Honeymooners A Cautionary Tale (27 page)

How did you have me
visualized? Alice Ann said, and rolled the end of a long blond
strand of hair around a finger. —Find it?

No, damn it, anyway. I hate
when this happens.

Here, let me look, hon,
Alice Ann said, and leaned toward Lindsay.

I can feel the damn thing,
Lindsay said. Here. Here it is.

You found it? You have such
beautiful eyes.

It was just stuck in a
corner, Lindsay said. She tilted her head forward and popped the
contact onto a finger. She put the contact into her mouth and
moved it about with her tongue, whereupon she placed it back in
her eye and blinked.

Do you ever get eye
infections? Alice Ann said.

I know, Lindsay said,
blinking her eye rapidly. —Jim tells me all the time how
germ-infested the human mouth is supposed to be. But screw it. It’s
my eye and my big mouth and my germs. I’ve seen pictures of you.
You’re even more lovely than your pictures.

Did Ralph show them to you?
The pictures.

In a way. What I mean to
say. . . Well, they’re the ones he carries in his wallet. Well, I
guess he did show them to me. He was always so proud of how pretty
you are. And he was always so proud of the kids. They’re such
good-looking kids. What I mean to say is that when I really looked
and looked at them one time, Ralph was asleep. I was looking in his
wallet for a, for a stamp. Oh, like hell I was. I was snooping,
plain and simple. I wanted to look at your picture some more, and
the kids’ pictures.

That’s the way I found your
letters to Ralph. The old art of snooping.

Suddenly I feel mortified
again.

Don’t, hon. I don’t want you
to. That’s not why I said that. Am I what you expected?

I didn’t know what to
expect, frankly. Ralph always spoke so warmly about you. And the
kids. But I didn’t know what to expect.

Ralph told you I had cancer,
didn’t he?

I think that was a horrible
misunderstanding on my part. I always thought that under different
circumstances you and I would probably be friends. I knew that I
would like you. I was sure of that, anyway.

Thank you, hon, Alice Ann
said, and patted Lindsay’s hand. —I like you, too. You are a kind
person. I could tell that much from your letters. Kindness is what
I value above everything else in a person. Besides
honesty.

I value kindness also. And
honesty.

This is so corny, Alice Ann
said, but I feel as though I have known you for a very long
time.

Well, let’s just be corny,
then. Absolutely. This is so far from what I thought today might be
like. Jim kept telling me not to worry, but he was also sort of
setting me up.

Those assholes, Alice Ann
said, and stubbed out her cigarette.

You have a point about
that.

I never saw a picture of
you, Alice Ann said. —I searched high and low, let me tell you. I
turned over every one of Ralph’s little secret rocks. We are going
to be fast friends, I can tell. We’re going to be more than fast
friends.

I hope so, Lindsay said. —I
would truly like that.

It is going to happen, Alice
Ann said. —I can feel it. The vibrations between us are so
positive. I’m never wrong about these things. I have a gift. A
sixth sense. Call it what you will. And I know you and Jim will
work out in the end.

God, I should hope
so.

You will. Really. You will
find happiness together. Happiness like Ralph and I have found
together. Oh, we’ve had our rough spots, as you well know. But we
have always come through the fire together. Adversity has just made
our love grow stronger. We keep growing together. We have new
realizations about each other daily. Ralph knows how much he needs
me. He depends on me, Alice Ann said, and picked up the copy of
Ralph’s book beside her on the bench. She thumbed through the pages
and then read from the dedication page: “This book is lovingly
dedicated to my wife, Alice Ann.”

That’s lovely, Lindsay said.
—And the book looks wonderful.

Ralph owes this book to me,
Alice Ann said, looking up to watch Ralph and Jim coming toward
them. —And he knows it.

5

The book doesn’t look half
bad, Jim said, and turned Ralph’s white-jacketed book about in his
hands. —Except for the photo.

What's wrong with the photo?
Ralph said. —Alice Ann says it makes me look ten years
younger.

Ten years younger than what?
Jim said. —It’s pitiful.

It is not, Lindsay said, and
took the book from Jim’s hands. —It’s a beautiful book, Ralph. And
you do look younger in your picture. You look distinguished, too.
Younger and distinguished.

Really? Ralph said. —Do you
really think so? You know, they did do a good job, didn’t they? I
think the photo is okay, too, no matter what Mr. Spoilsport
says.

I still say it’s a pitiful
picture, Jim said.

Oh, Jim, Lindsay said. —It’s
a beautiful book, Ralph. This is so exciting. I’m genuinely excited
for you guys.

Who took that pitiful
picture, anyway, Ralph? Jim said. —You should get your money
back.

Hey, old Jim, Ralph said,
and pointed to the book in Lindsay’s hands. —Read the blurbs. Read
those babies and weep.

Read Cynthia Ozick’s blurb,
Alice Ann said. —It’s the one about Ralph being rock hard and
unafraid.

Say what? Jim
said.

Rock hard and unafraid,
Ralph said, and laughed. He covered his mouth with a huge hand and
his big shoulders shook.

How well do you know Cynthia
Ozick, anyway? Jim said.

I’ve never laid eyes on the
woman, Ralph said.

We went to hear her read in
Iowa City once, Alice Ann said.

I don’t recall that, Ralph
said. —Well, maybe we did. But that woman doesn’t know me from
Adam.

You rushed up to meet her
after the reading, Alice Ann said. —Then later at the party you
gave her some stories, Ralph.

Well, she never read them.
She left them on the coffee table. That’s where John Leggett found
them the next morning. The party was at his house. And I wasn’t the
only one shoving stories in her face. Half the other sharks in my
writing class were there waving stories in her face like little
me-me-me flags. She just left them all on the goddamn coffee table.
And there were stains all over mine, which happened by chance to be
on top of the pile. People were using them for coasters or
something. People put cigarettes out on them, like my stories, my
babies, were ashtrays. Well, that’s all in the past now. That’s all
behind me now. Rock hard and unafraid. That’s my main motto from
here on out.

Let’s have a toast, Lindsay
said.

Hear, hear, Ralph said.
Ralph glanced about and then took a pint bottle of bourbon out of
his windbreaker pocket. He glanced about again before pouring
bourbon into his plastic cup.

So, who’ll make it? Jim
said.

Let me, Lindsay said.
—Here’s to Ralph Crawford, American author, and his future in
literature. World literature. He is on his way now for sure. Fame
and fortune loom on Ralph Crawford’s horizon.

I’ll drink wholeheartedly to
the fortune part, Alice Ann said. —We’ve been poor people long
enough.

Oh, for Pete’s sake, Ralph
said. —That poor business is ancient history. We’re supposed to be
celebrating around here. Let’s toast the newlyweds. Let’s toast
happy endings. Let’s toast all’s well that ends well.

Jim watched Lindsay as she
gazed out across the creek bed into the trees on the other side.
Beyond the creek bed and trees was a sloping meadow where in the
hazy late-afternoon light several horses grazed.

Hey, kids, why don’t we go
back to our house? Alice Ann said. —I could throw something
together back there. Okay, to tell the truth, I busted my buns last
night preparing all these fancy tidbits in case you guys came home
with us.

Boy, that’s the truth, Ralph
said, and hooted. —I spent the day under threat of death if I so
much as touched one of those tasty morsels. She even threatened the
boy, that human garbage disposal, which was a first, I’ll tell
you.

Well, we’re not waiting on
me, Jim said.

We’ll have to stop and get
some booze, Alice Ann said. —Lindsay, you can ride with me, hon.
We’ll stop and pick up some vodka. Vodka is your poison, isn’t
it?

Oh, I’ve been known to drink
a little vodka on occasion.

See, I told you. Vibrations.
When I was a little girl I could foretell the future. I still can
sometimes. I’ll read your palm for you tonight, hon. Maybe we’ll
even break out the tarot cards and I’ll tell you anything you want
to know about your life and future.

We have champagne coming out
of our ears at home, Ralph said. —We don’t need to stop
anywhere.

We don’t have any vodka,
Alice Ann said. —Lindsay and I will take the Caddy. We’ll stop and
get a nice bottle of vodka.

Why do we have to split up
like this, anyway? Ralph said.

We’re not spitting up,
Ralph. Lindsay and I are simply going in our vehicle. You ride with
Jim.

Why can’t I ride with you
two? Ralph said.

Thanks, dickhead, Jim said.
—What am I, anyway, dogshit in the companion department?

You may find this difficult
to comprehend, Ralph, Alice Ann said, and took Lindsay’s hand in
her own. —But Lindsay and I have become dear, dear friends in just
this short time. Our vibrations are totally attuned. The only
explanation is that we have met in other lifetimes. I mean it,
Alice Ann said to Lindsay, and squeezed her hand. —You are the best
friend I’ve made in ten years at least. God, I feel as though in
some past lifetime we must have been sisters, Alice Ann said, and
then she kissed the back of Lindsay’s hand.

White Meat

1

Ralph Crawford’s house could
have been a ship afire for all the lights blazing from it when Jim
Stark pulled into the driveway. And then Jim had to brake the
Cutlass abruptly, tossing Ralph into the dashboard, when suddenly
in the headlights loomed what could have been the world’s largest
wolf.

Jesus motherfucken Christ!
Jim commented to Ralph. —Ralph, there’s a giant wolf in your
driveway.

That’s Killer, Ralph
said.

I’ll say, Jim
said.

If I were you I’d turn off
my headlights, Ralph said. —Headlights seem to give Killer a
headache.

You bet, Jim said, and
turned off the headlights. —Ralph, who the fuck is Killer? Killer
is growling, Ralph.

I’ve been advised that
Killer is cool, Ralph said.

I, for one, am not getting
out of this vehicle, Ralph.

Honk your horn.

Say what?

Lay on your horn. If he’s
not too busy, Paco will come out and take charge of
Killer.

Paco?

Paco, Ralph said. —My
daughter’s significant other, so to speak. Paco has all these
tattoos. If Paco is not too busy, you know, not engaged in some act
of sexual perversion with my daughter, he might come out and call
Killer off. Otherwise you better just make yourself comfortable.
Honk your horn, old Jim.

You bet, Jim said, and
honked the horn. —Ralph, will honking the horn give Killer a
headache?

No, I don’t think so. I’ve
come to believe that a car horn must sound like some sort of
kindred howl to Killer.

What makes you believe that,
Ralph?

One night I sat out here in
Alice Ann’s Caddy honking the horn for well over an hour, Ralph
said, and he lit a cigarette. He settled back in his seat. —Maybe
it was two hours. Who can tell? I was honking and honking the horn
and Killer began to howl. But it somehow struck me as a happy howl.
He was sort of howling along with the horn, and it seemed
somehow—what?—attuned, in a primal, joyous way. Finally Killer
attempted to, well, you know, sort of mate with Alice Ann’s
Caddy.