The Governor's Wife (22 page)

"Bode, you've got a good thing going, governor-for-life. Don't fuck it up."

Bode responded with a grunt.

"Hell," the Professor said, "look at the upside. You couldn't shoot an African lion if you were president."

"True."

"And you sure as hell couldn't bring Mandy along, the press corps follows the president everywhere."

"Which would be a definite drawback, especially on the longer flights."

The Professor chuckled.

"I told her we'd drive into Marfa for lunch at the Paisano Hotel," Bode said. "She's dying to see where Elizabeth Taylor slept when she was out here to film
Giant
. And she wants to shop, says she gets the shakes if she goes more than twenty-four hours without buying something."

"Women."

Jim Bob shook his head.

"See, Lindsay's like us, that's why she went down to the border."

Bode had informed Jim Bob that Lindsay had gone down to the border to work as a nurse in the
colonias
—and that she knew about Mandy.

"But Peggy, she was just like Mandy … well, except for the looks … and liking sex."

Jim Bob and Peggy had married at twenty-five and divorced at thirty. She lived in California with their daughter. Bode's daughter was a lesbian who would never give him a grandson, but it could be worse: Jim Bob's daughter was a Californian.

"I tell you Fran got accepted to Stanford and Caltech? I'm trying to talk her into coming to UT. Be nice to have her around again. I miss that girl."

"Why the hell would she go to Stanford or Caltech if she can go to UT?"

Jim Bob shrugged. "An education?"

"But their football teams suck."

"She doesn't play."

"She could be a cheerleader."

"She wants to be an engineer."

"Train?"

"Environmental."

"See, that's what living in California does to kids."

Bode hoped for a laugh or at least a smile, but got neither. The Professor's expression turned down, as if he'd been denied tenure, and Bode knew that if he didn't get Jim Bob's mind off Fran, the melancholy would set up camp and dog him for days.

"So you were saying about Peggy?"

Jim Bob had loved Peggy with the desperation of a man who had had few opportunities for love, but she had left him for a richer man, a man who could give her the life she wanted. Bode knew that talking about Peggy would only get Jim Bob pissed off, a more favorable mood on a hunting trip than melancholy.

"Oh, yeah. So I asked Peggy one day—this was back when I was in grad school and already plotting the Republican takeover of Texas—before Rove beat me to it—and we were living in that little rent house just off campus—I said, 'Honey, what do you want to do with your life?' She said, 'I want a big house on the lake, a Mercedes coupe, a country-club membership, a …' I said, 'No. That's what you
want
in life. But what do you want to
do
with your life?' Well, she looked at me like I was fucking crazy, and she said, 'That
is
what I want to do with my life. I want to live in a big house on the lake, drive a Mercedes coupe, play tennis at a country club …' "

"What's your point, Jim Bob?"

"My point is, that's the basic biological difference between men and women: Men want to
do
things. Women want to
have
things. Which is why men and women don't understand each other, don't get along with each other, and don't stay married to each other. For us, it's all about the
doing
. Achieving something. Leaving our mark on the world. For them, it's all about the
having
. Acquiring something. Making their girlfriends jealous." Jim Bob puffed on his cigar and blew out smoke rings like a fucking Indian sending smoke signals. "We want to kill a big furry creature; they want to buy a fur coat."

"So what's all that got to do with Lindsay going down to the border?"

"She's not a normal woman like Peggy or Mandy. She's more like a man than most men. She doesn't give a damn about having things, she wants to do things. She wants her life to have meaning."

"What, you're an expert on my wife?"

"I've known her as long as you have."

Jim Bob pointed his cigar to the distant sky.

"Look—an eagle." He stared a moment then said, "Still, I can't believe Lindsay went down to the border by herself. That's fucking crazy. And nursing in the
colonias, s
hit, she might bring something back."

"What, like a Mexican?"

"Like a disease."

"She's got all her shots."

"She ain't a heifer, Bode."

"She's a stray."

"You knew that when you married her, a liberal from Boston."

"Why can't she be happy shopping at Neiman Marcus like other women?"

"Because she's not like other women."

"Most women want desperately to escape the border," the doctor said. "But you come to work here."

"I don't shop," Lindsay said.

"Ah. That explains it."

"I could never go out in public like this in Austin—these clothes, no make-up, no Ranger Roy."

"But why? You look very pretty. And your clothes, it will be nice to have some color in the
colonia
."

"The cameras. They're my constant companion, so I have to look perfect. The press thinks everything I do is for the cameras, that my life is scripted for a political purpose, that I'm not just getting coffee or going to the gym or teaching kids to read. I'm campaigning. Most politicians' wives live for the cameras. But I hate the cameras."

"There are no cameras in the
colonias
."

They had eaten breakfast tacos—scrambled eggs, refried beans, and
salsa
wrapped in wheat tortillas—in the doctor's kitchen and were now driving to
Colonia Ángeles
in his old pickup truck. Pancho rode in the back. It was Saturday.

"Doctor—"

"Please. If we are going to work together, you must call me Jesse."

"Jesse. And I'm Lindsay Byrne from Boston. So you work weekends?"

"I do not play golf." He smiled a moment but the smile didn't last long. "The truth is, I have nothing else to do."

They soon turned off Mines Road and onto the dirt road that led to the border wall. When they arrived at the big gate, no Border Patrol agents were in sight.

"They're not here to let us in," Lindsay said. "How will we get through?"

"Key code."

Jesse got out. She fought the wind and followed him to the gate. On the wall was a key pad.

"Wait," she said. "An American citizen has to enter a key code to travel from this side of the wall to the other side? From this America to that America?"

"Uh … yes."

"How does that work?"

"It is easy. See, I punch in the code—six, three, one, nine—"

"No. How does it work when the police need to come to the
colonias?
They have to get out and punch in the key code?"

"Oh. The police do not come to the
colonias
."

"What about ambulances?"

"They also do not come."

"Fire trucks?"

"No."

"Oh. Well then, I guess a key code works just fine."

"You love her?"

"I'll always love Lindsay."

"Mandy."

"
Mandy?
I'm old enough to be her … It's not like that."

"She know that?"

Bode assumed she did. Why would a gorgeous twenty-seven-year-old girl fall in love with an older man? An older man had an affair with a younger woman for one reason.

"My wife doesn't want to have sex with me."

"Hell, Bode, if you wanted sex, why'd you get married?"

Jim Bob was amused by his own words.

"When I vetoed that children's health insurance program," Bode said, "she moved out of our bedroom, sleeps on the day bed in the sitting room."

"Yep, that was a mistake. She's got a blind spot when it comes to kids."

"You told me I had to veto it, to stand up to Washington's unfunded mandates."

"True, but it was a mistake if you wanted sex with Lindsay. Course, Mandy's not a bad replacement player."

"I had lots of opportunities, but I never cheated on her, till she left our bed. Now I can't stop."

"It is habit forming."

"My wife stops having sex with me because of politics, but I'm not supposed to have sex with anyone else because I'm married? Why's that fair?"

"It's not."

"Why should I feel guilty?"

"You shouldn't."

"Then why do I?"

"Because that's what women do to men. But, hell, Bode, you don't have to feel guilty anymore—she knows about Mandy."

The man's twenty-seven-year-old mistress had been discovered by his wife, and she had run off to the border. What would happen when the politician's twenty-seven-billion-dollar budget deficit was discovered by the voters? Would they run off, too?

"Why would she do that over politics?"

Jim Bob puffed on his cigar. "It's the hero syndrome."

"The what?"

"Hero syndrome. You've been her hero since high school. Now you're not."

"I'm not?"

"Hate to be the one to break the news."

"Helluva lot easier to be a hero on the football field. Now she wants me to fix up the
colonias
for a bunch of Mexican squatters."

"You can't do that. You gotta take a hard line on immigration or that tea party wave will drown you."

"That's what I told her. She said it's not about politics, it's about the children. Can you believe that?"

"She's always been a bit naïve."

"What if she doesn't come back?"

"She'll be back. She'll get tired of the border and come crawling back home."

"What if she doesn't come back because of Mandy?"

Jim Bob didn't answer for a time. Then he said in a soft voice, "Peggy had an affair … I still would've taken her back."

Bode did not look at his old friend. Instead, he felt old.

"My dad got prostate cancer at my age, died at fifty-five. Every year I get my physical, I sweat out the PSA results."

"All men do. I had a biopsy two years ago."

"On your prostate?"

"PSA was elevated. Turned out to be a false alarm."

"You never told me."

"Did you want to know?"

"Well, hell, yeah, I wanted to know. You're my best goddamn friend." He shook his head. "Shit, Jim Bob, you don't tell me nothing anymore—John Ed's bill, your biopsy … What was it like?"

The Professor puffed on his cigar.

"It wasn't the most fun I ever had."

"That's how it is for men—a finger up your butt, an elevated PSA, and all of a sudden you're pissing your pants and holding a limp dick the rest of your fucking life. Or the cancer kills you."

The two middle-aged men rode in silence for a time, pondering life and death, mistresses and wives, budget deficits and deceived voters, past infidelity and future impotence … until Jim Bob Burnet finally said, "Shit, let's kill something, see if that'll perk up our spirits."

The children stood in a circle in the middle of the main dirt road in the
colonia
. Lindsay and Jesse got out of the pickup and walked over. The children parted to reveal a coiled-up rattlesnake hissing and shaking its tail.

"
¡Águas!
" Jesse yelled. "
¡Quítense de la víbora!
"

He herded the children back. The snake slithered around on the hot dirt.

"There are many snakes in the
colonias
," he said. "I really hate snakes."

"We must kill it," Lindsay said. "Before it bites the kids."

"Yes. We must."

He put his hands on his hips and studied the snake, which hissed and spit at its tormentors.

"If I had a gun, I could shoot the snake, but I do not have a gun. Perhaps I could drop a cinder block on the snake, that would certainly kill it. Or perhaps I could drive the truck over it several times. Or perhaps I could …"

Lindsay looked around. She spotted a shovel leaning against a nearby shanty. She walked over, grabbed the shovel, and picked up a brick. She returned and threw the brick at the snake, striking it and giving her just enough time to raise the shovel and slam the sharp edge down on the snake, cutting its head off. The children squealed with delight. Jesse gave her a look.

"Yes, well, I suppose that is also an effective method."

"I grew up in the country."

Bode sighted in the African lion. It was a majestic creature, four hundred pounds of muscle and mane. He almost hated to kill it. Almost.