Thomas McGuane - Nothing but Blue Skies

“Whatever blows your dress up,” said Darryl.

“Thank you, Darryl. Thank you very much.”

It was crowded on the dance floor and seemed to be no more than a large disorganized group of people. Frank couldn’t detect any relationship between the music and the movements of the dancers. The large number of cowboy hats seemed to cut down on the available space. But Frank was enjoying the familiar weight and heat of Lucy in his arms. He knew it as common lust, a profound simplicity. The prominent bulge in his trousers spoke reams.

“You’ve got your nerve shoving that thing at me,” said Lucy.

“The worst hanging judge in the world doesn’t penalize folks for that which is involuntary.”

Frank danced her around the room, feeling loose enough to fall on her. It was swell. When the song finished, Lucy pushed off and Frank went back to the bandstand. The singer leaned over his guitar and moved the microphone away from his face to listen to Frank.

“Do you do ‘Happy Birthday’?”

“Sure do. Who’s it for?”

“Darryl Pullman. He is one hundred years old tonight and he came just to hear y’all play.” He had filched Gracie’s accent.

“Be tickled to death,” said the singer, reverberating the familiar six notes that punctuate the annual walk off the flat earth: “Happy bir-thday tew yew!” He leaned toward the microphone to talk out of the side of his mouth as Frank made his way back to Lucy. “Don’t often in our business get to celebrate somebody’s turning one hundred years old like we’re fixing to do right now. This one’s for Darryl Pullman, who’s with us tonight. Darryl, here’s to a hundred more!”

Frank looked Darryl right in the eye and said, “I didn’t think they’d even invented the name Darryl a hundred years ago.”

“They hadn’t,” said Darryl, who began to sing along with his own birthday song. “But this is a great opportunity for me to look forward to what it’ll be like, you sorry little shit.”

When the song came to an end and the applause died down, along with the back-pounding that forced Darryl to act happy about it all, Frank said, “Darryl, let me lay it on the table. This may be too much for you, and if it is, I don’t blame you. Can you reach me my drink?” He gulped it down. “But I have absolutely got to have a word with Lucy and it will not take but a minute. I’ve absolutely got to.” Darryl didn’t say anything. “Darryl, I gotta. I’ve absolutely got to. We’re right down the hall from each other. It’s not that whatever. Please.”

“Is this an emergency?”

“Yes! That’s exactly the word I was looking for. Emergency.”

“How long?”

“Six minutes, twenty-one seconds. There will be no time-outs or delays for commercials.”

“I ain’t too worried about it,” said Darryl, “if you want to know the truth.”

As soon as they stepped outside, Frank began to struggle with himself. He looked up at the theater marquee across the street and saw its perennial sign, “Closed for the Season.” He discovered the unsteadiness of his limbs. “Is there anywhere we can sit down for a moment?”

“Yes,” said Lucy in a firm and businesslike voice, “we can sit in Darryl’s truck. I know he wouldn’t mind because he is not petty. He is not petty and he is not inconsiderate.”

She directed Frank to the Dexter Hotel’s parking lot, where they found the three-quarter-ton Ford with a stock rack. Frank got in behind the wheel and Lucy went around to the other side. Frank smiled at her and pretended to steer down the road, mashing the brake at the same time. Lucy said, “What’s on your mind?” Frank saw the keys and started the truck. Lucy gave him a look, but he just turned on the heater to cut the chill.

“I just hadn’t seen you. I haven’t been to the office.”

“So we’ve noticed.” “We” was Lucy and Eileen. He knew the subtext here was that Gracie was back in town.

“Oh, Lucy.”

“And don’t ‘oh, Lucy’ me, either.”

“At least don’t treat me mean. I’ve built an empire.”

“And you’re letting it fall apart.”

“That’s what they do. Read your history. None escape.”

“And what about Gracie? A wonderful girl. How did you spoil that, Frank? She was a big reason I was attracted to you. I had to find out. Ever since that Halloween we dressed up as a ménage à trois . But Gracie was my friend. There’s something about you but it may not be such a nice thing and no wonder she hit the road. No wonder! Yes, Frank, no wonder. And I want to tell you this: in your case, absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder. Once a person gets away from you, for however short a time, that person asks themself, How, how did I do that?”

“Soiled yourself with my love wand?”

“Frank, please.”

“I was only trying to make things lighter. Besides, I’ve bent over backwards. You sent me to the Arctic Circle, I went. Wasn’t that a living testimonial?”

“You were just trying, you … it was awful. What an utterly artificial attempt to cast a romantic glow over things. All you ever did with any sincerity was fuck me, take me to the show and fuck me, take me to dinner, fuck me — in other words, fuck me fuck me fuck me! ”

Looking into the truck window in time to hear the end of this speech was Darryl Pullman. Lucy saw Frank’s glance, looked back at the window and moaned in loud despair. Frank slipped the truck in gear and moved out onto the street. “You can’t talk like that around a cowboy,” Frank said. “Not if you want to stay in one piece.” Darryl called to another cowboy standing in the doorway of the bar. The cowboy pointed to his own truck, a big green Dodge, and he and Darryl ran toward it. Frank turned sharply into an alley, came out its far end, went through a closed bank’s drive-up lane the wrong way, down another alley — all alleys he had played in as a child — and emerged in the middle of a Chevrolet used car lot. “Let me out here, Frank.”

“You don’t want to get out. You want to see this thing through, Luce.”

Frank watched the darkened street over the tops of the cars. It felt dangerous. Feeling the heat and smelling the perfume, he sensed that the feeling of danger was very close to the feeling of lewdness. Overpowering presences, riveted attention, a kind of desire. And no purpose, a wonderful freedom from purpose. He threaded his way among the vehicles of the car lot.

There was Darryl and his friend in the Dodge, coming around the front of the railroad station. Frank cut his lights out and slumped in his seat. Lucy did the same, thrilling him with her complicity. He watched closely as the Dodge rolled by just beyond a row of used cars, its headlights splintering around their shapes. The two cowboys never looked his way, and when they had gone a block and a half east, Frank eased out and headed west. He reached down for the headlights as he was moving through the dark. He pulled the switch and heard a screech behind him. Looking into the rearview mirror, he saw the Dodge wheel in a semicircle, its lights jutting upward as the truck squatted with acceleration.

“Oh shit, oh dear,” said Frank while Lucy covered her face.

Out on the highway, they were able to maintain an even lead over the other vehicle, but they were going a hundred and Frank didn’t want to do that for long. “I don’t know if you remember Sterling Moss,” he said over the noise. “Great driver, but tore up every car he drove. Juan Fangio was even faster, but his cars never seemed to have even been driven. Something simpatico between Juan and machinery …”

“Frank, please.”

“I can’t stop now. Can you imagine what kind of mood those cowboys are in? I have no choice but to put it on them before they put it on me.” Suddenly, he didn’t seem to be moving at all. He watched the stars through the windshield and thought he simply liked Lucy. But the piercing beams behind him brought him back. Bold is best, he thought, then hit the brakes and managed to turn onto a gravel fork in the road. He turned off the lights again. “Frank!” Lucy cried. He could make out the road well enough, and he was sure that he was nearly impossible to see.