Luane got up and left the room.
I left, too, and I never went back. Because what the hell was the use? I couldn't get anything from her. He didn't have anything to get. He even had me staved off on giving him a beating, him being as old as he was.
So that was that. That was how I made out dealing with an 'old-school gentleman,' and a 'true aristocrat' and the town's 'first citizen' and so on.
It took me five years, working night and day, to get out of debt.
Ralph was sweeping up the dance floor when I got back to the pavilion. I kidded around with him a few minutes, and then I went for a walk down the beach. It was a good walk, sort of-looking at all the things I'd built, and knowing that no one had ever built better. In another way, it wasn't so good: the looking gave me a royal pain. Because I could have collected just as much on cheaper buildings. And if I'd built cheaper, I wouldn't have been in the spot I was in.
I wondered what the hell I'd been thinking about to sink so much dough into seasonal structures. I guessed I hadn't been thinking at all. I'd just done it automatically-building in the only way I knew how to build.
I ran into Mac's singer, Danny Lee, on the beach. She was in a bathing suit, sunning herself, and I sat down by her and talked a while. But not as long as I wanted to. It couldn't do me any good, you know; not just chatting about things in general. And I was afraid if I hung around very long, I might do more than that. Because that little girl, she was the kind that comes few and far between. She was my kind of woman.
That Danny-if she went for you, she'd go all the way. She'd kill for you, even if she knew it might get her killed. You could see it in her. Anyways, I could see it. And it was all wrapped up in such a pretty package.
Well, though, maybe she was my kind of woman, but I wasn't her kind of man. She wouldn't have wanted no part of an old pot- bellied bastard like me, even if she hadn't had Ralph Devore on the string. So I shoved off before I said or did something to make a damned fool of myself.
I circled back toward the pavilion. Rags called to me from his cottage, so I went in and had coffee with him.
He asked me how the money situation was with me, and I said that it was just about like it had been. He said he was in just about the worst shape he'd ever been in himself.
'Don't know what the hell I'm going to do, Pete. I won't have no band after we close here, and I don't feel like going out single any more. I would, if there was a decent living in it. But it's hard to break even with me on the road and Janie and the boys in New York.'
'Yeah,' I said, looking down at the floor. Feeling kind of awkward like I always did when he mentioned those boys. 'Yeah-uh-I mean, what about recordings, Rags? Can't you get some of them to do?'
He snorted and let out a string of cuss words. He said he wasn't making any more recordings until he was allowed to do the job right. Which would be just about never, unless he owned his own record company.
'I wished you did,' I said. 'If I was in a little bit better shape, I'd-'
'Yeah, yeah-' He cut me off. 'Forget it, Pete. It's really the only damned thing I want to do, but I know it's impossible.'
He drained the coffee from his cup, and filled it up with whiskey. He took a sip, smacked his lips and shuddered. After a minute or two, he asked me what I thought about the setup between Danny and Ralph Devore.
'I mean, what can come of it, Pete? How do you think it will wind up?'
I shrugged. I said I guessed I hadn't done much thinking about it.
'I've been wondering,' he frowned. 'It looks like the real thing between 'em. But that pair-Ralph, in particular-well, they ain't just a couple of lovesick kids. They wouldn't go way out on a limb unless they saw some way off of it.'
'No,' I said. 'I don't figure they would.'
'I wonder,' he said. 'I've been thinking. Y'know, when I first introduced them, I told her he was a rich man. And lately I've been thinking, wouldn't it be a hell of a joke if…'
'Yeah?'
'Nothing. What the hell?' he laughed. 'Just a crazy notion I had.'
'Well, I guess I better be going,' I said. 'Getting to be about my lunch time.'
I headed back into town, and across to the far side. I started to pass by the neighborhood church, and then I slowed down and went back a few steps. I stopped in front of the vacant lot, between the church and the parsonage.
I stood there and stared at it, making myself look thoughtful and interested. Finally, I took a rule out of my pocket, and did a little measuring.
The curtain moved at one of the parsonage windows. I took out a notebook and jotted a few figures into it. Pretended to make some calculations.
I've had a lot of sport with that vacant lot. Once I made out like I'd found some marijuana growing on it, and another time I pretended I was going to buy it for a shooting gallery. What with one stunt and another, I've kept the preacher of that church worried for years. I knew he was peeking through the curtains at me now. Watching and wondering, and working up to another worry-spell.
He came out of the parsonage, finally. He didn't want to, but he just couldn't help it.
I went on with my measuring and figuring, acting like I didn't see him. He hesitated in the yard, and then he came over to the corner of the fence.
'Yes?' he said. 'Yes, Mr. Pavlov?'
'Yes,' I said. 'Yes, sir, I think this will do just fine.'
'Fine?' He looked at me water-eyed, his lips starting to tremble. 'Mr. Pavlov, what-what do you want of me? I'm an old man, and-'
'Remember when you wasn't,' I said. 'Remember real well. But talking about this lot here, I was just wondering if it wouldn't be a good spot for a laundry. Thought maybe you could throw some business my way.'
He knew what I was driving at, all right. No wonder either, after all these years. He looked at me, his eyes watering, his mouth opening and closing. And I told him what I had in mind was the bedsheet business.
'Tell you what I'll do,' I said. 'You tip off your pals to send their sheets to me, and any patching they need- like buckshot holes, you know-I'll do it for nothing. Probably no more than fair, anyways, since I maybe put 'em there.'
'Mr. P-Pavlov,' he said. 'Can't you ever-?'
'Guess you didn't need many seats in your church for a while, did you?' I said. 'Guess most of the fellows didn't feel like settin' down. Not much more like it, maybe, than some of the folks they visited with bullwhips.'
I grinned and winked at him. He stood leaning against the fence, his mouth quivering, his hands gripping and ungripping the pickets.
'Mr. Pavlov,' he said. 'It-that was such a long time ago, Mr. Pavlov.'
'Don't seem long to me,' I said. 'But me, I got a long memory.'
'If you know how sorry I was, how often I've begged God's forgiveness…'
'Yeah?' I said. 'Well, I guess I better be going. I stand around here much longer, I might lose my appetite.'
My house was in the next block, a big two-story job with plenty of yard space. It was probably the best-built house in town, but it sure didn't look like much. What it looked like was hell.
I'd been pretty busy at the time I finished it, fifteen years ago. Had four or five contract jobs running-jobs I'd taken money on. Figured I had to take care of them, and do it right, before I prettied up my own place.
So I did that. And while I was doing it, my neighbors hit me with a petition. I tore it up, and threw it
