Mescalero Apache had limited his opportunities. Johnny had been bright enough to branch into business, and from there to politics. He was now Senator Whitehorse, married, with three kids—all boys—and there was buzz of his running for president before the end of the decade. During Brandon 's trials and tribulations over the Marcella fiasco, Johnny had been the only one of his peers to call and offer not only his support but his law expertise.
"I really loved Dark Night in Jericho . I heard you did all your own singing. Is that true?"
"I feel like I'm being interviewed by Rolling Stone. Could we talk about something other than me?"
She shrugged and reached for a stick of Big Red. "The girls at Wal-Mart didn't believe me when I told them you asked me out."
"You asked me out, Charlotte ."
"Oh. Yeah, I guess I did. Oh, well, it doesn't matter. We're together, huh?" She gave him a tight smile and unwrapped a second piece of gum. "I have a surprise for you," she said as she chewed.
Brandon didn't much care for the sound of that. The last time someone declared "I have a surprise for you," Emerald Marcella had whipped out a pair of handcuffs and a torture device.
He flipped his ashes out the window and, with a sigh of relief, fixed his gaze on the Dairy Queen in the distance. Dusk was just settling, and the lights on the big red DQ sign were just sputtering to life. A dozen or more cars had already congregated in the parking lot. He wondered if maybe they shouldn't get their food to go. The idea of strolling into the burger joint arm in arm with Miss Yamboree made him a little nervous.
Charlotte hit the directional signal and turned left on Highway 59, away from the Dairy Queen.
A flush of color crept from beneath her tank top as he turned to look at her. "What are you doing, Charlotte ?"
"I told you; I have a surprise for you."
He looked down into the sideview mirror and watched the DQ sign disappear as they rounded a bend in the highway. "Where are you taking me?"
"It's—"
"I know: a surprise."
She nodded, again with the tight smile that looked disconcertingly like guilt. By now the hot color had crawled up her neck and was bleeding onto her cheeks. "I figured you'd be more comfortable someplace more private. So I packed us a picnic dinner." She thumbed toward the backseat. Turning, he noted the foam cooler and paper sack from Piggly Wiggly. "I hope you like fried chicken," she said.
Sinking back into the seat, Brandon watched the countryside slide by as daylight waned. The relief at not having to make an appearance at the DQ was surpassed only by his hesitancy over Charlotte 's surprise. If he was smart, he'd demand that she take him home immediately; that was the rational part of his brain thinking. Unfortunately, it was another part of his anatomy that had an armlock on his reasoning at the moment.
He glanced again at Charlotte 's legs, noted that she wasn't wearing hose. He'd never cared for the overt, choosing instead to direct his attention to the more wholesome sort—discounting Marcella, of course, but that had been nothing more than a romp brought about by curiosity and too much booze. He'd never cared much for casual sex, perhaps because of his own disgust with his mother's promiscuity. Not that he hadn't had his stupid moments. Seeing Mitsy Dillman today drove that point home with a vengeance. As Henry had pointed out throughout Brandon's coming of age, you better be damn certain when you climb into bed with a woman that you like her looks enough to want to gaze into her face for a long, long time, because if you knock her up, you're going to be spending the rest of your life paying for it one way or the other.
That had happened twice. First with Mitsy. At seventeen he had not had a lot of say in the decision that was quickly made by his mother, who financed Mitsy's abortion.
The second time with an up-and-coming actress he had dated just short of a year. He had already won his Oscar. She wanted
"I really loved Dark Night in Jericho . I heard you did all your own singing. Is that true?"
"I feel like I'm being interviewed by Rolling Stone. Could we talk about something other than me?"
She shrugged and reached for a stick of Big Red. "The girls at Wal-Mart didn't believe me when I told them you asked me out."
"You asked me out, Charlotte ."
"Oh. Yeah, I guess I did. Oh, well, it doesn't matter. We're together, huh?" She gave him a tight smile and unwrapped a second piece of gum. "I have a surprise for you," she said as she chewed.
Brandon didn't much care for the sound of that. The last time someone declared "I have a surprise for you," Emerald Marcella had whipped out a pair of handcuffs and a torture device.
He flipped his ashes out the window and, with a sigh of relief, fixed his gaze on the Dairy Queen in the distance. Dusk was just settling, and the lights on the big red DQ sign were just sputtering to life. A dozen or more cars had already congregated in the parking lot. He wondered if maybe they shouldn't get their food to go. The idea of strolling into the burger joint arm in arm with Miss Yamboree made him a little nervous.
Charlotte hit the directional signal and turned left on Highway 59, away from the Dairy Queen.
A flush of color crept from beneath her tank top as he turned to look at her. "What are you doing, Charlotte ?"
"I told you; I have a surprise for you."
He looked down into the sideview mirror and watched the DQ sign disappear as they rounded a bend in the highway. "Where are you taking me?"
"It's—"
"I know: a surprise."
She nodded, again with the tight smile that looked disconcertingly like guilt. By now the hot color had crawled up her neck and was bleeding onto her cheeks. "I figured you'd be more comfortable someplace more private. So I packed us a picnic dinner." She thumbed toward the backseat. Turning, he noted the foam cooler and paper sack from Piggly Wiggly. "I hope you like fried chicken," she said.
Sinking back into the seat, Brandon watched the countryside slide by as daylight waned. The relief at not having to make an appearance at the DQ was surpassed only by his hesitancy over Charlotte 's surprise. If he was smart, he'd demand that she take him home immediately; that was the rational part of his brain thinking. Unfortunately, it was another part of his anatomy that had an armlock on his reasoning at the moment.
He glanced again at Charlotte 's legs, noted that she wasn't wearing hose. He'd never cared for the overt, choosing instead to direct his attention to the more wholesome sort—discounting Marcella, of course, but that had been nothing more than a romp brought about by curiosity and too much booze. He'd never cared much for casual sex, perhaps because of his own disgust with his mother's promiscuity. Not that he hadn't had his stupid moments. Seeing Mitsy Dillman today drove that point home with a vengeance. As Henry had pointed out throughout Brandon's coming of age, you better be damn certain when you climb into bed with a woman that you like her looks enough to want to gaze into her face for a long, long time, because if you knock her up, you're going to be spending the rest of your life paying for it one way or the other.
That had happened twice. First with Mitsy. At seventeen he had not had a lot of say in the decision that was quickly made by his mother, who financed Mitsy's abortion.
The second time with an up-and-coming actress he had dated just short of a year. He had already won his Oscar. She wanted
Similar Books
