Slim Pickings in Fat Chance, Texas

by Bonaduce, Celia

  Jerry Lee and Thud, experts at traversing the trail, ran to greet Pappy and Old Bertha. Jerry Lee took one look at the four-legged newcomer and bolted back down the hill. Thud served as the welcoming committee, barking excitedly at the little mule that couldn’t seem to find his footing. Pappy scooped him up and carried him the rest of the way down the trail to the blessed flat surface of Main Street.

  “Where have you been?” Powderkeg called to them. “We were about to send a search party!”

  “We were?” Titan asked, but Fernando shushed him.

  “There is something afoot,” Fernando whispered to Titan while studying Powderkeg. “And I’ll bet it has something to do with that lovely lady.”

  “Mikie’s a pilot,” Titan said. “I wonder what she’s doing here?”

  “And I wonder who her little friend is,” Dymphna said, taking in the marvel that was Elvis.

  “The damn fan belt broke,” Pappy said. “Mikie was driving by and towed the bus to the turnout. We’re dead in the water until Dodge gets the new belts, I guess.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Mikie said. “I can always help out.”

  “Bertha,” Pappy said, “I know I should take Elvis over to the inn so you two can get to know each other, but right now I think I should just bring him with me and Jerry Lee and get him fed and watered. It’s been a long day.”

  “That’s fine,” Old Bertha said, looking tired.

  No one said anything as they watched Pappy lead the two mules away.

  “His name is Elvis?” Polly finally said. “Really?”

  “So we’ve got Jerry Lee and Elvis?” Titan said.

  “Is Elvis a baby?” Polly asked. “He’s so cute.”

  “He’s a miniature,” Old Bertha said.

  “So now we have two mules in town?” Powderkeg asked.

  “Three, if you count Pappy,” Old Bertha said.

  Thud barked and wagged his tail.

  “Not you, Thud,” Fernando said. “You ain’t nothing but a hound dog.”

  Everyone groaned.

  “Mikie,” Powderkeg said, “I know I speak for all of us when I say we’re grateful you returned our seniors to us.”

  “Who are you calling a senior?” Old Bertha snarled.

  “I mean—Thanks for returning our . . .”

  He looked at Old Bertha, who stared at him, hands on hips, as if daring him to come up with an inoffensive description. He gave up and his sentence drifted into the wind.

  “No problem,” Mikie said. She turned to Titan. “I just came down the trail to let you know that Rocket got loose again.”

  “Oh no!” Titan said.

  “Yeah.” Mikie shook her head. “It’s been too windy to take the plane out. I’ve been driving around but haven’t spotted him. Thought you’d like to know.”

  “How can a longhorn escape?” Powderkeg said. “Twice!”

  Mikie bristled. “Longhorns are very smart animals.” She turned to Titan. “Keep an eye out for him, would you?”

  “Of course,” Titan said.

  “I don’t understand how a white bull with a freckled face and two enormous horns can hide where nobody can find him,” Powderkeg said.

  “I guess you’ll just have to ask him when you find him,” Mikie said, turning on her heels and heading back up the trail.

  “What did you ever do to her?” Polly asked.

  “What do you mean?” Powderkeg asked.

  “It’s obvious she can’t stand you,” Polly said, as they watched Mikie disappear up the trail.

  “Oh, Polly, you are so young,” Powderkeg said, engulfing Polly’s head like a melon and shaking it. “That’s all an act. She craves me.”

  “And people accuse me of having an ego,” Fernando whispered to Dymphna.

  CHAPTER 12

  Cleo surveyed the dining room table. Her orders to the staff had been carried out to the letter. A crisp white linen tablecloth spilled perfectly over the curved edges of the mahogany table. The Wedgwood Colonnade dishes and the heirloom silver glimmered in the shafts of sunlight that trickled through the French doors. Elwood had gotten home an hour ago and sped straight to his room. Jeffries had gone up and extracted a promise that he would come down for dinner at the appointed hour.

  Elwood can be so difficult to help, thought Cleo.

  She heard the doorbell chime exactly at seven o’clock. Jeffries headed toward the foyer, but she cut him off. Cleo had come to the conclusion that the younger generation was not impressed with the trappings of wealth—she’d noticed that her nephew seemed to have an absolute aversion to them. She’d also had a bit of research done on Wesley’s associate Kimberly Goodman, who, while a scholar and possibly a budding legal superstar, came from Silicon Valley money. Cleo had heard that Kimberly’s father, the CEO of a burgeoning cyberspace empire, worked out of a cubicle so he’d have his finger on the pulse of his company. You could never predict how those people would react to a butler.

  Cleo answered the door herself.

  Wesley and Kimberly had obviously come from the office. Wesley had tried to affect an informal look by leaving his tie in the car. Kimberly was wearing the skirt from an Armani suit, but had followed Wesley’s nod to ‘casual’ by not wearing the jacket. Cleo remembered the days when women felt they had to dress like miniature versions of men in order to be taken seriously, arriving in law offices wearing boxy pantsuits, shapeless blouses, and billowy silk ties. Those days were clearly a thing of the past, Cleo thought as she studied Kimberly. Ally McBeal, not Hillary Clinton, was clearly this woman’s role model. Kimberly’s skirt was at least three inches above her knees, her black pumps hovered around four inches, and her blouse revealed ample cleavage. Her lustrous black hair cascaded down her back instead of being tied back.

  Wesley, Kimberly, and Cleo were still in the foyer when they heard footsteps. Cleo now studied her nephew as he descended the stairs. He had not changed his clothes and appeared every inch the distracted university professor that he was.

  Is he really coming to dinner in acrylic?

  Wesley made the introductions.

  “Oh, please call me Cleo,” Cleo said after having been introduced as Ms. Johnson-Primb.

  “Great,” Kimberly said. “I’m Kimmie.”

  Kimmie? Could one take an attorney seriously whose name is Kimmie?

  “My aunt calls me by my given name—Elwood,” Professor Johnson said as he shook Kimberly’s hand. “But I am more comfortable being addressed as Professor Johnson.”

  “I totally get it,” Kimberly said. “If my name was Elwood, I’d go by Professor Johnson too.”

  “I’m glad we understand each other, Kimmie,” Professor Johnson said.

  “Dinner smells delicious,” Wesley said. “Do we have time for a cocktail beforehand?”

  “Of course,” Cleo said.

  She always built cocktail hour into any occasion that included Wesley. She led everyone into the library. Jeffries was at the bar; now that Cleo had proven herself a woman of the people by answering the door herself, she could at least let the house return to its natural rhythm.

  “Hello, Jeffries,” Wesley said. “I’ll have the usual.”

  “Scotch neat, sir?” Jeffries asked, although he didn’t wait for an answer.

  “Wesley, where are your manners?” Cleo scolded playfully. “Ladies first! Kimmie?”

  “At the office, it’s partners first,” Kimberly said. “I’ll have a scotch neat as well.”

  Cleo smiled a tight smile. So, it was the old game of drinking what the boss drank, was it? Kimmie might as well be wearing a boxy suit.

  “Madam?” Jeffries asked.

  “I think I’ll have scotch on the rocks,” Cleo said, tapping a long fingernail against her lip as if having to decide. She and Wesley were creatures of habit, especially when it came to their liquor.

  “Professor Johnson?” Jeffries said. “May I offer you something, sir?”

  “Do we have tomato juice?”

  �
�Dear”—Cleo tried to keep her voice light—“Bloody Marys are for brunch, not as an aperitif.”

  “I don’t want a Bloody Mary,” Professor Johnson said. “I want tomato juice.”

  Wesley raised an eyebrow in Kimberly’s direction—a glance that Cleo interpreted as “I told you he was a weirdo.” The slight nod from Kimberly confirmed her suspicions.

  Cleo endured a half hour of small talk about Kimberly’s law school achievements and law firm ambitions before Jeffries announced that Cook was ready to serve dinner. Cleo dispatched her guests to the dining room as quickly as possible. She took Wesley’s arm and he escorted her to her seat. Cleo caught a glimpse of Elwood and Kimberly coming in behind them. Elwood had his hands in his pockets, but he did hold out his hand in a sweeping gesture to allow Kimberly to precede him into the room.

  At least he’s remembered something.

  When casual-but-elegant-with-no excess-staff-so-we-don’t-appear-ostentatious was the order of the day, Cleo found a buffet was just the ticket. She thanked her lucky stars the room accommodated a ten-foot sideboard. Cleo had asked the staff to set the sideboard with a selection of what she called “the lows and the frees”—low calorie, low cholesterol, low carbohydrate, dairy-free, gluten-free, nut-free, and meat-free offerings.

  After each of them had made their selections—Cleo noticed that Kimberly scooped up more of the “frees” than the “lows”—Wesley took it upon himself to pour the wine. Cleo appreciated the gesture. If she worked any harder at appearing to be one of the proletariat, she would burst.

  Cleo, Kimberly, and Wesley chatted easily through the meal, but Cleo couldn’t seem to bring her nephew into the conversation. She appreciated the fact that he’d even agreed to come to dinner as he was so painfully shy. Although she hesitated to bring up the subject, she knew it was the only way to get Elwood to feel like talking.

  “Elwood,” Cleo said to her nephew, who appeared to snap out of a trance when he heard his name. “Why don’t you tell Kimberly about our little adventure last year.”

  “Did you travel?” Kimberly asked, clearly thrilled to get a conversation going at long last.

  Cleo had to give the girl points for trying.

  “Yes,” Professor Johnson said. “My aunt and I went to Texas.”

  “Texas?” Kimberly asked doubtfully, shooting Wesley a panicked look. “I’ve heard Austin is wonderful.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Professor Johnson said. “But we didn’t go to Austin. We went to Fat Chance.”

  “Fat Chance, Texas,” Kimberly said. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of it.”

  “That’s because it doesn’t really exist anymore,” Professor Johnson said. “It’s a ghost town.”

  “That is exciting,” Kimberly said. “May I ask what took you there?”

  “It’s complicated,” Professor Johnson said.

  “But interesting,” Wesley said, responding to a plea for help delivered as a kick under the table from Cleo. “Complicated but interesting. More wine?”

  As Wesley poured more wine, Professor Johnson filled Kimberly in on his grandfather’s scheme to return the chance to pursue the American Dream to five strangers, two family members, and Cleo’s estranged ex-husband.

  “This doesn’t make any sense to me.” Kimberly looked around the room. “You two clearly don’t need to pursue anything.”

  “My grandfather left all his money to my aunt and his philanthropic interests,” Professor Johnson said.

  “In all fairness, Elwood,” Wesley added somewhat defensively, “that was according to your own wishes.”

  “I know. I’m not complaining. I’m just explaining that I’m not a rich man.”

  “Not yet, Elwood,” Cleo said, as much to reassure Kimberly that money was coming his way as it was to her nephew. “But when I die, everything I have is yours.”

  “Let’s not even think about that,” Wesley said gravely. “That’s a long way down the road.”

  Cleo took a sip of wine. Unlike her father, she couldn’t stand Wesley’s fawning.

  “OK,” Kimberly said eagerly. “Your father, Cleo—and your grandfather, Professor Johnson—left a ghost town to all of you to pursue the American Dream. Did it occur to any of you that the American Dream is dead?”

  “Of course,” Professor Johnson said. “But that was beside the point. In order to get the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, we had to fulfill the terms of the contract.”

  “Well said.” Wesley saluted Professor Johnson with his wineglass.

  “Who were the other people?” Kimberly asked. “Why them?”

  “Apparently, of all the people my grandfather screwed over in his lifetime,” Professor Johnson said, “these were the people he remembered. It was sort of a random sampling.”

  “I’d love to hear about them and what it was your grandfather did to screw them over.” Kimberly settled back in the dining room chair. She looked wide-eyed at Cleo. “No offense!”

  “None taken.” Cleo was happy to see that the young woman was finding something interesting about Professor Johnson—even if it really was about Cutthroat. “I’ll just get these plates out of here and bring in dessert.” She picked up her dinner plate and silverware.

  “You will?” Wesley was clearly surprised.

  “Yes,” Cleo said tightly. “And you will help me, Wesley.”

  It took a few minutes for Wesley and Cleo to remove the plates. It was painfully obvious that neither of them had ever done anything remotely like clearing a table. Finally they were gone, having broken only one piece of stemware between them.

  “That . . . ,” Professor Johnson said, looking toward the door that led to the kitchen, “was excruciating.”

  “It was sweet.” Kimberly smiled a sultry smile as she poured them each another half glass of wine. “I think they were leaving us alone so you could tell me the story of Fat Chance in private.”

  “Or they were both bored.”

  He saw Kimberly’s smile fade.

  “Oh! Not by you!” he said. “I mean . . . well, they know the story. Very well. By heart, even.”

  I’d be very interested to hear it myself,” Kimberly said, but in a more professional tone.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything,” Kimberly said. “It all sounds so crazy.”

  “It was crazy. We were all out of our leagues. But it turned out to be the most incredible experience of my life—and I don’t think I’m the only one who feels that way.”

  “If it was so incredible,” Kimberly asked, “why didn’t you stay? You said your grandfather left you three years’ salary. That would have seen you through for a while—just like the rest of them.”

  “I’m a college professor,” he replied. “I don’t have a skill that lends itself to entrepreneurship. I couldn’t make a life for myself until the town was big enough to house a university.”

  “Which doesn’t sound like that will happen anytime soon.” Kimberly smiled.

  “No, not anytime soon.” Professor Johnson smiled for the first time since coming down the stairs. “Besides which, I already spent the money my grandfather left me.”

  “You did?” Kimberly looked startled.

  “Yes. I realize my aunt would keel over if she heard me discussing money with a stranger, but you do work for our law firm.”

  “Your law firm?” Kimberly arched an eyebrow. “I thought it belonged to Wesley.”

  “Point taken.” Professor Johnson sneaked a peek at the closed kitchen door. “Sometimes my environment gets the better of me.”

  “It’s fine,” Kimberly said. “I was just teasing. Anyway, you were saying?”

  “I can’t actually have a career as a professor in Fat Chance. But I have an idea to create a museum there. I’ve spent my money investing in the museum, I guess you would say.”

  “Oh!” Kimberly said, sounding surprised. “Well, I guess you’ll be filling a niche.”

  “I hope so. I think I’ve made a
wise investment. Now I just have to get a grant, so I can get back there.”

  “It sounds like a very special place.”

  “It is. A special place with special people.”

  Cleo opened the kitchen door and popped her head in. “Coffee?” she asked.

  “No, thank you, Ms. . . . no, thank you, Cleo,” Kimberly said. “We’ve still got some wine.”

  Cleo disappeared back into the kitchen.

  “You were saying?” Kimberly asked.

  “I don’t know,” Professor Johnson said. “What was I saying?”

  “Something about special people. I would love to hear about them.”

  Professor Johnson proceeded to tell her all about the eccentric inhabitants of Fat Chance. Story after story poured out of him. Kimberly listened intently, raising her eyebrows and shaking her head from time to time, but never interrupted him.

  He stopped abruptly when he noticed she was out of wine.

  “I must be boring you.” Elwood poured her some more wine. “Going on about people you don’t even know.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “I know that the whole thing really does sound insane.”

  “I can just imagine Wesley’s reaction when your grandfather announced this great plan of his. I would have loved to have heard that conversation.” Kimberly chuckled. “Anybody else I need to hear about?”

  There was one person.

  “Yes,” Professor Johnson said. “There’s a wonderful woman named Dymphna. She had a few sheep grazing in Malibu, and my grandfather sold the land out from under her. He gave her a little farm with some Angora goats. She has a special kinship with animals. And she knits.”

  “Raising sheep in Malibu?” Kimberly said. “She sounds like a crazy person.”

  “She’s optimistic,” Professor Johnson said. “She’s also the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. And she has my dog with her. ”

  “Oh,” Kimberly said. “So it’s like that.”

  Professor Johnson met her gaze. “Yes,” he said. “It’s like that.”

  “Do you have any pictures?”

  “Uh, yes, I do!” He reached for his cell phone and scrolled through it. He held the phone out to Kimberly.