I’ve come this far.
That’s right. You can’t turn back now.
They finished undressing and got into bed.
In bed Raymond was amazed at how it felt to be next to her. It was past all his experience, to be lying next to a woman, both of them unclothed, her body so smooth and warm and full-fleshed, and she herself so good-hearted. She lay facing him with her arms around him, and he slid his hand across the smooth point of her hip, feeling along the upper reaches of her leg. She leaned close and kissed him. Shut your eyes, she said. Try kissing me with your eyes shut.
Yes ma’am.
She kissed him again. Wasn’t that better?
I like looking at your face too, though. At all of you.
Oh my, she said. Aren’t you a nice man. Aren’t we going to have us some fun together.
I’m having a pretty good time already, Raymond said.
Are you?
Yes ma’am. I am.
There’s more, she said.
LATER SHE LAY WITH HER HEAD ON HIS ARM AND HE SAID: Rose. You’re awful good for a old man like me.
You’re not so old, she said. We’ve just had evidence of that.
You’re going to embarrass me now.
There’s no reason for embarrassment. You’re just a healthy man. And you’re good for me too. There aren’t many men like you available in Holt. I know, I’ve looked.
HE LEFT HER HOUSE AT MIDNIGHT AND DROVE HOME IN the dark on the narrow blacktop highway. Out in the flat treeless country he counted himself more than lucky. Victoria and Katie in his life, and now to have whatever was starting with this generous woman, Rose Tyler. He drove with the windows rolled down, and the night air came in and brought with it the smell of green grass and sage.
39
THE FIRST SATURDAY NIGHT OF APRIL. AND DJ AND HIS grandfather were at the tavern on Main Street and it was not yet late, only about eight-thirty. The old man’s pension check had come and he wanted his monthly night out.
They had been at the tavern for an hour sitting at the table near the wall with the other old men. DJ was seated behind his grandfather, watching the blonde barmaid as she moved around in the crowded smoky room. She had not asked him to come up to the bar and do his homework as she had before, though he had brought his school papers specially with that in mind. She seemed indifferent to him this night and had done no more than smile at him when she’d brought his cup of black coffee. He sat and watched her, while he listened to the old men’s stories.
She was not wearing the low-cut blouse this time. Instead she had on a long-sleeved black blouse that came up to her neck. She was wearing the same pair of tight blue jeans though, with the deliberate hole in the thigh that revealed that much of her tanned skin. While he watched her he noticed that every time she passed along the bar a man turned on his barstool to look at her and say something. DJ had only a vague idea what a grown man like that one would be saying to her. He had seen the man before around town on the streets, but didn’t know anything about him, not even his name. He seemed to be upsetting her. The blonde woman looked tired and unhappy, and appeared to be much bothered by whatever he was saying, and she gave him no response of any kind after the first two times she passed by, but just went on working in the loud crowded room.
AT THE TABLE ONE OF THE OLD MEN BEGAN TO TELL A story about a lawyer living across the state line in Gilbert Nebraska who had recently disappeared. He owed the bank two hundred and fifty thousand dollars on bad loans, and two weeks ago he went home for lunch and took a single bite out of a meatloaf sandwich his wife had set on his plate, then stood up and walked out the door with his wife in tow and disappeared, leaving the house unlocked and the rest of the sandwich uneaten. The coffeepot was still plugged in and the chair was pushed back from the table, as if they’d decided to leave all at once and couldn’t wait a minute longer. The whole town was surprised. Except the bankers, perhaps. Nobody in Gilbert Nebraska had seen or heard from either one of them since.
I bet they disappeared in Denver, one of the old men said.
Maybe. But they looked for them in Denver. They looked all over. They looked in Omaha.
They probably escaped down south somewhere then. He’s probably one of these front-door people-greeters at Wal-Mart someplace. Was he a old man?
Pretty old.
A old lawyer would do that. That’d be just right for a old lawyer. They should look for him down south in Wal-Mart.
THE OLD MEN WENT ON TALKING AND A HALF HOUR LATER DJ stood up and walked back through the tables to the rest room at the rear of the tavern, past the pool tables and the crowded booths. He went into one of the stalls and read the graffiti and used the toilet. Afterward he was washing his hands at the sink when the man from the bar came in. He was glassy-eyed and weaving. What you doing in here, you little shit?
Washing my hands.
Can’t you read that sign on the door? This is for men, not little kids. Get the fuck out of here.
DJ looked at him and went back out and sat down behind his grandfather. His face was hot and red. He looked for the blonde woman. She was out in the room waiting on a table, standing with her back to him, her blonde hair bright against her black blouse. He opened his papers and did a page of homework. His face was burning and he kept thinking what he should have said or done in the rest room.
When he looked up fifteen minutes later he saw the man was bothering the barmaid again. Without considering what he might do, he stood up from his chair and walked to where they stood at the bar. The man had her by the wrist and was talking in a low mean voice.
Don’t, DJ said. You’re going to hurt her.
What? the man said. Why you little son of a bitch. He slapped DJ across the eyes and nose, knocking him into a table behind him, scattering glasses and ashtrays across the floor.
Well, what in the hell, one of the men at the table said. Hoyt, what you think you’re doing?
The boy straightened himself and ran at him with his head down, but again the man slapped him away and he fell against an empty chair and crashed over with it.
Here, the bartender yelled. Raines, goddamn it, quit that.
The boy’s grandfather came hurrying over and grabbed Hoyt by the shirt. I know how to deal with pups like you, he said.
I’m going to knock the shit out of you, Hoyt Raines said. Let go of me.
They commenced to fight. Hoyt slapped at the old man’s white head and they whirled around and suddenly from behind them the blonde barmaid reached in and grabbed a fistful of Hoyt’s hair. Hoyt’s head jerked backward and his eyes rolled up in their sockets, and he swung about with the old man still hanging on to him and grabbed the woman by the throat and hurled her against the bar. Her blouse tore open, uncovering her breasts in the skimpy pink brassiere, and she let go and clutched at her blouse. Then the boy grabbed a bottle from the bar and smashed Hoyt Raines across the face with it. The bottle broke on his temple and tore his ear and he fell sideways, his knees buckling, and he righted himself and bent forward, bleeding from the side of the face onto the barroom floor. The boy waited to see what else he would do. He held the jagged bottle as if he’d stab him with it if he tried anything.
But the bartender had rushed out from behind the bar, and now he and two other men dragged Hoyt by the arms out the front door onto the sidewalk. When he turned and tried to push past them to come back inside, they shoved him violently away and he fell across the hood of one of the parked cars at the curb and lay sprawled. His face was cut and he was bleeding from the ear, the blood streamed down his neck. He rose gasping, weaving. He began to curse them.