Ларри Макмертри - The Last Picture Show

"You must really think I'm crazy," she said. "I am crazy I guess."

"Why's that?" Sonny asked.

"What?" Ruth said, caught by surprise.

"I mean why do you feel crazy? I guess I shouldn't be askin'."

"Of course you should," she said. "I was just surprised you had the nerve. The reason I'm so crazy is because nobody cares anything about me. I don't guess there's anybody I care much about, either. It's my own fault, though -I haven't had the guts to try and do anything about it. It took more guts for me to put my hand on your face than I ever thought I had, and even then I didn't have enough to go on:"

She shut the screen door and they stood for a moment looking through the screen at one another. Sonny hated to leave; in some funny way he had come to like Mrs. Popper and he knew that the minute he left she would go in the house and cry again.

"Maybe I never will know what seduce means," she said quietly. "Thank you for putting up with me. You don't need to tell Herman about the operation. I'll tell him when he gets home:"

Sonny was trying to think of something appropriate to say that would let her know that he really liked her, but he couldn't think of anything that didn't sound corny. Ruth noticed, and to spare him further embarrassment she shut the living-room door. When she heard his footsteps on the sidewalk she began to cry.

Basketball practice was so far along that Sonny didn't bother to suit out, but he did check in with the coach. Joe Bob and one of the freshmen had done something wrong and the coach was sitting on his bridge chair watching them run punishment laps.

"Come on, run 'em," the coach yelled. "Be men. I don't want no sissies on this team. Quit flapping your hands, Joe Bob, you look like a goddamn goose."

Sonny slipped his shoes off and took some free-throw practice with the rest of the team. He expected the coach to ask about Mrs. Popper, but he just sat on the bridge chair, chewing tobacco and occasionally scratching his balls. When-he did ask, after practice, it was not exactly about Mrs. Popper—he wanted to know if the doctor had given her any prescription.

"I don't think so," Sonny said. "We didn't get any filled."

"Good," the coach said. "Damn doctors. Every time she goes over there they prescribe her ten dollars worth of pills and they don't do a fuckin' bit of good. I tell her to take aspirin, that's all I ever take. If she's got a sore place she can nab a little analgesic balm on it—that's the best thing for soreness there is."

He didn't say so, but analgesic was also free. The school bought it by the case and the coach took what he needed.

"She wasn't feeling too good when I left her," Sonny said, thinking the coach might be worried enough to hurry on home. Instead, the news seemed merely to disgust him.

"Hell, women like to be sick," he said. He was on his way to the showers, but he stopped long enough to grab a cake of soap from a passing freshman. "Ruth had rather be sick than do anything. I could have bought a new deer rifle with what she's spent on pills just this last year, and I wish I had, by God. A good gun beats a woman any day:"

chapter seven

"I guess she just couldn't get out of it," Sonny said, chalking his cue. It was Saturday night and Duane had just found out that Jacy wasn't going to be at the picture show that evening: she was going to a country club dance with Lester Marlow.

"She wasn't sheddin' no tears over the telephone," Duane said bitterly. "She may be getting to like country club dances, that's what worries me."

He was in such a terrible mood that the pool game wasn't much fun. Jerry Framingham, a friend of theirs who drove a cattle truck, was shooting with them; he had to truck a load of yearlings to Fort Worth that night and asked them to ride along with him, since neither of them had dates.

"We might as well," Duane said. "Be better than loafin' around here."

Sonny was agreeable. While Jerry went out in the country to pick up his load he and Duane walked over to the café to have supper. Sam the Lion was there, waiting for old Marston to bring out his nightly steak. Penny was still at work and Marston was hopping to get the orders out. Penny had taken to wearing orange lipstick.

The boys sat down with Sam the Lion and ordered chicken-fried steaks. "Sam, how's the best way to get rich?" Duane asked.

"To be born rich," Sam said. "That's much the best way. Why?„

"I want to get that way. I want to get at least as rich a3 Lester Marlow."

"Well, of course," Sam said, buttering a cracker. "You're really too young to know what's good for you, though. Once you got rich you'd have to spend all your time staying rich, and that's hard thankless work. I tried it a while and quit, myself. If I can keep ten dollars ahead of the bills I'll be doin' all right."

"How much do you think Gene Farrow's worth?" Duane asked. "How rich would I have to get to be richer than .

"How much cash you got?" Sam asked.

"Fifty-two dollars right now. Fifty-one after we eat."

"Then cashwise I imagine you're as rich as Gene," Sam said, looking suspiciously at his salad. Marston was always sneaking cucumbers into his salads, against strict orders. Sam the Lion regarded cucumbers as a species of gourd and would not eat them.

"I doubt if Gene could lay his hands on fifty dollars tonight," he added.

Both boys were stunned. Everyone thought Gene Farrow was the richest man in town.

"Why Sam, he's bound to have lots of money," Duane said. "Mrs. Farrow's fur coat is supposed to be worth five thousand dollars."

"Probably is," Sam said. "That's five thousand he don't have in cash, though. He's got lots of trucks and equipment and oil leases, too, but it ain't cash and there's no way of tellin' how much of it's his and how much is the bank's."

He broke a biscuit in two and wiped his gravy bowl clean. "There ain't no sure-nuff rich people in this town now," he said. "I doubt there'll ever be any more. The oil fields are about to dry up and the cattle business looks like it's going to peter out. If I had to make a guess at who was the richest man in town I'd say Abilene. He may not own nothing but his car and his clothes, but I've never seen the day he couldn't pull a thousand dollars out of his billfold. A man with a thousand dollars in his pocket is rich, for Thalia."

Duane cheered up suddenly and began to go after his steak with good appetite. "Well that's all good news," he said. "Maybe if the Farrows go broke they won't mind my marrying Jacy."

Sam grunted his disagreement. "Penny, bring me a dish of that cobbler," he said. "Apricot. Nope, Duane, you're wrong. I don't know about Lois, but if Gene was to even think he was going broke he wouldn't want you to get within a mile of that girl. There ain't nobody snootier than an oilman who's had to sell one of his Cadillacs."

"Aw, Sam it's not him," Duane argued. "I get along with him all right. It's Mrs. Farrow who don't like me. I bet it's her fault Jacy's off with Lester tonight."

"Well, Lois, has got a lot of judgment, maybe she's doin' you a favor," Sam said. "That little girl is goin' to be a hard one to please: '

Talk like that made Duane huffy. "I please her well enough," he said. Sonny wished the meal were over. It was getting so Duane wanted to talk about Jacy half the time, and for some reason the conversations always left Sonny depressed.

Outside, after they had all finished, Sam the Lion slapped them on the shoulder. "Well, have fun in Cowtown," he said. "If I didn't have all these businesses to run I'd ride along with you. Ain't been to Fort Worth in fifteen years:" The night was cold and sleety and he hobbled on back to the poolhall on his sore feet.

The boys walked over to the courthouse where they could wait out of the wind. While they were waiting they saw Lester and Jacy drive by in Lester's Oldsmobile. Jacy wasn't sitting very close to him but as they passed under the street light the boys could see that she was laughing at something. Her hair was rolled up on her head in a fancy way.