by Pete Hautman
“So what am I supposed to have done?” Crow stepped off the porch and started pacing, scuffing pine needles with the toes of his canvas shoes, kicking at pine cones. One of them hit Festus, causing the hound to leap to his feet and bay.
“Easy there,” Sam said. The hound shook its head, recognized Crow, and sank back down. Sam continued. “You didn’t do nothin,’ son. Ax ain’t been the same since this wedding thing.”
“Wedding thing? What wedding thing?”
“It weren’t your fault, son, no matter what that old cocker thinks. It’s that little gal Carmen that’s got his pecker in a twist.”
Crow stopped. “I should have known this had to do with Carmen. What kind of mess has she made this time?”
“She got herself knocked up and engaged is what.”
“And Axel blames me? I didn’t knock her up, that’s for damn sure. She’s not my type.”
“Well, you’re the one introduced her to the one that done it, son.”
“I did?” Crow furrowed his brow, thinking back. He shook his head. “I don’t remember fixing up Carmen with anybody. I wouldn’t do that to anyone.”
“That a fact? What about a fella named Holiday Hilton?”
“Holiday … wait a second. Not Hyatt Hilton.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Carmen Roman and Hyatt Hilton?”
Sam nodded. “You got ’er.”
Crow climbed back onto the porch and sank into a chair, wearing a stunned expression. After a minute had passed he said, “I suppose it’s like atoms.”
Sam said, “Say what?”
“Atoms. The odds of any two of them colliding are trillions to one. But they’re running into each other all the time.”
Sam’s lips parted slightly. He gave his head a quick snap, tossing off his son’s words. “Yeah, well, whatever. Anyways, that’s why Ax is acting like a jerkball. He says you’re the one put those two together.”
“I was there when they met, but I didn’t introduce them.”
“That don’t matter to Ax,” Sam said. “You was within a country mile of the deed, Ax is gonna put it on ya.”
Crow nodded slowly as a memory returned.
The way it happened, he recalled, he’d been minding his own business, just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, the same way he always got himself in trouble. He and Debrowski had decided to visit the Minnesota State Fair. Debrowski liked to look at the horses; Crow went for the memories.
Debrowski had traded in her usual black-leather-and-chains biker ensemble for a pair of dagger-toed red, white, and blue cowboy boots; a pair of powder-blue Wranglers so tight Crow could hear the seams creaking; and an embroidered western shirt with mother-of-pearl snaps and silver collar points. Crow, by contrast, had once again applied his sole fashion strategy, which was to put on something clean and hope for the best. On that day he had thrown on olive chinos and a white T-shirt.
Crow said, “Howdy, podna. What have you done with Laura Debrowski?”
Debrowski grinned. “You like it, don’t you, Crow?”
Crow wasn’t yet sure. “Don’t you need a cowboy hat?” he asked.
“I don’t wear them.”
Crow nodded as if that made sense. They rode to the fairgrounds in Crow’s Jaguar XJS. On the way there, Crow found it impossible to stay off the subject of Debrowski’s outfit. He kept looking over at her.
“Aren’t those boots going to make for uncomfortable walking?”
Debrowski laughed. “You’re so sweet to worry.”
“It’s just … I never thought of you as a cowgirl.”
“It’s for the horses,” she explained. “I used to ride in exhibitions, you know.”
“Sometimes I think you used to do everything.”
“Pretty much,” she agreed.
“Only I never knew anybody who dressed up to impress the animals.”
“Horses are smart.”
Crow didn’t argue. For all he knew, horses might be the true rulers of the planet. Or maybe it was the cats that were in charge. He sure as hell hoped it wasn’t people. On the way from the parking lot to the fairgrounds his thoughts returned to the matter of Debrowski’s ensemble.
He said, “Tell me something. How did you get into those jeans?”
Debrowski winked. “Crisco,” she said.
They hadn’t stayed at the fair long. Debrowski headed straight for the barns. Crow begged off the horses, pleading a fashion deficiency, and went for a walk down the Midway, absorbing the music, the rattling of the rides, the shouts of pitchmen. Trashy, cheap, and strident, but if he let his mind float back to the age of, say, ten—he could still taste the excitement.
Crow and Debrowski rendezvoused an hour later at the seed art exhibit in the Horticulture Building.
“Get me out of here, Crow,” Debrowski said, staring at a portrait of Michael Jackson made from pinto beans, wheat berries, sunflower seeds, and quinoa. “My goddamn feet are killing me. Besides—” Crow felt her hand on the back of his thigh. “—Those stallions, Crow, they sort of make me think of you.”
Crow swallowed and hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Absolutely, then, let’s get going,” he said. “Only we’ve got to say hi to Axel on the way out.”
“Who’s Axel?”
“One of Sam’s old buddies. He’s got a concession here at the fair. Used to give me free tacos.”
Debrowski shrugged her assent. They threaded back through the crowd. Crow fell in behind her so that he could watch her jeans, make sure they didn’t split open or anything. They exited the Horticulture Building onto the grassy mall. He pointed out a brightly painted concession stand: AXEL’S TACO SHOP. “Over there.”
They were almost to the taco stand when Crow heard his name called. Looking around, he spotted a pale head jutting above the mass of fairgoers.
Crow said, “Oh my god. Is that Hy the Guy?”
Debrowski said, “Who?”
Hyatt Hilton caught up with them, holding out his hand. “It’s Joe Crow, isn’t it?”
Crow shook Hyatt’s hand. “How’s it going, Hy. Still in the dope business?”
Hyatt waggled his head. “I found peace,” he said, offering his hand to Debrowski. “Hyatt Hilton,” he said. “One God.”
Debrowski gave him a formal smile and a brief handshake.
Crow explained. “Hy used to be my coke connection.”
“Ah,” said Debrowski.
“A former existence,” Hyatt said.
“So what happened, Hy?” Crow asked. “You make enough money to retire?”
Hyatt ignored the question. “I’m with the Amaranthines now.”
“The what?”
“The Amaranthine Church of the One.” Hyatt’s eyes spun with zeal. “One God. One Way. One Life.”
Crow took a step back.
Debrowski said, “He’s talking about that immortality cult, Crow. They had that article about them in City Pages.”
“It’s not a cult.” Hyatt frowned. “That was lies. They twisted what we said.”
“So you don’t really claim to be immortal?”
“Oh. That part was true. You should stop by our booth,” Hyatt said. “We’re in the grandstand. First floor, between Miracle Chef and the pro-life people.”
Thanks, Hy, but we were just on our way home.” Crow gave Debrowski a nudge and started walking.
Hyatt followed them. “I’ll walk you out.”
“We have to stop and say hello to some friends first,” Crow said over his shoulder.
Hyatt said, “That’s okay. I’ve got plenty of time.”
Carmen and Sophie Roman were working Axel’s taco concession. Crow approached the front of the stand and waited for Carmen to notice him. She finished making change for a customer, then turned her sleepy eyes on Crow.
“Hi, Carmen,” he said. “How’s it going?”
“Can I help you?” she replied.
“It’s Joe,” he said. “Joe Crow. You remember me?
”
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“I’m Sam O’Gara’s son.”
Carmen smiled. “Oh, sure.”
“Is Axel around?”
“I don’t think so.”
Crow could see he wasn’t going to get much from Carmen. He looked past her and called out, “Hey, Sophie.”
Sophie, who was lowering a rack of tortillas into the deep fryer, recognized him at once. She wiped her hands on a towel and leaned over the counter. “Axel’s gone off someplace,” she said. “I don’t know when he’ll be back.” She looked tired.
Crow gestured toward Debrowski, who was standing behind him talking to Hyatt. “This is Laura Debrowski.”
Debrowski looked up and smiled. “How you doing?”
Crow said, “This is Sophie Roman and her daughter, Carmen.” Sophie nodded politely. Carmen’s bored, sleepy expression did not change.
Hyatt stepped in. “I’m Hyatt Hilton,” he said, holding out his hand until Sophie shook it. He released her, then repeated his self-introduction to Carmen. “You look like Sophia Loren,” he told her. “Back in the sixties.”
Carmen woke up. “Really?”
Sophie rolled her eyes. She said to Crow, “If you see Axel, tell him to get his butt back here, would you?”
Hyatt and Carmen had moved down the counter. Crow heard Hyatt ask her if she would like to live forever.
“What for?” Carmen asked.
Crow saw his opportunity to give Hyatt the slip. He grasped Debrowski’s elbow and led her up the mall toward the fairgrounds exit.
Debrowski said, “Where did you find him, Crow?”
“He used to work at this health food store,” Crow said. “He and this woman—I think her name was Polly—and her husband. Ambrosia Foods, down on Lyndale Avenue. Melinda used to shop there.”
Debrowski grunted. Crow’s ex-wife was not one of her favorite topics.
“She spent a fortune on vitamins and weird herbs. After a while, she even had me going there.”
“That I can’t see. Aren’t you the guy who just ate two corndogs?”
“I didn’t go there for the health food. Hy had a little cocaine business going on the side. He was the guy. Hy the Guy. He had a theory about how cocaine should only be used with these multivitamin supplements. They were called Coca Boost, and they came in a plastic bag and cost ten bucks a half dozen. I always left there with a bunch of stuff I didn’t want.” Crow laughed. “Hy was the only coke dealer I ever met who made his profits on accessories. Anyway, the coke was always good.”
“That’s all that matters,” Debrowski said dryly. Joe Crow and Laura Debrowski had met in a CA group.
Crow remembered two other things about that day at the fair. One was that Debrowski’s feet had hurt so bad she’d had to take off her boots and socks and walk barefooted all the way to the car. The other thing was that she had lied about the Crisco.
Crow and his father were still sitting on the front porch. A few minutes earlier, Axel had marched past them carrying the filleted walleyes. He hadn’t said a word. They could hear him banging around in the kitchen, cursing Sam’s meager collection of kitchen utensils.
Sam had finished his cigarette and now had his lower lip packed with Copenhagen. “So this fella Hilton, he as bad news as Ax thinks?”
Crow shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. He used to be into health food and dope, but by the time he met Carmen, he said he was involved with some flaky church. I don’t know if that’s better or worse.”
“Prob’ly both.”
“You think I ought to try to talk to Axel, or just let it slide?”
“Hold that thought, son.” Sam got out of his chair and went into the cabin. Ten seconds later he was back in his chair cracking open a Budweiser. “Ax says we’re eatin’ in a minute.” He poured a few ounces of beer into his mouth, swallowed, belched, leaned over the low railing, and spat tobacco. “I was you, I’d go ahead, try and talk to the son-of-a-bitch. God knows he can’t get any crankier. There’s just one thing I gotta ask you.”
“What’s that?”
“This fellow Hilton, is he the sort likely to hit ol’ Ax over the head and try to steal all his money like Carmen’s last boyfriend?”
Crow thought for a moment. “I don’t think so.”
Sam nodded sharply. “Good. Then you tell him whatever you got to. Only don’t tell him nothing he don’t need to know.”
Axel appeared in the doorway, nearly filling it.
“Let’s eat,” he said.
7
I don’t remember finding a sailor, however modest, who was not frank to admit that at cribbage he was champion of his ship.
—John Scarne
“ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?” Sophie asked.
“Happy about what?”
“The dress, what else?”
Carmen shrugged. “It’s okay.” She bit into her scone. They were sitting at one of the upstairs tables at Café Latté, looking down on Grand Avenue.
“It better be okay.”
Carmen grinned. “Axel’s gonna freak when he sees it.”
“He’s going to freak when he sees the bill, that’s for sure. It’s going to wind up costing nearly five hundred dollars.” Sophie Roman stirred her cappuccino. Carmen was right. Axel would freak when he saw the Madonna dress. It certainly was not like any wedding dress Sophie had ever seen before. Not at all like the chaste, God-fearing frock she had expected. But Carmen had loved it. Carmen had gone nuts for it.
Sophie tried to reconstruct the way it had happened: Glinda brought out the dress. Carmen put it on. Sophie said, “No way, young lady. Absolutely not.”
That had been a mistake. The next thing she knew they were shouting at each other, right there in Bridal Shoppe. Then something had happened inside her, like a pipe broke, and all the fight had drained out of her and she’d agreed to buy the dress. It often went like that when she argued with Carmen. Sophie just didn’t have the legs to keep on slugging. Carmen was a young woman; she had the endurance to go all the way. Sophie chose to reserve her energies for more important matters—although she could not at the moment imagine what could be more important than the selection of a wedding dress.
So they’d bought it.
Carmen said, “I can’t believe you let me buy it.”
“What’s done is done,” Sophie said, wondering how the purchase had suddenly become her doing. “Now show me what you’ve got from the caterer.”
Carmen pulled a sheaf of paper from her purse and handed it across the table. Sophie propped her reading glasses on her nose, looked at the first page, turned to the last line of the last page, then reviewed the entire four-page document from front to back, her mouth becoming increasingly smaller. She could feel another fight coming on, another fight she knew she’d lose. But she couldn’t stop herself.
“When I married your father we fed seventy-five people for two hundred and sixty-five dollars.”
“What did you serve them? Oatmeal?”
“We had an Italian wedding.” She pronounced it eye-TALY-un. “We had lasagna and spumoni and red wine in those basket bottles, and it was very elegant.”
“That was twenty-two years ago,” Carmen argued.
Sophie stabbed her finger at the paper. “What’s this ‘Wild Mushroom Tarts’? What are Wild Mushroom Tarts, and why do they cost a hundred twenty dollars?”
“Hy likes mushrooms, Mom.”
“Well I like Rolls Royces, but that doesn’t mean I have to drive one. I don’t see the meatballs on here. We have to have Swedish meatballs.”
“Hy’s a vegetarian, Mom. He wants the reception to be meat-free.”
“What about Axel? If you want him to pay for this, you’d better have Swedish meatballs. He loves those things. Besides, they’re cheap.”
“Maybe we should go Mexican,” Carmen said, putting a sneer in her voice. “Have Axel cater the damn thing himself. Feed everybody Super Tacos and Bueno Burritos. We could set up a taco stand in t
he reception hall.”
Sophie actually seemed to be considering the suggestion. Carmen quickly said, “I’m just kidding.”
“It would save a lot of money,” Sophie said.
“Look, I don’t want you and Axel rolling burritos when you should be in the wedding party. I want this to be nice. It’s my wedding.”
Sophie bit down on her wooden coffee stirrer. “Maybe we could invite fewer people,” she suggested.
“We already cut it down to one hundred and sixty. Hy wants a big wedding.”
“Speaking of the wedding, have you found a church yet?”
“Not exactly. But we’ve got a preacher.”
“A preacher? What kind of preacher are we talking about?”
“I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“Well, we are Catholic.”
“Yeah, right.”
Sophie blinked. She parted her lips to speak, then gave her head a quick back-and-forth jerk, as if trying to flick a bead of sweat from the tip of her nose. “Well, anyway, you want to make sure it’s a nice church. Big enough to hold everybody.”
“Uh-huh. I’m sure it’ll be fine, Mom.”
Sophie looked back down at the caterer’s estimate, frowning. “I still don’t see why we can’t have meatballs. Hyatt doesn’t have to eat any if he doesn’t want to.”
Carmen tasted her coffee, added two more pouches of sugar. She agreed with Sophie about the meatballs. She liked Swedish meatballs, too. But Hy wanted a vegetarian spread, and that was that. She had to keep it together here. Sophie would bitch right up until the I dos, and then some. But it really wasn’t up to her—Axel would be paying the bills. Still, she had to start with Sophie if she was to get the wedding she and Hy wanted. She hadn’t broken it to Sophie yet, but Hy didn’t want to get married in a church. He said he’d had enough of churches. He wanted to do the deed at the reception hall, wherever that turned out to be. Some place nice. It had to be big. They were going to have a big wedding with lots of people. Hy said a lot of celebrities would be there, like the guy on that TV show. What was his name? Hy had a list of people he wanted to invite. Hy said the more people they invited, the more perfect it would be.
Axel placed the last piece of walleye in his mouth and chewed slowly, fixing his green eyes on Joe Crow. He said, “So what you’re saying is, he’s not a friend of yours.”