"But this show is worth doing."
"This show is worthless!"
"You know who goes to plays in Zarahemla? All the big shots, the people who work in clean shirts all day. Is that who you want to do plays for? What difference is your acting going to make in their lives? But these people here, what is their life except rain and mud and lousy little problems and jobs always needing to get done and not enough people to do them. And then they come here and see your show, and they think—hey, I'm part of something bigger than this place, bigger than Hatchville, bigger than the whole fringe. I know they're thinking that, because I was thinking that, do you understand me, Katie? Riding the range and checking the grass, all by myself out there, I thought I was worthless to everybody, but tonight it went through my head—just for a minute, it came to my mind that I was part of something, and that whatever it was I was part of, it was pretty fine. Now maybe that's worthless to you, maybe that's silly. But I think it's worth a hell of a lot more than going to Zarahemla and play-acting the part of Titanic."
"Titania," she whispered, "The Titanic was a boat that sank."
He was shaking, he was so angry and frustrated. This was why he gave up years ago trying to talk about anything important to people—they never listened, never understood a thing he said. "You don't know what's real and you don't know what matters."
"And you do?"
"Better than you."
She slapped his face. Good and sharp and hard, and it stung like hell. "That was real," she said.
He grabbed her shoulders, meaning to shake her, but instead his fingers got tangled up in her hair and he found himself holding onto her and pulling her close and then he did what he really wanted to do, what he'd been wanting to do ever since he woke up and found her sitting beside him in the cab of the truck. He kissed her, hard and long, holding her so close he could feel every part of her body pressed against his own. And then he was done kissing her. He relaxed his hold on her and she slipped down and away from him a little, so he could look down and see her face right there in front of him. "That was real," he said.
"Everything always comes down to sex and violence," she murmured.
She was making a joke about it. It made him feel sick. He let go of her, took his hands off her completely. "It was real to me. It mattered to me. But you've been faking it all day, it didn't matter to you a bit, and I think that stinks. I think that makes you a liar. And you know what else? You don't deserve to be in this show. You aren't good enough."
He didn't want to hear her answer. He didn't want anything more to do with her. He felt ashamed of having shown her how he felt about her, about the show, about anything. So many years he'd kept to himself, never getting close to anybody, never talking about anything he really cared about, and now when he finally blurted out something that mattered to him, it was to her.
He turned his back on her and walked away, heading around the truck. Now that he wasn't so close to her, paying so much attention, he realized that there were other people talking. Sound carried pretty good tonight in the clear dry air. Probably everybody in the tents heard their whole conyersation. Probably they were all peeking out to watch. No humiliation was complete without witnesses.
Some of the talking, though, got louder as he rounded the back of the truck. It was Marshall and somebody else out by the light and sound control panel. Ollie? No, a stranger. Deaver walked on over, even though he didn't feel like talking to anybody, because he had a feeling that whatever was going on, it wasn't good.
"I can be back with a warrant in ten minutes and then I'll find out whether she's here or not," said the man, "but the judge won't like having to make one out this time of night, and he might not be so easy on you."
It was the sheriff. It didn't take Deaver long to guess that Ollie'd got himself caught doing something stupid. But no, that couldn't be, or the sheriff wouldn't need a warrant. A warrant meant searching for something. Or somebody. Whatever was happening, it meant Deaver hadn't stayed on Ollie tight enough. Hadn't the girl said something about meeting him after the show, even if she had to sneak out of her window to do it? He should have remembered before. He shouldn't have let his eyes off Ollie. It was all Deaver's fault.
"Who you looking for, sheriff?" Deaver asked.
"None of your problem, Deaver," said Marshall.
"This your son?" asked the sheriff.
"He's a range rider," said Marshall. "We gave him a ride and he's been helping out a little."
"You seen a girl around here?" asked the sheriff. "About this high, name of Nancy Pulley. She was seen talking to your light man after the show."
"I saw a girl talking to Ollie," said Deaver. "Right after the show, but it looked to me like her father pulled her away."
"Yeah, well, could be, but she isn't home right now and we're pretty sure she meant to come back here and meet somebody."
Marshall stepped in between Deaver and the sheriff. "All our people are here, and there aren't any outsiders."
"Then why don't you just let me go in and check, if you got nothing to hide?"
Of course Deaver knew why. Ollie must be missing. It was too late to go find him before trouble started.
"We have a right to be protected against unreasonable searches, sir," said Marshall. He would've gone on, no doubt, but Deaver cut him off by asking the sheriff a question.
"Sheriff, the show's only been over about fifteen minutes," said Deaver. "How do you know she isn't off with some girlfriends or something? Have you checked their houses?"
"Look, smart boy," said the sheriff, "I don't need you telling me my business."
"Well, I guess not. I think you know your business real good," said Deaver. "In fact, I think you know your business so good that you know this girl wouldn't be off with a girlfriend. I bet this girl has caused you a lot of trouble before."
"That's none of your business, range rider."
"I'm just saying that—"
But now Marshall had caught the drift of what Deaver was doing, and he took over. "I am alarmed, sir, that there might be a chance that this girl from your town is corrupting one of my sons. My sons have little opportunity to associate with young people outside our family, and it may be that an experienced girl might lead one of them astray."
"Real smart," said the sheriff, glaring at Marshall and then at Deaver and than at Marshall again. "But it isn't going to work."
"I don't know what you mean," said Marshall. "I only know that you were aware that this girl was prone to illicit involvement with members of the opposite sex, and yet you made no effort to protect guests in your town from getting involved with her."
"You can just forget that as a line of defense in court," said the sheriff.
"And why is that?" asked Marshall.
"Because her father's the judge, Mr. Aal. You start talking like that, and you've lost your license in a hot second. You might get it back on appeal, but with Judge Pulley fighting you every step of the way, you aren't going to be working for months."
Deaver couldn't think of anything to say. To Deaver's surprise, neither could Marshall.
"So I'm coming back in ten minutes with a warrant, and you better have all your boys here in camp, and no girls with them, or your days of spreading corruption through the fringe are over."
The sheriff walked a few paces toward the road, then turned back and said, "I'm going to call the judge on my radio, and then I'll be sitting right here in my car watching your camp till the judge gets here with the warrant. I don't want to miss a thing."
"Of course not, you officious cretin," said Marshall. But he said it real quiet, and Deaver was the only one who heard him.
It was plain what the sheriff planned. He was hoping to catch Nancy Pulley running away from the camp, or Ollie sneaking back.
"Marshall," said Deaver, as quiet as he could, "I saw Ollie with that girl in the orchard before the show."
"I'm not surprised," said Marshall.
"I take it Ollie isn't in c
amp."
"I haven't checked," said Marshall.
"But you figure he's gone."
Marshall didn't say anything. Wasn't about to admit anything to an outsider, Deaver figured. Well, that was proper. When the family's in trouble, you got to be careful about trusting strangers.
"I'll do what I can," said Deaver.
"Thanks," said Marshall. It was more than Deaver expected him to say. Maybe Marshall understood that things were bigger than Marshall could handle just by telling people off.
Deaver walked along after the sheriff, and came up to him just as he was setting down his radio mouthpiece. The sheriff looked up at him, already looking for a quarrel. "What is it, range rider?"
"My name's Deaver Teague, Sheriff, and I've only been with the Aals since this morning, when they picked me up. But that was long enough to get to know them a little, and I got to tell you, I think they're pretty good people."
"They're all actors, son. That means they can seem to be anything they want."
"Yeah, they're pretty good actors, aren't they. That was some show, wasn't it."
The sheriff smiled. "I never said they weren't good actors."
Deaver smiled back. "They are good. I helped them set up today. They work real hard to put on that show. Did you ever try to lift a generator? Or put up those lights? Getting from a loaded truck to a show tonight—they put in an honest day's work."
"Are you getting somewhere with this?" asked the sheriff.
"I'm just telling you, they may not do farm work like most folks here in town, but it's still real work. And it's a good kind of work, I think. Didn't you see the faces of those kids tonight, watching the show? You think they didn't go home proud?"
"Shoot, boy, I know they did. But these show people think they can come in here and screw around with the local girls and..." His voice trailed off. Deaver made sure not to interrupt him.
"That man you talked to, Sheriff, this isn't just his business, it's his family, too. He's got his wife and parents with him, and his sons and daughters. You got any children, Sheriff?"
"Yes I do, but I don't let them go off any which way like some people do."
"But sometimes kids do things their parents taught them not to do. Sometimes kids do something really bad, and it breaks their parents' hearts. Not your kids, but maybe the Aals have a kid like that, and maybe Judge Pulley does too. And maybe when their kids are getting in trouble, people like the Aals and the Pulleys, they do anything they can to keep their kids out of trouble. Maybe they even pretend like anything their kid does, it was somebody else's fault."
The sheriff nodded. "I see what you're getting at, Mr. Teague. But that doesn't change my job."
"Well what is your job, Sheriff? Is it putting good people out of work because they got a grown-up son they can't handle? Is it causing Judge Pulley's daughter to get her name dragged through the mud?"
The sheriff sighed. "I don't know why I started listening to you, Teague. I always heard you range riders never talked much."
"We save it all up for times like this."
"You got a plan, Teague? Cause I can't just drive off and forget about this."
"You just go on and do what you got to do, Sheriff. But if it so happens that Nancy Pulley gets home safe and sound, then I hope you won't do anything to hurt either one of these good families."
"So why didn't that actor talk good sense like you instead of getting all hoity-toity with me?"
Deaver just grinned. No use saying what he was thinking—that Marshall wouldn't have gotten hoity-toity if the sheriff hadn't treated him like he was already guilty of a dozen filthy crimes. It was good enough that the sheriff was seeing them more like ordinary folks. So Deaver patted the door of the car and walked on up the road toward the orchard. Now all Deaver had to do was find Ollie.
It wasn't hard. It was like they wanted to be found. They were in tall grass on the far side of the orchard. She was laughing. They didn't hear Deaver coming, not till he was only about ten feet away. She was naked, lying on her dress spread out like a blanket under her. But Ollie still had his pants on, zipped tight. Deaver doubted the girl was a virgin, but at least it wasn't Ollie's fault. She was playing with his zipper when she happened to look up and see Deaver watching. She screeched and sat up, but she didn't even try to cover herself. Ollie, though, he picked up his shirt and tried to cover her.
"Your daddy's looking for you," Deaver said.
She made her mouth into a pout. To her it was a game, and it didn't matter that much to lose a round.
"Do you think we care?" said Ollie.
"Her daddy is the judge of this district, Ollie. Did she tell you that?"
It was plain she hadn't.
"And I just got through talking to the sheriff. He's looking for you, Ollie. So I think it's time for Nancy to get her clothes back on."
Still pouting, she got up and started pulling her dress on over her head.
"Better put on your underwear," said Deaver. He didn't want any evidence lying around.
"She didn't wear any," said Ollie. "I wasn't exactly corrupting the innocent."
She had her arms through the sleeves, and now she poked her head through the neck of her bunched-up dress and flashed a smile at Deaver. Her hips moved just a little, just enough to draw Deaver's eyes there. Then she shimmied her dress down to cover her.
"Like I told you," said Ollie. "We men are just pumps with handles on them."
Deaver ignored him. "Get on home, Nancy. You need your rest—you've got a long career ahead of you."
"Are you calling me a whore?" she demanded.
"Not while you're still giving it away free," said Deaver. "And if you have any idea about crying rape, remembered that there's a witness who saw you taking down his zipper and laughing while you did it."
"As if Papa would believe you and not me!" But she turned and walked off into the trees. No doubt she knew all the paths home from this place.
Ollie was standing there, making no move to put on his shirt or his shoes. "This was none of your business, Deaver." It was light enough to see that Ollie was making fists. "You got no right to push me around."
"Come on, Ollie, let's get back to the camp before the judge gets there with a warrant."
"Maybe I don't want to."
Deaver didn't want to argue about it. "Let's go."
"Try and make me."
Deaver shook his head. Didn't Ollie realize his fighting words were straight out of third-grade recess?
"Come on, Deaver," Ollie taunted. "You said you were going to protect the family from nasty little Ollie, so do it. Break all my ribs. Cut me up in little pieces and carry me home. Don't you carry a knife in your big old ranger boots? Isn't that how big tough strong guys like you get other people to do whatever you say?"
Deaver was fed up. "Act like a man, Ollie. Or don't you have enough of the family talent to fake decency?
Ollie lost his cockiness and his swagger all at once. He charged at Deaver, flailing both arms in blind rage. It was plain he meant go do a lot of damage. It was also plain he had no idea how to go about doing it. Deaver caught him by one arm and flung him aside. Ollie sprawled on the ground. Poor kid, thought Deaver. Traveling with this pageant wagon all his life, he never even learned how to land a punch.
But Ollie wasn't done. He got up and charged again, and this time a couple of his blows did connect. Nothing bad, but it hurt, and Deaver threw him down harder. Ollie landed wrong on his wrist and cried out with pain. But he was so angry he still got up again, this time striking out with only his right hand, and when he got in close he swung his head from side to side trying to butt Deaver in the face, and when Deaver got hold of his arms Ollie kicked him, tried to knee him in the groin, until finally Deaver had to let go of him and punch him hard in the stomach. Ollie collapsed to his knees and threw up.
The whole time, Deaver never got mad. He couldn't think why—rage had been close to the surface all day, and yet now, when he was really fighting s
omebody, there was nothing. Just a cold desire to get through with the fighting and get Ollie home.
Maybe it was because he'd already used up his anger on Katie. Maybe that was it.
Ollie was finished vomiting. He picked up his shirt and wiped off his mouth.
"Come on back to camp now," said Deaver.
"No," said Ollie.
"Ollie, I don't want to fight you anymore."
"Then go away and leave me alone."
Deaver bent over to help him to his feet. Ollie jabbed an elbow into Deaver's thigh. It hurt. Deaver was pretty sure Ollie meant to get him in the crotch. This boy didn't seem to know when he was beat.
"I'm not going back!" said Ollie. "And even if you knock me out and carry me back, I'll tell the sheriff all about the judge's daughter, I'll tell him I balled her brains out!"
That was about the stupidest, meanest thing Deaver ever heard. For a second he wanted to kick Ollie in the head, just to bounce things around a little inside. But he was sick of hurting Ollie, so he just stood there and asked, "Why?"
"Because you were right, Deaver, I thought about it and you were right, I do want to get away from my family. But I don't want you to take my place. I don't want anybody to take my place. I don't want anybody to have a place. I want the whole show closed down. I want Father to be a dirt farmer instead of bossing people around all the time. I want perfect little Toolie up to his armpits in pigshit. You understand me, Deaver?"
Deaver looked at him kneeling there, a puddle of puke in front of him in the grass, holding his hurt wrist like a little boy, telling Deaver that he wanted to destroy his own family. "You're the kind of son who doesn't deserve to have parents."
Ollie was crying now, his face twisted up and his voice high-pitched and breaking, but that didn't stop him from answering. "That's right, Deaver, O great judge of the earth! I sure as hell don't deserve these parents. Mommy who keep telling me I'm 'just like Royal' till I want to reach down her throat and tear her heart out. And Daddy who decided I didn't have enough talent so I was the one who had to do all the technical work for the show while Toolie got to learn all the parts so someday he'd take Daddy's place and run the company and tell me what to do every day of my life until I die! Well, the joke's on Toolie, isn't it? Cause Daddy's never going to give up his place in the company, he's never going to take over the old man parts and let Grandpa retire, because then Toolie would be the leading actor and Toolie would run the company and poor Daddy wouldn't be boss of the universe anymore. So Toolie's going to keep on playing the juvenile parts until he's eighty and Daddy's a hundred and ten because Daddy won't ever step aside, he won't even die, he'll just keep on running everybody like puppets until finally somebody gets up the guts to kill him or quit. So don't give my any shit about what I deserve, Deaver."
Folk of the Fringe Page 22
