his hesitation was short-lived and he extended his free hand.

   “Please to meet you,” he said.

   “Likewise,” I said, shaking his hand. He gripped mine firmly, healthier than I expected. After he let loose of my hand he laughed slightly and looked back at Bella.

   “Been thinking about hopping on the bull here in a minute. Be sure and watch.”

   “I will,” she said.

   “Maybe we can dance a spell later.”

   “Maybe.”

   He touched the front of his hat. “See you around.”

   We both watched him walk away.

   “Friend of yours?” I asked

   “Boyd has hit on me for the last ten years. He's harmless.”

   “What did he mean by hopping on the bull?”

   “It's how wannabe cowboys show off.” She pointed a finger. “That mechanical bull over there.”

   She pointed at the contraption that I thought looked like an oversized piece of luggage.

   “Mechanical bull?”

   “It's the closest you can ever get to the real thing, but like Jettie used to say, it hardly touches the fundamentals.”

   We each took a drink of beer and I continued to observe the mechanical devise. Suddenly the jukebox quit playing. Bella grabbed my hand and escorted me to the opposite side, near the pool table, where the fancy music-playing machine resided below a poster of a buxom blonde in a bikini and cowboy hat, and in her hand held a longneck bottle of Budweiser.

   Bella inserted a dollar bill into the jukebox scanner. “So who do you like to listen to?”

   I looked through the glass at the many selections and saw everything from George Strait to Reba McIntire, and oldies like George Jones and Hank Williams. Out of fear of making a bad selection, I decided to let her choose. “Oh, I'm not too picky. You go ahead.”

   Her first choice was Cowboy Take Me Away by the Dixie Chicks, which came over the speaker before she punched in the numbers of her second selection. She made four more selections then we found our way back to the table.

   I grabbed the pitcher of beer and refilled our mugs. “So is this a better atmosphere?”

   “Perfect.”

   “Then now you're on the spot. You have to tell me about yourself.”

   “I wouldn't know where to begin.”

   “Let's start with where you grew up.”

   “Talihina.”

   “I've heard of that town. Isn't that where Jeremiah gets his homemade whiskey?”

   “I wouldn't doubt it. I've heard of people having stills up in Winding Stair Mountain.”

   “Do you still live there?”

   “No, I live in Poteau now. I used to work fulltime at the hospital as a nursing assistant. But now I just work part-time in ER, train horses and concentrate on my barrel racing.”

   “Do you have your own ranch?”

   “No, I rent a stable in Poteau. But I've been thinking of buying one, especially now.”

   “So what was it like growing up in Talihina?”

   “My dad worked in a factory over in Wilburton, and he raised quarter horses on the side. That's how I learned to ride.”

   “Do you still work with your dad?”

   “He died when I was still in high school. He was an alcoholic.”

   “I'm sorry.”

   “It's okay. You know, it's ironic. My mom was full-blooded Choctaw, and my dad was German/Scottish. Stereotypically, it's usually the Indian that's the drunkard. But my mom hated drinking. I think my father made her hate it.”

   “That's understandable. And your mom is a hair stylist, right?”

   “Yeah, she has a beauty parlor down in Talihina.”

   “Did she ever remarry?”

   “She almost did once, but the guy came home drunk one night. She kicked him out and swore she would never have another man in her life.”

   “How sad.”

   “Yeah, well that's my family.”

   “Were you an only child?”

   “Oh, no. I have three older brothers. None of them live around here. My dad drove them all away.”

   “Sounds like you had a rough childhood.”

   “Well, let's put it this way. I'd rather die than go through it again.”

   Suddenly I began to worry about her. It seemed that all her life she had experienced great struggles, a family divided by her father's weak habit, then the habit finally claiming his life, and now, the loss of a man she loved. I was almost afraid to ask her anything more.

   “If this is too much for you, we can stop,” I said.

   “Oh, I've grown kind of rigid over the years. I can handle it.”

   I wasn't sure I believed her, but then again, she seemed very strong and thus far was doing a great job of opening up to me. And who was to know if she'd ever do it again? 

   “Besides Jettie,” I said, “was there ever anyone else?”

   “Yeah, I was married for six months.”

   I don't know why but this surprised me. Not so much that she had been married, but for such a short period of time.

   She continued. “He was a doctor at the hospital where I worked as a nursing assistant. I was young and he was so smooth. He took me out to fancy restaurants. Every now and then we'd fly to Dallas in his plane, spend the whole weekend shopping and dining out. He knew how much I wanted a horse ranch, and he used that to lure me into his life. Making promises he would never keep.”

   “Why did he do that?”

   Her face grew stern and almost pale. “Because all he wanted was a piece of ass. A pretty young Indian trophy wife to hang on his side and make him look good.”

   “What a jerk.”

   “Yeah, he was a jerk.”

   “Well at least it's behind you.”

   I figured this was enough for now, and tried to change the mood by giving her a smile. “So, you like horses?”

   This made her laugh a little. She took a drink of her beer when suddenly the music quit playing and a voice came over a loud speaker and a light shined over the mechanical bull. Then a man in a cowboy hat and a short sleeved western shirt with a belly that hung over his belt walked under the light and spoke into a microphone.

   “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a challenge! Boyd Simmons has opted to challenge the bull!”

   Several people in the crowd cheered and applauded. The man with the belly walked away and Boyd hopped up on the bull. He had one buckskin glove on his right hand, and he jiggled and squirmed on top the bull as if he were looking for a comfortable position. With the gloved hand he grabbed a single handle that stuck up in front of him. He raised the other hand above his head and nodded to the big-bellied man who stood near him gripping a joystick.

   Instantly, the bull started spinning while simultaneously the back end rose up and down. Boyd's free arm swayed with the jerking motions and after several seconds a horn sounded, the bull slowed and the crowd cheered.

   As the bull stopped, Boyd jumped off and flashed his big teeth at his admirers. Eventually, his gaze found Bella, and along with his trademark smile he nodded at her.

   “Very impressive,” I said.

   “Hardly,” Bella said.

   “Why?”

   “If he did that on a real bull then he'd earn my respect.”

   “Why don't he—ride a real bull, that is?”

   “Oh he tries. But like I said, a real bull is much different. And besides that, Boyd is a dipshit.”

   I laughed and instantly realized where she was coming from. A new song started on the jukebox, Amarillo by Morning by George Strait. Bella looked into my eyes for a short moment then smiled. “Do you like to dance?”

   I looked out into the crowd of people. “Here?”

   She gazed out into the crowd as well. “Sure, why not?”

   “Whatever you say.”

   She grabbed my hand and led me to a clear area not far from the jukebox, which was covered with imitation woodgrain tiles. She put her hands around my neck and I held mine around her waist. I gazed back at the seated crowd, but no one seemed to pay any mind to us dancing alone, except Boyd, who gazed at me with a contemptuous half-grin as he walked toward the pool table. So I tried to loosen up and let Bella lead. The song wasn't entirely slow, but it was peaceful enough to catch a comfortable rhythm. 

   “This was one of Jettie's favorite songs,” she said. 

   I listened to the words and quickly understood that it was about rodeo life. “I guess that makes sense.”

   “He loved George Strait. Bought every piece of music he ever recorded.”