Neighbors: A Novel Read online

  "Listen, you should see the watches and rings and cameras—" She lost her grin. "I guess they're all burned up now."

  Yes, thought Keese, so the story can't be checked. But the principle might well be valid, that Harry was instantly likable to most mortals. Keese was not really ashamed not to be counted amongst the herd, if so. An affection that required a bit more in effort would seem to be worth more.

  "Say, Ramona, where do you think he might be going?"

  "Harry? I don't know." Ramona smiled. "This is a big country, and it's wide open."

  "Of course, that's easy enough to say," Keese noted, "but in point of fact most people tend to move in patterns and act in rituals. And then a lot depends on one's profession: you'll find few cotton pickers in northern Minnesota, I'd say, or snow-shovel salesmen in Key West." He cleared his throat and said: "I see you're not going to bite. You're not going to tell me what Harry does?"

  "He doesn't like it," said Ramona with a straight face. "He wants to get into something more creative."

  "Does he have any special qualifications?"

  "Don't expect a little thing like that to stop him!" She shook her head. "If you knew Harry like I did—"

  "Won't you miss him?" asked Keese. "He really is an interesting guy."

  Ramona deliberated for a moment, and then she said: "It's time for a new phase."

  Keese was struck by her use of the term. He slapped his hands together. "You won't believe this, but I said the same thing just a few minutes ago to Enid."

  "There you are!" cried Ramona.

  He had begun to find himself at ease with her—which is more than he could say of his associations with either of his own women in recent hours.

  He rose from his seat on the bed. "You wouldn't be hungry, would you? I haven't eaten for a whole day."

  "Sure I am!" She jumped up and linked arms with him. "That's a terrific idea, Earl."

  "Oh, damn." He sagged. "Harry took my car, and his won't run. We can't go anywhere to get food. Isn't that lousy?" He shook his chin at her. "I tell you, Enid has always been a good wife, but she really has let me down starting yesterday. Imagine not having enough food on hand to make a decent dinner Friday night. I work hard all week. Now here it is, Saturday—" He looked at the little electric alarm clock on Elaine's bedside table. "—One P.M., for God's sake! Can that be right?"

  "We had a box of stuff," said Ramona, "but I guess it's been burned up. The spaghetti came from that, and the sauce and meatballs. There was also some oxtail soup and black bean with sherry and shrimp bisque, and cocktail franks and an aerosol can of that cheese that comes out like toothpaste and Argentine corned beef and frozen sukiyaki."

  "Makes me feel worse to hear that list," said Keese. "But there must be something in the fridge downstairs or the cupboards: raisins or anchovy paste or macaroni elbows, blanched almonds, bread-and-butter pickles, dry yeast, caraway seeds, or extract of vanilla."

  "Of course that's not really food."

  "Damn! Maple syrup, piccalilli, chili sauce, reconstituted lemon juice."

  "You're just tormenting yourself, Earl."

  "I was trying to find some edible combination or version of those items."

  "If you've got ketchup and hot water you can make tomato soup," said Ramona. "That's a free dish at a restaurant."

  "Or the old college thing of my day," said Keese. "Bread and butter, which used to be provided as soon as you sat down and picked up the menu, covered with the maple syrup that in many places was available all day long in its little metal pitcher with the hinged lid. Get it? French toast! Free."

  "Oh, yeah," said Ramona, "I guess you could actually toast the bread with a match."

  He was having a good time with this nonsense. Enid had been more receptive to that sort of thing when younger. Ramona was turning out to be a valuable addition to the household.

  "Well," he said, "shall we go downstairs and rummage around in the cupboards?"

  Ramona was all for it. Keese liked people, especially women, who were cooperative when it came to new ventures. They went down to the kitchen.

  "Now where's Enid got to?" he asked rhetorically. He wanted to see her reaction when she learned of Elaine's replacement by Ramona.

  Ramona said: "She went with Harry."

  Keese took this as a joke: he had not even put the question to her. He opened a cupboard door and found a jar of grated Parmesan cheese. "Hey," he said, "here's another free meal. In an Italian restaurant, see: those shakers of grated cheese on every table. Put on bread, with ketchup: pizza, right?"

  "Hey, yeah," said Ramona. She went to the neighboring cabinet and opened its door. "Capers? Stewed tomatoes? Cocktail onions? Sauce Diable?"

  "Damn," said Keese, "cornstarch isn't food, nor cream of tartar." He closed the doors. "We'll have to get Enid's help on this."

  "At least Harry said he was going to invite her along. If she's gone, that must be where."

  Keese thought about this for a moment, and then he said: "You should be flattered: you replaced them both."

  She replied without smugness: "Harry thinks a lot of me."

  "Hmm," Keese muttered. He staggered to a chair and sat down. "The full realization is just hitting me."

  "Would you like a drink of water?" asked Ramona, looking at him with concern.

  Keese said: "I don't mean to be rude."

  "I know that, Earl," she said. "You're a gentleman. I have always admired that about you. Fond as I am of Harry, I have to admit he's kind of a thug."

  "Oh, I wouldn't say that."

  "Uncouth, you know?" She cleared her throat. "Want me to go on looking?"

  "Huh?"

  "For edible combinations, you know?"

  "Oh," said Keese, "you won't find anything. I have that feeling."

  "Why don't I walk to town and get some food?"

  "It's three miles round trip," Keese said, "and on the return route you'd be carrying a load."

  "Can't you call a cab?"

  "God," he exclaimed, "you see how stupefied I am after all the surprises added to my lack of meals and sleep? Look in the phone book. There must be a taxi service, though when you live here you never use one."

  Ramona went to the counter near the wall phone, where the directory lay. "That's what I hate about the country," she said. "All the shit about cars." She lifted the book and began to leaf through the yellow section. "Haha! Greavy's Garage!"

  "What's that got to do with a cab?"

  "It's under the heading of 'Taxi Service.'" Ramona looked owlishly at him over the opened telephone directory.

  "That's in error," said Keese.

  "No," said Ramona, "it's listed right here. I'll call them."

  "No," cried Keese, "you must not. They are bad people. Perverts, degenerates, fiends. You don't want to ride in their cab. They will molest or maim you. They will beat you savagely."

  "But why?" Ramona grimaced in puzzlement.

  "Merely to exercise their love of wreaking mayhem," said Keese.

  "Do such people operate businesses that deal with the public?" she asked in disbelief. "How can they get away with beating up their customers?"

  "A good question," said Keese. He realized he had bitten off more than he could chew. "They can't. They don't actually have a taxi service. The listing is a hoax."

  Ramona's upper lip disappeared under her nose. "Really.? Well, why? What's the joke?"

  "They used to have a legitimate cab service, but they've given it up since that edition of the directory was published."

  "Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?" asked Ramona. "You have some ways that take getting used to, Earl." She smiled affectionately at him. "But you're sweet. And I suspect that it's really that you don't want me to leave even for as long as it would take to get some food. Now that's flattering."

  Suddenly she was on his lap, her hands snaking around his neck.

  Keese could feel himself blush so furiously that he pulled his face away, so as not to singe her. "I
had hoped I wouldn't have to tell you this," said he, "but I have a venereal disease."

  "So have I," Ramona said enthusiastically, not budging.

  "You think that's another ruse," said he. Actually he could feel the bones of her rump in an odd and uncomfortable way. His first motive for wishing her off him was to remove a cause of pain.

  "Come on, Earl."

  "I'm a deviate."

  "So am I."

  "All right, I'm not really."

  "Me neither."

  "You don't have to echo me, Ramona. It may seem ridiculous to you, but I can't simply jump into bed with you just like that, though I know I was provoked into doing so this morning. But I am in a state of calm at this moment." He gently dislodged her from his lap. "I could if I knew you better or on the other hand hardly knew you at all. Does that make sense?"

  "Sure," said Ramona, returning to her chair. "Like being madly in love or picking up a whore."

  "I suppose that's it."

  "We see eye to eye on every single detail," said Ramona.

  Keese pondered on this for a while, and found an exception to the rule. "But I must confess I don't really like dogs."

  "You mean certain kinds of dogs. Or certain dogs. Neither do I."

  She had nailed him, all right. Of course dogs in general were very likable. Only particular examples, shitting on one's lawn, snapping at one's ankles, were obnoxious. He had no pleasure in taking the ultimate step.

  "Forgive me, Ramona, but I don't like Baby."

  "Then everything's perfect," she cried. "Harry took him along too!"

  "Then there really isn't a living thing left at this end of the road but you and me!" Keese got up and ambled around the kitchen. "Makes you think, doesn't it?"

  "It's a big relief, for my money," said she. "Now only one style is needed. You don't have to placate the whole world."

  Keese stopped and looked at her. "You really can be eloquent, Ramona. I never heard it put that way before."

  "Not that I won't miss Baby!" she cried. "But I thought with Harry he'd have advantages he could never get out here with me."

  "I wonder how Harry will really get along with Enid and Elaine?" Keese asked of the air. To Ramona he said: "Strange, isn't it? It's all so goddamned strange."

  "Harry's one in a million," she said smiling.

  "I imagine he'll dominate them," said Keese. "That was his manner when sitting in this kitchen last night. He was very masterful. And they knuckled under—or at least pretended to. Enid claimed it was just courtesy, but I don't know."

  "Oh, Harry makes his wants known, but I'll say this: he doesn't hold a grudge."

  "I realize that," Keese said sheepishly. "He was pretty good about my blunders last night."

  A knock came at the back door. When Keese opened up he saw Perry Greavy, still in his fire helmet and carrying the special axe for fires, blade on one side, spike on the other.

  "You'll see smoke for maybe a couple days, and thell be live coals for a while, but theys nothing left much to burn. So it's safe enough unless the wind should blow up."

  Perry said all of this in a decent manner, and Keese saw no reason not to be civil in return. "Thanks. You fellows did one whale of a good job."

  Perry's piggish face, still clean, grew pink. (Obviously, despite the axe, he had not been in the thick of things.) "You're being sarcastic again."

  "Oh, come on." Keese sighed wearily.

  "It burnt to the ground, didn't it? So that was the good job we done, you—"

  Keese broke in before the vicious word (whatever it was) could be uttered. He shouted: "I mean, you saved my house by wetting it down, didn't you?"

  "Oh, that." Perry sneered at the ground.

  Keese had stopped him in his tracks. Now for the kill—But no! That was precisely the wrong way. No coups de grâce, not even a telling thrust. It was a new era.

  He put out his open hand. "I'm really grateful to you, Perry. I'll say more: we're all in your debt around here. You and your dad practically run the town."

  But Perry ignored the outthrust hand, and said surlily: "I could use a cuppa coffee after all that work."

  Keese retrieved his hand and put it at his chin. "By golly," he said ruefully, "we've got bouillon, but not any coffee."

  "Bullion?" Perry asked belligerently. "You mean tea?"

  "No," said Keese. "Beef broth."

  "You blowhole!" Perry cried with violent emotion. "Did I ask for soup?" He fingered the handle of his axe, as if he could hardly restrain himself from swinging it. "Don't have any coffee? They is nobody who don't have coffee, you skunk-dump you."

  "Who is that?" cried Ramona from behind. From her angle she could not see Perry. "And what does he want?"

  "Coffee," said Keese.

  "We don't have any. We only have bouillon."

  Keese turned back to Perry Greavy. "There you are," he said. "I'm telling the truth."

  Perry squinted malevolently at him.

  Keese rolled his eyes and turned. "Ramona, will you please step over here?"

  She arrived. Perry stared at her and actually licked his lips.

  "Got a cuppa coffee for me?" he asked.

  "No, I don't have anything for you."

  "Sure?"

  Ramona asked Keese: "Where'd you find this hillbilly?"

  "Honey," said Perry, "you got the mouth of a smart-fart."

  Keese leaned close to her and said: "Don't whip him up. He's a kook."

  Ramona shrugged and went inside. Perry hacked up a gob of vileness and spat it on the ground.

  "Say," he asked Keese, "where'd you find a whore like that out here?"

  "Don't talk like that," said Keese. "We're doing you no harm."

  Ramona returned. She held the largest butcher knife from the Keese kitchen. "Hey, rube," she said to Perry, "I'm gonna cut you." She seemed in ebullient spirits, grinning and waving her weapon.

  Perry lowered his axe. "I didn't mean anything."

  "You put the fire out?"

  "Yes, ma'am." Perry dropped the axe altogether and removed his helmet, holding it before his belly in both hands.

  "Then haul your ass out of here," said Ramona, "and don't come back unless there's another blaze."

  "O.K.," said Perry.

  "And don't forget," Ramona said. "You know why?"

  "No, ma'am."

  "Because I got your number," said she. She took Keese's arm and led him inside the kitchen, where she threw the knife clattering into the sink.

  Keese said: "You certainly took care of him."

  "I despise that type," said she. "No class. Now, where were we?" She scratched her temple. "Eat! We were thinking of how to get to town to get something to eat. Hey, we could hitch a ride with that asshole: he must have transportation."

  "Naw," said Keese, "that would make me uncomfortable. Besides, he might even now be planning a savage revenge."

  "Not him," said Ramona. "He's done, mark my words. I cooked his goose."

  "Is that right?"

  "It's the idea, see," she said.

  "Oh, yes?"

  "That's exactly it." She smiled at him.

  "Now I know your secret," said Keese. "So you can't use it on me."

  "Oh, you do, do you?" She put her hands on her slender hips and rocked back and forth, producing a Santa Claus laugh: "Hohoho."

  He found himself liking her immensely. Now that they were alone, just the two of them at the end of the road, what had previously seemed disagreeable about her, perhaps even warped, now appeared as robust, freewheeling in the good sense, and above all, generous.

  "You haven't worn your turban for a while," said he.

  "Better with or without?"

  "Without, I think, but I like it with a lot too."

  "Elaine swiped it from me," said Ramona.

  "Uh-huh," said Keese. "I'm afraid that's her problem." He lost at least some of his good humor. "It is certainly an obstacle in her path to achievement."

  "I think she wanted to imperson
ate me. That's the real reason I let them take Baby."

  "He goes with the turban?"

  "Well, it's a style," said Ramona. "You know."

  "Sequences are all-important, too," Keese pointed out, "and timing in general."