it."
"Maybe he's just sloppy."
She laughed. "Manny, this is a military guy. If he started out sloppy, you wouldn't be able to
bulldoze
through this place. He's gone downhill a
lot
since he was a spaceman. They don't let you clutter things up on a station. You know that."
She was right, I did.
"He probably doesn't even think he's an alcoholic," she said.
I turned back to the living room. There were a lot of framed photos
on the walls, mostly of him with famous people, including the one of
the President giving him his medal. I recognized some of the faces. One
section showed two young girl children. Daughters? No wife anywhere I
could see.
There were gaps on these walls, too, rectangles lighter than the
wall. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out pictures had once
hung there. Pictures of people the colonel didn't like anymore, was my
guess.
The one bare wall turned out not to be a wall at all, but an
eight-by-twelve-foot Sony Hi-Dee screen. The audio parts were hidden
behind a mahogany panel, and a dozen speakers hung from the ceiling.
Here was something very expensive that I could really appreciate. If he
had termites in the walls, they'd be deaf by now.
I looked around once more, taking it all in. How the rich live. I'd never had much chance to get a close look at it.
I figured I wouldn't have all that much trouble swapping lifestyles with him.
ALICIA CAME OUT of the kitchen with her big bean salad
in a bowl, Broussard trailing dubiously behind her. I followed them to
the patio, where Dak was just flipping the steaks, wearing a
grease-spattered apron. Broussard took over the grill.
"Dak tells me you run a hotel," he said.
"My family does. The Blast-Off down on—"
"Sure, I know it."
"Everybody knows the Blast-Off," Dak said. "It's a Florida
institution. Can't come to the Canaveral area and not send a Blast-Off
postcard back home."
"Sounds like a good business."
"The card business? It's okay." Yeah, I didn't say, and some weeks
we make almost as much money on those damn cards, and the knick-knacks
Mom and Maria make, as we make renting out rooms. Disgusting, when you
think about it.
"Well, you ever decide to get a new sign, let me bid on the old one.
One of the first things I saw in Florida that I liked. You know,
sometimes I could pick it out on the way up. Just look for the little
orange rocket blasting off."
"No kidding? That's... that's great." I looked at Dak and saw the
notion had tickled him, too. The crummy old Blast-Off, and an astronaut
looking down on it... or even just driving down the avenue, passing it,
feeling good for a moment.
"I'll keep that in mind, Colonel Broussard," I said.
"Just Travis, okay? You guys saw me falling-down, snot-slingin' drunk. I figure y'all have to swallow hard to call me Colonel."
Nobody had anything to say to that, but the awkward silence passed
pretty quick. Travis went back into the kitchen to get the cardboard
bucket of fries he'd popped into the microwave. He came back with forks
and knives and paper plates.
He cut into one of the steaks, peered inside, and looked up.
"Who likes 'em so rare they're still chewin' their cud?"
Alicia and Travis did. Dak and I said medium rare would do. That
left one on the grill, and Travis pushed a button on the outside wall
before he sat at the table. Beyond the empty pool the barn door opened
and the short, roly-poly guy came out. Travis heaped fries on all five
plates.
"Jubal, these are friends of Dak. Alicia, and Manny. Y'all, this is my cousin Jubilation. Everybody calls him Jubal."
Jubal nodded awkwardly, bowed his head, then looked up again.
"Travis, would you offer a blessin' over dis here food?"
"Shouldn't we wait till your steak gets here, Jube?"
"You kin bless it from ovah here, you."
And by golly we all bowed our heads and Travis offered a short
prayer. When it was over, Jubal tied a big cloth napkin around his neck
and dug in to the plate of fries. When his steak arrived, mostly black
on the
"Maybe he's just sloppy."
She laughed. "Manny, this is a military guy. If he started out sloppy, you wouldn't be able to
bulldoze
through this place. He's gone downhill a
lot
since he was a spaceman. They don't let you clutter things up on a station. You know that."
She was right, I did.
"He probably doesn't even think he's an alcoholic," she said.
I turned back to the living room. There were a lot of framed photos
on the walls, mostly of him with famous people, including the one of
the President giving him his medal. I recognized some of the faces. One
section showed two young girl children. Daughters? No wife anywhere I
could see.
There were gaps on these walls, too, rectangles lighter than the
wall. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out pictures had once
hung there. Pictures of people the colonel didn't like anymore, was my
guess.
The one bare wall turned out not to be a wall at all, but an
eight-by-twelve-foot Sony Hi-Dee screen. The audio parts were hidden
behind a mahogany panel, and a dozen speakers hung from the ceiling.
Here was something very expensive that I could really appreciate. If he
had termites in the walls, they'd be deaf by now.
I looked around once more, taking it all in. How the rich live. I'd never had much chance to get a close look at it.
I figured I wouldn't have all that much trouble swapping lifestyles with him.
ALICIA CAME OUT of the kitchen with her big bean salad
in a bowl, Broussard trailing dubiously behind her. I followed them to
the patio, where Dak was just flipping the steaks, wearing a
grease-spattered apron. Broussard took over the grill.
"Dak tells me you run a hotel," he said.
"My family does. The Blast-Off down on—"
"Sure, I know it."
"Everybody knows the Blast-Off," Dak said. "It's a Florida
institution. Can't come to the Canaveral area and not send a Blast-Off
postcard back home."
"Sounds like a good business."
"The card business? It's okay." Yeah, I didn't say, and some weeks
we make almost as much money on those damn cards, and the knick-knacks
Mom and Maria make, as we make renting out rooms. Disgusting, when you
think about it.
"Well, you ever decide to get a new sign, let me bid on the old one.
One of the first things I saw in Florida that I liked. You know,
sometimes I could pick it out on the way up. Just look for the little
orange rocket blasting off."
"No kidding? That's... that's great." I looked at Dak and saw the
notion had tickled him, too. The crummy old Blast-Off, and an astronaut
looking down on it... or even just driving down the avenue, passing it,
feeling good for a moment.
"I'll keep that in mind, Colonel Broussard," I said.
"Just Travis, okay? You guys saw me falling-down, snot-slingin' drunk. I figure y'all have to swallow hard to call me Colonel."
Nobody had anything to say to that, but the awkward silence passed
pretty quick. Travis went back into the kitchen to get the cardboard
bucket of fries he'd popped into the microwave. He came back with forks
and knives and paper plates.
He cut into one of the steaks, peered inside, and looked up.
"Who likes 'em so rare they're still chewin' their cud?"
Alicia and Travis did. Dak and I said medium rare would do. That
left one on the grill, and Travis pushed a button on the outside wall
before he sat at the table. Beyond the empty pool the barn door opened
and the short, roly-poly guy came out. Travis heaped fries on all five
plates.
"Jubal, these are friends of Dak. Alicia, and Manny. Y'all, this is my cousin Jubilation. Everybody calls him Jubal."
Jubal nodded awkwardly, bowed his head, then looked up again.
"Travis, would you offer a blessin' over dis here food?"
"Shouldn't we wait till your steak gets here, Jube?"
"You kin bless it from ovah here, you."
And by golly we all bowed our heads and Travis offered a short
prayer. When it was over, Jubal tied a big cloth napkin around his neck
and dug in to the plate of fries. When his steak arrived, mostly black
on the
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