The Taming of Billy Jones

by Christine Rimmer

  There was a message on the machine from Prue, giving the name and room number of a hotel in Sacramento. "I'll probably just stay here for a week or so, maybe longer, until I find a house or a condo. Something. I'm not sure what. Call me – if there's anything about Jesse, I mean."

  He played the message three times, Jesse standing beside him, sucking on a teething ring, his green eyes wide.

  "Woo?" he asked.

  Billy knelt and got himself nose-to-nose with the kid. "Yeah. Woo is fine. She'll be back to see you soon." You. Not me.

  Jesse gave him a sweet, drooly smile and then turned and toddled away, still munching that teething ring.

  Once Jesse was asleep, Billy wandered into Prue's room. He stood over that white cloud of a bed, staring down at it, remembering the first night they'd made love. The twenty-four condoms. The red stain on all that white.

  Where was that damn stain, anyway? He pushed aside a pillow – and there it was. She'd gotten most of it out, but not all.

  He turned and sat down. Pure self-indulgence, to be there, he knew it. But somehow, he couldn't stop himself. Just as he couldn't stop himself from thinking of the things they'd done there, couldn't stop himself from remembering what she'd said to him at the last.

  You don't think about what's right. You don't think about the future. You don't think about the consequences to both of us…

  He supposed she had him nailed, as usual. He supposed he hadn't thought about the things that mattered. Until now. When it was too late.

  He ended up pulling open the bed stand drawer. One last condom waited there. He picked it up, turned it over, regret sluicing through him, burning like acid. Then he fell back on the bed and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  He woke to someone ringing the doorbell downstairs. He rolled his head and looked at the clock. Three a.m., for God's sake. Who in hell would be ringing the doorbell at three in the damn a.m.?

  Then he thought, Prue, and his stupid heart started beating like the drums in those jungle movies, when the cannibals are getting ready to boil up the missionaries for lunch.

  But it couldn't be Prue. She had her own key. And anyway, she wasn't a woman to come ringing doorbells at three in the morning. She'd wait till a more decent hour. Decent. That was Prue.

  The bell rang again. If he didn't get down there soon, the noise would wake Jesse. He pushed himself off the bed and staggered out to the upper hall.

  When he pulled open the front door, he found Oggie, leaning on his cane, grinning as if it were three in the afternoon instead of the middle of the night.

  "Don't just stand there, boy. Let me in. It's colder than the smile on a dead snake out here."

  Still half-asleep, Billy ran a hand down his face. "You just called me boy."

  "Damn tootin'." The old man hobbled forward. "Stand back. I'm comin' in."

  Billy stepped aside. Oggie stumped over the threshold, turned and shoved the door shut. He grinned at Billy. "Coffee. I want me some coffee. Dark and sweet."

  "At three in the morning?"

  "Indulge me. I'm an old man."

  They went into the kitchen. Billy brewed the coffee, while Oggie sat at the table, smiling in the way he used to smile – as if he knew something no one else knew and he wasn't telling what. It was a smile that had always made Billy feel edgy.

  Just as Billy set the full cup and the sugar bowl in front of the old coot, the phone rang. Billy picked it up.

  "Yeah?"

  "Billy, it's me. Jared. Is my dad there?"

  "You bet. You want to talk to him?"

  "Hell, no. This is more in the way of a warning. He left the Hole in the Wall about ten minutes ago. And I had a feeling he was headed your way. "

  "What gave you the feeling?" Billy watched the grinning Oggie, who would end up in a diabetic coma if he piled much more sugar into that coffee of his.

  "He's not happy about you letting Prudence go. He's been blabbing about it all night, whupping everybody at five-card draw and moanin' how Prudence took off without even sayin' goodbye to him."

  Billy glared at the old man, who winked back. "It's none of his damn business."

  "Like that's gonna shut him up. Look, you want me to come and drag him out of there?"

  "Thanks anyway, but I'll handle this." Billy hung the phone back on the wall.

  The old man stirred his coffee and let out a cackling laugh.

  Billy said, "I thought you turned over a new leaf."

  Oggie set his spoon down, picked up the cup, guzzled a big sip and smacked his lips. "To hell with a new leaf. Our Prudence didn't even come and say goodbye to me. I was mightily injured, I gotta tell you. What the hell is goin' on, I want to know? I mind my own damn business for a few days, and everything goes to hell in a handbasket."

  Billy dropped into the chair nearest the phone. "You finish your coffee. And then go on home."

  "You love our Prudence."

  "Stay out of it."

  "You ain't never gonna find no peace, until you go and track her down."

  Billy got up, went to the coffeepot, poured himself a cup, then plunked it, untouched, on the counter and whirled on the old man. "I'm fine. I got no problems."

  "Yeah, and I never played poker in my life." He squinted at Billy, tipping his grizzled head sideways. "Did you tell her you love her?"

  Billy folded his arms across his chest and said nothing.

  "Right. I didn't think so." Oggie slurped more coffee. "You go to her. You get down on your knees. You beg. You plead. You do whatever you have to do. But you don't come back without her."

  "You finished that coffee yet?"

  "Maybe you're still tryin' to tell yourself you're gonna get over her. Wrong. This is the one for you. I knew it that day you came to the Bel Air mansion and set eyes on your son in the flesh for the very first time. I knew it from the way you shouted and swore when you stomped out of there, from the look on Prudence's face a few minutes later." He faked a woman's voice. "'Billy certainly is a volatile person,' she said to me. Her eyes said a lot more. Those eyes of hers said she was afraid of you, but not in the way she thought she was afraid of you."

  "This is the most convoluted line of bull you have ever dished out," Billy said.

  Oggie chortled. "You listen to me, boy. You do what I tell you. That woman loves you and you love her."

  Billy had heard about enough. He advanced on the old man, took his elbow and his cane and hustled him toward the front door.

  Oggie jabbered the whole way. "I warn you, your wild days are through. It's over and done for you, that life. And you know it, too, boy. You know it in your heart. There ain't gonna be no savor in any of that no more. There ain't gonna be a bit of fun. Not without Prudence. So you go to her. You give in to her. That's what a man does in the end, and you know it now. He gives in to a woman. He gives in and they get on with their lives."

  Billy pulled open the door, handed the old man his cane and guided him over the threshold.

  "Three little words, boy. 'I love you.' Spoken sincerely, right from the heart. It ain't gonna kill you to say them. In fact, you're gonna find that sayin' 'em will give you the life you really want."

  "Good night, Oggie."

  The old geezer was still babbling away when Billy shut the door.

  * * *

  The rest of that night, the next day and that night, too, Billy found he couldn't get the old rascal's crazy words off his mind.

  Around ten on Monday morning, a woman called from a Dr. Anselmo's office in Grass Valley. "Ms. Wilding's new glasses are ready," the woman said. "We are so sorry it's taken such a long time, but the lenses came in scratched at first. And we had to send them back. Please tell her she can drop by anytime during office hours to have them fitted."

  "I'll do that." As he hung up the phone, Billy knew what he would do.

  He packed up Jesse and took him to Eden's. "I know it's a lot to ask, but could you watch him for four or five hours, do you think?" He reconsidered. "Hell. M
aybe more than that, I'm not sure. I'll call you by six or so, if I'm not back. Okay?"

  A hit of a smile tugged at the corner of Eden's mouth. "Where are you going, Billy?"

  "I've got business to take care of."

  "Business in Sacramento?" He didn't answer and Eden's smile grew wider. "You go on. We'll look out for Jesse."

  He thanked her and left.

  * * *

  At Dr. Anselmo's office, they didn't want to give him the glasses. The Nellie Anderson type behind the reception desk pursed her mouth at him. "This is highly irregular. She'll need them fitted. And who are you, anyway?"

  He lied like a rug. "I'm a business associate and dear friend. And she has to have those glasses right away. She'll be back in to take care of the fitting within a day or two, I swear to you. How much do I owe you?"

  The woman cleared her throat, looked away – and finally named a figure. He gave her the money, she handed him the glasses and he was out of there.

  He got to the hotel at a little after one in the afternoon. Probably Prue wouldn't be there. Probably she was out finding a place to live or a job or something. But he went straight to her room anyway, running on pure hope.

  And damned if she didn't answer his knock.

  She pulled back the door and gasped, "Billy!" those bug eyes wider than ever. He looked at her and he knew that he was going to grab her soon, and when he did, he would never let her go.

  "Wh … what's happened? Is it Jesse?"

  "No." He stepped toward her. She fell back. "Jesse's fine. He misses you. Eden's taking care of him right now."

  "Then what are you doing here?"

  He shoved the door closed behind him. "Your glasses are ready." She was wearing a fluffy white terry-cloth robe and, in his expert opinion, not much else. Her hair was wet. "Just got out of the shower, huh?"

  She clutched the facings of the robe at her throat and demanded a second time, "What are you doing here?"

  It was a suite, with a sitting room in front and a bedroom beyond. He spotted a television in the corner – and a remote control on the coffee table a few feet away. He scooped up the remote.

  "Don't," she commanded, anger replacing shock. "Don't even start…"

  He pointed the remote at the television. A war movie popped on. The room came alive with the rat-tat-tat of machine-gun fire, the whistling of rockets through smoky air. "There. Better." He tossed the remote down and smiled at Prue.

  She shook her head slowly. "Billy. Billy, no…"

  "You never told me you went and got new glasses."

  "I … um…"

  "Don't you want your new glasses?" He started toward her.

  She backed up, watching him warily. "Oh, well. Yes. I'll … drive up to Grass Valley soon, to get them."

  "No need." He whipped them from his breast pocket and held them up.

  She kept backing away. "I… Don't they have to be fitted? I don't understand…" She reached the wall. There was nowhere else to go. She let out a whimper.

  He moved right up close. Carefully, to the accompaniment of several sharp bursts of machine-gun fire, he took her old glasses away and stuck them into the pocket where he'd carried the new ones.

  "Billy." She was shaking. She smelled like shampoo. Like Prue. The best smell in the damn world. "Oh, Billy, no…"

  "Yes, Prue. Yes," he whispered. He put the new glasses on her. Rockets went off on the TV battlefield. "Nice," he said. "Very nice. A little crooked, but they can fix that."

  The tears came then, overflowing her eyes, trailing under those new glasses and down her soft cheeks. "Why are you doing this?"

  He touched her hair. Wet. Wet silk. And then he tipped up her chin. "Did you find a job?"

  She sniffed, straightened her shoulders. "Not yet. I … I've got some prospects, though."

  He saw the truth in her eyes. She'd been holed up here, licking her wounds – wounds he had inflicted.

  "Prospects, huh?" He smoothed her hair, brushed a tear away with a thumb.

  "Yes. Prospects." She swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. "Excellent … prospects."

  All he wanted was to kiss her. He tried. She turned away.

  He whispered, "I love you," against her wet cheek.

  "Oh, no." She sniffed some more. "You don't."

  "I do."

  "You can't. What's to love?"

  "You, Prue. Just you."

  "I'm quiet and boring and drab and shy."

  "…and beautiful and brave and damn sexy when you want to be."

  "You'll get tired of me."

  "The hell I will."

  She looked at him then. "You'll break my heart."

  "No. I'll love you forever."

  She gasped. "You? You? Bad Billy Jones?"

  "Yeah. Me. Bad Billy Jones. Listen. I've done a lot of things you don't want to know about. But I swear to you, I never told a woman I loved her in my whole life until now … at least not when I was sober."

  She let out a small moan that was almost a giggle.

  "Look. I know I'm a loser. I know I don't have a clue how to love. I haven't done it enough, I've been one self-absorbed S.O.B. as a rule. But Jesse's been helping me with it. And you'll help me, too, won't you, Prue? You'll help me do it, help me learn how to love you like you deserve to be loved?" He could feel her trembling, see himself in her eyes. He knew his crazy old uncle had told the truth. "You love me, too. Don't you, Prue?"

  "No. I…"

  "Yes."

  "Billy, I…"

  "Take a chance on me, Prue. Marry me, Prue. Make an honest man of me, for once in my damn life."

  "I can't…"

  "To hell with all this talk." He captured her face between his hands and put his mouth on hers.

  She stiffened – and then she melted. He knew then that everything would be all right, so he scooped her up and carried her to the bed in the other room.

  On the TV, land mines exploded and cannons fired.

  Tenderly he slid off her new glasses. With great care, he set them on the bed stand. Then he bent close to her again. "Say you love me, Prue."

  Prudence could hold back no longer. Staring blindly at the blurred outline of his beloved face, she confessed, "Oh, Billy. I do. Heaven help me, I do…"

  * * *

  They were married the following Saturday at the white church across from their house in North Magdalene. Outside, the first snow was falling. And inside there was a little boy who needed them both. And a whole churchful of Joneses.

  * * * * *