Texasville

by Larry McMurtry

  She got up, walked around the bed, and pulled the curtain back from the window. It was around a hundred and six degrees outside—the landscape was gray-white with heat.

  “Italy’s no place to do that kind of laundry,” she said, sitting back down. She offered him a sip of her wine, but he shook his head.

  “Too pretty?” he asked.

  “Too responsive,” Jacy said. “There’s too much that tempts you to love.”

  She looked at him—not angrily—and then out the window again.

  “I just wanta wash my clothes, and I came to the right place to do it,” she said. “This place looks exactly like I feel—dirty, bleak, hot and empty. There’s no discrepancy between what I see outside and what’s swirling around in the washer—which is good.”

  Duane started to put his arm around her but decided against it.

  “Go pay your wife some attention,” Jacy said. She leaned off the bed and began to rummage through the compact disks.

  “Anyway, I love you,” he said, standing up to go. Immediately, he regretted saying it. He expected a cold response, or else an angry one, but Jacy, her hands filled with compact disks, just looked quizzical.

  “Anyway, you love me?” she said. “What does the anyway mean?”

  Duane didn’t know what to say. What had he meant, by putting it that way? Why had he said it at all? He was not sure it was even true. His life was already too complicated—he didn’t really want to love her or have her in love with him. But the words had popped out.

  “Anyway, I love you,” Jacy said, testing the statement thoughtfully. “Anyway I love you. Anyway I love you. Anyway, I love you.”

  Duane felt profoundly silly, but was relieved, at least, that he hadn’t made her angry.

  “We’ve got quite a few possibilities to choose from here, haven’t we, honey pie?” Jacy said. “I guess I’ll have to ponder them for a while. I’m too tired to choose right now.”

  She stood up, yawning, and waved with her hand for him to go. When he left she closed the door behind him.

  CHAPTER 88

  DUANE EXPECTED TO FIND KARLA DESOLATE, BUT instead found her cheerful. She sat at her dressing table, writing furiously on a note pad. He flopped on the waterbed, feeling discouraged. Why was he going around telling women he loved them just because he liked them? Wasn’t there a difference?

  “What’s the matter with you now?” Karla asked.

  Duane didn’t answer. He bobbed on the waterbed for a while. Mainly he felt an urge to go out to the rig and not come back, but for the moment he was too tired to convert his feelings into action.

  Karla continued to write, glancing over at him from time to time.

  “Duane, it’s hard to concentrate when you’re in such a bad mood,” she said.

  “What makes you think I’m in a bad mood?” he asked.

  Karla put down her pen and came and sat on the bed. She had a lively look in her eye. Duane was afraid he knew what it meant. He felt gloomy and doubtful. Why must she always be so energized when he felt too tired to lift a hand in his own defense?

  “Let’s try making love,” Karla said, beginning to unbutton his pants. “I wanta see if we can get to three thousand and one.”

  “Not a chance,” Duane said. “We’d just get to three thousand and a half.”

  “That’s fine, as long as I’m the half that gets off,” Karla said, pulling her T-shirt over her head.

  Duane put a pillow on his face.

  “I read an article that said some men are scared of tits,” Karla said. “Maybe that’s your whole problem.”

  “It’s not my whole problem, or any part of my problem,” Duane said.

  “You could be scared of tits and not want to admit it,” Karla said. She continued to work at the buttons on his jeans, winced and looked ruefully at a bent fingernail.

  “Now look what you’ve done, Duane,” she said. “I’ve asked you a million times to buy those Levi’s with zippers.”

  “I always forget,” Duane said.

  Karla got off the bed. Duane peeped over his pillow, expecting her to go tend to her wounded fingernail. Instead, she finished undressing. She stood by the bed, her panties in one hand, as if debating with herself. Then she grabbed the pillow he had been peeping over and dropped her panties on his face. Duane immediately threw them on the floor.

  “You could have sniffed once or twice,” Karla said. “It said in an article I read that the smell of women’s undergarments is very exciting to most men.”

  “You read too much,” Duane said. He felt slightly less tired, though. It was interesting to see what lengths Karla would go to in order to get what she wanted. There was something appealing about her determination. He had once been every bit as determined where she was concerned, and she had been the hesitant one.

  He put the pillow under his head, rather than over his face. Then he noticed something odd: Karla didn’t seem to have as much pubic hair as she had had the last time he looked.

  “What happened to you?” he asked.

  “I shaved,” Karla said. She bent over him and carefully finished unbuttoning his pants. Then she hurried over to her dressing table and scribbled a sentence or two more, before returning to the bed. Duane looked again at her pubis. She had definitely shaved. She still had some pubic hair, but not much.

  “Why’d you do that?” he asked.

  “Boredom,” Karla said. “I just did it one day in the bathtub.”

  “Oh,” Duane said.

  Karla got another pillow and put it over his feet. Then she lay on top of him, her head at his feet and her heels beside his head. She wiggled a little, getting comfortable, and then she just lay there.

  “Karla, did you read about this in Playgirl?” he asked. “Did some writer think your husband would get wildly excited if you lay on top of him?”

  “Are you wildly excited, Duane?” she asked.

  “I’m totally squashed,” Duane said.

  “I partly shaved out of boredom but it was partly because I bought one of those bathing suits like Nellie has,” Karla said. “Those bathing suits barely hide your pussy.”

  “I’ve noticed that,” Duane said.

  “I don’t get along too well with Nellie,” Karla said. “I guess I’m jealous because she’s young and beautiful and has all those boyfriends chasing her and I’m old and don’t even have you chasing me.”

  “I might chase you if I wasn’t squashed,” Duane remarked.

  “I wish I knew what other women were like in bed,” Karla said, lifting one leg briefly in order to scratch a chigger bite on her calf. “I used to have confidence that I was as interesting as anybody but now I’ve lost my confidence. Maybe there are women who are twice as interesting. Ever since I had that thought my mind hasn’t been at rest.”

  “I don’t want you wearing one of those bathing suits like Nellie has,” Duane said.

  “Why not?”

  “It wouldn’t hide enough,” he said.

  “You sleep with other women and you could tell me if I’m as interesting but you never say a word that would put my mind at rest,” Karla said.

  “You aren’t listening,” Duane said, a little annoyed. “I told you those bikinis like Nellie wears don’t hide enough.”

  “That’s just a matter of point of view,” Karla said.

  “I’m looking right at what one would have to hide and I’m telling you it wouldn’t hide enough, not for a woman your age,” Duane said.

  He looked straight up his wife’s body, between her breasts, and met her eyes. Karla looked quizzical, as Jacy had when he told her he loved her anyway.

  “Oh,” Karla said. “Now that you’ve fucked it three thousand times and had four nice babies out of it, you want me to hide it. Is that right, Duane? Nellie’s your own daughter but just because she’s young you don’t care if she shows hers off.”

  “I never have been crazy about her showing it off,” he said, rolling out from under her.

  “
No, but it don’t offend you, it’s just looking at my old one that she came out of that offends you,” Karla said.

  She started to roll off the bed but Duane caught her.

  “It don’t offend me one bit,” Duane said. He had caught her just on the edge of the bed and was trying to pull her back into the center but the waterbed exerted a kind of suction and it wasn’t easy. The two of them were wedged against the side of the bed.

  “Duane, don’t lie, you’re just trying to be nice because you know I’m upset,” Karla said.

  “I’m not trying to be nice, I’m trying to fuck you but I’m stuck to this stupid waterbed,” he said.

  “It’s not good sexual ethics to pretend you want to fuck your wife just because you were rude and insensitive and upset her,” Karla said, still trying to crawl out of the bed.

  “Sexual what?” Duane asked.

  “Sexual ethics,” Karla said. “Didn’t you see that paperback I had called Sexual Ethics? I left it in the bathroom and it disappeared. I thought you might be reading it.”

  Duane managed to kiss her, something he had not done in he couldn’t remember when. It was a novel and pleasant sensation, partly because Karla opened her mouth to continue her discussion of sexual ethics just as they kissed. She had clearly not expected to be kissed, and reacted hesitantly, ready to go on with the conversation if he stopped.

  “You’re not supposed to make it seem like a favor,” she said, during a break in the kiss.

  “Karla, it’s not a favor,” he said, annoyed both by the waterbed and her reluctance to believe that his desire was sincere. Then he became annoyed with himself for not having heeded her advice to buy Levi’s with zippers. The waterbed exerted such suction that it was almost impossible to undress. He had to get off it to struggle out of his pants. He remembered what Jacy had said about the swirling inside her, a hot swirling and a cold. He felt an unusual swirling too and was afraid it would stop too soon. Memories of his joyful youth with Karla got mixed with his anxiety.

  “Gosh, that was an intense orgasm, thanks, Duane,” Karla said, later. Her doubts about his sincerity were gone—she was rubbing cream on his lower abdomen, which had been slightly chafed by a particularly bristly area of her newly shaven pubis.

  “It wasn’t a favor and you’re not supposed to thank me,” Duane said. “Didn’t that book teach you anything?”

  “What book?” she asked nonchalantly.

  “The one on sexual ethics,” he said.

  “Oh, I didn’t read it. Why would I need to read it?” she said.

  “To learn about sexual ethics, I guess,” he said.

  Karla lifted her breasts and rubbed a little deodorant under them.

  “I got good sexual ethics, they’re instinctive,” she said. “Do unto others whatever you can get them to do unto you. I bought that book for you to read, but I bet the twins stole it.”

  He decided one reason he had stayed married to Karla was because she was the one woman he could sleep with and not feel depressed later. She was at her most delightful after a little sex. There was no telling what she would say or do, postcoitum—not that there was much telling at any other time. He decided he must be crazy for not making love to her more often.

  He had been feeling relaxed and virtuous, but the thought that the twins would soon be embarking on their sex lives caused his sense of virtue to tail off a little.

  “I’m not ready to think about the twins’ sex lives just yet,” he said.

  “Which had you least rather think about, the twins’ sex lives or how much money you owe?” Karla asked.

  Out the window Duane could see the twins, who were in the pool. For once they were not trying to drown one another. They were even taking turns diving. Both of them dove beautifully. They seemed very young, but there was no getting around the fact that Jack was constantly stealing oils and creams from Karla’s dressing table, to be used in secret practices.

  “Once those two get into sex lives we won’t have no youngsters anymore,” Duane said.

  “That’s right,” Karla said. She looked out the window at the twins. He couldn’t tell from her face whether her thoughts were happy or sad. She poured a little more cream in her hand and rubbed it on his abdomen.

  “What’ll we do then?” Karla asked.

  “Shave ourselves in the bathtub, I guess,” Duane said.

  Karla smiled serenely.

  “You think we’ll even be together?” she asked.

  “Didn’t we just start our comeback?” he said.

  Karla twisted around to try and see a mole that grew on the back of her arm, high up.

  “Yes, Duane, it was a real sexy comeback,” she said.

  “So why wouldn’t we be together?”

  Karla went to her table and got a mirror. She held it so she could get a better look at her mole.

  “One little sexy comeback don’t mean you can say for sure,” she said. “You put some of me at peace but you haven’t said a word that would put my mind at peace.”

  Duane tried to think of a lie about sexual skills that might put her mind at peace. He couldn’t think of one. Karla had always been appealing sexually. She had also always been generous and competent. He would have considered her more or less without peer had he not stumbled into bed with Suzie Nolan, whose qualities in that sphere were on a level beyond competence. But of course, Suzie was new. He had only slept with her a few times—not thousands of times, as he had with Karla. It was not fair to compare them. If he continued with Suzie for twenty years she might cease to seem so advanced.

  “Penny for your thoughts, Duane,” Karla said, returning to the bed.

  Duane decided not to launch into any lies. That would just destroy what was left of his sense of virtue. He wrenched himself loose from the waterbed and picked up his Levi’s.

  “I wish you’d go get that mole taken off,” he said. “That would sure help my peace of mind.”

  CHAPTER 89

  JACY TOOK ADVANTAGE OF THE FACT THAT IT WAS their last performance to vamp up the Adam and Eve skit. Instead of languorously eating an apple, she sidled up to him and kissed him. Duane was deeply ill at ease and embarrassed, though the crowd went wild.

  “My God, you’re stodgy,” Jacy said, when the skit was over. “I was just updating my homecoming queen kiss. I figure I should get to kiss you in the rodeo arena at least once every thirty years.”

  The people continued to cheer as they walked off the field, but Duane didn’t care. He was sick of the pageant, the centennial, the crowds of people. He listened to the women rock through the “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” and then got in his pickup and headed for the lake. Shorty, who had been snoozing in the pickup, was happy to be going along.

  He got to the boat dock a few minutes before sunset, only to discover that his boat was gone. A red Porsche was parked on the dock.

  Duane felt annoyed. Dickie was supposed to let him know if he wanted to borrow the boat. He loved being on the lake just after sunset and felt frustrated at having to mope around on land. He got in the pickup and honked his horn for several minutes, hoping Dickie would get the message. Then he began to get his fishing tackle together. He felt in the mood to lay a trot line and had bought plenty of bait.

  The western reaches of the lake were already in shadow, and he couldn’t spot the boat. He walked along the shoreline and cast a time or two with a plug to pass the time. With the sun down, the surface of the lake was silvery—he enjoyed watching the wiggling plug as he reeled in the line. He wasn’t really expecting a strike, and was surprised when a fish hit the line—a fish with some fight, too, judging from the zing of the line. He was just about to start playing the bass when he heard Dickie laugh. A second later he heard a splash that was too large to be a fish. Duane looked up and saw his boat. It had drifted out of the shadows, forty yards away. The splash had been Dickie diving overboard. He was swimming rapidly toward the dock. A woman wearing only a shirt—Duane saw that it was Suzie—stood in the boat
, bending over the motor. A second later it started and she turned the boat slowly toward the dock, staying a good distance behind the swimmer.

  Duane forgot his fish until it was too late. The line went slack. He was in shadow himself—Suzie hadn’t seen him. The boat putted past, only a few yards away, just as Dickie climbed out on the dock. Suzie smiled when she saw Dickie, a smile so deeply pleased that Duane wished he was on the other side of the lake, or perhaps on another planet.

  Though it was only a glimpse of a woman’s smile, seen in the evening light, it was to haunt Duane for months and years. Suzie, smiling in the motorboat, played over and over again, like a few frames from a film, in waking and sleeping dreams throughout his life. It was the most compelling look he was ever to see on a woman’s face, a look of keen and hungry happiness, drawn from no common level of affection or satisfaction. It was to become his image of what love was—images from his own experience quickly blurred by comparison. Shorty, who had been nervously pacing along the shore, came and stood close to him, ignoring several frogs.

  Dickie, at whom the smile was directed, either didn’t see it or was not particularly struck by it. He waited on the dock a little impatiently, eager for Suzie to dock the boat.

  Duane saw Suzie handing Dickie their clothes and an ice chest. While they were clearing the boat he tiptoed deeper into the shadows. For the second time that evening he felt deeply embarrassed, without quite knowing why. In an age of backyard hot tubs, skinny-dipping was no big deal. It never had been a big deal.

  It was not their nakedness that had struck him to the heart—yet something had. He squatted by the lake, listening to the occasional frog plop into the water, remembering how Suzie Nolan had smiled at his son. Had any woman ever smiled at him that way? Perhaps Karla had, at some point in their lives, and he, like Dickie, had missed it.