Thomas McGuane - Crow Fair - Stories

The door opened and Jewell, now shod — they looked like bowling shoes — entered briskly and said, “Just that little bit past name and face makes everyone more comfortable. So you’re Hoyt, right? Okay, Hoyt, I was going to throw something together for Nell and me. Care to join us? Not promising a lot because the kitchen is a work in progress, to say the very least.”

This is when lightning struck. I glanced at Jewell in his suspenders and bowling shoes, and at Nell in her clean Depression shift, and said, “Why don’t we run down to Rascal’s and split a pizza? My treat.”

Before Bruce could answer, Nell clapped her hands and bayed, “I love pizza!”

“You really want to take us on, Hoyt? We’ve only just met, and we can be a handful. Nell is very active, aren’t you, Nell?”

I had enough on my hands to understand why I had cooked up the invitation at all. My hands were already pretty full trying to figure out what I could have been thinking in the first place. I tried to sell myself the idea that this would be a rescue operation to save Ann from the wearisome Clearys, but that still left me with the original bafflement as to why she wanted to meet them at all. Nevertheless, everything would be quite clear when the Jewells sat down at the table. The introductions would be interesting, and Nell versus the pizza menu could be a real hoot, since Rascal’s had about a hundred toppings.

Nell made me promise to help her with the puzzle later, and when I agreed she looked at me quite pointedly and said that she was not a vegetable. I assured Nell that indeed she was not, and Jewell smiled his assent. We stood around for a bit while he set the burglar alarms, an exercise I failed to understand. The Jewells must have come from someplace where this was necessary. Their clothing seemed rural, backwoods almost, but had something of the costume about it. “Pizza!” said Jewell. “What an idea! Nell, when was the last time we had pizza?”

“Two Thanksgivings ago,” said Nell sternly.

“Did we enjoy it?” asked Jewell.

Nell said, “How should I know?”

I wanted to get in on this somehow and asserted that you could get turkey as a topping at Rascal’s, but the two just gazed at me thoughtfully as though the meaning of this would come to them if they were patient.

In any case, we’d have to hurry along if we were going to catch Ann and the Clearys. Afterward, once she got her face out of the pizza, she could pitch in on the jigsaw puzzle. Ha! These were brave thoughts: I still couldn’t believe she’d prefer dinner with the Clearys to codependent nattering with me in our enchanted cottage with its vine-crowded windows.

We took my car; in fact I didn’t see one at the Jewells’. En route, I let them in on the setup: “My wife, Ann, is dining with the Clearys, and I thought it might be fun to join them as a kind of surprise and give you a chance to meet not only Ann but the Clearys, Craig and Bonny, because Craig runs an international fireworks company right from his house, and Bonny heads up the county commissioners, in case you need some rules bent.”

Nell said, “Can I play the radio?”

“We’re talking, Sweet Pea, can’t you see that?”

Nell looked puzzled. “I can hear you talking …”

“Hush, now,” Jewell said to her rather more firmly. We were at highway speed when Nell rolled down the window and stuck her head out, the wind inflating her cheeks. Our mail and several documents I’d left in the backseat were now whirling around the inside of the car. Jewell raced to batten them down, but Nell just kept hanging her head out, her hair streaming all the way past the rear window. “Guy clipped her and kept going. Forget about the helmet. Shattered like an egg. We’re talking former Miss Utah runner-up.” I thought about this and then sought to change the subject.

“What’s your business …?”

“Bruce. I sold my original business and ten-thirty-oned it into self-storage. Now my job is limited to welcoming receipts.”

“Your original business was?”

“Nutritional supplements, weight-loss products, essential oils, pet vitamins, the usual. I ran it right here in town. Now it’s in a portfolio somewhere, probably Bahrain.” Bruce pulled Nell back into her seat by her shirt collar and rolled up the window. She slumped and stared at the dark radio dial.

“Where is your car?”

“Do we have a car?”

Nell said, “We have a car. Ours is a sedan.”

What would have unnerved me otherwise, I welcomed: Wait’ll I load this duo onto Ann and the Clearys. “Why can’t she listen to the radio.”

“She can listen to the radio but not while we’re talking. We’ve covered the main stuff. Now she can listen. There’s a time and a place for everything.” I rejoiced at this clodhopper’s philosophy.

Nell turned the radio on, dialing around until she found a classical station and the mournful sound of an oboe, which seemed to settle her down. As though speaking only to herself, she said that she had never been to Bahrain, either in a sedan or any other way. “It’s across the ocean,” barked Jewell.

Nell said, “A truck hit me.”

“Poor Nell.”

“A small red Japanese truck with Idaho plates and a woman driver.”

“See what bubbles up?” said Jewell.

Nell said, “Handel Oboe Concerto in G Minor,” and raised the volume, cupping her hand over the knob so that no one would be able to interfere. Her brows raised, eyes bright, mouth wide open, she was in awe.

Jewell said, “As discussed.”

After listening to the music intently for several minutes, Nell said, “Bruce only likes stupid hillbillies. I take him for what he is.”

I was confused: Nell was mentally challenged, underappreciated, and had a killer body. A guy could get into a world of hurt with such mixed signals. I concentrated on the road and reflected that nothing would alleviate my present anxieties like a bulletproof spell of adultery. The ex-Miss-Utah-runner-up thing had an enticing ring of prestige as well, and I was up for leaning into her Tower of Pisa problem.

“What are you, anyway?” she asked her husband.

I pulled into the parking lot of Rascal’s Pizzeria and found a slot between a rusted-out Pontiac GTO and a home-oxygen supply van with a kayak rack on top. A light rain had begun to fall, and when Nell got out, she danced around, head thrown back, tongue wiggling and palms up. It was crazy but kind of infectious. Jewell caught her eye, raised a warning finger, and her arms dropped to her sides. Then Bruce pivoted toward the front door. “We surf the toppings.” Nell and I followed, and I was startled when she sought my hand, like a child. I thought I’d extract it, then thought I’d just let it ride and watch for Ann’s reaction. Even in the shift, Nell was eye-catching and would remain so until her behavior was observed.

Looking around the half-filled room, I said, “Let me see if I can spot them.” Rascal’s had turned into something of a sports bar, with armatured TV screens hung all around the room, speakers blaring. Servers in the lavender Rascal’s uniform hunched over beers while keeping eyes on the screens, some of which showed a demolition derby in Wyoming; one was playing an interview with A-Rod as to his health, and yet another displayed a girl weeping in some jungle setting, holding a revolver. I regarded each of these as a distraction, ground clutter keeping me from finding my wife. Jewell was right in front of me, thumbs in his suspenders. “What say we eat?”

“Sure, Bruce, grab a table. We can always move.”

“Not once I tuck into a family size. I could eat a horse.”

“I’m soooooo hungry!” cried Nell.

They weren’t here, and I was very abruptly frantic. I kept checking my watch as though it could tell me something. I made sure the ring and vibrate features were both activated on my cell phone, probably taking too much time doing so, since before I knew it both the waitress and the Jewells were eyeing me impatiently. I ordered a small house pizza automatically, just to dispel the awkwardness.