“You know it’s funny,” said Joe, wondering why he didn’t appreciate Astrid any more than he did. “I’ve had such a thing for this schoolteacher.”
“Do I have to hear this?”
“I’m trying to keep you entertained. We’re beyond any little ill feelings along these lines anyway, aren’t we? Besides if I tell you this in a sarcastic way and make it good and trivial I can write ‘finis’ to the sonofabitch.” It wasn’t true. He wanted to hurt her. He was laying in stores to hate himself.
“Knock yourself out. I really don’t care.”
Joe believed her. There was malice in his continuation of the story. It was temporarily beyond him to take stock of the gravity of their situation. It was an awful moment.
“Anyway, I’ve been drawn to her innocence, whether or not it exists. It may not exist. But I took it as a working proposition that the innocence was real.”
“Did you stick it in?”
“I’m afraid I did.”
“She can’t be that innocent.”
“But we had these wonderful little skits. I knew her years ago. We hit golf balls together. We discussed her background on the ranch.”
“You stuck it in.”
“We stuck it in. We had meals together in an atmosphere that combined lightheartedness and high courtship. We went for a long drive.”
“This is to puke over,” said Astrid.
“Now, Astrid. There was something quite delicate. A picture had begun to form.” Joe felt like a vampire.
“I can see that picture.”
“But wait. I had decided to marry her. We would live together in the picture that had begun to form. I flew to New York and quit my job with Ivan. I was exhausted. When I was flying home, the country unfolded beneath the wings and it all came to me that — I don’t like that smile, Astrid — I would marry this lovely girl. And I must say, that is a very nasty smile, indeed.”
“I shouldn’t laugh,” said Astrid. “I am in the dreary mental situation in which sneezing, laughing, coughing, calling the dog, or ensemble singing are equally uncomfortable. Anyway, what happened is that you thought it over and upon consideration, upon the most serious consideration you—”
“No. Not this time. I called and before I had the chance to propose, her husband went for a ride with me and told me that they were working it out.”
“There’s a husband?”
“And a right odd one at that. He used to thrash me when I was a boy, beat me like a gong.”
“Well, if you’d had any conviction, you’d have argued with him. If you’d had the kind of conviction that it would take to go back to your painting, you’d have told that hubby off. Now what’ve you got? A trashy-mouth Cuban who doesn’t appreciate you.”
“Oh, darling,” said Joe in a flat and uninterested tone, “don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Astrid’s weeping was real. Joe could scarcely remonstrate with her. She had every right to this. His position had eroded and he could not say a thing. Instead, he gazed through the window at nothing and came to appreciate how wonderful much of the world could seem.
Collecting herself, she said, “Well, what am I to do?”
“I’m not good at this,” said Joe.
Astrid tried to shift her weight slightly. She sighed. “Given my desperation, I wonder if you’d have time to murmur some smut in my ear.”
“Astrid.”
“Something about the schoolteacher possibly. Anything. There was a fly in the room earlier. You can’t imagine my absorption in watching its confused circuit of my room.”
“I hope you’re resisting ideas like that.”
“What easy ideas have you resisted?”
“I hate you.”
“I hate you too.”
The sudden bitterness of these remarks was stunning. Literally, they were both stunned by what they had said. They had heard it before and it was still utterly stunning, as stunning to hear as to say.
He rose to go. “We don’t mean that.”
“We don’t?” said Astrid. She looked exhausted. He was horribly sorry that he hadn’t headed the moment off. But they had been in this intense snare for so long. It was hard to keep things from just running their course.
22
The next day Lureen was on the phone at seven.
“Joe, I don’t know if you realize this but Smitty has been bringing seafood up from Texas in a refrigerated truck. I mean, he’s brokering it, not physically doing it himself, and he has run into a hitch.”
“Which is?” Joe asked, knowing that he had just learned where the lease money had gone, some of it anyway.
“I hear your suspicion already. Now, I want you to give this a fair hearing.”
“Sock it to me, Lureen.”
“Well, a big load of it spoiled.”
“That’s a shame. I’m sorry to hear it.”
“But it was insured.”
“When did this happen?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“How much was it insured for?”
“Thirty thousand.”
“Wow, that’s a powerful load of shrimp. Did he collect?”
“Not yet. But I’m sure he will.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that the insurance company has initiated an investigation. They want to actually view the spoiled shrimp. Smitty said, It’s a little late now, I buried it. And the investigators said, We want to see the spot. So, Smitty very graciously took them out to the place—”
“Wait a minute. Where?”
“There. You were in New York. And up by the burn pit, he showed them the empty boxes, but they wanted to see the shrimp. Smitty couldn’t believe his ears. The what? he said. And real rudelike, the chief investigator says, The shrimp, the shrimp, the shrimp! It’s been three weeks! Smitty told him. They have decomposed! You got it? But — and it’s a big ‘but’—this horrible man, this investigator said, Nope, there’d still be shells. I don’t know where this all leads but, Joe, for my own peace of mind, I know you’ve spent time down in the Florida—”
“Right, Lureen, I’ve seen a world of shrimp.”
“Would there still be, after all these weeks, any indication — I won’t say evidence—that there had been any shrimp?”
“Yes. Shells. Tens of thousands of them, by the sound of it.”
“Joe, we’ve tried so hard to be nice to you and make you feel to home …”
It was too late. She had already signed for the cattle. Joe put the receiver down slowly and carefully. At first, he was contrite: he could have said something more reassuring. But, like what? He was entirely limited to exaggerating the speed at which shrimp shells decompose. How else could he explain Lureen’s belligerence? Surely she was not one hundred percent taken in by Smitty, the bounder. She must know he meant to glom the ranch, mustn’t she?
Joe actually saw Smitty drive up. Smitty wasn’t going very fast when he came in the driveway, but he stabbed the brakes so that the blue and white Ford skidded a little on the gravel. He sort of threw himself from the car, flinging the door shut behind him. At first, he seemed in a hurry but he lost a little speed by the time he actually got to the front door.
“Smitty,” said Joe, opening the door for him. He reached out his hand. Smitty gave it a glance before shaking it.
“Have you got a minute?”
“Sure I do, Smitty. Coffee?”
“No, I’m fine. Where can we sit?”
They went into the living room. Smitty glanced around at the books, the family pictures, the braided riata that hung on a hook by the door, the college diplomas, the brands burned into the wood, the chunks of quartz that old settler had mortared into the fireplace. They sat down.