Previously in the book: West Texas farm boy Harley Sadler brought entertainment to farmers on the High Plains during the 1920s and 30s, sharing his good fortune with those who needed a helping hand. He lost his show during the Depression, and his daughter Gloria died in the 1940s. He and his wife Billie settled into a frugal existence in their retirement years.
The years passed swiftly now for Harley and Billie. Their theatrical engagements became fewer and fewer apart. Being away from the spotlight did not bother Billie much. If she could not look her best at all times she did not want to be seen at all. Harley, on the other hand, drew energy from the laughter and the applause. His body required it as much as he needed food and water.
No one wanted to pay Harley to perform but he gladly put on a free show to benefit a hospital, school or orphanage. Most of the time he brought his Toby costumes and make up kit. A crick in his hip hampered a smooth exit from his car, and he limped up the stairs. When the lights came up, however he skipped lightly around the stage, sang a silly ditty in full voice, every lyric distinctly delivered. Harley bowed graciously to strong applause. He accepted a large cardboard check for one hundred dollars, in his name to whatever charity the show supported. Then he limped back to his car and went home.
Needless to say, his friends and neighbors continued to elect him to the Legislature which only convened for six months every two years. The salary barely paid for his living expenses when he was in Austin. He relished every time he took the floor to promote his newest cause. Walking down the pink granite steps of the Capitol would take an hour because tourists always wanted to have their photos taken with him.
Back home in Sweetwater, he enjoyed strolling the downtown streets on a busy Saturday afternoon with Billie, wearing her finest attire, on his arm. Of course, if a derelict in a nearby alley caught his eyes, Harley walked to him, pulling out his wallet. Billie skillfully guided him back to a waiting fan. They no longer had the money to be as generous as they used to be.
Their lovely home had been a refuge from the realities of living in a world that was slowly forgetting them. Then the Sweetwater city council passed a zoning variance which allowed a funeral home to be built down the street from the Sadlers. Rumor had it that the mayor’s brother-in-law was behind the deal, and he made a bunch of money from it. No matter. It was law now, and before Harley and Billie realized it, funeral processions were a regular occurrence. They stared out the front picture window and shook their heads.
“It’s as if God is mocking me,” Billie said through tears.
“It’s not God’s fault, dear.” He patted her shoulder.
She pulled away and wiped her nose. “I know.” Billie smiled ruefully. “I have to blame somebody.”
“I tried to stop it but I guess legislators don’t have much pull in matters like this.”
“I know you tried.” She sighed looking out at the cortege. “It’s the third one this week.”
Perhaps it was just as well they could not afford the maintenance on a big house. At least they did not have to see the hearses every day. Billie consoled Harley when they moved into their one-bedroom apartment. She did not have to spend so much time cleaning. Eventually, by 1954, finances degenerated to the point she had to take a job as a clerk at Woolworth’s. She used to buy knickknacks there all the time between big shopping sprees to Dallas.
As she stood behind the counter she considered herself in the large mirror on the wall. Older, yes, a little worn around the edges but she could see the remnants of her glory days as a theater beauty. And her posture was still good, a positive indication of internal dignity.
“Mrs. Sadler?”
The mature woman’s voice shook Billie from her self-revelry. When she turned back to the counter, she froze. Before her stood a grown-up Louise Bright. This was the child who looked up to her and wanted to be like her. Now Billie was just another old woman working as a clerk to pay the rent on a one-bedroom apartment. She forced a smile on her face.
“Why, Louise Bright, how nice to see you.”
“I’m married now.” She smiled. “Mrs. George Sorenson. I have—two children.”
“How wonderful for you.” Billie knew that she also could have been a grandmother of two if Gloria had only lived. She told herself not to think such thoughts. They always made her sad and made it easier to for her to drink again. Her eyes went down to the counter. “Will this be all?”
Louise handed her a tin of headache powders. “Yes. My husband and I are traveling and he came down with a headache so we just stopped by.”
“This is a good product,” she interrupted, rushing through the conversation, afraid she would break down in tears. “I’ve had the worst toothache lately and haven’t been had the time to go to a dentist so I’ve been using these powders.”
“Mom and Dad retired to Florida,” Louise said. “How is Mr. Sadler?”
“He’s a state senator.” Billie took the opportunity to brag some. “He’s active in the oil association even though he’s really not in the oil business anymore. Not since we—lost—quite a bit back in forty-eight.”
“Does he do any shows?” Louise asked.
“He does benefits all the time.”
She smiled. “How wonderful. He always loved to put on a show.”
“That will be fifty-nine centers.” Billie wanted the encounter to end.
Louise handed her a dollar and said as she always did to all clerks without thinking to whom she said it, “Keep the change.” She suddenly looked stricken, realizing what she had done.
Billie stiffened, quickly made change and handed it to Louise. “No. Please.” Her tone was soft, desperate.
Fumbling with the coins, Louise took a moment to put them in her purse and snap it shut. She grabbed the bag with the headache powder tin, keeping her eyes down. “Well, I hope to see you again. Sometime. Take care.”
“Yes.” Billie wore a tight smile. “Good seeing you again.”
Louise left quickly. Billie watched her disappear out the door and down the street. Turning back to look in the mirror, she saw pain etched across her face. Her posture slumped as she felt the last of her dignity seeping away.