Oh, she said, looking around, nice; fancy. What in god’s sweet name is that?
She was pointing at a portrait on the wall above the fireplace.
It’s a portrait, he said.
Of what?
Of me.
Pancho snorted.
Take my hat, she said. Make sure you hang it up; don’t just toss it down someplace. Cost me two hundred bucks.
For a hat? he said, looking it over in his hands before hanging it on a peg by the front door.
Hey, I didn’t drive all this way for a lecture on my financials. I brought you something.
She handed him a wrapped paper package.
It’s sure good to see you, he said.
Knock it off, would you. My ass is killin me, sat in that car so long.
You drove straight here?
Hell no, dummy; I got friends all along the border.
Harrison pulled open the paper. Inside was a framed photo of her, him, and Ridley, leaning against the bar of the Happy Bottom Riding Club.
Pancho, he said. I love it.
Don’t go gettin all mushy on me, she said, it’s just a goddamn photo. Where’s Grace?
Pancho started toward the kitchen, muttering about the decor. He followed her across the living room, through the empty kitchen and into the dining room.
Well if it ain’t the prettiest bunch of people I’ve ever seen in one place, she said.
Grace jumped up and hugged her hard.
Good to see you too, kiddo, Pancho said.
Let me introduce you to everyone, Grace said. Harrison caught his wife’s eye and smiled.
I gotta take a piss first, Pancho said. I been squeezin so hard since San Antonio I think I pulled a goddamn muscle.
Gracious, Louise said.
Rene’s eyebrows arched; Borman laughed.
I’ll show you where the bathroom is, Harrison said.
Why? You gonna watch? Pancho said.
Come on, he said, moving her toward the door.
Jeez Louise, he said as soon as they were alone. Tone it down a bit, would you?
What’s the big deal? Pancho said. Those tight-asses could do with loosening up.
You don’t even know them, he said.
I’m right though, right?
Harrison didn’t say anything.
Ha!
This is gonna be a hell of a night, he said. What was Grace thinkin?
She wanted to have a real woman at your birthday party, Pancho said.
It’s not a party, he said.
It is now, she said. Now, where’s the john?
Pancho told stories all evening. The men laughed and the women frowned at the men; Harrison couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his wife so happy.
How’s business anyway? Harrison said to Pancho as Grace cleared the table.
Goddamn FBI launched an investigation after some weenie lieutenant wrote General Holtner a letter sayin he’d paid one of my girls for sex—accused me of runnin a whorehouse! I’m filin suit against the U.S. government. Never run away from a fight in my life, Pancho said, and I sure as shit ain’t about to now.
Uh, Pancho, Harrison said, trying to avoid looking at Rene and Louise.
I told the FBI, Pancho continued, if I was really runnin a whorehouse, they would’ve found out about it in a couple of days, not the fourteen weeks it’s taken them to find out not one goddamn thing!
That’s terrible, Marilyn said.
Sure is, honey, Pancho said. The fellas are gonna have to find someplace else for sex now.
Who wants coffee? Grace said, appearing in the doorway. There was a show of hands.
These stories are so fascinating, Louise said, but perhaps we could tone them down a little, or maybe talk about something else? This is a dinner party after all!
The atmosphere around the table stiffened.
I’m sure glad you said that, Pancho said. Tell you the truth, I’m havin a helluva time cleaning these fucking stories up.
Louise blushed and Grace said, do you all know who her grandfather was? Thaddeus Lowe, father of the damn air force—invented aerial reconnaissance; scouting Confederate positions in a balloon for Lincoln himself!
Okay, honey, Harrison said.
He built the Mount Lowe Railroad—that’s why it’s called the Mount Lowe Railroad!
Yeah, Pancho said, but all he had left when he died were his Civil War medals, a couple of gold-headed canes, a sword, a pistol and a watch—and one lousy share of stock in the Pasadena Land and Water Company. He was a smart man; genius even, hell of an entrepreneur; goddamn terrible with money. After the funeral, all in all, we owed seven hundred bucks.
Nobody knew what to say, even Harrison, but Pancho lit one of her tencent cigars and told them about the time she yelled at John Wayne for interrupting her lunch.
That night, in bed, Harrison said, boy, that was a lot of fun.
Grace pulled off her dress and smiled at him in the low light.
Happy birthday, she said.
Come to bed, he said.
She kicked her underwear onto the floor and slid in next to him.
I’m cold, she said.
He pulled her onto his chest.
I thought Louise was gonna have a stroke when Pancho started on about the whorehouse, he said.
Grace laughed. I can’t believe she’d rather stay above some bar downtown than here, she said.
Well, her and this Blackie Rowan go way back, apparently.
Don’t doubt that.