“It’s all right,” Nick said. “What I’m doing right now is only a short-term thing. It’s an A to B proposition, with B being a management position.”
I finally realized that no amount of cross-examination was going to uncover the truth. I knew what he was doing, and he knew that I knew. Now I understood. It all went back to the music and going legit.
I decided to get off his case. I owed him that much for letting me come live with him and for setting me up with Cash and for so many other good things that had come about in the last few months.
“So what kind of station is it?”
Nick’s face brightened. “It’s Top Forty right now, just a bunch of disco and shitty stuff. But I’m gonna change all of that. My format’s gonna be blues based. All kinds. Delta. Memphis. West Coast. People are gonna get an education in the blues. Plus I wanna have live music, people coming into the station at night to play. We’ll get some of the old blues guys and unknown bands. And I’d also like to give guitar lessons on the air. I think that’d be pretty cool.”
He took a quick puff on his cigarette. “And you know how they make radio stations have one hour of public service programming each week? Well, I’m gonna use mine to lobby for the legalization of marijuana. We’ll have round table discussions, with doctors and scientists talking about the medicinal benefits and how cannabis is less harmful than alcohol.”
He shrugged. “At least, that’s what I’d like to do. I just don’t know how the FCC would react to it.”
The station sounded cool. I would have given it a button on my car radio, if I’d had one.
“So, where’s the station?”
Nick smiled. “Shreveport, Loo-zee-ana.”
I wasn’t sure if he was being serious. I’d never considered Nick living anywhere other than his house or the big house.
“Why the hell would you want to move to Shreveport? Doesn’t this guy own a station around here?”
Nick laughed. “Hell, I wanna go somewhere different. I’m tired of the same old routine. Same scenery. Same people. Same old shit. Besides, Shreveport’s an up-and-comer. They’ve got horse racing down there. Riverboats. Golf courses.”
“Are you tired of me staying with you?”
“Hell, no,” Nick said. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s hard to explain. Maybe it’s because I’m older. People my age have these midlife crises, you know.”
“But you’re only twenty-six.”
“Well, better to get it out of the way,” he said. “I just wanted to let you know what I was planning, so that when the time comes, and things fall into place, you won’t be surprised.”
Naturally, I started to wonder where I’d land if all of this came about. I was in no hurry to move out of Nick’s house. Things had been going far too well since I’d gotten there. I didn’t want to mess with the recipe.
“When are you moving?”
“Pretty soon. There’s no real timetable, but me and Chuck are planning to take on a little more responsibility.”
He shot me a concerned look. “Are you all right?”
I was staring out over the range, already feeling as though I’d lost something.
“Yeah, sure. I mean, I’m happy for you. Shit, this is what you wanted. You’ll be in the music business.”
Nick grinned. “Fuckin’ A.”
I really was happy for him. It seemed the both of us now had operational plans for becoming good citizens. But my enthusiasm belied a number of concerns, and at least one question.
“What about Bev? Is she going with you?”
Nick sighed. He made a visor out of his hands and considered an airliner flying high above the range.
“I’m gonna be straight with you,” he said. “Things haven’t been all that good between me and Bev, not for a long time. I mean, I’ve tried to act like they were, tried to act like we were a normal couple. I guess, in some way—at least, since you moved in—I thought I was doing it for you. I wanted you to see that not every man-woman deal has to fall apart.”
He brought his hand down from his eyes. He was still squinting, though. “Of course, I may have just been trying to prove it to myself.”
“What happened with you two?”
Nick polished off the rest of his beer and fixed the trash can with a weary gaze. “Only thing we have in common anymore is getting high. And I’m pretty tired of that, too. I mean, it’s never a relaxing thing with her. It always has to be an ordeal of some sort.”
He crinkled the can and arced it into the middle of the trash can. He swiped his hands against each other and drew back his elbows, resting them atop the bench.
“Back in high school, when I first moved out of Claudia’s house, I used to sleep in Bev’s parents’ garage. I was supposed to move in with some guys, but they got evicted from their house, so Bev started sneaking me in after her parents went to bed. She’d bring me blankets and cherry Pop-Tarts and then we’d lay there together with just a scratchy blanket between us and the concrete floor. We’d do our thing, you know, right there beside her daddy’s Bonneville, and then we’d share those Pop-Tarts and talk about what we were gonna do when we got older.”
“What was that?” I asked.
Nick smiled. “Oh, you know. The usual stuff. Babies and houses and cars and jobs. The funny thing is that it was mostly me doing the talking. I wanted those things more than her. Hell, she was just happy to be dating a dealer, a guy who played in a band. She thought that was pretty cool.”
He laughed and shifted in his seat like he was embarrassed. Then he got this dark, reflective look on his face. “You know, she did get pregnant once.”
“Bev did?”
He nodded.
“Right before I went to jail the first time. She found out during the trial. She didn’t tell me, though. Said she didn’t want to worry me. She went out and got an abortion and told me about it later, while I was serving my sentence. I don’t guess there was really anything else she could have done.”
I agreed with him, but then I told him I was sorry it had happened like that.
“That’s okay. I don’t think I would have made a very good father back then.”
“Well, what about now?”
Nick took a draw on his cigarette and blew a puff of smoke into the air, as if that were a reply in itself. “I wouldn’t mind stocking the pond with a couple of Fulmers.”
“I’m guessing Bev’s still against that idea.”
“You guessed right. And I can’t wait forever, you know. I can’t wait forever to start a life.”
I found myself wondering what Rachel might look like pregnant. What I saw was her with this basketball-shaped belly, crawling around the gift shop floor, clutching a stolen box of Pampers. I could see myself keeping a lookout, doing my part.
“I’d like to meet me a girl who’s smart,” Nick said, “and athletic, too. I figure if our kids get my music genes and athletic skills, then combine that stuff with her brains and even more athletic skills, they’d be okay. We could have us some little doctors and musicians, and they could get golfing scholarships to college.”
“That sounds like the fucking Stepford Wives.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want her to be perfect,” Nick said. “I think a few flaws are kind of sexy.” And then he laughed. “Of course, women must think the same thing. I mean, look at Lyndell. He’s never lacked for pussy.”
Nick stared at me a while longer. “You know, I ran into Lyndell a while back.”
Now, there was some news I hadn’t been expecting. “When was this?”
He let out a deep breath, like he’d dived under water to retrieve the information. “It was about a year ago, I guess.”
“Where?”
“Me and a buddy were up in Virginia fencing some Alpine car radios we’d come across. Just getting out of state, you know. A day trip, in and out. So we stopped at this T-Bone King on our way home to get a bite of supper, and there was Lyndell sitting over in the corner with his new woman a
nd their kid. He had the little girl up in the high chair feeding her baked potato, making car noises and waving the spoon all over the place, getting her to laugh. He finally saw me. Man, you should have seen his face. It just sort of melted, you know, the smile and everything. That baby was still banging on the high chair, laughing and wanting her potatoes, but Lyndell was looking at me. Finally, his woman turned around to see what the hell he was looking at. She asked him something, and he just looked down at the table. He didn’t say anything to her. It was weird seeing him, you know. Kind of like running into a ghost.”
That’s how I felt hearing the story, like somebody was blowing a warm breath on the back of my neck. This was the only firsthand account of Lyndell that I’d heard since he left Green Lake. Claudia’s information had been so vague as to make it almost impossible to imagine.
“Did you say anything to him?”
“Nah, I didn’t see how that’d help anybody. You know, they’d looked pretty happy when I came in, like a regular family and all. I just didn’t feel I had a right to ruin their meal. I mean, after all, it had been a long time. So I told my buddy, ‘Let’s go somewhere else,’ and we got up and left. I thought that was it, too. But then we were heading back out to the van, and I heard somebody clomping through the parking lot behind me. Sure enough, it was Lyndell.”
“Well, what’d he look like? Did he look older?”
Nick cocked his head, trying to get a better angle on his memory. “A little bit. I think he might have been dyeing his hair, though. It looked a little darker. Of course, he was still slicking it up nice and high.”
“What about the burns?”
Nick smiled. “Oh, yeah. He still had the chops. Little shorter, maybe. But he still had them. I’d say he was still spending a good half hour on the ‘do.”
I could almost smell the hair wax, along with the Old Spice and the Kools and the gasoline.
“Well, did he say anything?”
“That’s the thing,” Nick said. “He opened his mouth like he was going to, but then he couldn’t seem to get the words to come out. I don’t think he really knew what he’d come out there to tell me. So I just told him what a cute kid he had. He told me the kid’s name—I think it was Mary Beth—and he told me about his woman and their house and how they lived near the speedway there in Bristol. He even had a shop out back for working on his cars.”
“What else did he talk about?”
“That was pretty much it.”
“You mean he didn’t ask about Claudia?”
Nick shook his head and looked at the ground. He waited for the next question, but I felt certain that I already knew the answer to that one as well.
“It was an awkward situation,” Nick said. “I could tell he wanted to ask how we were all getting along. He just couldn’t get it out. So, right before I got in the van, I told him Claudia was doing fine. And then I lied and told him you were a good kid and never got into any trouble.”
Nick smiled. “I don’t know if he bought that one or not. Though he did ask if you had your driver’s license yet. He asked if you still talked about racing.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“I told him you still had some time to go. Hell, you didn’t even have a learner’s license then. But you know how he is. He’s always had a little trouble keeping track of time.”
We both nodded our heads. It felt like Lyndell was there with us, nodding along.
“It was sad, though,” Nick said. “Man, he looked pitiful out in that parking lot, like he wanted to come with me. I think he would have, too, if I’d asked him. Last thing he said to me was, ‘Nick, I’m too goddamn old to be raising a baby.’”
“Well, was he drunk?”
Nick shook his head. “That’s the thing. He was stone-cold sober. It was quite a state to see him in, too, almost like he was wearing somebody else’s eyes. It was kind of pathetic, really. Hell, I wanted to buy him a beer.”
Lyndell’s new life had sounded pretty good to hear Claudia tell it. But now that I could draw the picture in my head, I wasn’t so sure.
“Do you think he’s still sober?”
“If I was a betting man…” Nick said, but then he never finished the thought.
I knew what he meant, and the truth of it jarred me a little. After all, I’d pocketed Lyndell’s success story as if it were an inheritance of sorts, or at least a promissory note for tags and title. And now it all appeared to be as flimsy as any piece of paper you could have written it down on.
Nick finally grunted, setting us back into motion. “Fuck, we better get going.”
He jumped up and started packing his golf bag in haste. “I was supposed to pick up Bev fifteen minutes ago. Man, she’s gonna be pissed.”
18
As it turned out, Yuri had not been shitting me. Paul Newman really did stop in for dinner one night. It was early August, and Newman had come into town to test a GT car at the Lakeside Circuit. I suppose he had to eat somewhere.
The restaurant was crowded and buzzing with conversation. I was clearing dishes near the bar when I heard Fay talking to someone at the table beside me. She was speaking in an overly pleasant tone of voice, an immediate tip-off that something wasn’t right.
“Welcome back, Mr. Newman. It is so nice to see you again.” She flashed the Hollywood legend a phony beauty-pageant smile.
Newman gazed over the top of his menu and smiled like he actually remembered her from his previous visit.
“Oh, hello.”
It might have been a bullshit gesture, but he managed to pull it off with grace. Unfortunately, it only served to encourage Fay. She licked her shiny red lips and drew in a breath to accentuate her bustline, eyeing Newman all the while with this wolfish gaze. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had just gone ahead, dropped to her knees and tried to give the guy head.
I’d almost finished sweeping the dishes into my tub, but I slowed the excavation project and readjusted my angle so I’d have a better look at Paul Newman and Fay. Newman was sitting with another guy at a small table by the back window. His companion looked like a driver, too, mustached and wearing a silver jacket with a Datsun racing patch on the sleeve. Newman himself didn’t favor other GT drivers I had seen. He didn’t have the shaggy hair or the vacant, self-satisfied expression. He was wearing regular pants and a pale blue sweater, nothing fancy or movie star about them, though he did have this cool Rolex strapped to his wrist. It had a black face with white chronos for racing purposes. It was not the sort of watch he would have wanted to leave unattended in my presence.
Fay lingered at the table a lot longer than usual, going over the specials and telling Newman her favorite items on the menu. “I’d stay away from the seafood. We get it in on Tuesdays, so it’s close to going bad about now. But the rack of lamb is yummy. That’s always my favorite. That and the onion soup with the cheese on top. I could get you that and a nice green salad with creamy Italian. That’s what I’d recommend if you were asking.”
Newman, of course, had not asked her a damn thing. Fay simply could not shut her mouth. She was like one of those talking Barbie dolls, but with a hundred yards of string running out from between her shoulder blades.
Newman managed to speed up the process by smiling again. That sonuvabitch could have disarmed a bomb by smiling. Fay immediately shut her mouth.
“I tell you what, dear.” Newman stroked the sides of his movie star chin and batted those blue eyes that kept his pockets full. “I think I’ll have a Budweiser while I’m trying to decide.”
Fay just stood there nodding her head. She looked like a trained seal awaiting a signal from her trainer. She didn’t even ask the other guy if he wanted a drink. The poor bastard had to grab her by the arm as she was walking away.
I swept the rest of the plates into my tub and headed back to the kitchen. I tried not to gawk at Newman as I walked past him. I tried to be respectful. I told myself that he was just a guy, like myself, and not a very big one at tha
t. I could have whipped his ass if he’d gotten out of line. I could have pulled a George Kennedy on him.
Of course, I also couldn’t help imagining the two of us striking up a conversation at some point in the evening, maybe when I came back later to clear his dishes, him leaning back in his chair, giving me that smile and saying, “You look like a driver.” I’d shrug modestly, right before he offered me a race car and a sponsorship. I allowed myself to take that dream out for a spin. I didn’t see any harm to it. God only knows what Fay was imagining.
I could hardly push open the kitchen doors because of the crowd standing on the other side, peering through the porthole windows. Stan was there with three of the waitresses. A desk clerk had even fled her post to get in on the action. Fay strolled in behind me wearing that grin of hers. When she saw the other waitresses, she grit her little corn teeth and scowled at them.
“If any of you cunts go near that table, I’ll fucking cut your hearts out.”
A wave of black smoke drifted over from the grill, which for some reason had been left unattended. A strip steak flamed up in the back corner, while a chicken breast did a slow burn near the front. I nudged Stan and asked if he’d seen Yuri.
Stan tugged at the lapels of his hospitality-green blazer. “He’s in the back, changing. He wanted to break out the fine threads for Cool Hand Luke.”
About that time, Yuri marched around the corner looking way too sharp and professional. He was wearing blousy houndstooth pants, a blindingly white chef smock, with his name stitched to the breast, and a toque that must have been two feet tall. He looked like an artist’s rendition of a chef, like something on a pizza box or a can of ravioli. I’d never seen him so dapper. He usually worked hatless, in a pair of Dickies dungarees and a shrunken smock with yellow sweat stains under the arms.
Stan and I gave Yuri a polite round of applause, just like we were at the opera or something. Yuri got this badass look on his face, squatted like he was going to take a dump on the floor, and then rotated his hips back and forth while he pointed his finger way out in front of his face. It took me a moment to realize he was doing the Travolta thing from Saturday Night Fever.
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