Her Wild Oats (12 page)

She watched him cruise around the gift shop, selecting his items with thoughtful care, amused when after careful deliberation he chose her favorite brand of black licorice, along with
Antique Tractor Guide
, a magazine that no one ever looked at let alone bought. He didn’t seem to be in any great hurry to join his people in the dining room, obviously killing time to avoid going back in there, behavior she had seen a lot of from teenagers in her short time on the job. They had a way of trying to look as though they had nothing to do with their families (until it was time to pay for the junk they wanted) that was pretty hilarious. Again, though, this kid was different. He walked over to the counter and fumbled in his jeans pocket for his wallet instead of asking a parent to pay. There were no other customers in the gift shop and she thought she’d take a moment to chat with him, find out more about his story, when Johnny Cashregister decided to do that thing that drove her crazy and stick on the “gum” key. So, instead of saying “Hey there, young man, where are you from?” she found herself muttering “Oh shit, not again!”

The boy looked up, startled.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean you. It’s just that this cash register seems to have it in for me.”

She smiled her apology, and he stood still, grinning in unmistakable admiration, for at least a minute. He finally managed a weak, “OK, no problem,” and walked off in the direction of the dining room.

Arizona sighed as she unstuck the gum key with a bobby pin she’d learned to keep handy for that very purpose. If only grown men—one grown man in particular, at least—reacted to her that way. Just think how different life would be right now.

*

Back in Santa Monica, Arizona’s husband Jerry had still not figured out that she’d left him. He had returned from his overnight tryst and gone directly out on the road on a business trip, communicating his schedule to Arizona via email and messages left on the home answering machine. It never occurred to him that she might not be getting the messages. He got home, exhausted, on Friday night and went directly to bed. Waking up Saturday morning, he realized that the tuxedo he had been planning to wear to the Pets Unlimited benefit that evening wasn’t hanging on the outside of the closet door, even though Arizona had promised to get it cleaned over a week ago.

She must have gone to the Y, he thought, as he stumbled downstairs for a cup of the good, strong coffee she always made first thing on Saturday mornings. But the coffee machine was cold, the carafe empty. At that point, Jerry started getting genuinely cranky—he didn’t ask a lot, heaven knows, but was coffee and an errand or two really too much to expect from his wife?

The light was blinking on the answering machine, and he hit the “Play” button, assuming she’d left him a message. What he heard instead was, “You have twenty-six messages,” then:

“Hey, Ari, it’s Jer. I’ve got to run to Palm Springs for the Lexor case. I’ll see you tomorrow, baby”—the message he’d left for her days ago. This was followed by several more in his own voice, along with a couple of others.

“Ari and Jerry, it’s Aunt Estelle. Thank you so much for the absolutely beautiful condolence bouquet. It’s a good thing Harvey wasn’t alive to see it because, bless his heart, he was so allergic, but I think it’s lovely. When will I see you kids?”

“Hey, Jer, it’s Frank. Want to play a few rounds of golf next weekend? Hit me back, dude.”

“Hi, Ms. Rosenblatt, this is Sherri from Hair Raisin’, just confirming your appointment for a trim on Friday morning. Justin moved heaven and earth to squeeze you in, so please don’t be late.”

“Hey, honey.” Jerry recognized his own voice. “I’m back from Palm Springs but flying to Boston, back Friday. Could you do me a huge favor and pick up my tux at the cleaner? We have that thing next Saturday night—the benefit for that client’s charity. Thanks, babe.”

“Hi, Ms. Rosenblatt, this is Sherri from Hair Raisin’. We were expecting you ten minutes ago for Justin. Please call as soon as you can.”

“Hi, Goober, it’s Gibby.” Jerry recognized his sister-in-law’s unmistakable east coast accent. “Hey, G-ma’s gone AWOL from the home again and Mom’s having a fit. Seriously, sis, it would be so great if you could make it home for the birthday. Any chance? Anyway, call me.”

“Goob, it’s Gib. I accidentally put my cell phone through the dryer and can’t find your mobile number anywhere else, so I’m leaving a message here. I know you’re busy but call me.”

Jerry listened to the series of messages on the machine. It was unusual for Arizona not to return a call from her sister; even stranger that she’d been late for a hair appointment. What was up with her?

On a bit of further reflection, Jerry had to admit that Ari’s busy streak had been convenient. For one thing, it had resulted in a hassle-free tryst with Stephanie, during which he hadn’t had to field even a single call from his wife, who always managed horrendous timing in that regard. Once she had called his cell phone while he was nuzzling Stephanie’s large breasts, and he’d had to pretend he was going through a tunnel on the freeway. The thought of those perfect, milk-white breasts made him stop and smile. Stephanie was something, all right; soft where Ari was firm and angular, luscious and abundant and spiritual, too. He loved it when she said things like, “The Holy Spirit regenerates, sanctifies, baptizes, indwells, seals, illumines, guides, and bestows His gifts upon all believers,” in that soft, breathy voice while slowly undressing. So what if he didn’t know what “indwells” meant? He found her commitment to faith incredibly sexy. His own family had been casual about religion, holiday Jews who used sacred events and rituals as an excuse to get together and eat a lot. Stephanie’s willingness to explore her own spirituality was a rare and beautiful thing, and for the first time ever he understood the pleasure of donating large sums of money to a righteous cause. His donations to the organization proved how much respect he had for their message. So what if the checks were drawn on Arizona’s account? If
Fang II!
was keeping her too busy to return calls to her family, pick up his tux, or make coffee, she was certainly too busy to keep an eye on her checking account. Her behavior was irresponsible, at the very least.

Jerry’s annoyance built as he collected his golf clubs and drove off to the club. If his wife was going to ignore him like this, well, two could play at that game.

Driving toward the freeway, he had an inspired idea, and dialed Stephanie’s cell phone.

“Hi, baby,” she cooed, picking up on the first ring. “I didn’t expect to hear from you today. I thought you had, uh, family obligations.”

“Screw that!” Jerry shouted. “I miss you too much. Let’s do something spontaneous and wild.”

Stephanie’s velvet giggle always made him crazy, and this time was no exception. “What did you have in mind, big guy?”

“It’s a gorgeous day. Let’s put the top down and drive up to Frisco. We’ll get a deluxe suite at the Ritz Carlton, room service, the works. What do you say?”

“Ooh, that sounds great,” she sighed. “But honey, what about Ari? Don’t you two have to go to some event tonight?”

“I don’t really have to go and she’s so super-busy these days I doubt she’ll even notice I’m gone. Come on, baby, I can’t wait to get into that room, run a Jacuzzi, pull down your panties, and…”

“Hmmm, when you put it that way, let me see what I can work out.”

“Great! I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

*

They sat around the big green plastic table slurping coffee and trying not to think about whether or not Pete would be OK. When the food arrived everyone just plowed through, not looking at each other, not saying anything but “pass the salt.”

Oats was worried about Pete, of course, but he found it impossible to get the gift-shop clerk out of his head. He didn’t usually notice grown-ups so much, but this one seemed familiar and special, with her green eyes and her awesome smile.

They had finished eating and were stalling for time, asking for more cups of coffee so they’d have a place to sit and wait. After a while, though, there was nothing left to ask for. Just when there was no denying that breakfast was over and it was more than past time to give up the table, Bobby Lee came bursting in the front door of the restaurant.

“Hey, man, you look like shit,” Dickie commented helpfully. “How’s Pete?”

“Pete’s had a stroke,” Bobby Lee said as he pulled a chair up to the end of the booth and sat down. “He’s stable, but he has to stay in the hospital for a while.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Oats asked.

“The doctors explained it. Here, they gave me this fact sheet. There’s a lot more here if anyone wants to read this, but basically people can get strokes for a lot of different reasons. The most common are high blood pressure combined with increased age.”

“Pete wasn’t getting any younger,” Dave observed, unnecessarily.

“I noticed some shortness of breath and he got red in the face a lot,” Bobby Lee continued. “I should have paid more attention. Anyway, they have him on some meds and he might need a pacemaker. He’s resting now, but I told him we’d all come back later to check in.”

“What does that mean for the tour?” asked Rascal.

“I called and cancelled the gig for tonight,” Bobby Lee answered. “And I got us some rooms over at the motel across the way, so I can touch base with the doctor and get our ducks in a row. Meanwhile, I guess I have to deal with a few personnel issues.”

“Yeah, we’ll need a new tour manager,” Oats offered.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Bobby Lee said. “Can you guys wait here a few minutes? Oats, can we talk for a second?”

Oats followed Bobby Lee through the restaurant into the gift shop, past the beautiful woman (who seemed to be grumbling at her cash register), and out the front door. Bobby Lee put his arm around the boy’s shoulder and said, “I don’t quite know how to tell you this, but I made a promise to your mother.”

“What kind of promise?” Somehow he knew what was coming.

“Well, Oats, she let you come on this tour on one condition—and that condition was Pete rooming with you and keeping an eye on you. She knows that Pete would never let anything bad happen to you, that he’d treat you like his own kid. I’ve spent the morning on the phone with tour managers and there are several good people available, but it has to be someone your parents know and trust, who’ll share a room with you. I have to make this OK with your mother…”

Oats could have told him that Pete hadn’t exactly been keeping the sharpest eye out, but he didn’t want to get a sick man in trouble. Their feet crunched on the gravel as they walked around the parking lot under the creepy neon leprechaun.

“Can I ask you something?” Oats finally said.

“Sure, what’s on your mind?”

“Is this really about my playing and not my childcare issues?”

“No, no! You’ve been playing great…”

“Because if it was my playing I’d have no choice but to take the shot. But it’s not fair to fire me because of what happened to Pete. I can really take care of myself.”

“Oats, hey, listen. I made a promise to your mother.”

“Why do we have to tell her?”

“I can’t not tell her!”

“Why not? Why does she have to know? If it’s about a lousy hotel room you can lower my pay or something. It’s just not fair to kick me off the tour if you have no musical reason to do so.”

Bobby Lee seemed to be thinking this over, as Oats used every bit of available self-control to keep the whiny-kid sound out of his voice.

“Listen,” he continued. “If I go home now, everyone will think I screwed up. A year from now, no one will remember that Pete had a stroke, but everyone who might want to hire me will know I got kicked off your tour. I mean, if my age is such a big huge problem why did you ask me on this tour in the first place?”

Bobby Lee was quiet for a minute or two, and then it almost looked like he might cry. He seemed to be about to say something serious and important, then changed his mind.

“You’re a damn good harp player,” he finally said.

“So let me stay on the tour,” Oats answered, careful to use the suck-up-to-the-teacher tone of voice that had gotten him and Eddie out of shitloads of trouble at school, but not lay it on too thick. This guy was no Mrs. Veigel.

“OK, I’ll tell you what. Give me twenty-four hours. I’ll keep looking for a tour manager and your job is to come up with some kind of a story that will work with your mom. Got it, pal?”

“Yeah.” Oats could feel the grin starting on his face and not wanting to stop.

“Let’s go back in and pay for breakfast, before those dickheads eat the furniture.” Bobby Lee draped his arm around the kid’s shoulder as they walked in the door of the gift shop.

“Uh, I’ll catch up with you in a minute…” Oats had to buy something—anything—from the woman at the cash register.

“Hey, there, what’ll it be, cowboy?” she asked with a wink.

“Um, can I have one of those?” He pointed to a bright green can of corned beef and cabbage with the Murphy’s logo proudly displayed. He wanted something to remember her by.

“Really?” she asked. “Why? That stuff is awful! Oh—I mean, of course, young man. I’d be happy to sell you a can full of cold fatty beef product.”

“Thanks,” he grinned. “It’s for my mom back home.”

“Lucky mom. Say, do people ever tell you how much you look like your dad?”

“Huh?” Oats asked, genuinely confused. “How do you know my dad? Everyone says Hank Wilson, my brother, looks more like him than I do. I’m here because I’m touring with a band; my parents are back home up in Lake County. Have you been to our place up there? It’s a club with live music called the Dewdrop Inn.”

“Oh,” she answered. “I thought…”

“My mom used to be famous, and folks say I favor her. Maybe that’s what you’re thinking of. She’s Sarah Jean Pixlie, a country singer, and she had a couple of hit songs right before I was born.”

“Well, that must be what I was thinking of, then,” she said quickly.

Oats had just finished paying for the can of corned beef when he felt, more than saw, someone come up behind him. He stepped aside and saw that it was Dickie Jaspers, who took one look at the lady behind the counter and rolled into his own special version of pretty-boy charm.