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“That much is true.”
“You’re all Hollywood?” Jean said.
“Through and through,” Jason said. “How’d you like to come out west with me? I leave in a couple weeks and I’m driving through Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. You’ve never seen any country like it. You ever been out of Jericho?”
“Hell yes,” she said. “I’ve been to New York City.”
“How many times?”
“Once,” Jean said, looking away, smiling. “With my senior class. I’ve been to New Orleans a bunch. I’ve gone to Mardi Gras three times.”
“How’d you like to ride on the back of my bike up the PCH?”
“Depends on what the hell’s the PCH.”
“Pacific Coast Highway,” Jason said. “We follow the ocean all the way up to San Francisco. We’ll camp out at Big Sur, eat crabs at Fisherman’s Wharf, make love on the beach at Santa Cruz.”
“I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself, Jason Colson.”
Jason gri
The Dairy Queen was an odd little building, looking queer and out of place right at the edge of that dirty old river. It was just a cinder-block box with big neon sign above the open-air counter, where teenage girls served burgers, dogs, and milk shakes. They wore tight white shirts and kept their hair in ponytails and most nights played a rock ’n’ roll station out of Memphis.
Jason kissed Jean’s neck and she rubbed his beard.
“I’m not supposed to say this,” Jean said, “but Hamp thinks your ru
“He’s not my biggest fan,” Jason said. “But I think he got his eggs a little scrambled in ’Nam. I just don’t think he can stand for people to tell him what to do, doesn’t care for the way most people live by laws and old-fashioned kind of phoniness.”
“I’d watch my step,” Jean said. “He sounds batshit crazy to me.”
Jason finished his ice cream and tossed the rest of the cone toward a trash barrel. The speakers at the stand were playing Elton John, recalling for Jason some sweet times down in San Diego with a young actress he’d dated a couple years ago. Dune buggies and wet bathing suits and burning driftwood on the beach. Jason had felt he was on another planet than Jericho. He hoped he could do the same for Jean. This wasn’t living.
“Before we go any further,” Jason said, “I need you to understand something about me.”
Jean leaned back into Jason, shoulders pressing into his chest, that red hair blowing in the hot wind off the river, driving him crazy.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t like people telling me what to do,” Jason said. “Since I was a kid, I hated when someone said I was too scared or I couldn’t do something. My brother Jerry got rich taking bets from kids in town about what his brother might try next. I could climb the tallest trees. Dove off that bridge over there when I was ten. Headfirst.”
“That is crazy.”
“That’s just the way I am,” Jason said. “It’s the way I make my living. Every day I’m out there, someone in L.A. is playing chicken with my livelihood. The day I say no mas, my reputation is done. That’s one of the many things I’ve learned from Mr. Needham.”
“So you want me to know your profession is being crazy,” Jean asked. “And riding with some real cutthroats while you’re back home is just another way of proving yourself.”
“Every day, Miss Jean.”
She got off his slick Harley, Jason watching her walk over to toss the rest of her ice cream in the trash barrel. She had on cowboy boots, with cutoff jeans and a white peasant top that was next to nothing. Jason’s heart just kind of caught for a moment as she turned, smiled, and walked toward him. Jason moving up on the seat, kicking the bike to start, and Jean Beckett crawling on back with him, wrapping her long arms around his waist. “Just where are we going, Jason Colson?” she whispered.
“Don’t have any plans.”
“Just promise me one thing,” she said, her words hot and warm in his ear.
Jason revved the motor. The little girls working the Dairy Queen squealed.
“Don’t you ever lie to me,” she said. “When that happens, there’s no second chances.”
Qui
Jean was up next. And then Jason got up, bleary-eyed in Superman pajamas and a little pissed at the early hour. Jean made them both fried eggs with bacon and biscuits. Then Jason hurried back to his bedroom to get dressed for kindergarten while Jean packed his lunch. Caddy was already up and gone, serving food to homeless families at The River. This had been the way since they’d all moved in after the storm.
“You had a late night,” Jean said.
“Diane Tull had some problems,” Qui
“Why in the hell would someone do that to such a nice woman?” Jean said. “She’s the only one around here who sells decent American-made clothes for kids. And boots. She helped Jason into a new pair of boots this fall. She’s good with kids. Raised two boys of her own.”
“Lillie has a theory,” Qui
“And what’s that?”
“People can be mean as hell and dumber than shit.”
“Miss Tull have any idea who might have slashed her tires?”
“No, ma’am,” Qui
When he finished off the last bit of biscuit, and washed out and filled up his Thermos with black coffee, Qui
The day was bright and bleak, sun not supposed to take them much above forty degrees. The trees were leafless and brittle in the wind. Qui