The Perk (18 page)

"Hidi, folks."

He drove off in a cloud of black diesel smoke.

"Old-timer like him," Jodie said, "he
sees me on the side of the road with a flat tire, he'll stop and fix it without
a thought. But if I'm driving under eighty on the farm-to-markets, he'll run
right over me. Texans are the nicest people in the world … until they get
behind the wheel of a pickup. Problem is, most Texans drive pickups."
Jodie turned to Beck. "Thanks for running. Maybe you can change things
around here."

"The law can't make everything right."

"But a good judge can try."

"Why don't all the Main Street business
owners get together and change things?"

"Because we've got to win an election
first. And because any business owner who bucked the Germans would be
blackballed. That's how things work in a small town, Beck. So Main Street votes against the Germans in private, but they won't stand up to the Germans in
public."

"You and Janelle do."

She smiled. "We're just crazy
liberals."

Janelle returned with her Mexican Espresso Mocha,
and they continued down the sidewalk. They had met the owners at the Spunky
Monkey, Zertz, and the Earthbound Trading Company with a Buddha in the front
window. Jodie had said, "Better chance of selling African art in Fredericksburg than Buddhas."

Beck paused outside Parts Unknown in the old
Palace Theater. He recalled taking Mary Jo to the movies and making out in the
balcony. In the display window were Tommy Bahama shirts—one was called
"Orchid You Not"—that cost $100.

"J.B. never wore anything but plaid."

"I gave him his first one," Jodie
said. "Five years ago, for Christmas. He was in a rut."

"He likes you."

"I like him."

"He'd probably marry you, if you weren't … younger. So how old are you?"

She shook her head. "I'm not that
easy."

They came to a store called Bath Junkie.

"My favorite shop," Jodie said. "They
make custom bubble bath, any scent and color."

"Custom bubble bath for goat
ranchers?"

"For tourists. Main Street isn't for the
locals." She gestured up and down the street. "The 'Three Magic
Blocks.' Storefronts rent for ten thousand a month, and the stores on these
three blocks bring one-point-five million tourists to town every year. That's
why the Main Street business owners stick together, so the old Germans down at
city hall don't screw it up."

"How?"

"By allowing chain stores on Main. We're trying to get a 'No Chains on Main' ordinance passed so we don't end up with a
Starbucks on every corner and a Victoria's Secret next to the Nimitz. Tourists
come here because our shops are different. If this place starts looking just
like Houston and Dallas, why come here?"

"But if the chains come and the tourists leave,
this town will go back to the way it was when I was here, vacant buildings up
and down Main Street."

"Some of the old Germans, they'd like nothing
more than to chase the tourists away. And all us newcomers with them."

"Why?"

"Because they don't like this town
anymore. Liberals coming from Austin and Latinos from Mexico, they figure their town's going to hell in a hand basket."

They walked past the Jeep Collins jewelry store
and arrived at Dogologie—pronounced like psychology—a store just for dogs. In
the window was a tee shirt with "You Had Me at Woof" printed across
the front; inside were doggie beds, doggie toys, doggie strollers, doggie
treats with fancy icing like you'd buy in a bakery, and doggie tutus. The pink
tutus were kind of creepy. But Beck stuck his hand out to the woman behind the
counter.

"Hi, I'm Beck Hardin. I'm running for
judge."

 
 
Hi, I'm Annie Hardin, Beck's wife.

It had been six weeks since Beck had read
Annie's last email to J.B. He hadn't been able to go back—until now. The
thought of her emails stored on this computer burned in his brain. He had to
know. It was past eleven, and J.B. and the kids were asleep. Beck had decided
to start back at the beginning, with Annie's first email to J.B. He had just
found it, dated two and a half years ago.

 
Dear Mr. Hardin,

Hi, I'm Annie Hardin, Beck's
wife. I can't believe I found you!

I was searching the Net for new wines
to try—no, I don't drink a lot, but I like wine and Beck doesn't have time to go
wine shopping with me. He doesn't drink. Anyway, I came across wineries in
the Texas Hill Country, and I knew Beck had grown up there. When I clicked on Trail's
End Winery and read J.B. Hardin, I knew I had found his father. That's
incredible. I love wine and my father-in-law owns a winery. But Beck said he
grew up on a goat ranch?

Anyway, a little information. You
have two grandchildren, Lucas Beck, 8, and Megan Anne, 3. They're great kids.
I've attached a family photo.

Beck and I married 10 years ago,
after I graduated from Notre Dame Law School. I practiced almost two years
then decided to be a full-time mother. Beck is a partner in a big Chicago firm. We live in Winnetka, about 20 miles north of the city. I've begged him to
take me to Texas, but he says he'll never go back. I know his mother died when
he was young, but what happened between you and Beck?

Please write back. (This will
remain confidential between us, okay? Hey, trust me, I'm a lawyer.) I ordered
two bottles of wine.

Annie Hardin

Beck now clicked on Sent and scrolled down the
outgoing emails. J.B. had written Annie back that same day.

 
Dear Annie,

Well now, this was a real nice
surprise. Good Lord, those are some good looking kids. And you are
beautiful. Beck is a lucky man.

Gave up goat ranching about
eight years back, went into the wine business. I was in a rut.

Beck's mother died when he was
13. I didn't handle it so good. Beck was real angry back then, left here
hating me. Hard thing for a man to carry.

Never figured Beck for the big
city, but I reckon he's happy.

I'll send you the wine you
ordered, but the only charge is more photos.

J.B.

Beck found dozens more emails going back and
forth over many months. J.B. sent more wine to Annie; she sent more family
photos to him. She told him about his son's career, the Hardin family of Chicago, and her parents, who had both died; he told her about Beck's life as a boy and
about Peggy, about the Texas Hill Country and those bluebonnets. The tone of
their emails gradually became that of close friends.

 
Dear J.B.,

The chardonnay was wonderful!
Give Hector my compliments. I ordered a case this time. Beck has never even
noticed the label. Of course, he's never around when I drink.

The kids are at school and
Beck's in L.A., another long trial. He's what we call a
"high-profile" trial lawyer, with corporate clients all over the
country, so he travels a lot. He argued before the Supreme Court once (he won)
and he's going back next year. He's very good. You would be proud of him.
It's just that he's gone so much, the kids are growing up without him, and I'm
raising them alone. And I get lonely. That's the world today, I know, and at
least they have one full-time parent, but he's missing out on their lives. Our
life. I know he loves the kids, and me, but I've learned to sleep without him.
Of course, a bottle of your wine and I'm out like a baby! (I'm just kidding.
Only a glass or two each night. Or three. Four last night. You can't be an
alcoholic on wine, can you?)

Okay, that's enough whining for
today. Maybe I'll start going to the gym. Time to get rid of that baby fat!
(It's only been four years.) Maybe I'll get real skinny (well, not real) again
and Beck will spend more time at home. First day of school photos are attached.

Love, Annie

PS: J.B., 23 years is long
enough. It's time for you and Beck to make up. My children need a
grandfather, and I want to hug you. And I want to see your winery and meet
Hector. If it's the last thing I do, I'm getting you and Beck back together.

Their great life had not been so great for Annie.
But she had kept it a secret from him; instead, she had told his father. He
had been so focused on his career that he had failed her as a husband and his
children as a father. As if winning another case would have changed his life.
He knew now that marriage, children, illness, and death were life-changing
events. Everything else was just ripples in the river. And getting J.B. and
him back together was the last thing that Annie ever did.

"Beck Hardin
hasn't lived here for twenty-four years—he's an
Ausländer
now! He
thought he was too good for us, so he moved north to live with Yankees in
Chicago
."

He said the word as if saying
Shit-cago.

"I've lived here all my life and
I'll always live here, just like you. I'm a full-blooded German just like
you. My daddy was one of you, and I'm one of you. We need a judge who's one
of us."

The Gillespie County Fairgrounds were crowded
with parents, children, and farm animals. The Hardin family had come for the
county fair. It had a carnival, arts and crafts, cooking competitions, and
pari-mutuel horse racing. It had live country-western music, a swine futurity,
livestock shows, and a beauty queen pageant. It had mutton busting, tractor
pulls, agricultural exhibits, and a down-home version of
American Idol
.
It had prizes for the Grand Champion Steer, Sire, Doe, Dam, Ewe, Ram, Lamb,
Billy, Bull, and Bale of Hay; for the Outstanding Cake and Pie; for the Best of
Show Pickles, Pie, Canned Fruit, Crochet, Quilt, Standard Breed Chicken, and
Rabbit Buck; and, of course, for the Best of Show Adult Mohair. It had goats,
sheep, cows, chickens, pigs, and politics; the D.A. was campaigning at the
county fair.

J.B. gestured at the crowd of men gathered around
Niels Eichman and said to Beck, "Those old boys are the richest Germans
hereabouts. Goat ranchers, every one of them. They own most of the land in
the county … and they own all the politicians in the county. Including the
judge, until Stutz retired. Now they got to buy a new one."

"They can't buy me."

"But they can buy the D.A."

"You saying I can't win?"

"I'm saying you won't win."

"Why not?"

" 'Cause you're standing here talking to me
and he's over there talking to them."

"I didn't get into this to lose, J.B."

"Then go over there and do something about
it."

Beck looked down at Meggie holding the doll in
one hand and a cotton candy on a stick in the other.

"Honey, you stay close to J.B. Daddy's got
to go kick some … talk to some folks. Okay?"

"Okay."

J.B. said to Meggie and Luke, "Come on,
kids, let's go over to the Show Barn for the swine futurity."

Meggie looked up at her grandfather. "J.B.,
what's a swine?"

"I'm fixin' to show you, darlin'."

They walked off, and Beck strode over to the
group of old men—he felt like he had when the Notre Dame coach had him
glad-hand rich alumni—and stuck his hand out.

"Hidi, boys—Beck Hardin. Good to see you
again. So what's this I hear about winning a state football championship this
year?"

They all turned his way and their faces lit up
like he was LBJ himself walking in with their mohair checks. Beck glanced over
at the D.A. and winked. The D.A.'s face wasn't lit up. His face was red, and
he was frowning.

Thirty minutes later, J.B. said, "How'd it go?"

"We talked football."

J.B. chuckled. "Well, at least they talked
to you."

"Yeah, but I saw it in their eyes, J.B.
They're not going to vote for me. They've been living a certain way all their
lives. They're not changing now. Doesn't matter if the election is for county
judge or county fair queen, result's the same. Always has been, always will
be."

The Gillespie County Fair Queen had just been
announced to the crowd in the grandstand. Another pretty German girl had won
this year. One hundred years the county fair had elected a queen; one hundred years
the queen had been German. Always had been, always would be.

"Beck, if you quit—"

"
Quit?
Who said anything about quitting? This game's not over yet, J.B."

Two weeks later, the game was all but
over. The D.A. was leading Beck in early voting by a five-to-one margin.
Jodie had coaxed the latest results from Mavis Mooney; she was not happy.

"How many football games did you
lose?"

"A few."

"How many trials?"

"None."

"Well, you're going to lose your first
election in one week … unless …"

Beck turned to her. "Unless what?"

"Most people around here are married by
eighteen and parents by nineteen—nothing else to do in a small town. The D.A.
is thirty-two and single."

"You saying he's gay?"

"No. He's a daddy."

"But he's not married."

"That's not a requirement."

"Explain."

"He's got a child in Austin. Seven years
old now. He was in law school at UT, the mother was in college. He sends her
money."

"How do you know this?"

"Mavis. Stutz told her one day, she thinks
he was drinking. Stutz knows everything about everyone."

Beck shrugged. "Half the movie stars in Hollywood have children out of marriage."

"She's Latina. The mother. That makes him
a hypocrite."

"Most of the politicians in Texas are hypocrites."

"Maybe, but the old Germans, they won't elect
a judge with a Latino child."