Their Bit
Page 6
could make a standard contract that she could peruse at her leisure. Andrea thought about what Herb had told her and although she knew that what he said make good sense, she couldn't stop from asking the lawyer if he could, as a show of his abilities and good faith, arrange for her to appear on the Morris Melton show? She knew that with the repeated attempts by Melton's staff this too was an easy accomplishment. But seeing a clearer future had made Andrea Delcum feel magnanimous. On his part, the divorce/entertainment lawyer was almost beside himself in assuring her that this was small potatoes compared to what he had in mind. But if that was where she wanted to start. Sure! Consider it done.
With that, once again the word was given.
It was during this heartfelt grieving period the Delcums informed Lloyd with the finesse of a ball peen hammer, that they simply wanted to move on. Their advice to him was to do the same. No doubt about it, in their mind, Elvis, along with their daughter, had definitely left the building.
Lloyd's reply was to forego all the full-ride scholarship offers from colleges across the country, move to Helena and seek to find some type of menial work to keep his body fed and sheltered. However, like Lauren, he failed at first to factor in his unwanted celebrity status. But Lloyd was a quick study. Keeping the local press at bay was as simple as appealing to the city's movers-and-shakers, all of who nearly fell over each other in expressing their desire to help. Lloyd's love for Rhoda had not blinded him to people's feelings. He thanked those average citizens who just wanted to express their appreciation, and turned his attention to those who could possibly help with his immediate problem of obtaining room and board.
Big Jim
James "Big Jim" Moss was a sunbird; part of that rare breed that actually came north for the winter. A rich Texas cattleman, Moss had quickly ingratiated himself with the powers that be in the area in and around the state capital. An astute gauge of character coupled with a well-honed business savvy, Big Jim knew how to read and please any audience. Toward that end, today he sported the obligatory accoutrements that screamed Texas, Stetson, string tie and boots.
When Lloyd agreed to attend a closed door meeting with the pillars of the community it was Big Jim Moss who, at the end of the congratulatory speeches, came forward and pulled the young man aside. A few discreet questions and Lloyd's immediate problems were gone. James Moss had a modest ranch home some twenty miles distant. Lloyd was offered room board and unlimited use of the three cars nestled in the garage. Big Jim guaranteed him privacy and, figuring him averse to anything that smacked of charity, his official title would be caretaker at a weekly salary of $500.
Lloyd was stunned. When the Texan stuck out his hand and asked "Well pard, we have a deal?" Lloyd could barely express his thanks. "Listen son, there is no true Texan alive, that wouldn't give his left hand so he could use the remaining one to shake the hand of a defender of the Alamo. Hell most wish they could have participated in the battle!" At this Jim laughed and went on before Lloyd could say a word "I get the best of both worlds, I get to keep my hand and shake yours. We all know why you're here, your girl and all. Damn fine thing you did back in Schonefield, and it's a damn fine thing you're doing now."
"Tha…Thank you sir." Lloyd managed to get out. Big Jim Moss's Alamo analogy wasn't the first time Lloyd had heard that comparison to what happened at HTS. It had unsettled him then and now, even at the risk of offending the goose that had just dumped golden manna into his lap, his heart disengaged from his common sense and said…
"Sir I ran. And those that didn't …died."
Lloyd's voice dropped with the last word. He hung his head shamefaced. There it was out in the open air, maybe not for all to hear but this richer-than-Croesus Texas cattleman, but Lloyd knew that to accept his offer with that weight on his soul would make him feel worse than dishonest. Dirty was the word that came to mind.
In that eternity Lloyd could sense the growing concern of the rest of Helena's finest waiting to move in and congratulate something that he wasn't. He felt obligated to show the world what a papier-mache hero looked like. If nothing else at least the incessant adulation would be directed to where he felt it properly belonged. Starting with a once beautiful, now emaciated, young woman lying in a coma not three miles distant.
As he turned to address the crowd he was suddenly seized in the iron grip of Big Jim Moss.
"Gentlemen, Mr. Foster and I have some small details of a business proposal to work out." A collective groan greeted this announcement, but the persuasive Texan was ready. "Now hold on and give us a few minutes in private if you would. Bartender!"
Lloyd felt Jim's grip relax as heads turned toward the small mobile bar bisecting the south and west walls. The bartender, an elderly man, wearing a white shirt and bow tie gave Big Jim his full attention.
"Bartender! Will you please see to it that these gentlemen receive the proper lubrication for the rest of the evening? And if anyone cracks open his wallet to do anything more than to stuff your tip jar, take down his name and let me know. This tab is on me."
As he expected, his announcement drew immediate cheers from most of the assembly and a respectful but steady movement toward the now beaming bartender.
Big Jim remained smiling a moment longer, and still looking at the crowd, said under his breath. "Life lesson son. Jus show thirsty cattle the way to water and you can move the most stubborn herd." Then releasing his arm and turning directly to Lloyd, "There's an office right this way Mr. Foster. If you would do me the honor of a few words in private."
Lloyd's head was still reeling. The last time he had felt anything as close to the brink he was pulled back from was the frantic day in May when he was sure everything was lost.
Jim Moss took the lead. Once closed the heavy oak door of the side office immediately smothered the general din of the assembly hall. The Texan motioned to a plush black leather chair on the right of what Lloyd took as the Mayor's, situated at the head of the table This Big Jim took for himself and came straight to the point before he had even sat down.
"Unless I miss my guess, you were about to do something very stupid out there and, in your mind call it noble," he started out without a hint of a question.
Lloyd had regained his composure. Meeting Big Jim eyes evenly he said.
"Sir, I was going to tell the truth."
"And what truth is that; if you don't mind me asking?"
"That I'm no damn hero! Those people look at me like they expect to see some kind of Audie Murphy, and Sergeant York all rolled into one, and that just not me! Like I told you I ran!"
To Moss's left, a stand containing a tray on which sat a pitcher and several plastic glasses. Moss reached for the pitcher and pouring a glass of water offered it to Lloyd. He accepted it, nodded his thanks, and drank it down, just then realizing how thirsty he was. Jim refilled it and poured himself a drink. Looking for a place to sit his glass down Jim reached over and slid him a cardboard coaster.
"Mind if I ask a question Mr. Foster?"
"Go ahead, but it's Lloyd if you don't mind sir. Mr. Foster is my dad."
Jim smiled. This young man had all the markings that talents agents dreamed of. "Okay, Lloyd it is. Lloyd what exactly in your opinion is the definition of a hero?"
Lloyd thought for a moment. "Well like I said, Audie Murphy, Sergeant York; the passengers of Flight 94. Those type of guys." Then waving a hand at Jim. "The defenders of the Alamo," he concluded.
"Funny you should mention them," Jim said, taking a sip of water.
"Beg your pardon," said Lloyd, a bit puzzled.
"Nothing really. It's just, well, when one becomes even mildly successful in Texas, paying proper homage to the shrine of America's Thermopayle is done as a matter of course. Did you know that that is what most Texans are taught to consider the Alamo: America's Thermopayle?"
Lloyd shook his head.
"I'm not surprised," Jim went on. " I suppose every state contributes its share to the panoply that comprises the great American mythology. The Alam
o just happens to be Texas's."
Lloyd thought for a moment. "I see your point. I guess The Little Big Horn would be Montana's."
"Exactly," Jim replied. "Custer and his brave men grimly, but with gritty determination, extracting a terrible toil before being destroyed by the heathen savage; all done in the vain attempt to bring to inevitable light of civilization to the untamed plains. Makes for quite a romantic story to what in reality was the final act of defiance by a brave people whose only crime for over 300 hundred years was simply being in the way."
Lloyd smiled at the thought of this and nodded.
"Lloyd my point is, it was the same at the Alamo. Like Custer, the Alamo defenders were like rats caught in a trap. The strategic value of their stand had gone the way of the dinosaur long before Santa Anna's assault carried the works. Their sand to continue the struggle pretty much dissolved once their defenses were breached and the Mexican troops were pouring inside. This is evidenced by the prisoners taken and subsequently killed, as well as the forty odd defenders who made a break for it by going over the wall when the outcome was apparent."
"I hadn't heard about anyone running away," Lloyd said in amazement.
"No surprise there," Jim chuckled. "Mexican sources, unlike Custer's Indians, kept diaries. For years, even to this very day, Texans who wish to keep the