“Little Mike’s got a real high fever,” Duane said. “We’re waiting for a call from his doctor now. I’ll try to catch up on the pageant planning tomorrow.”
Abashed at the thought of a sick child, Jenny hung up.
“You’re a smooth liar, Duane,” Karla said.
“I try to be good at whatever I do,” Duane said, grinning. “Besides, his fever might be up, for all you know.” Little Mike was prone to stratospheric fevers.
“It always cheers you up to know I hate your guts, doesn’t it?” Karla said. She herself looked quite cheerful.
“Do you want to ask Jacy if she’ll play Eve in the pageant?” he asked.
“No,” Karla said.
Shorty came over, wanting love, and tried to poke his nose between her thighs.
“Minerva says Junior is after Nellie and not you,” Duane said.
“That’s true,” Karla said. “It’s a wonder I haven’t blown my brains out. I’ve got a husband who’s a smooth liar, a house guest who wants to fuck my daughter, and a dog so dumb it don’t even know it’s not supposed to stick its nose up ladies’ snatches.”
She poured a little coffee on Shorty to distract him. It dripped onto the deck and Shorty happily licked it up.
“Where are you going today?” Karla asked.
“Odessa,” Duane said. “I had an idea just now. I’m going to sell the rigs.”
“We should have all seen the neurologist, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Karla said. “Nobody’s gonna buy those rigs. This is the bust, not the boom.”
“Twelve million’s just two digits and a bunch of zeros,” Duane said. “I’m tired of being paralyzed by a bunch of zeros. I’m gonna cut down the interest any way I can.”
“Going bankrupt would cut it down,” Karla said.
“Yes, but I don’t want to go bankrupt,” Duane said. “I didn’t do all this just to go bankrupt.”
“I don’t think I’ll spend much money for a while,” Karla said, looking off across the pastures. “Now that I realize it was just a broken heart that was bothering me I probably won’t need to.”
“Why’d you start wearing blank T-shirts?” he asked.
“Because my heart’s broken and I got no more to say,” Karla said.
“See if you can ease Junior out,” Duane said. “Messy situations just tend to get messier, particularly if they involve Nellie.”
“If I send him back home you’ll never get to see your new girlfriend,” Karla reminded him.
“Send him back anyway,” Duane said.
He called Shorty and raced to town, hoping to get a little cash and be on the road before Jenny Marlow began her rounds.
He found Ruth in the office. She had just put on her running clothes and was doing stretching exercises behind the desk.
“There’s three messages on the machine from Janine,” Ruth said.
“I’m in a big hurry,” Duane said. “If she calls again tell her I had to go to Houston.”
“Where are you really going?”
“Odessa,” Duane admitted.
“She sounds desperate,” Ruth said.
“I don’t know if she’ll last the day.”
“She’ll last the day,” Duane said.
“I didn’t think you was the kind to leave a desperate woman in the lurch,” Ruth said, looking at him sternly.
Duane went into his office and called Janine, who did indeed sound desperate.
“I think I’m pregnant by Lester,” she said, in a tiny, trembling voice.
Duane sighed.
“Somebody must be making a fortune off fertility drugs in this country,” he said, reflecting that a worst-case scenario would have Jenny pregnant by Dickie, Janine pregnant by Lester, Nellie pregnant by either Joe, Junior, or Bobby Lee, and Suzie Nolan pregnant either by Dickie or himself. The fact that the last two hadn’t been suggested or confirmed offered only slim grounds for hope.
“I wish it had been by you,” Janine said.
“I wish it had been by nobody,” Duane said.
“Now that stupid Jenny doesn’t even want to give him a divorce,” Janine said. “She says she’s pregnant too, but Lester says that’s impossible. When can you come and see me?”
“It’ll have to be tonight, after the meeting,” Duane said. “I have to go to Odessa right now. You just hang in there. This is not the end of the world.”
“Are you sure you’ll come?” Janine asked.
“I’m sure I’ll come,” Duane said.
Ruth was outside, jogging in place. She had already worked up a good sweat.
“Looks like you’d leave that stupid dog at home sometime,” Ruth said.
“That dog’s the only person who really loves me,” Duane said.
CHAPTER 35
DUANE SET OFF TO RACE OUT OF TOWN, THE MEN ace of Jenny Marlow much on his mind, but as he was passing the Dairy Queen he saw Jacy’s black Mercedes parked there. She was probably waiting to meet Karla. They met almost every morning.
On impulse he stopped and went in.
Jacy was sitting in a back booth with a cup of coffee and a newspaper. She had been for her swim in the lake—her hair was wet. She had a towel over her shoulders and occasionally fingered the wet ends of her hair.
“Howdy,” Duane said.
Jacy looked up without friendliness. Her swim goggles had left faint marks on her face.
“Run along, Duane,” she said. “I don’t like you anymore.”
“Why not?” he asked, startled.
“Because I think you’re behaving like a horse’s ass,” she said, her blue eyes cold.
“I might not be quite as black as I’ve been painted, if it was Karla doing the painting,” he said.
“You’re probably blacker,” Jacy said. “Karla still loves you. She doesn’t even think you’re a horse’s ass. I figured that out for myself.”
“Do you want to play Eve in the centennial pageant?” he asked.
“Eve?” she said, caught by surprise.
“The director asked me to ask you,” he said.
Jacy stood up and scattered a little change on the table. She wore a T-shirt and running shorts, plus the towel.
“I suppose you’re playing Adam, right?” she asked.
“Not necessarily,” he said. “Adam hasn’t been cast.”
Jacy walked past him and Duane followed her outside. She went to her car.
“Well, at least I asked,” he said. “Call Jenny Marlow if you’re interested. She’s the pageant director.”
Jacy looked amused. “That poor frantic thing who’s married to Lester?” she said. “She’s a director?”
“It’s just a pageant in a rodeo arena,” he reminded her.
He got in his pickup, feeling depressed. To his surprise she strolled over and looked in. Shorty, who normally would have attacked, put his head between his paws and made a submissive little squirming motion.
“Hello, puppy,” Jacy said.
“Where are you going, Duane?”
“I have to go to Odessa,” he said. “It’s the worst town on earth.”
Jacy reached in and scratched Shorty between the ears. She no longer looked hostile. It seemed to Duane that she looked rather lonely.
“I might like to see the worst town on earth,” Jacy said. “I’ve certainly seen several of the runners-up.”
“Come with me,” Duane said.
Jacy leaned her elbows on the pickup window. She seemed in no hurry to make her decision. Duane didn’t feel quite so relaxed. He had the feeling that either Karla or Jenny Marlow would drive up any minute.
“Hop in,” he said. “The scenery’s not much, but we could catch up on one another.”
Jacy gave the inside of the pickup a calm scrutiny. The whitish carpet of dog hair on the seat did not escape her attention.
“Let’s go in mine,” she said. “You can bring the puppy if you want to. My car’s just as messy, but it’s more comfortable.”
Dua
ne considered the ramifications of leaving his pickup parked at the Dairy Queen all day, where it would be noticed in turn by Karla, Jenny, Suzie and Janine, not to mention Bobby Lee, Eddie Belt, Lester Marlow and various others.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Follow me down to Olney. It’s just fifteen miles. I’ll leave my pickup there. I’ve got this paranoid man who works for me. If he sees my pickup and can’t find me he’ll start the rumor that I got kidnapped by Libyan terrorists or something. By the time we get back they’ll have called out the National Guard.”
Jacy scratched Shorty between the ears again. “I don’t think that’s the reason you want to hide your pickup, Duane,” she said, giving him a skeptical, almost angry look.
She walked back to the Mercedes and got in. He thought he had driven her away, and for a moment was not sure whether he was glad or sorry.
When he pulled out onto the highway, the Mercedes was still parked at the Dairy Queen. But before he had gone five miles he saw a black car in his rearview mirror. His spirits immediately rose—he knew he was glad he hadn’t driven her away.
“You better be on your best behavior, Shorty,” he said sternly.
Shorty whined guiltily at the thought of all the bad things he might do.
CHAPTER 36
“YOU DRIVE,’ JACY SAID. “I THINK I MIGHT WANT A nap.”
They had parked side by side in the parking lot of a grocery store in Olney.
“You sure you don’t mind if I take this dog?” Duane asked. He saw that the inside of the Mercedes was quite messy. The floorboards were strewn with old fashion magazines, empty yogurt cartons and little yellow boxes that had once contained film.
“Bring the puppy,” Jacy said. “I like to study people and their animals.”
She evidently felt no need to begin her study at once, though, because she settled herself in the back seat, made her towel into a pillow and slept soundly for almost three hours. Occasionally Duane heard her stir, but only to shift her position. He was in the sandy hills east of Big Spring before she sat up, her face still blank with sleep.
“Find a town, Duane,” she said. “I need to pee.”
He stopped for gas in Big Spring. When Jacy came out of the restroom she stood for a moment looking at the bleak, scrubby hills. Then she opened both doors and snapped her fingers at Shorty, who quietly got out of the front seat and crawled in the back. The sand was blowing a little.
“Odessa’s uglier than this, huh?” Jacy said. “I’m not sure I believe that. Why are you going there?”
“I’m in debt,” Duane said.
“I know, twelve million,” Jacy said. “Karla told me.”
“There’s a man in Odessa who might help me out, if he’s there,” Duane said. “I’m sure your father knew him.”
Jacy slumped against the door. Her hair was a blond tangle and she seemed without energy. The countryside was dotted with oil pumps. In places the thin grass itself looked as if it had been smeared with oil.
“You’re right, it’s getting uglier,” Jacy said. “Maybe you’re more truthful than I think you are.”
“Not really,” Duane said.
On the way into Odessa they passed a large motel. It was called the Oilpatch Inn and had a neon rig as a sign.
“Are you gonna be a while with this man my daddy knew?” Jacy asked.
“I could be an hour or two, if he’s there,” Duane said.
“I think I’d like a motel room, then,” Jacy said. “I didn’t bargain on a sandstorm.”
“Oh, this isn’t a sandstorm,” Duane said. “This is just a breeze.”
“I don’t have any money on me but if you’ll get me a motel room I’ll pay you back,” Jacy said. “I don’t think I need to see any more of this town.”
Duane got her a motel room at the Oilpatch Inn. She insisted on keeping Shorty.
“He might bother you,” Duane warned. “He gets kind of frantic when I’m gone too long.”
Jacy smiled, for the first time on the trip. “Are you afraid I’ll woo your dog away from you, honey pie?” she asked.
“Well, it’s a big risk,” Duane said. He smiled and Jacy smiled back. She kicked him lightly with a sandaled foot.
“If you could get me back in love with you you wouldn’t need to spend so much time making deals in ugly towns, would you?” Jacy said. “I might put my daddy’s fortune at your disposal.”
“But I never had you in love with me,” Duane said. “You had me in love with you, and that was in high school.”
Jacy looked thoughtful. “That’s a good point, Duane,” she said. “Did I have you madly in love?”
“Madly,” he said.
“Would you have given me twelve million in a second, if you’d had it at the time?” she asked.
“In a second,” Duane said.
Jacy seemed to feel tired, despite her long nap.
“I guess I once could summon some pretty mad love,” she said, frowning at the blowing sand. “I hope you won’t be too long. This looks like the kind of place where I could get real depressed.”
“I won’t be over two hours,” Duane said.
Jacy selected two or three magazines from those strewn on the floor of the Mercedes, took her room key from him and grimaced again at the sand.
“Come on, puppy,” she said. “We’re in this together.”
Shorty jumped out of the car and trotted right at her heels, though he did turn once to look guiltily at Duane before following Jacy into the motel.
CHAPTER 37
THE MAN DUANE HAD COME TO ODESSA TO SEE WAS named C. L. Sime. CL. was a legendary wildcatter. Unlike most such men he exhibited no interest in his own legend. He had rubbed elbows with all the greats: with Doc Joiner, H. L. Hunt, Getty, Glenn McCarthy. Hundreds of reporters had pursued him and all had been disappointed. C. L. Sime liked to wildcat; he didn’t like to talk.
“Yeah, I knew Hunt,” he said. “Yeah, I knew Sid Richardson.”
The reporters waited hopefully, but C.L. never amplified his remarks. He spent his days smoking and sipping coffee in a small café in downtown Odessa, conducting his business from a pay phone in the bus depot across the street. He dressed like an out-of-work cowboy, coughed a lot, and drove a rusty GMC pickup with a couple of pipe wrenches in the front seat.
Occasionally he would disappear for a few months. Only by a careful reading of the Railroad Commission reports—the monitor of the Texas oil business—could his movements be followed. He had been a partner in the first offshore lease ever developed. He had been in Alberta five years before the boom. Major oil companies employed men just to scout his movements—two scouts were killed trying to follow his bush plane through a blizzard on his first trip to the North Slope.
No one knew how much money he had, but he had a lot. Billions, some said. A Houston reporter had once established that he had more than two thousand bank accounts, mainly in small-town banks scattered through Texas from Laredo to Dalhart.
Duane had known him for fifteen years, and had been in with him on a few small deals. Though their meetings had all been strictly confined to business, he had the feeling that C. L. Sime liked him. Fortunately their little deals had all been profitable. He might have helped C.L. increase his net worth by a few hundred thousand dollars, over the years.
Mr. Sime was in the bus depot talking on the pay phone. Duane waited on the sidewalk until he finished and came out.
“Howdy, Mr. Sime,” he said.
“Hello, son,” C.L. said. He did not sound enthusiastic, but then he never had. They walked across the street together, ignoring the blowing sand.
“Son, have you got your own teeth?” the old man asked, once they were inside the café.
“All but two,” Duane said.
“Take care of your teeth,” C.L. said. “I didn’t and now I’ve got these goddamn bridges and they’re a misery. This goddamn grit gets under them. I’ve stopped talking unless I’m inside a building. It’s the only way to keep the g
rit out of my teeth.
“It pays to spend a little more on dentists,” he added, as a decrepit and depressed-looking old waitress brought their coffee.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Duane said.
The old man took off his weathered cowboy hat and hung it on a wooden hatrack. His thin gray hair was combed flat against his scalp, which was freckled in places his hair didn’t cover.
“The reason he’s so rich is because he ain’t tipped a soul in this restaurant since 1941, and that includes me,” the old waitress said.
“Who asked you to butt in?” C.L. asked, without looking at either the waitress or the coffee. He was looking out the window at the gritty street.
“Nobody, but it’s a free country,” the waitress said.
“The reason I don’t tip is because I don’t like the coffee,” C.L. said. “Anyway, I didn’t hire you, it ain’t my job to pay your salary.”
“If you don’t like this coffee why don’t you take your business somewhere else?” the waitress asked. She was skinny as a plank. Her stockings sagged down her legs.
“I don’t because the phone’s right across the street,” C.L. said. “Besides, I like the atmosphere.”
He grinned faintly, as if he felt his last remark was a clincher, but the old woman was halfway to the kitchen and might not have heard.
“I’ve had more arguments with that old hussy than I would have had if I’d married her,” C.L. said.
He extracted a toothpick from his shirt pocket and began to pick his teeth. He looked at Duane. His eyes were a watery gray and did not seem shrewd.
“Mr. Sime, I want to sell you a half interest in my deep rigs,” Duane said. “I believe the way to get through this recession is to concentrate on shallow oil.”
The old man directed his gaze out the window, as if he could not get enough of the sight of downtown Odessa, though he had had some seventy years in which to scrutinize it.
“Oh, I ain’t interested in hardware, son,” C.L. said. “I’m just interested in production.”
“Quite a bit of production would go with the deal,” Duane said.
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