Empty Pockets

by Dale Herd

  EMPTY POCKETS

  COPYRIGHT © 2015 Dale Herd

  COVER AND BOOK DESIGN by Linda Koutsky

  AUTHOR PHOTOGRAPH © Sophie Calle

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  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CIP INFORMATION

  Herd, Dale, 1940–

  [Short stories. Selections]

  Empty pockets : new and selected stories / by Dale Herd.

  pages cm

  ISBN 978-1-56689-382-4 (ebook)

  1. Title.

  PS3558.E66A6 2014

  813’.54—DC23

  2014006996

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS AND PERMISSIONS

  The author is indebted to the following publishers for permission to reprint copyrighted work: Donald Allen, Four Seasons Foundation, for Early Morning Wind; Lee Robert De Lapp, Richard Gates, and Terry Nemeth, Mudra, for Diamonds; and Michael Wolfe, Tombouctou Books, for Wild Cherries.

  The author would also like to thank the following poets for their support in bringing this book into existence: Bill Berkson, Michael Lally, Lewis Mac-Adams, Duncan McNaughton, Kevin Opstedal, and Michael Wolfe.

  This book is for Deborah Beatriz Blum

  from

  EARLY MORNING WIND (1972)

  Eric

  Seduction and Cuckoldry

  Twins

  Happy Dreams

  Ripped

  Captain Baa Baa

  Old Hotels

  The Normal Girl

  Country Wedding in the City

  Seize the Time

  Stiff

  Street

  Kid Colt Outlaw in Wyoming

  Sather Gate

  Early Morning Wind

  Becky: West Florida Romance

  War Songs

  Klamath Falls

  The Big Apple

  Army

  Lucy in the Sky

  Home

  The Uses of the Past

  Thirty

  from

  DIAMONDS (1976)

  Ho-Hum

  Whitefolks

  I Tried My Best

  The Pecking Order

  A Classic Case

  The Pursuit of Happiness

  On Temple Street

  Arts and Crafts

  Bellflower Blvd.

  Around the Corner

  Pier Avenue

  Blood

  Paradise

  from

  WILD CHERRIES (1980)

  Cut Flowers

  Bragging

  Sad Ending

  Whose Car Are We Riding In?

  Elko

  Justice

  Baby

  What’s to Be Done

  So Long, John Wayne

  Girls

  Welfare

  Power

  Beauty

  Wings and Soul

  Apache Trails

  Blue Skies

  Come Home Please

  Paradise Passing By

  The Fortunes of the Day

  Faster Horses

  Friends

  Speed Limit

  Main Switch

  Romance

  Harrah’s Club

  How It’s Done

  Immaculate Conception

  EMPTY POCKETS AND OTHER STORIES

  Dear Anthony

  The Prowler

  Claire

  Gone to Polyester

  Mary Anne

  Empty Pockets

  Rawlins

  A New Pair of Shoes

  The Mary Magdalene Suite

  Handcrafted Dolls

  Together Again

  Emeralds

  Lorraine at Ninety-Two

  You Promise Me

  Darlene

  Asphalt Cowboys

  Your Call Is Important to Us

  Death

  All There Is

  from

  EARLY MORNING WIND

  (1972)

  Eric

  She had a kid asleep in the bedroom. I asked her if she wanted to ball and she said yes. She got her gun six times. I told her I was selling my car and all my belongings and buying a sailboat and sailing to Australia. I said she could go but she’d have to pay. How much she said. A dollar thirty-seven I said. She said not bad. Then she said how much for Eric. I said ten thousand dollars.

  Seduction and Cuckoldry

  Frank and Geno were new friends. Frank had just started in the office and Geno began taking him to lunch. They would eat in the University District to watch the girls walking to and from school. Watching the girls was much more fun than was eating, but each watched for a different reason.

  Frank was newly married and he was shy about his wife. When he was alone with her he found it hard to approach her. Looking at other girls excited him, and if he became excited enough he could go home and forget his shyness. He felt guilty about it, but it worked.

  Geno, however, had been married for five years and shyness was not his problem. He was seriously thinking of leaving his wife, and looking at new lovely girls encouraged his desire for freedom.

  After a few lunch hours together, Geno began telling Frank some of his personal problems, problems that Frank didn’t like.

  Geno admitted to playing around. And while it made him seem wild and free, things Frank believed a man should be, he distrusted Geno for it and was more than a little frightened by him.

  On their fourth noon hour together, Frank and Geno were inside a sandwich shop watching the girls walking by. It was a bright spring day and they were talking about getting free of their jobs.

  Both agreed that life was too short to work for someone else. Geno said quitting might be the final straw for Julie. Frank said his worry was the other way around.

  “If I quit, Betty might leave me.”

  “Good,” Geno said. “Why not?”

  “What do you mean?” Frank laughed.

  “You’ll be free then,” Geno said.

  “Sure,” Frank said, yet he felt threatened. Recently there had been times when he found himself wondering if Betty ever thought sexually about Geno.

  “I don’t want other women,” Frank said.

  “Maybe not,” Geno said. “You never know.”

  “I don’t,” Frank emphasized. “Why do you?”

  “I really don’t know what I want.”

  “Maybe you’re just looking for an escape.”

  “Maybe,” Geno smiled. “It is funny, though. I never like the girls I get.”

  “Really?” Frank said.

  “They either kiss wrong or smell bad or something is wrong with them. I’ll say that for Julie: she’s certainly a clean girl.”

  Frank laughed.

  “But the real thing is,” Geno said, “is that I feel bad afterward and I start acting good to Julie and she responds and things go nicely for a time.”

  “I see,” Frank said, sitting back. He had been listening intently. Two nights before he and Betty had eaten out with Geno and Julie for the first time. They had just met Julie, and while they were waiting for the meal Geno said, “Do you know what Julie was doing when I came home? She was talking to herself in the mirror.” Betty had laughed sympathetically, saying she often did the same thing. But Julie had flared, saying, “Do you know what Geno does? He poops in his shorts!” Frank had bee
n startled. He had looked at Geno. Geno hadn’t flinched. Geno gently explained that Julie had been rehearsing for a speech class. But Julie stayed angry throughout the meal. Talking afterward Frank and Betty agreed the outburst was unbelievable. Frank said he had been very impressed with Geno’s calm. Betty said, “I don’t see how they got married.” But now, Frank felt, Geno’s calm wasn’t impressive. It was based on deception. He saw that Julie wasn’t entirely to blame.

  “Your wife seems nice,” Geno said. “You’ve got a good thing there.”

  “Thank you,” Frank said.

  “I’d like to start a new thing,” said Geno. “I really would. I guess the only thing to do is break up. These other women aren’t the thing. The real thing is my guilt. I get to feeling so bad I can’t even function. I mean, after a while I get so bad I can’t even make it with anybody!”

  “No kidding!” Frank said. “Does Julie know you play around?”

  “God, no!” Geno said. “Never arm a woman! But never!”

  “No?”

  “No!”

  “Why not?” asked Frank.

  “Because they’ll use it against you,” Geno said. “Just like the other night when Julie came out with that shorts and shit thing.”

  “Really,” Frank said, sitting back again. He was amazed.

  “I could have killed her,” Geno said.

  “Really,” Frank repeated, talking almost to himself. “Are you going to leave her?”

  “Maybe,” Geno said. “I don’t know.”

  “Well,” Frank said, “if you need a place to stay you can always put up at our place. We have an extra bed.”

  “Good,” Geno said. “Fine.”

  The rest of the lunch hour Frank paid no attention to the girls. He thought only about how Geno really was inside. He could hardly wait to tell Betty. Men were nothing inside, he thought. They were just like babies. Frank was more excited than if he had been looking at the girls.

  Geno, however, did look at the girls. And the more he looked, the more he began thinking about Betty. She was really nice, he thought, but hell, Frank was his friend.

  Twins

  Jenny, her body still heavy and swollen, was sitting with Beth at the kitchen table. Down the hall in the living room I could see the two pink bassinets.

  “I’m not kidding,” Jenny was saying, “her mind is just going wacky since I’ve had the twins. She’s making me so damn nervous . . .”

  “Take it easy,” Beth said.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Grandma,” Beth said.

  “Do you know what she did yesterday?” said Jenny. “She sat in the living room and cried because Hill didn’t say hello to her and she thought that meant no one wanted her here. Mother had to give her an alcohol rub and put her to bed like a baby. She’s Mother’s baby now. Isn’t that funny?”

  “It’s her age,” Beth said. “Her arteries are hardening.”

  “No,” Jenny said, “it’s simply attention. Since the twins came, she’s simply not getting enough attention. She makes me so damn mad! She hasn’t even once asked to hold them! Not once!”

  “I think I’ll go take a look,” I said.

  I went down the hall into the living room. The babies were asleep, one on its stomach, its tiny fists clenched, the other on its back, its little eyes wrinkled like an old woman’s.

  As I came back in the kitchen, Jenny wanted to know what I thought.

  “They’re perfect,” I said. “You’re a lovely girl.”

  She smiled and brushed the hair back off her face. Beth gave me a wink.

  Happy Dreams

  Leaning over, a good lovely look on his face, telling us this shortly after visiting Celia and Gene for his first look at the new babies, Willy said, “Christ, seeing her nurse those twins really did it to me. The first time I ever saw anyone nurse, it was twins. I was settling a route dispute in this guy’s house, having a beer in the kitchen, and the guy’s wife came in, sat down, lifted out her breasts, and started nursing two babies just like that. My God, I wanted to knock them off and plunge in there myself. Seeing Celia do the same thing was just a bit too much. Beautiful women should know better.”

  About a week before Celia called, saying, “Well, we did it. I finally feel like a woman again . . .”

  We laughed. Right after that, Willy left to visit his girl and Gerri called and told Celia the story. Celia laughed and said, “Yes, but did he like the babies?” Gerri laughed and said, “He didn’t say, but doesn’t that turn you on? How long has it been? It’s been more than three months now, hasn’t it? Hasn’t Gene complained?” “Oh, no,” Celia answered. “You know Gene.”

  Then, three days later, Celia called, using merrily those special sister to sister tones, not talking about her babies, saying this to Gerri: “My God, Ger, the dream I had! I don’t believe it! Promise you won’t tell? Ever? It’s about Willy. Yes! Remember what you told me? God! Yes! We were all sitting at the table, you, me, Phil, Gene. I was feeding the twins, watching you guys play bridge, and Willy was under the table. Yes! No! No one knew. And all I had on was a housecoat! No! Nothing else! And he started kissing my legs! Yes! No! Yes, I did like it, but I couldn’t keep my face still! I was scared to death Gene would look up and see my face and Willy kept kissing higher and higher . . . it was simply . . . no . . . ha ha ha . . .”

  Ripped

  The Cedars was a downhome, funky bar—Swan, Moody, Mick the Hillbilly, Dead Ed, Donna. Going back was always great. It was out in Ballard, out in the old industrial section with train tracks crossing the streets, concrete underpasses, past wrecking yards, junkshops, old hotels for old men. We were always stoned en route, and the twenty-minute ride from the U District could take light-years but was always all right. Swan would take things down into the crowd; he didn’t dig the leader-of-the-band trip, so he would jump down off the stage out of the colors and ask everyone to shout or stomp or move. First you were moving and then sweating and things would start mixing in and mixing out and going on the same, hands, hair, hips, feet, up on the stage into the lights there cupping the harp to the mike, you could really lay it out, putting it all into pulling it straight out from under you, feeling yourself pulling the power from the floor, the concrete, the ground, the earth, all of it coming up and out into everybody, into everywhere, Swan laying it on with you, Moody the same, Moody constant, always happy, you happy sweating, everyone happy, everyone going on in everybody, and so it would go, anyone could get up there, most of us did, but the place was always empty of regular customers, the management didn’t dig Swan’s band, so when he’d do something similar, anything, play with his teeth, or let “American Man” run on out the full set, never giving the dancers a break, they’d threaten to can the whole group, they wanted a straight country-western shitkicking beer outfit in there, but they weren’t making enough money to pay for it, so they were stuck with Swan. The place was nearly always empty until we got there, all our own crowd, all us stoners, dropouts, longhairs, fuckups, dope fiends, all of us all getting it on, it was always a hell of a good time, no one ever got busted, some of us even got laid out there, picking up some of the local stuff, Buc, in particular, Buc had a great time with two of the local hogs, two peroxide-tipped bangers that wanted his body, so he took them on outside in Moody’s Chevrolet, everyone walked outside and looked at the steamed-over windows.

  Captain Baa Baa

  When the first contingent of American troops withdrawn from Vietnam comes home in the summer of ’69 at McChord Air Force Base, General Richard C. Williamson, former Commander in Chief in Vietnam and then current Army Chief of Staff, is there to greet two-ninths of them with a handshake.

  For many of these men (all sharp looking, all deeply tanned, all wearing highly polished combat boots and clean combat fatigues, sleeves rolled to the bicep), certainly for those who wear a small round button in their lapel that reads We Try Harder, the slogan of Avis Rent A Car, America’s second leading car rental agency, the greeting by Willia
mson, the highest-ranking officer they have ever seen, is particularly memorable.

  Standing tall, every inch the picture of the nation’s top general, wearing no extra insignia save the gold and silver braid on the glossy brim of his high-crowned hat, the four silver stars on each collar of his summer dress blouse, and a single blue infantryman’s badge over his left breast pocket, Williamson’s firm grip, six-foot-one-inch height, and rugged face of hard jawline, lean cheeks, and massive black eyebrows accent his position of command and lend power to the solemnity of the occasion.

  And when giving the last address of the afternoon to the entire contingent of 814 men, the sun hammering at his face, occasionally ricocheting off his stars, but never affecting his eyes, eyes protected by shadow cast from the brim of his hat, his bearing, to every man there, reinforces the words he speaks:

  “I want to convey to you the appreciation of our nation—appreciation for a job well done.

  “You have grown and developed while you have been in uniform. You will find yourself more mature, more dedicated to the service of others, more responsible, more realistic, and more practical than your contemporaries who have not served.

  “You have served while others stood by, and talked, and demonstrated.

  “But, of course, you have demonstrated too.

  “You have demonstrated your responsibility by doing your duty for your country.

  “Those who stay in the Army will benefit from your experience in Vietnam.”

  Earlier in the day, shortly before the contingent lands in the nine silver C-141 transports, Williamson presides over another ceremony. Hatless this time but, as later, not seeming to look anywhere but straight ahead, surrounded by aides, base officers, their aides, doctors, military and civilian newsmen and photographers, Williamson walks through the wards of Madigan General Hospital and decorates six of the wounded already home from Vietnam.

  For five of the men, all enlisted men, the hospital staff has made the normal frantic pre-inspection preparation: clean bedding put on all beds; walls, windows, woodwork, and floors washed; all tables, chairs, food trays, crash carts, bedpans and urinals, books, magazines, newspapers, and personal effects hidden away under beds and shoved into closets; each man given his personal uniform, cleaned and pressed, complete with rank and insignia.