“Poor Adelaide,”—Kathleen continued—“he made some insinuating remarks about her and Paul.”
“I don’t know why they don’t get married and be done with it.”
“I think Paul is willing. He adores her. Adelaide worries that he is ten years younger than she is.”
“What’s the difference? It’s their business.”
“I’m glad you said that. It’s what I think.”
“Here’s the school. Let’s go sit in the swings. I’ve got more to tell you,” he said, as if he needed a reason for prolonging their walk.
“Not more bad news, I hope.”
It was a dark night. To Kathleen the stars seemed extra bright as she and the tall man beside her crossed the playground. She took her hand from his arm and sat down in a swing. She pushed with her feet, then lifted them.
“I haven’t been in a swing since I left grade school.” Moving behind her, Johnny pushed, his hands gentle in the middle of her back. After several minutes, her laugh floated to him on the night breeze. “Oh, Johnny, this is fun!”
She swung back and forth for several more minutes, the only sound being the creaking of the swing. Holding tightly to the chains, she leaned back, and laughed up into his face. His hands went to her shoulders and he gave a gentle shove. Here with her on the playground, Johnny felt as though he was in another world. Aware that he must be vigilant, he tried to return to reality.
“The stars are so close and . . . so bright.”
“Do you see the Big Dipper?”
“No. Where?”
Johnny caught her around the waist as she swung back, held her, and moved forward until her feet touched the ground. She stood, her face toward the star-studded sky.
“Where?” she said again.
He moved behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and turned her. Her hair brushed his chin. The sudden, delirious rush of joy was so acute his words came out in a breathless whisper.
“Look over the top of the school. See the chimney? Now straight up from there.”
“I see it.” She turned her head to look back at him. Their faces were inches apart. “Grandpa used to look at the stars. He showed me the Milky Way.”
It came to Kathleen at that moment how glad she was that Johnny was with her; she felt so secure, protected, when she was with him. It gave her pleasure just to look at his tall erect body, shiny black hair, and quiet face.
They stood silently for a while, his hands still on her shoulders. It was a temptation not to close her eyes and lean back against him. The pressure of his hands turned her to face him. Her heart gave a choking, little thump, and she raised a tremulous gaze to his face.
“Are you tired walking? Would you rather sit in the swing while we talk?”
“I’m not tired. You said you had something else to tell me.”
“Clara Ramsey came home. I saw her on the road when I went to tell her mother you’d not be there for supper.” As they started walking, somehow his hand found hers and her fingers wiggled their way in between his.
“Emily’s mother is back?”
“Clara’s trouble, Kathleen. She had a fit because her mother had rented her room.”
“Do you think I’ll have to move?”
“Not if you like it there and can stick it out for a few weeks. Clara won’t stay. Mrs. Ramsey needs the money you pay her.”
“She’s an old girlfriend of yours, isn’t she?” The words spilled out as a keen disappointment that she didn’t understand filled her.
Johnny stopped. The grip on her hand tightened. “What in the world gave you that idea?”
“Oh, little tidbits I picked up here and there.” Kathleen would have walked on, but he held her back.
“I’ve seen that girl a total of a half dozen times. The first time was outside a honky-tonk. She was so drunk she could hardly walk. I put her in the truck and took her home. I think the next time was at a ball game, then at the rodeo. She reminded me of my half sister, Isabel, dumb as a clod of dirt and completely selfish. I felt sorry for her because she was so goddamn stupid.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“I think I do because you’ve probably heard that I was the father of her child. It’s not true. I never touched that girl except to lift her into the truck when she was drunk, and another time when I came through town about midnight and found her sitting on the curb in front of the dry goods store. Someone had worked her over with his fists. I took her home. Later when she became pregnant, she told around that it was mine, but it was NOT.” There was anger in his voice.
“I didn’t mean to . . . pry into your affairs.”
“You didn’t pry. I realize that you don’t know much about me.”
“Or you about me. Tell me about your sister, Isabel. Where is she?”
“Oklahoma City, I guess. Be careful of Clara. She’s only interested in what she wants and doesn’t care who she hurts getting it. She’s unreasonable and downright mean to her mother. You’d better put the things you don’t want her rummaging through in your trunk and lock it when you leave the house. I don’t trust her any farther than I could throw a bull by the tail. Poor Mrs. Ramsey has gone through hell with that girl.”
Kathleen loosened her hand from his. He had held it so tightly it was numb. She put her hands on his upper arms.
“Rescuing damsels in distress seems to be a habit with you. I’m glad that I was one of them. I’ll get along with Clara if . . . if she doesn’t stay too long or push me too hard. That’s as much as I can promise.”
She looked up at him and smiled. Her eyes shone in the darkness.
Dear God, what has happened to me? A smile and a few soft words from this woman send my heart racing like a runaway train and my mind desperately groping to stay on the right track.
From the first he had been attracted to her, much as he had been to other women from time to time. Suddenly it was amazingly clear to him that he was falling head over heels in love with this wonderful, magnificent, redheaded woman. Not that he would ever do anything about it. Still, he knew that she would be in his heart for as long as he lived. Some men lived all their lives and never met a woman who crept into their hearts. This one had come barreling into his, and he thanked God for the sweet memories this night would provide.
T
he music from the jukebox was loud, blasting into the heated shadows of the dimly lit room. It was not loud enough, however, to drown out the drunken laughter and crude shouts of encouragement to the two couples jitterbugging on the small dance floor. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, the odors of sweat and cheap perfume. The contortions of the two couples became wilder and wilder. Each time a man flipped his partner over his arm, showing her skimpy underpants, the crowd hooted and pounded beer bottles and glasses on the tables.
The dark eyes of the man standing in the doorway swept over the roomful of oil-field riggers and drillers and women with heavily made-up faces and tight dresses. This was a rough section of Oklahoma City. In polished boots, tailor-made fringed jacket and ten-dollar Stetson, the man stood out from the crowd, not only because of his dress, but because he was tall and broad. Well-dressed Indians were not uncommon in Oklahoma City. Oil had made some of them wealthy.
He waited for the dance to end and for the crowd to clear so he could approach the bar where the bartender was openly dispensing the 3.2 beer and filling beer bottles with whiskey under the counter. He had been told the girl worked here. He wouldn’t know her if he saw her. He’d have to inquire.
He made his way along the side of the room, receiving plenty of glances from both the males and the females in the booths that lined the walls. As he stood at the end of the bar, the music came on again, and couples filled the small dance floor behind him, giving him a hemmed-in feeling.
“What’ll ya have?” The bartender was thick-necked and meaty. He wore a dirty white apron and duck trousers. He had grizzled reddish hair and a thick red mustache. His eyes were small and suspicious as he looked at the tall man. “Got a little somethin’ extra under the counter. Can get ya a case if yo’re after that.”
“I’ll think about the case. Do you have a girl working here named Isabel Perry?”
“What’s that little shit done now?” The bartender made a swift swipe at the scarred countertop. “Usually she’s got one of the women after her for flirtin’ with her man. She ain’t interested in a man if he ain’t tied to another woman. One of these days one of ’em’ll split her throat.”
“I’d like to talk to her if she’s here.”
“Oh, she’s here. She was out there dancin’ her head off. Now she’s out back catchin’ her breath so she can wait tables. What’s she done? You the law?”
“I’m not the law. I’ll pay for a half hour of her time if I can go back and talk to her.”
“Okey-dokey, friend. Take the half hour, then tell her to get her skinny ass back in here.”
The bartender’s eyes bugged in surprise when he saw the five-dollar bill on the counter. He scooped it up, and the bill disappeared beneath his apron as he jerked his head toward the back door.
“What does she look like?”
“Blond and skinny.”
“Thanks.”
The back room was a jungle of beer and pop cases, discarded bar fixtures and litter. He edged his way through the maze to the back door, which stood open. The girl was sitting on the stoop smoking a cigarette. She looked up as he came out the door. In the light coming from the parking area, he recognized one of the dancers; a thin girl in a yellow dress. Her face was hard, her hair straw-colored.
“Are you Isabel Perry?” he asked, not waiting for her to speak.
“Who wants to know?”
“Barker Fleming.” He waited to see if the name registered with her. When it didn’t, he said, “Was your mother’s name Dorene?”
“Yeah. Did someone die and leave her a million dollars? She’s dead. Do I get it?”
“No one’s left her anything that I know of. Do you have a brother?”
“Ya sure ask a lot of questions.” She drew deeply on the cigarette and blew the smoke in his direction, then flipped the cigarette out into the night. She stood, peered up at him, then stepped behind him and turned on a light. “Well, hello, Chief.” She made a clicking sound with her tongue. “Are you the blanket-ass that knocked up Dorene a few years before the oil-field rigger screwed me into her, then took off like a scalded cat?”
Barker Fleming held on to his temper, pulled a silver cigarette case out of his pocket, opened it, and offered it to her. She took a cigarette and waited for him to flip the lighter on the end of the case. He lit cigarettes for both of them before he spoke.
“I’m not sure, Isabel. I was only with her a few times. A few months ago I ran into a fellow that told me she’d had a boy, part-Cherokee. Out of curiosity, I wondered if I’d dropped a colt somewhere.”
The lie came easily to Barker Fleming. He had sensed immediately that telling this little floozy how long and how desperately he had searched to find his son would get him nowhere. Memories came flooding back. The little baggage before him was a copy of the woman who, almost old enough to be his mother, had flaunted herself before a naive eighteen-year-old Indian boy with a pocketful of money.
He didn’t excuse himself. He had wanted what the woman had offered and had been too stupid to realize the consequences of his actions. Shortly after his wild fling with Dorene, his father had come for him and put him in a boarding school. At the time he had hated him for it.
“Henry’s my legal name, but I never use it. Old Henry wasn’t my pa. God only knows who was. I doubt if Dorene knew. She would’ve screwed the devil if he’d paid her.” Isabel leaned up against the back of the tavern and drew heavily on the cigarette. “I’d probably better get back in, or Bud’ll be havin’ a cow fit.”
“I asked the bartender for thirty minutes of your time.”
“Bet ya had to pay him. He don’t give nothin’ for free. How ’bout payin’ me? It’s my time yo’re takin’ up. I could be in there makin’ tips.”
“I’ll pay . . . if you tell me about the boy.”
“Oh, I know about the holier-than-God son of a bitch. I could’ve got a third of Ed Henry’s farm, but he sided with Henry Ann. She’s Dorene’s daughter by old Ed. The old man left the farm to her. The lawyer said that me’n Johnny was legal Henrys if Dorene was still married to Ed Henry when we was born. But Johnny wouldn’t help me get what was ours. He honeyed up to Henry Ann. The two was thicker than hair on a dog’s back.”
Johnny Henry. His name is Johnny Henry.
“Is your brother still on the farm?”
“Naw. He’s got a little piss-poor ranch over near Rawlings.”
Barker could hardly contain his excitement. It had been difficult to trace a woman named Dorene who had lived in upstairs rooms on Reno Street and a disappointment to discover that she was dead. No one seemed to know what had happened to her son. Her daughter, too, had disappeared after she left an orphan’s home at age eighteen.