West Texas farm boy Harley Sadler had a great career in a traveling tent show, playing the comic sidekick Toby. Even though his lost his money during the Great Depression and suffered the loss of his daughter Gloria, Harley and his wife Billie decided to give going on the road with a show one last try.
Billie relented, and in a few weeks they were back on the road with a show. It was that not bad, actually. They did not have to be responsible for the bookings, billings and paychecks. All they had to do was show up for promotional appearances and the plays. Billie handled the books for the nightly ticket sales. Harley had time to try wildcatting again. He just couldn’t stay away from the gambling.
Not surprisingly, crowds gathered to see Harley Sadler as Toby again. It was the only happy memory from those difficult times. Even if Toby were years older than the villain. Some audience members were too young to appreciate what Harley represented. They found the situation on stage funny, but for the wrong reasons.
“Gosh, he sure is gettin’ old,” a young man whispered to his date.
“Yeah, he looks kinda silly dressed up like that and tryin’ to act young,” she agreed derisively.
The loyal farmer, who first came to Harley’s show when he was courting his wife, turned to glare at the young couple. Yes, Harley was old. The farmer was old. And one day that young couple would be old too. It was what happened if you did not die young.
Harley amazed at least most of the audience with his agility and exuberance on stage, but as soon as he cleared the curtain line he collapsed in a chair placed there for him. He gasped for air. Sam Bright walked up in work clothes with a clipboard under his arm. He was the director now. A little thick around the middle, he no longer played heroes or villains. He handed Harley a glass of water.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
Harley drank the water and panted. “Fine.” He peered through the curtain at the actor playing the hero, David Bodie. “He’s not trouping.” Harley shook his head. “Let’s troupe! Let’s troupe!”
By the time Toby and Susie Belle were due on stage, Harley had sufficiently recovered to pretend to be an energetic young man courting his young lady. Billie looked over his shoulder.
“Here comes the Goodhearts’ little girl Mollie.”
A child with blonde curls ran up to them, fell to her knees and clasped her hands, pleading, “Please, Toby and Susie! You’ve to help my mama and papa!”
Billie froze, as though she had seen a ghost. Harley frowned at her before looking down at the little actress.
“Aww, Mollie, what can I do?”
The child started her line, “Oh Please, Toby and Susie…”
Harley realized what Billie saw. She did not see the child in front of them. She saw Gloria when she played that role many years ago. This girl had brown eyes, but Billie saw Gloria’s sky blue eyes. This girl wore an ill-fitting wig, but Gloria had her own, naturally curly flaxen-golden strands of hair. Soon Billie saw nothing at all. Her eyes filled with tears. She heard her own daughter say, “You’ve got to help my mama and papa.”
The little actress began to panic. “Um, please, Toby and Susie.”
His years of experience kicked in, and Harley knew he had to save the scene. He picked up Susie Belle’s line. “Don’t worry, Mollie. We’re going to help you.”
He put one arm firmly around Billie’s shoulders and with the other lifted the girl to her feet and guided them off stage. He hugged his wife, giving little baby kisses over her face to comfort her. Eventually she wiped away her tears and managed a smile.
Harley whispered sweetly into her ear, “Let’s troupe.”
With her husband close by her side, Billie made it through the rest of the play. She put on a brave smile for the curtain call and bowed in appreciation of solid applause. When the curtain dropped Billie lowered her head into Harley’s shoulder and bawled. They tried to move to the dressing room, but Joe McKinnon strode up, his had extended.
“Great opening night, Harley!” He shook the showman’s hand vigorously. “Sold out house and reservations are coming in like crazy!”
Harley dropped Joe’s hand and guided Billie away. “We’re not doing that play again.”
“Why not?” Joe tried to keep up with him. “The audience loved it.”
“I said we’re not doing that play again.” His voice had a bitter edge to it. “Tomorrow night we’ll open ‘Spit It Out, Sputters’.”
Before Joe could object, Harley huffed off holding his wife close to him. Joe grimaced as Sam walked up.”
“I hope I can make it through the tour with those two.”
“Gloria used to play Mollie,” Sam informed him.
“Oh.” Reality dawned on Joe. “So. Sputters it is.”

Previously in the novel: West Texas farmboy Harley Sadler had a long career on the tent show circuit through the High Plains, marrying the love of his life Billie, helping farmers during the Great Depression, losing his fortune and regaining much of it. His daughter Gloria died. He and his wife decided their hearts just weren’t in it any more and retire.
When the Sadlers returned to Sweetwater, the town threw a big banquet for them called “Flowers for the Living.” All their friends from the shows stood and testified how wonderful Harley and Billie had been to work with. Representatives of many of the small towns recounted how Harley had rescued farmers down on their luck. If their lives had been a play, that evening would have been the grand finale. But real people don’t go away at the curtain fall like fictional characters. They continue to live, struggling along as best they can.
Soon the highlight of Harley’s day—when the Legislature was not in session—was his morning walk through the neighborhood. Billie sat on the living room sofa looking out the window, waiting for him to appear along the sidewalk. She slipped out a pint of whiskey and took a nip. Suddenly she sat up and hid the bottle under a cushion.
Harley turned from the sidewalk into his yard. His girth was wide, and his thinning hair almost white, but his gait was still lively and his grin boyish. A group of boys, waiting at the corner school bus stop, saw him and ran his way. They were respectful and earnestly eager.
“Hi, Harry!” one said.
“Hi, boys!” Harley turned and smiled.
Another boy nudged the first one. “That’s Harley, not Harry!”
“I’ll answer to most anything.” He paused the proper amount of time before delivering the punchline. “Now President Truman, he might be insulted!”
The boys laughed.
“Like some gum?” He reached into his pocket.
“Yeah!” the boys shouted in unison.
He opened the pack and distributed the sticks.
A boy who previously remained silent, grabbed his stick and stuck it into his mouth. “Thanks!”
Walking up to his front door, Harley overheard them whispering to each other.
“Boy, he’s a nice old man.”
“I’m glad he lives in our neighborhood.”
“You know what he used to do?”
“My dad said he traveled in something.”
Harley turned and asked, “You boys ever hear of Toby?”
“No, who’s he?”
“Oh, an old friend of mine,” he replied.
Harley saw the bus pull up, so he went into the house and joined Billie on the couch. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply.
“Hi, honey,” Billie said. “What did those boys want?”
“Some gum.”
She stared into his face. “I noticed you turned back to say something to them. They weren’t being rude, were they?”
“Oh no. They’re nice boys.” He opened his eyes and wanted to smile but could not quite muster one. “I just asked them if they knew who Toby was.”
“Did they?”
“No.”
Billie patted his leg. “I guess they would have just been babies the last time you were Toby.”
“You know the man Burnie works for?” he asked tentatively.
“The one with the tent show?”
“Yeah, Joe McKinnon. “He gathered his thoughts. “He’s been after me to go back on the road.”
“Oh, Harley,” she moaned. “I don’t want to do without you all summer.”
He turned to face her. “I told him you could handle the books. You could play Susie again.”
“I thought you said your heart just wasn’t in it anymore,” Billie pressed her objections.
“People want comedy, Billie. They’ve got enough sorrow in their lives already.” He paused and pinched his lips together. “I’ve had enough sorrow in my life.” He reached down under the cushion and pulled out the bottle. “And you’ve had enough too.”

Previously in the novel: Farmboy Harley Sadler became a hit with his traveling melodrama tent show during the 1920s and 30s on the Texas plains. The Great Depression slowed the parade down for Harley and his wife Billie. It became a dirge when their daughter Gloria died.

The ensuing days passed in a blur. Harley was aware of standing there at the funeral home selecting the casket and flowers. He did not know how much anything cost. Everything looked very nice. Billie had good taste. Local neighbors filled the Sweetwater Baptist Church. He remembered smiling and nodding as hundreds of people offered their condolences. In the back of his mind Harley felt a vague guilt because he could not remember how John reacted or how he dressed or what he said during the funeral service. The only thing he remembered for certain was that Billie was devastated. He remembered her tears. He remembered he could not think of any words of comfort for her.
Once the flowers had faded away, and all the mourners had gone back to their normal lives, John announced he had to return to his job at the base. Harley helped him pack and drove him to the train station. As John mounted the steps, he turned to smile.
“Thank you for coming to the station.”
“Billie would have come but she still can’t seem to make it out of bed. She really is very fond of you….” His voice trailed off.
“I understand.”
“You’re my son,” Harley said urgently. “Don’t ever forget that.”
Then the train pulled out of the station, and Harley realized his life would never be the same. Not only not just the same, but he grimly accepted the reality that he would never be s happy again. Hope, that cornerstone giving the spark of reason to exist, began to erode.
Harley threw himself into his old activities trying to ignore the truth. He thought the adrenaline rush of wildcat oil drilling would be the answer. It might have helped if he had actually hit a gusher, but he still only struck water. He ran for re-election and won yet another term in the Texas Legislature. Pushing through legislation over the objections of the North Texas crowd gave him satisfaction but it did not last.
Harley Sadler’s Own Show began another season bringing entertainment across the plains to farmers. In the years following World War II the farm population declined because more families gave up the struggle against the hostile environment to move to the city where jobs were now plentiful. Still Harley and Billie continued the shows because they knew their most loyal fans needed them.
Gloria’s grave drew her parents for regular visits. Billie insisted on keeping the flowers fresh. She watered them faithfully with her tears.
“Billie, honey,” Harley whispered, trying to pull her away from the tombstone. “It’s time to go.”
“Oh, Harley. She was so young.”
“I know.” His voice pleaded with her. “We’ve got to go. We’ve got a show tonight in Spur.”
“I can’t—I just can’t put on that makeup and act like nothing’s happened–like Gloria never lived.”
“Because we continue to live doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten her.”
Billie looked up to shake her head. “I can’t. I just can’t.”
“I guess my heart isn’t in it, either.” Harley hugged her.
He agreed that as soon as their current schedule had ended, they would not commit to any other shows for now. Maybe never, but that decision was left to sometime in the future. Harley could sense the relief flowing through Billie’s weary body. Even he did not mind the prospect of a quiet time of reflection, to reconsider his lifetime belief that if you do good things to other people, good things will happen to you.
Holding hands tightly, Harley and Billie stared into the glaring spotlight, not seeing anything but nevertheless smiling as they bowed to thunderous applause. The banner over the proscenium said it all:
“Harley Sadler’s Last Performance.”

Previously in the novella: Farmboy Harley Sadler became the star of a traveling tent show in West Texas during the early decades of the 20th Century. After fighting back from the Great Depression, Harley ran for the Legislature and ventured into wildcat oil drilling.
The next few years passed so quickly it was as though Harley were riding a merry-go-round. He hardly noticed he was becoming an old man with wrinkles so deep that makeup failed to hide them. His waistline, though slender compared to other men his age, was thickening. Harley, riding a happy charger, reached for the gold ring of wildcat oil drilling and snatched it the first few times out. He whooped and hugged Billie as they were sprinkled by oil drops from a gusher in the middle of the barren plains.
Gloria, in the meantime, matured into a young lady, educated and becoming less and less inclined to ride the carousel of tent shows which her parents seemed enjoyed so much. The calls from Hollywood offering screen tests from the major studios continued to be rejected.
All a legislator needed to push a bill through to become law was the endorsement of Harley Sadler. He beamed the day the governor signed the redistricting bill. Farrell McConnell, on the other hand, stood in a corner puffing a cigar and wearing a barely disguised scowl.
Harley was too old to enlist at the outbreak of World War II but he fought bravely to sell as many war bonds as he could. His bookkeeper Charlie shook his head when Harley announced free tickets to the show with proof of purchase of a bond. And when he was not on the road with the show he appeared at every bond rally and county fair in Toby attire and makeup to sell even more.
One night the cast took its bows. Harley played the old Southern gentleman and Billie his wife.
“And don’t forget!” he called out. “Buy those war bonds!”
Harley’s big grin faded a bit when Billie squeezed his hand. When he looked at her, he saw she was staring into the audience with grievous apprehension. Harley tried to follow her gaze until he realized Gloria was seated in the middle of the front section. Next to her was a young airman, quite dashing in his uniform.
“Who’s that young man?” he whispered to Billie.
“I don’t know, but I think we’re about to find out.”
As the audience strolled out, Harley and Billie held hands as they approached Gloria and her gentleman. Both wore their best theatrical friendly smiles.
“Mama, Daddy,” Gloria began as enthusiastically as she would announce her plans for a sleepover with all her girlfriends. “I want you to meet Airman John Allen. He’s receiving his flight instruction at Stamford Army Air Corps Base. We’re moving there next week.”
“Nice to meet you, young man.” Harley shook his hand.
“It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
“We?” Billie interjected, obviously picking up on the last sentence of Gloria’s announcement.
“We’re married, Mama,” she said brightly.
“What?!” Billie was on the verge of apoplexy.
“You must believe in love at first sight,” Harley intoned knowingly, eyeing his new son-in-law.
“Yes sir, I do,” he replied in relief.
“Call me Harley.” He looked at his wife as he put his arm around her. “Believe it or not, we did too. A long time ago.”
Billie took a few days to reconcile her past with the future, but eventually she joined in with assisting her daughter move into her new life as an airman’s wife.
John’s training had barely been completed when the war in Europe ended. When the Japanese surrendered, the newlyweds rejoiced that John would continue to be stationed in Stamford as he trained to be a flight instructor. Back in Sweetwater Harley and Billie hugged celebrating their good fortune.
Continued drilling did not bring the results Harley wanted. After initial success with a few gushers, costly water spouts began to drain his bank account. Like a committed poker player, Harley refused to fold, determined to ride out his spate of bad luck.
Relieving the stress of failing as a wildcatting speculator, Harley reveled in his influence in promoting legislation to help his constituents. He had no trouble finding his voice on the floor of the state house.
Gloria’s announcement she was pregnant seemed to signal a positive turn of luck for her parents. Billie’s insecurities bubbled to the surface often so she begged Gloria and John to move into the Sweetwater house. When the first pangs of labor began, they all moved as a well-rehearsed cast. John took the suitcase to the car. Harley with his arm around Gloria guided her out the front door.
“The pains, are they getting any closer?” he asked.
“How the same.” She grimaced then smiled. “What do you want? A boy or a girl?”
Harley was too worried to put on a good face. “I want you to be all right.”
She hugged him. “Do you worship and adore me?”
“I worship and adore you.” And he meant every word of it.
Billie bustled up behind them, waving her arms, the house keys in her hand. “I can’t find the house keys anywhere.”
“They’re in your hand, Mama.” Even though she was in labor and weary of her mother’s absent mindedness she spoke with love and patience.
John returned with the car, lovingly took Gloria in his arms to guide her down the front steps. Harley and Billie stared at each to her.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” he assured her.
“I didn’t ask if they weren’t.”
He smiled weakly. “Maybe I was telling myself.”
“But everything is going to be all right, isn’t it?”
“Of course,” he said.
“If anything were to happen to her, I don’t know if I could stand it.”
They hurried to the car which John drove to the hospital. A nurse waited at the curb with a wheelchair. Harley and Billie helped Gloria out of the car, and he grabbed the suitcase before John drove to the parking area. For the next half hour everything was hectic, checking Gloria in and getting her settled in the hospital. Then the nurses directed them to the waiting room, where all was silence and moving into an eternity of anticipation and anxiety. Eventually Harley and John could not sit any longer and they had to stand and pace.
“It’s been so long.” Billie broke the long hush as she shifted in her seat on the worn sofa. “It reminds me of two years ago when Mama Lou died. They left us in the waiting room forever.”
“The doctor said it was just hard labor, that’s all,” John offered weakly.
Before Harley or Billie could respond, the doctor walked through the door. Billie gasped. Harley and John froze in their places.
“Mr. Allan, may I speak to you?” the doctor asked softly.
Harley instinctively followed John to the doctor. Tears began to well in Billie’s eyes. As the doctor whispered to them, John slumped against the wall. Harley slowly walked to the couch, sat and put his arm around his wife.
“Her little heart just stopped,” he spoke with difficulty. Each word was painful.
Billie cried, turning to bury her head in his shoulder.
“It’s my punishment,” he confessed. “I put her before God. I worshipped her to the point of idolatry.”

Previously in the book: Farmboy Harley Sadler joined a traveling melodrama show, married a pretty girls, opened his own show, loaned money to farmers, and lost it all during the Depression. He came back with a smaller show and went into politics.

A few months later on the steps of the Texas Capitol, photographers flashed their cameras at Harley, Billie and Gloria.
“One more shot!” one of them hollered. “Look this way, folks!”
Billie put on her best pose, raising her chin so her developing thickness around her neck did not show. Gloria hugged her father who obviously enjoyed himself very much.
“How does it feel to be entering a new career, Harley?” a reporter asked.
“Just like opening night.”
“Have any priorities, Harley?” another asked.
“Just treat the people right.”
“Are you staying in Austin with Harley, Billie?” a third one asked her.
“Oh no,” she replied. “I’m going home to Sweetwater. My mother Lou is not feeling well and needs attention. And I’ve got to get Gloria ready for college.”
“Where are you going to college, Gloria?” The first reporter turned to her.
“Hardin-Simmons Baptist College.”
“Then the rumors about you going to Hollywood aren’t true?”
“Absolutely not true,” Gloria responded with a big smile.
***
Harley settled into his office in the pink granite State Capitol in downtown Austin. Taking a deep breath, he sat and opened the top folder on his desk. For the first time in his life, Harley faced a job which did not depend on his ability to make people laugh. His vote would determine whether his dirt farmers would survive or slowly disappear from the great expanse of the West Texas plains. This challenge went beyond the capabilities of a young principal comedian. It needed a mature serious minded solon—a wise man.
A smile graced his face, beginning to show lines of age, pain and endurance. Harley was not afraid. He was sure this was a job he could master and not disappoint the folks back home. A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. A tall gray-haired man in a nicely tailored suit eased into the room.
“I don’t want to bother you, but I want to welcome you to the Legislature. I’m sure you don’t remember me. I’m Farrell McConnell, the representative from North Dallas.”
Harley stood and extended his hand. “Of course I remember. You’re the House Democratic Whip. Everybody better know who you are. As I recall, we met at a barbecue fundraiser in Abilene. You said your wife couldn’t attend because she had a cold. I hope she’s feeling better.”
“Oh.” Farrell paused in surprise. “Yes, she’s feeling much better. Thanks for asking.”
“Tell her I said hi.”
“I will.” Quickly recovering his composure, he did not wait to be invited and sat with a familiar ease across the desk from Harley. “Well, part of my job is to help the freshmen legislators avoid some of the pitfalls.”
“And what might they be?” Harley smiled as he sat with equal ease.
“You have to be aware of bad bills.”
Harley picked up the folder on top of the stack and handed it to Farrell. “How about this one?”
The Whip took it, opened the folder and frowned as he read. “Just what I was talking about. We don’t need our district boundaries changed.”
Harley walked around the desk, took the folder and flipped to the map in the middle. “Looking at this map, I don’t see anything wrong with the way they want to change the boundaries.”
“Harley,” Farrell began with a weary sigh, “You’ve got to understand folks get used to voting at a certain place and with certain neighbors.”
“But the boundaries as they are now don’t seem to make a whole lot of sense.”
Farrell raised his voice, while maintaining a certain sense of dignity. “We can’t have the boundaries cut through people’s backyards right through their clothes lines!”
“The clothes will dry just the same, either way, won’t they? Harley asked with his well-practiced charm.
Before Farrell could reply, Sweetwater Democratic wheeler dealers Burford and Billy Bob knocked at the door and stuck their heads in. “Busy?” Billy Bob exposed a toothy grin. “We’d like to congratulate our new legislator.”
A resigned look on his face, Farrell stood and walked toward them. “Be my guest. I have to go.” As he passed them in the doorway, he whispered, “I thought you said we were getting Toby.”
“We are,” Burford reassured in a muted tone.
Farrell’s reply was more of a hiss. “No, we’re not.”

Previously in the book: West Texas farm boy Harley Sadler became a success on the tent show circuit, married in a whirlwind romance and started his own show. He made a lot of money but gave a lot of it away to struggling farmers. His effort to break into the big city market failed so went back to entertaining the folks who loved him best.

“It seems just opening night, doesn’t it, Billie?” Harley whispered to his wife as he leaned into her at the Sweetwater convention center. They sat on the dais in front of a crowd of excited Democrats.
Billie nodded sweetly and shifted in her chair. She jumped when Burford spoke into the microphone. That man always did make her feel uncomfortable.
“And now I introduce the next state representative from Sweetwater, the first man to make a million dollars from a ten show, Harley Sadler!”
The audience erupted into applause as Harley stood to go to the podium. His face beamed. Billie took this time to pull her make up compact from her purse and look into the mirror. She dusted he cheeks and freshened her lipstick. Burford took a deferential step back.
“Thank you, Burford, for the kind remarks. As for being the first man to make a million dollars from a tent show, well, I was also the first to lose a million from one too!”
As the Democrats stood to clap and holler Harley took a quick look at Billie who had wrapped her arms around her shoulders as though she were cold. He considered letting her disapproval ruin the moment for him, but a fresh wave of applause rolled over him. Any thoughts of sadness washed away.
The next few weeks sprinted by as a blur of picnics, hot dogs and watermelon wedges flashed by him. Sometimes Billie made a passing imitation of a happy campaign wife, especially if a group of ladies encircled her to ooh and ah over her new ensemble. She did not mind posing for local newspaper photographers as long as she was confident her makeup was applied properly and her hair professionally coiffed.
A few times Harley almost missed the curtain when politicians in a smoky room kept stuffing bills in his pockets and would not let him go. Billie enjoyed raising an eyebrow, tapping her foot and pointing at her Woolworth watch. Charley tried to talk to him about accounts payable, but Harley begged off, saying he had to get into his costume.
Most other occasions Billie sat alone in a dark room at home, sipping from a pint of whiskey. Gloria was busy with her school activities and Harley was busy just being Harley.
The first Tuesday night of November found the Sadlers’ Sweetwater living room filled with friends and political allies celebrating Harley’s election. Billie and her mother Lou circled the room with trays of little sandwiches. Burford held his glass high.
“Here’s to Toby in the Ledge!”
“Here! Here!” Billy Bob echoed.
Harley held up his arms to quieten the applauding crowd.
“Now wait a minute,” he cautioned good naturedly. “You didn’t elect Toby. You elected Harley.”
Everyone laughed, but Burford and Billy Bob exchanged worried glances. Hardly anyone heard the telephone ring in the hall. Billie answered it, covering her free ear with a palm.
“Hello?” She grimaced. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to speak up. We’ve got an election party going on here.” She paused. “Gloria Sadler? Just a minute.” She covered the receiver, looked around and waved at her daughter across the room. “Gloria! It’s for you!”
She glided through the room graciously, edging past couples deep in conversation to take the phone from her mother. Billie tried to linger close to find out who the call was from. Burford lumbered up, put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her away.
“Harley’s going to be a great representative for the common man!”
“Yes, he is.” She extricated herself from his grasp.
“You know, Mrs. Sadler, I always had the idea you didn’t like me much,” he said sheepishly.
Billie plastered a smile on her face. “I like all of Harley’s friends.”
“But you really went out and busted your tail to get him elected.” He gave her a hug. “You’re all right.”
Again Billie wriggled free. “Thank you.”
“Hey, Burford!” Billy Bob called from the living room.
“I gotta get back to the gang.” He disappeared into the party crowd.
Billie sighed with relief and turned with anticipation when she heard Gloria hang up. “Who was that?”
“Oh, just somebody from Warner Brothers.”
Billie’s eyes widened. “Warner Brothers?”
“They want me to come out to Hollywood for a screen test.” Gloria crinkled her nose.
Her mother’s first reaction was happiness, but then she looked concerned. “You’re not going to leave me too?”
Gloria laughed. “”I told them I was too busy with college. I don’t want to be a movie star.”
“I—I just don’t want to be locked out of your heart too.” She hesitantly took her daughter’s hand.
“Locked into my heart, Mama.” Gloria sobered and squeezed her hand. “Locked in forever.”

Previously in the book: Farm boy Harley Sadler makes it good in the traveling tent show business, marrying Billie, having a beautiful teen-aged daughter Gloria and helping West Texas farmers though the Depression. He’s making his biggest gamble yet on an Alamo drama during the Centennial in Dallas.

In the backroom of the bank, Harley stared at his hand and maintained a deadpan expression.
The second cattleman chuckled and commented, “For a fella who can make so many funny faces up there on that stage you sure have the best poker face I ever saw.”
Without moving a single muscle in his face, he replied, “Years of study with the Royal Shakespeare Company.”
The cattlemen laughed for the next five minutes and forgot what cards they had in their hands and what cards they had discarded.
***
Sue opened another bottle of whiskey to share with Billie who now had sunken into a sweet melancholia. Holding her left hand high, Billie admired her diamonds.
“Those are the prettiest rings I’ve ever seen,” Sue said in her whiskey fog.
“Me too.”
“Harley’s a sweet guy to buy them for you.”
Billie laughed. “Sometimes I think he bought them so we’d have something handy to hock. I don’t know how many times they’ve been in pawn shops just so we could get out of town.”
“Yeah, they’ve come in handy.”
“They even made the last payment on some actor’s car once.” She paused to wrinkle her brow. “I don’t remember who.”
“Oh yeah. That’s the one who drove off on opening night in Waxahachie.” Sue giggled. “Charley the bookkeeper had to go on instead, with script in hand. He mumbled and stumbled through the whole show.”
“Harley could be a better judge of character.” Billie sighed.
***
The poker game was wearing on, but Harley’s face was not showing any fatigue. His eyes focused on the cards. By watching him no one could tell if he were even paying attention to the conversation.
“I got an interesting proposition last week,” the first rancher said.
“How many cards for you?” the banker asked the second rancher.
The man shook his head and put his cards down. “Fold.”
“A wildcatter offered me big bucks to let him drill on my land,” the first rancher announced casually.
“Now that’s one thing I don’t understand,” the second rancher replied. “That wildcat drilling. If I’m going to gamble, I want it to be something safe like poker.”
“I don’t know,” Harley interjected softly. “The less safe it is, the more exciting the bet.”
“Need any cards, Harley?” the banker asked.
“I’ll stand on these.” He smiled sweetly.
“Oh damn,” the first rancher mumbled.
***
Billie had almost slipped into the blessed oblivion of an alcoholic stupor where all pain and sorrow was a distant memory.
“So tell me, Billie,” Sue asked, “are you happy?”
She did not respond because she was not certain anyone had actually asked her anything.
“Billie,” Sue insisted. “Are you happy?”
“Happy? What do you mean, happy?” She was confused. “Of course, I’m happy.”
“I mean, is this what you want out of life?”
Billie did not like the question. It forced her to think, and the whole purpose of drinking was to make it easier not to think. “What do you mean, what I want out of life?” Sue was irritating her. Faye was a prig but at least she did not ask irritating questions.
“I mean, traveling from town to town, being alone in hotel rooms, hocking the ice.”
Billie sighed. “No, I don’t think anyone likes that—except for maybe Harley, so….”
“Don’t you think you deserve to have whatever you want?”
What Billie wanted right at this moment was to slap Sue, but she knew if she sat up she would throw up on the woman. “I do have what I want. I want Harley. And Gloria. What more would a woman want—a warm, wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter?”
“If that’s all a woman should want,” Sue rejoined cynically, “then why are we sitting here getting drunk?”
Billie laughed. She did not know if she thought the question was funny or heartbreaking. “If I knew the answer to that then I wouldn’t have to drink.”
***
The poker game was almost over. The first rancher cashed in his chips, took his lumps and sat back to see who the big winner of the night would be. Sam had been the first to bite the dust, but he was not the one who needed the big win to pay for the risky venture in Dallas. The banker pushed his cards away with a disgusted grunt. Harley and the second rancher stared each other down, each covetous of the big cache in the middle of the table. Finally the rancher threw his cards down.
“Too rich for me.”
With a big smile, Harley gathered in his cash. “Thank you, gentlemen. You have just helped finance a spectacular show for Texas’ Centennial, the Siege of the Alamo.”
“Well, I might come out to see it when it comes through town,” the banker said.
“Oh, but we’re not taking it on the regular tour. We’re going to Dallas during the big festivities.”
“What! Dallas?” The first rancher was shocked. “You never played there before.”
Harley shrugged. “People are people everywhere, aren’t they?”
“Well, folks will come to see Toby any day,” the second rancher chimed in.
“No, this isn’t going to have Toby. It’s going to be a serious play.”
“Serious, huh?” The banker raised an eyebrow.
“Well,” the first rancher drawled. “Good luck.”
“We’ll need it,” Sam replied.
Harley and Sam left and began driving back to the hotel. Sam looked at Harley and furrowed his brow.
“I hope we’re as lucky in Dallas as you were tonight playing cards.”
“And why not?”
“Harley,” Sam paused to take a deep breath. “I got a bad feeling about all this. I mean, there’s a lot of things going on in Dallas for this Centennial. There’s the fair. And Billy Rose got his Casa Manana in Fort Worth—“
“There’s always room for a patriotic drama about the Alamo,” Harley interrupted him.
“From what I’ve read, we won’t be the first Alamo show there. And where are we going to do it? All the best spots are taken. The Cotton Bowl would be great but that community circus from Gainesville got it booked.”
“Don’t worry about it. Remember the play When Toby Hits New York? Well, Harley’s going to hit Dallas the same way.”
They entered the hotel room to find Billie and Sue passed out drunk. Harley went over to the table to pick up an empty whiskey bottle.
“I’ll take Sue back to her room.” When Sam picked her up Sue moaned a little. “Do you want me to have a talk with her? I’m sure she talked Billie into it.”
Harley went to the bed to stare at Billie. “Huh?”
“I said I think all this was Sue’s fault. She should have known better.”
“Oh. No, she’s a good girl. She didn’t mean any harm.” He went towards Sam. “Let me get that door for you.”
After Sam left with Sue in his arms, Harley went back to the bed and gently shook his wife. “Billie? Honey? Time to take your clothes off and get to bed.”
Billie moaned. He tried to move her around but he couldn’t. Harley stood in frustration and took a couple of angry steps away. With a sad sigh he slumped in a chair and stared at her the rest of the night.