Hooligans (17 page)

to a Virginia tobacco man and then ran off, arriving in Dunetown, where, fifteen years later, he

became its first banker; about Tim Clarke, the stevedore from Dublin who stowed away to Dunetown

and ended up owning the shipyard; and an Irish collier named Findley who once killed a man in a duel

over a runaway pig, and who went on to make a fortune in cotton and converted his millions to land

before the bottom dropped out, and was the man who talked Sherman out of burning Dune-town

because he owned most of the town and didn‟t want to see it torched like Atlanta. Doe‟s greatgrandfather.

Hooligans, the bunch of them, the Findleys, Larkins, Clarkes, and the second generation, with names

like Colonel and Chief, the ones who said yes, no, and maybe to every decision that affected the city

for two centuries. And finally the third generation, the Bubbas and Chips and Juniors, so intimidated

by their fathers that they were reduced to panderers, more interested in golf than empires.

Once she started, it was like turning on a tape recorder with no stop button. A twenty-minute

dialogue, at the end of which I knew about every inbred mongoloid child, every lady of colour who

had married across the line, all the bastard and aborted children, the adulterers and adulteresses, the

covered—up suicides, the drunks, gays, and feuding families, the banker‟s daughter who was a

prostitute in L.A., and the two Junior Leaguers who ran off together and left two confused husbands

and five children behind.

Routine for any small money town.

Three names stood out: Findley, Clarke, and Larkin.

The Findleys and the Larkins had been cautious partners through the years.

The Clarkes were their adversaries—in politics, business, even in love affairs.

„Jimmy Clarke would have died to marry Doe Findley,” Babs said, “but Chief wouldn‟t hear of it. He

picked an outsider for her. Not old money but respectable. His father was a lawyer and later a judge.”

“Harry Raines?” I said. Funny, I couldn‟t remember Jimmy Clarke, although the name rang a bell.

“You do get around,” Babs said.

“What about Raines?”

“What about him?”

“The way I get it, he married rich and got richer.”

“My, my,” she said caustically, “aren‟t we being a little catty?”

“No, I‟ve been doing a lot of listening, that‟s all.”

“Did they tell you Harry‟s going to be governor one of these days soon?”

“I keep hearing that. Has he been nominated yet?”

“Cute,” she said.

“Well?”

“As well as, darling.”

“Why?”

“Because he‟s Dunetown‟s golden boy. He‟s handsome, he‟s rich, he‟s young. He‟s a lawyer, married

to a beautiful woman, and an ex-football star. His politics are moderate. His family‟s acceptable. And

he‟s the state racing commissioner. Isn‟t that enough?”

“Sounds like he was born for the job”

“Besides, Dunetown‟s long overdue for a governor, particularly with the city growing so, and Harry‟s

just perfect.”

“Couldn‟t that be a hot spot?”

“Governor?” she said.

“Racing commissioner.”

“Anything but, dear boy. Harry‟s brought a lot of money to the state. And a lot of tax money for the

schools.”

“I never trust a politician who was born with his mouth full of silver,” I said.

“Ah, bit he wasn‟t.”

“So he married the money, that it?”

“Do you know Harry?” she asked. Her tone was turning cautious. I had the feeling I had stretched my

luck a little thin.

“Nope,” I said. “Just trying to get the feel of things. Obviously he‟s a man with a lot of drive. A lot of

ambition.”

“Is there something wrong with that?” she asked.

“Not necessarily. Depends on how much ambition and how big a drive. What you‟re willing to trade

for success.”

“He didn‟t have to trade anything for it, darling. He got all the prizes. The town‟s richest and most

desirable young woman, her father‟s political clout. But he didn‟t sit on his little A-frame and drink it

up the way a lot of them have. He made a name for himself.”

“What‟s he like personally?”

She leaned back in her chair and eyed me suspiciously. I was beginning to sound a little too much like

a man with an axe to grind and Babs Thomas was nobody‟s fool.

“Just what the hell is your game, Kilmer?” she said.

“Told you, I‟m trying to get a line on the town.”

“No, you‟re trying to get a line on Harry Raines.”

“Well, he‟s part of the big picture,” I said, trying to sound as casual as I could.

She leaned forward and said flippantly, “You don‟t have to like a man to vote for him. Personally I

find him a bit cold, but he gets things done. The rest of the state is in a depression and Dunetown is in

the middle of a boom. You can‟t have everything. If he was any better he‟d probably be in the

movies.”

I laughed at her rationale. I‟m sure most of the voters in the state would look at Harry Raines in the

same way. Babs Thomas had a bit of Everywoman in her, although I‟m sure she would have killed

anyone who accused her of that.

“Anyway,” she said, tossing her head, “the sheriff‟s on his side. That‟s reason enough to get elected.”

“That would be this Titan fellow?”

“No, darling, not „this Titan fellow.‟ Mister Stoney. Cod owes him favours.”

“And he and Raines are buddies?”

I was coaxing information now.

“When Chief‟s son, Teddy, was killed in Vietnam,” she said, “Chief almost died with him. Doe

married Harry less than a year later. Chief faded out of the picture right after that.”

“As soon as he was sure the keys to the kingdom were in the right pocket,” I said. It was not a

question. “And now Sam Donleavy‟s running the store for Raines, isn‟t that it?”

“Yes. They‟re inseparable friends.”

Listening to her was like déjà vu.

“Is Donleavy one of the landed aristocracy?”

“No, he‟s just plain people. He‟s from New Joisey,” she said playfully. “Nouveau riche. You‟d like

him.”

I grimaced at her. “Thanks a lot.”

“Just joking. Actually Sam‟s quite a charmer. His wife left him about a year ago. Ran off with her

karate instructor. Sam took it quite hard at first, but he‟s over it now. In fact, right now I‟d say he‟s

the town‟s most eligible bachelor—and enjoying every minute of it.”

“Is this Raines clean?” I asked.

“Clean? You mean does he bathe?” She wasn‟t joking; it was obvious she didn‟t understand me.

“No, you know—does he cheat on his wife, that sort of thing?”

“Harry, cheat? He wouldn‟t dare.” She stared over my shoulder as she spoke and her eyes grew wide.

“Speak of the devil,” she said. “There‟s Doe Findley now.”

19

It‟s hard to be casual when every muscle in your body has turned to ice. I tried playing for time.

“Who?” I asked, in a voice that seemed to me to be at least an octave above normal.

“Doe Findley,” Babs said impatiently, pointing over my shoulder. “Turn around!”

I turned in slow motion, still playing the charade, still acting like the whole thing was a bore. Doe was

coming out of a small meeting room with a dozen other well-dressed women. She was wearing tan

silk slacks and a dark green silk blouse and her golden hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and

tied with a red ribbon.

“That‟s the horsey set,” Babs said. “Thoroughbred breeders.”

But I wasn‟t paying any attention. I was remembering the first time I ever saw Doe. Her hair was tied

back just like that, except she was only fifteen at the time. Teddy brought her into the dorm, where we

shared a room. She was wearing tight white jeans and a red pullover and she didn‟t look any more like

a fifteen-year-old than I look like Muhammad Ali I had seen her pictures, of course; Teddy was big

on family pictures. But she didn‟t look like that in pictures. No way. All I clearly remember was that

she had an absolutely sensational rear end. I couldn‟t take my eyes off it. I was embarrassed, but my

eyes kept straying. It was like a magnet, I tried, I tried really hard, but it didn‟t d any good. I kept

sneaking peeks. Then Teddy suddenly buried an elbow in my side.

She‟s fifteen,” he hissed under his breath.

“What‟s the matter with you?” I whispered back.

“Clicking eyeballs, Junior,” he said. “Lay a finger on that behind before she‟s eighteen and I‟ll

disengage your fucking clutch.” Then he broke down and started laughing.

That was the fall of 1960, a couple of weeks after Teddy Findley and I met, became roommates, and

began a friendship that would last far beyond college. He started calling me Junior the day we met. I

don‟t know why, and he never explained it. I finally figured it was because he was taller than me.

Two, three inches. Nobody else, not even Doe, shared that privilege.

Anyway, I waited until she was eighteen. Two and a half years; that‟s a lot of waiting. And during

those two and a half years she kept getting better and better, blossoming from little sister to big sister

to woman, while I watched it happen. Teddy didn‟t help. He became a verbal calendar, taunting uric

every week of the way.

„How about it, Junior,” he‟d say, “only four months to go.” It never occurred to me until later that I

was being sized up all that time: that waiting until she was eighteen had as much to do with me as it

did with her.

“Jake! Jake Kilmer. Is that really you?”

She was standing a foot away. I could feel the fire starting in the small of my back arid coursing up to

my neck, like the fuse on a stick of dynamite.

Time seemed to have evaded her. No lines, no wrinkles. Just pale gray eyes staring straight at me and

the warmth of her hand as she squeezed mine.

I stood up and said something totally inadequate like “Hi, Doe.”

Then she put her arms around me arid I was smothered by the warmth of her body pressing against

mine, by the hard muscles in her back and the softness of the rest of her. I was consumed with

wanting her.

Then she stepped back and looked up at my face, cocking her head to one side.

“Hardly a gray hair,” she said. “And every line in the right place.”

“Is that your way of saying I‟m growing old gracefully?” I tried to joke.

“Oh, no,” she said softly, “not that. „You look beautiful.” She stared hard at me for another second or

two, and just as quickly turned her attention to Babs.

“I see you‟ve cornered him already,” she said playfully, and then back at me: “Call me . . please. I

have a private line. It‟s listed under D. F. Raines. Chief would love to see you.”

1 didn‟t buy that. To Chief I would just be bad news, a vague face from the past, a painful reminder

that his son was dead. What she was really asking was, Are you coming to Windsong tonight?

“Sure,” I said.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She didn‟t just leave, she turned and fled.

I sat back down and looked across the table at Babs, whose mouth was dangling open. She reached up

slowly and pushed it closed with a finger.

“You sly son of a bitch,” she said.

“What‟re you talking about?”

“You know Doe Findley that well?” she said.

“What do you mean, that well?”

“1 mean that well.”

“We knew each other in college. Twenty years ago.”

„Uh-huh, honey. That wasn‟t a „gee it‟s nice to see you again after all these years‟ look. That was a

„where the hell have you been for the last twenty years‟ look.”

“It was probably a shock seeing me again. 1 knew her brother.”

“I don‟t care who you knew. These old eyes are not that bad yet. Twenty years, huh?”

“What are you raving about?” I said to her.

“So where did she fall in love with you? She didn‟t go to Georgia, she went to. . . oh, let‟s see, one of

those snotty colleges up north.”

Now she was doing the coaxing.

“Vassar,” I said. “Real hard to remember.”

“So you have kept track?”

“Through Teddy.”

“Oh, right. And you just sat there, letting me jabber on about the Findleys and Harry Raines. .

“Trash it,” I said.

“Trash it?”

“Trash it. There‟s nothing there.”

She wasn‟t about to back off. She leaned back in her chair and appraised me through narrowed eyes.

“Jake Kilmer. That name ought to mean something to me,” she said.

She sat there struggling with her memories, trying to sort me out of the hundreds of names and faces

from her past. Then recognition slowly brightened her eyes.

“Of course,” she said. “You played football for the Dogs.”

“You have some memory,” I said, wondering how often that interlude was going to keep haunting mc.

I doubt that it had been mentioned once in the last ten years, and now it seemed to pop up every time I

said hello, or maybe it was just popping up in my mind.

“You and Teddy played on the same team, didn‟t you?”

“For a while.”

“She‟s not a real happy woman, Khmer,”

“1-low would you know that?”

“1 know everything, darling, it‟s what I do, remember? I‟m the town snoop.”

“I thought you said Raines had a wonderful family.”

“I didn‟t say he had a happy one. Raines is married to politics and Doe doesn‟t play second fiddle

well at all.”

“People seem to think she married well.”

“Tom Findley couldn‟t have picked a better man for the job.”

“Christ, you are bitchy.”

“I like Doe,” she said, ignoring the slur. “She‟s very honest. Not too bright, though, do you think?”

“I don‟t remember. When I was in college I thought everybody was brilliant but me.”