in the car. Then we’d drive to Cape Hatteras and I could go surf-casting for sea bass for a couple days while she went on up North and answered the phone. Then back to New York, peeping at keyholes, striking up barroom acquaintances, and reading about the latest electronic devices in Security. And not sweat nights about Moran.
But I’d already spent close to three thousand bucks. It would be too embarrassing telling Parrish I’d changed my mind, sorry, I’d pay him back over the next few months. Well, definitely by the end of the year. And then I’d be stuck with two cars — when one is a big enough headache to park in New York.
I knew what Parrish would do. He wouldn’t yell. He’d just listen. He’d say, “Okay. Pay me back when you can, Mr. Dunne.” And he’d hang up. He’d sort of despise me for the rest of his life. But then you don’t hire a man who’s thought about your offer first for twenty-four hours, agrees to it, spends three thousand dollars of your money, and then expect to like him when he welshes. The mere thought of Parrish’s quiet contempt made me flush.
We rolled into Fayetteville at three in the morning. Very few towns are appealing at that time, and most American cities are way down at the bottom of the list. It looked cold, locked up, hostile. We stopped at the Greyhound Depot. Twenty-minute rest stop.
All I had to do was to walk out with my baggage. I went into the station and had a cup of coffee that was an insult to my stomach and my intelligence. Ten minutes to go. Ten minutes to change my life. And what swung it was that coffee. It was so bad I took it personally. Because it suddenly occurred to me that when this Parrish job would be over, I’d never have to drink lousy coffee at three A.M. in dead little towns in the piny woods again. Never.
I got on the bus and was asleep before the driver started her up.
We got into Jackson at eleven the next morning. I checked the Kim and suitcase at a locker and walked on over to the post office, whistling and swinging my attaché case. People were walking far more slowly than they do in New York, and several of them nodded to me pleasantly. General delivery had a letter for me. From Mrs. Harold Wilson, 412 South Magnolia, Okalusa.
Dear Hal,
Welcome to Dixie! I rented a nice little second-floor furnished apartment for sixty-five dollars. The house belongs to a decaying couple named Garrison. The phone is 516. Phone me when you get this letter and I’ll put on an award performance at the bus station like I promised.
(Mrs.) Harold Wilson.
I phoned her right away.
A soft voice said, “Yes?”
“Mrs. Garrison?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Harold Wilson, and I — ”
Instant warmth. “Oh, you’re her husband! I declare! We heard so much about you an’ the wonderful thing you’re goin’ to work on down here! She’s been pinin’ for you somethin’ dreadful. You jus’ hold on now an’ I’ll get her for you quicker ’n you can say Jack Robinson! Don’t go ’way now, y’ hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Kirby must have started her performance as soon as she hit the city limits.
“Sugar?”
“Hi, Kirby.”
“Darlin’! Jus’ get in? I found the most delightful place I ever did see, an’ I know you’re jus’ gonna love it!”
“I gather the landlady is standing right next to you.”
“Yeh-uss! I feel the same way about you, honey! I love this lil ole town, evvabody’s been so nice an’ friendly an’ all!”
“Can you cut it short?”
She wouldn’t. She went on and raved about the town park with the bandstand and the flowers planted all around it and the swimming pool. She said the grocery man was so nice and so was the boy at the gas station who checked her steering and suspension and found she needed an idler arm and he put it in and he charged her just for the labor and nothing at all for the inspection, and he adjusted the carburetor and timing and didn’t charge nothing at all because she told him I was
But I’d already spent close to three thousand bucks. It would be too embarrassing telling Parrish I’d changed my mind, sorry, I’d pay him back over the next few months. Well, definitely by the end of the year. And then I’d be stuck with two cars — when one is a big enough headache to park in New York.
I knew what Parrish would do. He wouldn’t yell. He’d just listen. He’d say, “Okay. Pay me back when you can, Mr. Dunne.” And he’d hang up. He’d sort of despise me for the rest of his life. But then you don’t hire a man who’s thought about your offer first for twenty-four hours, agrees to it, spends three thousand dollars of your money, and then expect to like him when he welshes. The mere thought of Parrish’s quiet contempt made me flush.
We rolled into Fayetteville at three in the morning. Very few towns are appealing at that time, and most American cities are way down at the bottom of the list. It looked cold, locked up, hostile. We stopped at the Greyhound Depot. Twenty-minute rest stop.
All I had to do was to walk out with my baggage. I went into the station and had a cup of coffee that was an insult to my stomach and my intelligence. Ten minutes to go. Ten minutes to change my life. And what swung it was that coffee. It was so bad I took it personally. Because it suddenly occurred to me that when this Parrish job would be over, I’d never have to drink lousy coffee at three A.M. in dead little towns in the piny woods again. Never.
I got on the bus and was asleep before the driver started her up.
We got into Jackson at eleven the next morning. I checked the Kim and suitcase at a locker and walked on over to the post office, whistling and swinging my attaché case. People were walking far more slowly than they do in New York, and several of them nodded to me pleasantly. General delivery had a letter for me. From Mrs. Harold Wilson, 412 South Magnolia, Okalusa.
Dear Hal,
Welcome to Dixie! I rented a nice little second-floor furnished apartment for sixty-five dollars. The house belongs to a decaying couple named Garrison. The phone is 516. Phone me when you get this letter and I’ll put on an award performance at the bus station like I promised.
(Mrs.) Harold Wilson.
I phoned her right away.
A soft voice said, “Yes?”
“Mrs. Garrison?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Harold Wilson, and I — ”
Instant warmth. “Oh, you’re her husband! I declare! We heard so much about you an’ the wonderful thing you’re goin’ to work on down here! She’s been pinin’ for you somethin’ dreadful. You jus’ hold on now an’ I’ll get her for you quicker ’n you can say Jack Robinson! Don’t go ’way now, y’ hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Kirby must have started her performance as soon as she hit the city limits.
“Sugar?”
“Hi, Kirby.”
“Darlin’! Jus’ get in? I found the most delightful place I ever did see, an’ I know you’re jus’ gonna love it!”
“I gather the landlady is standing right next to you.”
“Yeh-uss! I feel the same way about you, honey! I love this lil ole town, evvabody’s been so nice an’ friendly an’ all!”
“Can you cut it short?”
She wouldn’t. She went on and raved about the town park with the bandstand and the flowers planted all around it and the swimming pool. She said the grocery man was so nice and so was the boy at the gas station who checked her steering and suspension and found she needed an idler arm and he put it in and he charged her just for the labor and nothing at all for the inspection, and he adjusted the carburetor and timing and didn’t charge nothing at all because she told him I was
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