“Great story so far. So, what do we got? Two weeks?” Waddell asked.
“Just about,” Cole replied.
“OK then, Feature space the week after you get back. I got a call coming in on the other line. Exciting project Cole, talk to you soon.” Waddell rang off.
“Back to work then,” Cole said, tearing the top off a cocoa packet and pouring it into his mug.
The shelves on the left bookcase were nearly empty. The bookcase to the right of the fireplace now held two and a half shelves of notebooks that Cole read. He was reaching the end. There were sixteen notebooks left, the end of the story and all he would ever be able to learn of his grandparents and their lives. It occurred to Cole that he looked at the notebooks as the story of his grandfather. An uneasy feeling came over him as he realized that it was the story of his grandmother too. She was cast as the villain in the story, but all the same, this was his father’s mother.
To Cole, Alma Sage was just a very old woman he saw only twice: at his aunt’s house when he was in kindergarten and again as she lay in her coffin that summer. Hushed, harsh words exchanged behind closed doors by his parents, let him know at an early age, she was not liked by his mother, and barely defended by his father. Cole suddenly felt bad that he took George Sage’s account of his wife at face value. After all, George was the alcoholic gambler who fathered children with a woman he kept for years. As sympathetic as his case had been made, living with him would have made Mother Teresa cuss.
The seam of the notebook was split and Cole was careful not to let the pages fall out as he pulled it from the shelf. It was dated 1936. Cole flipped the next two or three notebooks on the shelf and checked the dates. They were in the correct order. There was almost a year and a half gap between notebooks. This volume was by far the most beat up of any so far. Even Alma’s rampage and attempted shredding wasn’t as bad as what he now held in his hands. Cole flipped through the pages; they were soiled, stained and the edges were uneven from decay.
He took the notebook to the kitchen table so he could lay it flat. As he laid back the cover the last threads of the binding gave way and the cover came free. On the first entry a small, enamel, lapel pin was fastened to the top of the page. No more than an inch wide, and only a quarter of an inch high, it read, FORD Salesman of the Month April ‘36.
May 15, 1936
We don’t sell many, but I sell the most. That’s what Mr. Kenny said when he gave me the Salesman of the Month pin. I seem to have made good. Mr. Kenny has showed up a couple times down on Nevada Street. The game at the Colorado Springs Hotel usually draws a few high rollers but he has held his own.
I’ve been playing mainly at the Wooden Nickel. They let the Indians play and they make for some easy pickin’s most of the time.
Alma has been busy all evening getting the girls outfits ready for the Spring Festival at school. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop around here things have been so calm. Seems the more I stay out of the way the easier it is to get along. We got a call from Paula’s English teacher at the high school and were asked permission for her to enter a poem in a contest. It will be the first time that a fifteen year old has been allowed to enter. Since Paula won’t be sixteen until the end of August they have to get special permission. Her poems are so good that the teacher thinks they should let her in. Josie is mad because it is taking away some of the attention from her birthday. Day after tomorrow I’ll have two teenagers to contend with, Lord have mercy!
May 18, 1936
I slipped over to the Wooden Nickel after work today and got into a game with three of the craziest Indians I ever seen. I was up at least a hundred when they got the bright idea to up the table stakes. Within an hour I won five hundred dollars! They were pulling money out of all their pockets and buying rounds for the house time and again.
I had a pair of queens and was just dealt the trips, when a commotion out front brought the game to a halt. The pot had to be over six hundred. Turk the bouncer stuck his head in the door and told us the sheriff was out front. The Indians all jumped up and started grabbing the pot. I reached out to stop them and one of those crazy bastards stuck a knife in the table and missed my hand by the width of a card. I grabbed a fistful of bills and watched them high tail it out of the back door.
I calmly walked back in towards the bar and acted like I was coming back from the toilet. The sheriff asked me where I had been and I said taking a leak, so he paid me no mind. He was looking for three Indians that robbed a bank in Pueblo and got off with two grand. I slipped out and headed home knowing there was close to six hundred of it in my pocket.
May 19, 1936
I told a couple of the fellows at work about my winnings. Mr. Kenny caught wind of it and called me into his office. I thought I was in trouble, but lo and behold, he invited me to a poker game with a bunch of his ritzy buddies. I am going to the Broadmoor Hotel for dinner and the game on Friday night.
This could be the break I have been looking for. I have close to a thousand dollars with the Indian money. I know Kenny thinks I’m an easy mark because the only time he’s seen me play I was pretty drunk and lost my poke.
May 23, 1936
My hand is shaking so bad I can hardly write!
Last night I went to the Broadmoor at seven o’clock like Mr. Kenny said. I was taken to a private dining room where I met five other men. There was George a rancher, John Kenny, Coy an oilman, Doyle who I never learned what he did, Oscar the professional, and me.
We ate steak, potatoes, and oysters and a big slice of pecan pie for dessert. We drank brandy and smoked cigars after dinner. All set up and ready to go at the other end of the room was a green felt poker table. Each place had real ivory chips and brass fitted holders for your glass. A deck of cards was spread at the dealer’s chair and five cards laid face down in the center of the table. At each chair a card laid face up. We each took a card from the center of the table then were seated at the chair with the matching card.
The dealer rapped the table with his knuckles and each man gave him a thousand dollars. The smallest chip value was five dollars. I have never played such high stakes in my life. Blinds and antes were five and ten dollars. The play was friendly and cordial at first. I pretty much held my own. Coy kept ordering drinks; I determined not to drink. I had a shot of Rye after an hour just to take the edge off. I won a couple of pots along the way.
Long about eleven o’clock something happened. Doyle made a move on a pot Kenny figured was his. I folded just to get out of the way. The two of them bet the pot up to around twenty-five hundred dollars. When they turned their cards over Doyle had a pair of Jacks and a pair of nines. Kenny had a full house: Queens and sixes. Doyle was near bust.
The next hand, I drew a pair of fours, on the flop I hit trips. I figured this was my chance. I ran the pot up on every card. Coy and Kenny were in all the way along. On the river I hit my fourth four. I bet a thousand. Kenny called and Coy folded, the pot was over four thousand. It was a showdown between me and the boss. He turned over three Kings. I won. He was really sore.
The next few hands I laid low. Then things got crazy. I don’t know if it was the hour or the liquor, but George ran out of chips. He already bought in a second time and house rules say only once per game. Damned if he didn’t bet his Cadillac! I had a Spade flush King high. I pushed in everything in front of me. He had a Diamond flush Jack high. I won again.
George was out and Doyle was down to a hundred bucks. That left me, Kenny, Oscar and Coy in the chips. I was afraid to count my chips but with buy-in and the Cadillac I had to be close to forty-five hundred. Kenny was on top. Coy was short stack. The next hand knocked out Doyle.
Oscar the pro seemed to be biding his time. He was sober and silent. Kenny and Coy had been drinking pretty steady all evening. I had’t had a drop since the first hour. My nervous jitters were gone and I felt at ease with my play. Coy started talking big about how this money was chump change, and he could make all the money in the whole game
back in one day, on just one well. John Kenny started givin’ him lip and the next thing I knew Coy put up an oil well.
The next page had a large oily stain that discolored the paper to the point the writing was totally obscured. Cole held the page to the light and changed the angle trying to make out something but it was no use. He turned the page and the backside was just as bad. He could read short phrases at the top and bottom of the page but the center was ruined. As he turned the page he was relieved to see the oily stain lightened to where it merely discolored the paper; the printing was still legible.
Coy had still not left the room but at least he stopped his bazoo. Oscar gave me a look that at first I didn’t understand, but I soon realized he had Kenny in his sights. The next few hands were played quickly and the pots were small. I swear once that Oscar gave me a pot. John Kenny made an insulting remark but Oscar didn’t respond. Then I got a pair of Aces. I pressed and Oscar folded but Kenny called. The flop was a rainbow five to seven. I figured I was good. The turn was a king and Kenny bet big, fifteen hundred. I called. He swore violently when I turned over my Aces.
It was then Oscar made his move. The next hand was a thing of beauty. I noticed early on Kenny had a tell. It wasn’t lost on Oscar. If he was dealt good cards he pushed his glasses up on his nose. Bad cards, he would put his hands flat on the table and pat his fingers. These rich guys didn’t play cards night after night and I doubt if one in the bunch knew a tell from his elbow, but it was worth a lot to me.
I never got to see the cards because Kenny folded, but I would bet all my winnings Oscar was bluffing. Then came the showdown between me and Oscar. I had a straight, Queen high. I bet it all. I really figured Oscar would back off, he called. He told me later he thought I was bluffing. He only had three tens. I busted him. Now it was me and Kenny. I said maybe we should call it a night. He wouldn’t have it. He said I was “just a goddamn car salesman” and he wasn’t afraid of me. I was just lucky.
I read him as pretty drunk. I knew I had at least five thousand not counting the Cadillac. Oscar pulled up a chair just far enough away from the table to be out of the way. Coy settled down and now sat across from Oscar.
What happened next was so fast and wild I can’t explain it to the full. The long and short of it is that Mr. Kenny bet the Ford dealership. I told him that we should just let it go, call it a night. He swore at me pretty good. Then I told him he was drunk and I wouldn’t do it. The dealer said it was a legitimate bet and I had to either call or give up the pot. I knew I had him beat. With every bone in my body I knew I had him beat. I had a pair of kings in my hand, the flop was a ten, Jack, eight. The turn was a queen. Nine or an Ace and I was unbeatable. I called.
The dealer turned over an Ace! Kenny screamed, jumped up and threw down two Aces. I turned over my Straight and didn’t move a muscle.
“You beat the bastard!” Oscar laughed.
I won! Eight thousand dollars! A Cadillac car and the biggest car dealership in town!
For once I woke Alma and told her the news!
May 25, 1936
It felt good to be the boss. I offered John Kenny a job and he spit in my face. Two of the salesmen grabbed him and threw him out before I could do anything, just as well. He shouted on the way out that I had to give him a chance to win it back. I laughed.
Alma and the girls went after school and found a proper house. I gave her two hundred dollars and sent her to buy new clothes for the children. It turns out according to the bookkeeper that the dealership owes about fifty-two hundred dollars to half a dozen big creditors. So I paid them off.
At six o’clock I paid a year’s rent on a two story house on Olive Street. We can start moving tomorrow. Not much left of my winnings, but I think we’ll be livin’ high on the hog for quite a while.
Cole laughed aloud as he looked down at the notebook. He was a little more than half way through. He flipped through the next several months of entries, and wondered why this notebook was so beat up. The entries for the most part were short and mainly portrayed a man who wasn’t cut out to run a large business. One page had six entries that were only a sentence or two each. Money woes and personnel complaints filled the pages. Alma was hardly mentioned for weeks at a time. Unlike previous books the entries seemed to be written out of habit and commitment rather than the desire to record his life. The pressure of success was not wearing well on the owner of Sage Ford.
August 18, 1936
Georgie knocked out his front teeth falling from his bike. They are baby teeth but he looks bad all the same.
I have been so tired lately. Can’t seem to get rested up. Funny, but as mean as Alma can be it was a comfort to have her next to me. The separate bedrooms of this new house I’m sure is part of it. I was going to go in to her last night and the door was locked. It makes it hard to not go elsewhere to meet my needs.
August 24, 1936
I saw Oscar Frey today. I did not recognize him at first having only met him once at the game where I won the business. He said he was going to Lawton on Saturday for a big game. He invited me to go along. Big stakes. Two thousand dollar buy-in. I haven’t played cards in weeks; I think the change of scenery would do me good.
August 26, 1936
Sales figures came in today for the month. With four days to go it is the best month of the year. Things are really looking up. To celebrate I have decided to go to the game in Lawton. I left a message for Oscar at the hotel, maybe we can ride down together.
August 28, 1936
I don’t know how much more of that woman I can stand. She has been on the warpath for three days straight. She screams at the kids, she screams at me, hell, she even screamed at the poor milkman. I swear she has a screw loose. I think little Connie is starting to withdraw into her shell again. Josie stays in her room and reads all the time and Georgie stays outside until dark and then goes to bed after dinner. Of course Paula is her mother’s pet.
Most of all I worry about Effie. She never says anything but I think she suffers Alma’s wrath when I’m not home. Sad to say, the poor girl takes after me, and not her mother. She is gangly and not real pretty. I pray she grows out of this stage and takes on more of Mattie’s features. I try hard not to bring up Mattie’s memory. Sometimes I can’t help it, and the ache in my chest is so I can hardly breathe. I guess Alma is the punishment for my sins. I can only hope to see my Mattie again in heaven. Who am I kidding, if there is such a place, I sure won’t get in.
I was so down last night I drank a whole pint after dinner. I knew I would cause a scene if I stayed downstairs so I drank it in my room. I started thinking about Mattie in the afternoon and I fell asleep crying into my pillow so no one would hear.
I will work a half day tomorrow and then drive to Lawton.
August 31, 1936
The dark hand of providence has slapped me down again. I have lost everything. I cannot recall the events that led to my downfall because I am clouded with drink, this I know. I lost the dealership and my two thousand in the game.
I stayed too drunk to come home and lost a day somewhere in Lawton. The man who beat me will meet me at one o’clock today to take the keys. I must clean up and look somewhat presentable. I have not told Alma. Damn me and my weakness.
September 2, 1936
Edward Trimble refused me a job. He said as the new owner he would not want me around. I squirreled away fifteen hundred dollars that no one knows about. That should get us through Christmas.
Alma has not spoken to me or even looked at me since I came home. After the fit she threw at the news of me losing the dealership, she has gone silent.
I must find work though. I cannot stay around the house. I seem suited for sales but can’t seem to settle on anything I know enough about to get my foot in the door.
I approached Mr. Connors at the bank about a job there. He said my “condition” would not lend itself to the trustworthiness the bank needs to show people. “Condition” my ass, he means drinking. To hell with him
and his bank. I may drink but I don’t steal.
“Easy come, easy go, huh Gramps?” Cole shook his head and laid the notebook face down on the table. He thought of his father. For as long as he could remember, his father bad mouthed Ford cars. He never understood it.
“Fix Or Repair Daily, Cole, that’s what Ford stands for!” Cole remembered his father’s words as if it were yesterday. He brought home a 1965 Mustang convertible. It was Cole’s dream car but his father would have none of it. “Nope, I won’t loan you a cent to buy that! You’ll be its slave. It will be in the repair shop every other week. It will nickel and dime you to death.”
Cole bought a Camaro instead. He smiled at the memory of the “reliable GM product” that his father helped him buy. It was Cole’s first and only muscle car. Lasted less than six months; first the fuel pump, then the radiator, then the electrical system shorted out and finally the transmission blew. It cost a small fortune in repair bills, but it wasn’t a Ford and that’s what mattered to his dad. Hold a grudge and don’t let go, Cole thought, that’s the Sage way.
His watch read 12:30. Cole went to the refrigerator and stood peering into the cool white cavern for something to eat. He missed Kelly’s cooking, especially the leftovers. He closed the door and went to the cupboard, nothing there either. Through the window came the sound of tires on gravel and the persistent honking of a familiar horn.
“Hey, let’s go!” Ernie yelled from the front of the house.
Cole got so caught up in his reading when he got home from the bike ride he completely forgot Ernie was picking him up at 12:30. He closed and locked the back door and ran through the house, grabbing his Giants baseball cap along the way.
Cole Dust Cole Page 24
