When the Light Goes

by Larry McMurtry

  “I was in town, but not the town you were thinking of,” Duane admitted. “It got too sultry in the cabin. Annie’s been letting me sleep on her couch—just till it cools off a little.”

  He knew he was releasing big news into the gossip stream—but Bobby Lee, who had a three-day stubble and a haggard look, didn’t seem at all surprised.

  “Join the club,” Bobby said. “We’re in the same boat. Jessica lets me sleep on our couch. There’s no sex and damn little cooking.”

  “Then I’m better off than you,” Duane said. “Annie’s just a roommate but there’s excellent cooking.”

  Duane started to warn Bobby Lee not to mention what he had just told him, but after looking closely at his old friend he decided the warning wasn’t necessary.

  “You look like hell,” he said. “Maybe you ought to get counseling.”

  “I went wrong at birth, which means it would be too long a story,” Bobby Lee said.

  “I might help you with the trotline, if you still want to,” Duane said—it was more than evident that Bobby needed a little cheering up.

  “Annie started wearing a bra to work,” Bobby said. “I suppose that’s due to the influence of Uncle Duane.”

  “It’s the air-conditioning’s influence,” Duane said. “It wasn’t our charm that made her titties poke up.”

  “Damn,” Bobby Lee said. “I wish my wife would run away again.”

  “There’s something called divorce.”

  Bobby just sighed.

  “If I file for divorce she might get my new pickup,” he said. “I couldn’t bear to lose my new pickup—it’s the one thing I got that boosts my self-esteem.”

  “I see,” Duane said.

  “I doubt you do,” Bobby told him.

  30

  ANNIE HAD ASKED Duane to buy a flank steak and marinate it a few hours in a marinade she liked. Duane knew a butcher he trusted—he easily secured the steak and even got a bunch of sweetbreads for good measure. Then he stopped at his office to see if he had accumulated any messages. He asked about Dickie, who was in Chicago. Duane was about to leave when one of the young secretaries handed him a fresh e-mail. It was Honor:

  Duane:

  I’m coming back from France a little early. I’ll be in Boston in the late afternoon of the day you’re being tested. Maybe we can have dinner. I’ll check at the hotel.

  Honor

  Duane felt happier. Boston was not a city he was familiar with. Having Honor there would be wonderful. Besides, she could help him understand the results of his tests, if they were available that soon.

  He went home and marinated the flank steak—the sweetbreads he kept apart until he talked to Annie about them. Not everybody liked sweetbreads.

  He kept the e-mail in his hip pocket. Not everybody liked Honor Carmichael, either. He thought about concealing the e-mail, which, after all, was really only his business. But Annie posed a different problem. He wanted to win her trust. If he concealed the e-mail and she found out about it from one of the secretaries, she would undoubtedly be upset and he might never win her trust. He was enchanted with Annie and didn’t want to ruin what they had.

  So he put the e-mail on the counter, where Annie would see it when she waltzed in, and she did waltz in at the usual hour. Her eye fell on the e-mail immediately. Duane was stretched out on the couch, watching CNN.

  Annie arched her graceful neck slightly, as a thoroughbred filly might if a badger had suddenly appeared in her path. She had a big bag of groceries on her hip but she ignored the groceries while she made a careful inspection of the e-mail.

  “It’s kind of interesting that you let me see this,” she said. “Most men would have hidden it. Even if it was totally innocent most men would have hidden it.”

  Duane looked at her calmly.

  “No reason to hide it,” he said, though, in a way, that was a lie. Hiding it had been his first instinct—only after he had thought it over did it seem better to leave the fact that he might see Honor out in the open.

  Annie began to unpack the sack of groceries. She looked thoughtful. Duane watched CNN.

  “Did you want to fuck her—your shrink I mean?” she asked. “That’s what your daughters think you had in mind.”

  “My daughters are like their mother, and their mother was either black or white, sexual or not sexual. Karla didn’t believe in gray areas.”

  “Then she wouldn’t have known what to make of me—I’m kind of a walking gray area,” Annie said. “You didn’t answer my question. Did you want to fuck your shrink?”

  “I fell in love with her,” Duane admitted. “But she let me know right off that it was hopeless. I saw her with Angie Cohen a couple of times. They seemed like a happy couple.”

  “It might be interesting to meet Liz Landon,” Annie said. “I assume that’s Dr. Carmichael’s new girlfriend. She really is a good painter. My granny owns several of her paintings, and my aunt Linda owns one or two.”

  She took the flank steak out of the refrigerator, where it had been marinating, and sniffed it.

  “Hungry?” she asked. “I wish we had some fresh asparagus, but we don’t.”

  Duane knew that the issue of his desire for Honor Carmichael was still hovering. He wanted to dispel it, and yet he knew he had to be cautious. Annie probably knew about his day of sex with Honor, though it was just possible that she didn’t. But Annie was an analyst too, good, as she herself had put it, at finding out what was under the rocks. He wanted to say as little as possible about Honor to Annie. If he talked about it too much he’d end up giving himself away. The best plan was not to let Annie put him on the defensive.

  It was a large flank steak, but the two of them finished it off rather quickly. Annie had brought home some German potato salad, some cheesecake, and a fresh bottle of bourbon. Soon enough the meal was over. They lay side by side on the couch, drinking the bourbon straight.

  “I’m trying to be mature about Dr. Carmichael,” Annie said. “Considering how deep your family’s prejudice is against psychiatry, you must have been really sick—and knew you were really sick—to go to her in the first place.”

  “Yep,” he said. “Karla fought it. In her opinion I had disgraced the family.”

  “Karla must have been a force of nature, but I can’t tell that she was all that smart,” Annie said. “Honor Carmichael’s smart and I’m smart. I guess the best way to look at it is that Dr. Carmichael, whether you wanted to fuck her or not, sort of paved the way for us.”

  Duane liked it that she said “us.” He wanted her to think of the two of them as joined.

  “She knows my heart doctor,” he said. “Maybe she can help me figure out what the tests mean.”

  “I don’t think that’s what this is about,” Annie said. “If you wanted to fuck her so badly then that’s mostly what this is about.”

  When bedtime came Annie ignored the futon and lay close beside Duane on the couch. Before coming to bed she put her sweats on over her pajamas, and her bathrobe on over the sweats.

  “That’s three layers of clothes you’ve got on,” Duane pointed out. “Won’t you burn up?”

  “My problem,” she said.

  Sometime in the early morning, as he had expected, Annie woke up soaked in sweat. She sat up and flung off her bathrobe, sweats, and pajama top. Then she curled against him again.

  In first light he listened to her steady breathing and watched the rise and fall of her young breasts.

  31

  “SPIT . . . good old spit,” Honor said. “It’s very underrated as a sexual aid.”

  She leaned over Duane and dribbled a mouthful of saliva over the head of his penis. Then she wet two fingers in her mouth and knelt over Duane, easing him into her. Once again they were woman-superior, only this time the act was occurring in a fine hotel in Boston. Honor rocked very gently, now and then tickling his scrotum.

  After he came Duane ventured to ask about something he had noticed the minute Honor undressed. In the cabin
she had had a superabundance of pubic hair—a heavy bush. Now she didn’t. The bush had been reduced to just a sparse line of hair above Honor’s cunt.

  “What happened?” he asked, curious.

  Honor saw where he was looking and flushed.

  “Well, it’s a little bit of a wicked story,” she said. “We were in Paris and Liz wanted to spoil me, so she bought me the most expensive call girl in France—or maybe the world.

  “Mademoiselle Nina,” Honor went on. “She shaved me as part of the deal. I suppose if you spend a lot of time with your face in women’s crotches muffs soon lose their appeal.”

  “I thought Liz was in love with you,” Duane said. He didn’t want to come on like a country bumpkin, but he was a little shocked.

  “Yes, and I’m in love with her, which is why this is probably the last time you and I can be together,” Honor said. She knelt over him, nipples touching his chest—but she was watching his eyes.

  “Liz is crippled,” she added. “She’s not able to be too ardent. So she bought me Nina.”

  Duane had only been able to manage a half erection, and yet Honor was able to hold him inside her—just. He felt that Honor was probably having sex with him to encourage him to address his heart problem—in other words, stay alive.

  “I’m fifty-two,” Honor said. “I can’t attract beauties like Nina on my own. It’s nice to have a lover who doesn’t mind buying me pleasure, particularly if you’re in Paris. It’s hard not to want sex, if you’re in Paris.”

  Duane slipped out, but Honor put him right back in—she seemed to enjoy just holding him inside her.

  “You need to have that bypass operation pretty soon,” she said. “In fact you should just go on and have it while you’re here in Boston. If you’ll do that I’ll stick around a day or two to see that you’re okay. Tommy Higginson thinks it’s a case of the sooner the better.”

  Duane liked Dr. Higginson, who had put him through several tests, all of which pointed to the conclusion that Dr. Peppard and Dr. Calvert had come to in Wichita Falls. He did have ninety percent blockage in three important arteries, and he needed to have bypass surgery as soon as he could work it into his schedule.

  Duane didn’t admit that he really didn’t have a schedule. He could have the operation anytime, but somehow he didn’t feel like admitting that to Dr. Higginson—Duane told him he would look at his calendar and work out a date soon.

  “I’ll get around to it pretty soon,” he told Honor, who now lay beside him, playing with his penis—occasionally she bent and took it in her mouth.

  “I suppose I just have an adulterous heart,” she told him. “I like lazy sex—the lazier the better. I love Liz Landon, but I also like sucking your cock. Will you lick me a little, if I make it easy for you?”

  To make it easy, Honor squatted just above him. He licked, while Honor arched her back and grimaced pleasurably. He came. In the process he came half erect again. Honor knelt over him and put him back inside her.

  They kept up their play until the sky outside their window darkened.

  Then Honor sighed, got off him, showered, and dressed.

  “There’s a good clam house only three blocks from here. Ask the doorman,” she said.

  “You can’t eat with me?”

  “Not tonight—fortunately I ate my share of you this afternoon,” she said. “You’re not going to be stubborn about having the operation, are you?”

  “Why would I be? I’ll probably die pretty soon if I don’t have it.”

  Honor considered him for a moment, her hand on the doorknob.

  “Well,” she said. “Though I’m not your doctor anymore there’s something in your attitude that I don’t really like.”

  Duane waited.

  “You may be ready to die—I think that’s what bothers me,” she said. “Or you may think you’re ready to die and procrastinate until you wait too long and have the big one.”

  “I won’t do that,” Duane said.

  Honor looked at him a long time. Then she left, without speaking, without kissing.

  He found that it no longer bothered him that they had not once kissed.

  32

  DUANE HAD ARRANGED with Bobby Lee to meet him at the DFW airport and drive him home. All the commuter flights to Wichita Falls were full that day, which was fine by Duane, who hated puddle-jumping airplanes.

  For his part Bobby Lee hated anything resembling urban traffic—his whole life had been spent in a county with only one stoplight, and that merely a blinker. The rigors of the Dallas freeways horrified him—but he agreed to try to find Duane’s terminal and gate. Bobby Lee’s weakness was North Fort Worth barbecue, and Duane had promised him a free lunch at the pit of his choice if he would make the trip.

  Duane had been looking forward to a little North Fort Worth barbecue himself. He stepped off the plane hungry, only to find Anne Cameron, sunglasses on her head, waiting at the exit gate for him.

  “Your color is terrible,” she told him immediately. “It’s been terrible ever since I’ve known you, but I suppose I felt it wasn’t my place to say anything about it. Now that we’re living together I think I had better make it my place, or we won’t be living together much longer because you’ll be dead.”

  “I’m going to get the surgery—I just haven’t figured out when,” he assured her. He bent forward to kiss her on the cheek but she raised her head and gave him a kiss on the lips that was so quick and hard that it was like a whiplash. Then she laced her fingers into his and led him across the street into the parking garage.

  “What became of Bobby Lee?” he asked. “He usually won’t pass up a chance to eat North Fort Worth barbecue.”

  For some reason Annie seemed angry—the set of her jaw was hard.

  “He’ll have to pass it up for the next few months because his wife shot him last night,” Annie said. “She shot him in the stomach. He’s not going to die, but it will be a while before he eats much barbecue.”

  “Good Lord,” Duane said. “What was the fight about?”

  “Porn.”

  “Porn?”

  “Jessica caught him watching porn on her computer. At least that’s the story I heard.”

  “Good Lord,” Duane repeated. “I never knew Bobby to have much interest in porn.”

  Annie shrugged—she seemed slightly less angry.

  “Earlene says Jessica’s too freaked out by the prosthetic ball. She won’t give him any sex.”

  “She knew about the fake ball when she married him,” Duane said. “Why would she shoot him over a little porn?”

  “She was in the porn and didn’t want him to know it,” Annie said. “I guess she’s been making porn movies in a motel on the Jacksboro Highway for several months. Bobby Lee just happened to see one and recognized her. She claims he threatened her with a big wrench, so she shot him.

  “Nice place, Texas,” she added. “Even making the money I’m making I doubt if I could stay here another few months if I didn’t have you to live with.”

  Duane was still hungry, but he didn’t mention it—thanks to his bad color he was pretty sure Annie wouldn’t want him eating at any of the places he might have liked to eat.

  The good news was that he actually was living with Annie Cameron. The bad news was that Bobby Lee was shot. For both of them North Fort Worth barbecue would have to wait.

  On the drive home he dozed a little. Annie was driving very fast—he was just as happy not to know how fast. Annie’s apartment was only up one flight of stairs, but the climb tired him. He regretted, a little, not having gone on and had the operation. If climbing one low flight of stairs tired him, then he was sicker than he supposed himself to be, and would have to plan accordingly.

  There was a big box with a FedEx label sitting outside Annie’s door.

  “That’s our salmon,” she said. “I’ve just had it with horrible Texas food. From now on I’m going to fly in healthy stuff for us to eat. Fish, particularly.”

  Inside h
e saw that the counter by the cabinet was littered with glossy catalogues from food companies offering overnight delivery on a great many kinds of food.

  Annie unpacked the salmon, put it in the refrigerator, grabbed her laptop, and was ready to go to work.

  “Gotta go,” she said. “I hate missing work, but I had to get you home.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll rest a bit and go see Bobby Lee.”

  “Don’t overdo it,” she warned. “I’ll have a nice surprise for you, one of these nights—the nice surprise will be sex. I had my hymen perforated while you were gone.”

  Duane thought he must have misunderstood. Annie was twenty-six. Was she saying she was still a virgin?

  “All three of my sisters had the same problem—tough hymens,” she said. “We used to talk about doing a sitcom called The Impenetrables, about four sisters who couldn’t quite get laid because their hymens were more than their boyfriends could deal with. I finally got tired of being poked at and adopted a medical solution, which I could have done long ago—only if I had, I’d have probably got pregnant by some asshole I didn’t really want.”

  She was watching Duane closely, to see how he took this news. Mainly he just felt tired, very tired. The fact that Annie had fixed her hymen to make access easier for him didn’t alarm him, but he was a little jet-lagged and the intimate news didn’t arouse him, either. Mainly he wanted to lie down and he did, stretching out on Annie’s ample couch.

  She had been about to go out the door, but she turned and came back.

  “Don’t you die on me, Duane,” she ordered.

  “I won’t,” he promised.

  She bent and kissed him lightly on the lips.

  “You need to be gentle with me,” she said. “I’m really just a kid.”

  Then she left.

  33

  BOBBY LEE LOOKED SAD, weak, frail. Always a small man, now he looked no larger than a child. They had not shaved him—his whiskers were white and stubbly. He was hooked to two IVs and complained bitterly about his catheter.