“No, he lives on the moon,” Eddie assured her. “I guess you flew to the moon and gave him popcorn. Did it have butter on it?”
“A lot of butter,” Harmony assured him.
Neddie grew tired of the silly conversation, got out, lifted Eddie off the roof of Gary’s car, and proceeded with him to the gift shop. Eddie pretended he was a small Japanese prince. He bowed to several Japanese tourists, who, in turn, bowed politely to him.
“I love that kid,” Pat said. “There’s just something happy-making about Eddie. Just looking at him lifts my spirits.”
Usually, Harmony could have said the same, and would have said the same; but at the moment her spirit was so weary that even the sight of Eddie being a Japanese prince couldn’t raise it much.
“What was that about Evel Knievel?” Pat asked. She had a keen interest in the lives of celebrities—particularly their sex lives.
“He saw my show seven times,” Harmony said. “Of course, he didn’t have to pay. The casinos just let him in.”
“Did he have the hots for you, or was he after someone else?” Pat asked.
“Pat, I don’t have sex addiction,” Harmony told her. “He was after me, but I never went out with him. I just bought him popcorn one day at the Trop.”
“Who said anything about sex addiction?” Pat asked.
“He wanted to take me for a ride on his motorcycle, but I was scared,” Harmony admitted.
“Of the motorcycle, or of getting involved with Evel?” Pat asked.
“Pat, I can’t remember,” Harmony said. “He had pins in his limbs from all his accidents. He walked kind of stiff, but he was real polite.”
“I would hope so,” Pat said. “How many celebrities have you actually slept with, Harmony?”
Harmony pretended that she didn’t hear the question. She thought it was a rude question, particularly so under the circumstances, which were that they were at the Grand Canyon, it was hot, she was tired, and Pepper was dead. How could it possibly matter how many celebrities she had slept with?
“Pat, mind your own business,” Harmony said.
“I’m just curious—when you stop being curious it’s taps time,” Pat said. “Taps is that song Montgomery Clift played when Frank Sinatra died, in From Here to Eternity.”
“Dan Duryea,” Harmony said quietly.
“Who?” Pat asked.
“Dan Duryea,” Harmony repeated.
“Dan Duryea what?” Pat asked.
“I slept with him,” Harmony said. “He was the only celebrity I ever slept with. I nearly slept with Rory Calhoun, but I didn’t.”
Pat blinked a couple of times, at that piece of information.
“Wait a minute, maybe I need to clean out my ears,” Pat said. “Didn’t you know Elvis and Frank Sinatra and Liberace and Wayne Newton—and Barry Manilow?” Pat asked.
“Yes, I knew them—at least I met them,” Harmony said.
“Did you go out with any of them?”
“Sometimes they would ask me to eat, after their act,” Harmony said.
“But you never slept with any of them?”
“No,” Harmony said. “They were very busy. The shows took a lot out of them.”
“A lot, but not that much,” Pat said. “How could you go out with Elvis and Frank Sinatra and Barry Manilow and only sleep with Dan Duryea? It doesn’t add up.”
“It doesn’t have to add up, Pat,” Harmony said. “Add up to what?”
“Well, after all, opportunity knocked,” Pat said. “Sounds to me like you would have wanted to answer the door.”
Harmony put her chin on the open windowsill.
“I didn’t, though,” she said. Dusk was falling. The sky to the northwest was like a blue wall, over the far reaches of the Grand Canyon.
Then she saw Neddie and Eddie, walking back toward the car. As they were crossing the observation deck one of the telescopes suddenly became free. All the Japanese who had been looking through the telescopes were busy putting new rolls of film in their cameras. Neddie popped in some quarters, grabbed Eddie, and lifted him up so he could see through the telescope. Eddie looked for several minutes. Then Eddie and Neddie came walking slowly to the car. Eddie had an Evel Knievel souvenir and a small bag of popcorn.
“Here’s your friend, Mom, now you can feed him some more popcorn,” Eddie said. “It isn’t very buttery, though. I hope Evel Knievel doesn’t mind. I asked for extra butter, but the machine ran out.”
“He won’t mind, Eddie,” Harmony said. “Thanks for being so thoughtful.
“I saw you looking through the telescope,” she added. “What did the Grand Canyon look like?”
“Like a very huge blue hole,” Eddie said. “I was hoping it would be yellow, because yellow is my favorite color. But it isn’t yellow. It’s blue.”
“Ever heard of Dan Duryea, Neddie?” Pat asked, as they were driving away.
“Why?” Neddie asked—she was wishing Harmony could find a way, somehow or other, to cheer up.
“Pat, would you just let it drop?” Harmony said.
4.
The only motel in Tuba City that still had a vacancy when they pulled in was called the Heart of America Motel. There was an American flag, in neon, outside it, but lights for several of the stars had flickered out.
“That sign’s a crock of shit,” Pat said. “Why would Tuba City, Arizona, be the heart of America? Tulsa’s the heart of America.”
“Pat, don’t make a scene about it, Eddie’s tired,” Harmony said.
“Tired? He’s out cold,” Neddie said. “He’s been dead to the world for nearly a hundred miles.”
It developed that the Heart of America Motel had only one vacancy.
“Our honeymoon suite,” the manager said. “It’s real spacious. It’ll hold you all.”
“The honeymoon suite?” Pat said. “This is beginning to feel like a bad joke.”
“What’s bad about it?” Neddie inquired, as she carried the sleeping Eddie into the honeymoon suite. “Just call up your fiancé, and see if he’s still interested.”
“At least it’s got a king-sized bed, in case you got married to a king,” Harmony said. Though no one approved, she had been drinking for the last two hundred miles. She thought she might have an easier time making it through the night if she drank a few swallows of bourbon—somehow, between the Grand Canyon and Tuba City, she drank half a bottle.
“It’s okay, Eddie’s asleep,” she told her sisters. “I promise to be sober by the time he wakes up.”
Fortunately Eddie had abandoned his hunger strike, in favor of a Big Mac and fries, at the Grand Canyon McDonald’s.
“French fries are rich in carbohydrates,” he informed his aunts, just before falling asleep.
“What if I do call my fiancé and he is still interested?” Pat asked. She had decided she rather liked the honeymoon suite at the Heart of America Motel. It had its own Jacuzzi, for one thing.
“That would be a start, I guess,” Neddie said.
“A start of what?” Pat asked. “He’s in Tulsa and I’m in Tuba City. Rog has got a big dick but it ain’t that long.”
“Pat, please don’t talk about sex, I’m in mourning,” Harmony said. “Besides that, Eddie might wake up and hear you. He might get confused and think size is everything.”
“Oh, blow it out your ear, Harmony,” Pat said. “Eddie’s five. He wouldn’t know what I was talking about if he did hear me.”
“I still don’t want to take the chance,” Harmony said.
Later, they all three got in the Jacuzzi. Pat went in naked but Harmony and Neddie kept their underwear on, much to Pat’s amusement.
“You two look ridiculous in your undies,” she said. “How come Harmony is the only one in the family with tits?”
“Ask the Lord, he made us all,” Neddie said. “He just done a better job on Harmony than he done on us—don’t ask me why.”
Pat had always openly envied Harmony her figure. Of course, a lot of w
omen envied Harmony her figure. Harmony had once been quite proud of it—after all, it had been her fortune for more than twenty years. But it had stopped feeling like a figure to her—it was just a body that had put on weight. It hadn’t brought her happiness, or even very much love. It hadn’t kept her daughter alive. It wouldn’t be the factor that would allow her to raise her son well, if she managed to raise him well. Men still liked her body because she had wide hips and big breasts—she was comfortable to lie on, evidently. But for Pat to be envious just because Pat herself had small, droopy breasts seemed pretty silly. After all, Pat had all the boyfriends, despite her small, droopy breasts.
Harmony arranged a nice bed for Eddie, on a wide couch. She managed to get him undressed and into his pajamas without waking him. He did open his eyes once and say, “Teresa,” but then he discovered that he had Teresa, his stuffed cow, right in his arms, after which he immediately went back to sleep.
After the Jacuzzi all three sisters lay on the king-sized bed and watched Larry King interview Richard Gere. Richard Gere talked a lot about the Dalai Lama and a little bit about Cindy Crawford, whom he had married.
“Do you think Cindy Crawford’s sincere?” Neddie asked.
“I don’t know, but I think the Dalai Lama is sweet,” Harmony said. “Eddie thinks so too.”
“Don’t tell me—he saw him on the Discovery Channel,” Pat said.
“No, I saw him in Caesars, years ago,” Harmony said. “I was playing keno and saw him walk by.”
“The Dalai Lama was in Caesars?” Pat asked. “Why would he come to Caesars? He’s a living god.”
“I don’t know—a lot of people come to Caesars,” Harmony said. “Eddie saw him on PBS and thought he was very holy.”
“They never put people I’d be interested in on talk shows,” Pat said.
“Who is somebody you’d be interested in?” Neddie inquired.
“Oh, Johnny Wadd or Marilyn Chambers or somebody lively,” Pat said. “I think Johnny Wadd deserves to be on television at least as much as Richard Gere. Richard Gere needs to stay home and be good to Cindy Crawford.”
At that point Eddie popped off the couch, wide awake. He crawled up on the king-sized bed and sat by his mother.
“What place is this, precisely?” Eddie asked.
“Precisely? Why do you need to be so precise at this hour?” Neddie asked.
Eddie shrugged, and smiled his most winning smile.
“Because I’m small,” he said. “Small people need to be precise.”
“Good point,” Pat said. “Some large people could do with a little more precision, for that matter. Namely, my boyfriends.”
“Pat, don’t talk about that, please,” Harmony reminded her. “I told you Eddie might wake up.”
“Nobody answered me,” Eddie pointed out. “What is this place that we’re in and where is my stuffed coatimundi?”
“This is a motel in Tuba City, Arizona,” Harmony told him. “Your stuffed coatimundi is still in the trailer.”
“Coatimundis don’t do well at high altitudes,” Eddie reminded her. “Is this a high altitude?”
“No, but that’s Richard Gere on TV—remember the Dalai Lama?” Harmony asked.
“Yes, are there any more Oreos?” Eddie said.
“If you ask me you eat way too many cookies,” Pat said, after Eddie had hastily crammed four Oreos into his mouth.
“Maybe we ought to call Billy,” Harmony said. “Maybe I ought to call Mom and Dad. Do you think they’re asleep?”
“No, they stay up late—wouldn’t miss Letterman,” Neddie said.
Harmony remembered that it had been nearly twelve years since she had seen her brother, and almost that long since she had seen her father and mother. In a few days they would all be meeting. The thought made her stomach fluttery.
“Sure, call them,” Neddie said. “Call Billy first. People in jail appreciate calls. You never can tell about the old folks. Momma might hang up on you if you interrupted some show she wanted to watch.”
“Oh, I forgot Billy was in jail,” Harmony said.
“Uncle Billy?” Eddie asked.
“That’s right,” Pat said. “Uncle Billy’s been a bad boy, and he’s in the pokey.”
“He’s not a boy,” Eddie reminded her. “I’m a boy. Uncle Billy’s much older than me. I’ve seen his pictures, and not only is he older than me, he’s fat.”
“Well, overweight would be a kinder way of putting it,” Pat said. “Your uncle is a trifle overweight.”
Harmony picked up the phone and started to dial, but then she lost her nerve and put the receiver down.
“You didn’t dial, Mom,” Eddie pointed out.
“I know I didn’t, Eddie,” Harmony said. “I lost my nerve. I’m afraid if I get him I’ll say the wrong thing.”
Neddie picked up the receiver and dialed.
“Peewee, is Billy awake?” she asked, when Peewee Mott, the night jailer in Tarwater, answered the phone.
“Too awake,” Peewee said. “We’re playing Scrabble and he’s winning. Do you think ‘pud’ is a word?”
“No,” Neddie said. “It ain’t a word. Give me Billy. While he’s talking to Harmony maybe you can think up a word that actually is a word.”
“Oh, Billy’s besting Peewee at Scrabble,” Pat said. “If he’s winning he’ll be in a good mood—you know how Billy hates to lose.”
“’Lo,” Billy said, in a cautious voice.
Neddie handed the receiver to Harmony.
“Billy, it’s your sister,” Harmony said. “Your sister Harmony. Are you all right?”
“Right now I am, I’m thirty points ahead,” Billy told her. “But it ain’t a sure thing yet. Sometimes Peewee’s dangerous when he’s behind.”
“Billy, I’m coming home—Eddie’s with me,” Harmony said.
There was a silence on the line.
“Billy, did we get disconnected … hello?” Harmony said.
“No, we ain’t disconnected,” Billy said. “This is big news, honey. I’ve got to sit here and digest it for a minute.”
Then Peewee grabbed the extension.
“How about ‘lud,’ is that a word?” he asked.
“That’s my sister Harmony you’re talking to,” Billy said. “What do you think she is, a dictionary?”
“Hi, Harmony, sorry to interrupt but I’m desperate,” Peewee said. “Billy’s whipping me good but if I just had a three-letter word ending in d with a u before it I’d be on my way to a comeback.”
“Neddie, is ‘lud’ a word? Peewee’s desperate,” Harmony said.
“‘Lud’ ain’t but ‘cud’ is,” Neddie said.
“Forget ‘lud,’ but you could try ‘cud,’ Peewee,” Harmony said.
Eddie was adept at talking on the phone and became restive if conversations went on too long without him being allowed to make a comment or two.
“May I talk to Uncle Billy now?” he asked.
“Eddie, it’s not a good time,” Harmony said. “Uncle Billy needs to concentrate. He’s playing Scrabble with Peewee.”
“Who’s Peewee?” Eddie asked. “We have a Peewee in my class but it’s not his real name.”
While Harmony’s mind was drifting a little, Eddie grabbed the phone.
“Hi, Uncle Billy,” he said. “Are you still fat?”
“Hi, Eddie, I’m still fat,” Billy said. “I hear you’re coming to see me.”
“Yes, my momma moved us,” Eddie said. “Are there still dinosaurs there?”
“No dinosaurs, but lots of squirrels and other varmints,” Billy said.
“Did you murder Batman—is that why you’re in jail?” Eddie asked.
Pat giggled and even Neddie smiled. Harmony was glad Eddie had grabbed the phone. Billy’s voice sounded sad, even though he was winning at Scrabble. It was obvious that Billy was making an effort to be cheerful; Billy reminded her of her friend Jessie, who also often made an effort to be cheerful when she was sad. But, despite the pr
etense, everyone who knew Jessie knew she would never really be cheerful—not unless her luck changed dramatically at some point in her life.
Harmony knew the same was probably true of her brother. He would never really be cheerful, no matter how happy-go-lucky he tried to seem. People who were sad but pretended to be cheerful out of consideration for their friends were heartbreaking, Harmony thought. She herself had been genuinely cheerful for most of her adult life—she rarely had to fake it. She knew it must be painful for people such as Jessie and Billy, who had to fake it day after day and year after year, in order to spare friends or family members the embarrassment of having to deal with a sad friend or family member. It made her heart go out to them, that they would try so hard and be so considerate.
“Eddie, I think Uncle Billy wants to get back to his game with Peewee,” Harmony said, afraid that Billy would be put off by Eddie’s efforts to find out why he was in jail.
“Hey, it’s all right, Eddie,” Billy said. “I didn’t murder Batman. Hurry on over here to Oklahoma—I can’t wait to meet you, and neither can Peewee.”
“Okay, Uncle Billy,” Eddie said. “Watch out for the Joker—he’s very sly.”
Eddie handed the phone back to Harmony.
“I think he ought to lose weight,” Eddie whispered to his mother. “He sounds too fat to me.”
“Well, I guess I’ll let you go, Billy,” Harmony said. “I just wanted to let you know I’m coming.”
“Can’t wait to see you, Sis,” Billy said. “You can visit me in the jailhouse here, pretty much anytime in the day or night.”
“I will if you’re still in, Billy,” Harmony promised. “But maybe they’ll let you out before I get there.”
There was silence on the line.
“No, ‘yud’ ain’t a word,” she heard Billy say. “You need to give up, little buddy.
“Thanks for calling, Sis,” Billy said. “That boy of yours sounds like a character.”
“He is, he’s the light of my life,” Harmony said. “Did you hear about Pepper?”
“I did—that’s real tragic, honey,” Billy said. “I bet she was a fine girl.”
“She was beautiful, Billy, bye,” Harmony said. She felt overcome, hung up, and buried her face in the bedcovers.
The Late Child Page 12
