McMurtry, Larry - Novel 05 (63 page)

 
          
 
The cameras swung to the fat guard, who
flinched visibly. He looked as if he would rather run than fight.

 
          
 
"And you're how old, sir?" Rather
asked, struggling hard to get Uncle Ike to bring the past alive.

 
          
 
"I thought the President was
comin'," Uncle Ike said. "If he is he's late, and if he ain't then he
ain't gettin' my vote, the next time around."

 
          
 
"Heh, heh, the Deomcratic party will be
glad to hear that, sir," Rather said. "We've been assured that the
President is coming. However, this is quite a crowd, even without the
President."

 
          
 
It was a clear signal for the crew to tour the
crowd and get him away from the baleful old man.

 
          
 
After a second the crew got the message and
the camera began to pan slowly around the crowd, pausing for a moment at Lesley
Stahl, who was trying to get Yves St. Laurent and Ralph Lauren to comment on
the many pairs of Twine boots spaced tastefully around the room, each in its
own plexiglass cube. But the two designers didn't want to be caught using the
same mike and slipped adroitly from pedestal to pedestal, boot to boot, smiling
constantly but saying nothing.

 
          
 
It was obvious that Cindy had done a beautiful
job of getting out the A-list, most of whom had donned Western garb for the
occasion. Senator Penrose and his wife Pencil were there, both of them looking
ridiculous in white chaps and big Stetsons. Lilah Landry had come as a Navaho
and was wearing half her weight in squash-blossom jewelry. She stood in a comer
talking to Ponsonby, who was in pinstripes. He stared with evident puzzlement
at a pair of Mexican boots which stood on a pedestal beside him. All the boots
had been highly polished for the occasion.

 
          
 
Oblivia Brown had come with Halston; he was in
a tuxedo, while she wore designer denims. As they were chatting, George
Psalmanazar wandered by wearing a corduroy suit and loafers.

 
          
 
A moment later I spotted Eviste, looking
dapper in a red satin rodeo shirt; he was stalking a waiter who carried around
a plate of pat6.

 
          
 
Old Cotswinkle, also in pinstripes, was
glaring at Khaki Descartes, who had dressed Western even to wearing a brace of
cap pistols. Cotswinkle glared into the camera a moment and then the camera
wisely moved on and picked up his wife Cunny, who was chatting with Bill Blass.

 
          
 
Andy Warhol wandered up and stopped in front
of the enigmatic Sir Cripps Crisp—Andy looked like himself and Sir Cripps was
in white tie. As a waiter passed he adroitly snagged a fresh glass of
champagne. Except for that one movement Sir Cripps was still as a statue.

 
          
 
Nearby, John Kenneth Galbraith was beaming
serenely down at Arthur Schlesinger, Jr. Boog, Spud, and Freddy Fu
were
within eavesdropping distance, but weren't
eavesdropping. Boog was done up in full
Texas
regalia—he looked like an overweight
hillbilly singer.

 
          
 
Amanda Harisse, dressed severely in black,
stood near one of the pillars, close enough that she could keep an eye on Uncle
Ike. Amanda looked depressed.

 
          
 
Then, suddenly, heads began to turn, the
camera turning with them. The President and the First Lady were coming through
the door, surrounded by Secret Service men. They were in their best Santa
Barbara Western-wear, they were smiling, they looked happy.

 
          
 
And there to greet them was Cindy, their
sometime neighbor.

 
          
 
I had been waiting, expecting to see her, and
still her beauty caught me unprepared. Instead of dressing Western she had
dressed Spanish, in the white dress that bared one shoulder. She wore a silver
necklace, an antique concho belt, and a look of complete satisfaction. Her hair
shone, her eyes were bright—in her freshness, youth, and health she made the
President look suddenly leathery, the First Lady distinctly frail.

 
          
 
Indeed, she was so beautiful I felt the tears
start: I didn't really see the President and First Lady greet Uncle Ike, or
hear what they said to one another. Cindy stood to one side, serene in her
moment, the summit finally won. For a moment it didn't matter that Jean was
good, that Josie was generous,
that
Tanya Todd had a
brain that worked at the speed of light. I knew Cindy's beauty was unearned,
responsible to nothing, unaware. It didn't matter. I began to fantasize things
that might happen—things that might bring her back. Then, not wanting to see
her anymore if I couldn't have her, I clicked the TV off, only to click it back
on a few seconds later, hoping to see her some more.

 
          
 
But Cindy was no longer in the picture. Josie
Twine was in the picture, speaking to Dan Rather. She was decked out in a
yellow cowgirl suit and new Tony Lamas, and looked right in them. She had dyed
her hair a nice red and looked a lot more sophisticated than she had when I
left, only three weeks before.

 
          
 
"Why yes," she
said, "every one of these boots was used right there on the Twine ranch in
Wichita County
,
Texas
.
Some was Big Joe's and some was his daddy's
before him.

 
          
 
"Ain't you from
Texas
?" she asked, glancing at Dan's feet,
which were in shoes.

 
          
 
"Yes indeed,
Houston
," Dan said quickly, turning back to
Uncle Ike, who was still keeping an eye on the nervous security guard.

 
          
 
"It's a good thing the P.L.O. never tried
nothing," Uncle Ike said. "I doubt that fat boy could hit the side of
a bam with that hog-leg."

 
          
 
"Well, I don't think we need to worry
about the P.L.O.," Dan said. The crush in the gallery had gotten worse,
but the President was gone and it was plain Dan felt it was time to wind things
up.

 
          
 
"You must be pretty excited, Uncle
Ike," he said. "Coming all this way at your age, and getting to meet
the President."

 
          
 
Uncle Ike did not look excited.

 
          
 
"Well, he ain't no John ‘Duke'
Wayne
," Uncle Ike said. "I knew the
Duke.
Me and him
did a talk show in
Albuquerque
once. Nice fellow.
Didn't
know much about the Kid, though."

 
          
 
Then—one media legend to another—he reached up
a freckled old hand and caught Dan's sleeve.

 
          
 
"Dan, see if you can catch that boy that's
carrying around the goose-liver," he said. "See if you can get him
over here. They run a little light on
the vittles
, up
here in
Washington
,
D.C.
"