A local ordinance prohibited the sale of alcoholic beverages in the town of Shiloh, Texas, but just the other side of the town line there was a bar called the Doodlebug, with cheap draft beer and a country-western band and waitresses in tight blue jeans and cowboy boots.
Priest went on his own. He did not want Star to show her face and risk being remembered later. He wished she had not had to come to Texas. But he needed someone to help him take the seismic vibrator home. They would drive day and night, taking turns at the wheel, using drugs to stay awake. They wanted to be home before the machine was missed.
He was regretting that afternoon’s indiscretion. Mario had seen Star from a full quarter of a mile away, and the three roustabouts in the pickup had glimpsed her only in passing, but she was distinctive looking, and they could probably give a rough description of her: a tall white woman, heavyset, with long dark hair.…
Priest had changed his appearance before arriving in Shiloh. He had grown a bushy beard and mustache and tied his long hair in a tight plait that he kept tucked up inside his hat.
However, if everything went according to his plan, no one would be asking for descriptions of him or Star.
When he arrived at the Doodlebug, Mario was already there, sitting at a table with five or six of the jug team and the party boss, Lenny Petersen, who controlled the entire seismic exploration crew.
Not to seem too eager, Priest got a Lone Star longneck and stood at the bar for a while, sipping his beer from the bottle and talking to the barmaid, before joining Mario’s table.
Lenny was a balding man with a red nose. He had given Priest the job two weekends ago. Priest had spent an evening at the bar, drinking moderately, being friendly to the crew, picking up a smattering of seismic exploration slang, and laughing loudly at Lenny’s jokes. Next morning he had found Lenny at the field office and asked him for a job. “I’ll take you on trial,” Lenny had said.
That was all Priest needed.
He was hardworking, quick to catch on, and easy to get along with, and in a few days he was accepted as a regular member of the crew.
Now, as he sat down, Lenny said in his slow Texas accent: “So, Ricky, you’re not coming with us to Clovis.”
“That’s right,” Priest said. “I like the weather here too much to leave.”
“Well, I’d just like to say, very sincerely, that it’s been a real privilege and pleasure knowing you, even for such a short time.”
The others grinned. This kind of joshing was commonplace. They looked to Priest for a riposte.
He put on a solemn face and said: “Lenny, you’re so sweet and kind to me that I’m going to ask you one more time. Will you marry me?”
They all laughed. Mario clapped Priest on the back.
Lenny looked troubled and said: “You know I can’t marry you, Ricky. I already told you the reason why.” He paused for dramatic effect, and they all leaned forward to catch the punch line. “I’m a lesbian.”
They roared with laughter. Priest gave a rueful smile, acknowledging defeat, and ordered a pitcher of beer for the table.
The conversation turned to baseball. Most of them liked the Houston Astros, but Lenny was from Arlington and he followed the Texas Rangers. Priest had no interest in sports, so he waited impatiently, joining in now and again with a neutral comment. They were in an expansive mood. The job had been finished on time, they had all been well paid, and it was Friday night. Priest sipped his beer slowly. He never drank much: he hated to lose control. He watched Mario sinking the suds. When Tammy, their waitress, brought another pitcher, Mario stared longingly at her breasts beneath the checkered shirt.
After an hour, Mario went to the men’s room.
Priest followed.
He stood beside Mario and said: “I believe Tammy’s wearing black underwear tonight.”
“How do you know?”
“I got a little peek when she leaned over the table. I love to see a lacy brassiere.”
Mario sighed.
Priest went on: “You like a woman in black underwear?”
“Red,” said Mario decisively.
“Yeah, red’s beautiful, too. They say that’s a sign a woman really wants you, when she puts on red underwear.”
“Is that a fact?” Mario’s beery breath came a little faster.
“Yeah, I heard it somewhere.” Priest buttoned up. “Listen, I got to go. My woman’s waiting back at the motel.”
Mario grinned and wiped sweat from his brow. “I saw you and her this afternoon, man.”
Priest shook his head in mock regret. “It’s my weakness. I just can’t say no to a pretty face.”
“You were
“Yeah. Well, when you haven’t seen your woman for a while, she gets kind of frantic for it, know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know. Listen, about tomorrow …”
Priest held his breath.
“Uh, if you’re still willing to do like you said …”
“Let’s go for it.”
Priest resisted the temptation to hug him.
Mario said anxiously: “You still want to, right?”
“Sure I do.” Priest put an arm around Mario’s shoulders as they left the men’s room. “Hey, what are buddies for, know what I mean?”
“Thanks, man.” There were tears in Mario’s eyes. “You’re some guy, Ricky.”
They washed their pottery bowls and wooden spoons in a big tub of warm water and dried them on a towel made from an old workshirt. Melanie said to Priest: “Well, we’ll just start again somewhere else! Get a piece of land, build wood cabins, plant vines, make wine. Why not? That’s what you did all those years ago.”
“It is,” Priest said. He put his bowl on a shelf and tossed his spoon into the box. For a moment he was young again, strong as a pony and boundlessly energetic, certain that he could solve whatever problem life threw up next. He remembered the unique smells of those days: newly sawn timber; Star’s young body, perspiring as she dug the soil; the distinctive smoke of their own marijuana, grown in a clearing in the woods; the dizzy sweetness of grapes as they were crushed. Then he returned to the present, and he sat down at the table.
“All those years ago,” he repeated. “We rented this land from the government for next to nothing, then they forgot about us.”
Star put in: “Never a rent increase, in twenty-nine years.”
Priest went on: “We cleared the forest with the labor of thirty or forty young people who were willing to work for free, twelve and fourteen hours a day, for the sake of an ideal.”
Paul Beale grinned. “My back still hurts when I think of it.”
“We got our vines for nothing from a kindly Napa Valley grower who wanted to encourage young people to do something constructive instead of just sitting around taking drugs all day.”
“Old Raymond Dellavalle,” Paul said. “He’s dead now, God bless him.”
“And, most important, we were willing and able to live on the poverty line, half-starved, sleeping on the floor, holes in our shoes, for five long years until we got our first salable vintage.”
Star picked up a crawling baby from the floor, wiped its nose, and said: “And we didn’t have any kids to worry about.”
“Right,” Priest said. “If we could reproduce all those conditions, we could start again.”
Melanie was not satisfied. “There has to be a way!”
“Well, there is,” Priest said. “Paul figured it out.”
Paul nodded. “You could set up a corporation, borrow a quarter of a million dollars from a bank, hire a
