The Big Bounce

He was at the wheel, aware of himself acting natural, not telling her where they were going and finally not having to tell her as they pulled in past the big blue-lit Bay Vista sign with the small red NO VACANCY glowing beneath it.

“I’ll show you where I live.”

He got out and waited for her and finally she came with him, around the side of the motel to his room.

“Wow,” Nancy said. She stood looking toward the dark swimming pool and the closed-in area between the cabanas that extended out to the beach.

“What’s the matter?”

“I can just see everybody at the pool,” Nancy said.

“All the tool and die makers sitting around in their vacation outfits.”

“Some of them go down to the beach.”

“That’d be fun too. Like a Black Sea resort.”

He opened the door to No. 7 and she stood just inside, looking around. Ryan had to move her to close the door. Then he stood looking around with her.

“Yes, it certainly is nice.”

“It’s all right,” Ryan said. “The bed’s comfortable. The walls could use some paint. I don’t know as I’ll bother, though.”

“Just hang some pictures.”

“I could do that, hang some pictures. Cover up where it’s peeling.”

“Get some of those nice old master prints at the dime store.”

“They have them there?”

“God, you probably would.”

“Well, to cover up the bad spots.”

“What else do you want to show me?”

“That’s all. I just wanted to show you where I live.”

“Great,” Nancy said. She turned to the door.

“I thought we might just sit around here,” Ryan said.

“Or lie around.”

Ryan smiled.

“Show me the rest first,” Nancy said.

Outside again she stood looking toward the swimming pool and the trees and the lights showing in the windows of the cabanas.

“The place really jumps, doesn’t it?”

“A lot of families are here. With kids.”

“Oh,” Nancy said, “with kids. That should be fun.”

She walked out to the pool, Ryan following. She stood at the edge looking into the water. A few steps behind her, watching her, Ryan thought: Boot her in the ass and go get a beer.

And what would that prove?

Well, it might not prove anything, but it was a thought. He could hear sounds now from No. 11, the beer drinkers, their wall of cans showing faintly in the darkness. He looked around. There was a light on in No. 5 behind the closed drapes. No. 5, the broad with the window. Or whatever her game was. He could go over right now and knock on the door and say, “Let’s see the window, honey,” catching her off-guard, and she’d probably say, “What window?”

“I’m sorry,” Nancy said.

He could feel her close behind him and could picture her waiting for him to turn around, the good little dark-haired girl waiting patiently, throwing it at him softly and getting him off-stride again, like a goddamn change-up.

“What’re you sorry about?” He half turned as he said it.

“I don’t know. I have the feeling you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad.”

“I just didn’t feel like staying inside.”

“Well, you said you’re not the outdoor type.”

“Outdoorsy, I said. I’m just not in the mood.” She edged a little to the side to work around in front of him. “I think I’ll be in the mood later. All right?”

“I sure appreciate it.”

“Don’t be mad. Let’s do something.”

“Yeah, well, if you bust any windows around here, you know who has to fix them.”

“That’s better.” She was smiling at him. “No-let’s just look around.”

“At the dumb families and the dumb kids?”

She reached up, taking his face between her hands, stretching up against him and pulling his face down; she kissed his mouth lightly and quietly, moving around a little but staying right in there and applying pressure when his arms went around her and his hands spread over her back.

She took his hand. “Come on, show me the Bay Villa.”

“Vista.”

“All right, then show me the Bay Vista.”

They were walking toward the beach now, holding hands, Ryan standing off from them watching them and glad it was dark.

“This is all there is to it. Fourteen cabanas-”

“Cabanas?”

“That’s what he calls them. And the motel.”

“Who’s he?”

“Mr. Majestyk.”

“Oh, the one you were with at the Pier?”

“That’s right.”

“Where does he live?”

“In a house. Around the other side of Number One.”

“Show me.”

“It’s just a house.”

A beam of light spread out from the bole of a fir tree to flood Mr. Majestyk’s garden, illuminating the neatly trimmed shrubbery and border of white-painted rocks, the pale clean trunks of birch trees, the pair of flamingoes feeding beneath the birdhouse.

“Beautiful,” Nancy whispered. They were crossing the lawn in the darkness beyond the spotlight.

“He’s home,” Ryan said. “He’s probably watching television.”

“I’m sure he is,” Nancy said. “I love the lamp in the window.”

“His daughter decorated the place for him.”

“I want to see it.”

They were nearing the far edge of the lawn and now Nancy started toward the house, approaching the dark side that faced the empty field. A window was open, showing a square of rose-colored light through the screen.

Ryan caught her arm. “The door’s on the other side.”

“I don’t want to go in.”

She pulled away from him and there was nothing he could do but follow her to the window. He stood next to her, against the wall, as she looked in.

Mr. Majestyk was in his reclining chair facing the television set. He was watching a Western movie, watching intently, with a can of beer and a cigar. He would lean forward to take a sip of beer, his eyes holding on the screen, and the back of the Recline-O-Rama chair would rise with him, following him to an upright position. Dragging on the cigar, he would lean back again, pushing, bumping hard against the chair, and both Mr. Majestyk and the chair would settle back again.

“Wow,” Nancy said.

Ryan could hear the movie dialogue, a familiar voice, a quiet, Western drawl, then a woman’s voice. He recognized the drawl; he knew it right away. He edged close to the window and looked in, across the room, past Mr. Majestyk to Randolph Scott in the good hat that was curled just right in front. He couldn’t remember who the woman was, not bad-looking but sort of old. She sounded tired, like she had given up, saying she didn’t care what happened to her. Then Randolph Scott saying, “When you get done feeling sorry for yourself, I’ll tell you something… you’re alive and he’s dead and that makes the difference.”

“I love purple and silver,” Nancy whispered. “And lavender.”

He had seen the picture before. He remembered it now, a good one. Richard Boone was the bad guy. He and a couple of others hold up the stage and take Randolph and the woman and her husband prisoner, holding them for ransom because the woman’s dad was rich. The husband’s a coward and gets shot and you know they’re going to shoot Randolph and the woman once they get the dough, unless Randolph does something.

“The pictures,” Nancy said. “Those are the authentic dime store reproductions I was telling you about.”

“Shhh.”

“With white imitation antiqued frames. Beautiful.”

Mr. Majestyk and his chair sat up. He twisted around, looking over his shoulder, listening, and they ducked away from the window.

There was silence. Ryan stood in the dark with his back to the wall. He heard horses inside, the sound of their hooves fading away. There was no music or dialogue now. Something was about to happen. Maybe the part where Randolph goes in the cave after the guy named Billy Jack-that was a good part-the guy in there after the woman while his buddies are away. Randolph sneaks up behind Billy Jack and is about to belt him when Billy Jack turns and you think right away there’s going to be a fight; but, no, Randolph jams the sawed-off shotgun under Billy Jack’s chin and wham the guy’s face disappears quick, the way it would happen, without one of those fakey fights.