Authors: Kimball Lee
“Hey Scarlet!” He calls up to me as I lean out the window mooning over him like every ‘other girl he’s slept with’ according to Bree and Martita. “Guess we should be more careful down by the river, one of the men found a dozen water-moccasins curled in a nest on the banks.” He holds up a hideously long snake, gripping its head so it can’t strike, shrugs and tosses it a few feet away where one of the men shoots it with a pistol.
What the fuck am I doing here?!!!
I better be damn sure I’m ready to give my heart to a savage!
A pattern emerges over the course of days that turn into weeks: We wake up and make love, we work at the fishing lodge, make love there on the floor, in the fields, against the trees near the river, when it gets wild and out of control we admit that we’re fucking, but it’s still our way of making love. We go into town to eat at Lupe’s and order furnishings from Bree and Martita, we drink the margaritas they always have on hand and laugh with abandon at their hilarious ‘When Holt was a teenager’ stories. We bathe in the copper tub on his screened porch, weed his garden, feed the wild animals who have the run of his land, make love some more and fall into bed, exhausted and content. He talks about the log home he’s going to build for a family in Montana, says the Flathead River is a breathtaking sight, but lonely with the mountains and glaciers cutting it off from the rest of creation. A man could get the blues way up there by himself without the woman he loves, it’s so far from the equator and the long Texas days. I wait for him to say the words and when he’s quiet my heart beats in an unnatural rhythm knowing that our days are numbered.
*
When every piece of furniture has been delivered to the lodge and Holt and his helpers are placing sofas and I’m straightening curtains on the rods they’ve bolted above the windows, I’m overcome with a deep sense of sadness. Tomorrow is the day I’m going to get in my sleek red convertible, drive to the airport in San Antonio, and leave Texas—and the man I love—behind. We haven’t discussed any alternatives, he watched as I gathered my clothes and piled them neatly next to my bags last night, then he grabbed a bottle of Traeger’s tequila and wandered out into the night. Later, after I was asleep in his big bed, he slid in next to me and woke me with kisses. I didn’t have to ask him to get the rope, he brought it with him and bound me so well that I never wanted to be free again. We made love all night long, rough and wild, wilder than we ever knew we could be, savage, shouting, quaking, but without saying a single word.
A truck pulls up to the lodge in a cloud of dust and two men step out, laugh as they look around and climb the steps to the front door. They’re both handsome, tall but with a hitch when they walk as if they’ve spent more time in a saddle than on their feet. I don’t need to ask who they are, it’s obvious, one is Wes McCauley and the other, taller, and with a frightening glint in his emerald eyes, must be Tom Corrigan.
“Fixed this place real nice, made it look downright homey, good for you,” Wes says, sauntering up next to me and fixing me with a watery blue stare. “You’re friends with that gal that’s got Jon-Wylder all messed up, ain’t ya?” Wes asks, bending too close, squinting to catch my expression. “That’s one high maintenance gal that dumb kid is thinkin’ of hitchin’ his wagon to.”
“You do realize Gigi’s my best friend?” I say, they’re just blustery old men, I tell myself, somewhere in their sixties and already used up and perpetually pissed off.
“You the gal that’s after my boy for his money? You don’t look like your hard up for cash, but that’s how women are, looks are deceiving,” Tom Corrigan says, he makes himself at home in one of the new armchairs, crosses his legs at the ankles, and looks at me expectantly.
“You have to excuse my father, Scarlet,” Holt says, he’s standing over Tom Corrigan glaring at the two old men. His neck is corded and tense and I can see the vein beating wildly in his neck. “Tom’s definition of a high maintenance woman is one who doesn’t offer him a lap dance for free.”
“Hey now, boy, is that any way to talk to your old daddy? Why don’t you offer us a drink of that high-dollar scotch you and Wes’s boys are so fond of? Better yet, why don’t we go into town and get a real drink, you too good to for rot-gut whiskey now that you got all your football money stashed away? Your little gal will be here when you get back, you can bet on that. Besides, she ain’t got no business in an old shanty of a bar, and women always fuck up a good conversation.”
“You both need to move on, go get drunk, get in a knife fight, Dad, if that’s what you’re after,” Holt says and he walks over and stands between me and Wes. “Why don’t you take Tom and go, Wes? You can see he’s looking for trouble, he’s got no business bringing his bullshit out here for Scarlet to see. Does Campbell know where you are? Seems like he wants you to stay out of ranch affairs.”
“Fuck him! Takin’ over this place and treatin’ me like I’m no better than a goddamn peon or a used-up stud horse. My fuckin’ boys have turned on me, think they can buy me and sell me, every sorry one of them with that high and mighty attitude like their Granddaddy!” Wes says and takes a swig from a flask that he pulls from his hip pocket. “Let’s fuckin’ go, Tom, if I have to listen to Campbell one more time I’ll slit my own fuckin’ throat.”
“Watch your language, would you?” Holt says and sweeps his arm out pointing them to the door.
“We ain’t goin’ unless you come with us, boy,” Tom says, he stands and stretches, he’s stooped but still nearly as tall as Holt and just as wide. He has a headful of silver hair and a thick white mustache, it’s clear that he was just as handsome and imposing as his son, in his day.
“Fine, I’ll go with you for one drink, but only to spare Scarlet the embarrassment of seeing what an asshole you can be when things don’t go your way,” Holt says and he leans down and kisses my cheek. “Take my truck and go spend a couple of hours with Bree and Martita. It’s okay, I’ll see you at home later.”
My stomach churns and I feel like throwing up as I watch him climb in the truck with those two bastards. There is no way this will have a happy ending.
*
I drive into town and settle in for an evening of girl talk and margaritas at Ranches and Rhinestones. Bree locks up the store and turns the sign on the door so that it says “closed” and a customer on the sidewalk sighs and walks away. Martita pops in a Miranda Lambert CD, pours margaritas, we clink our glasses together and get comfy in down-filled chairs and an overstuffed sofa.
“So who is this Emma-Lee I keep hearing about?” I ask, gulping my drink and then regretting it when I get a sharp stab of brain-freeze.
“Emma-Lee Travis, she’s the missing link in our She-Musketeers, that’s what everyone used to call us,” Bree says, sighing as if it’s the saddest story in the world. “One thing you should know about Tallulah, this piss-ant town is a hotbed of dirty little secrets. And in a way, you look like her, doesn’t she ‘Tita? Killer face, gorgeous hair and eyes, tall and thin, but curvaceous in the front and back—fabulous tits, by the way—just the way men like a woman to be.”
“Really Bree, you’re so dramatic,” Martita says. “Emma-Lee is great, we grew up together, I mean we’ve been friends since preschool. In all our childhood memories she was the center, the one who made life fun and cool out here on Tobacco Road. She and Holt were a couple all through high school, but not like heavy-duty
in love
or anything. They just sort of fit together, he was the hot football jock, she was the head cheerleader, small town royalty, boring, but the sun rose and set with them as far we were concerned.”
“Emma-Lee’s father was super strict, though,” Bree chimes in as the margaritas do their thing and loosen us up. “He was our sheriff and his wife just ran off and left them when Emma-Lee was like four or five. The woman fucking disappeared— Poof! Gone! She left a note saying not to look for her, and honey, she was fucking gone-girl. After that Emma’s daddy was sooo strict, constantly preaching how a girl should keep herself pure and not turn into a runaway whore like his wife. Emma-Lee had a nine o’clock curfew, nine-o-fucking-clock! Can you believe that?”
“Ay Dios mia! Soooo,” Martita pours herself another margarita and she too, is feeling no pain and jumps right in to finish the story. “Holt graduated and went off to college when we were seniors, and honestly it wasn’t like he and Emma missed each other, they were more like buddies. They had this pact, this understanding that romantic love didn’t exist, or wasn’t for them or some shit. All because they seriously believed that no one would ever truly love kids like them whose mother’s died or abandoned them.
Loco!
Then Holt came back the next summer and Miss Meredith McCauley threw this huge debutante ball for Emma-Lee out at the ranch. Well, Campbell had just graduated from Texas A&M and was home for the summer. Campbell never had a girlfriend, you see, just a string of girls he used to fuck and toss aside. Anyway… where was I? Oh yeah, Holt was Emma-Lee’s escort to the big debutante ball, but somehow that night she and Campbell had this bolt-from-the-blue attraction to each other and that was that. Like I said, it wasn’t a big deal for Holt, maybe his pride was hurt a little cuz he’d gone along with Emma’s ‘keep-it-platonic-until-marriage’ bullshit. But, you know, no biggie cuz he doesn’t believe in love.”
“You are so dragging this out Bree,” Bree chimes in, rolling her eyes so hard I’m afraid they’ll get stuck that way. “Long story short—Emma-Lee and Campbell were head over heels for the entire summer. His father was fit to be tied cuz he wanted Campbell to marry this snotty heiress so he could get her land and make the fucking Corazon even bigger. Well, things were going great and then Emma’s dad got killed by an escaped convict and all hell broke loose when he left everything to his bastard son that Emma had no idea was even related to her. She left Campbell and Texas and has never come back.”
“We fly up to stay with her every now and then, she lives in New York City,” Bree says and she’s slurring now. “We’re still the She-Musketeers when we visit her, but she won’t ever set foot in Texas again, and that’s a fact. The thing is, ‘Tita and I think—
we know
—Holt’s in love with you. We just don’t know if he’ll let himself believe it.”
“Yes, and you love him, it’s written all over your face, Scarlet,” Martita says. “Don’t let him go, you hear me? He’s a good one, worth fighting for. You wanna go back to Atlanta alone, is that the way it is, or you got some rich boy waiting for you who can give you a different life?”
“No, no one else, Holt…. You’re right, he’s the one for me, but he hasn’t asked me to stay or said that he loves me. And he’s going to Montana, ugh, the thought of being separated from him, I don’t know if I can stand it,” I say and realizing I’m crying when Bree wipes her own eyes and hands me a tissue.
“I have a secret lover, my parents don’t approve, but screw them. We’re gonna get married pretty soon, I can’t live without him,” Bree says, sniffling as Martita clucks her tongue and turns her big, doe-like eyes from me to Bree and back again.
“Love hurts good and love hurts bad, comprende?” She says, twirling a length of her long, jet-black hair between small, nimble fingers. She’s tiny and beautiful, a dead-ringer for Selena Gomez. “I thought I loved Jon-Wylder, but his family only approves of rich Mexicans like Cassandra De La Garza and her fucked up family. Me, I’m a good Catholic girl, but still not good enough to marry a McCauley. This girl Jon-Wylder has himself mixed up with, she’s your friend, right? I hope she’s a nice girl, I only wish him the best.”
“Yes, she’s great, and I have no idea what’s going on with her right now. I’ve sort of lost myself in Holt’s world. My friends, Penn and Gigi, they’ve been this constant presence for the four years I was at Trinity, we were inseparable, just shared all our secrets and dreams. But ever since Spring Break things have changed, we’ve changed. I guess that part of my life is over and done, and now I’m leaving Holt tomorrow, and I just feel… empty.”
*
Holt…
My father is on one of his godawful drinking benders now that he’s seen a shining, beautiful glimmer of hope for me to be happy. Scarlet is that glimmer of hope, and her beauty, inside and out, shines so bright and clear. My dad can’t stand it—
won’t stand for it
—I can see it in his eyes even here in this dimly lit dive bar.
“Think she’s gonna love you for more than that thirty million bucks you got squirreled away, boy? Maybe so, until she gets tired of waking up sore every morning from fucking a big dumb kid like you,” He says, baiting me the way he always does, and I can take the insults he hurls at me if he just leaves Scarlet out of it. Some things never change and the most constant of all is this sick drama that plays over and over between us. “Is that it? She’s got her daddy’s money but she needs your country-boy cock? Well that’s the way it goes, good girls get tired of society dick so they go lookin’ for a thrill on the wrong side of the tracks.”
“Leave it alone, Tom,” Wes says, shaking his friend by the shoulder, but Tom knocks his hand away. “Tommy, c’mon, I don’t need any trouble with the sheriff or his fuckin’ goons comin’ round. Holt is headed up north in a day or two and that gal is goin’ back where she belongs. Let’s make a toast to knowin’ where ya belong.”
“I belong with Scarlet,” I say and when I hear the words trip off my tongue, I know it’s true; we belong together, if she’ll have me.
“You don’t belong with nobody, Holt. You’re a motherless tomcat, just like your mother was a homeless alley cat. But I took her in, didn’t I? I gave her a home and loved her. Wes can tell ya, your mother was so fuckin’ poor she was livin’ with a bunch of vagrants over in Aqua Dulce. There’s poor and then there’s the kind of poor when the roof over your head is an empty train car in the sorriest town in Texas. I saw her at the county fair, she was a head-turnin’ beauty, and I rescued her from her life, I married her. I made an honest women of her, and then you come along nine months later and killed that sweet young girl.”