The True Father (6 page)

  
   Before going back to Kansas City I had one last bit of detail to go over with Jeremiah, which involved Jettie's interest in the ranch. It was a small interest, about ten percent, but with an approximate net value of $60,000, which I had to split with Bella, of course. This included a percentage of the land, livestock, farm equipment, several stock trailers and other vehicles, the house and buildings, and even Jeremiah's GMC. He said he'd be willing to buy me out or I could keep the interest, whichever I preferred. I had no idea what to do at the time so I decided to think about it.

   The drive back to Kansas City took better than six hours. Along the way, we stopped in Bentonville, Arkansas, the official headquarters of Wal-Mart Stores, Incorporated, and toured the Wal-Mart Visitor's Center. Grandpa wondered why I had a sudden interest in Wal-Mart and I told him about studying the company in college, and that I was very impressed with their financial success. Well, I wasn't lying.

   Like I told Jeremiah and Bella, I didn't want anyone knowing about the inheritance—especially Mom. And this included Grandpa, because he'd tell Grandma, and then Grandma would tell Mom. It was an ingrained system, guaranteed to work every time. So Jeremiah agreed that it was our little secret.

 

*     *     *

 

   My first day on the job was not near as exciting as I once had expected. I wore my favorite suit as planned, and my cubicle was complete with all the hardware I had dreamed of. A state of the art desktop computer with all the software one could use, Internet access to obtain investment information, a professional ten-key calculator, and a free pass to the office supply closet.

   I placed a picture of Mom and I at the graduation on the desk of my cubicle, one that she had developed and framed specifically for my new office. Also from the same roll of film, I stuck an unframed photo of Amber and I on the tacking strip that ran across the cubicle wall. And next to the photo of my mom and I, I stood the picture of Jettie that Jodie gave me at the funeral.

   Seeing the photo again made me smile and think of the wonderful time I had meeting my lost family. I still didn't quite know what to think of the inheritance. For some reason I didn't feel like I deserved it, even though Jeremiah felt otherwise, and it was Jettie's wish. You don't have to be an accountant to appreciate a sudden net worth of almost $700,000. But I've always been the type to want to earn what I have, and I never expected things to be handed to me on a silver platter. Mom, however, was a different story. Wealth and status were very important to her, and she didn't care how she obtained it. I always knew this about her, but for some reason it never really bothered me until now. I guess it was because for so long she was all that I had.

   My first week on the job was almost painless, spending most of my time in orientation and training courses. Rather than concentrating on learning the specifics of the Bennett and Dobbs clientele base, quite often I found myself drifting away, thinking about rodeo buckles, bucking bulls, shots of corn whiskey, a dog named Jezebel, a little white house, an old Ford pickup, Jeremiah's comforting smile, and the tears of Bella Sonoma. But my second week got worse. I was not the Magna cum laude that Bennett and Dobbs had hired. I kept making mistakes with my ten-key, entering the wrong numbers on client spreadsheets, and filing stuff in the wrong place. My cubicle became disorderly, and at one point I became so angry that I violently tore the printout tape off the calculator and slammed my fist on the keypad. I ran my fingers through my hair and cursed as the calculator spit out a tape full of useless numbers.

   An older woman in a neighboring cubicle stood and peeked over at me.

   “Mind your own damned business!” I yelled.

   She disappeared quickly.

   I rested my elbows on my desk and hid my face with my hands. I couldn't understand what was happening to me. I felt lost and deprived, as if I starved for something and would lose my mind if I didn't satisfy this hunger.

   I leaned back in my chair and let out a deep breath. I looked closely at the picture of Mom and me, how happy we seemed, but then I remembered who showed up during that photograph. 

   I looked at Jettie's picture. In the short time I had learned about him I became peculiarly attracted to that cowboy image, and the history of the man that everyone loved.

   I couldn't take anymore and decided to go for a walk downtown. I grabbed my suit coat off a hanger in the cubicle and walked to the elevator. From our office on the eighth floor I went to ground level, and then walked down Tenth Street, across Baltimore Avenue and eventually to Main. I sat down on a bench in an outside food court near the Town Pavilion, a thirty story skyscraper that claimed the status of Kansas City's newest and tallest building.

   I peered up at the skyline of the buildings, observed the many panes of mirrored glass that reflected the sunlight, the blue sky, and the neighboring buildings. This scene made me reflect back to the ranch, and realize how the setting was so opposite. Suddenly I longed again to see the cattle grazing in the pasture, hear the screeching and singing of prairie birds, smell the fragrance of fresh cut hay, feel the wind of the plains blow through my hair, and amazingly the scorching taste of Jeremiah's whisky.

   I leaned over and put my elbows on my knees when I felt something crinkle in my inside coat pocket. I reached inside and pulled out an envelope, finding the letter that Jeremiah gave me. I remembered that I put the letter in my inside pocket the day of the funeral, thinking I would read it that day. But I got caught up in all that was happening with Bella and the inheritance and forgot all about it.

   I slid my index finger inside the small opening under the flap on the back of the envelope and tore it open. The letter was written on a small piece of stationery, similar to a page from a steno pad, and in blue cursive ink. Though the handwriting was not good, it was legible.

 
January 17, 1978

 
Dear Bonnie,

 
You know I'm not much with words, so these letters are hard for me to write. All I know to say is that I miss you and my boy. It's been two months now since you left, and the place is empty without the two of you here. I can't even think about my work that needs done, not even the rodeo season coming up. All I can think about is you and the baby. This is your home and you are welcome back anytime. I need you Bonnie and I need my little one. It just ain't right living without my family. Please come home.

 
All my love,
Jettie

 
   It all seemed so simple and familiar. A man who felt lost and deprived. And those last three words, “Please come home,” stayed with me the rest of the day, while I worked out at the fitness center, when I slept at night, and for the rest of the week.
   Thursday night I dreamed again about the clowns approaching me in my cubicle. Now I recognized the trophy, the photograph, and more of the people who cheered and applauded. There was Bella, Denny Rose, and behind his makeup I recognized Buddy Wells. But I couldn't figure out the ovation. What did I do to deserve it? What did I do to deserve anything?

   Friday morning I went to my cubicle as usual. Friday's were casual days so I dressed in cotton khaki slacks and a knit polo shirt. I had no more than turned on my computer when Kyle Bennett entered my cubicle.

   “Good morning, Trevor.”

   “Good morning.”

   “Can I have a minute?”

   “Sure.”

   “Great. Come to my office.”

   I followed him to a walled-in office at the end of the cubicle section. He told me to have a seat and pointed at a pair of hunter green, overstuffed chairs in front of his desk, and then he closed the door behind us. He sat in his high-backed black leather chair and crossed his legs. He also wore casual attire similar to mine.

   “I've been wanting to visit with you, Trevor. You've been here a couple of weeks, and like all new people, I like to touch base and see how things are going.”

   “Things are going pretty well.” I lied.

   “Well, it's been brought to my attention that things haven't been going too well for you.”

   I wasn't surprised to hear this. “No, actually, I've not been myself lately.”

   “Well, it's understandable, losing your father and all.”

   “Yeah, it's been hard.”

   “You know, I did some checking, and through certain sources I learned that you never knew your father.”

   I was surprised to hear this. “Sources?”

   He rested his right elbow on the chair armrest, raised his hand and twirled an ink pen around his fingers. He raised his eyebrows and gazed at me condescendingly. “You know, I expected a lot better from you, Trevor. The Dean had nothing but good things to say about you.”

   “So do you think the Dean was lying?”

   “I don't know, was he?”

   Suddenly Kyle reminded me of Walter, AKA Penis Head. “Well,” I said, “I'll just be frank with you, Mr. Bennett. My personal life is none of your business.”

   I surprised myself with this one, and I could tell by the irritated look on his face that he didn't appreciate the response.

   “Interesting attitude,” he said. “The Dean never mentioned that.”

   I studied his antagonizing glare and felt an instant distaste for him, the firm, and the job. I no longer felt a sense of challenge or accomplishment. There was no evidence of prestige that I had expected from a metropolitan accounting firm. And the camaraderie and respect between coworkers, especially Kyle Bennett, was nonexistent. At once I felt compelled to escape this feeling of emotional bondage, to let loose of everything that kept me from experiencing the new fire that burned inside my head and my heart.

   I stood from the chair and leaned forward, and he appeared to stop breathing as I rested my hands on his desk. “You know something else the Dean didn't tell you about me?”

   He didn't answer, but returned a glare as if we were in a pistol duel.

   I continued. “I'm sure the Dean didn't tell you that I don't waste my time dealing with small people.” 

   Then I pointed a finger at him. “And let me tell you something else! I didn't know my father very well, but I do know one thing about him. He had more heart than you'll ever have. Too much to sit in some high-backed chair and throw his weight around, insulting people in the process. Kyle, you need to get a life. And while you're out finding it, I'll be out living mine.”

   I'm sure he felt a cool breeze as I slammed the door on my way out, but it could not have been as fresh as the air in my lungs as I grabbed my personals and left Bennett and Dobbs for good.

  
   There was something strangely satisfying about packing everything I owned inside my Honda Accord and driving off into the countryside. Besides the Nike T-shirt, khaki shorts, and Doc Martin sandals I had on, I stuffed nearly all my clothing in three duffel bags and stacked them in the back seat. The few items on wire hangers, which consisted only of four button-up shirts, I hung on a travel hook behind the driver's seat. I decided to leave the suits and accessories, since I had already experienced enough about Spiro to know that even in church the most casual attire was acceptable. And besides a few other miscellaneous items I felt I couldn't live without, like books and photographs, I abandoned the rest for Mom to deal with. 

   Breaking the news to her wasn't easy, and of course, according to her I was making one of the biggest mistakes of my life. Under different circumstances, having quit my job, I think she would have kicked me out of the house. But since I was leaving on my own initiative, everything was beyond her control and I sensed that this bothered her most. She asked me about money, wondering how I'd survive. I told her not to worry, that something would eventually work out. For God's sake, if she only knew. I'd never felt such pity for my mother before and it was not a good feeling, so the best I could do was give her a hug, tell her I loved her, and get on my way.

   On my way out of town I stopped at Amber's apartment. My initial approach to her came with guilt, because for some reason I made it sound as if I was breaking up with her. Her response came with a tone of laughter, reminding me that we had never made a commitment to each other so there was nothing to break off. This is what I liked about her. I told her that she was a great friend, that I valued my relationship with her and I didn't want any hard feelings. She hugged me and told me that I obviously had something very important going on or I wouldn't be doing it. Her support was priceless.

I arrived in Spiro a little before noon on Saturday, and as I crossed the bridge over Spiro Beach, I noticed some activity at the rodeo arena. There were only three vehicles in the parking lot: two pickups, one a yellow Chevy, the other a black Dodge connected to a lengthy cage-like trailer of the same color, and a red Ford Mustang. Curious, I drove into the parking lot and parked beside the Mustang then looked out into the arena. I hardly recognized Bella under the shade of her straw cowboy hat, but the Ford Mustang convinced me it was her.

   I got out of my car and leaned over the fence. Bella ran the horse at full stride, turned it around a large blue barrel, then another, then slapped each side of the animal's rump with what looked like a strap of leather and galloped toward the end of the arena. She ran toward a man who also wore a straw cowboy hat and held a stopwatch. He clicked the stopwatch as she ran by. 

“Sixteen and ninety-two!” He yelled.

   After she stopped and dismounted from the horse a man in a faded red cap took the reins from her, looked my way and nodded. She looked at me, and without looking away said something to him then walked to me.

   Besides the cowboy hat, she wore dark blue skintight jeans, a white long-sleeved western shirt and lace-up boots. She removed a pair of tawny looking leather gloves from her hands and slapped them against her thigh, emitting a small cloud of dust.

   “So is that a good score?” I said, along with a smile.

   “Not if I'm going to take money home,” she said in a frustrated tone, then glanced over her shoulder into the arena. “And in this oval there's no pressure of competition. No crowd or announcer to distract you.”

   “I see.”

   She looked back at me and offered what seemed to be a fabricated smile. “So how's the new job?”

   “Didn't work out.”

   “Oh—sorry to hear that.”

   “Don't be.”

   “So what brings you back here?”

   “I decided to take a little summer vacation.”

   “In Spiro?”

   “Why not?”

   “I'm sure there's more to do in Kansas City.”

   “Not in my mind.”

   “So what are your plans?”

   “Oh, one day at a time.”

   Now her smile seemed genuine. “I never thought of you as a guy without a plan.”

   “That is my plan.”

   “What is?”

   “One day at a time.”

   This made her laugh. “Whatever.”

   I enjoyed her laughter, and different than before, there was something enchanting about the way she looked. Not just in her clothes, which emphasized the trim contour of her hips and breasts, but in her natural beauty, distinct by the color of her skin, her long black hair, pushed behind her ears and held in place by her hat, and the brown irises of her eyes that seemed to hold me in submission.

   “Have you had lunch?” I asked.

   “No, are you inviting me?”

   “Now you have me all figured out.”

 

 

   We settled in a booth at Barny's, a small café and one of the few businesses still in operation on Spiro's Main Street. But despite the image of economic despair, Barny's seemed to be thriving. The café was long and narrow, bowling alley shaped, with a bar and several bar stools lining one side, a single isle of chrome legged tables and chairs in the center, and a row of dark green vinyl booths lined the other side. Like the booths, the cushions on the chairs and barstools were covered in dark green vinyl and nearly all occupied by hungry, cigarette-smoking customers. Framed photographs crowded the walls, several of various seasons of little league baseball teams, all wearing shirts with Barny's name screen printed on the front. And I wasn't surprised to see several rodeo pictures. I looked closely at one, recognizing Jettie standing next to a man in a black Barny's T-shirt and straw cowboy hat. The photo was inscribed, “To Barny, Best Wishes, Jettie Hodge, Old Fort Days Rodeo, May 29, 1992.”

A young, pregnant waitress brought us each a clear glass of ice water and silverware rolled in a white paper napkin. She greeted Bella by name and asked her how she was holding up.

   “It'll be a while,” she said, then nodded at me. “Tanya, did you know Jettie had a son?”

   Tanya's eyes rounded in astonishment as she looked at me.

   “Nice to meet you,” I said.

   She dug an ordering pad out of a pocket on her maternity smock, then smiled gingerly at me. “Oh, hon, don't feel bad.”

   “About what?” I asked.

   “It's okay to be a bastard child. This will be my second and its daddy done gone run off, too.”

   Bella slapped her arm. “Tanya!”

   “It's okay,” I said.

   “Oh, I'm sorry,” Tanya said. “I hope I didn't offend you.”

   “No, you didn't.”

   Bella quickly changed the subject and ordered a cheeseburger and fries with a Dr. Pepper and I ordered the same. Tanya scribbled down our order on the pad, then tore the page off and took it to a wide window at the end of the lengthy room and clipped it onto a stainless steel carousel along with several other order slips. A man in a white T-shirt with big hairy forearms grabbed the ticket.

   Bella lit a cigarette then gazed at me through the exhale of smoke. “I hope you don't mind my smoking.”

   “Suit yourself.”

   “I just started the day after Jettie died. It keeps me calm.”

   “Hopefully in time you won't need them.”

   She looked down at the smoldering cigarette lodged between her two fingers, as if she contemplated putting it out, but succumbed to it once again and took another healthy drag.

   “So,” she said through another vaporous exhale, “you're really going to spend some time in Spiro?”

   “That's the plan.”

   “So what are you going to do?”

   “I was hoping to spend some time with Jeremiah, and with you.”

   From the way her eyes smiled and glanced nervously away, I feared my request scared her.

   “Me?”

   “But if it's too difficult for you, I understand.”

   “I won't know until you ask.”

   “Okay. I want to learn more about Jettie. I want to live like he lived. Meet his friends. Travel the rodeo. Spend the whole summer here if I have to. Whatever it takes, I want to know who my father was.”

   “You're serious.”

   “I am, but if it's too hard, I'll back off.”

   “What do you want me to do?”

   “Just show me the life.”

   She nodded and tapped her cigarette into a clear glass ashtray, then studied my hair, my chest, then leaned over and looked under the table.

   “Is something wrong?” I asked.

   “Nothing that can't be fixed.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “If you're going to hang with me, we've got to get you in the proper attire.”

   “I have jeans, if that's what you mean.”

   “What kind of jeans?”

   “Levi, Tommy Hilfiger.”

   She laughed. “Won't work, cowboy.”

   “They won't?”

   “First of all, you got to have some boots. And if you're gonna be a cowboy, you got to wear Wrangler jeans.”

   “What kind do you wear?”

   “Some Wranglers, but mostly Lawman and they're just for ladies.”

   “So you're saying that all cowboys wear Wrangler jeans?”

   “No, not all of them. But most of them do.”

   “What did Jettie wear?”

   “I was afraid you'd ask that. He wore Levi's.”

   “Then that's what I'm going to wear.”

   “Oh, no, not another one.”

   “I want to experience life like he did. And if that means wearing the same kind of jeans, then so be it.”

   Tanya arrived with our order and laid the check next to me. Our burgers and fries heaped on pieces of wax paper spotted with grease, and tucked inside red, oval-shaped plastic baskets. Our Dr. Peppers nearly overflowed with crushed ice inside tall, white plastic glasses, with straws standing inside the mound of ice. “Can I get you two anything else?” Tanya asked.

   Bella shook her head and so did I. But suddenly I decided to ask her for an opinion.

   “Tanya?”

   “Yes, hon?”

   “What kind of jeans do you prefer on a cowboy?”

   This prompted a seductive smile. “Them Wranglers look pretty good, but it's hard to beat a cowboy butt in a pair of Levi's.”

   Bella cried. “Tanya, you are no help!”

   We both laughed as Tanya walked away. Bella put out her cigarette in the ashtray, then grabbed a bottle of catsup, patted on the bottom of the bottle and poured a glob into her basket. She handed the bottle to me and I did the same.

   “Seriously now,” I said. “You surely don't judge a cowboy by the type of jeans he wears?”

   “You sound just like your old man.”

   “I do?”

   “So many cowboys would spend themselves broke trying to look good in the saddle, when Jettie probably wore the same clothes for ten years.”

   “Was he tight?”

   “No, just practical.”

   “From the standpoint of an accountant, I can respect that.”

   She laughed suddenly. “I remember one time we were in Las Vegas for the National Finals, and we got invited to a party. It was at some well-to-do's fancy ranch out in the desert. I took Jettie to a shop at one of them casino hotels, and I told him I was going to buy him an outfit for the party. He always carried a pair of reading glasses in his shirt pocket, and he had to pull them out to have a second look at the price tag on one of the sports jackets I wanted him to try on.”

   “Was it expensive?”

   “Compared to J.C. Penney, it was outrageous. Jettie whistled and said, 'Ain't no way I'm paying six hundred dollars for something I'll wear once.' But I said he wasn't paying six hundred for it, I was, and to try it on or I was going to the party by myself.”

   “Did he do it?”

   “Oh yes, and I bought it, along with a pair of slacks, a hundred dollar shirt, and a new pair of ostrich skin boots. The whole getup cost over twelve hundred dollars and he looked fabulous.”

   “That is a lot of money for one outfit.”

   “Yeah, but you only live once.”

   “Did he have a good time at the party?”

   She laughed again. “He stood stiff as aboard all night, afraid someone was going to step on his boots or spill something on his coat. He was a hoot.”

   Her smile and laughter quickly faded and her eyes glazed with tears as she dipped a french-fry in catsup and took a bite.

   “Are you sure you can do this?” I asked.

   She swallowed and tried to cover her sorrow with a smile. “It won't be easy, but for Jettie, and his son, I can't imagine not doing it.”