Part 34 (2/2)
”Call me old-timer again and I shall leap from this chair and flail you.”
Armand stopped and his eyes jerked back around to Shane. He seemed about to say one thing, then switched to something else. ”It was only a term of respect.”
Shane's hands went white on the sides of his wheelchair. ”I don't need your respect.”
”You're just mad 'cause you peed on yourself”-I smiled at Shane-”again.”
Armand's house was a three-story brick box at the bottom of a long hill. In the dark, you couldn't see the Hiwa.s.see River, but I knew it had to be close by because I could smell it. Smelled like Dothan Talbot's crotch.
The inside of his house was the cleanest inside of a house I've ever seen, which is saying a mouthful considering my mother dusted her light bulbs daily. Mom at least left two Reader's Digests on the lazy Susan so people would think our family kept up on current trends. Armand's house didn't have a magazine, not a plant, not a family photograph. The front room was mostly black couches and gla.s.s-topped tables with a few pole lamps. A foot-high statue of an armless woman with her robe around her hips stood on a lapis lazuli column. The coolest thing about the room was the marble floor. Houses in Fred Astaire movies had marble floors, but I'd never seen one in person.
”I believe the tape is stored in the laundry,” Armand said.
The statue had polished t.i.ts. I said, ”Your maid must have known when you'd be back.”
He stood with his hairy arms crossed next to a door leading off into the rest of the house. ”I have no maid. Domestics gossip, and more than anything, I cannot stand gossip.”
Marcella's face took on a lost puppy eagerness. ”You're rich, aren't you, Mr. Castle?”
He smiled that urbane look. ”I'm comfortable.”
While Armand was off digging up tape I circled the room, inspecting his tastes in art. I couldn't figure this guy out, which frustrated me because I can almost always figure guys out. He talked too polite for a man with a full, untrimmed beard. The art on the walls was primarily Impressionist landscapes with some Pica.s.so-like fragmented animals thrown in-no people pictures. Maybe he was gay. Sometimes gay guys live alone in clean houses.
Marcella wallowed in embarra.s.sment. ”I can't believe I asked him if he was rich. What got over me? This is a room out of House and Garden.”
”I can't stand up anymore, Marcella. You think an alarm would go off if I sat on one of these couches?”
”No, that's not likely. Why would an alarm go off?”
”I was joking, Marcella.”
She wrinkled her nose. ”I'm sorry, I missed it.”
Armand returned wearing a different Hawaiian s.h.i.+rt and rubber flip-flops. You could see hair on the tops of his big toes. He carried a silver tray with a role of electrical tape, a decanter of dun-colored liquid, three cut-gla.s.s gla.s.ses, and a covered candy dish. ”Your friends do not approve of my company,” he said.
”They're jealous because you're a gentleman and they're not,” I said.
Marcella stepped toward him. ”We don't have gentlemen in Texas.”
”Come now, I'm certain a few gentlemen dwell in Texas, perhaps around Beaumont.”
”I don't know Beaumont, but there's not a one in the Panhandle.” Her hands were wringing each other like wash rags. ”I'm truly sorry I asked if you're rich. You must think I'm gauche. It's just this house is so clean, no one but a rich person would have a house this clean.”
He filled the bottom of a gla.s.s and handed it to her. ”I thought your question showed both rare candor and grace. Here, drink this, it'll help you relax.”
”Only one, though. I'm nursing.” Marcella took a sip. ”Jesus in heaven, what is it?”
Armand poured three fingers in each of the other two gla.s.ses. ”Something my neighbor cooks up. The recipe has been in his family for generations. I shall explain the process after I give Mr. Rinesfoos his tape.”
”You better let me do that. I need to check on the boys-they're asleep. Besides, Shane doesn't like men seeing his tally-whacker.” Marcella carried her gla.s.s and tape out the door.
”Charming woman,” Armand said, sitting next to me on the couch.
”Her husband's followed us a thousand miles so far. I think we lost him this time.”
The hand that held a gla.s.s out to me had a big diamond ring on the fourth finger. ”Moons.h.i.+ne, my dear?”
”I've heard of this stuff all my life but never tasted any. Isn't it amazing the stuff you hear about all your life but never come in contact with? Take hookers and Communists. I met my first hooker yesterday, I think it was yesterday, but I've heard stories about evil Communists since the day I was born and I've never yet met one.” The moons.h.i.+ne tasted sweet, like Yukon Jack, only it had a touch of cough syrup-kickback.
”I'm sorry my friends are being t.u.r.ds,” I said.
He drank from his gla.s.s. ”You are a beautiful woman. I cannot blame them for not wanting to share.”
The beard was animalistic, but the fingers were delicate. I didn't know what to think, and my stomach was showing signs of whirlies. ”If I was sober I wouldn't trust you, Armie. I don't think I trust you anyway.”
With a small flourish, he opened the candy dish. ”Try one of these, they'll help you appreciate my finer traits.”
”Those are green pills.”
”How right you are.” He tossed two in his mouth.
”I've got enough problems, I don't need pills. What are they?”
”Something else my neighbor whips up in his bathtub.”
”You've got quite a neighbor.”
”I have him on retainer. They're weak relaxants, the Appalachian home-remedy version of a tranquilizer.”
”I could use a relaxant.”
”You've had a hard day, little lady. You deserve to relax.”
The moons.h.i.+ne was smoother on the second sip. ”I get real angry when Shane calls me 'little lady.'”
He touched my hair with his hand. ”I mean it only as a term of respect.”
I popped a pill in my mouth and slugged it down with moons.h.i.+ne. Was.h.i.+ng tranquilizers down with whiskey is hard core. Made me feel like Judy Garland.
Time lost sequentially. Which is to say I got f.u.c.ked up and made a horse's a.s.s out of myself. Most of the night is lost in blackout, thank G.o.d, but I remember Marcella throwing up after one drink. I had a loud fight with Shane in which we called each other names you can't take back; Lloyd's face floated somewhere away from his body, judging me with the sad, Jesus eyes; I must have set a personal record for banging s.h.i.+ns on furniture.
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