Bad Jobs and Poor Decisions

by J. R. Helton

  “It is. I can’t wait,” Karen said.

  They both turned and looked at me expectantly.

  “Oh yeah,” I said, and tried to sound enthused. “It’ll be great.”

  There was a long silence as we bounced along the driveway. I broke it by mentioning to Betty Sue that the last time I’d seen her she’d been wearing the same jean shirt. She said she knew, and that she’d become too dependent on the shirt, but hadn’t I been wearing the same shirt I wore tonight in Santa Fe, too? I said yes, she was right, but that I cared for my shirt in a way she didn’t.

  “Didn’t Susan buy you that?”

  “Yeah, she did.”

  “Now, where is Susan again?” Karen asked.

  “She’s out of town,” I said. “Out of the country, actually.”

  “She’s visiting a friend of ours in San Miguel,” Betty Sue said. “Tina Lambert. She used to be married to Bill Lambert, the artist.”

  “Oh,” Karen said.

  “Tina teaches art, mainly watercolor painting down there. Susan’s taking a class for two weeks.”

  “Oh,” Karen said again. “That sounds like fun.”

  “She just got off work,” I said, then added, “She needed a vacation.”

  “Jake and Susan just finished working on the TV Western miniseries The Cry of the Plain. It’s coming out in ’88, and it’s going to be incredibly popular. Jake, do you have a roach?”

  I checked my pockets and said no.

  “Maybe I can find one in the ashtray,” Betty Sue said.

  Karen turned in her seat and faced me. “What did you do on it?”

  “I was one of the painters. We painted the sets.”

  “Oh, neat,” Karen said.

  “Susan was an assistant to the producer, Ian Watt,” Betty Sue said. “He’s from England, but he lives in Dallas. Ian has a fabulous art collection. He’s a new friend of Martin’s.”

  “I think I’ve heard of Ian Watt,” Karen said. “I think Martin gave Ian one of my pies.”

  “Karen makes the best pies,” Betty Sue said and looked into the rearview mirror to delicately remove something from her eye.

  “Is there anything wrong?” Karen asked.

  “No,” Betty Sue said, “I’ve just got some dust in my contact.” She went back to rummaging through the ashtray, driving the car, and blinking her left eye over and over until a tear formed. “Ahh, here’s one. Jake, dear, would you please light it?”

  “Sure.”

  I took the large roach from her hand, and Betty Sue’s fingers lingered noticeably on my own, her gaze meeting mine. She smiled, pulled away, and handed me a roach clip.

  “And here.”

  I lit it and we passed it back and forth, filling the car with smoke. Karen politely refused the first two passes. Betty Sue mentioned how Karen was incredibly healthy and didn’t smoke or drink or eat sugar, salt, or fat.

  “She does all of Martin’s cooking since the bypass.”

  I nodded. “Really.”

  “I just cook the same food for him that I eat,” Karen said.

  Betty Sue let out a cloud of gray smoke. “Can’t you just tell she’s healthy? She’s beautiful. Look at her skin, it glows.”

  “It does,” I said and began to cough. Betty Sue started hacking as well, and we formed a chorus. On the third pass, Karen said she would take a hit.

  Betty Sue laughed. “I’m shocked.”

  Karen smiled. “Well, I don’t want to be a drag. Besides, I am from California.” She pursed her lips and inhaled lightly. She tried to hand the roach to me, and I signaled no more. Betty Sue took it, had one last big hit, and put it out in the ashtray. I stared at the fine blonde hairs on Karen’s cheek, then at Betty Sue’s blue eyes in the rearview mirror. I saw her full lips part, her mouth open.

  “Martin’s written the first draft of a new screenplay. I mean a very rough draft, and he just dumped the whole thing in my lap yesterday and told me to fix it up.” Her words seemed too loud and hung in the fog of the car.

  “You poor thing,” Karen said.

  Betty Sue pouted out her bottom lip. “Poor me. . . . BH and Denny Hit are going to get there at seven-thirty or eight. It’s BH’s box.”

  We turned off the ranch road and wound quietly through Briarcreek, a resort development that appeared to be deserted.

  “I’m surprised they have boxes now,” I said.

  “It’s changed,” Betty Sue said.

  “Do they still have slack time?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll have to see.” She stared out the windshield. We left Briarcreek, crossed a bridge, and turned at a sign that read: VFW Local 337, Parking.

  “What’s slack time?” Karen asked.

  “It’s really the best part of the rodeo,” I said. “At the end, all the bull riders who didn’t—”

  “We’re here,” Betty Sue said. “This is going to be fun.” She parked the car and asked Karen how she looked.

  “You look wonderful,” Karen said. “How do I look?”

  “Very pretty,” Betty Sue said drily and began to go through her purse. “You know I haven’t been to the rodeo here in so long.”

  “I thought you said you and BH went last year,” Karen said.

  Betty Sue laughed. “Oh, I guess we did. Well, it seems like it’s been forever. I’m going to leave my purse in the car.”

  “I’m taking mine,” Karen said. “It’s so small.”

  “And it’s mine too,” Betty Sue said.

  “Oh, that’s right, I already forgot, I—”

  Betty Sue overrode her. “So, it’ll be like both of us are taking our purses.”

  “Right,” Karen said. She tilted her head back slowly, stuck her chin out, and smiled when she said the word.

  They stepped out of the car onto the gravel lot. Small groups of people moved through the main gate adjacent to the concession stand and dance hall. An old man wearing a green mesh VFW cap and a green vest covered in ribbons and buttons was sitting comfortably in a folding metal chair at the gate. He slowly and deliberately tore each person’s ticket. When we reached the old vet, Betty Sue smiled, laughed, and explained in a musical roundabout way for everyone within earshot that we were there as guests of BH Hill and didn’t really need tickets at the gate. The old man seemed confused but waved us through.

  Just past the crowded concession stand, tended by busy grandmothers and grandfathers, I stopped, and Betty Sue and Karen kept walking. A man about my height, but older and heavier, walked up and smiled, showing off two silver front teeth.

  “Hey, Jake.”

  “Hey, Cecil.”

  A short, plump girl walked up beside Cecil and held his hand.

  “This is my new girlfriend, Wendy,” Cecil said. “Say hello, Wendy.”

  “Hello Wendy,” she said and laughed at her joke.

  “Jake and his big brother, Alton, used to cut cedar posts off of our ranch a long time ago,” Cecil said. His voice still had that lazy, high-pitched feminine sound. “They used to bitch that I never paid ’em enough.”

  “You didn’t,” I said.

  Another, taller man, wearing a much-too-big black cowboy hat, lumbered up. He and I shook hands.

  “Kent.”

  “Jake.”

  Kent introduced a different, plump young girlfriend and asked me when I was going skiing with them again.

  “I still haven’t recovered from the last time.”

  Kent smiled. “Man, that was fun. What, I guess that was eight years ago? Damn. Honey”—he looked down at the girl at his side—“this is the Jake Stewart I told you about. He’s married to Susan Hampton, or I guess it’s Susan Stewart now.”

  “No, you got it right the first time. Susan kept her name.”

  “One of those Hollywood marriages,” Cecil said.

  “That skiing trip’s a legend,” Kent’s girlfriend said. “I never stop hearing about it.”

  “Yeah,” I said, a twang creeping into my voice, “I think we pissed off th
e whole state of Colorado.”

  “Fuck ’em,” Kent said. “It was fun. When are you goin’ with us again? We’re goin’ up to Vail this year.”

  “I haven’t had time to do anything lately. I’m just working a lot.”

  “Jake’s a big shot now who works on movies,” Cecil explained to Wendy.

  “Really?” Wendy said. She and the other girl asked me what movies I’d worked on and what I did.

  “He worked on The Cry of the Plain,” Cecil said.

  “Right.”

  “When’s it coming out?” Wendy asked.

  “It’s supposed to come out in the spring.”

  “Didn’t they film that here in Texas?” Kent asked. “I mean, didn’t a lot of Texas people work on it?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It started here in Texas, but they filmed it in New Mexico. There were a bunch of Texans involved in it, but the money came from the Newburgh Group in New York. I think it was a joint deal with Nepal Productions, ABC, and—”

  “All right, all right,” Cecil interrupted. “Don’t talk that big-money crap with us, Jake.”

  “Right, sorry.”

  “Speaking of big money,” Kent said, “do you make any working on those things? Maybe I’ll get a job.”

  “Yeah,” I said, looking at Cecil. “It’s good pay, but you have to travel a lot, live in hotels, and you usually spend a lot. If you can get hotel and per diem you can save some money.”

  Wendy put Cecil’s arm around her waist. “Did you hang out with any stars?”

  “No, I was just a set painter.”

  “Did you see any stars?” Kent asked.

  “Yeah, it was hard not to. Susan got me into a lot of the parties.”

  “I guess it don’t hurt to marry into the bigwigs,” Cecil said.

  “Well,” I said, “it’s keeping me out of the goddamn cedar post business.”

  Cecil smiled. “Don’t get mad, Jake. You’re always so sensitive.”

  Wendy slapped Cecil on the arm. “Quit being rude.”

  “You can be rude to old friends,” Cecil said. “That’s what they’re for. You want a beer, Jake?”

  “I was just going to go buy one.”

  “That beer sucks,” Cecil said. “Where’s the ice chest?”

  Kent pointed to a red Igloo cooler at the base of a live oak. “Over by that tree.”

  “Wendy, go get Jake a beer.”

  “You go get it.”

  “Golly,” Cecil said, grabbing the girl’s waist, “you sure are feisty tonight. Are you gonna be this feisty later? I feel like nursin’ tonight, Jake, breast-feedin’.”

  “Why don’t you shut up?” Wendy said. “Jake, do you want a beer?”

  “No thanks. I’m supposed to be buying one for everybody else right now. They’re waiting for me—”

  “Okay, okay, we get the hint,” Cecil said, walking away. “We’re gonna go down here. See you later, Jake. Keep making that good money. Give that sexy Susan a big kiss for me.” He giggled, and Wendy slapped his back.

  “Oh more, hit me again,” Cecil said.

  “He’s crazy,” Wendy said. “Nice to meet ya.”

  Kent and his girlfriend picked up the ice chest at the oak tree, holding beers in their free hands.

  “Call us if you wanna go to Vail,” Kent said.

  “Okay, I will.”

  “Say hi to Susan for us.”

  “See y’all later.”

  I walked toward the concession stand until the two couples were out of sight, then doubled back down to some steps and a box facing the middle of the arena. Betty Sue and Karen sat near the silver railing, their heads close together.

  “There’s Jake,” Karen said. “Where were you?”

  “I ran into some people.”

  “There’s a lot of those around,” Betty Sue said. “Have you seen BH?’

  “No.”

  “He’s always late. What do you think, Jake, we were trying to decide.”

  “What?”

  Betty Sue straightened her skirt. “Should I marry BH?”

  “Did he ask you?”

  Betty Sue laughed. “Well, no, not yet. But I’m sure he will.”

  “He’d be a fool not to,” I said.

  “Yes he would, but you know, I don’t think he wants me as a part of his life. He’s built this gigantic new house, and it only has one bedroom in it. It’s definitely a giant bachelor’s pad.”

  As she spoke, a fat man with curly black hair and a thin, attractive, young woman discreetly listened from their metal chairs, three feet away. The woman kept tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. The man propped a sandal-clad foot on the railing.

  “I just think he wants to be alone,” Betty Sue said.

  “Do you want to marry BH?” I asked.

  Betty Sue smiled. “Probably not. I can’t decide. But he could at least do me the courtesy of asking.” She turned and looked up the steps. “They should be here. Denny’s really nice. You’ll like him. He was a champion bull rider for years. He was also in the Green Berets in Vietnam. He’s very close to the governor.”

  “Really?” I said.

  “Yes, and he was wounded in the war and had to go through rehabilitation for his left arm.”

  “Wow,” Karen said. She moved her chair closer to mine. I turned to look at her, and Betty Sue grabbed my arm with both hands.

  “Oh my God,” she said. “There’s Calvin. Hide me!” She put her head against my shoulder, trying to conceal herself. I searched the passing crowd for Calvin.

  “Who’s Calvin?” Karen asked.

  “Yeah, who’s Calvin?” I asked.

  Betty Sue released me, the danger gone.

  “Somebody I don’t want to talk about. I’m really thirsty.”

  “I feel an errand coming on,” I said.

  The heavy man with curly black hair leaned over and touched Betty Sue’s elbow.

  “Would you like something to drink, Betty Sue? We’ve got an ice chest, if you want a beer.”

  “Thank you, Joseph, but I’ll wait.”

  Joseph looked at Karen and me. “Would either of you like a beer?”

  “No thank you,” Karen said.

  “I’ll have one,” I said.

  Joseph opened his small ice chest and handed me a can.

  “All we have is light.”

  “That’s fine.” I opened the can and took a swallow. “Thanks.”

  Betty Sue readjusted her skirt. “Joseph, this is my son-in-law, Jake Stewart, and you met Karen. Jake, this is Joseph, and—I’m sorry, what was your name?”

  Joseph’s date tossed her hair vigorously. “Cathy.” She smiled.

  “Joseph’s just returned from Italy,” Betty Sue said.

  “Were you there on vacation?” I asked.

  “No, I live there,” Joseph said. “This is the vacation, isn’t it?”

  “Absolutely,” Cathy said.

  Betty Sue stood up. “Karen, let’s go to the concession stand and see if they’re here.”

  Karen jumped from her chair and knocked it over. She balanced herself with a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry. We’ll be right back, Jake. Stay here.”

  “Okay”.

  I watched them walk up the steps, their heads close together again.

  “Are you from around here?” Joseph asked. He and Cathy stared at me sincerely.

  “Yes, I’m from Cypress.”

  Cathy sat up, interested. “Oh, you are?”

  “Yeah, but I live in Austin now.”

  “You know,” Joseph said, “I have a daughter at the University of Texas that I like to brag about. Do you mind?’

  “Brag away.”

  “She’s in a very good honors program, and although her major is subject to change, she’s making straight As there.”

  “So what do you do, Jake?” Cathy asked.

  “I’m a painter.”

  “I think Betty Sue mentioned that,” Joseph said. “You and Susan worked on The Cry of the Plai
n.”

  “Right.”

  “Did Susan work on the set as well?”

  “Actually, no. She was a production secretary and then an assistant to one of the producers, a young guy named Ian Watt.”

  “And what does that entail?” Cathy asked.

  I had another drink of beer. “I’m not sure exactly. It seemed to be a lot of gift buying and having dinner with people.”

  Cathy and Joseph laughed lightly.

  “I’ve heard it’s difficult to work on a movie,” Joseph said.

  “I guess so. The hours are probably the worst thing, at least twelve a day, six days a week. She and I actually don’t get to see each other much during a film. She’s with production, and I’m in the art department or on set.”

  “Where is Susan?” Joseph asked. “Betty Sue has told me so much about her, I feel I know her already.”

  “She’s in Mexico right now visiting a friend of hers who teaches art in San Miguel. A well-deserved vacation.”

  “A lot of Americans in San Miguel,” Joseph said.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that.”

  “Are you working on something now?” Cathy asked.

  “No, but I’m getting ready to fly up to Chicago the day after tomorrow for another show, a feature film. I just got back from Santa Fe, so I have two days off.”

  “My daughter wants to get a job in films,” Joseph said. “She’s talking about it, at least. She had a chance to be a production assistant on something in Dallas, but she would have had to leave school for a semester. I talked her out of it. I think there’s plenty of time for something like that later.”

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “She should definitely stay in school.”

  “She’s extremely smart,” Cathy said. “And very beautiful.”

  “She sounds like a great daughter. I’m sure you’re very proud of her.”

  “Oh, she’s not my daughter,” Cathy said. “I’m Joseph’s mistress.”

  I nodded and became interested in the riders in the arena with their large flags, preparing for the opening ceremony.

  “You’re not supposed to tell people that,” Joseph said, and held Cathy’s hand. They gave each other a kiss.

  “I know,” Cathy said. “I just like the way it sounds.”

  A cowgirl came barreling past on her horse and threw some dirt over the bottom railing at our feet. I stared at a brown clod on the cement next to Joseph’s foot. The man’s toenails were long, curved, and yellow. I glanced back up the steps.