by Tim Sandlin
My mouth got dry. Everything fun for the body causes drymouth, but that pill took dry further than my imagination thought possible. My whole body dried up.
I blacked out.
I came to naked, lying under a sheet on a cot in the first-aid tent. A man with long, shiny blond hair and one hoop earring was leaning over me holding out a metal cup. Joni Mitchell music was playing.
“Drink this, brother,” the man said. “It’s chamomile and dandelions.” He wore a light blue sari and a turquoise ring. He seemed calm and gentle.
I sat up on the cot. Lifting the sheet, I ripped it down the middle and shouted, “There’s no fucking meat in this taco.”
***
Julie found me a couple of hours later, which turned out to be fourteen hours after I swallowed the pill. All she said was, “You blew it again, Kelly.”
She wrapped half the sheet around my body and led me to the car.
I couldn’t lick my lips for two days or focus my eyes for four. I thought the pill had blinded me. Praying, I made a deal with God that if he let me see again, I would never eat unauthorized chemicals, no matter how cheaply they were offered. Gradually, my eyes accepted light and learned to focus once more.
I found out later from a woman who actually enjoys belladonna that my sight would have returned even if I hadn’t made a deal with God, but I kept my word. I never abused pills or powders again. Neither did Julie.
***
The night after John Hart forced Joe to fire me, I pulled a chunk of concrete out of my rotting porch, walked to the Teton National Bank, and heaved it through the glass front door.
I’ve lived in Jackson enough years that I know without sticking around what this action caused. Three blocks south, an alarm sounded in the Jackson police department. The dispatcher radioed the all-night Western Café where the graveyard shifts of various Wyoming law-enforcement agencies had gathered to swill coffee and relive gory car wrecks. Within two minutes, four city police units, two county deputy sheriffs, and an off-duty highway patrolman converged on the scene of the broken glass.
Two men crept through the front door—pistols drawn.
By then—long before then—I elbowed my way through the crowd at the Cowboy Bar and ordered a VO with water. As the officers searched the dark bank, I sat on a saddle, sipping my drink and trying to see down a pool-shooting cowgirl’s tank top. I found the cowgirl erotic. In her boots, she stood about six-three and she blew on her cue tip before each shot.
Ninety days of continuous rodeo action had begun that evening, and two senior-citizen “See America by Bus” tours clogged up both sides of the doorway, so the Cowboy was a real mob scene. I heard a woman in a pink pantsuit and a hat made from sections of Budweiser cans ask, “Do you think these cowboys are all hired actors, Marlene?”
“Of course they are, Hedy,” said the woman I took to be her sister because they both had the same silver-blue hair. Marlene kept looking from the stuffed animals and knotty pine to a book in her hands. “I can’t find this place on the checklist. We’re not supposed to be here if it’s not on the list.”
“This must be a sight. Look under nightlife or local color.”
“It’s not on the list. I think we’re wasting time, Hedy.”
Cora Ann swept past the line of out-of-towners like a bouncy blond Queen of Egypt scattering badly dressed slaves. I half expected her to snap her fingers at the doorman. “Clear a table, Butch, a big one by the dance floor.”
Instead, spotting me, she glided over, the crowd parting before her. Cora Ann’s first words were exactly what I knew they would be.
“Fucking turkeys.”
I laughed. “What’s the matter?”
“There should be a separate entrance for locals—a separate bar with free drinks.”
In every tourist town on earth—Jackson, Wyoming; Key West, Florida; Paris, France—natives laugh at, persecute, and generally hate outsiders.
“What would we do without tourists?” I asked.
“Go on welfare.” Cora Ann ordered a drink. She paid and took a long swig. “So how’s your day been?”
“I got fired.”
“Yeah? Want to play Space Invaders?”
“I threw a rock through the window at the bank.”
“Why?”
“My kitchen sink told me to.”
Cora Ann nudged me and pointed to the Hawaiian-print slacks on a passing retiree. “Would he wear that crap back in Pennsylvania? I thought you ignore orders from talking water.”
“I decided to listen this time.”
“Oh. You want to play Space Invaders or not? It’s too crowded to dance.”
“I’d rather drink.”
“Okay, let’s drink.”
We drank a good deal. Cora Ann met a kayaker from Alaska and took him home. I danced with Hedy and Marlene. They both said it was the high point of their vacation.
Later I stumbled back to my apartment and dressed up two pillows in an old cotton nightgown of Julie’s. I stuck Alice on them so it would look like they were breathing, and pretended I was sleeping with Colette.
I dreamed all my teeth fell out. They crumbled into small bits and mixed with saliva so that I was afraid to swallow. I spit pieces all night.
7
The next day, Wednesday, Lizbeth Day, I awoke with one arm over the pillow-stuffed nightgown. Alice had moved and I was sober, so the whole thing looked stupid.
I coughed a couple of times and wandered into the bathroom and threw up. In something like a stupor, I flushed the toilet with one hand and brushed my teeth with the other. I shook food into Alice’s bowl and went back to bed. Drifting off to sleep, I pushed the dummy onto the floor.
I didn’t wake up again until after nine. This time I put on my glasses and telephoned Colette.
“Good morning, darling,” I said cheerily into the phone.
“What?”
“It’s a beautiful day out.”
“Who is this?”
I switched the phone to the other ear. “Who else calls you ‘darling’?”
“I’m asleep. Who is this?”
“Kelly.” Colette didn’t say anything, so I said, “Kelly Palamino.”
“I know which Kelly you are. Why did you wake me up?”
“Because you’re beautiful.”
I heard a long yawn followed by, “Horsepoop. I can’t talk to you anymore, Kelly.”
“We nearly died together in that box. You’ve got to talk to me.”
Another yawn leaked through the phone lines. “I told you in the bar it’s all over. You passing out on the back of my neck doesn’t change a thing. It’s time for me to quit this game and grow up.”
“But you love me.”
“I never said that.”
I stared at the dial on the phone for a moment. “You never denied it either.”
“I don’t know how I feel about you, Kelly. You confuse me. I hate being confused.”
I switched the phone back to the original ear. “We need to talk about the other day,” I said.
“Why?”
“For one thing, John threatened my life.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“I risked everything for you.”
“Did I ask you to risk anything? Did I encourage you in any way? Leave me out of this. I’ve got enough trouble with John on my own.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“None of your business.” I didn’t have a comeback, so after a moment, Colette continued in a singsong voice, “I like you, Kelly. I’ll never forget you, but…but. You know the words of that speech. I’m sure you’ve heard them before.” I had. “The last line is that I can’t see you anymore.”
“I’ve got a great idea,” I said. “Let’s eat breakfast together.”
“Kelly, you aren’t listening. John will kill you if we’re seen together again. And he’ll do worse to me.”
“What?”
“What what?”
“What will he do to you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. You’ve caused enough trouble already, Kelly. It’s time for me to settle down and become a Happy Homemaker until Danny retires or dies or both.”
“How can you say that when you’re in love with me?”
“I rehearsed.”
“Meet me for breakfast.”
“No. It’s too risky.”
“You could come here, to my apartment. No one will see you here.”
“No.”
I dropped the phone on the floor. When I pulled it up by the cord, Colette asked, “What was that?”
“I dropped the phone.”
“You should be more careful. You’ll break it.”
“Colette. Listen. This is the last time. I promise. Lord, I love you. I live for you, Colette. At least give me one last good-bye.”
She didn’t answer for a while. “You’ll get all mushy.”
“No, I won’t. I swear. No mush, no fuss.”
Another pause. “You’ll never bother me again?”
“Never. Promise. See me one last time and you’ll never see me again.”
This pause was longer than the other two combined. About the time I thought Colette had gone back to sleep, she said, “Shit. I’m a fool to trust you, but okay. I’ll be there in an hour. How do I find your apartment?”
Gotcha, I thought.
“No, you don’t,” Colette said.
***
Another nice thing about Colette is her posture. I’m big on posture, probably because mine is so horrible. Colette walks with her shoulders straight, her chin up. When she’s in a hurry her arms hang back a little with the knuckles facing forward—kind of streamlined. I like that. I tried to walk Colette-style, but it looked like I was falling instead of walking.
After she hung up, I went into the kitchen and washed a mountain of dishes. Inspired by the Mad Hatter, I own lots of dishes, hundreds of dishes, enough to eat daily for weeks without washing any. They pile up and stink. Live things, moss or mold or something else disgusting grows in the bottoms of the glasses. I’m not very proud of my personal hygiene habits.
Something special had to be cooked for Colette’s breakfast. Something that would make her come back for more. I was torn between down-home—biscuits, grits, and eggs—or flashy—a flaming crepe dish. While I stood in the kitchen deciding, Colette knocked on the door.
She was ravishing, beautiful, all brown eyes, dark hair, and posture. God’s own woman.
“Do you like grits?” I asked.
“Grits?”
I nodded. Colette wore a T-shirt, a red one with nothing stupid written on it.
She looked over at the church. “Can I come in, Kelly? I’d just as soon not be seen out here.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot.” I stood aside and let Colette walk past me and into my apartment.
“Nice place,” she said. “What do you pay for it?”
I stood behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “One-eighty plus bills. Come here.” I turned her. Colette made a sighing noise and we hugged.
I mean, we both hugged. She hugged back. Then we kissed. I tried slipping some tongue past those cared-for teeth, but she wouldn’t go quite that far, so we returned to a mutual hug.
I kissed her lightly on the ear. “Do you like grits or not?” I asked.
“Hate ’em. Kelly, do you mind if I ask a question?”
I pulled away with both hands still on her shoulders. “Anything.”
Colette looked me in the eyes. “Why aren’t you wearing pants?”
“Pants?”
“Pants.”
I looked down at my pinstriped boxer shorts. “I just woke up.”
“You called me over an hour ago.” I didn’t answer. Colette continued, “You’re taking this spaced-out eccentric act a little far.”
“I guess so.” I let go of her shoulders. “Don’t leave. I’ll get dressed.”
I shut the door behind me as I went into the bedroom. My jeans lay in a pile under the desk. “So what do you want for breakfast?” I called.
“Coffee.”
“Coffee. I would have thought you’re a big breakfast eater. Pancakes, waffles, cantaloupes filled with cream.”
“Shows how much you know about me,” Colette answered.
Checking my zipper twice, I opened the bedroom door. “I know your soul,” I said. “That’s the part that counts.”
“Do you honestly expect me to swallow crap like that? Who’s this?” She held up the elk skull. One of the teeth fell on the floor.
“That’s Sherlock. She’s my pet skull.”
“She? How can you tell it’s a she?”
“I don’t relate to males. Even dead ones. Coffee’s all you want?”
I walked into the kitchen and dug under the counter for the coffeepot. It was an old camp pot, all black on the bottom.
Colette leaned against the door. “You don’t have any men friends, do you?” she said. “That seems odd.”
“I don’t trust men. They lie. Their crotches don’t know right from wrong. They give women drugs and presents and expect kinky sex in return.” I turned back to Colette. “I can’t find the guts to the coffeepot. They were here yesterday.”
She pointed. “Over the drainboard.”
“Thanks.” I picked the long piece out of the drainboard and fit it into the pot.
“I’ve been here three minutes and you’re already asking me where things are,” Colette said. “You must be awful to live with.”
I turned on the cold water and let it run a moment before filling the pot. “Did John tell Danny about catching us together?”
“He wouldn’t dare.”
“Why not?”
“Didn’t you hear the meeting Monday?”
The plastic lid wouldn’t come off the coffee can. I had to sit down and clamp the can with my knees and pull the top off with both hands. That had never happened to me before. “I was fighting for survival in that box. It didn’t seem polite to eavesdrop.”
“John’s planning to subdivide the Broken Hart. He’s literally selling his mother’s grave. Danny will disinherit the old fart when he finds out they’re building a condo city on the family homestead.”
“I don’t think a son can disinherit his father.”
“He can’t?”
Carefully I spooned eight tablespoons of coffee grounds into the metal bowl. “No. A father disinherits a son, but not vice versa. The son can get mad or run away, but that’s about it.”
“Whatever. Danny’s not going to like it, and if John tells on me, I’ll tell on him.”
“Danny’s bound to find out when the bulldozer knocks down the fence.”
“That won’t happen for months, long after there’s anything he can do to stop it.”
The first match sputtered and died, but the second burned. I lit the burner and set the coffeepot on the heat. “Then we’ve got something on John. He can’t stop us from seeing each other.”
Colette brushed the hair out of her face. “Yeah, but he’s got a lot more on me than I’ve got on him.”
“What?”
“He told me yesterday, something happened after the wedding.”
I would have followed up with another “What?” but someone knocked at the door. They didn’t knock. They rapped hard, the way the police rap when they suspect you’re flushing evidence down the toilet.
Colette jumped about a foot. “This is it,” she said.
I had a sudden urge to be somewhere else. “Maybe not. Maybe not. Maybe it’s census takers or religious fanatics. Go in the bed
room and shut the door.”
“But if it’s John, I’ll look even worse when he finds me in the bedroom.”
“If it’s John we’re both dead anyway. Shut the door, crawl under the bed if you have to.”
Whoever it was knocked again, even louder.
“Hold on,” I shouted.
A fist banged on the door. Colette went into the bedroom and closed the door. I checked to make sure it was shut tight.
***
I guess I expected John or the police. Instead, a man I’d never seen barged in.
“I’ve come for your phone,” he said, looking around.
“Huh?”
“Where’s the phone?” He spotted it on the trunk and walked over and picked it up. He was a big man wearing a chain belt with all kinds of tools hanging off his hips.
“Why do you want my phone?”
“Orders are orders. Guess you didn’t pay the bill. Is this the only one?” He began wrapping the cord around the base of the phone.
“Are you with the telephone company?”
The man stopped wrapping and looked at me. “Of course I’m with the telephone company. Why else would I want your telephone?”
“I don’t know.”
He worked quickly. The phone was the kind that plugs into a jack in the wall, so it disconnected in no time at all.
“If I pay the bill, will you put it back in?”
“Sure, if you put up a new deposit.”
“How much is that?”
“Once you’ve been cut off, it usually takes a couple hundred bucks to get back on,” the man grinned, “but I have a feeling that it might cost you a good deal more.”
He tucked my phone under his arm and left.
Colette walked out of the bedroom, carrying the two pillows dressed in the nightgown. She carried them in her arms like a baby.
“I liked that phone,” I said.
“What’s this?” She held up the pillows and the white nightgown. It was a very nice nightgown. I don’t know why Julie left it.
“You,” I said. “I was pretending to sleep with you. Did John send that guy?”
“What do you think? Why am I on the floor?”
I kept looking at the spot where my phone had been. It didn’t seem right that it was gone.
