fell over on a pair of necking couples who shoved him off on the floor and started kicking hell out of him. The other guy stood there staring down at his puked-on shirt and cussing. The Brigitte girl stumbled over to the wall and leaned against it and started doing some puking of her own.

“I have to say she pretty much lost all her glamour right there,” Brando said. “I left her to her fun and went on home, had a beer and hit the hay. Some New Year’s.”

“It’s what you get fooling around with them trashy women,” LQ said. “You got to find yourself a woman you can respect.”

“Oh man, if I have to hear about that Zelda again,” Brando said. “It’s all I’ve heard from this guy today— Zelda this, Zelda that.”

And of course he did have to hear it again, since LQ had to tell me all about her. His New Year’s Eve with the redhaired Hollywood Dinner Club hostess had been everything he’d hoped, although it had gotten off to a shaky start because she’d been miffed that he was late in picking her up. She’d heard enough about the Ghosts to accept his explanation that there was never any telling how long a job would take, but all the same she let him know she hated to be kept waiting. If a fellow were going to be tardy in arriving for a date, she told him, the least he could do was to call and let the lady know—it was the gentlemanly thing to do. LQ told her he agreed 100 percent and apologized for not having done the gentlemanly thing.

“From there on it was all smooth sailing,” LQ said. “Best time I’ve had in a while. Good dinner, nice dancing, a walk on the beach in our bare feet. Then over to her place for a little brandy and soft music. Then into the bedroom and off to the promised land.” He winked big. “She was worth the wait, I’ll tell you that much. Got a supper date with her again tonight.”

“Holy shit,” Brando said, looking alarmed. He leaned over the table to stare closely at LQ’s face. “What’s that in your eyes?”

“What?” LQ said, rubbing at his eyes and then checking his fingers.

“Oh…I see,” Brando said. “It’s only stardust.”

“Real funny,” LQ said. “I already told you, I’m just banging the woman, I aint courting her.”

“I bet that’s what he said both times before,” Brando said to me. “Dollar to a doughnut he marries her. Disaster number three, coming right up.”

“I don’t know if I should take that bet,” I said.

“Piss on both you,” LQ said. “I’ll bet you a hundred dollars apiece I never marry her. I’ll give you five to one I never.”

“What the hell kind of bet is that, you’ll never marry her?” I said. “Only way we can be sure you’ll never marry her is wait till you or her dies.”

“That’s right,” Brando said. “What if you wait to marry her when you’re sixty years old? You expect us to wait that long to collect? We got to have a time limit, none of this never bullshit.”

“Well, what about me?” LQ said, portioning out the remaining beer in the pitcher. “If I die before I marry her, I win the bet but I can’t even collect on it.” He paused in his pouring for a moment, frowning like somebody not real sure what he’d just said.

“Christ almighty,” Brando said. “Only some East Texas peckerwood would come up with a stupid-ass bet nobody can collect on.”

“Well now, he could collect if she died first,” I said. “He couldn’t marry a dead woman even if he wanted. I don’t believe it’s legal.”

“Can’t be, not in no civilized country,” Brando said. “So if she dies first, that settles it—he’ll never marry her and he can collect. But now hold on…what’s to keep him from killing her the minute he’s in need of two hundred bucks?”

I shrugged.

“You dickheads are drunk,” LQ said.

“Bet’s off,” Brando said. “I aint putting up a hundred bucks he can win by just shooting the bitch.”

“I knew you’d chicken,” LQ said.

“Chicken this,” Brando said, giving him the jack-off gesture.

While they were going at it I signaled the waitress for another pitcher. She brought it over as we were finishing the last of what we had on the table.

LQ squinted at his watch. “Goddamn, I’m supposed to be there already. I gotta get rolling.”

“Ah hell, have another beer,” Brando said. “You got plenty time.”

“Yeah,” I said. “She had such fun with you last night she won’t mind if you’re a few minutes late, not this time.”

“I aint gonna have no more such fun if she gets all out of sorts with me,” LQ said, collecting his cigarettes and lighter and putting them in his pocket.

“Christ sake, he gets it off her one time and already she’s got him pussywhipped,” Brando said.

That got LQ’s attention. “My ass,” he said. “You aint seen the day I been pussywhipped and you never will.”

“Here he comes again with never,” Brando said. He took a sip of his beer and turned so LQ couldn’t see his face and gave me a wink. He knew how to rile LQ as well as LQ knew how to rile him.

“Come on, pardner,” I said to LQ, pouring him another glassful. “Help us put a dent in this pitcher before you go.”

“Maybe you best give her a call,” Brando said. “Ask if it’s okay you have another beer.”

“Up yours,” LQ said.

I pushed the full glass over to him. “Here you go, bud. One for the road.”

“Pussywhipped,” LQ muttered, picking up his beer and giving Brando another hard look. “Every woman tried to pussywhip me I got my hat and gone. I’ve walked out on better pussy than you’ll ever see, pussy you’d beg for on your knees. I’ve turned my back on better pussy than you beat off to in your dreams.”

One for the road turned into two more pitchers before he finally left. Brando and I ordered steak sandwiches and stayed put.

The following evening, after I spent another boring day in town while Brando and LQ made collections around Pearland and Katy, we got together for supper again. Brando threatened to go sit at another table if LQ got started on the subject of his fiasco with Zelda the night before, but he only muttered “Here we go again” and rolled his eyes as LQ went ahead and told me about it.

Zelda had been so furious with him for being more than two hours late she wouldn’t even open her door to talk to him. She said she’d call the cops if he didn’t quit all his hollering and banging on the door and go away, and so he finally did.

“I keep telling you,” Brando said, “it’s what you get for fooling around with them snooty hostess types.”

“Goddammit, I don’t see why she couldn’t even let me explain.”

“Explain what?” Brando said. “How we put a gun to your head and made you get drunk on your ass?”

“Maybe I’ll go see her at the Hollywood. She can’t hide from me there.”

“Swell idea,” I said. “Rose and Sam always get a kick out of employees arguing in front of the customers, especially at their fanciest place. Make a big enough scene and Rose’ll probably give you both a bonus for being so entertaining.”

“Goddamn it,” LQ said.

“Hell with her, man,” Brando said. “Kick the bitch out of your mind.”

A few more beers into the evening LQ decided on the age-old cure for getting a woman out of your mind— namely, by replacing her with another one. He and Brando had to make a collection run the next day, first to Baytown and then over to Port Arthur, a few miles south of Orange, where LQ had once had a girlfriend named Sheila. He hadn’t seen her in about six months, not since they’d had a bad argument about something, he couldn’t remember what.

“You reckon she’s still living there?” he said. “I wonder if she’s still red-assed at me. Could be she’s married, huh?”

“I know how you can find out all that,” Brando said. He nodded at a telephone booth in an alcove across the room.

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