He walked back into the living room, looking again at the illuminated photo of the man with the brown beard and long hair.
“Who’s that, a friend of yours?”
Mr. Sweety glanced over. He said, “This picture here?” and sounded surprised. “It’s Jesus. Who you think it was?”
“It’s a photograph,” Raymond said.
Mr. Sweety said, “Yeah, it’s a good likeness, ain’t it?”
Raymond sat down again, nodding, his gaze returning to the heavyset black man in the bathrobe.
“Are you saved?”
“Man, I hope so. I could use some saving.”
“I know what you mean,” Raymond said. “There’s nothing like peace of mind. But I’m afraid I might’ve upset you. You’re confused now. You don’t know whether you should call Clement or not…”
“Wait now,” Mr. Sweety said, with an expression of pain. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Well, to tell him I was here… tell him Sandy was here… But then you’d be getting involved, wouldn’t you? If I wanted to remain saved,” Raymond said, “especially if I was concerned about saving my ass, I think I’d keep quiet, figuring it’s better to be a little confused than involved, right?”
“Lift my voice only to heaven,” Mr. Sweety said.
“I’d even think twice about that,” Raymond said. “You never know, somebody could have you bugged.”
“YEAH, IT’S DARK IN HERE,” Clement said, looking around Uncle Deano’s, at the steer horns on the walls and the mirrors framed with horse collars. “Darker’n most places that play Country, but it’s intimate. You know it? I thought if we was gonna have a intimate talk why not have it at a intimate place?” Clement straightened, looking up. “Except for that goddamn pinball machine; sounds like a monkey playing a ‘lectric organ.” He settled down again. “I’ll tell you something else. If our mom hadn’t been carried away by a tornado last spring, we’d be holding this meeting in Lawton.”
Sandy said to Skender Lulgjaraj, “He means Lawton, Oklahoma.”
“Well, hell, he’s heard of Lawton, hasn’t he? If he hasn’t, he’s sure heard of Fort Sill… Here,” Clement said, “make you feel at home.”
He took off his K-mart cowboy hat, reached across the table and placed it on Skender Lulgjaraj’s thick head of black hair. The hat sat high and Skender tried to pull it down tighter as he turned to Sandy.
“Hey,” Sandy said, “you look like a regular cowpoke.”
“I don’t think it fit me,” Skender said, holding onto the brim with both hands.
“It looks cute,” Sandy told him. “Goes with your outfit nice.” She reached over to brush a kernel of popcorn from the lapel of Skender’s black suit, then picked another one from the hair that showed in the open V of his silky beige sportshirt.
Clement was reaching out, stopping their waitress with his extended arm. He said, “Hey, I like your T-shirt. Honey, bring us another round, will you, please? And some more popcorn and go on over and ask Larry if he’ll do ‘You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me, Lucille’ the next set? Okay? Thank you, hon.” He turned to Skender and said, “Our mom loved that song. She’d listen to it and get real mad and say, ‘That woman’s just trash, leave four children, hungry children, like that.’ I believe she loved that song, I’d say just a smidge behind Luckenback, Texas. I know you heard that one.”
Skender said, “Luke… what?”
“He’s putting me on,” Clement said to Sandy. “You putting me on, Skenny? You mean to tell me you never heard Waylon do ‘Luckenback, Texas’? Time we got back to the basics of life?”
Sandy said, “It’s ‘Time we got back to the basics of love’… not life.”
Clement squinted at her. “You sure?”
Sandy glanced over at the bandstand in the corner where Larry Lee Adkins and the Hanging Tree-three guitars and a set of drums-were getting ready for the next set. “He just played it,” Sandy said. “Ask him.”
Clement was thoughtful. “He says let’s sell your diamond ring, get some boots and faded jeans…”
“And he says we got a four-car garage and we’re still building on,” Sandy said. “So maybe it’s time we got back to the basics of love.”
“That doesn’t rhyme.”
“I never said it did. But it’s love, not life.”
Skender, with his cowboy hat sitting on top of his head, would look from one to the other.
Clement grinned at him. “Well, it don’t matter. We’re here to talk about the basics of love anyway, aren’t we, partner?” He paused, cocking his head. “Listen. Hear what they’re playing? ‘Everybody Loves a Winner,’ “ Clement half singing, half saying it. “That’s a old Dalaney and Bonnie number.”
“You’re sure full of platter chatter this evening,” Sandy said. “You ought to get a job at CXI and get paid for it.”
“Well, I got nothing against work. I come a piece from the oil fields to the world of speculation,” Clement said, seeing Sandy rolling her eyes as he tightroped along the edge of truth. “But I’d rather see my investments do the work than me, if you know what I mean and I think you do.” He looked over at Skender and gave him a wink. “I understand you’re in the restaurant business.”
“Coney Island red-hot places,” Skender said. “I start out, I save eighty-three dollars and thirty-four cents a month. The end of a year I have one thousand dollars. I buy a HUD house, fix it up and rent it to people. I keep saving eighty-three dollars and thirty-four cents a month. I buy another house, fix it up. Then I sell the first house and buy a Coney Island. I buy another house, more houses, fix them up, sell some of them, buy an apartment, buy another Coney Island. In twelve years I have two apartments now I keep for rent and four Coney Island red-hot places.”
Sandy reached over to touch Skender’s arm, looking at Clement. “Hasn’t he got a cute accent?”
Clement said, “Yeah, I ‘magine you’re paying Uncle Sam a chunk, too.”
Skender shrugged. “Yes, I pay. But I have money.”
“You ever been married?”
“No, thirty-four years old, I never marry. My cousin Toma and my grandfather, the houseman, the head of the family, they try to get me to marry
someone from Tuzi, in Yugoslavia, bring her over here to marry. But I say no and make them very angry, because I want to marry an American girl.”
Clement was listening intently, leaning over the table on his arms. He said, “I know what you mean, partner. Nice American girl… knows how to fix herself up, shaves under her arms… uses a nice perfume, various deodorants and flavors”-winking at Skender-“if you know what I mean. See,” Clement said, “I don’t mean to get personal with you, but I got to look out for sis here or I swear our mom’ll come storming back from wherever she’s at and give me the dickens. I said to her, Sandy-didn’t I?-it’s entirely up to you. But if this fella is sincere he won’t mind satisfying some of my natural curiousity and concern. I said, after all, if you’re gonna be Mrs. Lulgurri…”
Sandy rolled her eyes.
Skender said, “Lulgjaraj. It’s a very common name. When I look in the telephone book I see there are more Lulgjaraj than Mansell. I look hard, I don’t see your name. Another question I have, you don’t mind, if you sister and brother, why do you have different names?”
“One thing,” Clement said, “you can look at us and tell we both got shook out of the same tree, can’t you? Well, it’s a pretty interesting story how Sandy come to change her name… while she was out in Hollywood, was right after the Miss Universe contest…”
Skender was nodding, smiling. “Yes?” Sandy was sitting back in her chair, rolling her eyes.
Clement stopped. “I’ll tell you, I sure like a man with a natural smile like you got. It shows good character traits.” Clement stared hard at Skender, nodding slowly, thoughtfully, as Skender smiled, the smile becoming fixed in an awkward, almost pained expression.
“I’ll tell you something else,” Clement said. “I’ve been all over this country, coast to coast wherever my work as a speculator takes me, but believe it or not, you’re my first Albanian… Where you living now, Skenny?”