Ray’s wrist and ankle were still in plaster, and he could only hop and hobble his way to the bathroom. Both of his eyes were spectacularly rainbow-colored, and his lips were still swollen. But the doctor had said that he was making excellent progress, and besides, they needed the bed. Ray was pleased because the hospital food was “drek.”
Bonnie cooked pork and beans for supper, which was Ray’s favorite, with Bisquick blueberry-lemon coffee cake for dessert. Duke drank three cans of Budweiser, and every time he lifted his can he said, “Here’s to the hero. Here’s to the goddamned hero.”
After the seventh or eighth time, he began to get on Bonnie’s nerves. “Oh, you think because he beat up on some totally innocent Mexican kids he’s a hero?”
“He stood up for what’s right, didn’t he? And what’s right, sweet cheeks, is that California belongs to Californians and not to the goddamned Mexicans. Do you know that this year there are going to be more goddamned Hispanics living in California than there are white people, and that’s not counting the goddamned blacks?”
“Do you want some more of these fried potatoes?”
“Don’t change the subject, Bonnie. The boy’s a hero. In fact, he’s not a boy anymore. He’s a man. If I’d known he was going out to beat up on those goddamned wetbacks, I would’ve gone with him. Then they would have learned their lesson. Whop! Whap! Take that, you enchilada-eating ball of grease!”
“You’re a bigot, Duke.”
“A bigot? You’re calling me a bigot? You’re working your goddamned butt off all the hours that God sends you because some Mexican took my job and you think I’m a bigot? Under the circumstances I think I’m a model of goddamned tolerance. Under the circumstances I think I’m a goddamned saint.”
Bonnie said, “There’s still a chance that the police are going to file charges. I hope you’re going to be saintly about that.”
“If they charge him—well, that’s the kind of price that heroes have to pay. But I’m behind you all the way, Ray. Your old man’s behind you all the way. You’ve earned his respect, boy.”
Ray gave Duke a split-lipped smile. Bonnie, spooning out potatoes, suddenly realized what Ray had done. In one stroke, he had ended all of the arguments between them by electing to side with his father, right or wrong. She supposed she couldn’t blame him. Up until this evening, almost every mealtime had been World War Three, with Bonnie holding her ground against everything that Duke could throw at her, followed by Duke’s noisy and abusive retreat. But now it was two against one, and there was nothing she could do but accept that what Duke said went, no matter how prejudiced or illogical it was.
Duke was right about one thing: Ray had gone down to the X-cat-ik Pool Bar as a boy and come back as a sort of a man.
After the meal, Bonnie helped Ray to heave his way back to his room and climb into bed.
Ray said, “You’re not still mad at me, are you?”
“Mad at you? Why should I be mad at you? You’re my only son.”
“You shouldn’t be mad at Dad, either.”
“I’m not really mad at him. I just don’t happen to look at life the same way that he does. He’s full of expectations, but he never does anything to make them come true, and then he gets disappointed. But you can’t go through your whole life being disappointed. Not if you won’t make the effort.”
“I love you, Mom. But, you know, Dad’s my dad, too.”
Bonnie nodded and gave him a pursed little smile, but it was then that she made up her mind that she would go to Pasadena, after all.
When she got back, Duke had opened another can of Budweiser and was sitting on the couch staring at Stargate SG1.
“Look at this shit. Can’t they see what those aliens are doing? Why don’t they blow the shit out of them and have done with it?”
Bonnie sat down beside him and helped herself to a handful of caramel popcorn. “Ralph’s asked me to go to Pasadena Friday.”
There was a long silence while Duke swallowed beer. Then he burped and said, “Ralph? That asshole. I thought he fired you.”
“He did, but now he wants me to take a trip to Pasadena.”
Duke nonchalantly flung his arm around her and sniffed. “I hope you got great pleasure out of telling him to stick his trip to Pasadena where you don’t need Ray-Bans.”
“No, I’m going to say yes.”
Duke slowly turned his head and stared at her. “You said yes? As in, ‘Yes, I’m going to take a trip to Pasadena’?”
“Yes, I said yes.”
“So how long are you supposed to be going for?”
“Just one night. Back on Saturday morning.”
“You don’t seriously think I’m going to let you spend a night in Pasadena with that creep?”
“Duke, he isn’t a creep. He’s my boss. And going to Pasadena is part of my job. He’s not interested in my body. He’s just interested in the fact that I’m good at presenting the product.”
“Presenting the product? Oh, sure, I’ll bet. Ralph Kosherick has only one thing on his mind, and that’s getting you to present the product between your legs.”
“Duke, don’t be so crude. And don’t be so ridiculous.”
“Oh, I’m crude now, am I? Just because I don’t want my wife to spend the night with some drooling what’s-it’s-name—lecher.”
“Going to Pasadena is important, Duke. It’s our major presentation for the holiday season. It could make all the difference between Glamorex really succeeding or going bankrupt.”
“And I’m supposed to give a shit about that?”
“Duke, I need the Glamorex job, and more than that, I enjoy it. It fulfills me. For a few hours every day it makes me feel like a woman instead of a cleaner, or a housekeeper, or a taxi driver. I’m going to Pasadena whether you like it or not.”
“I’m your fucking husband, for Christ’s sake.”
“Don’t you be profane, Duke. I’m going.”
“Didn’t you hear me? I’m your husband.”
“Husband? Who are you kidding? You’re just some man who sits around my house all day and expects me to wash his clothes and cook his meals and work myself half to death to keep him in beer. Husband? You can’t even get your dick up.”
She wished instantly that she hadn’t said that, of all things. She had always promised herself that she never would. She knew that you could say whatever you liked to a man—call him lazy and cruel and stupid and narrow-minded. But telling him that he couldn’t get an erection was telling him that he wasn’t a man at all. It opened up the floor right beneath his feet.
Duke didn’t say a word. Instead, he lifted his can of Budweiser and poured beer slowly all over Bonnie’s head. She sat on the couch with it dripping from her hair and running down the back of her neck.
“See what you fucking made me do?” said Duke.
Then he leaned forward and screamed into her face at point-blank range, “See what you fucking made me do?!”