At the roadhouse, more hangers-on appeared, including four women with the rouged look of whores. Carl squeezed into a spot at the bar, awaiting his chance. Barney bought drinks for his crowd, polishing off three whiskeys with little apparent effect. The advance man started a stud poker game, and Barney’s wife drew up a chair to watch. In another corner the whores clapped and cheered for men shooting dice on their knees. Carl saw his opportunity, walked up to Barney, and offered his hand.
“Can I talk to you a second? My name’s Carl Crown.”
“Hey there, Carl Crown. You know me—Barney Oldfield.” Up close, Barney’s eyes had a filmy, not quite focused look. Both men had to speak up because of the noise.
“I sure do,” Carl said. “That was a great performance this afternoon.”
“Why, thanks. Enjoyed it myself.”
“I thought for a minute that the National might not run.”
“You kidding? We loosen a spark plug lead ahead of time so these magic fingers can fix it.” Barney showed the hand with the glittering rock. “They love it.”
“I’ve driven some races around here,” Carl said. “Is there a chance I could get on your team?”
Barney eyed him up and down. “Tell you another little secret. Fellas who drive for me don’t win unless I order it.”
That answered his question earlier. “Well, I wondered. It would be okay with me. I just want to get out of Detroit and drive full-time.”
“Sure you know what you’re doing? I can’t count the times I’ve crashed. Anytime you race, you’re liable to wind up with a head full of stitches, or a leg sawed off, or a neck broken. Webb Jay wrecked his Whistling Willy steamer last year, twenty-seven fractures and a brain concussion. He may never get out of bed. It isn’t a game anymore, it’s a blood sport. The crowds want wrecks. They want to see you bleed and die.”
“I understand the risks.”
“Then if you’re not scared out of your drawers, you must be born to do it. Got a job right now?”
“Yes, at Ford.”
“Family?”
He didn’t answer right away. “No. But there’s—”
He stopped, aware of someone shouting Barney’s name. At the tables and along the bar, people swiveled to look at a man standing in the middle of the sawdust floor. A haggard man, wearing a suit that would have done credit to an undertaker. He had a hot-eyed look.
“Barney Oldfield,” the man said.
Barney leaned back against the bar, resting on his elbows. He gave the stranger a bleary smile. “You have the advantage of me, pal.”
“James Marble. South Bend. I accuse you of having an assignation with my wife at the railroad hotel the night after your exhibition.”
Barney considered the charge for about two seconds, then waved. “You’re all wet, pal. Who told you that fairy story?”
“My wife. After I beat it out of her with my belt.”
Softly but audibly, Bess Oldfield said, “Oh, my God.”
“Bess honey,” Barney said without looking at her, “this bird’s loony.”
The haggard man trembled and sweated. Men near Carl began to edge away. He heard one of the bartenders moving behind him. James Marble stabbed a hand into his coat, came up with a blued revolver. He aimed to the left of Barney.
“Hands above the bar, you. Reach for anything, I’ll blow your head off.”
Barney pushed Carl, then the man on his other side. “Get clear, boys. I don’t want anyone hurt because of some drunk’s half-baked fairy tales.” Carl stepped over in front of a threesome at a table. He stood rigid, the backs of his legs against an empty chair. Everyone was motionless except Marble, who shuddered continually. Layers of cigar smoke coiled under the tin-shaded lights.
“Fairy tales?” Marble said. “Everybody knows your reputation. You’re a dirty lecher who corrupts other men’s wives.” He swung the blued revolver suddenly, aiming it at Bess. She covered her ears and ducked.
“You took that tramp to bed before—”
“You shut your fucking mouth. Bess was a respectable widow.”
“—before you divorced your first wife. Well, you’re all through.”
Barney was sweating as heavily as Marble. He rubbed his left hand against his shiny cheek; the knockout diamond flashed.
“Marble, let’s cut a deal. Let’s you and me step out that door and discuss it. I don’t want that gun to go off and hurt any of my friends.”
“They get it after you get it,” Marble screamed. He clutched the pistol with both hands to steady his aim. At that moment Carl grabbed the empty chair behind him and hurled it. The chair caught Marble at his knees, making him stumble. Barney dove to the floor. Marble’s pistol went off, but the bullet clanged on a tin shade and ricocheted harmlessly.
Men from Barney’s team swarmed on the floundering man, ripped the gun out of his hand, knocked him down, pummeling and kicking him. Marble stuck his rear in the air and propped himself on his elbows, protecting his head. Barney’s advance man kicked him in the side.
“Awright, let the poor slob alone,” Barney said, pulling them off. “Someone haul him out of here and tie him up and call the sheriff. Bess, you all right?”
“I’m all right, Barney,” she said, shaken. Still, she was looking at him with a strange expression.
“Come on up here, have a drink. Everybody have another drink, the drinks are on Barney. Sorry for the fracas,” he said to the three bartenders. He handed five dollars to each. While the crowd swarmed to the rail, Barney approached Carl.
“You saved my ass, kid. Got a quick head on you. Do you drive the same way?”
“Well, I try.”
“Tell you what. I’ll be all over the map this summer, but in August I know I’ll be in Indianapolis to open the new motor speedway. I think my second driver, Red, may leave me about July. His wife’s got a loaf in her oven. If he does leave and I haven’t filled the opening, I’ll try you out.”
“I’ll find you. Thanks.”
“No guarantees, understood?”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Good, that’s the game we’re in, taking chances. What’s your name again?”
“Crown. Carl Crown.”
“Carl. Got it.” Barney cocked his thumb like a pistol and shot him. “Step up and have a drink on Barney Oldfield.”
30. A Desperate Call
Carl leaned in the doorway, in his nightshirt, wakened by loud knocking. Mrs. Gibbs stood there, with a candle set in a dish. It burned so dimly, her head seemed to float bodiless in the dark.
Carl knuckled his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Half past four.” Tuesday, two days after he’d met Oldfield. “Not a decent hour for anyone to be calling a respectable household.”
“Calling?” His voice was fogged with sleep.
“Some female on the line says it’s an emergency. Mrs. Wallauer ran over from next door and woke me up.”
“Good God,” Carl said, alert suddenly. “I’ll go right over.”
“Put a coat on, you’re not decent,” the landlady cried, but he was already thumping down the stairs.
Mrs. Wallauer was a tiny woman with moles. She handed him the earpiece and retired a few steps down the hall. Carl turned his back, wondering. Had his mother or the General died suddenly?
“Hello?”
“Carl, it’s me. I can’t talk long.”
“Tess. What is it?” He heard a tremor in her voice. Something dire had happened.
“I wanted to wait until tomorrow, but I couldn’t sleep, I’m too upset.”
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I can’t go into it now, I’ll tell you in the morning. I’ll pick you up at half past eight.”
“Tess, it’s a workday.”
“Give them an excuse. Call in sick.”
The little boy raised with stern German rectitude kicked and squalled. “I’ve never lied to get a day off.”
“Well, aren’t you a saint? Aren’t you
just wonderful? Do you give a damn about me or not?”
“You know I do.”
“Half past eight.”
With a click the connection broke.
He hung the earpiece on the hook. A noise behind him reminded him of Mrs. Wallauer. “Something bad?” she said, with an ill-concealed hopefulness.
Bewildered and scared, he looked at her. “Yes. Yes, I think so.”
Tess arrived in the red Clymer fifteen minutes early. By the time Carl ran out the gate, cloth cap in hand, she’d moved to the passenger side. He was in such a rush, he’d barely remembered to button his suspenders onto his pants.
He opened the door, stepped on the running board, horrified by the sight of her—cheeks raw from weeping, eyes like blurs of watercolor in larger splotches of shadow. She wore a tan driving duster and a broad-brimmed hat held under her chin with a red silk scarf. She was kneading her hands in her lap. He’d speculated about her monthly female complaint but decided it had to be something far more serious.
“Where do you want to go?”
“Out in the country. Anywhere.”
Ducking his head so as not to bang it on the top, he shut the door, grasped the wheel. “Did the woman on the telephone raise the devil about my call?” she said.
“It doesn’t matter, she knew it was an emergency. Did someone hurt you?”
“Not physically.” She closed her eyes; it squeezed tears onto her cheeks. “Just drive.” He’d never seen her this way. She was always so strong and sure.
He negotiated the busy morning traffic, heading west across Woodward and out to the northwest along Grand River. The air in the Clymer was stuffy, and he unsnapped a side curtain. Tess stared ahead through the windscreen.
Two miles past the city limits the brick pavement ended. The Clymer lurched along a more typical road—essentially sand, with deep ruts. Sunburned men worked in bean fields, pea patches, apple orchards. Tess roused a little, opened the curtain on her side. Carl was aware of the bounty of the countryside, maples and sycamores and cherry trees budding, wildflowers blooming, birds warbling, a jackrabbit jumping across the road in front of them chased by another.
He saw a track leading off through the tall grass of a fallow field and wheeled the Clymer into it. He braked and shut off the engine.
“I can’t wait any longer, Tess. What’s happened?”
“Let’s walk.” She left the car, blinked in the sunshine. He felt the warmth of the earth around them. She threw her duster on her seat, took her hat off but left the red silk around her neck like a long, bright banner. Hand in hand they walked up the track toward a willow grove. Without looking at him she began to talk.
“It happened last night. After supper. Father asked to speak to me in his study. I thought it was something unimportant, but he shut the doors and I knew it wasn’t. He said Wayne had been pressing him about marrying me.” The hackles on Carl’s neck rose.
“Father said he thought Wayne would be an ideal catch and I should say yes. I told him I couldn’t possibly. He said my feelings didn’t matter; in this I’d have to bow to his wishes. We argued for ten or fifteen minutes.” The strain in her voice, the little stumbles and dead spaces between words, told him she’d found Lorenzo Clymer a determined opponent whose will wouldn’t be denied, not even by a modern, free-minded woman.
“I said I didn’t love Wayne. He said it didn’t matter. It was what he wanted, for my own good, and I’d recognize and appreciate that in a few years. That’s when—” Amid the tall grass bending over the track, Tess held his hand tightly. The morning breeze from the north blew her white blouse against her breasts.
“That was when my strength gave out. I was hysterical. I told Father no, I wouldn’t ever marry Wayne. I told him I’d marry you and no one else.” A spasm twisted Carl’s belly.
“Father leaned back in his big chair and just stared at me. You would think I’d said I wanted to marry a leper. He said he couldn’t believe that I was so willful and stupid. I said I wouldn’t talk about it anymore, he had my answer.” She dabbed her eyes with her free hand.
“I’m afraid I was pretty much of a wild creature by then. He was like stone. I knew he and Wayne must have conspired together. He said we’d talk about it when I came to my senses. He ordered me out, just like some clerk. That was about nine o’clock. I couldn’t sleep. Once I called you I felt better. I dozed off and woke up around seven. Father had already left the house. That’s the whole pathetic tale,” she said with a smile that lacked heart. A noisy crow flew over the sunlit track, sailing up into the sky dotted with small white clouds.
“What do we do, Carl?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.” He’d never been so deeply involved with a woman before, or loved one the way he loved her. Jesse’s words about a lifetime of responsibility haunted him.
Tess found his hand again. “Come on, let’s sit in the shade and rest. I’m worn out.”
“God, I can imagine.”
Among the budding willows they came on a slow-moving brook. Carl sat down facing it with his back to a tree trunk. Tess cuddled against him, wrapped in his protecting arm like a child. The rounded ball of his right thumb rested against her warm cheek. Her outstretched legs lay touching his. The bow of her blouse had come undone; the ends lay between her round breasts. He held her and hoped he was comforting her with his presence; he wasn’t a sophisticated person, didn’t know the right words. The creek flowed over rocks, making a faint sound like paper rustling.
“Carl, do you love me?”
“More than anything.”
“Make love to me.”
“Tess—”
She struggled to her knees, her skirt riding up her legs; he could see her black stockings. She put her palms against his face and brought her mouth near his.
“There’s no one to see, no one for miles. Please.” She kissed him, her lips open, her tongue finding his. He grew stiff tasting her mouth, smelling the sweet warmth of her hair, her skin.
He slid his hand under her arm, touched her breast. Through her blouse and whatever undergarments she wore he felt her nipple. She leaned back, pulled the blouse buttons with her right hand. He took her wrist.
“I ran out of the house fast, like it was burning down. I didn’t bring any safes.”
“I don’t care. I love you. We might never get another chance. Please.”
They looked into each other’s eyes. Feeling like a diver stepping off a cliff above a deep, dark ocean, he reached under her skirt and fumbled with her stockings.
They made love twice more before noon. Then Tess looked at her small gold wristwatch. She said perhaps they’d better return to the city. Carl said she could drop him near the factory if she didn’t mind; he’d tell them he felt better, work a half day. He didn’t know what this latest turn in their relationship signified. Didn’t know what she’d want because of it.
A part of him had no regret about what had happened in the willow grove. The lovemaking had been consuming, shattering—wonderful. At the moment he’d readied himself to thrust in the first time, he asked the essential question. No, she said, she’d had one lover before him, when she was eighteen. The affair had lasted an entire summer. He needn’t fear causing her pain.
She let him out in front of a small cigar store a block from the Ford plant. She seemed herself again, seated at the wheel, her hair more or less arranged, her clothing too. The sun in her dark blue eyes made them sparkle.
“Carl, believe me, I didn’t set out to seduce you.”
“Let’s have none of that. My God, I’ve wanted it ever since I met you. I just don’t know what we’re going to do. I have to think.”
“Plenty of time for that.” She caressed his face. “I won’t marry Wayne, but I’d never force marriage on you.”
With a smile that reminded him of their first meeting, she drew the red silk motoring scarf from her neck, reached above him, and draped it over his shoulders.
“My shining knight on a gasoline cha
rger. There’s a token so you don’t forget me.”
“Forget you? I love you, Tess.”
“Shall we plan on Sunday?”
“What about a picnic on Bois Blanc island? I’ll telephone.”
“No, all the servants recognize your voice now. They might tell Father and I’d rather avoid another scene. I’ll meet you at the Wayne Hotel, outside the roller-skating pavilion. I’ll bring the lunch basket. Eleven o’clock?”
“Perfect,” he said. “I love you.”
She kissed her fingertips and touched his cheek. She worked the clutch and drove away, passing an oncoming truck laden with barrels that bore a familiar crown emblem. Carl stared at the delivery truck as it crossed the intersection within six feet of him. It was like the hand of God, or the hand of Joe Crown, reaching down at that fated moment to remind him of things like duty, decency, the honor of womanhood. He didn’t know what to do, except talk to Jesse. Ask his advice. Right away.
A black boy sweeping out the cigar store watched Carl curiously. The boy saw a stocky white man with a troubled look and a red scarf blowing in the spring air as he trudged away toward Piquette Avenue.
31. Savagery
If you’re this shining knight like she told you, don’t you suppose you got to rescue her?” Sitting on a keg, an oily rag in his hand, Jesse watched Carl. A coal oil lantern lit the shed. Cigarette in hand, Carl paced back and forth, back and forth, laying heel prints one over another.
Carl hadn’t found Jesse until this evening, Wednesday. The night before he’d waited two hours on Jesse’s front porch, but Jesse never came home. Turned out he was meeting with other men from the foundry, pondering how to force an answer to the petition for a vote on a closed shop.
Carl dragged on the hand-made cigarette. “Yes, it’s up to me,” he agreed. He’d told his friend about Clymer’s ultimatum to Tess and her reaction. He said they’d discussed it on a drive in the country, but he said nothing else.
“You got any ideas about that?”