The Honk and Holler Opening Soon

by Billie Letts

  “How did this happen? I thought you were on the pill?”

  “God, Mom, it was an accident, okay? We were on the road, I ran out of pills. What difference does it make now? I’m pregnant!”

  “So that’s why this Travis just put you out at the Honk.” Her voice rising with anger, MollyO slapped the magazine down on the coffee table. “That’s why he hightailed it out of there the way he did.”

  “I told you, he had to find a filling station to get a tire fixed. And why are you calling him ‘this Travis’? His name’s Travis Howard.”

  When her hands began to tremble, MollyO walked to the window, staring out at the falling snow. “You mind telling me when this wedding’s going to take place?”

  “Well, Travis says we need to wait until—”

  “Wait?” MollyO wheeled, poised to pounce. “Why wait?”

  “Just listen, this is the best part. Travis wants us to finish this gig in Vegas and another one we have booked in Denver, then come back here, find us a place and—”

  “A place here? In Sequoyah?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’d give up show business and come back home?”

  “We’re not gonna give it up entirely, just put it on hold till the baby comes. And I’ll keep writing music, maybe play a gig around here once in a while.” Brenda shrugged to show the simplicity of her plan. “It’ll all work out.”

  Her anger cooling, MollyO nodded. “It might.” Then, with a smile threatening, she said, “It just might.”

  “There’s one thing, though. I guess I ought to see a doctor. An OB-GYN.”

  “Are you having problems, Brenda?” MollyO tried to hide her alarm. “If you are—”

  “Oh, I’ve been having this pain here”—Brenda touched a spot low on her belly—”but it’s not that bad.”

  “Don’t take any chances, honey. You get yourself to a doctor, make sure everything’s all right.”

  “But see, me and Travis don’t have any insurance and the band’s money is tight right now, so I was wondering…”

  “I’ve got almost four hundred dollars,” MollyO said as she hurried to the kitchen.

  “You still keep your money frozen?”

  “Sure do.”

  MollyO pulled a box of waffles from the freezer, dug out a plastic bag crammed with bills and handed it to Brenda.

  “Mom, I’m gonna pay you back, you know that.”

  “Don’t you worry about it. Just get to a doctor and see to it that my grandbaby is okay.”

  When a horn honked outside, Brenda went to the window. “That’s Travis.”

  “Well, he’s coming in, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But I want to meet him.”

  “He wants to meet you, too. But he said you’d be pissed right now, so he wants to wait until we come back.”

  “You go out there and tell him I’m not mad. Not one bit. Tell him—”

  Travis honked again, several short bursts suggesting his impatience.

  “I’d better go.” Brenda grabbed her jacket and purse.

  “Brenda…”

  “With the snow and all, we really need to get back on the road.”

  Blinking back tears, MollyO enfolded Brenda in her arms. “Take good care of yourself, darlin’. And remember, call me. Soon! Call collect.”

  After MollyO waved from the window until the car was out of sight, she began to wander the room, straightening Brenda’s magazines, inching the talent trophy back into place, touching the two-year-old face in the framed photograph.

  Pausing before a mirror over the couch, she stared at her own reflection. “Merry Christmas,” she said, pushing a limp wisp of hair away from her face. Then, smiling at herself without feeling foolish, she whispered, “Merry Christmas, Grandma.”

  Bui entered the church by the same window he had crawled through the night before, careful not to rattle the stiff plastic shade as he slid inside. Hardly breathing, he listened for sounds and let his eyes adjust to the darkness before he closed the window. Then, still clutching the paper sack he had carried with him from the car, he felt his way down the hall until he came to the room where he would sleep again.

  He covered the small shaded lamp with a shirt from his sack, hoping his shadow could not be seen at the window.

  The room looked exactly as he had left it that morning while the sky was still dark. The same scraps of paper remained in the trash can, books stacked crookedly on the desk were undisturbed and the telephone cord was still twisted beneath the typewriter.

  Satisfied that his intrusion of the previous night had not been detected, Bui slipped next door to the bathroom where he washed himself. When he finished, he carefully dried the sink with paper towels before he turned out the light in the windowless room.

  He didn’t know if sleeping in a church was a crime, but he suspected it was. And if he got caught breaking the law here, the police were sure to find out about Houston and the woman with yellow hair. He would have to be very careful in the church, make sure he left no traces of his coming and going.

  He was ready now to write the letter he had been saying inside his head for two days. From the drawer of the desk, he took a pen, an envelope and a sheet of paper with “AME Church of the Living God” printed at the top. Then he began to write.

  Em yên Nguyêt,

  Anh r Houston v bây g anh sôg 2… a town that is small and quiet. My job is very important, I think, for the man who owns the cafe has legs that do not walk, so he travels in a chair with wheels. His name is Mr. Chaney, a man with sad eyes. He is not a good cook, so he is glad for my skill with food.

  I am also in charge of repair in the restaurant as Mr. Chaney is unable to take care of the equipment. Today I fixed a big problem with the machine that washes dishes. Nguyet, in America machines do much work. One called “microwaver” boils food within the time of a breath and another executes with electricity bugs that fly. So much here is surprising.

  One woman who works with me is Miss Ho, and though she has a Vietnamese name, she does not look like us. Another woman has the job of carrying food to people who eat in cars. I think these people are not allowed to come inside our restaurant, but I do not know why.

  I am learning to speak English now. Mr. Chaney talks to me many times and he often speaks in a very loud voice, so I can understand him.

  The place where I am living is like a mansion with too many rooms, but believe me when I say it is not expensive for me here. One room of this house has beautiful windows with glasses of colors and a piano which I hope to learn to play.

  Nguyet, my transfer to this city is fortunate for us. I believe we will have a good life here. The people are kind, much kinder than in the city of Houston where it is easy to find problems.

  I cannot send more money to you now because the cost of my transfer was very great, but in my next letter, I hope to send you the rest of the money for your passage.

  Nguyet, I think of you every minute of every day and at night, as I sleep, I smell the sweetness of your hair and feel the smoothness of your skin on my fingers. My love for you… anh yêu em mãi mãi.

  Yêu em,

  Bui

  After he sealed the letter inside the envelope, Bui ran his hands across his eyes. He had slept poorly the night before, listening to strange sounds, waking to dark shapes and shadows not yet familiar to him. Now he had little energy left, but enough for what he had yet to do.

  He picked up his sack, then crossed the hall to a pair of heavy wooden doors. After taking off his shoes and placing them side by side against the wall, he slid the doors apart and stepped between them.

  Though this was the second time Bui had stood inside the great room, he was just as transfixed by its beauty and tranquillity as the first time. The stained-glass windows, softly lit by streetlights outside the church, shimmered in shades of green and amber, and the pews, stretching to both sides of the room, smelled of dark, rich wood.

&nbs
p; Against the far wall, a raised platform held four elegant high-back chairs, a pulpit carved with intricate designs and an upright white piano.

  Bui bowed at the door, then started down the aisle, moving slowly and with reverence, for he knew he was in a sacred place. At the front of the room, he stopped before a long, narrow table covered with red velvet cloth. Candles stood at each end in tall silver holders between vases of delicate purple flowers.

  He put his sack on the floor, then carefully removed the Buddha he had brought from Houston and placed it in the center of the table. With matches from his pocket, he lit the candles.

  When he stepped back and clasped his hands before him, he bowed, first to his Buddha of stone… then to a carving on the wall—the statue of a man, hands and feet nailed to a wooden cross.

  Then Bui Khanh knelt to pray.

  Caney switched off the Honk sign just before seven. He hadn’t had a customer for more than two hours, so he was shutting down early tonight.

  The tracks of Bui’s car, the last to pull out, were barely visible now, filled in with another half inch of the snow still coming down.

  Vena came from the back with the dog, then slid the box onto a chair. “I’m going to take off, Caney.” She turned up the collar on her jacket and buttoned it at the neck.

  “Hate to see you out in this weather,” Caney said.

  “I’ll be all right.”

  “It’s freezing out there now.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t have far to go.”

  “You know, I was just thinking…” Caney felt his mouth go dry. “Maybe… well, no reason you can’t stay here tonight,” he said, lowering his eyes like a shy teenager.

  But there was nothing shy about Vena’s response.

  “Oh, is that how it is? I can work here if I sleep with the owner. Part of my job description, right?”

  “No, I… I didn’t mean…” Caney licked at lips so dry he could feel their heat. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “See, I have a couch, there’s a couch in my room… and, well, I just wanted you to know…” He was rushing now, trying to get it all out, trying to make her understand. “I thought about the couch and you’re welcome to it, some extra blankets and a couple of pillows, so you could—”

  “No, thank you,” she said, but the “thank you” sounded less than sincere.

  “Well, I just wanted you to know.”

  A silence settled between them then, holding them in place until, moments later, headlights swept across the window.

  “Now who the hell is that?” Caney said as a vehicle pulled to a stop, too far back on the darkened lot for them to make it out in the blowing snow. “Is someone coming for you?”

  “No.”

  “Probably some damned kids.”

  “Maybe that guy who brought MollyO’s girl.”

  “Well, whoever it is…”

  “I’ll go out and see.”

  “No, you don’t have to do that. If they want something—”

  “I’ll be right back,” Vena said.

  She couldn’t tell until she got past the headlights that the vehicle was a truck she had seen before and the driver a man she recognized from her first night at the Honk.

  “We’re closed,” she said.

  “You mean it’s too late for a drink? Didn’t know it ever got too late for a drink.”

  “Caney’s not selling beer tonight anyway.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s Christmas.”

  “Well, it’s not really beer-drinking weather, is it?”

  “Doesn’t seem to be.”

  “Yeah, need something a little stronger than beer for a night like this.” He reached between his legs for a fifth of Wild Turkey, uncapped it and took a long, slow swallow. “Now this’ll make you forget you’re cold, Vena.”

  Vena tried not to look surprised at hearing him say her name, but he caught the sudden tilt of her head.

  “Oh, I make it my business to know the names of good-looking women,” he said. “And I don’t like to drink with strangers.” He winked then to make sure she understood. “I’m Sam. Sam Kellam.” Smiling, he passed the bottle through the window and held it out to Vena.

  “No.”

  “Aw, go on. You look like you need something to warm you up.” Sam leaned farther out the window. “Warm you all the way up inside, Vena.”

  “I said no!”

  “Whoa now. I just came to offer you a drink… and a ride.”

  “I don’t need a ride.”

  “That right?” Sam let his eyes range over the empty parking lot. “Then how you gonna get home, huh? You gonna take a bus?”

  Vena cut her eyes away, looked off into the night. “There’s no bus in this town.”

  “Oh yes there is. And it’s not very far from here. Not far at all. You know, I wouldn’t mind a little ride in a bus myself. Take a little of this to relax,” Sam said, waving the bottle in Vena’s face, “then get all cozy in the back of a bus. Let someone else do the driving. You know what I mean?”

  “I don’t give a damn about what you mean.”

  Vena tried to step away from the truck, but Sam grabbed her arm, pulling her close to the window, so close she could smell the sourness of his breath.

  “What’s your hurry? You tired? Yeah, I bet you are. On your feet all day. In and out, in and out. Time you pulled off those boots, put your legs up—”

  Vena twisted out of his grasp and started for the Honk, but she hadn’t taken more than three steps before Sam gunned the truck, tires spinning on the snow as it careened past Vena, then slid to a stop, blocking her path to the door.

  “I might be seeing you on that bus. Might get on it myself. And when I do, Vena, I’ll do the driving.” Then he accelerated and the truck, fishtailing, shot away.

  Vena was shivering when she stepped back inside the Honk, a chill caused less by the weather than by her encounter with Sam Kellam. She’d run up against plenty like him before, a few of them even dangerous, but none who made her feel the way he had.

  “Whew,” she said, blowing on her hands. “It’s colder than I thought.”

  “You’re freezing,” Caney said.

  “Yeah.” Vena hid her hands beneath her jacket so Caney couldn’t see them trembling.

  “Who was that out there?” Caney asked.

  “Some kids. Just out having fun.”

  “Now, this is a hell of a night to be—”

  “Caney, when you asked me to spend the night…”

  “Look, Vena. I was just offering you my couch. Nothing more to it than that.”

  “Well, if you’re still offering, I’ll take you up on it.”

  “Sure,” Caney said, clearly delighted. “You bet.”

  “You mind if I keep the dog in your room? Sometimes at night she—”

  “No problem. You go on back, get her settled. I’ll lock up, fix us something to drink. Be there in a jiffy.”

  “Don’t go to any trouble for me, Caney.”

  “You’re no trouble, Vena. No trouble at all.”

  Cocooned in Caney’s heavy flannel robe and a nest of thick blankets, Vena took the mug he offered, then blew at the steaming liquid before she took a cautious sip. “Um.” She ventured another taste. “This isn’t just ordinary hot chocolate, is it?”

  “No. It’s a secret family recipe.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “That’s the secret. And if I told you, my Aunt Effie would come out of her grave raising hell.”

  “You come from a big family, Caney?”

  “Not much family at all. My parents weren’t married. Hell, they were just kids. He took off when he found out she was pregnant. She stuck around till I was three or four, then my aunt took over. Well, actually, she was my great-aunt.” Caney tapped a cigarette from his pack and held it out to Vena.

  “Thanks, but I really am quitting.”

  “What about you?” Caney asked. “Your
folks.”

  “My mom and dad are gone.” Vena’s voice was even, without emotion.

  “Any other family?”

  Vena pressed the back of her hand against her lips as if she might hold back the words. “No,” she said. “I had a sister.” Then she turned to stare at the blinking lights of the Christmas tree, her face bathed in color, then cast in darkness. “She died a few months ago.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

  “You didn’t.” Vena drained the last of her drink, then, forcing a lighter tone, she said, “This is nice, Caney. I mean, it feels like Christmas, doesn’t it? Snow, hot chocolate… the tree. Sort of like one of those Hallmark cards.”

  Caney slipped his hand into the pocket of his chair and pulled out the gift he had kept there all day.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said, handing it to Vena.

  “Oh, Caney. I didn’t… I don’t…”

  “It’s just something I had when I was a kid.”

  Vena peeled the tissue paper back to reveal a tiny clear figure, a prancing horse of spun glass. With her fingertips, she traced the delicate lines of the horse’s body and the smooth spirals which shaped its tail and mane. Then she held it up so that the lights on the tree sent gleaming flashes of reds and greens through the fragile glass.

  Smiling, she looked up and whispered, “Merry Christmas, Caney.” Then she placed the horse in the palm of her hand and gently closed her fingers over it. “Merry Christmas.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  CANEY HAD HEARD every sound Vena made from the time he turned out the light until the sun came up.

  He’d listened as she pounded her pillow into submission, wrestled blankets to defeat, forced the cushions of the couch to a truce. He’d heard her get up once, feeling her way to the dog where she stroked and soothed until it stopped whimpering; then she’d gone to the window where she’d stood for a long time, looking out into the night.

  Soon after she’d settled down on the couch again, he could tell when her breathing slowed that she’d given herself to sleep… knew, too, she was dreaming when he heard a soft whine of protest before she murmured, “No. Don’t.” A warning whispered in the dark.