by John Oakes
"Is that so?" Cody said with mild amusement.
"I can't understand a damn thing they say half the time. Working with these fellers is a damn puzzle. I tried to read the books about Eastern culture and all that. But I still haven't cracked the code. I'm Tex by the way. People call me Big Tex, though."
He offered one of his meaty paws to Cody again as he stepped up to Cody's level. Now standing on the same surface, Cody looked up and decided that Big Tex's name seemed like the most appropriate nickname Cody had ever heard. He had to stand two inches taller than Cody even, and weigh a solid 300 pounds.
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Cody." The big man already knew his last name. Cody thought for a moment trying to remember if he had a nickname.
"People just call me Cody."
"Well Cody, you run a fine show. All my associates here could talk about during the game was your show. I finally gave up on teaching them the finer points of football when someone pointed you out. Would ya' look at 'em go!"
The Japanese men were still taking pictures, especially with Kevin, who seemed to be remarkably accepting of the special attention, where Cody would have expected an international incident.
"Yes sir, I bet we can work something out! I'm always looking for ways to keep these foreign fellers entertained."
"Are you a tour guide?"
Big Tex burst out with laughter. He clutched his stomach and rocked back and forth in mirth. He slapped Cody on the shoulder so hard he had to take a step to keep from falling over.
"I like you boy! Goddam feels that way some times. Whheeeewee." Big Tex began wiping tears from his eyes. "Goddam, you're funny, Son. Hell no, I'm an account manager at Liddel-Northumberland."
"Oh, ok. I think I've heard of that before."
"Well, if you ever need to bomb the ever-livin' shit out of a third world country, then we're the people to come see."
"So you make weapons?"
"Oh hell, we make weapons, planes, satellites, all sorts of nonsense. I think we even make that toilet them astronauts use in space."
"Space toilets?"
"Ain't really my job to know the specifics, son. We have tech nerds for that. I'm an account man. Engineers aren't notoriously good with people, you see. Gents like me get these fellas excited about doing business with us, and when the lawyers and the bean counters put the deal together, us account executives, we close it, get pens on paper."
Big Tex looked down at the group. "So how many of these shows you do a year?"
"We've only been doing this a couple of weeks."
"A couple of weeks?" Big Tex bellowed and looked around dramatically. "A couple of weeks! You're pulling my leg!"
"You're right, it's been almost a month."
Tex bellowed out another laugh.
Cody couldn't help but laugh along with him. "Everything has just sort of accidentally come together I guess," Cody explained, feeling almost guilty.
"Well, I'll be."
"My friend Jason says we may have run our course though."
"Nonsense. I...Well lookie here. Now the news wants a piece too."
Cody turned and saw a beautiful woman in red high heels and a matching red skirt and jacket descending the steps with deliberate grace.
Big Tex pushed a business card into Cody's hand, "I can see you have media commitments. But we need to talk. Why don't you gimme your card too."
"Oh...I..." Cody struggled for words while keeping an eye on the woman approaching to his right. "I don't have any actually. Sorry. Like I said I'm pretty new to all this."
"You really are a newbie." Tex grabbed the card back, snapped out a pen and scribbled something on the back. "Now this is my personal number. I want you to call me. You gotta promise me."
"Ok, yeah sure."
Big Tex clapped him on the shoulder and walked down to gather up his group of Japanese businessmen. Cody's gaze turned back to the woman in red. There was no doubt now that she was coming to speak with him. Her brunette hair was perfectly coiffed and held in place by so much hairspray it looked like varnished mahogany. Her cameraman sidled up behind her and fiddled with his viewfinder.
"Mr. Latour, I presume." She held out a beautifully manicured hand, which he shook weakly.
Everybody seemed to know his name today.
"Melissa St. James, San Antonio News 12. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about the event today." Her wide-set, but attractive brown eyes entranced Cody.
"You can ask me anything you want," he said, imagining what their babies would look like.
"Do I understand correctly that you are the owner and director in charge of this performing group?"
Cody began to nod yes, but before he could open his mouth to explain further, Melissa St. James scribbled something in a note pad.
"We ready Cal?" she asked the cameraman.
Cal the cameraman nodded and then shot a finger forward. Even though it was still plenty light out, the camera shone a bright light in Cody's face.
"And it was your idea to have these little people perform here today?" Melissa St. James asked.
"I can't take much of the credit. My friend had the idea to—
"And was this friend a midget or a grown-up?"
"A grown-up? I mean...well, he is normal sized I guess, but I don't think—
"I see. And out of curiosity, who hired you for this event?"
"Well, Brown State did, or the Athletic Director."
"And how long have you been running shows like this, Mr. Latour?" Melissa St. James' eyes brightened with her smile.
"Not long." Cody smiled back. "A few weeks maybe."
"And have you been in show business long?"
"Me? Not really, not as long as most of these guys." Cody waved a hand at the last few performers making their way out of the stadium. "They're a really talented bunch."
"Do you ever perform in these shows as well?"
"No," Cody said, somewhat crestfallen.
"So you contribute what exactly to the shows?"
"I suppose it's more the...the..." Cody looked around for Winton. This was starting to feel a bit unnerving.
"I see. And what do you do when you're not putting on shows with little people?"
"Well, I do a little of this and that."
Very little.
"And how much were you paid for this production today?" The directness of her question was softened by the tilt of her head and the sweetness in her voice.
"Well, me, umm they...well I think...I think I shouldn't say."
"You shouldn't say because you don't want me to know?" She let out a coy giggle.
"Well, I just thought it was impolite to talk about money."
"So you can't tell me how much the performers make for a performance like this?"
Cody felt the urge to physically back away, but resisted.
"Well, no, it's not my place to tell what another person makes." Cody stiffened a little more. "You know, you are asking a lot of funny questions."
"Oh stop," Melissa St. James reached out and playfully grabbed at Cody's arm with her writing hand. "I'm just asking what the public wants to know. It's just part of the job to be a bit nosy at times." She glanced at her notepad. "Lastly, Mr. Latour, do you have any future events or performances planned?"
"No. This is it."
"What about the rumors that you are being asked to perform at the Alamo bowl next month?"
Cody puffed up at the thought and couldn't prevent a sheepish grin. "Well, we'd be honored to perform. Real honored, but I ain't heard nothing about that."
Melissa St. James smiled a set of blindingly white teeth at Cody. "Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Latour. I think I have everything I need."
Chapter Eighteen
Grief
Cody finished his conversation with Gary Kinland and hung up the phone. A smile forced its way across his face and inexpressible joy welled up inside him until he could contain it no longer. He shot a fist into the air and slapped the top of the doorway
leading from his back hallway into the kitchen.
Brown State was going to the Alamo Bowl. And so were the Tiny Tacklers. Not because of any sense of payback, Gary insisted, but because they had "knocked everyone's socks off."
His heart was racing. He grabbed a cold beer from the fridge, turned around and stared sightlessly over the living room at his front door. He wondered who he should call to tell first. Jason? His father? This would be a perfect reply to his terse email, in which he'd chastised Cody for missing Thanksgiving dinner.
Cody hadn't even known his dad would be in the darn country, let alone around the house for the holiday. Besides, his preparations for the BSU/Tech game had been a legitimate encumbrance. His dad could go cry his crocodile tears on Tagg's flawlessly-sculpted deltoids for all Cody cared.
He had an Alamo Bowl to get ready for.
Cody called Winton and was practically doing a jig by the time he convinced Winton that he was not joking. They discussed some changes to the program, but both were too excited to think properly. Besides, they would get to meet with production choreographers on Wednesday to go over their involvement. Kinland had indicated that they might be doing some sort of historical reenactment of the Alamo. Whatever the task, Cody and Winton agreed that the crew would be up to it.
"We're gonna need maybe fifty more people than usual Winton. Can we muster that?"
"You leave that to me. Like I said, people are blowing up my phone trying to get gigs with Cody Corp."
"Good man, Winton."
"Cody, this is the most fun I have had maybe ever."
Next he called Jason who started hollering into the phone with excitement. Jason's exuberant reaction only helped bring home to Cody the magnitude of the accomplishment. Even amidst all of Jason's joyous I-told-you-sos, Cody experienced an odd sensation, a growing feeling of confidence that everything was going to work out. In just a few weeks, his rag-tag group had somehow gone beyond the impossible into some sort of dream world.
Cody looked at his phone, trying to decide who to call next. He saw the time on the screen.
Crap, he was going to be late!
Cody threw on his only pair of clean pants. The other pair was in the wash. He stepped to the mirror, took off his ball cap and combed his hair with his fingers. He thought about finding a comb but gave up and threw the cap back on.
He sped the Trans-Am down his gravel driveway, around the main house and down the main drive to the road. Cody wasn't particularly excited about this engagement, but it was never good to be rude. Before he could beat himself up much for being perennially late, it occurred to him that since he was meeting Monica, perhaps being late, and unapologetically so, could send the right message.
On the drive, Cody's mind wandered back to their last meeting, weeks ago. Had she not tripped backwards, would they have ended up screwing? And if so, for the love of God, why? The thought had both unnerved and thrilled Cody in the intervening time. Sure, he had plenty to keep him otherwise occupied, but sometimes as he lay in bed at night, he would remember the feel of her warm, silky body writhing beneath him, albeit in pain. But she had been his Grandfather's wife. It felt, if not wrong...very icky.
He really needed to get a girlfriend.
Cody spotted the restaurant and was pulling into the parking lot, just as an old, red LeSaber was exiting. The driver caught Cody's eye. He was an elderly man in a red ball cap with a big, scraggly red beard. When Cody saw his eyes, though, he slammed on the brakes and looked over his shoulder. But the car was past him now and driving off down the street. Another car was behind him trying to enter the lot, so Cody pulled forward and parked.
Grampa?
Cody shook his head and pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes. His heartbeat had quickened, and he needed to take a breath. No. Grampa was gone. That was just an aging ginger who wasn't willing to go grey naturally. But those eyes...
Cody shook his head and took a breath. They were just eyes. Lots of people had them.
Monica stood and greeted Cody in her usual, affected Southern Belle drawl. "Well, hello stranger." She kissed him cordially on the cheek. "Pull up a chair. I ordered you a Manhattan."
Cody sat, and, realizing how nice the restaurant was, took his cap off and set it on his knee, despite the state of his hair. He ran a hand over his head as he took in the floor-to-ceiling windows, the chandeliers and the oiled wood of the chairs and booths.
"It's what Bruce drank here, the Manhattan. He said they were made with the kind of bourbon that wasn't so nice that it didn't taste like bourbon anymore."
The drink was already on the table.
"It's very good," he said after taking a sip.
"Your hands are shaking."
"Sorry. I...never mind."
He breathed and reminded himself to make eye contact. He did so, but he let the pause in conversation grow pregnant. He took another drink and tried to look around the restaurant nonchalantly. "Nice place. Did you come here often? Together?"
"Three or four times. Toward the beginning." She took a sip of her own drink. She made sure to meet the straw seductively with her tongue and guided it to her lips. Cody stifled a smile and then decided to go ahead and smile anyway.
"What's so amusing?" she asked.
"You," he said, laughing, the apprehension pouring out of him. "You are. You and your whole seduction routine." It felt good to say it. But it was terrifying too. He stopped himself there as he felt a bit of anger welling up under the mirth, telling him to say something mean.
"Well," she purred gravely, "Since I am not running a routine, I will take it as a compliment that you find me seductive."
"How about, just for once, we cut the shit, Monica. Why do you think you can mind-fuck me all the time? Huh?"
Monica laughed so loud that people a few booths away turned instinctively. "Oh Cody, you poor, dumb boy." She just shook her head, apparently too flabbergasted for words. That was a first. "You poor, dumb boy."
She took another drink, nodded and spoke.
"Cody, it suddenly dawns on me why in the entire time I've known you, you have never had a girlfriend. You have absolutely no clue when you're being flirted with."
The statement took the jam right out of his biscuit. He rocked back in his chair and tilted his head.
"Whaa...?"
All her games over the years? That was all flirting? It couldn't be.
"God, I thought at first that you might be gay, but no gay man would ever dress like you. Then I just thought you were shy, but you're no shrinking violet either."
"What am I then?"
"I've been wondering that for some time, but don't quite know." Monica leaned back a little and gave him a suspicious glance. "I've always thought you just needed a bit of prodding to find out."
"So, all this time, you haven't just been toying with me for your amusement?"
"Cody, trying to do anything with you is bound to produce amusement."
Her eyes settled on him in her usual smoky glare, but then another laugh burbled out of her, jostling her bosom and revealing pearly white teeth.
Where were people getting these blinding white teeth?
"So, no, I cannot honestly say I've never had a laugh at your expense."
Something made him laugh with her. Perhaps it was the little bit of Tulsa that she let creep into her voice. Perhaps it was the fact that it was one of the only times he had ever seen her laugh with her eyes as well as her mouth.
"I do know how to put my foot in it. And my ankle. And my leg."
Monica leaned in, still chuckling, and ran her fingers through the condensation on her drink. "Did it ever occur to you, Cody, that I enjoy you?"
"That thought has never crossed my mind," he said emphatically. "Not for a second."
"Well, that is a shame." Monica picked up her pink beverage and looked away. "I can come off as such a bitch."
She took a sip of her drink and turned back to Cody.
"But it's only a defense." Her tone wa
s matter-of-fact. "I grew up hard. You probably know that. Long story short, I don't like people seeing the real me. I'm sorry for that. Truly. So, it isn't all your fault that we haven't seen eye-to-eye."
Cody felt himself grow warm, perhaps from the drink, perhaps from her transparency. It was the most unexpected conversation in recent memory, and it made him feel, well...good.
"Honestly Cody, that's why I came to visit you back at your pool. I was dealing with the beginning stages of my grief."
Grief over thinking that Bruce didn't give her all of his money? Some of Cody's usual distrust flooded back into him.
"And where are you in that process now?" He was unable to entirely hide the cynicism from his question.
"I'd like to think that I'm getting closer to peace. I've learned a lot about myself and the full impact his death had on me."
Cody remained silent and sipped at his drink.
"You see Cody, your grampa and I, well, we did care for one another. It's just that, I think...there was an insurmountable gap in our generations, in our mindsets. Despite that, because of that, I've come to see that our marriage was deeper than I ever suspected. My grief, which I can see in your eyes you may be eager to mock, is over the marriage that could have been. I wish I'd been born forty years earlier. I wish he were born forty years later."
"You actually loved him?" Cody asked not masking his disbelief.
"I did," Monica nodded earnestly. "Not as much as I wanted to, but that is the sadness, isn't it? I wanted something so badly, but I couldn't have it."
Her eyes glistened at the edges, only just threatening tears. He did not begrudge or question them. Of all people, Cody could understand wanting things he could never have.
"So, why would you wonder why I've always had a fondness for you? You are so much like him."
"I suppose. Except the eyes. And I'm darker in the hair and such."
"Well, sure. But you even walk like him and talk like him. You're given to the same sullenness mixed in with bouts of manic, unsuppressed glee. You are the silent type, if not as strong and silent as he was. God, the things Bruce could communicate in a single look. Hell, look at the little muscles there, poking out when you set your jaw."