by Ann Beattie
This day had been a normal enough day. Brown was incensed because the Montrealer was back on the tracks so soon. He was also furious at the fools who rode the train. He had seen some of them on the evening news the night before, and they just said that they were sure Amtrak would be very careful this time, so there was nothing to worry about. People who didn’t look at the evidence were as stupid as people who couldn’t see the nose on their own face. Amtrak would kill them all, over and over. “What starts that stops?” Brown said. “Go ahead and tell me, Pasani.” “A cheap watch,” Pasani said. That pleased Brown; he thought that everything that was manufactured now was junk. He changed the subject from the derailed Montrealer to the fact that the war had ruined the way the Japanese thought. The Japanese didn’t care about anything anymore. “You ever see them say goodbye?” Brown said. “They stand there bobbin’ like birds. Everybody’s got to be more gracious than the other guy. If they put more of that energy into making their products, maybe the shutter wouldn’t fall off the camera and the watch would tick. Tickee tickee,” Brown said. He started bobbing his head at the steering wheel. “No clickee, no tickee,” Brown said. “The world’s going to hell. You know what I mean?” Brown dropped his jaw open and bobbed his head at the steering wheel again. Pasani braced himself. Brown stopped just inches short of the bumper of the car in front of him. “I ought to audition for a job drivin’ the Montrealer, huh?” Brown said. Once something caught his attention, Brown usually talked about it for six months. Around Christmas, Pasani would stop hearing about the Montrealer.
“Where do you feel like eating lunch?” Brown said.
“Pull by the grill. I’ll run in and get us a couple of ham sandwiches.”
“Nah,” Brown said. “I don’t want ham sandwiches.”
“What’ll I get you?” Pasani said.
“That greasy spoon?” Brown said. “You’re putting me on.”
“I think I feel like one of those fried-ham sandwiches,” Pasani said.
“They take forever,” Brown said. “They go out and catch the pig first.”
“You’re right,” Pasani said. “I’m gonna get a turkey sandwich.”
“That turkey’s so tough it’s like mozzarella cheese,” Brown said.
“That’s okay. They stuff those sandwiches pretty good. What’ll I get you?”
“Don’t get me anything,” Brown said. “I’m not going to poison myself.”
Brown was speeding along. He gunned it at a yellow light and swerved into the other lane to avoid a car nosing out from a steep driveway.
“You’re kidding,” Brown said. “You really want to go all the way over to the grill?”
“Sure,” Pasani said.
“We never go there anymore,” Brown said.
“Today’s the day,” Pasani said, smacking his hands together.
Brown pulled off the road. There was a half-circle that went into the woods just at the bottom of the hill. Brown liked to hide in there and catch speeders. The shopping center with the McDonald’s was two miles straight ahead. They had given a woman with a car full of kids a ticket one day, and when they pulled into the McDonald’s later, she was in the parking lot, with her head on the wheel, sobbing. The doors were thrown open, and a lot of children stood on the grass. Some of them were crying, too. Others were trying to get them to stop. A few were trying to coax the woman out of the car, and one of them climbed up on the trunk and curved his arms, jutting out his jaw, hunching his shoulders, and walking toward the back window like a gorilla. There was still complete pandemonium when Brown and Pasani drove through the line and looked over their shoulders, driving out.
No one was speeding. Car after car came down the hill with the brakes on. Brown was getting mad. Another car passed by, at a snail’s crawl. Brown raised his eyebrows at Pasani. “What?” Pasani said. “You think I’m sending them telepathic messages or something?”
Three cars came down the hill. None were speeding. Brown pulled out abruptly and rode the tail of the last car for about a mile.
“We’re almost to the McDonald’s,” Brown said. “What do you say we grab a burger and fries?”
“That’s an idea,” Pasani said.
“You like that blonde that looks like Farrah Fawcett, don’t you?” Brown said.
“I don’t like young girls.”
“You don’t like young girls,” Brown said. “Sure you don’t like young girls.”
“I can’t stand them. They’re all idiots,” Pasani said.
“What?” Brown said. “You interested in spending an evening chatting?”
“Yes,” Pasani said.
“That’s a good one,” Brown said. “You hang out the flag first?”
Pasani said nothing.
“Aah,” Brown said. “You had a flag, you’d use it for a sheet.”
“I’d never do that to the flag,” Pasani said.
“Not if you were sober, you wouldn’t.”
“I stay sober. Otherwise I can’t get it up.”
Brown turned and looked at him. “What’s with this wacko mood today, Pasani?”
“Brown—you know me. I’m the same every day.”
“Better save your sweetness for Farrah Fawcett,” Brown said. “I wouldn’t mind sucking those fingers she runs around in the french fries.”
“They don’t put their hands in the food,” Pasani said.
“When nobody’s lookin’? You think teenage kids shovel fries in a bag with that dipper?”
“What do you think they do?”
“Use their hands.”
The car in front of them pulled away. “The usual?” Brown said.
“Yeah,” Pasani said.
“Hey, let me have a quarter pounder and two cheeseburgers, one large and one small fries, two milks and a large Coke,” Brown said.
His words echoed above the roar of the kitchen—it was probably canned noise, Pasani thought; at the window, you could see into the kitchen, and it was relatively quiet. The woman repeated their order. She asked if they wanted hot apple pie.
“Gotta keep my trim figure,” Brown said.
He zoomed to the window. If he got there fast, the order wouldn’t be ready, and he could watch the girls. The girls were always energetic and cheerful. Pasani recognized all the faces now. The girls jumped around instead of walking. “There you go, thank you, sir,” one said, hopping to the window. She handed the two containers of milk in separately. Brown turned on the siren, and she jumped. “Accident,” Brown said. “Sorry.”
“Don’t do that,” Pasani said. “I hate that.” As they pulled back onto the highway, he removed one cheeseburger and a small french fries. He put them in the space between the seats and took Brown’s food out of the bag and folded the bag the way Brown liked, and handed it to him. Brown put it in his lap. Pasani handed him a napkin. Brown tucked it under his collar. Pasani opened one of the milks. Brown took it and drained it. Pasani put the container, and the wad of napkins, on the floor. A car streaked past, going ninety. Brown shook his head. The car slammed on its brakes, barely avoiding a car that was in the left turn lane. “Jesus,” Brown said. Pasani handed him the other carton of milk. He drank half of it and put it on the dash. Pasani steadied it with his hand and unwrapped his cheeseburger one-handed, removed the pickle, and handed it to Brown. “Thanks,” Brown said. He unwrapped his own cheeseburger and peeled back the bun. He put the pickle in. He ate the cheeseburger, occasionally putting it on the paper so he could eat some french fries. “Good fries today,” Brown said.
Pasani looked out the window. There was a beach ball in the weeds beside the highway. A little farther on, there was a dead skunk in the gravel. This part of highway had been repaved; bright black tar glistened in the sun. None of this road existed two years ago. It used to be forest.
“Shit,” Brown said. “I was gonna duck into the K Mart. My kid dropped his frog in the toilet. I told him I’d bring another frog home.”
Pasani finished his cheeseburger and had
a sip of Coke. “You hear that Kermit and Miss Piggy got married?” he said.
“I didn’t know that,” Pasani said.
“Well, that’s the kind of stuff I hear all night,” Brown said.
“All the six-year-olds think it’s great that she tricked him.”
“How did she trick him?”
“She pretended they were acting or something, and then she switched a real minister.”
“Why couldn’t you get the frog out of the toilet?” Pasani said.
“I got the frog out of the toilet. My kids are into going to the bathroom double-decker, so the frog was down there in a mess. That’s really what I want to do at night—fish out a frog that’s drowning in a bowlful of shit.”
“Where are we going?” Pasani said.
“We’ve got to check the politician’s place, and then I think we ought to try to catch some speeders.”
The house they were checking faced the lake. It had been robbed earlier in the summer. They got out of the car and walked around it, trying the doors. Brown backed up and looked at it. It made him angry just to see it, because he thought that modern houses were a blight on the landscape and that only fools would buy them, when there were so many houses to fix up. The house was tight. Pasani walked up the flagstone walkway, back to the car. Pasani hated the McDonald’s smell after he had eaten the food.
Brown started the car. At the bottom of the hill, he hung a right. He was going to another one of his favorite hiding places. This one was actually a dirt road that cut through a patch of woods. Brown liked to take the half-circle at top speed and screech to a halt. The trees were so lush this time of year, because of all the rain, that when they parked they had to peer through branches to see the road. When they got there, Brown slowed to turn, then held the wheel hard and accelerated. When he saw the big car parked on the dirt road, there was no way he could stop in time. He cut the wheels and, scraping branches, bumped off the dirt into mud. Miraculously, he had avoided hitting the car, but what the hell was it? It looked like something out of a Zap comic.
“You all right?” Brown said.
The wheels on the passenger’s side were clearly sunk in mud. Pasani’s arm that he had used to brace himself throbbed.
“Yeah,” he said.
The back door of the big car flew open, and a girl jumped out. She looked terrified. Pasani was going to leave it to Brown to discuss it with her. Brown actually looked nervous. He got out of the car.
“Hello,” Brown said, walking forward. There was movement in the back of the car. Brown froze, then put his hand on his holster. There was a minute in which both he and the girl stood there. The girl was holding … Pasani couldn’t see through all the branches crisscrossing the windshield. He bumped into Brown’s seat and stepped out the door.
“Hold it,” Brown said, walking forward.
It was a camera she was holding.
Pasani could hardly believe his eyes. The man was naked, trying to pull on his pants. The girl—she was only a girl—was crying.
“Get out of the car,” Brown said. “What’s going on?”
The man started to get out. He had his hands in the air, as though Brown had told him to do that.
“What in the hell is this?” Brown said, turning to face Pasani.
“We’re taking pictures. We’re not doing anything,” the girl said. “You can search the car and everything. We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“Pictures?” Brown said. He saw a bear head and jumped back. It was a rug. The man had put the wrong leg in his pants and had to step out and try again. While he was doing this, the girl put her hands over her face and started to cry. Pasani’s heart sank. His fingers hesitated on his holster. This was serious, whatever it was. Nothing could be worse, when he was with Brown, than having something happen that Brown hadn’t seen on TV.
13
IT was late at night on Monday when Lucy got home and got the call from the police station. The first thing she did when they hung up was to try to call Hildon; as she feared, Maureen answered the phone. “Lucy,” Maureen said, “I must tell you that you have disturbed my sleep. This is not a proper time to make a phone call, and I am within my rights to hang up.” She hung up before Lucy could say anything.
Lucy cursed and reached for her car keys. They were not on the table. Of all times to lose her car keys. She took a deep breath and tried to remember where she had put them. As she was moving piles of magazines on the table, the idea hit her that she could get someone else to call Hildon. She called Noonan and woke him up. “This is important,” Lucy said. “I can’t explain right now. Do me a favor: call Hildon and have him call me. Will you?”
“Why can’t you do it?” Noonan said.
“I just can’t. I’m sorry to bother you, but this is very important.”
“Hang up,” Noonan said.
She put the phone down and waited. It hit her for the first time that it might be wise to call a lawyer. She sat on the sofa, still without the keys, and wondered who knew a lawyer that she could call. A bee buzzed up and down the window glass. Looking at the bee, she saw the keys, partly hidden beside the television. She snatched them up. Her hand was trembling. She pounced on the phone when it rang.
“What’s the game?” Noonan said.
“What game?”
“I called Hildon’s, and Maureen answered, and she had a little speech about the polite hours to place phone calls.”
“She wouldn’t put Hildon on?”
“No.”
“Shit. She did the same thing to me. That’s why I had you call.”
“Is everything all right?” Noonan said.
“I’ve got to get Hildon,” Lucy said.
“Call her back and yell if it’s important.”
“I can’t do that.”
“I don’t understand anything about the way heterosexuals relate to one another,” Noonan said. “I never have and I never will.”
“Listen,” Lucy said. “Can I come over and pick you up? I’ve got to go to the police station and I’m afraid to go alone.”
“What is it?” Noonan said, his voice changing entirely.
“According to Nicole, it’s nothing. It’s—it seems awful. I can’t keep talking. She’s waiting for me.”
“I was asleep,” Noonan said. “I took a sleeping pill.”
“You’re awake now, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know,” Noonan said.
“I’m coming over,” Lucy said. “This is important. Jesus—this had better be as easy to explain as Nicole said. She was off parking with Edward, apparently. You don’t think it was anything other than that, do you?”
“Don’t ask me,” Noonan said. “She’s not exactly naïve.”
“Don’t say that,” Lucy said.
“The irony is, I stole these pills from Hildon and Maureen’s medicine cabinet,” Noonan said.
“Should I call a lawyer?” Lucy said. “Why can’t I ever think what to do?”
“Don’t call a lawyer. Let’s go down there and check it out.”
“Okay. Get dressed. I’ll be right over.”
“You already said that. Hang up,” Noonan said.
“Oh God, I hope this isn’t something awful. If Jane finds out about this, she’ll kill me. I’m ready to kill Nicole myself.”
“Goodbye,” Noonan said.
“That goddamn California artist manqué,” Lucy said.
“Are we having a general discussion about your feelings, or are you going to come over?”
“If he’s done anything to Nicole, I’m going to make sure he ends up behind bars.”
“What do you think about Mondale having a woman Vice President?” Noonan said.
Lucy hung up. It was cold outside. She started back for her jacket, but suddenly she didn’t think she had a second to spare. Forty-five minutes had elapsed since she got the phone call. She must have been in shock. She would tell the police that she was in shock. No: then maybe they wouldn’t take
her seriously. If Edward had done something awful to Nicole, she was going to have him killed. She should have known that grown men don’t pal around that way with fourteen-year-old girls. All the times he said he had been driving her into town, it must have been a lie. All the movies they said they saw … He was a pervert—he got the assignment from the toy company on purpose, and she was too stupid to figure it out. He wasn’t cooling his heels until he found out whether he was going to New York; he was lusting after her niece. None of it made sense, suddenly. She must have been mad to believe it. She couldn’t tell whether she was shivering from fear or from the cold.
She pulled up in front of Noonan’s. The smell of honeysuckle caught in her throat. The wind was blowing through the small willow trees Noonan had bought at the nursery. She pulled into the gravel driveway. Noonan ran out of the house. The second she saw him she wondered why she had stopped. She was picking up a crazy person to take to the police station with her. As he ran, Noonan flapped his arms like a bird. He threw open the car door and thumped onto the seat. He was clutching a washrag, pressed to his forehead. “Hay fever,” he said. “I put so much Afrin down my nose, I should just chew a cherry at the same time and skip the evening drinks.”
