“Miss Kitty,” he said, “you want me to build you a saloon, just say the word. Me and Festus will be over at first light and commence to hammering and nailing.”
“No, I mean—I don’t know. I’m having a hard time explaining this, but I really need you to understand. What if I want to build the saloon myself? What if the saloon I want to build is so big that it won’t fit within the limits of those big hands of yours?”
Joe was trying to keep his smile.
Serenity said, “You know—without trying to get too bawdy here—in one literal sense men live their lives inside women. In our bodies, in the homes we make. But it goes the other way, too. I always wanted something normal and warm and safe, and you wrapped me up in those big old arms and gave me just what I wanted. And just like our hands—while it’s true that you’ve always lived in me—it’s also true that I’ve always lived inside you, and your world and your rules.”
He squeezed her hand and smiled. “We’ve always made a happy home for each other.”
She pulled her hand away. “But there are things I have to do outside of your world. And I need your support, even if you may not think it’s right.”
He studied her face. “Honey, we build our life on what’s right. Do the right thing, and move on. And I support you in all of that.”
She snatched her hand away. “But that’s you and this is not about you. Why do you always think that every blessed thing is about you, and what you’ve done, and I’m just here to settle the dust?”
She stood up. “I’m not hungry. I’ve got work to do, thanks to you and your goddamned prison of right-and-wrong.”
The waitress was returning with two plates in her hand and the same confused look on her face.
“Do you want your salad?” she said.
“Tell him to eat the salad. See what it feels like to be a rabbit instead of a hunter.”
twenty-three
chariots of the lesser gods
SIX O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING and she was in the middle of a dream. Serenity’s dreams—unfortunately—didn’t include kissing Valentino by a crystal-blue Italian stream. No, she had people begging her to do what she should, and Joe had handcuffs because she had done what she shouldn’t. And it was all the same thing.
Nor had her night included much sleep, or anything else, as she and Joe spent the night pulling the covers from each other and complaining about it. At some point she realized that Joe had won the last battle and she was coverless.
“I am tired of you always thinking you can win just because you’re Joe and you’re right.” She jumped out of bed. “I’m going into work.”
“Good. Maybe I can get some sleep.” Joe yanked the covers one more time for dramatic effect.
In the bathroom, she looked into her eyes in the mirror. Christ.
Cleaned up, dressed up, made up, she looked at Joe one last time before she left. He looked good, and she resented that. She grabbed the covers and yanked them off of him.
“Jesus,” he said.
“No. Just me. The woman who used to count on you for support.”
He said something to her back as she was leaving but she didn’t stop to hear it.
When she got there, the outside lights were on at the MAD and the inside lights were dimmed. She was fumbling with her keys when she saw something moving inside and pushed on the door. Unlocked. She stepped inside.
Her eyes adjusted by degrees. First, she saw an enormous four-poster bed with motorcycle wheels at each corner. It was almost blocking the door. Then, there were three guys under one quilt, snoring in harmony like a scene from a Three Stooges movie—if the Stooges had been played by the guys in ZZ Top. One beard was carefully spread on top of the covers, one tucked underneath. I guess there’s no real answer to that old question.
She jumped when she realized someone was standing next to her with a gun.
“Joy,” she said when she realized who it was.
“Shh.” Joy put her Glock back in its holster. “Don’t wake our patrons.”
Now that she could see, Serenity surveyed the library. Scratch that. Serenity surveyed the flophouse. Behind the four-poster with motorcycle wheels was what looked like a baby’s crib with lawnmower wheels. It contained a man with his feet hanging over the end. On the other side, a plywood mockup of a ’57 Chevy with a mattress for a cab held two more. It went on like that for as far as she could see on both sides.
“Lost Boys,” said Joy.
“That makes you Wendy?”
“Yeah.”
“You know you can’t have a gun in the library?”
“Can’t have beds or people sleeping, either. The library has to be empty and useless at night. Made me think of the way these guys feel, and I put two and two together. Thought about what you said about doing as much as we could for as long as we could.”
“I thought you said that.”
“Well, you inspired it.”
“Whatever,” Serenity said. “Looks like two and two added up to about twenty.”
“Eighteen.”
“Where’d you get these beds? If that’s what you call them.”
“Remember that bedstead race they have every year on Founder’s Day, where people have to push a bed down the street? Most people break their beds down and take them back home. Some don’t. The city keeps them in a storage shed,” she pointed out the window, “about a quarter of a mile that way. We got the key—don’t ask how—and rolled them out. Now that the sun’s coming up, we’re going to roll them back and clean things up. I told the boys: one scrap of paper, one table not moved back, and they’ll be back at the interstate underpasses again.”
“Good work. This is illegal, immoral—and fine with me.”
“Thanks. But I didn’t ask. My MAD.” She pushed the light switch up. “Everybody up. Let’s get this four-wheeler cattle drive rolling.”
As old men grumbled out of beds, Serenity said, “Leave me one. That one, the single cot with bicycle wheels. I need to get some rest. We can keep it in my office.” Then she thought about it. “I’ll bring my own sheets from home. Maybe a plastic cover, too.”
“You want to move it in, I won’t stop you.”
“And get the gun out of here. My MAD, too.”
Serenity pushed the cot in behind her visitors’ chairs and laid down. Different dreams here. She dreamed of a buzzing library full of people getting what they needed. A city growing and prosperous. A city of books.
A thump at the door eventually shook her out of her dream. The light was streaming in now: mid-morning. She sat up, shook her head, and reached over to open the door.
Doom said, “We need something.”
“Of course.”
“This is Levi Buffett,” Doom said, and stepped aside. A tall young Asian man with dreadlocks nodded. “Mr. Buffett’s got a business idea that he needs help with.”
He nodded. “I’ve got an electronics device that we think can revolutionize the automotive industry. I’ve put together investors. But the problem is this: to assemble it here in Maddington, we need to buy components from China. And eventually, we’ll want to sell our products to Asia and Europe, as well as the US. We think we have the markets and suppliers lined up, but the regulations are killing us. We want to spend our money on development and marketing, not import/export lawyers. If we had a set of the import/export regulations here, I could do the homework myself.”
“I remember you,” said Serenity. “You played basketball at the high school, and then at the university.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, “and a couple of years pro in Europe. Now I’m back home. I want to take the money that I made over there and build something here. But if I can’t get the support I need here, I may have to go to Silicon Valley.”