Pretty Boy Floyd

by Larry McMurtry

  “So does Beulah, for some reason,” Wally Ash said sarcastically, though he little suspected just how much liking his girlfriend had shown Charley that very afternoon.

  “Shush, Wally—Beulah would flirt with a post,” Ma Ash said. “I wasn’t talking to you, I was just wondering why Charley looks so clean after a day’s work.”

  “Got moved into the office,” Charley said. This time, he did have his mouth full, and if questioned further, he was planning to sound as dumb as possible. It occurred to him a second too late that he was just about as dumb as possible: why would the bakery move him into the office after only three weeks on the job?

  “The office?” Ma Ash said, without a trace of a smile. “Why would they do that? You don’t look like a big reader to me.”

  “Well, I subscribe to Police Gazette,” Charley said. It was a lie—he didn’t subscribe to any magazines. But he did buy Police Gazette almost every month; at least he did if he had a dime when he happened to be passing the newsstand.

  “It’s mostly crooks that read Police Gazette,” Ma Ash observed dryly. “They think they’ll learn some trick that will help them stay ahead of the law.” She turned and glared at her two sons.

  Wally and William Ash looked almost like twins, though they had been born a year apart. Both of them had faces like hatchets, kept their hair slicked down, and wore felt hats that smelled of hair oil.

  Wally considered himself engaged to Beulah Baird, and William, not to be outdone, had proposed to her sister Rose several times. Wally had never got Beulah to actually say she’d marry him, but so far as the public knew, they were engaged. If he happened to mention at the dinner table that Beulah was his fiancée, she didn’t deny it, though his saying it didn’t make her any friendlier, either.

  Rose, on the other hand, had turned William Ash down flat several times. She was more interested in Billy Miller, even though Billy Miller seemed more interested in his gun. She went out with William Ash because he had more money and could occasionally be pried loose from some of it.

  While Charley was squirming, Billy Miller was feeding his face. He knew Ma Ash suspected him of criminal activity, and he didn’t plan to give her the slightest reason to quiz him. When Rose came in with a big dish of corn and another of sweet potatoes, Billy kept his eyes on his plate, though his normal habit was to give Rose a wink, or a little smile, if he could do it without William Ash noticing.

  “Shut up!” William Ash said, the minute Rose stepped into the room.

  Everyone, even Ma Ash, was startled by this command, since Rose, who was quiet by nature, hadn’t uttered a sound.

  “Shut up?” Rose said. “I haven’t said a word.”

  William Ash’s fear was that Rose would one day turn into a flirt, like her sister—he was determined to nip any signs of flirting in the bud, so determined that in this instance he nipped before there even was a bud.

  “That’s Rose with the sweet potatoes,” Wally Ash informed him. “That ain’t Beulah—Beulah’s the one who gabs.”

  William ignored his brother, and gave Rose a stern look.

  “Stop lookin’ daggers at me,” Rose said, getting annoyed. “I told you, I ain’t said a word.”

  “Well, don’t,” William said—he was the kid brother. “Wally don’t like no lip from his woman, and that goes for me, too.”

  “If Wally don’t like lip, what’s he keeping company with Beulah for?” Ma Ash inquired. “Beulah’s about three-quarters lip.”

  “She buttons it up when I tell her to, though,” Wally said.

  Charley was trying to stay neutral, hoping everyone would forget about his sudden promotion to office worker, but when Wally made his brag about how well Beulah minded him, he couldn’t help but smile.

  “What are you grinnin’ about, bud?” Wally asked, glaring at him.

  “Why, nothin’,” Charley said. “I always smile when I’m eatin’ first-rate grub, and this is first-rate grub.”

  “Thanks for the compliment,” Ma Ash added. One thing she liked about Charley was that he ate a lot—people who picked at their food annoyed her. She liked a man who would sit down and dig into the meat and the spuds, with no gab. If she had been a few years younger, or Charley a few years older, she would have fired Beulah Baird and hooked up with him herself, which was not to say that she believed a word of his story about the promotion.

  “Ma, I don’t like this clodhopper,” Wally whined.

  “Who asked you to like him? He pays his rent,” Ma Ash said. “If you don’t want to sit at the table with him, go eat in the kitchen.”

  “You oughta kick him out,” Wally said, still glaring at Charley. “Next thing you know, he’ll be flirtin’ with my girl.”

  “Wally, can it!” Ma Ash told him. “I’ll not have roosters fightin’ over hens at my table!”

  Beulah came in from the kitchen just as she said it, a pitcher of buttermilk in one hand, and a plate of fried chicken in the other.

  Charley couldn’t resist a little joke.

  “Ma’am, the only hen I’m interested in is this one I’m eatin’,” he said, holding up a wishbone he had picked clean. Beulah set the buttermilk down, and the next thing Charley knew, she had stepped over and pulled the wishbone with him.

  “Ha, you got the long end, you get to marry first,” Beulah said. “I got the short end, I get to make a wish.”

  “You better make the right wish,” Wally demanded.

  “What if I was to wish you’d drop dead, Wally? Would that be the right wish?” Beulah said. Then she held the platter in front of Charley so he could have his choice before setting it on the table. Charley took a breast and two gizzards; he couldn’t resist gizzards.

  “Why’d you serve him first?” Wally asked. “If you oblige that hick one more time, you’ll be lucky not to get your face slapped.”

  Beulah walked around the table and stuck her face right in front of Wally’s.

  “Slap it now, if you’re gonna slap it, Wally!” she said.

  “Uh, I didn’t mean right now,” Wally said, wishing he’d never uttered the remark.

  “I’ll slap her,” William Ash said—he was appalled that his brother hadn’t risen to such a blatant challenge.

  “I’m too much of a gentleman to hit a gal over a piece of chicken,” Wally said. “That’s kid stuff.”

  “Kid stuff?” William said. “She’s askin’ for it.”

  Charley agreed with that appraisal. Beulah was practically asking to be knocked on her butt.

  “Ma, she’s slackin’,” Wally said, trying to put the best face on the matter that he could. “Tell her to go bring the pie.”

  Beulah straightened up, and took off her apron. But she kept her eyes on Wally.

  “You should have smacked me, kiddo,” she said. “I doubt you’ll ever be in slappin’ distance again.”

  She handed the apron to Mother Ash, and marched out of the room. Wally turned red in the face, jumped up, and followed her. Billy Miller caught Charley’s eye, but Charley kept on eating, as if nothing had happened. It was obvious that Beulah Baird could take care of herself, at least if Wally Ash was all she had to contend with.

  “I hope he whups her,” William said, trying to be loyal. He didn’t believe it would happen, though, and neither did anyone else at the table.

  Mother Ash had no interest in her son’s squabble with his girlfriend. If Wally and Beulah broke up, so much the better. She meant to keep her boys for herself, even if Wally was a lying little coward and William as dumb as a brick. Beulah Baird was nothing but trouble on two legs, in her view.

  The flowered wallpaper in her boarding house might be peeling in a place or two, but her mind wasn’t peeling. She saw Billy Miller throw Charley a look about the time Wally went hurrying out of the room after Beulah. Something about Charley Floyd’s face made her feel motherly toward him; and at the same time, not so motherly.

  “I’d give Billy Miller a detour if I was you, Charley,” Ma Ash told him. “He’s
the kind of fella that burns oatmeal.”

  “Burns oatmeal?” Charley asked. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means he’ll lead you to trouble, but when the trouble shows up, he won’t be smart enough to get you out of it,” Ma Ash said.

  “Say, why are you pickin’ on me?” Billy asked, severely stung. “Ain’t I always paid my rent on time?”

  “I didn’t say you was a bad boarder,” Ma Ash told him. “I just said you burn oatmeal.”

  6

  After supper, Charley and Billy sat on the front steps for a while, smoking. While they were smoking, Rose and Willy came tramping down the steps and headed for Sligger’s Dance Hall, a few blocks away.

  They could smell Rose’s perfume for a moment, until the September breeze wafted it away.

  “I don’t see why anybody’d go out with a lug wrench like Willy,” Charley said.

  “Money,” Billy replied. “I’d bet two bits he bought her that perfume.”

  Billy was in a low mood because of Ma Ash’s insult. Seeing Rose go off with Willy didn’t do much to lift his mood.

  “Well, you got more money now than he’s got,” Charley reminded him. “Go buy her a bigger bottle.”

  “I’m the best dancer in St. Louis, and here I am, sittin’ on the porch with you,” Billy said. In moments of discouragement, he could think of many solid reasons for feeling sorry for himself.

  “I guess Beulah quit her job,” Charley said. “That’ll take half the fun out of supper.”

  Charley didn’t like being around folks in low moods. Melancholy was like quicksand to Charley—if he got too close, he’d slip down into it himself.

  “How come you know so much about robbin’ armored trucks?” Charley asked him. He thought if he changed the subject, Billy’s humor might return. Billy didn’t talk much, but he sure liked gabbing about himself.

  “When I was first startin’ out, me and my buddy Eugene’s first and last robbery was an armored truck. Why rob a bank when all the money’s drug around in those trucks, I remember Eugene tellin’ me. I was young and dumb, he was older than me and had spent time down in the Booneville Boys’ Home, so I figured he’d been around.” Billy paused to light a cigarette.

  “Well, one morning we headed downtown, waited across the street from the First National Bank until it was light, and up pulls this big armored truck. Before I knew what was goin’ on, Eugene ran across the street, yellin’ at the driver to get out and hand over the cash.”

  “Sounds like the nervous type,” Charley observed.

  “Yeah, he had a callus on his thumb big as a walnut. Eugene was always snappin’ his fingers—the more nervous he got, the more he’d snap,” Billy told him. “Anyway, I took one step off the curb, when the back door of the truck swings open, and out jumps a guard with his gun pulled.”

  “What’d you do?” Charley asked.

  “Hell, I turned and ran. Eugene was thinkin’ the driver was the only fella guardin’ all that money. That’s how come I knew there’d be somebody in the back of that truck with the Kroger payroll,” Billy said, smugly.

  Charley’s strategy worked; Billy was back to being his arrogant self.

  “I thought you was goin’ to Oklahoma to see your wife,” Billy said. Having Charley living on the same floor as him made Billy nervous. Charley had told him about picking the lock on his hometown post office and making off with $350 worth of pennies. Then Charley had got scared and threw the pennies into a cistern, not two hours before the Feds showed up at the Floyd farm looking for him. If Charley could break into a post office, he could also break into a room at the Ash boarding house. Billy might saunter down the hall to the crapper some morning, and come back to find his money gone.

  “Are you tryin’ to run me off because you’re scared I’ll rob you?” Charley asked, remembering his own worries about Billy robbing him.

  “If you’re such a good lockpick, why couldn’t you?” Billy asked. Charley wasn’t looking too friendly—spells of unfriendliness came on him real quick.

  “I didn’t say I couldn’t,” Charley pointed out. “I could break into your room in about three seconds, if I was in a hurry.”

  “That’s why I’m worried,” Billy said. “I ain’t good with my hands, like you. I doubt I could pick a lock if I had a week.”

  “I doubt it, too—this morning, you couldn’t even find the front end of the car,” Charley said. “I could rob you, but I ain’t going to, and you best believe that if you wanna pull any more jobs with me.”

  “Who says I’d pull any more jobs with you?” Billy said, getting mad. “You just got here. I’m the one who knows how things work, remember?”

  “Yeah, but I’m the one tied up both guards,” Charley reminded him. “You probably woulda tied one of your feet in with one of the guards’ and the next thing you know, you’d be caught.”

  “That wasn’t what we was talkin’ about,” Billy said. “Why wouldn’t you rob me?”

  “Because I wouldn’t rob nobody I run with,” Charley said. “I never will. Your money’s as safe as if it was in a bank, unless one of the Ash brothers finds it.”

  “How about the old lady—she’s got keys to all the rooms,” Billy said. “I wouldn’t put much past the old lady.”

  “If you got the fidgets, move out,” Charley told him.

  “I think I will,” Billy said. “What about you?”

  Charley grinned. “I’ll stay put till I see how much fur Beulah scratches off Wally.”

  7

  Charley had had a few surprises in his time, but none that quite matched the one he got the next morning, when Ma Ash walked up to him in the second-floor hall and started unbuttoning his trousers.

  Charley was so shocked, he didn’t say a word. At first, he thought she must be searching him for dope; Billy Miller had told him she was strict about dope.

  But Ma Ash soon found what she was looking for, and it wasn’t dope. Charley still had his comb in his hand. He had just finished combing his hair; he had been meaning to walk over to Beulah’s place to see if she was up. He was feeling pretty starchy, but he sure hadn’t expected to get his pants unbuttoned right outside the door of his room by Ma Ash, his landlady.

  “Let’s have a look at this ear of corn we got here,” Ma Ash said, leading him back into his room. She’d had a wakeful night, and decided toward the end of it that motherly was not how she felt about Charley Floyd. Leon Light, her regular stiff, had been off in Paducah, Kentucky, for two months, visiting his sister and playing dominoes.

  Ma Ash was a woman of decision, and her opinion of Leon Light was straightforward: if he’d rather be over in Kentucky playing dominoes, let him. Charley Floyd had a restless eye and might be gone any day. Also, he was stout-built, and stout-built men had always appealed to her more than the skinny sort.

  “Can you get undressed, or are you paralyzed?” she asked, as she shoved Charley into his room and latched the door behind them.

  “Ma’am, I didn’t expect you,” Charley said, endeavoring to be polite.

  “Let me tell you a secret about screwing women,” Ma Ash said.

  “What?” Charley replied, even more shocked—he had never heard a woman use such a word.

  “Don’t go off in the mornin’ with your shoelaces tied in double knots—not if you’re gonna wear them lace-up shoes,” Ma Ash said, hiking her dress. “I could read three newspapers while you’re getting them shoes untied, and I didn’t come upstairs to read newspapers.”

  Charley never got his shoes untied, and never got undressed, either. He lost control of his fate. At first, he thought it might be bad luck, but pretty soon he decided it was good luck, and ceased to regret that he hadn’t made it over to Beulah’s.

  He blinked a few times, and when he woke up, Ma Ash was sitting with her legs across him, smoking a cigar. That surprised him, too: she didn’t allow smoking at her dinner table.

  “This ain’t the dining room,” she said, when he mentioned this inconsistenc
y. Charley thought it was pretty odd that he was in bed with a woman whose hair was mostly grey, but he kept the thought to himself. At the dinner table, Ma Ash kept her hair in a bun, but she had let it down, and it was long and wild. From behind the smoke of her cigar, Charley could see her dark eyes watching him. He decided she was a little scary. Probably the thing to do was wait long enough to be polite, and then head for Oklahoma. He had no doubt that Ma Ash was way ahead of him when it came to smarts. Billy Miller might be right: she might have her eye on the cash.

  “Whereabouts in Oklahoma do you live?” Ma Ash inquired. She knew she had scared the boy, which amused her. He was the kind of pretty boy she could get real sweet on, if she let herself. But in this instance, she didn’t plan to let herself, pleased though she had been by his stout build.

  “’Round Sallisaw,” he told her. He had just awakened from a short nap and still had sleep in his voice, like a little child.

  “A place that size is too small for you, Charley,” Ma Ash said. “There ain’t enough to think about in them small towns. Fighting with your family is about all there is to do.”

  Charley had to admit she had a point. There was certainly a lot more to think about in St. Louis than there had been in Sallisaw. Robbing the Kroger Bakery was a big thing to think about, and Beulah Baird was something to think about, not to mention the woman sitting with her legs across his, smoking her cigar.

  In Sallisaw, there was Ruby and Dempsey to think about—them, and plowing—and he didn’t derive any pleasure from thinking about plowing. Even if he had liked plowing, which he didn’t, he’d never be able to plow well enough to please his father, Walter Floyd. The fact was, he could never do anything well enough to please Walter Floyd.

  “Tell me about office work,” Ma Ash said, smiling at him. She looked younger when she smiled—almost pretty.

  Charley felt it was a good time to be cautious. He had no intention of telling the truth, but he wasn’t wide awake enough to figure out a good lie, and he knew it.