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  Pete shrugged and blew on his coffee. The sun shone through the window on his curly sandy hair. He had often asked himself the same question. “It don’t take much talent,” he said, sliding past the question. “I just sort of stumbled into it. I was rodeoing and had a buddy who was a clown and one night he got hurt and I subbed for him for a few days. Turned out to be better at it than he was.”

  “Do you make all those scatological jokes, like other rodeo clowns?” she asked.

  “What kind of jokes?”

  “Oh, scatological. Scatology.”

  “What?” he said, grinning, and she realized she was in a dilemma, for he had no idea what she meant.

  “Uh, bathroom stuff,” she said, feeling hopelessly prim. Pete got the drift and seemed a little embarrassed himself, but their spirits were too high to be cramped for long. Pete told her a couple of his cleaner jokes. They were terribly corny but he told them with such confident charm that Patsy could not help giggling.

  The meal went quickly and as they were going out Pete held the door open for her and offered her a stick of chewing gum. “You-all look us up when you get to Laramie,” he said. “We’ll go honky-tonkin’, or something.”

  Patsy said they would but felt a little disquieted as she drove away. She didn’t want to go honky-tonking with the Tatums, nor with anyone. He had suggested it as if it were the only form of mutual entertainment possible—in Laramie, Wyoming, it probably was. What disquieted her was that she liked Pete and was pleased that he seemed to like her, and yet there was some confusion in the pleasure. He made her feel both superior and inferior at the same time. She could not believe that he was very bright, and brightness had always been the first quality she looked for in men. Jim, for all his vapors, was very bright. It had always puzzled her that bright women could marry men who were plainly and glaringly dumb. And yet there was something impressive about Pete Tatum, and it had very little to do with brightness. She had never encountered his kind of impressiveness before and did not know quite how to value it. She glanced in the rear-view mirror often until she had put a ridge between the Ford and his pickup and could no longer see it behind her.

  A few minutes later, passing a filling station near Rock Springs, she saw a small cowboy standing by the road hitchhiking and, just in time, recognized him. It was Peewee, the ubiquitous.

  “Lo and behold,” she said as he came jogging to the car. He was absolutely covered with grayish dust and had to beat himself off as best he could before he got in. He still had his rigging and his small canvas bag.

  “Ain’t no country to hitchhike around in,” he said. “I been standing there sucking dust for four hours.”

  “It’s because you look like a sex fiend,” Patsy said, grinning, and Peewee nodded in sober agreement.

  “I got an evil face,” he said.

  Patsy broke up. “As a matter of fact you look angelic,” she said. “You just happen to resemble that man in Lil’ Abner who has all the bad luck. You know, the one with the small black cloud over his head. Joe something or other. Subconsciously people think a mountain will fall on them if they pick you up.”

  “I look like one done fell on me,” Peewee said. “I even got dust in my pockets. You’d think this here was the Saraha. That big desert, you know.”

  “I know.” She was delighted to have him to talk to, and Peewee was even more delighted. Not only did he have a ride all the way to Laramie, he had Patsy to look at as well. She was driving with her left foot on the gas pedal, which he had seldom, if ever, seen done. Occasionally she peered at him over the rim of her sunglasses.

  “How goes your career?”

  Peewee tried to remember something he had done that might impress her, but it was all but hopeless. “Well, I took a fourth in one go-round at Klamath Falls,” he said. “Ain’t had too much glory other than that. My big mistake was ever going to Salinas. Like to got killed on that Bayshore freeway and then on my way back to Arizona I got dropped off in Needles.”

  “What’s Needles?”

  “It’s sort of a town. Hot place this time of the year. I squatted out there for four days an’ wouldn’t nobody pick me up. Had to go back to town and get a dishwashing job to keep from starving.”

  “You must be mad,” she said. “All that so you can take a chance on getting killed by a horse.”

  “Well, you got to do something that’s fun once in a while in your life,” he said.

  Soon afterward Jim awoke. He looked white and queasy. Patsy felt too good herself to be properly sympathetic.

  “Welcome to the day,” she said. “Here we are, citizens of the world, leading the life we’ve always sought.”

  “Don’t bug me,” Jim said weakly. “I’m entering a difficult period.”

  “If you need to upchuck, say so and I’ll stop.” She drove with her chin tilted up and looked very blithe. Jim managed not to throw up, but he had little strength for conversation. They had to stop for a few minutes while an old bearded sheepherder trailed his dusty flock across the road.

  “I thought one only saw such things in Spain,” Patsy said.

  “You shouldn’t have nagged me into drinking,” Jim complained. “It would be nice to be back in Houston, wouldn’t it?”

  “Of course. I’ve been telling you that for months. Want to go? I can turn south at the next town.”

  Peewee was amazed—he had never imagined such whimsey. But Jim shook his head.

  “I don’t know what to think of you, Jim,” Patsy said. “You aren’t very consistent. If it would be nice to be in Houston, why don’t we go?”

  “I just thought of it because of the Orange Julius stand,” he said. “They’re good for hangovers.”

  “Well, next time keep in mind that you’re not a drinker.”

  “I’m keeping it in mind right now. Please be friendly. I feel too bad for animosity.”

  “Quit fishing,” she said. “I am totally without animosity.”

  “Could you open the glove compartment?” he asked Peewee. “There might be a candy bar left. I think a bite of something would be good for me.”

  Peewee did, but there was nothing there but maps, flashbulbs, and a box of Tampax. “You ate all my candy days ago,” Patsy said.

  Peewee felt scared. He was convinced that Patsy, for all her loveliness, was a dangerous and unpredictable person to ride with, and he was trying to decide what to do in case things went like they had gone in El Paso. Since he was in the front seat his position was all the more perilous. He looked at Jim for reassurance and Jim smiled and shrugged.

  “Even though I love her she treats me ill,” he said.

  “Humph,” Patsy said. “You wouldn’t dare not love me, after all you’ve put me through.”

  “Oh,” she added, “I saw Pete Tatum this morning. We stopped and had breakfast while you were crocked out.”

  “Glad you didn’t wake me,” he said. “Food would have undone me, and Pete and I don’t have much to say to one another.”

  “That’s because you’re a snob,” she said, looking at Peewee firmly, as if she expected his support for her opinion. Peewee tried desperately to remain expressionless, and Patsy smiled and let him off the hook. “I find Pete very bright,” she said.

  16

  THE CARPENTERS SPENT most of their first afternoon in Laramie at the rodeo grounds watching Pete train his donkey. The rodeo hadn’t started, and no one was doing much. Patsy had developed motel claustrophobia and accompanied Jim to the grounds hoping some amusement would turn up. It was cooler than it had been in Utah—the wind blew constantly. Only Pete was uncomfortably hot. He had wrestled the donkey around so much that his blue shirt was soaked through. Boots sat on the rear end of the Thunderbird watching him struggle. She wore Levi’s and a faded red blouse.

  “It’s the world’s dumbest donkey,” she said. “All it knows how to do is sit down, and then it won’t get up.”

  Hercules was sitting down at the time and seemed quite content with himself.


  “What is he supposed to do?” Patsy asked.

  “Roll over,” Pete said, wiping his face on his forearm. “What good’s a donkey that can’t roll over?”

  Feeling curious, Patsy got Boots to show her the inside of the trailer house and immediately regretted it. Everything was in complete disorder, garments and bedclothes strewn together and three empty beer cans on the window ledge by the bed. For want of a better amusement the two of them sat cross-legged on the bed and played a game of double solitaire. Pete continued to wrestle with Hercules and Jim had wandered off with his camera poised.

  Boots played cards like she drove—intently and rapidly. Seeing the inside of the trailer heightened Patsy’s admiration of her. It was impossible not to admire anyone who could live with another human being in such close quarters, amid such complete disorder. Boots seemed not at all daunted. She noticed that Patsy was looking askance at the mess, but she was not offended.

  “It’s pretty horsy,” she said. “It’s very hard to rodeo and be ladylike. I never was ladylike, anyway, so I don’t miss it.”

  Pete called for a beer. He had given up on Hercules and was sitting in a little folding chair. They got three beers and went outside, and Boots sat on her husband’s lap while he drank. Patsy sat on the Thunderbird and sipped a beer and watched the high thin clouds blow over. A roper was loping his horse around in intricate patterns outside the arena. The horse was a beautiful slim sorrel whose neck was darkened by sweat. Patsy felt relaxed and loose. The Tatums themselves were so relaxed and loose that it was hard to be otherwise around them. Boots held Pete’s hand and looked at him in a pleased way. The sight made Patsy feel a little lonely, for it seemed to her that the Tatums cared about each other in a way that she and Jim didn’t, and she could not imagine what would become of her in the years ahead. Sugarpops, the Tatums’ new dachshund, annoyed her slightly by licking her ankles every time she let her legs dangle.

  The three of them chatted pleasantly until Jim returned, but as soon as they were on their way back to the motel Patsy’s mood dropped. Jim noticed and asked her if she felt bad.

  “No, just a vapor,” she said. “I don’t like Wyoming very much.”

  That evening the wind was very high and Patsy, who had been meaning to go to the rodeo, decided against it and went to a James Bond movie instead. They arrived back at the motel almost at the same time and were contemplating going out for hamburgers when there was a knock on the door. When Jim opened it Sonny Shanks stood there. He asked politely if he could come in.

  They were taken by surprise. “Sure,” Jim said. Sonny walked in, a drink in his hand, and went straight to the bathroom and ran some tap water in it.

  “I was fixin’ to run over to Cheyenne,” he said. “I know a couple of crazy people there that you-all might like to meet. Why not come along?” He rattled the ice in his glass.

  There were many reasons why they should not go along, but Sonny had put them both off balance, and he himself at the moment seemed the epitome of friendliness and balance. It was so obvious why they wouldn’t want to go to Cheyenne with him that neither of them could speak, and he himself blithely ignored the obvious. His friendliness made everything that had happened in Phoenix seem remote and unreal. They couldn’t articulate a protest and, without either of them actually making the decision, acquiesed to what neither of them would have thought possible five minutes before. Sonny had made the decision for them and somehow managed to enforce it. A few minutes later they were all sitting in the front seat of the hearse sipping Sonny’s liquor as they sped through the night. It was very dark, with no moon and only a few stars. The country rolled and dipped and the road ahead was dotted with the red taillights of rodeo-goers returning to Cheyenne.

  Patsy was in the center, next to Sonny, and could smell him. It was not a body odor exactly; he smelled of bourbon, horsehide, and himself. When he looked at her he smiled with perfect equanimity.

  “Don’t smile at me,” she said, recovering her tongue. “Don’t look so pleased. What are you planning for tonight? Going to tie us to a railroad track?”

  “No, just feel like drivin’,” he said. “Cheyenne makes a nice drive.”

  “I thought you decided never to see me again,” she said. “I was perfectly happy with that decision.”

  Jim seemed rather cheerful, and it irritated her a little. He had let Sonny pull them into the evening without a word of protest, as if it were perfectly natural to drive off to Cheyenne, Wyoming, with a man who had scared and insulted her only a month before. If she had refused to go, he might have backed her up; but it seemed to her he ought to have refused himself, on principle. He had not even been wishy-washy—he had just left it to her, or to Sonny.

  They drove to Cheyenne almost in silence and pulled up in front of a large two-story brick house. The driveway was empty and the house quite dark.

  “They’re probably just asleep,” Sonny said, as if that were of no import. It turned out, however, that they were not at home.

  “I take it you didn’t bother to call,” Patsy said. They were standing on the lawn. While Sonny was ringing the doorbell she had informed Jim in a whisper that he was not under any circumstances to get drunk.

  “Naw. I figured they’d be home. Nothing to worry about. I won’t have no trouble breaking in.”

  And he coolly pried loose a screen on one of the side porches and went in through the window. “He’s crazy,” Patsy said. “Now do you believe me? He has absolutely no respect for civilization. He does just what he pleases.”

  “Don’t be so hard on him,” Jim said. “Maybe he’s very good friends with these people.” Despite everything, Sonny fascinated him, and he had a hard time hiding the fascination from Patsy.

  Lights began to come on in the house, and in a minute Sonny opened the front door and beckoned to them.

  “Who would have thought they’d be gone,” he said.

  “Maybe they heard you were around,” Patsy said. “What are we going to do, wait for their unlikely return?”

  “No, but we might as well have a drink on them. I got to make some phone calls.”

  The furniture and rugs were ordinary middle-class furniture and rugs. The only thing unusual about the house was the pictures, some thirty or forty of them, all oils, hung more or less at random on the walls. Almost all of them were nudes of the same woman, a massive redhead with orange pubic hair.

  “This guy likes to paint his wife naked,” Sonny said, as if that were sufficient evidence of their craziness.

  “Maybe he can’t get anyone else to pose for him,” Jim said. “I can’t even get my wife to pose for me.”

  “Don’t talk about that,” Patsy said.

  Sonny left them to their own devices while he made a half-hour’s worth of phone calls. The house was stuffy, so they wandered back out on the porch and sat on the stone balustrade drinking.

  “When did I begin to drink?” Patsy said. “I was a milkshake and orange-juice girl until you debauched me. Now every time I turn around I’m drinking hard liquor.

  Jim was two drinks ahead of her and just tight enough to feel slightly silly. “Think how far down that way Texas is,” he said, remembering the lonely light in the window at Roger Wagonner’s ranch house the morning they left for Phoenix.

  “I’m thinking of how far away our motel is, and what perils beset us,” Patsy said.

  “If you’d just get drunk the way I get drunk you wouldn’t worry so much,” he said. “If we both passed out we’d never know what happened, if anything did.”

  Patsy was swinging her legs and didn’t answer. The lights inside the house began to go out again, and Sonny crawled back through the window. He handed Patsy his drink and she held it while he replaced the screen.

  “Locate your friends?”

  “Nope. Wasn’t trying to. I was talking to an ol’ boy I know in Bossier City, Louisiana. Be a nice little surprise for those folks when that one shows up on the bill. Teach ’em to stay home.”


  Going back, Patsy rode in the rear of the hearse on the mattress. She thought she would be more comfortable there than she would be next to Sonny, but if anything, there was more of him in the back than in the front. Somehow he was always maneuvering her into his absurd seduction chamber, and it made her unreasonably annoyed with him, and with Jim. There was no reason she should even know Sonny Shanks, much less ride in his hearse and sit on his mattress. The range they were crossing was faintly starlit—it might have been lovely to watch if they had not been racing over it at one hundred miles an hour. Jim was silent, absorbed in his thoughts. Sonny too was silent, intent on his driving. She wished they would talk about the film job, so she could butt in and argue with them, but they didn’t, and she had only her own irritation in which to be absorbed. That was not very satisfactory, because Sonny had not been directly offensive and there was really nothing to be irritated at except the fact of him, or his general arrogance, or something. The mattress had a rough spread on it and smelled dusty, but it was hard to keep from thinking about the things he must have done with women right where she was sitting. That was hateful. She could not imagine why any self-respecting woman would let herself be pushed into such an unlikely bed, by such an obnoxious man. That many did, that even such an intelligent woman as Eleanor Guthrie might have, made her feel she didn’t really understand anything about men and women, and that made her feel scared. She looked at Jim, wishing he would look at her, smile at her, convince her that he would always take care of her and never leave her exposed to the things other women seemed to be exposed to. But Jim didn’t look around, and the three of them rode to Laramie in silence.