Heart of Texas

by Kirk Haggerty

That’s all we know.

  Bronsworth

  PS: Don’t worry about the loan. The Cavalry is on its way.

  Back to more serious business, with the pool.

  After diving in and enjoying the cool water, I was thinking about the best way to call Bronsworth to tell him the show was off. I’d had enough, I was coming home.

  I took one more underwater lap. As I came to the surface, I heard a familiar voice.

  “There you are, Danny boy!”

  I shook my head to clear the chlorinated water from my eyes.

  “Mom? What are you doing here?”

  She reached down and kissed my wet forehead. She was dressed in nice summer clothes and a hat. She had two pull-along suitcases at her side. For someone who was forty-five years old, she could still attract the attention of many older men.

  “I came to save your job. We’re going to another bank to get that loan for your bookstore.”

  “Huh? How did you … my boss told you.” Is nothing sacred?

  “He called me as soon as he heard the bad news. I took the earliest flight I could get.”

  I pulled myself out of the pool and dried myself off. “You landed at the Hamilton airfield?”

  “That’s right, direct from Dallas. Mr. Bronsworth made all the arrangements. Nice planes, those Piper Cherokees.”

  As soon as I was dried off she gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, like a good mother always does.

  “You got a rent-a-car?”

  “A taxi brought me here. I’ll find something later.”

  “How’s papa doing?”

  “Busy as usual, but he sends you his love.”

  I nodded in satisfaction. I noticed as papa got older he didn’t like to fly anymore. I guess his last visit to me in Berlin two years ago might very well have been his last flight. “Mom, you need to know I was rejected because I didn’t have enough collateral.”

  “But I have enough, you know that very well.”

  “But the big bad man at the bank, Mr. Hopkins doesn’t like me.”

  “Then the big bad Mr. Hopkins is a jackass. We’re going to his competitor.” Just like mom, bless her heart. She gestured to one of her suitcases. “Would you be so good as to take one of them? I’m going to need a room here.”

  I pulled one of the bags as we walked to the motel office. “How long are you staying?”

  “As long as it takes to get your business started.”

  “But that could take weeks.”

  “Afraid I’m going to cramp your style, Danny Boy? No, I’m staying at this place for a couple of days. Meanwhile you’re going to find an apartment in Hamilton while I find me a nice hotel.”

  “You won’t find anything good here, that’s for sure. Maybe in Stephenville or in Waco.”

  “Trust me, son. I’m more resourceful than you think. Do you know I met a rich rancher on the Piper flight out here? He can provide me one of those beautiful, air-conditioned bungalows out in the prairie.” She began to laugh.

  “What so funny?”

  “Oh, Danny, the rancher’s wife told me the funniest jokes about southern women, I just have to tell you.”

  “Ohh, kaay.” I was all ears.

  She tried her best to stop laughing. She giggled once more, then put on a straight face. “A southern couple and a northern couple meet together for dinner at the captain’s table on a cruise ship. The southern wife asks in her Texas drawl, ‘So, where you all live at?’ The northern wife answers in a snobby manner, ‘Where I come from, we do not end our sentences with a preposition.’ The southern wife says with a smile, ‘I’m sorry … so, where do you all live at … bitch?’” [3]

  Mothers can be so amusing, but not often amusing enough.

  After I’d changed my clothes and got my mother a room at the motel, we drove to another bank in town. Mom treated herself to every bit of luxury, in the same way a business should treat any first-class client, including a pot of tea and a breakfast croissant with jam next to desk of the loan officer. When she asked for a glass of mineral water, the staff apologized that they had no such commodity in the house, and asked if 7-Up would be acceptable.

  Getting down to business was more interesting. Mother produced a completed loan application from her attaché case, this time for $850,000. She also fished out a business plan for the bookstore, with financial projections for profits for the next five years, as well as presenting several sketches of what the store would look like – in colorful pastels and shading. Mother used to be a fashion designer and can sketch anything. There was more in her bag of tricks too. Most importantly, she presented the kind banker with proof of her financial securities at a Boston consultancy; this included various stocks and bonds and other complex investment portfolios.

  The manager was drooling when he feasted his eyes on all this wonderful paperwork. “I see no problem with the processing of this loan, Mrs. Preis.”

  “But we still need office space,” she said, speaking in accent-free English.

  “I know all the real estate agents here, ma’am. There are several prime office spaces available in the center of town, just waiting for renovation.”

  “Can you call your most trusted agent, right now? My son and I would like to take you and this agent out to lunch to discuss it in detail. Do you know a good place?”

  I did my best to hide a chuckle – in this town?

  “We do have a nice Italian restaurant. Would that suit you, Mrs. Preis?”

  “That will suit us just fine.”

  “I’ll call my associate immediately and see if he has time.”

  “Make sure he DOES have time.” Mother had a voice of authority that could make the mayor of Boston stand and salute. She’s always been the one who wears the pants in our family.

  And there it was. After a three-hour lunch date at a semi-decent Italian restaurant, we not only got the loan approved, but an appointment to meet the notary the next day to finalize the rental of the office building. After lunch we walked two block s in the Texas heat to see an office building with an upper floor and cellar. It was huge, empty and dusty. Apparently, it had been a department store which went bust in the last financial crisis. The agent presented mother with the business card of an interior decorator.

  “This is an expert from Dallas,” he explained. “He has over thirty years’ experience and can convert any old office into a beautiful mall-like shop; something that would rival the sidewalk stores in New York or London.”

  Sort of like ‘Pimp my Ride’ I supposed.

  Mother smiled as she took the card. “That remains to be seen. In the meantime, can you find my son an apartment, close to the future bookshop?”

  “Certainly, ma’am. I’ll get to it right away. Mr. Preis, do you have time tomorrow to allow me to show some choice rooms? Perhaps after the appointment with the notary?”

  “That’s fine with me, sir.” I was beginning to like this sort of pampering. I knew it would be temporary. Once mother returned to Boston I would have to manage the joint on my own.

  Within a matter of days, a section of Main Street in downtown Hamilton was busy with workmen, in and out of the office. Lines of trucks and vans were parked all around the block, and a bulldozer was clearing away old asphalt and weeds from the lot next door, for future parking.

  As some workers were tearing out a wall, and another was pulling out old wiring, the interior decorator from Dallas presented various plans to show to mother and me. She took out her pastel crayon and began sketching counter ideas and suggestions for walls, stairs, lighting and furniture. Everything was open to discussion about how the shop should look. In the end, the designer yielded to my mother’s hard demands. Money talks, of course.

  In this dusty, noisy construction zone, we hammered out the name of our venture, ‘The Preis is Right Bookstore’

  “Not ‘bookstore’, but ‘book shop’, it must have the sound of something outside American culture,” said mom. “And believe me, these cowboys need all th
e culture they can get.”

  Meanwhile, the real estate agent pinned down a nice place that would be good enough for me to live in for a year. The man apologized that he couldn’t offer a decent apartment, so he had to offer me an empty house. Beggars can’t be choosers.

  It was a three-bedroom house, within walking distance of the shop, built in the 1920s with a long outdoor veranda. I could imagine Grandpa Walton sitting in his rocking chair on a cool summer evening, playing his banjo on such a porch. The rooms were spacious though, they appeared much bigger than the house itself. That must have been some ingenious Roaring 20’s architect; spooky feelings of the Twilight Zone or Dr. Who’s Tardis filled my imagination. Mom and I agreed that the place would be ideal for me: the larger bedroom for me, the smaller for guests, and the third room for an office. The combined dining room and kitchen was in the middle of the house and was the first thing I would see when I opened the front door.

  “Yes,” said mother, “I see possibilities.”

  “Um, mom, allow me to contact the interior decorator this time.”

  “Fine with me, son. As long as you don’t put up wagon wheels for lighting or deer heads on the wall.”

  “I was figuring a mechanical bull in the middle of the living room, mom. A young man has to impress his guests,” I said with a wink.

  “You know, Danny Boy, you need to hire some reliable workers in the shop. You won’t be able to run everything, since you need time to write your blog.”

  “I already know someone who has experience selling books.”

  She elbowed me in the ribs. “Well I hope she’s cute.”

  I hoped she was cute too. When mom returned to supervise the construction, I paid a visit to Karen’s bookstore.

  I gazed at a newspaper covering the glass door and windows, hiding the interior. The ‘Out of Business’ sign was hand written. There was a phone number at the bottom, so I called.

  “Hello?”

  “Karen, it’s Daniel Preis. I got your number from your former shop.”

  “Yeah, well I heard about your new business and all the work goin’ on there. I wish you all the best…”

  “Wait, don’t hang up. I need to talk to you.”

  “What for?”

  “I need workers and I want to hire you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yes, Karen. You can start all over again. I know you’d be most happy in a brand new bookstore. Imagine the wonderful fresh smell of newly-printed books from floor to ceiling, and coffee and tea upstairs, and plush chairs to sit and read. Please don’t say no.”

  She paused for a moment. “I shouldn’t have written my number on that sign. You come into town like a hot shot and offer me a job working for you?” She sounded sarcastic.

  I was getting desperate. “Please?”

  “I need to think about it, Daniel. I’m going through a lot of stuff right now.”

  “Please call me back. I’ll be waiting, Ok?”

  She hung up without saying goodbye. What was I doing wrong? Maybe it wasn’t meant to be. I guessed I’d have to hire some pimply-face college students to do the dirty work. This was a good time to go back to the motel and write another blog entry: Not only are Texas rednecks dumb and aggressive, but their women are just as fickle.

  But weren’t they just the same in Boston?

  Two days later a van full of furniture arrived at my new house. The decorator joined me and we advised the movers where to put things. Two more workers arrived to fit the lighting and curtains. It was an all day job, and there would still be much to do the next day, when the kitchen units arrived. I was looking forward to getting out of the motel and moving into my own four walls with a backyard. I even ordered myself a rocking chair for the porch: Grandpa Walton – here I come.

  My last night at the motel, my cell phone rang.

  “Daniel, it Karen.”

  “Hi.”

  “Hi. Look, about the job offer …”

  My heart was about to sink into despair with the forthcoming news.

  “My parents want to meet you before I make any decisions.”

  “Ok.”

  “Can you come to dinner tomorrow evening?”

  “Thanks for the invitation.” It was so much like ‘Pride and Prejudice’ again.

  “My parents have a ranch outside of town. I’ll SMS the address.”

  A ranch? They want to rope and brand me?

  Chapter Six

  Mother and I worked with the decorator and seven other construction workers throughout the day. The oak floors were almost complete. A woodworker was coming later to install some super-expensive stairs and banisters. I wondered if $850,000 was going to be enough for this operation, but mom said that she had planned everything perfectly.

  “I’ve got to leave early, mom. I want to finish moving the last of my stuff from the motel to my house.”

  She was scolding two men for not inserting the toilet fixtures to her standards in the bathroom. She turned and said, “OK, do you want to have dinner together? The Chinese place?”

  “Sorry mom, I have a dinner appointment with a family at a ranch.”

  “What’s going on?”

  I wanted to tell my mother to buzz off, but I took a breath instead. “The girl I want to hire … well, her parents want to meet me first.”

  “This sounds serious. You’d better be on your best behavior, son.”

  “I’m always on my best behavior.”

  I’d arranged to meet Karen at the old City Courthouse building at 6:00 PM. From there I would take her to her parents’ place. The courthouse was in the center of town and the tallest structure, a 19th-century Greek temple-like thing made of white stones. I pulled into the parking lot and found Karen in a nice white cotton dress with a cowboy hat and boots. She was wearing her nerdy book glasses again.

  “Hop in,” I said, opening the door to the Dakota. She graced me with her presence and buckled up. I felt privileged that I had a girl in my truck, other than my mother.

  “You tell me where to drive and I’ll take you there.”

  “Thanks,” she said with a bright smile. “Just go north on the main road.”

  I pulled out and we were on our way. Within three minutes we had left Hamilton and had the open road to ouselves.

  Karen became curious when she saw my iPod attached to the radio. “What sort of music do you have?”

  “All kinds, comedy and Dr. Demento.”

  “Huh?”

  “I like eclectic comic songs the best, but for you, I can select any country station you want from here to the Pecos River.”

  “I bet you don’t even know where the Pecos is.”

  “Heard about it from a cartoon I saw as a kid. Maybe it was Speedy Gonzales.”

  “You are funny, Daniel. I can’t imagine that you’re the manager type.”

  “I’m full of surprises, my dear.”

  She chuckled while listening to a few of my songs, switching from one track to the other, such as ‘Monster Mash’, ‘Time Warp’ and ‘Earache My Eye’.

  “Turn right, we’re going on a country road from here on,” she said.

  A country road indeed, with broken asphalt to boot. As the minutes turned into half an hour, the road was pitted with potholes. We must have gone almost ten miles on this road. The thicket was becoming more like a jungle.

  “Do you have cows on this ranch?”

  “Just horses.”

  “I don’t see how they can graze with so much foliage.”

  “It’ll clear up once we get over that hill.”

  After another ten minutes, and finishing up with Steve Martin’s ‘King Tut’ and my personal favorite, ‘They’re Coming To Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa’, we made the crest of the hill and the thicket disappeared; beyond was open land with numerous trees dotting the landscape.

  “This looks nice,” I said, lowering the volume.

  “Yeah, I like it.”

  “So you grew up on this ranch?”

/>   “Yep, I moved out just two years ago, after finishing college.”

  “Where did you go?” I asked.

  “Texas A&M.”

  “What did you study?”

  “I majored in business with American literature as a minor.”

  “So how big is the ranch?”

  “About two hundred acres. Between Hamilton and Hico. We should be seeing it soon.”

  She pointed it out to me as we crossed over the next hill. Down below was a spacious ranch house, with a barn and several corrals and horse stalls.

  “That looks great. So who does the ranching?”

  “My parents and my twin brother. We’ve got some workers to help.”

  “You’ve got a twin brother?”

  “Yep, Kenny.”

  “Karen and Kenny. I like that.”

  “You’ll like them. They’re all nice.”

  “You don’t help on the ranch?”

  “No.” She sighed. “About six years ago, I developed a serious animal and hay allergy. I can’t be too close to horses for too long, and I can’t venture into a stall without getting an asthma attack.”

  That explained why she’d used asthma spray when we were hiding behind the container during the fight. Poor girl.

  “I’m sorry, Karen. This must be hard for you, since you’ve lived in the country all your life.”

  “It is. That’s why I studied business and tried to open my bookshop.”

  We remained quiet for the rest of the drive to the ranch. I was able to find the ‘Bonanza’ theme on my iPod, and finally the country comedy song, ‘She Only Bitches When She Breathes’, by Freddy B.

  Karen suddenly turned off the music. “I’m not impressed by it.”

  Talk about a faux pas. I should not have played that to a nice Texas girl whom I found attractive.

  “I’m sorry about that. I got carried away,” I said.

  She nodded and answered, “Just stick to Roy Rogers and Hank Williams.”

  The sign overhead said “Owens Farm – Quarter Horses”. Was there a breed of ‘half-horses’ too?

  Karen got out of the truck as soon as I parked in front of the house. A family of three came out.