Authors: James Henderson
Chapter 16
“Rhino-who?” Robert Earl said.
“Rhinoplasty,” Estafay said. “Also called a nose job.”
They were riding in Estafay’s Ford Festiva, Robert Earl driving, Estafay in the backseat fanning herself with a newspaper.
No air conditioning, all the windows rolled down, a steady stream of heat and the stench of cow manure whipping their faces.
“What you need a nose job for?”
“I’ve always wanted one. Since we can finally afford it, I might as well get it done.”
Robert Earl sneaked a look at her in the rearview mirror. Yes, her nose could use some work: nostrils looked like the entrance to two dark tunnels.
“Estafay, what makes you think we can afford a nose job now? I don’t have a problem with it, I just don’t think we can afford it now.”
“Yes, we can afford it now.”
“How?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been told to do it, and I will.”
“Who? Who told you to do it?” He sensed himself getting angry. If some man told her to get a nose job, or simply hinted at it, he would whip the car around and head straight back to Dawson.
“God,” Estafay said.
Robert Earl grimaced; he’d forgotten about Him. “God told you to get a nose job?”
“Yes, He sure did. Remember Friday morning, when I was talking with the Lord?”
“Yeah,” Robert Earl lied. She and the Lord conversed so frequently, no way could he remember a specific conversation.
“That’s when He told me.”
He drove a mile or so before mustering the nerve to say, “So the Lord said, ‘Estafay, go get a nose job even though your husband just quit his job and he doesn’t have diddly-poo in the bank.’”
“Get thee behind me, Satan!” Estafay shouted. Robert Earl jumped and momentarily lost control of the wheel. “Blasphemy! That kind of talk is nothing but blasphemy. If you don’t understand the Lord’s work, it’s best you keep your mouth shut. Ask the Lord for forgiveness, Robert--right now, before He strikes you dead!”
He steered the car across the centerline to miss a flattened skunk in his lane. The odor lingered for two miles.
Estafay slapped the back of his seat. “Ask Him for forgiveness!”
“Forgive me, Lord.”
“You’re not asking for a loan, you’re asking for forgiveness. Say it with conviction, like you mean it.”
“Forgive me, Lord,” with less enthusiasm than before.
“It’s bad enough we’re unevenly yoked, spiritually unbalanced, saved and unsaved, and for you to question the very faith what sustains you, to look righteousness in the eye and mock it--blasphemy! Adulterous blasphemy! Robert, you know…”
He stopped listening; he’d heard this particular sermon a thousand times. He daydreamed of the day he opened Robert Earl’s Gas Station and Exotic Snake Farm. All day, he thought as Estafay ranted on and on, all day and night. No matter what--flood, earthquake, a death in the family--he would keep his station open all day and night.
Heck, he might even live there: a cot and a hot plate were all he needed to live on. Come by anytime, we never close.
Estafay slapped his seat again. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, Estafay.”
“What did I just say?”
“A divided house cannot stand.”
“It sure can’t. Amen. He who doesn’t know the Lord, he who is ignorant of His works, should keep his fat mouth shut.” Robert Earl arched an eyebrow and gave her a look in the rearview mirror; he hadn’t heard that one before.
“Whatever the Lord tells me, Estafay Bernice Harris, one of His chosen children, to do, let no man, especially my so-called husband, rend asunder. Do you hear me?”
Robert Earl slowed the car down for a pickup truck going thirty miles below the speed limit. Two events that never failed to occur during one of their rare road trips: Estafay preaching and his driving up behind a geezer in a pickup truck snailing along just when it was impossible to pass because of a curvy stretch of road or steady oncoming traffic.
Either was an agony worthy of pulling his hair out and committing himself to the state hospital. But to endure both simultaneously.
Lord, have mercy!
“Do you hear me, Robert?”
He steered the car onto the shoulder and sped past the truck. A large cloud of dust rose up, preventing him from shooting a nasty look at the driver. Gravel pinged against the undercarriage.
“Yes, I hear you,” steering the car back onto the road.
Estafay coughed and said, “If the Lord tells me to get rhinoplasty, liposuction, mammaplasty and…and whatever else, you should have the sense to be quiet and thankful.”
“Yes, Estafay. Hey, wait a minute! How much is all this stuff gonna cost?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Where’s the money coming from?”
Estafay sighed. “What did I just tell you? You haven’t heard a word I said. Faith, Robert Earl Harris. The money your father left you will pay for everything.”
“The money hasn’t come yet and we don’t know when it will.”
“It’ll be coming real soon.”
“How do you know?”
“Don’t start again! I just spelled it out for you. Have some faith for once in your life. The Lord will provide, just put your faith in Him.”
They rode a few miles in silence, then Robert Earl said, “Estafay, aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Your teeth? Don’t worry, we should have enough to get you a brand-new set.”
“No. My dream. Robert Earl’s gas station and exotic snake farm. Remember?”
“I pray one day you’ll drop such foolishness.”
He turned and stared at her. “How can you say that?” A car horn blew and he returned his attention to driving. “How can you say that, Estafay? You know I’ve been planning this for years. What you think I trained snakes for? What if we can’t afford to start my business and get you all the stuff you talking about?”
“No problem, we drop the snake cage.”
“What! It ain’t a snake cage, Estafay. It’s a gas station and exotic snake farm. How many times I gotta tell you?”
“Did the Lord tell you to open a gas station…with snakes…and serpents?”
“No, He didn’t.”
“What I thought. Don’t worry about it. We should have enough money to do both. Faith, Robert, faith.”
They rode in silence, through small towns distinguishable only by the name on a water tower.
Lake Village. Masonvill
e. Winchester. Pickens. Dumas.
Mitchellvile. Gould. Grady, the home of the infamous Cummins prison farm. Moscow. Pine Bluff, where the two-lane road finally ended and Interstate 640 began.
Arriving in Little Rock, Estafay directed Robert Earl to a three-story medical building. He waited in the car while she, wearing a blue-and-white ankle-length pinafore, walked up the steps to the entrance, holding her beloved Bible to her chest.
Yes, she definitely could use some fixin’ up, he thought when she disappeared inside. But dag gummit, why should he give up his dream? The way his luck was going when Estafay paid for all the plastic stuff she wanted, he wouldn’t have enough to buy a gallon of gas, let alone open a gas station and exotic snake farm.
The Lord didn’t tell him to open a gas station and exotic snake farm. So what? He didn’t tell him not to, either.
“Leave her!”
whispered a voice. The demon, rearing its ugly head again, tempting him to do something evil.
Shut up! he told it. He wouldn’t listen, couldn’t listen. The last time he’d listened he’d hurt someone, hurt someone real bad…He pressed his hands against his ears. Shut up! Shut up!
The voice in his head grew louder:
“Leave her, Robert Earl.”
And throw twenty-five years of marriage away? No way, Jose!
“What if the operation goes badly?”
She’ll still be my wife--through sickness and death.
“Tara Reid.”
Robert Earl thought hard and couldn’t recall a Tara Reid.
“Tara Reid!”
He remembered: she was the little white girl whose titty popped out during a photo shoot. A deformed titty, scarred and mutilated thanks to a surgeon’s scalpel.
Estafay’s operation could go wrong, just like Tara’s.
Jeepers! If that happened to Estafay…He squeezed his head harder, hoping to rid the image of Estafay and him sitting at a table in the Waffle House, his teeth slipping out and Estafay’s deformed titties popping loose…
Lord in heaven!
“What’s wrong with you?” Estafay asked.
“Huh?”
Estafay got into the backseat. “What’s wrong with your head? Looks like you fighting a demon.”
“No, just a little headache.” He took a quick peek at her chest and a chill ran through his gums. “That didn’t take long.”
“The doctor said I should take a few days to think about it. It’s a medical procedure, you know, so there’s a slim possibility of complications.”
Robert Earl swallowed. “What kind of complications?”
“Pain. Infection. Scars. The operation doesn’t take with everyone. I’m sure I won’t have any problems. Unlike most people, I have faith in the Lord above.”
He wanted to tell her about Tara Reid, but didn’t have the heart. “Uh, did the doctor say how much the procedure is going to cost?”
Estafay fanned herself with the paper. “Let’s go. It’s a hundred degrees out here. Thirteen thousand dollars. It’s hot enough to bake a cake in the shade. Turn the radio on. I don’t feel up for much talking. It’s too hot.”
Robert Earl started the car and pushed the button on the radio. Paul Simon sang about fifty ways to leave your lover.
“Turn to gospel. You know I don’t listen to the devil’s music.”
He let the song play. Paul suggested make a little plan…and set yourself free. If it came down to losing his dream and helping Estafay paste on falsies, he would take Paul’s advice.
Estafay tapped him on the shoulder. “Didn’t you hear me? Turn to gospel music.”
He looked her in the face in the rearview mirror, smiled without a tooth in his mouth and said, “Yes, dear.”
Chapter 17
Lysol burning her hand, Ruth Ann scrubbed the tub. It didn’t need cleaning. She needed an activity to occupy her mind. The yellow sponge disintegrated into bits and pieces and she kept scrubbing. The bits and pieces rubbed away to nothing and she had to stop.