American Outlaw - Jesse James [93]
The next weekend, I was scheduled to make an appearance at a Walmart in Bentonville, Arkansas, where we were going to introduce a new project, Jesse James West Coast Choppers Industrial Wear, a line of men’s work-wear clothing. I was slated to sign autographs and meet some of the company’s top brass.
“Feel like coming along?” I asked Janine.
“Of course,” she said happily. “You know me. I love to meet the people!”
But to her surprise and annoyance, the crowd assembled in the Walmart parking lot took little notice of Janine. In fact, they barely acknowledged her presence. The herd of Southern bikers appeared far more focused on getting an autograph from the man from Monster Garage than on approaching his porn-star wife.
“I’m bored,” she grumbled, after enduring the public snub for almost an hour. “I think I’ll head back to the hotel.”
“Okay, babe. Catch up with you later,” I said, distracted, as I scribbled my Sharpie over yet another bandanna. “And I’m making this out to . . . Jason?”
“Yessiree,” said the oldster at the front of the line, gratefully. “My grandson, well, he just loves your show.”
The line wound on endlessly. I pressed flesh with thousands of fans, accepting their helpful ideas about what might be interesting on the next season of the show. I stood next to pregnant women, my hands around their engorged waists, as I waited for their nervous husbands to figure out just where that flash was on the disposable camera. Slowly, the hours ticked by.
Finally the line subsided, and my handler gave a signal to the event director. “That’s it. We’re good.” He turned to me. “Need a ride back to the hotel?”
“No, I’ll drive myself.”
“Don’t take too long,” he advised. “We’ve got lunch set with the executive vice president of marketing and six of his staff, and they’re extremely excited to meet you. Hotel lobby, twenty minutes from now. We’ll go from there.”
Wearily, I trudged to my car and sat down heavily on the hood. I rested there for a moment, rubbing my hand, sore from hours of signing. Then I opened the driver’s side door, wedged myself behind the wheel of the rental, and set off for the hotel.
The moment I entered the lobby, several Walmart executives stood up to greet me. Each wore a smile on his face.
“Sir,” began the paunchy, excited-looking VP of marketing, his hand extended, “it is truly an honor to meet you . . .”
“WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN??”
My insides flushed with ice water. Janine was storming out of the elevator, her hair mussed, looking crazed.
“I HAVE CALLED YOU FIFTEEN TIMES, AND YOU HAVEN’T PICKED UP!” She sprinted up to me and jabbed her finger crazily in my face. “DO YOU HAVE ANY FUCKING IDEA WHAT I’VE BEEN DOING ALL DAY?”
“Janine,” I begged. “Calm down. Please don’t do this here. Not in front of everybody.”
“In front of who?” She swept her arms wildly, then settled her gaze on the Walmart executives. “Oh, your new best friends?”
“Stop it.”
“Well, I’m sorry to embarrass you, Jesse,” Janine continued, “but I think someone should know what a neglectful and self-centered son of a bitch you really are.”
Janine fixed me the dirtiest, most furious glare I’d ever seen. Then she turned on her heel and stomped back toward the elevator.
The silence in the lobby was terrible.
“Excuse me,” I said to the executives, finally. “I think I need to go . . . handle this.”
No one responded. With my face burning, I walked away.
——
Purposefully, I threw myself into my work, tried to use it as an escape. But burying my thoughts proved more difficult than I had figured.
You may need to walk away from this one, I told myself. The verdict might still be out, but a few of the jurors are starting to lean toward “crazy.”
A broken driveshaft lay on my table, looking abandoned. “Focus, dammit,” I muttered. I had three bikes to build, and twenty more to design.