Ugly Behavior (2 page)

My father came up behind me while I was reading the story. I
looked up at him and he said, “You want to know why.”

I nodded.

He gazed out our back window at miles of desert with saguaro that
seemed somehow too upright, and closer to the house than I remembered them.
“It’s just the sky,” he said. “And the dark nights, those distant mountains,
the heat. That’s always been, I think, at the heart of it.”

Tommy showed up at the ranch around the second week of August.
“Hey, Babe. It’s your sugar daddy!”

Sadly enough, the heart does go pitter patter at times like these.
I remember seeing him there in a white dress shirt and tight jeans, leaning on
the door jamb with one arm, his legs crossed to show off some rich leather cowboy
boots. If I were younger I’d think that pitter patter meant true love. But I’ve
come to realize that, at least for me, it was just the anxiety spawned by the
attraction to someone bad for you. Of course my first thought was where did
this New Jersey boy get those boots? Either he conned a woman at some bar to
buy them for him, payment for services rendered, or he’d just stolen them
outright. My second thought was how much he looked like James Dean standing
there, and of course there was nothing accidental about that. He loved the
movies as much as I did, and he knew how to duplicate a pose. I’d seen him do
it in front of a hundred different mirrors.

“How’d you find me?”

“What? No ‘Hi, how are you, it’s great to see you, I’m glad you
took the time to come all this way?’ That’s hurtful.”

“We broke up, remember?”

“I know. It wasn’t my idea, exactly, but I was there. Doesn’t mean
we can’t still be friends. You know I’ll always be there for you, babe. You’re
just that important.” He stepped forward, his arms out.

“Tommy, no.”

“Just a hug, girl. I swear, that’s all.” So I let him hug me. I
didn’t hug him back; not knowing what else to do, I patted his shoulder.
“That’s nice,” he crooned. Cheesy, but I can’t swear it didn’t work.

I know I shouldn’t have allowed the familiarity, the pretense that
we’d ever been or would ever be anything approaching friends. I have no
legitimate defense, but he was always one of those guys it was hard to give a
final “no” to. It didn’t matter what he did, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
It’s crazy, when I think about it now, and hard to explain. It’s just that when
I was with him, especially after a long absence, it was hard to believe he
wasn’t exactly who he pretended to be, who I wanted him to be.

He let go of me and walked inside before I could bring myself to
say anything. I was surprised to see him, after all, but I know I shouldn’t
have been. I made myself ask again, “How did you find me, Tommy?”

“You know, this place is great,” he said, looking around, picking
up things and putting them back down, touching the pictures on the walls. “Is
this one of your old man’s?” he asked, running his finger down the naked image
of a woman in one of my dad’s favorite oils, a present from an old friend who
died when I was just a girl. It was a beautiful piece of art, and seeing
Tommy’s finger on the exposed paint sent me into a panic. But before I could
say anything he removed his finger, examined it as if for rubbed-off color, and
said, “No, of course not. It’s too normal, right? But I can see why he likes it
out here. It’s small, but it’s neat, and nobody to bother you, right? Nobody
dropping by? You should have explained this place better, Babe. I always
thought it was pretty lame, him living all alone out here like he was. But now
I can see, I can appreciate why he’d like it so much. Hell, I’d like it here,
too.”

“Tommy, how did you find me?”

He looked at me, wiped the smile off with the back of his hand
like it was something dirty. “Now don’t be that way, Mary. I wanted to see you.
I wanted to visit you. I care about you, Mary. Why don’t you understand that?”

My alarm bells were going off, for all the good it did me now.
Before when my Tommy alarms went off all I knew to do was run. But out here I
didn’t have any place to run to. All that was left was to try to mollify him.
“It’s just that we’re pretty hard to find out here,” I said. “Even when you
know where you’re going. Daddy wanted it that way.”

“Daddy.”
 
He laughed.
“I don’t hear a lot of grown women using that word, Mary. That’s a little
girl’s word. I know the old guy is a very smart man and all, a genius, right?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, I just got me some real good directions.
That’s all it takes, Mary, good directions. It’s not like this place is top
secret or anything. You know, it’s not even that special, whatever your dad may
say.”

“You talked to my mother.” No question, there. It was the only way
I could think of that would have gotten him here.

“I told her I was trying to make things right with you again. She
wanted to help out.”

“You got her drunk, didn’t you?”

“She’s a very friendly lady, not stuck up like the rest of the
family, who seem to think they’re better than everybody else on the planet.”

“Jesus, Tommy, you didn’t sleep with her, did you? Tell me you didn’t
sleep with her!”

Tommy kept walking around the room, looking at things, touching
things, as if he was doing inventory. He wasn’t looking at me, and he was doing
that thing with his mouth he always did, that thing that looked like a smile,
but he always said it wasn’t a smile, it was just an expression. “You know, I
don’t know what you want from me. You’ve never taken the time to really
understand me.”

“Mary, you didn’t tell me we had company.” I felt myself go rigid,
holding back a wave of anxiety that threatened to overwhelm me. My father had
never met any of my bad choices before. It was as if the two halves of my life
were suddenly, dangerously colliding, and I was powerless to stop it.

I thought that if I were just a healthy person, a strong and mature
woman, I could say, Dad, this is Tommy. He isn’t supposed to be here. He’s
followed me out here from New Jersey and if he stays in character he’s going to
cause us a lot of trouble, because that’s what he does. He’s dangerous—I
think you should call the local police immediately.

That’s what I wanted to say, but knew I would not. In fact, just
the thought of saying those things made me tremble. I thought my trembling
might be noticeable, given the odd way my father was looking at me.

Instead, I told him, “Dad, this is… my old friend Tommy. Tommy, my
dad.” I kept thinking about something my dad once said. Something like,
politeness doesn’t get us what we need, sweetheart. In fact, worst come to
worst, it might even get you killed.

“Pleased to meet you, sir!” Tommy was half-way across the room,
offering my father a handshake. I saw my father hesitate, glancing at Tommy’s
narrow, long-fingered hand as if it were a scorpion. Then he took it, his wide
palm practically covering it, as if he were shielding me from it.

Tommy looked at my father’s hand over his own, a glimmer of
surprise showing in his face. Obviously my old man wasn’t quite what he’d
expected. He pulled his fingers out of Dad’s grip. Then he grinned, forcing a
recovery. “Anyway, it’s a real honor. Mary’s told me so much about you, I
practically feel like I know you already.”

Dad nodded. “I understand. It’s odd, though, that she’s never told
me anything about you.”

“Why, Mary, I’m surprised,” Tommy said, exaggerating his
expression. “You’re not keeping us a secret are you?”

I couldn’t believe this. Did he get away with this crap? Well, of
course he did. He used to get away with it all the time with me.

My father gazed directly at me with that appraising look of his
that had always made me so uncomfortable. And so angry. He could end this
charade now, if he wanted to. He could get rid of Tommy just like
that—I’d seen him do it with uninvited fans and unwelcome
salesmen—and that’s all Tommy was: my uninvited fan, my unwelcome
salesman. My father had no patience with things interrupting his day, unless
they were carefully planned interruptions. It had never been that easy for me,
getting rid of what got in the way.

“Then you’ll have to stay for dinner,” my father said.

Of course it was a test, like hundreds of other tests he’d
concocted for me since I was a little girl. But I wasn’t a little girl anymore,
and he had no business. The three of us shared an awkward meal of stew and
biscuits during which my father asked simple, straightforward questions, and Tommy
provided elaborate, self-aggrandizing answers, much more than was needed for
the conversation at hand.

“So you think you might like to settle down around here?” he asked
Tommy, but looking at me, measuring my reaction. I made myself lock eyes with
him, attempting to show no emotional involvement whatsoever, and naturally,
failing.

“Well, I’m seriously considering it, sir,” Tommy said, his mouth
full of biscuit. Then he looked up at my father with these big, brown,
puppy-dog eyes, his “sincere” look, and I cringed. You can’t seduce my father,
you idiot, I thought. “I’ve always believed that change was good, you know?
Without change, things would just stay the same all the time, and that can’t be
good, can it? Unless what you had before was so good you’d be a fool to change.
You know what I’m getting at?”

My father stared at Tommy silently for a moment, then said, “Yes,
Tommy. Yes, I believe I know exactly what you’re ‘getting at.’”

“I know you’re a smart man, successful and all. I just want you to
know how much I respect you, and of course, respect your daughter. I know she
and I have had our differences of late, and I want you to know I realize that
was completely my fault. I take full responsibility, and I intend to make up
for every disrespectful thing I did in regards to her. Of course, she’s a
little stubborn.” Tommy glanced at me, making a stupid little, insincere smile.
It was an incredibly awkward moment. When no one reacted, Tommy went on. “And
that’s a good thing, a sign of character, is the way my saintly grandmother
would have put it. I certainly wouldn’t want to change that. I just wanted to
ask you sir, as a man of the world, a great artist, a successful man, if you
think there might be a place for one such as myself, out here in all this beautiful
country? It’s such a rare opportunity, my getting to meet such a great man as
yourself, I hope you don’t mind, I just couldn’t pass up a chance to get your
valuable advice.”

My father turned and looked at me, smiled. He waited, obviously
wanting me to say something, but I wasn’t about to open my mouth. He turned
back to Tommy. “I believe, Tommy,” he said, “that there is a place, and a
function, for everyone. There’s an old bunkhouse behind the house. It’s not
much, but it is shelter, and I’ve always found it, peaceful. Feel free to stay
there until you find your own place, your own function.” He looked at me again,
not smiling. “My daughter will show you the way.” I thought I was going to
scream, but I didn’t even open my mouth.

I remember walking fast through the weeds and cacti, angry, out of
breath, hoping to discourage Tommy from saying anything. He stumbled at my
heels, and that gave me great satisfaction. “Hey…” I ignored him.

I didn’t know who I was angrier at: this creep Tommy, for coming
here, playing his old numbers in a place where no one was going to be fooled by
his playing, or my dad, punishing me for not taking a stand, treating me like a
school girl in need of basic training. And, as much as I couldn’t stand Tommy,
I hated the way my father had played him—it felt like a direct insult to
me. And it was so typical of my dad. When I was a kid I thought that kind of
behavior meant he thought he was better than everybody else, and I hated him
for it. It took years, but I finally saw that he had the utmost respect for
honesty, integrity, hard work. He just had an unusual intolerance for
everything else.

“Hey, wait!” Tommy grabbed me and twirled me around. “I came all
this way, your dad likes me, for fuck’s sake, he invited me to stay here, so why
aren’t you
talkin
’ to me?”

I turned my face up, thinking to spit at him, and found myself
swallowing the bitter taste because of the look in his eyes. Because somewhere
along the way, between the time I had escaped him back east and now, he had
changed, he had taken a turn for the worse.

He pressed his lips so hard against my mouth I could feel his
teeth under the skin, hard and sharp and barely contained. “I love you, Mary,”
he growled from way down in his throat, “I really do.”

I struggled, but I was too scared to struggle much. He held me
tighter, firmer, and I couldn’t breathe. He growled some more, from somewhere
deeper than his throat, and inside the anger I could hear him crying. And I
still don’t quite understand why, but I kissed him back, even as I tried to
push him away.

Before I left him that night, after showing him how to turn on the
lantern, how to pump the water with the rusted old handle, where the extra
blankets were, where my father stored the reading materials he’d have no use
for, he called me from the ratty old bunk where we’d been lying together and
said, “Your bedroom’s out on the end, other end of the house from ‘Daddy’s.’”
It wasn’t a question.