Nightwoods - Charles Frazier [72]
—Hey, man, the guitarist said.
Stubblefield said nothing. He put out a look of mild expectation, mainly by way of upraised eyebrows.
The guitarist said, What?
Stubblefield said, I liked that last one. Maybe some other time we can talk about all your references. Like, you could do an annotated version.
—But?
—I’m just saying a fact. I liked it, but that’s me. Some people want to dance. Well, first they want to drink, and then they want to dance. Some of them, if they’re drunk enough to dance, they’re drunk enough to puke in their loafers. So all I’m saying, sometimes a break is good. They sit down and order more drinks. Rule number one, you can’t force everybody to think.
—Shit, the guitarist said.
—That was a compliment. If people sit down, don’t take it personal. If all they do is dance, nobody makes any money.
Luce said, I never heard anything exactly like it.
The guitarist said, Is that good or what?
—Good for me, Luce said. I’d hear it again anytime, if it was on a record and if it would play on my record player.
—If?
—It’s got a crank and a big brass horn, Stubblefield said.
—Well, we’ve not got a record.
The guitarist downed his drink and slid out of the booth and walked back toward the stage. Stubblefield went right into something else more pressing, made so by Luce’s nostalgic dress.
He said, Hard to believe we’re sitting here together now, all these years later. Back at the pool, the announcer said your name, and for days afterward, that’s all I could think about.
—How do you think about a name? Luce said. You can’t think about a name. Not for more than two seconds. There’s nothing to think about.
—It focused my feelings.
—All you saw of me was that minute it took to walk around the pool with a bunch of pretty girls.
—It was an awfully full minute.
—And my name summed it up for you, then?
Stubblefield shrugged.
—I don’t even like it, Luce said. But it’s that or Lucinda. And from here on out, if you want to talk about beauty shows that I can’t really remember too well, then I’ve got a headache and need to go home.
—Sure, Stubblefield said. He made the riverboat-gambler spreading-hand gesture of the lawyer. He said, From this second forward, I’m all about the present moment. Be here now. Not back then.
Luce made a scoffing laugh of unbelief, then too late put her hand to her mouth like suppressing a sneeze. Stubblefield began to think she was having a good time. From what he could tell of her recent life, there might not have been much flirting in it.
The band fired back up with several sarcastic slow-dance favorites for Stubblefield’s benefit. He drew Luce, only half unwilling, onto the floor for twangy Ventures and Santo & Johnny arrangements of “A Summer Place” and “Mr. Blue” and “Sleep Walk” and “Where the Boys Are.”
LUCE HADN’T DANCED in a long time, but you can always hold each other and sway. It felt good, though she couldn’t help wondering how long it had been since a man had held her, and then it was back to midnight in the switching room. She stepped away from Stubblefield and he followed her to their dark booth and fresh magic rum and Cokes.
—What? Stubblefield said, across the boomerang Formica.
—Nothing. I can’t dance anymore. I used to be good at it, but not anymore.
—We don’t have to dance.
—It’s okay. We can try again later. Be back in a minute, Luce said.
She got up and walked across the room, and as she passed the bar, a man brushed the back of his hand against her ass. Accidental, but not. Luce didn’t make eye contact, just kept walking, not feeling him drop his cigarette and follow her until it was too late. As she opened the door to the ladies’ and stepped in, the man put his foot out to stop it. He gripped her shoulder and turned her around.
His face right in hers and his breath all Scotched up, Bud said, Luce, why’s that boyfriend of yours been asking around about me?
Luce didn’t know what he was talking about, but one look at him and she knew who he was. Bud still blinked from the bright light over the bathroom sink, and also his surprise that