Pretty Boy Floyd

by Larry McMurtry

  “Mostly I move boxes,” he said, finally.

  “Oh, can it!” Ma Ash said. “They wouldn’t let a hick like you in an office if you was totin’ a desk, and you ain’t been totin’ no desks, not in the last day or two.”

  “I’ve been poorly this week,” Charley said, trying to think fast. “They let me have two days off.”

  He was determined not to mention the crime if he could help it, but before he could make up his next lie, he got another surprise: Ma Ash slapped him in the face, and it was no love pat, either. She gave him the kind of slap Wally Ash would have given Beulah Baird if he had been brave enough.

  “You got to learn to lie a lot better, if you hope to be a crook,” Ma Ash said. “You’re in the big city now—this ain’t Sallisaw.”

  Charley’s cheek was stinging. Ma Ash had smacked him the way his mother used to, if she happened to find a beer bottle under his mattress.

  He decided Ma Ash might be dangerous, and that his best move would be to say as little as possible. She was right about St. Louis not being at all like Sallisaw, though. In Sallisaw, older women didn’t walk up to him in a hall and start unbuttoning his pants. Younger women didn’t either, for that matter. Not that it hadn’t been exciting—once he got home, he thought he might encourage Ruby to be bolder. Of course, he would have to be careful not to give her a hint as to how he had learned about such goings-on.

  “I guess I never had much to lie about before,” Charley conceded. “Beer drinkin’s about all there is to lie about back home.”

  “You’ve got plenty to lie about now, though,” Ma Ash told him. “There’s the Kroger job, and there’s Beulah, and now there’s me.”

  “What about Beulah?” Charley asked, pretending he hadn’t heard her mention the Kroger job.

  Ma Ash shook her head, located her underpants, and got up off the bed.

  “You’re cute, Charley,” she said. “But I’ve had lots of cute. What I find hard to tolerate in my old age is bullheadedness. If you’re gonna be a big-city crook, you need a better partner than Billy Miller. If Billy had an umbrella and it was coming a downpour, you’d have to remind him to open the umbrella, or he’d drown.”

  “He does get flustered,” Charley admitted.

  “I’ll say he does,” Ma Ash said. “When you’re pulling a heist, you need a partner that’s steady. Otherwise, you could end up in Jeff City for about ten years, and cute won’t get you nothing in Jeff City.”

  “What’s in Jeff City?” Charley inquired.

  “The Missouri State Pen,” Ma Ash told him. “The next time you decide to rob an armored car, look me up. I’ll show you how to do it smooth, so the guards won’t even get a look at you.”

  Big-city life was certainly different, Charley thought. His landlady, who was forty if she was a day, was standing by the bed with her underpants in her hand, volunteering to be his partner in crime. She made him nervous, but despite that, he had an urge to take her up on it. She certainly looked competent. The problem was, she was so far ahead of him. If they did a job together, she might take all the money and lock him in an armored car or something.

  Ma Ash was starting to appeal to him, though: one minute he’d feel the appeal, and the next minute, if he happened to look her in the eye, he wished he had slipped out sooner and hotfooted it over to Beulah’s, where life was simpler.

  “You better skedaddle home, bud,” Ma told him. “Don’t spend none of that money till you get at least to K.C., either. If you do, the cops will be on you like flies on a turd.”

  “That’s what the guard said,” Charley replied, startled.

  “You should’ve conked that old son-of-a-bitch the second he stepped out of the cab,” Ma told him. “He’ll be the one to send you to the pen, if they nab you—or maybe I should say, when.”

  To his amazement, Ma Ash leaned over and gave him a hard kiss.

  “Next time you want your corn shucked by a real shucker, come back and see me, honey,” she said. Then she went out the door, her underpants still in her hand.

  8

  The Studebaker was robin’s-egg blue, with white leather interior and whitewall tires. It was the prettiest car on the showroom floor. Every time he could think of an excuse to walk down to Kingshighway Boulevard, Charley took a look at it.

  Then he started walking past the Studebaker showroom even if he didn’t have an excuse, just to look at the car. Lots of nights he dreamed about Ruby and her long legs; but the night after the holdup, he dreamed about the Studebaker. It began to swell up in his mind until he could hardly think of anything else.

  The summer he and Ruby got married, Pear’s Department Store in Sallisaw had put a beautiful white suit in the window. Charley stopped in front of Pear’s to admire the suit so many times that Ruby finally got mad at him.

  “If that suit was a girl, you wouldn’t be welcome to keep gawkin’ at her,” Ruby said. Then she jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. The jab took him by surprise, since most of the time Ruby was easy to get along with. She did have a Cherokee temper, though—she rarely blazed up, but she could sure smolder.

  “It’s just a suit of clothes, why can’t I look at it?” he asked.

  Ruby didn’t answer, but she kept on smoldering for the rest of the day.

  Beulah Baird was nothing like Ruby when it came to window-shopping. Beulah liked nothing better than to wander through the stores, making lists of things some man might buy her someday. She kept the lists in the top drawer of her bureau. The name of the store where the goodies were was penciled in neatly at the top of each page. The afternoon after his visit with Ma Ash, Charley paid Beulah a call, and she showed him her lists. After all, he’d bought her a thirty-dollar bracelet for starters; there might be better things to come. Beulah had told Charley how when she was a little girl, she used to go through the wish books, marking all the items she would order if she just had the money. Wandering through the stores was like looking through those catalogs, only better, since everything was real and right there in front of her.

  What Ma Ash called “screwing,” Beulah referred to as “fussin’.” After she and Charley had fussed a little, Charley amused himself by pretending he was going to buy Beulah this or that from each of the lists. Even though she knew he was probably lying, Beulah’s eyes lit up at the idea of presents.

  “Goin’-away presents,” Charley reminded her. “I got to hit the road.”

  “What have you got to hit the road with, other than them two big feet?” Beulah inquired.

  “A new Studebaker,” Charley said.

  “Baloney and macaroni,” Beulah told him. “If you’ve got a new Studebaker, where’s it parked?”

  “On Kingshighway Boulevard,” Charley said.

  “Then why ain’t we in it, takin’ a ride?” Beulah asked him.

  Something about the way Beulah asked that question put Charley on his mettle. He had been tempted to march into the showroom and price the car several times. All that had stopped him was his shabby clothes—he knew he looked too country to be pricing Studebakers.

  That was all about to change, though. His new gabardine suit was waiting for him at the tailor’s. He had bought a nice white shirt and a swell red tie to go with it, and he had been unable to resist a pair of black leather gloves.

  “Soon as I run an errand, I’ll be callin’ my chauffeur,” Charley said, grinning, as he pulled on his socks.

  “You’re a liar, and you know it,” Beulah said. “You don’t own no Studebaker car.”

  “Who says I don’t?” Charley said. “When you get tired of bein’ naked, put on a dress. I’ll come by, and we can take a spin before supper.”

  “If you can afford Studebakers, why bother with supper?” Beulah asked. “I quit my job last night, or did that slip your mind?”

  “Maybe you did, but I still got to eat,” Charley informed her.

  “You don’t have to eat at that old hag’s boarding house—not if you can afford Studebakers,” Beulah remarked. “
I’ll dress up, and we can go to Sala’s over on Dago Hill—it’s a real nice place.”

  “Well, what’ll we eat?” Charley asked, feeling nervous all of a sudden. He had heard there were restaurants so fancy a fella needed a college diploma just to read the menu.

  “How about champagne first?” Beulah asked. “We’ll worry about food after we see how drunk we get.”

  “I wouldn’t mind some champagne right now,” Charley said.

  He had a feeling that life was speeding up—he had five thousand dollars in cash, two girlfriends, some dandy new clothes—why not have a Studebaker, too? It was a new life he was living. In his Oklahoma life, it would take him a year just to earn what his suit cost. In his Oklahoma life, it would take him ten years to accumulate enough cash to buy a Studebaker, even if he saved every cent he made.

  But he wasn’t in Oklahoma; he was in St. Louis, in Beulah Baird’s bedroom. What was real in Oklahoma and what was real in St. Louis was two different reals. In Oklahoma, he had a beautiful, long-legged wife and a fat, happy little baby boy, but his days were spent plowing dusty furrows behind a skinny-assed mule. In St. Louis, he had new clothes, a brash girlfriend, and could go out and drink champagne if he wanted. Why not have a robin’s-egg-blue Studebaker, too? All it took was cash, and he had cash.

  Even so, nice as he looked in his new suit and white shirt and red tie, his knees were shaking when he finally got up the nerve to walk into the Studebaker showroom on Kingshighway Boulevard. It was like going into a restaurant so fancy that he didn’t have enough education to read the menu. What if he asked the wrong question, and they spotted him for a rube? What if he embarrassed himself so much they refused to sell him the car? Beulah was already primping for their big night; if he showed up without the Studebaker, she would laugh in his face and go make up with Wally Ash.

  “Twelve hundred smackeroos,” the salesman said, when Charley worked up his nerve and priced the robin’s-egg-blue Studebaker.

  “Admire your suit,” he added, feeling the sleeve of Charley’s coat. “Can’t afford gabardine myself, but I know it when I see it.”

  The salesman, a short fellow, had a moustache so bushy he had to tilt his head back a little and breathe out of his mouth to get enough air.

  “Of course, we have cheaper models,” he said.

  “I’m not shoppin’ for a flivver,” Charley informed him. “This car’s for my wife, she likes blue.”

  “You’re in luck then, mister,” the salesman said, tilting his head back slightly. “We ain’t had a car this blue since April. What part of Oklahoma do you come from?”

  “Sallisaw,” Charley said, startled.

  “I knew it wasn’t Ardmore,” the salesman told him. “Down ’round Ardmore, they pick up that Texas drawl.”

  Charley would never have thought that he’d fork over twelve hundred dollars for anything in his life; a week earlier, it would never have occurred to him that he’d ever have twelve hundred dollars cash money to fork over. It was scary how quick everything could change, but it was also exciting, kind of like the first dip on the big roller coaster he had ridden when he was fifteen, and had hitchhiked to the state fair in Oklahoma City.

  Beulah Baird would be so excited when she saw him drive up in the new car, she would practically fly out the window. She might want some “fussin’” right then, and if she didn’t, she would undoubtedly welcome it later, after they drank a few bottles of champagne.

  Charley decided the salesman’s comment about Oklahoma accents was an insult. What right did a car salesman have to be making remarks about how people in Ardmore talked? Charley would have liked to grab him by the moustache and hoist him off the ground, but instead, he did the next best thing, which was to peel off twenty-four fifty-dollar bills, and buy the blue car.

  The salesman didn’t bat an eye.

  “I doubt there’s a prettier car in the whole state of Oklahoma,” he said, handing Charley a receipt.

  “Chicago’s my destination,” Charley replied.

  9

  Ruby was putting a fresh diaper on Dempsey, when she heard the door open behind her. She thought it was her mother, coming over to help her do a load of wash. She was already soaking all Dempsey’s diapers in the big washtub out back.

  “Ma, would you hold Dempsey a minute?” she asked.

  “Ma’s got both hands full, but I’ll hold him,” Charley said.

  Ruby whirled around, and saw him—she was so startled, she almost dropped Dempsey. The next moment, Charley had his arms around both of them, squeezing them tight. He gave her a big, hungry kiss. Dempsey had just finished nursing, and was slobbering a little.

  “Don’t let him slobber on your suit,” Ruby said.

  “Miss me?” Charley asked.

  Ruby felt like sunshine was beaming right out of her heart.

  “Miss you’s all I done the whole time you been gone,” Ruby said. She sat Dempsey down for a second so she could throw her arms around Charley and give him a real kiss. Dempsey immediately began to yell. He didn’t like being left out, not even for ten seconds.

  “Hey, buddy,” Charley said, bending down to pick him up. “Looks to me like you’ve grown.”

  Ruby felt such a gladness at having Charley back that it blinded her to everything except hugging him, kissing him, smelling him. When he left for St. Louis to look for better-paying work than what could be had around Sallisaw, Ruby’d had no idea what an ache the missing would be. Up till then, she and Charley had not been apart a single night since they married. She knew Charley had left home when he was sixteen and followed the wheat harvest for almost a year, but that was before they’d fallen in love with each other. She’d really had no way of knowing what a month without Charley would feel like. But she knew now, and she didn’t plan to put up with it or go through it again.

  “I got presents,” Charley said, with that big grin she had never been able to resist, not since the first time he kissed her behind her pa’s barn on her fourteenth birthday. Now Ruby was eighteen. They had married, had Dempsey, and become a family. She didn’t want Charley going off anymore, and she meant to put her foot down hard, the next time the subject came up.

  It was while Charley was down on the floor showing Dempsey how to work the jack-in-the-box that Ruby’s head began to clear. When she first turned and saw Charley, it seemed like every drop of blood in her body had started shooting through her veins at twice the normal speed. It was speeding so fast from happy feelings that it almost lifted her off the ground.

  But the first kissing was over, and Charley, big kid that he was, sat engrossed in showing Dempsey how to work his new toy. Ruby came back to earth, and she began to notice things—and as soon as she started noticing things, a clock of worry began to ticktock in her mind.

  “Charley, where’d you get that suit?” she asked. “You wasn’t wearin’ no gabardine suit when you left.”

  All he’d had in the way of clothes that day he hopped the train was two pairs of work pants and three blue work shirts, which Ruby had washed and starched and ironed herself so Charley would look decent when he went to apply for jobs. He hadn’t been wearing a suit, or a white shirt, or a red necktie, all of which he was wearing now.

  “Honey, I kinda hate to tell you how I came by this suit,” Charley said, looking up at her. “It’s a terrible sad story.”

  “Tell me anyway,” Ruby said. The worry clock was still ticktocking, like the big clock her parents had that kept her awake on still nights throughout her girlhood, until the day she left home to marry Charley Floyd.

  “My boss gave me this suit,” Charley said. “It was his boy’s. I guess we’re about the same size.”

  “Why would he give you his son’s suit?” Ruby asked.

  “Well, ’cause his boy got killed deer hunting,” Charley told her. “One of his own buddies shot him by accident.”

  “Oh,” was all Ruby said.

  “My boss has taken a shine to me,” Charley continued.

 
“I guess so, if he gave you a gabardine suit,” Ruby said, not satisfied. It was when Charley turned his big brown eyes to hers and looked the most innocent that he told the biggest lies. In the year they’d been married, she had caught him in some whoppers—every time she caught him, he would promise not to lie anymore—but Ruby took those promises with a grain of salt. Charley couldn’t help making up lies; it was mainly because he wanted life to seem better than it was, or himself to seem better than he was, or something. Ever since he was a little boy, he had always tried to make things sound better than they actually were. Expecting Charley Floyd not to lie was like expecting a drunkard not to drink.

  Ruby was young and had little education, but her folks were practical people, and she liked to think she had a certain amount of common sense. Charley told her himself one of the reasons he loved her so much was that she was sensible. The gabardine suit fit Charley like a glove, better than a suit would fit if it was made for someone else.

  “This suit fits you real nice,” she said, feeling the material. “That boy must have been your twin.”

  All the way down from St. Louis, Charley had been trying to figure out some lies that would work with Ruby. But Ruby was hardheaded and smart, and fooling her had never been easy. As he got closer to Sallisaw, he began to slide downward, and not just because he had a high-tempered wife, either. In only a few weeks, he had gotten used to having a big city around him. He had forgotten just how empty the land looked, and how dusty and poor the little towns were. It was far easier to leave such country than it was to come back to it, even with a beautiful wife and a jolly little baby waiting for him.

  “I got presents for you, too, honey,” Charley said quickly, before there could be any more talk about where he got the suit, or how well it fitted him.

  When he slipped the gold wedding band onto her finger, Ruby looked pleased, but there was a glint of suspicion in her eyes.

  “All the time I was driving home, I was thinkin’ about givin’ you this wedding ring,” Charley said, hoping sentiment would make the glint of suspicion fade away.