Страница 27 из 82
Violet studied him. “How’re you holding up? You don’t look so hot yourself.”
He lifted his beer bottle. “This helps.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” she said, and clicked her wineglass against his bottle. “Why is it men are always trying to prove how tough they are? Situation like yours, what harm would it do to talk about it?”
“What for? I live with it from day to day. Last thing I need is talk on top of that.”
“You sound just like me. Too proud to admit when you’re hurting. I can sit here in tears and everybody thinks it’s just something I do. You’re the first guy ever offered to have a decent conversation.”
“I don’t call this a conversation.”
“But there’s hope of one,” she said.
“What about Padgett? He was talking to you.”
“He’s about as popular as me. People think I’m a whore and he’s a fool. Gives us something in common.”
“Is that true?”
“What, about him or me?”
“I couldn’t care less about him. What’s the deal on you?”
She smiled. “It’s like that song about the Whiffenpoofs… What the hell’s a Whiffenpoof? You ever ask yourself that?”
“What song?”
“The duet Bing Crosby and Bob Hope sang in Road to Bali.” She started to sing a fragment in a voice that was surprisingly sweet. “’Damned from here to eternity. Lord have mercy on such as we.’” Her smile was weary. “That’s the deal on me. Damned.”
“Because of Foley?”
“Everything wrong in my life is because of him.”
“I thought you liked tussling with him. You do it often enough.”
“Tussling? Well, I guess that’s one way to put it. Foley pounds the shit out of me on a regular basis and I got the black eyes to prove it, but does anybody ask how I’m doing? He could knock me to the floor and nobody’d offer me a hand. I don’t want pity, but once in a while I’d like to think someone gives a shit.” She stopped and then smirked. “Listen to me. I sound like a victim. Nobody likes a victim, least of all me.”
“Why do you put up with it? That’s what I don’t get.”
“What choice do I have? I can’t leave him. He’s threatened to kill me and I know he’d do it for sure. Foley’s a psychopath. Besides, if I left what would become of Daisy?”
“You could take her with you.”
“And do what? I got married at fifteen and never held a job in my life. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“What about that money you’re always talking about.”
“I’m biding my time. I figure I’ve got one shot and I’m not about to blow it. Anyway, Daisy’s crazy about her daddy.”
“Most girls are crazy about their daddies. I’m sure she’s crazy about you, too. What’s that got to do with it?”
“Daisy’s crazier than most. She thinks Foley hung the moon, so why should I get in the way? Sometimes I think they’d be better off without me. I mean, it’s one thing if I leave, but take away his little girl? He’d rip my heart out, if he hadn’t already done it.”
Jake shook his head. “He doesn’t deserve either one of you.”
“No fooling.”
“So what’d you see in him?”
“He was a sweet guy when the two of us hooked up. It’s the alcohol does him in. Sober, he’s not all that bad. Well, some bad, but not as horrible as you’d think. Of course, he says he’s forced to drink to put up with the likes of me.”
“What’s he have to put up with? You’re a beautiful woman. I can’t picture any big hardship living with you.”
“I’m a pain.”
“How’s that?”
“I got a reputation as a party girl for one thing. According to him, I don’t do anything right and that sets him off. No matter what I do, he’s never satisfied. After work, he walks in the door and starts in on me. Either the house is a mess or his di
“There’s bound to be a way out.”
“Well, if there is I’d sure like to hear it.” She put out her cigarette. “You have any change?”
“What for?” he asked, but he was already digging in his pants pocket, coming up with a handful of coins.
She took a nickel and slid off the stool. He watched her cross to the jukebox, where she inserted the coin and punched in a number. After a moment, he heard the opening strains of Nat King Cole singing “Pretend.”
She came back to him, holding out a hand. “Come on. Let’s dance. I love this song.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Yes, you do.” She looked over at the bartender. “BW, tell the man he has to dance with me. It’s time to lighten up the mood.”
Jake felt himself smiling as she tugged on his hand, pulling him toward the tiny bare spot between tables that served as a dance floor. She slid into his arms, ignoring the awkward back-and-forth rocking motion that was the only kind of dancing he knew. She sang against his neck, her smoky wine breath tickling his ear. He could smell violets and soap and the same kind of shampoo Mary Hairl had used before she got so sick. Over Violet’s shoulder, he could see BW busy himself behind the bar, studiously ignoring what was going on. Jake had never much cared for music, but he could see now how it might have the power to make you forget. If there was one thing Jake needed, it was the blessedness of forgetting, even for a little while.
At midnight, BW started turning off lights. “Sorry about that, folks,” he said, as though the bar were filled with people. His tone was bored, but Jake could hear the underlying irritation. BW didn’t want to be a party to what was going on. Jake went up to the bar and paid the tab, peeling off bills and adding a generous tip, in part to remind the man of his place.
BW said, “You driving her home?”
“I might, if it’s any of your business.”
“I know you mean well, but you don’t know what you’re getting into when it comes to her. Ask Padgett. He’ll tell you the same thing.”
“Thanks, BW, but I don’t believe I asked for your advice.”
“I’m saying this as a friend.”
“I don’t need that kind of friend. Your job is to tend bar. I can look after myself, but thanks all the same.”
“Don’t ever say I didn’t warn you.”
Jake helped Violet into her raincoat and held the door for her. As they emerged from the bar, the air seemed as fresh as a florist’s shop. The May rain had passed, leaving a mist in the air. The blacktop was damp, looking shiny in places where shallow puddles had formed. He opened the truck door on the passenger side and handed her in. There were no lights in the parking lot, except for the reflected blue from the sign for the Blue Moon, the neon pulsing and blinking. Jake got in on his side and sat, watching the light, fascinated, not really sure what came next. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t strayed occasionally in the course of his marriage, but he was never sure what he was getting into and that lent a sick thrill to the proceedings.
Violet said, “This is like a time-out. It doesn’t count for anything. I like Mary Hairl.”
“Me, too,” he said. He kept his hands on the steering wheel as though he might actually start the car and drive away.
BW turned the neon sign off and moments later, he came out of the rear door, locked it, and walked to his car.
Jake knew both their faces must have flashed with white as BW passed, his headlights raking across the front of Jake’s truck.
And then he was gone.
Violet was drunk and Jake’d had too much to drink himself, but he needed a friend, someone to feel close to for just this one night. Blindly he held a hand out and she took it. They made love. The leather seat was surprisingly commodious. The night was growing cold, and through the open window he could smell the orange blossoms from the orchard nearby. The scent was so dense he could scarcely breathe. He could hear crickets and frogs, and then the night became dead quiet except for the rustling of clothes and his harsh, rasping breath. He felt as though he’d had to run for miles just to get to her.