Songs in Ordinary Time (103 page)

“I got a job up in Burlington.” He smiled, then when no one spoke, added,

“Yah, it’s this big moving company up there.” He cleared his throat.

“Well, glad to hear it, Blue,” Omar said.

“I’m driving a cab, too,” he said. “Nights and some weekends.”

“Well, sounds like you’re going to be one busy young man.” Omar held out his hand and pumped Blue’s. “Thanks for keeping me informed, Blue.

I appreciate it.” There was an awkward pause. “You be sure and stop by again sometime when we can talk,” Omar said.

“Is Alice ready? I know I’m early. I told her six, but I made such good time down from Burlington I’ve been driving around trying to kill time, so I figured I’d—”

“Hi, Blue. I’m ready,” Alice said, coming into the kitchen. She was wearing a skirt and blouse. She was smiling, but Benjy could see how nervous she was. Her mouth quivered. Her eyes glistened, and for a moment he thought she was going to cry. “I won’t be late,” she said, stepping past Norm, who was staring at her.

“I’ll have her home early,” Blue said with a dazed smile, which he fought to overcome, but couldn’t. He tried to open the umbrella in the back hall and it got stuck in the doorway.

“Where are you going?” his mother called as they went outside.

“What the hell’s that all about?” Norm asked, looking back in disbelief.

Outside, a car door slammed. Blue Mooney raced back to the kitchen door. “I heard you call, but I didn’t want her to get wet,” he said, holding the umbrella behind him. “We’re going to go out to dinner. Is that all right?”

he asked when no one said anything.

“That’ll be fine,” Omar said.

His mother went to the window and watched the car back out of the driveway.

“Is she nuts?” Norm said, then slapped the side of his head. “What am I saying? Of course she is!”

No, she isn’t
, Benjy thought. She was the only one who wasn’t, the only one Omar hadn’t gotten to yet.

504 / MARY MCGARRY MORRIS

Later that night the phone rang. “Benjy,” his father gasped when he answered. “I’m so sick. I’m trying so hard to stop drinking. This time I really mean it. I’m gonna do everything for you kids, everything! I love you, Benjy. I love all you kids, you know I do. And I love your mother. I love her so much. I’d do anything for her. Anything she wants. Anything! You tell her that, Benjy, please! Promise me you’ll tell her. Promise me!” he bawled.

“I promise,” he whispered.

“Hang up!” Norm said, reaching past him to hold down the button. “Don’t talk to that bastard when he’s drunk!”

T
hey were in Bart’s Bar and Grill. It was the third day of heavy rain, and though Norm wanted to get home he dreaded the dreary ride back. “I feel like another one, how about you?” Omar asked, setting down his empty mug. With the second round Norm again followed Omar’s lead and drank steadily, his somber gaze locked on the mirrored pyramid of bottles. They had sold a fair amount of soap today, but there had been little conversation between them, and Omar had grown increasingly morose.

Omar scooped peanuts from a bowl, jiggling them in his fist before tossing them into his mouth. Neither one spoke. Even the bartender had noticed the strain. He stayed at the end of the bar, his ear at a radio.

Alice had been right, and they all knew it. When Omar first came he had said he’d been traveling with three black men. Last night Norm had heard his mother and Omar talking into the early-morning hours. His mother kept insisting that he tell her. “There’s nothing to tell,” Omar kept saying. But in the end something had been told. This morning, she had been so pale that it seemed as if her hair had grayed overnight, as if all color had been leached from her mouth and eyes. When Norm said goodbye to her, she bit her lip and nodded. When Omar said goodbye, she squeezed his arm and whispered that everything would be all right. They would get through it.

Get through what? Norm wondered again. If Omar was connected to the dead man, then everything had been a lie, so how could anything be all right ever again? It made him sick to his stomach to think how easily Omar had won him over; flattery, beer, and promises—that’s all it took. That’s all it ever took, just a little attention and Norman Fermoyle would be running up your heels, his nose in your ass. With Duvall being such an obvious creep, it had just taken a little longer, that’s all. He felt like an asshole. Big fucking cynic he was. A real sharp judge of character. Jesus Christ, he had to get out of here.

“Can we get going? It’s getting late,” he said, and Omar gestured to the little beer he had left. Norm swiveled around on the stool, waiting with his back to the bar. He folded his arms and watched different tables. Most of these men were losers like his father, he thought, suddenly despising them.

He hated being here, hated the smell and the smoky drone, the contrived and fallow intimacy. Once he was through that door, there would be rain SONGS IN ORDINARY TIME / 505

or sun. It might be harsh, but at least it would be real. At least there’d be a shadow. He glanced back. “You ready?”

“Not yet,” Omar said, staring into his mug as if the dregs contained some dreadful message.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I just remembered, I gotta do something tonight.”

He slid off the stool.

“Norm! Sit down a minute. There’s something I need to tell you,” Omar said. He signaled the bartender for another round, then spoke in a rapid whisper. “It’s about that newspaper article. The men that stole my car and all my possessions were the same men as in that story. Like I told your mother last night, after they robbed me of everything I had, I didn’t go to the police because I was afraid they’d think I was part of their thievery. In fact, that’s exactly what they told me they’d do if I said anything. I was just trying to get away and figure out what to do next, and then I met your mother.”

Stunned, Norm sat back abruptly as his beer was placed in front of him.

Omar waited until the bartender returned to the end of the bar before he continued, his face close to Norm’s, his voice oddly melodic in its urgency.

“I had no idea one of them had died, and I have no idea what happened, though knowing the kind they were, nothing would surprise me now.

Nothing, not even murder. I can only surmise what happened. They must’ve been still looking for me, whether to get rid of me, or drag me along—God only knows—but at some point Earl Lapham Jones ended up dead. I don’t know if he died there in those woods, or died somewhere else and was dumped there, maybe, but he died. He’s dead, they’re gone, and I’m still here. Nothing I say is gonna bring that young man back. All it’s gonna do is land me in a terrible mess, and humiliate your mother, and surely spell the end of our business. Those are the facts. I can’t undo what’s done. I wish I could, but I can’t. All I can do now is ask your forgiveness for my lying the other day and your understanding as to why I had to. I love your mother. I love her more every single day I know her. She’s a fascinating woman. She’s strong and tender and honest, and she’s the best thing that ever happened to me. There’s a lot in my life I’m not proud of, Norm. I’ve known a lot of failure and I’ve been through a lot of bullshit, most of it of my own doing. But I’m proud of my life now, my life with your mother and with you three children. And I’m proud of what you and I have together, Norm. You’re like your mother. You keep me balanced and focused. You keep me on the right track. I mean that, Norm. I’d sooner be Earl Lapham Jones, dead and buried, than have to go back into that old life again of wandering and self-delusion, thinking every morning I wake up, Maybe, just maybe this’ll be the day I strike it rich, the day I make the right connection, the day I finally get to be the man I want to be. You see, I
am
the man I want to be. And I’m with the woman I want to be with. And that’s all I want.” His eyes were moist and bright.

Norm drank his beer and stared at the mirror. With his slightest movement, prisms of light glittered on the bottles. He wanted to feel something, 506 / MARY MCGARRY MORRIS

but there was only this heaviness, this deadness. “Why don’t you go, then?”

he finally said. “Why don’t you just leave? My mother’s had enough trouble.”

“I know she has, but she wants me to stay,” Omar said, leaning closer. “I thought you would, too. I guess I misread you, Norm.”

“Yah, you did.” He thought a minute. “Actually no, you didn’t. You had me all figured out, the jerk, the asshole, buy him a few beers, be his buddy, that’s all he wants.” Norm laughed. “And you were right! Absolutely right, buddy!” He poked Omar’s arm and laughed. “Hey,” he called down to the bartender. He held up two fingers. “For me and my good buddy here!”

“No, I do know you, Norm. You’re right. You see, you remind me of me.

I am the world’s most gullible man, Norm. In order to fool you, I’ve got to fool myself first. In order to sell you, I’ve got to sell myself first. I stand now to lose everything I ever wanted, because I said yes when I should have said no to those three hustlers last spring. Poor judgment, it’s the story of my life,” he said with a bitter laugh. “I overextend myself. I make more promises than I can ever keep, because I hate to say no to people. I want everyone to like me, or better yet, love me. And for that, I am a fool. A fool.”

His voice broke.

The bartender came toward them with two dripping mugs. Norm drank his beer while Omar continued to talk. He’d been nice to Omar for his mother’s sake, that was all, but now he’d do her a favor and tell the bastard to get the hell out of their lives tonight. And if he didn’t, then Norm would call the cops himself. He’d get rid of the fucking peddler, he thought, chuckling to himself. Omar stood up abruptly then and said they’d better leave. He hadn’t touched his beer, so Norm drank it while Omar watched.

“I’ll drive,” he said as they walked out to the car.

“Fine!” Norm said, flipping him the keys. Let the asshole drive.

“On second thought, go ahead, Norm,” Omar said, handing him back the keys. “I trust you.”

To prove that he was sober and in complete control of the car, Norm drove under the limit all the way home. His eyes closed, Omar sat with his head back on the seat. But Norm knew he only pretended to doze, because from time to time with a sudden bump or lurch, his foot would flex toward an imaginary brake.

When they got to Atkinson, Omar opened his eyes and looked around.

“Norm, listen, I know you’re not happy with me right now.”

“Not happy!” Norm cried with disbelief.

“But you’ve got to believe me when I tell you I didn’t do anything wrong.”

He reached over and gripped Norm’s arm. His eyes were bright again and his voice trembled. “I swear to you, Norm. I am the victim of bizarre circumstances.”

Norm knew he’d had more to drink than he should have. Not because he was drunk but because his perception was operating on such a high level that every nerve ending bristled.

He took the turn onto East Street a little too fast. The tires squealed and SONGS IN ORDINARY TIME / 507

Omar’s hands shot to the dashboard. Omar stayed silent as the car flew along. Norm bit his lip, trying not to smile as he savored Duvall’s fear, the grim profile, the arm still outstretched, the long, white trousered leg stiff now.

“Slow down,” Omar finally warned.

He touched the brake, but the car still squealed around the corner, shimmying a little as he straightened the wheel. As they came over the rise he saw the police car parked in front of the house.

“Shit,” he said, recognizing Chief Stoner’s cruiser.

Omar said nothing. Not a word. Not a sigh. In the second before Omar stepped through the doorway he paused and in an almost imperceptible convulsion seemed to realign his shoulders and stiffen his back. When they came in, Stoner was sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of ice water in front of him. Marie tried to explain why he was here, but Stoner quickly interrupted. Yes, besides the information from the Woodstock Police Department about the two Negro men with Earl Lapham Jones, there was a new lead that he was checking out. A lady right here in town had seen a white man in a straw hat in a station wagon with three Negro men.

Omar sat opposite the Chief, nodding somberly, his eyes fixed on Stoner’s.

“It’s hard work, isn’t it, going door-to-door like this. Believe me, I know.”

Norm stood in the doorway to the living room. From here he could see Benjy’s feet sticking out from the couch, and above him on the stairs he could hear Alice breathing.

“Well, actually, I’m not going door-to-door,” Stoner said. “You see, I just remembered something Alice said once. Something about you being a peddler. That’s such an old-fashioned expression, it just stuck in my head.

Peddler. Peddler. You don’t hear that much anymore.”

“No, you don’t,” Omar agreed. “Now we all call ourselves traveling salesmen. Kind of gives us a little more respectability, I guess.
Peddler
sounds so kind of…” He paused. “Itinerant, temporary, like Gypsies bamboozling unsuspecting country—”

“So you are a salesman, then?” Stoner interrupted.

“Yes sir, I am.”

“Do you work alone?”

Omar grinned. “Right over there, I’m proud to say, is my selling partner.”

Stoner glanced back with a smile, which Norm was too slow to return.

For some reason he waved instead. His mother kept looking at him.

“You work around here now?”

“Yes sir, we do,” Duvall said.

Norm looked at him. Why lie about that? They never worked around this area. In fact Norm had finally given up asking why they had to drive an hour and a half each day to towns he’d never even heard of. Stoner was asking Duvall what he’d sold before he came to Atkinson. Household items, he said quickly. What kind of items, Stoner asked. Linen, Duvall said. All manner of fine linen, sheets, tablecloths, napkins. Norm remembered him at this very counter with the wire whisk in his hand, remembered it with a 508 / MARY MCGARRY MORRIS

vivid clarity that returned butterscotch pudding to the bowls and the fragrance of lilacs to this close kitchen air. The window over the sink had been closed. His mother had been nagging him to see Jarden Greene for a job.