entered a dip.
“What’d it say on it?” Phlox asked.
“You’ll see.” The highway followed the base of a low hill, then began to climb. The engine pinged as the truck strained for elevation. Bobby down-shifted and muttered, “Goddamn gasohol.” They crested the hill; the town of Cold Rock lay below them spread across a broad valley. A glittering gray river sliced through the town, which was stitched together by a series of six low bridges. “That’s the North Rock River, where Barbaraannette threw our mattress in. Use to have a couple mills on it, I guess, but now it just looks good and every few years it floods all of downtown and everybody threatens to move their businesses away. But they never do.”
The water tower, Phlox could now see, read, Home of the Crockettes.
“Crockettes?”
“Women’s softball. They won the state championship back in eighty-something.”
“It’s bigger than I thought.” Phlox could pick out at least three church spires, a small downtown area straddling the river, and a complex of grain elevators a mile or two upstream.
“Twelve thousand people. Maybe fifteen by now. They even got a college here.” Bobby pushed in the clutch and let the truck coast down the long hill into town. They passed a McDonald’s, a Pump-n-Munch, and a Taco Bell. “The Taco Bell is new. You hungry?” Bobby asked.
“No,” Phlox said, still recovering from the Taxidermy & Cheese Shoppe concept. “How about we just get this over with? We go to your wife’s and I collect the reward and we get the hell out of town. You can eat all the way back to Tucson.”
Bobby looked longingly at the Taco Bell as they drove past. “She might not let me go so quick. Don’t forget, she’s shelling out a million bucks.”
“What’s she going to do? Tie you up?”
Bobby’s face contracted into a pained expression. “Hell, I never understood the woman when I was living with her. I got no idea what’s on her mind.”
Nothing. Not even a letter. Jayjay peered through the open back of his Post Office box. He could see right through to the mailroom. Nobody looking. He peered through the tiny window in the brass box next to his. The guy had a couple of letters and a magazine. Jayjay pushed his arm through his open box, turned his wrist back to reach into his neighbor’s box from the rear, grabbed the magazine, and drew it back out through his own box. People magazine, one of his favorites. He left the Post Office feeling as though he had not wasted his time and walked back to the car wondering what he should do with the rest of his morning. It was a nice sunny day. Probably get up into the sixties. He could stop in at the Nose, have a bloody Mary, hang out for a while. Or go for a long drive in the country, watch the snow melt. He didn’t feel like going back to the professor’s house. Eating the guy’s food and drinking his wine was okay, and he didn’t mind the sex, but he didn’t want to spend a whole morning with André, have the guy fawning over him and telling long stories about people Jayjay didn’t know and worst of all wanting to go for walks. Nothing Jayjay hated worse than walking down the street with a queer. A little town like this you didn’t want people thinking you were light in the loafers. Jayjay was not inclined that way himself. He’d been with a few other older guys, and of course there was his time in jail, but he was no freehole punk and he damn sure wasn’t gay. He’d been with plenty of women, too. Whatever. No more walks with the old fag, he decided. Especially not here in Cold Rock.
That was the problem with small towns. You never knew who you were gonna run into. He might see his aunt Nadine, who would want to know where he’d disappeared to and why he hadn’t showed up for work at Souvenir Specialty Supply. Why? He could tell her why. Because gluing little cloisonné plaques with the names of the states onto the handles of miniature teaspoons, forks, and butter
“What’d it say on it?” Phlox asked.
“You’ll see.” The highway followed the base of a low hill, then began to climb. The engine pinged as the truck strained for elevation. Bobby down-shifted and muttered, “Goddamn gasohol.” They crested the hill; the town of Cold Rock lay below them spread across a broad valley. A glittering gray river sliced through the town, which was stitched together by a series of six low bridges. “That’s the North Rock River, where Barbaraannette threw our mattress in. Use to have a couple mills on it, I guess, but now it just looks good and every few years it floods all of downtown and everybody threatens to move their businesses away. But they never do.”
The water tower, Phlox could now see, read, Home of the Crockettes.
“Crockettes?”
“Women’s softball. They won the state championship back in eighty-something.”
“It’s bigger than I thought.” Phlox could pick out at least three church spires, a small downtown area straddling the river, and a complex of grain elevators a mile or two upstream.
“Twelve thousand people. Maybe fifteen by now. They even got a college here.” Bobby pushed in the clutch and let the truck coast down the long hill into town. They passed a McDonald’s, a Pump-n-Munch, and a Taco Bell. “The Taco Bell is new. You hungry?” Bobby asked.
“No,” Phlox said, still recovering from the Taxidermy & Cheese Shoppe concept. “How about we just get this over with? We go to your wife’s and I collect the reward and we get the hell out of town. You can eat all the way back to Tucson.”
Bobby looked longingly at the Taco Bell as they drove past. “She might not let me go so quick. Don’t forget, she’s shelling out a million bucks.”
“What’s she going to do? Tie you up?”
Bobby’s face contracted into a pained expression. “Hell, I never understood the woman when I was living with her. I got no idea what’s on her mind.”
Nothing. Not even a letter. Jayjay peered through the open back of his Post Office box. He could see right through to the mailroom. Nobody looking. He peered through the tiny window in the brass box next to his. The guy had a couple of letters and a magazine. Jayjay pushed his arm through his open box, turned his wrist back to reach into his neighbor’s box from the rear, grabbed the magazine, and drew it back out through his own box. People magazine, one of his favorites. He left the Post Office feeling as though he had not wasted his time and walked back to the car wondering what he should do with the rest of his morning. It was a nice sunny day. Probably get up into the sixties. He could stop in at the Nose, have a bloody Mary, hang out for a while. Or go for a long drive in the country, watch the snow melt. He didn’t feel like going back to the professor’s house. Eating the guy’s food and drinking his wine was okay, and he didn’t mind the sex, but he didn’t want to spend a whole morning with André, have the guy fawning over him and telling long stories about people Jayjay didn’t know and worst of all wanting to go for walks. Nothing Jayjay hated worse than walking down the street with a queer. A little town like this you didn’t want people thinking you were light in the loafers. Jayjay was not inclined that way himself. He’d been with a few other older guys, and of course there was his time in jail, but he was no freehole punk and he damn sure wasn’t gay. He’d been with plenty of women, too. Whatever. No more walks with the old fag, he decided. Especially not here in Cold Rock.
That was the problem with small towns. You never knew who you were gonna run into. He might see his aunt Nadine, who would want to know where he’d disappeared to and why he hadn’t showed up for work at Souvenir Specialty Supply. Why? He could tell her why. Because gluing little cloisonné plaques with the names of the states onto the handles of miniature teaspoons, forks, and butter
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