your boots. If you have a mind to run into Alpine, I could ask
you to pick us up some groceries.”
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“Can you get some strawberries? Or blueberries if they
don’t have strawberries.” Jesse was yawning behind his
hand.
“Sure.” I studied his face. “Jesse, go take a break and
lay down for a while. You look tired.”
The Original put his hand on the back of Jesse’s neck,
but he was looking at me. “It’s hard to take that uniform off
some days, isn’t it, Staff Sergeant? I can see how you were,
taking care of your men. Jesse, when do you plan on going
back to San Francisco?”
“I don’t know. Once I get the Grievous Angel done, I’m
going to send it up, let Sammy get started on his deal.
Marketing and whatnot.”
I felt a little like I’d been turned into a pillar of salt, Lot’s
wife staring with longing at something she had lost for all
time.
Oh, right, right. He was
going back to San Francisco.
Like, going back to the place he lived. There had been no talk
about him taking me with him.
“Have you thought about staying down here with us for
a time?”
He shook his head. “I can’t, Granddad, but thanks. Too
much happening up there in my world. I can’t be gone for
too long or they’ll forget who I am.” He bent his head over his
eggs, didn’t seem to notice the way The Original was looking
at me.
The old man stood up and got the coffeepot, refilled my
cup. His hand dropped down onto my shoulder. “Son, I hate
to see you getting in over your head. He’s the same person
he was when he was six years old, willful and spoiled rotten.
I don’t suppose he’s gonna change now. Take a little break,
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go into town. Blow some of this Marathon dust off your
boots.”
I nodded, glancing briefly up into his face. Jesse had
missed our entire exchange, his face clouded with fatigue. He
scooped the last of the eggs into his mouth, held out his
coffee cup for a refill, and then scooted his chair back. “I’m
gonna work just a little bit longer.” He stared at me, his eyes
running over my face, and I swear, for a moment, he looked
at me like he didn’t know who I was.
The Original sat down at the table with me. “I don’t
know what to say to you, son.”
“I didn’t mean to… well. I’m sure it’s uncomfortable for
you, with him and me carrying on like this.”
“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, Lorenzo.”
Ouch. My stomach twisted down into a knot.
“I feel like I’ve pulled you into this situation without you
knowing what you were getting into, and when it breaks
down, like it always does… I don’t want to ruin your chance.
For Devil Dog. You’ve started something fine, Lorenzo. That
work used to be more important to you than anything else.”
He sighed, rubbed his forehead. “That boy wouldn’t hurt
you for the world. You must know that. But he’s got to have
the freedom to circle his sun. Nothing comes between him
and that crazy art of his, and everybody who has ever tried
to turn his face away, even for a little while, has ended up
hurt. He can’t help who he is. And he’s never been in the
USMC, so he hasn’t developed the habit of doing what you
tell him to do.” He lifted his cup, took a long drink. “Lorenzo,
forgive me if I’m out of line here, but I didn’t get the
impression you were real experienced with this sort of thing.
Romance, love, whatever.”
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“No, I’m not.”
“Can I ask you how you planned to proceed with this
relationship?”
“With Jesse? I… I planned to just take no prisoners. You
know, forge ahead with confidence.”
He nodded. “The thing about love, though. It can
swallow you whole. It can take the passion you have in every
part of your life and suck you dry until you got nothing left
inside. I’m not calling you off the boy. Don’t misunderstand
me. I can see the way he feels about you, and you aren’t shy
about letting him know how you feel. But I want you to think
about giving this thing a little space. Give yourself a blast
zone.”
“So I’ll be injured, not killed, when things go wrong. I
mean, if things go wrong.”
He nodded. “Where are you in your work?”
“I’ve got my platoon, their names, and the first narrative
started. I’m thinking about investing in some better
computer equipment. A good printer and one of those big
Macs with all the graphics packages.”
“We could ride into town in a couple of days, see what
they have at the computer store. You show me your first
couple of days before you go? And I’ll make up a grocery
list.”
Out in the studio, Los Lonely Boys still held the floor,
and I had to laugh at Jesse singing along in Spanish. I
sketched out the first panel of the first comic, wrote the
characters’ names at the bottom, and signed it. This would
be for Gary down in Lajitas. Maybe I could take him out for a
beer, ask him to tell me about Jesse. No question the old
man was right and I was in over my head, but I could tread
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water. I knew how to swim with the big scary sharks. The
key was you had to pretend you were as big as they were.
I gathered up the pages, stuck my head on Jesse’s side
of the studio. “Hey, come kiss me good-bye.”
He looked up, a little frown between his eyes, then he
smiled, and his face had that wild and sweet beauty that
sent my heart into a slow stumble. He put down his palette,
held my face in his hands. Then he kissed me, just a little off
center, kissed the corner of my mouth, then my chin and my
nose and each closed eye, and then he went back to my
mouth. “Don’t forget my strawberries, zo-zo.”
In the house, I put the cartoons on the kitchen table,
and the Original came over and studied them. He touched a
finger to the title
, Devil Dogs at War
. “Why’d you decide to
use this title?”
“I want to keep this narrative comic separate from what
I’ve done before, and might still want to do—some one-off’s,
light humor. And it’s a bit more descriptive. These boys,” I
pointed to my platoon, “they’re always going to be at war.”
He was rubbing his chin. “It might put some people off
at first, but I think you’re right. When we talk about sending
these out, that’s when I can help you a bit more. We want to
be very specific in those first markets.” He studied the strip
some more. “Lorenzo… you don’t have any girls. They let
girls in the Corps now, you know. I think maybe you need a
girl in your platoon.”
Oh, shit.
“Yeah, they sure do. I’ll be thinking on that on
the way to Lajitas. You got the list? You need anything from
the bootmaker?”
He shook his head and handed me the list, written on a
small piece of yellow legal paper. Steaks. Eggs. Coffee.
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Bisquick. 2 cans of beans. Bag of rice. Then, in a different
hand, Strawberries. Skim milk. A box of Great Grains with
pecans. Bok choy. Cilantro. Small wedge of Stilton. I sat
down and added my list. Apples. Lettuce. Carrots. Tortillas.
Cheddar Cheese. Salsa. Whole grain bread. I looked up at
The Original. “I think we’re ready to go.”
“Better wash the paint off your face.”
I went into the bathroom. Jesse had left smudges of
Bathtub Mary Blue on my cheek.
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Chapter Nine
MY PACK of running dogs followed the truck a few hundred
yards out of town, then they gave up and lay down in the
dust next to the road. I turned on the radio, laughed when
Gram and Emmy Lou started singing about the grievous
angels. The drive was long and dusty, and I missed having
Jesse next to me, but it was a pretty drive, in a lonesome
cowboy sort of way, and I had always enjoyed solitude.
Gary was at work in his sweet-smelling shop, working
saddle soap into the leather reins of a saddle on his
workbench. “Maryboy!” He looked behind me. “You didn’t
bring JC3 the boy-wonder with you?”
“I couldn’t drag him out of the studio.”
“Yeah, he’s a monster talent. I’m sure the gallery owners
and the museum folks would like to just lock him in and slip
paint and brushes under the door. He painted me, did I tell
you that?”
I shook my head. “Down here, or up in San Francisco?”
“I was in San Francisco. Sitting on the steps of a
bookstore in the Castro. I can’t say I was happy about it at
first, ’cause he painted me looking so pathetic and lonely.
But there is no use arguing with Jesse about art. It took me
awhile to realize I was sitting on the steps of the wrong
bookstore if I was looking for girls. Have you met Sam?”
“Is that the old boyfriend? No, Jesse and me, we met
down here. I haven’t seen him in his San Francisco skin.”
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“It’ll make you sick, the way men fawn all over him. I
swear, he could get a blow job every ten minutes, just
walking down the street. And it’s not just his pretty face.
He’s got something. Something rich inside, and people see
him, and they want to use him to fill up their own
emptiness.”
He stood up, pulled a box down from the shelf. “You’re
gonna love your boots.” He put a hand on my arm, and I
could feel the warmth of his skin and the calluses on his
palm. “Sam may be the
old
boyfriend, but I’m not sure he
knows that. They seem to swing apart, then swing back
together. Sam still handles most of his sales. I mean, if I
ditched an old boyfriend, I would want to make sure he
didn’t have access to my checking account. You know what
I’m saying?”
The boots were so beautiful I felt my mouth go dry,
looking at them. The croc was rough and nobbly leather, and
the shaft was thick, the Cavalry design embossed in the
leather. I pulled them on, walked around the shop a bit. “I’m
not going to take these off for the next fifty years, I promise.”
“You can just tell anybody who asks you where you got
them to come on down to Lajitas. When you’re a famous
cartoonist, that is, and people start staring at your clothes.”
“Hey, that reminds me. I’ve got something for you.” I
went out to the truck while he rang up the sale and ran my
credit card. I handed him the drawing. “This is the first panel
for the new comic,
Devil Dogs at War
.”
He looked at it, grinning, and then looked up at me.
“You already know you’re gonna make it, don’t you? You
haven’t left any room to fuck it up.” He reached out and
shook my hand. “Thanks, Lorenzo Maryboy. I’m glad I had
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the chance to make your boots. And thanks for this. You’re
strong inside, like Jesse. I can see that in you. I hope you
two make it.”
“Thanks, man. I have every intention of being with him
for as long as these boots hold out.”
He laughed at that. “Bring them back to me anytime you
need to get a new sole. Oh, wait, I’ve got the riata Jesse
wanted for his painting.” He brought a paper bag out of the
back and I looked inside. It was a braided rope, made out of
some kind of leather. “Braided rawhide,” he said. “Tell him
keep it as long as he needs it.”
I SPENT a few hard miles on the way to Alpine, thinking
about what Gary had said. About Sam not knowing he was
the old boyfriend. What was Jesse doing? Did Sam still have
control over his money? That was a dangerous way to go. I
had a feeling Jesse just let this old boyfriend take care of
everything so he wouldn’t have to worry about it, and he
could just paint. Which would probably work fine, as long as
Sam had the notion there was still a chance for them to get
back together. What would Sam do when he realized I was in
the picture? What would Jesse do? When he realized I wasn’t
going away? It was true he was older, more experienced, had
known more men than I had. He was slicker than pig shit. It
was true I was probably in over my head, and my current