Anne Tyler - A Slipping-Down Life

“Afternoon,” said Evie. She sat up, laying a finger in her history book to mark the place.

“You Evie Decker?”

But he would have known, having seen her forehead by now. She didn’t answer.

“I’m David Elliott. I play with Drum Casey.”

“I know, I recognized you,” said Evie. She waited for him to go on, but he seemed to be getting his bearings. He gazed at the dim white house, at the lawn twinkling beneath a sprinkler, and finally at Evie herself, who wore a billowing muu-muu and no shoes. Then he said, “Mind if I talk with you a moment?”

“All right.”

He sat on the top porch step, with his forearms resting on his knees. Now that he was in the shade he had lost his shimmer. He was made of solid flesh, damp from the heat. Evie began swinging back and forth very rapidly.

“I’m also his manager,” said David.

“Yes, I know.”

“I do his publicity, line up parties and things. I think we got a good sound going.” He flashed her a look. “Drum has.”

Evie stopped swinging.

“Drum has really got it,” he told her. Why was he watching her feet? She curled her toes under. “Don’t you think so?” he asked.

“Well, yes,” said Evie. “You know I do.” She brushed a loose piece of hair off her forehead. David peered at the scars and then lowered his eyes — something that usually made her angry. “What was it that you wanted to talk about?” she asked him.

“Oh. Well, you spoke to Drum the other day about a plan you had. Plan for publicity.”

“Tuesday,” said Evie.

“Was that right, you had a plan?”

“I thought if I went to his shows, and sat up front. You know. People would say, ‘This boy has got to be good, look at what she did because of him.’ Only your friend said—”

“It’s not a bad idea,” said David.

“Your friend said no.”

“Ah, he don’t know. That’s why he has me.”

“He said he couldn’t sing under those conditions.”

“What does he know?”

“He knows if he can sing or not,” Evie said.

“Look. Do you want to try it? Just once, just tonight. If people take notice, you can stay. If not, you go. All right?”

“What, try just sitting there?”

“That’s right. Tonight. I’ll give you a lift, pick you up at eight. Three dollars and beer. Only don’t drink a lot, you hear? It wouldn’t look good.”

“I never have but one beer anyway.”

“Though on second thought, nothing wrong if you did drink a lot. It wouldn’t hurt anything.”

“I never have but one,” Evie said.

“Oh, well.”

He stood up and Evie stood with him, clutching her book. “Wait,” she said.

“What is it?”

“Well, I don’t know. I haven’t thought it out yet, really—”

He paused, not arguing, just waiting. “About your friend,” she said. “Drum, I mean. Well, I hate to go against him this way. Riding right over what he said to me. What will he do? Did he say anything about you coming here?”

“He didn’t know about it,” David said.

“Oh,” said Evie.

“He leaves this kind of thing to me,” David told her. He looked up suddenly, straight into her eyes. “You can’t ever listen to him . Then where would he be? Playing in a room to himself, wasting all that music alone. I hate to see things wasted.”

It seemed more settled then. Evie nodded and let him go.

At eight o’clock that night Evie came down the front steps in a skirt and blouse, her vinyl sandals, and a blue plastic headband that kept her hair off her face. The Jeep was already parked outside. In the back seat, behind David, Drum Casey sprawled out with both feet up and his guitar in the crook of his arm. It hadn’t occurred to Evie that he might be there. She froze on the sidewalk, gripping her purse. Then David said, “Nope. It’s not what I was thinking of.”

“What?” she said.

“You need something black. Dressy.”

“No one dresses up at the Unicorn.”

“You do. You want to stand out. We’ll wait.”

“What? You want me to change now? I can’t do that, my father will start wondering. He thinks I’m at a friend’s.”

“We’ll wait around the block then.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” said Drum. David shooed him away with one hand.

“You leave this to me,” he said. “I’ve got it all clear in my mind. We’ll be over there, Evie.”

Evie ran back to her room. She changed in a rush, mislaying things that had been right at her fingertips and tearing stockings, jamming zippers, tripping over cast-off clothing. If she took one minute too long, she felt, the Jeep would vanish. It would drift off like a tiny, weightless boat, piloted by careless people with short memories. She put on a scoop-necked black blouse and a black skirt. Then she picked up a pair of pumps and ran down the stairs in stocking feet. “Back in a while, Daddy,” she called. Her father didn’t answer. He might not even have heard.

The Jeep waited around the corner. Drum was plucking one guitar string over and over. He didn’t stop when she climbed into the front seat, but David looked her over carefully and said, “That’s right. Much better.”

“Is this what I should wear all the time?”

“All the time?” said Drum. “How often you figure on doing this?”

Evie looked at David, who was backing the car up. He didn’t answer. Finally she turned toward the back seat, and without actually meeting Drum’s eyes she said, “If it works out, I’m coming every week.”

“Ah, David,” Drum said. “You’ve went too far this time.”

“Will you leave it to me?” said David.

“You’ve went too far, man.”

They drove the rest of the way without speaking. David frowned at the road, making some sort of calculations, shaking his head from time to time and then brightening as if an idea had struck. In the back, Drum kept plucking at the guitar string. Whenever the Jeep slowed, Evie could hear the single note repeating itself tinnily in the twilight.

They pulled in beside a motorcycle in the Unicorn’s parking lot. Not many other cars had arrived yet. After he had shut the motor off, David said, “Now, listen. You’ll sit at a table for one, right up front. I’ve brought you a candle. It’ll stand out. While the other guy’s on, Joseph Ballew, read a newspaper.”

“By candle?”

“Oh, shoot now,” Drum said. “Joseph Ballew is a friend of mine. She can’t do that.”

“Oh, all right. Stare down at your beer, then. What I want is a difference, you follow me? A difference that people will notice when Drum comes on. Sit up. Look close. I was thinking of some other things, but there hasn’t been time to work them out. Sending him flowers, for instance.”

“I would send them back,” said Drum.

“I figured you would.”

“Another thing,” said Drum. “I want you both to listen good, now. I am not for any part of this plan. I don’t approve, I never will approve. It makes me sick. And on top of that it won’t work, because while I am playing, my entire audience will be whispering and pointing at a fat girl with a name on her forehead. I just thought you should know that.”

Evie said, “Oh, well, I don’t want to—”

“Got you,” David told Drum. “Then I had thought of having her scream, maybe, but I guess not. She’s not the type for it.”

He looked at Evie for a minute longer, and then shook his head and climbed out of the Jeep. Evie had to trail behind them all the way across the parking lot.

The policeman at the door recognized her. He nodded at her and then rested his hands awkwardly on his gunbelt and stared into the distance. The proprietor recognized her too. When she walked in, he stepped out from behind the bar, smoothing his apron and looking worried. “You’re the girl that, uh. Look, I hope you’re not planning to pull something like that again. I had an awful time. Cops were down my neck all night, thinking there had been a cutting.”