She directed Frank to the Dexter Hotel’s parking lot, where they found the three-quarter-ton Ford with a stock rack. Frank got in behind the wheel and Lucy went around to the other side. Frank smiled at her and pretended to steer down the road, mashing the brake at the same time. Lucy said, “What’s on your mind?” Frank saw the keys and started the truck. Lucy gave him a look, but he just turned on the heater to cut the chill.
“I just hadn’t seen you. I haven’t been to the office.”
“So we’ve noticed.” “We” was Lucy and Eileen. He knew the subtext here was that Gracie was back in town.
“Oh, Lucy.”
“And don’t ‘oh, Lucy’ me, either.”
“At least don’t treat me mean. I’ve built an empire.”
“And you’re letting it fall apart.”
“That’s what they do. Read your history. None escape.”
“And what about Gracie? A wonderful girl. How did you spoil that, Frank? She was a big reason I was attracted to you. I had to find out. Ever since that Halloween we dressed up as a ménage à trois. But Gracie was my friend. There’s something about you but it may not be such a nice thing and no wonder she hit the road. No wonder! Yes, Frank, no wonder. And I want to tell you this: in your case, absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder. Once a person gets away from you, for however short a time, that person asks themself, How, how did I do that?”
“Soiled yourself with my love wand?”
“Frank, please.”
“I was only trying to make things lighter. Besides, I’ve bent over backwards. You sent me to the Arctic Circle, I went. Wasn’t that a living testimonial?”
“You were just trying, you … it was awful. What an utterly artificial attempt to cast a romantic glow over things. All you ever did with any sincerity was fuck me, take me to the show and fuck me, take me to dinner, fuck me — in other words, fuck me fuck me fuck me!”
Looking into the truck window in time to hear the end of this speech was Darryl Pullman. Lucy saw Frank’s glance, looked back at the window and moaned in loud despair. Frank slipped the truck in gear and moved out onto the street. “You can’t talk like that around a cowboy,” Frank said. “Not if you want to stay in one piece.” Darryl called to another cowboy standing in the doorway of the bar. The cowboy pointed to his own truck, a big green Dodge, and he and Darryl ran toward it. Frank turned sharply into an alley, came out its far end, went through a closed bank’s drive-up lane the wrong way, down another alley — all alleys he had played in as a child — and emerged in the middle of a Chevrolet used car lot. “Let me out here, Frank.”
“You don’t want to get out. You want to see this thing through, Luce.”
Frank watched the darkened street over the tops of the cars. It felt dangerous. Feeling the heat and smelling the perfume, he sensed that the feeling of danger was very close to the feeling of lewdness. Overpowering presences, riveted attention, a kind of desire. And no purpose, a wonderful freedom from purpose. He threaded his way among the vehicles of the car lot.
There was Darryl and his friend in the Dodge, coming around the front of the railroad station. Frank cut his lights out and slumped in his seat. Lucy did the same, thrilling him with her complicity. He watched closely as the Dodge rolled by just beyond a row of used cars, its headlights splintering around their shapes. The two cowboys never looked his way, and when they had gone a block and a half east, Frank eased out and headed west. He reached down for the headlights as he was moving through the dark. He pulled the switch and heard a screech behind him. Looking into the rearview mirror, he saw the Dodge wheel in a semicircle, its lights jutting upward as the truck squatted with acceleration.
“Oh shit, oh dear,” said Frank while Lucy covered her face.
Out on the highway, they were able to maintain an even lead over the other vehicle, but they were going a hundred and Frank didn’t want to do that for long. “I don’t know if you remember Sterling Moss,” he said over the noise. “Great driver, but tore up every car he drove. Juan Fangio was even faster, but his cars never seemed to have even been driven. Something simpatico between Juan and machinery …”
“Frank, please.”
“I can’t stop now. Can you imagine what kind of mood those cowboys are in? I have no choice but to put it on them before they put it on me.” Suddenly, he didn’t seem to be moving at all. He watched the stars through the windshield and thought he simply liked Lucy. But the piercing beams behind him brought him back. Bold is best, he thought, then hit the brakes and managed to turn onto a gravel fork in the road. He turned off the lights again. “Frank!” Lucy cried. He could make out the road well enough, and he was sure that he was nearly impossible to see.
He slid onto another fork that went into dense trees but he could still see lights behind him. In another mile, the road wound around to the north while climbing a washboard hill. They were now in a forest but had to go much slower. There was a logging road going deeper into the woods but he knew that Darryl would just assume he went up it, so he went on, passing another logging road, then another. He turned up this last one. It was muddy and he had to get out and lock the hubs so he could travel in four-wheel drive. When he got out of the truck, he could hear the Dodge laboring on the grade without being able to tell if they had found them. It sounded like they were about a half mile behind.
Frank and Lucy’s truck was all over the road. The mud was getting deeper and the engine was over-revving as the wheels lost traction. The road was sufficiently crowned that it was all important that Frank keep from sliding off the top of it. The truck was swimming upward from side to side like a tired old salmon going up a river. Then it just wallowed off the crown and buried the hood in muck. Frank and Lucy found all their weight on their legs, as though they were standing under the dashboard. Frank tried the accelerator and the rear wheels became whirligigs of spraying mud. When he turned the engine off, he realized the radio was still on faintly and Merle Haggard was singing: “Not so long ago you held our baby’s bottle. Now the one you hold is of another kind.” He turned it off and sighed.
Lucy said, “I can’t live like this.”
“I know how you feel.”
“No you don’t, you aimless bastard.”
“You’re just trying to hurt me, Lucy.”
The windshield was steamed over. She slapped at him while crying out in despair. Then she quit.
“We can’t just wait here like sitting ducks,” he said. “The moon is shining. Let’s walk out of here.” He pushed open his door against the weight of gravity and looked down. “It’s a bit of a jump,” he said.
“Don’t start talking like an Englishman!” Lucy cried. She seemed completely out of control. Frank took her arm and guided her to his side of the truck. When he jumped out and turned to help her, the seat was at the level of his chest. He held her hand. She looked all over for a place to land and then just made a wild jump that took Frank off his feet. He sank in the mud under her weight. He tried to make as little of it as possible because he sensed she was about to go mad. But his nostrils were plugged and the necessity of breathing made it impossible to put a completely good face on things.
Instead of just wading out of the mud, Lucy kept trying to jump feet first like an immobilized kangaroo. Frank crawled toward her, determined to help. Lucy opened her mouth and began to howl like a forlorn dog. Frank kept saying, “I don’t blame you, I don’t blame you. How could I have done this to you?” She was flinging something at him, probably just more mud. Mud didn’t matter now. No matter how much of it, it was just theoretical. He well knew that he was stinking drunk, but he lacked any desire to resist its worst effects. He wished to be free of all conflict.