Pages of Promise (14 page)
They reached the porch, but as they stepped to the ground, the big man called Alvin came bursting out. “Wait a minute! I ain’t through talkin’ to you two!”
The other three came out behind Alvin, and Richard turned, saying under his breath, “Get in the truck, Laurel.” Alvin planted himself directly in front of him, and the others spread out to make a semicircle. “I don’t want any trouble,” Richard said.
“Why, there ain’t gonna be any trouble.” Alvin laughed hoarsely and winked at his audience. It was obvious he was accustomed to performing, and he had scars on his face from old battles. He slapped his hands together, making a meaty sound, and took a step toward Richard, saying, “We’re just going to have a little talk.” He was six one or two and weighed at least 220. He had a bulge around his middle but he had the heavy muscles of a wrestler or a weight lifter. “Now about that little lady there.” He winked at Richard. “If you’re gonna pass her around like I hear you do out at that place, I won’t mind waitin’ my turn.”
Richard knew then that there was no easy way out. His senses were heightened. He saw Alvin’s grimy fingernails and the traces of tobacco juice that stained the corners of his mouth, even the wrinkles in his shirt. He noticed the tiny mole on the cheek of the tall wiry one and the similarity of the two others, obviously brothers. “I’m going to get in the truck with the lady and drive away,” he said quietly. He knew, however, that this would never satisfy Alvin.
The bulky farmer reached out and grabbed Richard by the front of his shirt, bunching it up in his left fist. He raised his massive right fist and said, “Now, why don’t you just go take a walk, city boy, and I’ll have a little talk with Laurel, here.” He grinned evilly and held the fist poised. “No sense your gettin’ all busted up, a pretty boy like you, is there now?”
Richard’s marine corps training stood him in good stead—the arduous hours spent at boot camp in martial arts training. “Don’t call it self-defense,” Sergeant Masterson had said. “You’re not going to defend yourself. You’re going to attack the enemy! Always get in the first lick,” Masterson had snarled, “Always!”
Richard was wearing heavy work boots. He braced his left foot and with all his strength kicked out with his right. The full force of the blow took Alvin on the kneecap. He let out a sharp yell, loosed his grip on Richard’s shirt, and fell into the dirt holding his knee. “You broke my leg!” he yelled. “Get him, Ed!”
The other three men spread out so that he could not face them all. Without waiting for them to get close, Richard leaped forward. He held his right hand, thumb alongside his fingers, and although he did not have the hard edge that he once had along his little finger and the ridge of his palm, when he caught the tall wiry man across the nose, he heard the nose break and the scream of pain from the man called Ed.
But he had turned his back on the other two, and a blow struck him on the left side in the vicinity of his old wound. Pain shot through him, and the two men bore him to the ground. He was aware that Alvin and Ed would be on him soon, and reaching up on the man who straddled him, he grabbed him by the shirt front and jerked him forward, bringing the man’s face against his skull. A kick grazed his head, but he rolled around to his feet.
All four men surrounded him, Alvin limping but his fists held high, Ed’s face a mess from the broken nose spurting blood.
Laurel threw herself at one of the brothers, who brushed her off, ignoring her cries of protest. She ran to the truck to find something for a weapon.
The fight was wicked. Time and again Richard lashed out with a telling stroke, knocking one or other of the men down, but they were wearing him down. He was aware that a car had stopped, and then he heard a voice say, “What’s going on here? Hold up!” He turned quickly and wiped the blood from his eyebrow where he had received a blow, and he saw a large, portly man getting out of the car. Richard was wary, thinking,
This might be another enemy,
but then he heard Alvin say, “Sheriff, this man needs to spend some time in the pokey. He jumped me.”
“Is that right?” The bulky man turned and said, “I’m Sheriff Paulks. What you got to say for yourself?”
Richard had heard tales about small-town sheriffs. “Sure,” he gasped. “I jumped all four of ’em.”
“We don’t need any smart talkin’ Yankees down here.” He looked at Alvin and said, “He really got in the first lick?”
“Shore he did!”
Sheriff Paulks said, “You’re under arrest, fella!”
“No!” Laurel came forward, flushed and with a tire iron in her hand. “These men made trouble. Not Richard.”
“They’re from that place over by the river where they all got common wives,” Alvin said, reaching down to massage his bruised knee. “You know what kind of folks they are, Sheriff.” “I’m gonna lock you up, boy. You’ll get a fair trial. If you’re found innocent, I’ll turn you loose.”
Richard said quickly, “Laurel, can you drive that truck?”
“I–I think so.”
“The key’s in it. You go on home now and tell Tom what happened.”
“But what about you?”
“I’ll be all right.”
Laurel looked at him for a moment, then got into the truck. As she started it, Paulks grabbed Richard’s arm. “You come along now. No more trouble.”
“No more trouble, Sheriff,” Richard said. He went over and got into the car.
It worked out about how he thought. He was brought up before the j.p., who ran a gas station in the center of town, and was asked how he pleaded. He said, “What if I plead guilty?”
“Then you pay a fine, and we turn you loose,” the j.p. said. He was a short, thin man with a set of ill-fitting store-bought teeth.
“What if I plead not guilty?”
“Then we’d hold you in jail for a trial. If you’re found guilty, you’ll probably do three months on the county road gang. How do you plead?”
“I guess I plead guilty.”
“Your fine’s fifty dollars.”
“I don’t have it, but I’ll get it from my uncle.”
Richard did not have to spend the night in the small, filthy cell with its rancid blankets. He was standing at the window when he saw Logan’s car pull up, and Tom was with him. Richard watched with interest as they entered city hall—the j.p.’s gas station—and within a few minutes the sheriff came and opened the cell. “Come on,” he said. “Fine’s been paid.”
Richard followed him to the outer office. Logan got right in Paulks’s face, and he gave the sheriff a thorough dressing down. Logan looked small alongside the big man, but Paulks looked afraid.
“You’re a sorry excuse for a sheriff, Jeff Paulks! Election’s coming up. I don’t usually take part in politics, but I reckon I know everybody in this whole county. By the time I get to my friends, and they get to their friends, I reckon you’re gonna have to make an honest living. Maybe pumpin’ gas out at the Exxon station!”
“Now, wait a minute, Mr. Stuart! I just done my duty!”
Logan stared at him and seemed about to say something else, then shook his head. “You’re a sorry excuse for a man, and even a worse excuse for an elected official!” He wheeled and said, “Come on, Richard. Let’s get out of here!”
When they were outside, Richard grimaced. “Must be a lot of fun for you, bailin’ your relatives out of jail.”
“Everybody knows Jeff Paulks ain’t worth spit! Come on, get in. I’ll take you and Tom home.”
As they drove back, Tom said, “I thought Laurel was going to get my shotgun and go down there and clean house. She was mad clear through! You have a few bruises there. Did you get your licks in?” Tom asked, a humorous gleam in his eye.
“My old judo sergeant used to say, ‘Always get the first lick in,’ so I managed to do that.”
“Good,” said Logan. “Alvin Hood’s been needin’ a comedown. I wish you’d a broke that knee of his instead of just bruisin’ it up. Mebbe another time.” Logan hadn’t cooled off just yet.
“I hope not,” Richard said. He sat between the two men, feeling good that they had come to his rescue. He said as much, and his uncle said, “Why, boy, we couldn’t let the devil have one of our own. Don’t you know that?”
By the time they got home it was dusk, and Laurel came out of the house to meet them. She reached up and touched the bruise on Richard’s face. “Come inside,” she said quietly. “I’ll take care of you.”
Tom and Logan watched the pair go in, and it was Henderson who said, “That’s a good nephew you have there, Logan.”
“Well, I reckon. You watch out for him, Tom. He ain’t got over that war business yet. He’s kind of vulnerable, you might say.”
Henderson cocked his head and gave the older man a strange look. “I guess we all are, aren’t we?”
I
will always love you, and I’ll always treasure what you did for your country.”
Helen Maxwell put her arms around the soldier, whose left sleeve was pinned up.
“You can’t love half a man,” Roger Deerfield said bitterly. “I left most of myself over in the mud of Korea.”
“No, you’re here, and you’ve done your duty, and I love you for it.” Reaching up, she pulled his head down and kissed him. His one arm went around her, and they held the embrace for a long moment.
“Cut! That’s a take!” Stan Lem had been standing outside the range of the cameras. He came over and slapped the soldier on the back and hugged Mona. “That’s the best scene in the movie—the last one,” he said.
“Well, help me get myself out of this gear. My arm’s breaking with these straps.” William Castaine, who had played the lead in the movie, shrugged out of the marine tunic, and Mona helped him remove the straps that tied his lower arm to his upper arm. William flexed the member carefully and said, “You did great, Helen.”
“Thank you, Roger.”
“Come along. Get your clothes changed, and we’ll go out and celebrate.”
“Thanks, but another time maybe. I’ve got plans already.” Mona smiled at him, then turned and made her way off the set to her dressing room. She had not dreamed how physically exhausting playing the lead in a movie could be. Stan Lem was a nice man, but he was a perfectionist, and for some scenes he had demanded ten takes or more. Now, however,
The Soldier
was “in the can,” as they put it, and when Mona got back to her dressing room, she slumped down for a time. She thought about the two years that had passed—about all of the people that had worked on the film, about Adam and Lylah being in constant touch with it. She smiled, thinking about how she’d presented the idea as the first movie out about the war. There had been endless problems of every sort. It had been a gamble for Adam and Lylah, but they had stayed with it, and she hoped that it would pay off not just for her sake but for theirs.
She rose, showered, and put on a loose-fitting dress that came to just above her knees, made of an aqua-colored linen. It had three-quarter-length sleeves and a high neck with a dark green fabric bow tied around it. She went to find Adam and Lylah, who were waiting for her. “You want to go out or just have steak at my place?” Lylah asked.
“That sounds good to me, the steak.”
“You’re tired out,” Adam said. “Come along. I have to leave early, but there are a few things we need to talk about.”
They left the studio and went at once to Lylah’s house. She had called ahead to the Japanese servant, and the steaks were ready within minutes after they arrived. They sat down at the table, with its spotless white tablecloth, and ate their filets mignons and fresh garden salads, and as they ate, Adam expressed his enthusiasm about the prospects of the film. “It’s going to be great. I don’t know if it’ll set any records at the box office, but it’s the kind of film that wins awards.”
Mona had been lifting a bit of salad to her lips. She lowered it slowly and smiled saying, “I’d rather it make a lot of money than win awards.”
“That’s important,” Lylah said, “but this is the kind of film that will be better for your career in the long run. Other studios will be wanting you now. You wait and see.”
The meal went pleasantly, and after they had eaten a light dessert and talked for some time, Mona said, “Would you think me awful if I took a little time off?”
“Not at all,” Lylah said. She came over and kissed the young woman on the cheek, saying, “You need some time off, Mona.”
“Why don’t you go to the place we’ve got in the Rockies? The studio owns it,” Adam offered.
“Thank you, Adam, but I think I’d like to go to Arkansas.” She smiled at them and said, “There’s something about that place that I like. I remember how beautiful the long drive was when we went there to visit when Stephen and I were kids. We called it going on vacation, not realizing the folks didn’t have money in those days to go anywhere else! It’s so far in the backwoods that nobody’s likely to recognize me there. Not that they would in the Rocky Mountains,” she laughed. “But I’d like to just stay in the old house and visit a little bit with Uncle Logan and Aunt Anne and spend some time, maybe, with Richard.”
“That’s a good idea,” Adam said. “I’ll get the plane ticket for you. When do you want to leave?”
“In a day or so, just so I have time to get a few things in order.” She rose, and Adam came over and hugged her, saying warmly, “You did a fine job, Mona. I think you’re at the beginning of a great career.”
The bus that brought her north from Fort Smith to Mountain View had been a difficult ride, for Mona was tired. Getting off the Greyhound, which stopped at the Delight Hotel, she saw the only taxi in town. She walked over and saw a sign stuck inside the windshield instructing her that the driver could be reached around the corner at the funeral parlor. “Guess I’ll call Uncle Logan instead,” she said to herself. She entered the hotel and asked for a phone. Arlene Baxter said, “Why, it’s Miss Mona Stuart, isn’t it? How are you, dear? How’s that daddy of yours? He was always my favorite of the Stuart boys. We were in school together. Used to go out some.” Arlene chatted away about all the news she’d heard about any of the Stuarts or anyone any of the Stuarts might possibly have ever known.
Mona tried to relax. She reminded herself that this was the small-town way, and especially so in the South. If you want to get anything done, you have to pay for it with conversation, so Mona offered Arlene a few bits of Hollywood gossip in return and told her about the picture she’d just finished. Then Arlene said, “Why, dear, you look all in. Why don’t I just call Logan and Anne for you so they can come down and get you?”