Where I'm Calling From

bread,” I told Bud.
    Bud nodded. Then he said, “Let’s go inside and meet the wife and mother.”
    He was talking about Olla, sure. Olla was the only mother around. Bud had told me his own mother was dead and that his dad had pulled out when Bud was a kid.
    The peacock scuttled ahead of us, then hopped onto the porch when Bud opened the door. It was trying to get inside the house.
    “Oh,” said Fran as the peacock pressed itself against her leg.
    “Joey, goddamn it,” Bud said. He thumped the bird on the top of its head. The peacock backed up on the porch and shook itself. The quills in its train rattled as it shook. Bud made as if to kick it, and the peacock backed up some more. Then Bud held the door for us. “She lets the goddamn thing in the house. Before long, it’ll be wanting to eat at the goddamn table and sleep in the goddamn bed.”
    Fran stopped just inside the door. She looked back at the cornfield. “You have a nice place,” she said.
    Bud was still holding the door. “Don’t they, Jack?”
    “You bet,” I said. I was surprised to hear her say it.
    “A place like this is not all it’s cracked up to be,” Bud said, still holding the door. He made a threatening move toward the peacock. “Keeps you going. Never a dull moment.” Then he said, “Step on inside, folks.”
    I said, “Hey, Bud, what’s that growing there?”
    “Them’s tomatoes,” Bud said.
    “Some farmer I got,” Fran said, and shook her head.
    Bud laughed. We went inside. This plump little woman with her hair done up in a bun was waiting for us in the living room. She had her hands rolled up in her apron. The cheeks of her face were bright red. I thought at first she might be out of breath, or else mad at something. She gave me the once-over, and then her eyes went to Fran. Not unfriendly, just looking. She stared at Fran and continued to blush.
    Bud said, “Olla, this is Fran. And this is my friend Jack. You know all about Jack. Folks, this is Olla.”
    He handed Olla the bread.
    “What’s this?” she said. “Oh, it’s homemade bread. Well, thanks. Sit down anywhere. Make yourselves at home. Bud, why don’t you ask them what they’d like to drink. I’ve got something on the stove.” Olla said that and went back into the kitchen with the bread.
    “Have a seat,” Bud said. Fran and I plunked ourselves down on the sofa. I reached for my cigarettes.
    Bud said, “Here’s an ashtray.” He picked up something heavy from the top of the TV. “Use this,” he said, and he put the thing down on the coffee table in front of me. It was one of those glass ashtrays made to look like a swan. I lit up and dropped the match into the opening in the swan’s back. I watched a little wisp of smoke drift out of the swan.
    The color TV was going, so we looked at that for a minute. On the screen, stock cars were tearing around a track. The announcer talked in a grave voice. But it was like he was holding back some excitement, too. “We’re still waiting to have official confirmation,” the announcer said.
    “You want to watch this?” Bud said. He was still standing.
    I said I didn’t care. And I didn’t. Fran shrugged. What difference could it make to her? she seemed to say. The day was shot anyway.
    “There’s only about twenty laps left,” Bud said. “It’s close now. There was a big pile-up earlier. Knocked out half-a-dozen cars. Some drivers got hurt. They haven’t said yet how bad.”
    “Leave it on,” I said. “Let’s watch it.”
    “Maybe one of those damn cars will explode right in front of us,” Fran said. “Or else maybe one’ll run up into the grandstand and smash the guy selling the crummy hot dogs.” She took a strand of hair between her fingers and kept her eyes fixed on the TV.
    Bud looked at Fran to see if she was kidding. “That other business, that pile-up, was something. One thing led to another. Cars, parts of cars, people all over the place. Well, what can I get you? We have ale, and there’s a bottle of Old Crow.”
    “What are you drinking?” I said to Bud.
    “Ale,” Bud said. “It’s good and cold.”
    “I’ll have ale,” I said.
    “I’ll have some of that Old Crow and a little water,” Fran said. “In a tall glass, please. With some ice.
    Thank you, Bud.”
    “Can do,” Bud said. He threw another look at the TV and moved off to the kitchen.
    Fran nudged me and nodded in the
    direction of the TV. “Look up on top,” she whispered. “Do you see what I