Clancy Martin - How to Sell

She was quiet then and ran her hand across my stomach. I flinched because I did not want to have sex again. But she did not notice and she continued to stroke my stomach. Then she put her hand under my T-shirt. Her hand was hot and gluey.

“When he was still in real estate he used to live in this house right next to John Lennon,” I said. “Once we were out on the balcony, Jim and I had a balcony right off of our bedroom, and I remember there were mirrors on the closet doors. We were out there and my dad was smoking his pipe and he pointed to the other balcony, the next house over, and he said, ‘Do you boys know who the Beatles are?’ I didn’t know but I said that I did. And my dad said, ‘That fellow over there is the one who started the band. That’s John Lennon. He’s a famous musician, boys. He’s my next-door neighbor. Let that be a lesson to you, boys. You can be anything you want to be. He was just some poor kid in the streets of Liverpool and now he is famous and lives right next door to your old man.’”

“That’s a good story,” Wendy said.

“I know it sounds made up. But you can ask my dad. When you come to visit.”

“I’d like to meet him. You should invite me.”

Wendy was beautiful but I was not sure my dad would think so. He would think she was a bit thick in the ass.

“That is a good idea,” I said. “Maybe he could even pick up your ticket. He does that kind of thing. He is making a lot of money these days.”

She had her hand in my underwear now. She was patient and she knew what she was doing. She applied her intelligence rigorously to sex, unlike most people.

“I’ll give you a present if you ask him,” she said.

“I’ll ask him,” I said. “I will sure try. He would like you.”

She laughed. “I am sure I will like him,” she said.

I knew she would, of course. Every woman did. That was another reason not to invite her. Because of the comparison, I mean.

A few days later, on the weekend, my dad called back. “Son, it’s not right for you to move to the States. Not now. This is an important time for you. Listen to what your mother is telling you. This is a time to finish high school and take care of your responsibilities. Your mother’s right, for once in her life. I don’t like it any better than you do, son.”

I silently listened to the betrayal develop. He was a parent and so was expert at it. The deception was comfortable for me, too. I did not mind having him to blame.

“The truth is I talked to the boys about all this last night.”

That one made me take the phone away from my ear for a second to look at it. I knew he would pull that kind of thing when it did not really matter. But I did not expect it on something as important as this.

“The boys” were astral beings my father soul-traveled to while the rest of us were sleeping. He relied on their advice for many of his decisions. He would also take counsel from a woman named Priscilla, who was not precisely an astral being but lived on a parallel plane. My father’s deep confidence in the existence and wisdom of these otherworldly advisers had convinced me, when I was younger, that they were real. By this time I wouldn’t say I believed in them, but maybe I didn’t disbelieve, either. My beliefs on the matter were troubled.

“The boys have been keeping an eye on you for me. And they all agree. You need to stay in Calgary right now. The States is a dangerous place for you for the next few years, son. It was a unanimous vote. I fought like a tiger for you to come down with me. But when the big boys upstairs all have the same idea, you shut up and listen.”

I did not want to say even one word to him or hear his responses.

“You’re being dramatic, son,” my father said. “Talk to me.”

A t the airport the snow melted in the parking lot and Wendy stood with her hand on the open car door.

“Aren’t you coming in?” I said. “Will you walk me to the gate, at least?” I hated to sound like that but I had no choice. I couldn’t say goodbye to her yet.

“Aren’t you cold?” she said. I wore shorts and a T-shirt because I was going to Dallas. I had a backpack and a book she had given me to say goodbye. In the cover she had written, “Friends forever.”

I tore the cover off once I was on the plane and stuck it in the pouch on the back of the seat. I was angry and tearful. The old woman seated next to me inspected me with skepticism.

“That’s not a trash bin,” she said. “Is this your first flight? Are you afraid of flying? I don’t want there to be any accidents.”

“No,” I said.

“Are you going to get sick?” she asked me. “Use the vomit bag if you are going to get sick. Maybe I should change seats. You look like someone who throws up on airplanes. I don’t like that. I am older than you are.”

It was sunrise. From the windows in the airport we could see the runways and the fields beyond, and beyond them the dark line of the mountains. The snow was more shiny than usual. I had only hoped that Wendy would stop me so that I might turn around and stay with her. But she called my bluff. On the jet bridge I had paused. I turned, and as I turned I saw the look of fear on her face. She was afraid that I would come back.

On the other end, over Dallas — Fort Worth, we sat in a stack. I could see our fellow planes circling above and below us with their faint red wing lights against the clouds and gray sky like some kid had pushed all of the buttons in an elevator. The captain explained that a freak ice storm had struck Dallas and coated the runways and the wings of the aircraft on the ground. I knew the cold weather was only my luck following us. Planes could not land or leave. The stewardesses distributed free drinks and even I had a glass of champagne. The old woman sitting next to me was drunk. She complained when I unpacked the two pieces of fried chicken Wendy’s mother had wrapped in tinfoil for my lunch. That’s how eager Wendy’s mother was to get rid of me.

“It’s your favorite,” Wendy said when she gave it to me in the car. “She wants you to know she isn’t mad at you. She thinks you’re doing the grown-up thing.”

Running away from home and high school to go into the jewelry business with my big brother. That was the mature plan of action. But I took the chicken.

“Are you really going to eat that?” the old woman next to me asked. There was an odor to her enormous mouth. Her lipstick was smeared from drinking and it looked like a live animal might jump out of that red hole and bite me on the cheek.

From all the circling and rising up and down, I finally vomited, twice, but missed her. She rose and tried to join another aisle but people were drunk and impatient. Then she fell and the stewardess insisted she return to her seat.

“I could have broken my leg,” she told me. She pulled up her dress but I would not look at her white calves and knees. “I have osteoporosis. My son is a doctor. This is your fault,” she said. “If I get a bruise.”

She massaged her legs and I leaned my forehead on the plastic window so that I would not vomit again.

At last we landed. The Texans in the airport were bundled in overcoats, boots, and scarves, and they gaped at me in my shorts and T-shirt.

“Hell, that fella there thinks it’s summertime.”

“You been outside, boy? It’s cold enough to knock a maggot off a gutwagon.”

I saw Jim. He waved to me from the baggage carousel. I almost did not recognize him in his blue suit and red tie. The tie had bright orange rhinoceroses on it. Later I would see that Mr. Popper, the owner of the jewelry store, wore the same one.

“I don’t have any bags,” I said. “Just my backpack.”