The Texas Twist Read online

  Allie wagged her finger at Radar in a conscious imitation of Sarah. “I don’t think so, Mr. Morality. I think you’re more worried about her than ever.”

  “That’s nonsense,” said Radar. “Look, she’s obviously self-destructive, so let her self-destroy.”

  But he was seriously starting to wonder if he could.

  Sweetheart Scam

  Vic Mirplo is giving a seminar.

  “We now come to the sweetheart scam,” he says. “This one’s been around forever. All it takes is falling in love, and that’s not hard. If you’re older, you’re particularly vulnerable. There can be a knock at your door and isn’t it a winsome young thing looking for a certain address? You help her find it—apparently amiably so, because she delights in your company, and the next thing you know she’s sharing hers in bulk. And when she tells you about her brother’s can’t-miss business venture, you’re right there with a loan. Why not? It’s what you saved for, right? To spend on what you want when you’re old? And if she wants it, you want it, too. But she’s got other relatives, and soon you’ve bankrolled them too, to the tune of your life savings, liquid assets, real property, and convertible goods. By then you’re a coconut husk, and then she just throws you away.

  “Ladies, don’t think this can only happen to vain old men. No one’s immune. Everyone has holes in their guard, and if yours are lightly defended, any snake of a charmer can slither in. The male version comes equipped with proposals of marriage, and trust me, these are well worn. He may have wives all over; by now he probably does. Their stories will all have the same sad refrain: ‘He started out so loving, so caring, so there for me when I needed him. And when he needed me back, of course I was there, too. Why would he be ashamed of borrowing money from me? That is why he left, right? Guilt? Right? Gosh, I’d love to see him again.’

  “I know what you’re thinking. This could never happen to you because you’re way too smart for all that. Maybe. Then again, maybe it already happened and you didn’t know. Are you saying you never fell for a line from a mooch? Sometimes it’s hard to tell where a real relationship ends and a scam begins, especially if you’re not motivated to look that hard. Any time you’re too polite or too scared or too conflict-avoidy to tell someone to buzz off, you’re being exploited, which is to say conned. If it’s your sister or your kids or your mother-in-law, that just means they’re keeping the business close to home. Why not? They’re in the market for a mark, and if you’re right there handy, why shop anywhere else? Psychologists dress this transaction up in pretty clothes. They call it codependency and enabling. Really it’s just a scam.

  “But make no mistake: Anyone who cold-calls your phone or knocks on your door, ten times out of ten they’re on the make. They’re doing construction work in your area? And they have roofing materials left over? Isn’t that swell? Sure is—till the first time it rains. They’re selling magazine subscriptions to support the glee club? How come that lad has a five-o’clock shadow? Shadow him for a while, you’ll see: no magazines; no glee; no club; no compunctions whatsoever about plucking such cash as he can from the likes of you and your accommodating neighbors. Even the off-ramp panhandle bum dines out on your gullible kindness. That wheelchair? That wheelchair is a prop.

  “You should be glad that they don’t come at you with small arms or strong arms. Usually you can fend them off with a good, firm no. But get good at saying no. Otherwise get good at being broke.”

  Okay, it wasn’t a seminar, per se. It was just a volunteer talk at a senior center, Mirplo the munificent giving back to the community, giving oldsters some weapons of self-defense. The seniors seemed to like it—so much so that they bought twenty advance copies of a book that didn’t exist.

  When Vic got home, the first thing he saw was the familiar sight of Allie crashed out on the couch. This had been her pose all week: facedown in a patch of her own drool. Apple cores and candy wrappers stood silent testimony to the awesome power of progesterone to make her eat, then sleep. Radar sat at the end of the couch, idly rubbing her feet. Upon seeing Mirplo, he rose silently and walked with Vic back to Vic’s room. Once they were settled, Radar asked, “Why is Ames here?”

  “For Sarah’s money,” said Vic. “So far as we know.”

  “So far as we know. I was just thinking, here we are, you, me, and Allie, playing citizen, acting all normal, and now there’s another one of us parked just down the way? That seems like a coincidence.”

  “A coincidence and a half,” agreed Vic solemnly. “Maybe three quarters.” Coincidences had crossed their paths before. More often than not they turned out to be not. “You think he’s here for us?”

  “The thought should cross our minds,” said Radar. “He’s being pretty sticky, and I don’t think Sarah so much came around as got sent around to see us with her harebrained scheme. I see puppet strings. And the puppet show ain’t over.”

  “That’s pretty interesting, Radar, but can I just say it’s one thing to know Adam’s on the razzle and another to think he’s coming after us. We have no evidence of that but coincidence. It’s not…what’s the word?…disposative.”

  “Dispositive,” said Allie. She stood in the doorway, wiping sleep from her eyes. “Vic means he thinks you’re looking obsessed.”

  “Tell me I’m wrong to be,” said Radar.

  Neither of them could.

  The next day, Radar encountered Adam in the building lobby. Another coincidence? Radar had no reason to think otherwise, until Adam frankly admitted that he’d been trying to cross Radar’s path. When Radar asked why, Ames said, “Sarah and I wanted to invite you to dinner. You and Allie, of course. And the other one? Vin?”

  “Vic,” said Radar. “Thanks. I’ll take it up with the troops.”

  “No, look, seriously, Thursday. And let’s consider it on. I still get the feeling you don’t quite trust me. I’d like you to get to know me. You’ll see that I help people. If you were in trouble, I’d help you.”

  For some reason it was a platitude too far, and Radar suddenly found himself blurting, “Cut the crap, man. I know who you help.”

  If Adam was affronted by this, he didn’t let on. He merely said calmly, “If you mean I make money, okay I do. But the bottom line is, I define myself through service.”

  “I’ll bet you do.” Radar looked Ames in the eye. He saw no guile there, yet no honesty either. “You know what?” said Radar. “Thanks for the dinner invitation. I think I can speak for the others. We’re gonna pass.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “What did I do to earn your disapproval?”

  Radar opened his mouth, closed it, turned, and walked away. He imagined if he glanced back, he’d see Adam looking outraged, or maybe perplexed, but he didn’t look back. He knew that a good chunk of a con artist’s power lay in the mark’s unwillingness to say no. By playing the affronted innocent, you could often shame folks into giving you what you want, even get them to take actions against their own interests. Marks, as a rule, don’t like to be rude. But Radar was no mark. He had no problem being rude. He just wished he hadn’t lost his cool. Ames now knew that Radar had his true measure, and that was a card that Radar couldn’t unplay.

  He hoped it wouldn’t come back to haunt.

  Cortisol Surge

  The weather stayed sour, with soaking, heavy mist and rain, low gray skies, and fog that froze into hoar overnight. Radar endured two grim days of it before donning his bright orange nylon waterproofs and driving over to Canyon View West to grind the hills. These hills were not at all challenging if he stuck to the contours of the roads and paths, so he chose guerrilla ascents instead, leaving the fastidiously blazed community trails and bounding up through the shrubs and sere grass. His feet pounded on the hard-packed sand, the suctioned rubber tips of his New Balance 940s gaining just enough traction to propel each next stride. Today the ground was wet and the surface sand had clumped into patches of slippery grit, but no matter. He
attacked each hill hard, surrendering himself completely to the rhythm of the run, to the unity of lungs and limbs, and then to that sweet release at the top, where he would stop and subside and slide down into the full endorphin bath. Though this part of West Austin wasn’t much to look at, and the crappy weather conditions hardly made for postcard panoramas, as Radar walked back and forth on a low summit, regaining his breath, he swallowed the available beauty whole. He felt alive and he felt blessed. He couldn’t wait for the baby. Milliner? He thought. Milliner Hoverlander?

  No. Too flowery.

  Radar burned up the hilltop blacktops in a long loop back to Toro Canyon Road and the tiny trailhead parking lot where he’d left his car. When he got there he saw that it had been joined by a blue Score, the Song compact hybrid so popular with the reusable-grocery-bag crowd. Just as Radar realized that he recognized the car, the driver got out under an umbrella and ran at a crouch toward him.

  “God, there you are. I’ve been waiting so long. How far do you run?”

  “Sarah, what are you doing here?”

  “I needed to talk to you, duh.”

  “So you followed me?”

  “That’s right.” Her voice quivered. “Radar, I think I might’ve made a mistake.”

  “Great, now what?”

  “Don’t take that tone with me,” said Sarah. “I feel bad enough as it is.” She shuffled back and forth in the rain, hunched under her umbrella. “Can we get in your car, please? It’s nasty out here.” Radar made no move to open a door. “Fine,” she pouted, “have it your way.” Yet she moved in close, sliding the lip of her umbrella just above his sweat-steaming head. “So what I did, I kind of told Adam about you. How on the level you think he’s not.”

  “That’s no big deal. He knows it already.”

  “Really? Oh, Radar, I’m so relieved. I was afraid I spilled the beans.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  “I don’t know. I thought it would help us outsmart him somehow.”

  “Us? We—” Radar thought of a dozen different things to say, but instead just walked around to the driver’s side of the car and beeped open his door. “Goodbye, Sarah.”

  “What, you’re just going to drive away? Is that even civilized?”

  He looked at her over the top of the car. “Look, I can’t, okay? You’re making bad choices and I can’t be a part of it. I’m sorry if you think I belong in your life, but I don’t. I’m over here. You’re over there. Okay? Goodbye.”

  She threw down her umbrella. It rolled and blew halfway across the road. She didn’t move to retrieve it. Instead, she walked with purposeful strides to Radar, snaked her arms around his neck, and kissed him quite directly. He broke away at once. Almost at once. “This can’t happen,” he said.

  “It already kind of is, don’t you think?”

  “No.” He got in his car and drove off, watching in the rearview as she fetched her umbrella and stood under it, forlorn, in the rain. Damn, she was sticky. She and Adam both. What the hell was going on?

  When he got home, he found Allie lying on their bed, her shirt pushed up under her breasts, contemplating her belly.

  “How’s that going?” he asked.

  She ran her hand over the faintest of curves. “Well, it’s not nothing.”

  “You know what? It’s everything.” He came over and kissed her. She drew him down on the bed beside her.

  “How was your run?”

  “Solid. The end not so good.”

  “How so?”

  He told her about Sarah, sharing the details of their brief chat and, after a beat’s hesitation, also its tawdry conclusion. “I kissed her,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “It shows all over your face. You were never a tough read to me, Radar. You still aren’t.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I know you: If you’ve got something to say, you’ll say it.”

  “You’d just wait for me to fill you in?”

  “As you’re filling me in now, yes. And that’s called being an adult. But if she kissed you, I know you couldn’t help it. Radar, you have a weakness for strong women.” She propped her head up on her elbow. “Hence, me.”

  “Sarah’s not strong.”

  “She’s strong enough. Needy and strong. That’s her superpower, being naïve. But I don’t think she’s as naïve as she looks. She’s into you, blatantly so, but she’s also thinking things through. She’s playing you kind of like.…” Allie’s voice trailed off.

  “Like you did when we first met?” said Radar.

  “Well, yeah. Like I said, you have a weakness for strong women. But hang on.…”

  “What?”

  “Have you done the math, bub? If she’s playing you like I did, and I played you for a mark, then—”

  “Holy smoke, I hadn’t thought of that. Sarah’s in the game?”

  “Or maybe she just wants to bonk you.” Allie moved in close. “I want to bonk you.”

  Radar said, “I don’t get you. I just told you I kissed another girl.”

  “And I told you you couldn’t help it. Now come on, you can’t help it with me either.”

  They made love, and in the languid afterspace, Radar laid the length of his body against Allie’s and drifted off to sleep. If the thought of Sarah’s kiss entered his head, he kicked it right back out.

  They napped until suppertime, then collected Vic and walked down to eat at Abel’s on the Lake. The place was packed to the rafters with students from the nearby University of Texas, there to watch their beloved Longhorns play basketball on Abel’s many projection TVs in its many dining rooms and bars. It took some aggressive scouting on Vic’s part to find them a small, round pedestal table in a crowded corner of the main saloon.

  Radar teased Allie with the menu. “Want some fried pickles, hon? Specialty of the house.”

  “Ugh,” said Allie. “No, thank you. That phase is over.” She scanned the menu, then stabbed at an item triumphantly. “I’m having that,” she said. That was Abel’s Famous Fumbler, and Allie read its description aloud with great gusto. “Chicken-fried steak topped with applewood smoked bacon, cheddar-jack cheese, and jalapeños, served on a sweet sourdough bun.”

  Phase not quite over, Radar thought.

  While they ate, Radar asked Vic how the book was coming along.

  “Not bad,” said Vic. “I lined up a publisher.” Radar and Allie exchanged looks. “What?” he said. “I sent out some emails. Some people said yes. Why not?”

  “Why indeed, Vic,” said Radar. Not for the first time, he admired his friend’s ability to turn nothing into something. It was a talent he hoped his child would have. A child that he suddenly knew, or thought he knew, would be a girl.

  When he voiced this thought, Allie laughed out loud. “How the hell do you know that?” she asked. “Psychic ultrasound?”

  “I just know,” said Radar. “I’m that tuned in. It’s part of my pregnancy voyage.”

  Allie gawked at him. “Your pregnancy voyage?”

  “Hey, I told you you weren’t going through this alone.”

  “Oh, this is too easy,” said Vic, prepared to take notes. “Please, Radar, do tell us all about your pregnancy voyage.”

  “Women think just because they carry the babies, it makes them theirs. And yes, on the level of hormones, weight gain, labor pain, I guess they’re right. But men have hormones, too. Six weeks in, our fight-or-flight reflex peaks. It’s called the cortisol surge. I’m on alert now, see? I’m sensing the baby coming.” He waggled his fingers in a hocus-pocus gesture. “I’m seeing into the future.” But then he took both of Allie’s hands and said seriously, “Right now I feel a hundred percent sure we’re having a girl. Maybe I’m wrong, but it’s what I’m feeling now, and lover, if I’m feeling it, you’re hearing about it. And if you’re feeling something, I want to hear about it, too, and that’s what I mean by sharing this thing.”

  Be
fore Allie could respond with either I love you or that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, Mirplo looked past her and said, “We’ve got company.” The others looked and saw Adam and Sarah fighting their way through the crowd toward them.

  “I just had a thought,” said Radar.

  “Another cortisol surge?” asked Allie lightly.

  “Laugh if you want.” He nodded toward Adam and Sarah. “I think they’re about to jettison Jonah.”

  “What?” asked Allie. “Why?”

  “They don’t need him anymore. They’ll make up some kind of excuse to send him away.”

  “Oh, now Jonah’s in the game, too?” asked Vic.

  “Why not? His whole disease could be a fake. Brain affliction? With symptoms that you manifest as you see fit? I could’ve pulled off that stunt at his age, no sweat.”

  Adam and Sarah reeled up, hand in hand, drinks in hand, sheets to the wind, two lives of the party. “Hey, you guys!” chirped Sarah. “What are you doing here?”

  Allie looked down at her plate. “Eating ridiculous food.”

  “And yet you won’t eat ours.” She turned to Radar. “Adam told me you turned down his invitation. I’m here to say that won’t do. I need us all to be friends, Radar.” Her alcoholic haze seemed momentarily to lift as she braced him with her liquid blue eyes. “I need us all to know exactly how friendly we are.” The implied threat—don’t make me tell Allie we kissed—was not lost on Radar, nor of course Allie. She squeezed his hand to communicate that she’d back any play he made here, so he bowed gracefully to the pressure of her invitation.

  “Then friends we shall be,” said Radar. “Thursday. We’ll bring wine.”

  “Great,” said Sarah. “I knew—”

  Whatever Sarah knew was lost just then in the roar of the crowd as the UT basketball team did something wonderful on every TV in the joint. “Yeah!” shouted Adam, as rabid as any alum, “Hook ’em, Horns!” He looked at Radar and the others and said with a shrug, “Just trying to fit in.” He put his arm around Sarah’s waist and gave her a pixilated kiss. “Got a feeling I’ll be sticking around.” Sarah murmured her approval and they smooched off into the crowd.