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younger eyes, and a younger mind. On my recommendation, Deke has hired a well-qualified young
lady from Georgia. Her name is Sadie Clayton. She’ll be at the reception, she’ll know absolutely no
one, and I expect you to be especially nice to her.”
“Mrs. Clayton?”
“I wouldn’t quite say that.” Mimi looked at me guilelessly. “I believe she intends to reclaim her
maiden name at some point in the near future. Following certain legal formalities.”
“Mimi, are you matchmaking?”
“Not at all,” she said . . . then snickered. “Hardly at all. Although you will be the only teacher on
the English faculty who’s currently unattached, and that makes you a natural to act as her mentor.”
I thought that a gigantic leap into illogic, especially for such an ordered mind, but I accompanied
her to the door without saying so. What I said was, “If it’s as serious as you say, you should be seeking
treatment now. And not from some quack doctor in Juaréz, either. You should be at the Cleveland
Clinic.” I didn’t know if the Cleveland Clinic even existed yet, but just then I didn’t care.
“I think not. Given the choice between dying in a hospital room somewhere, stuck full of tubes and
wires, and dying in a seaside Mexican hacienda . . . that is, as you like to say, a no-brainer. And there’s
something else, as well.” She looked at me unflinchingly. “The pain isn’t too bad yet, but I’m told it
will be. In Mexico, they are far less apt to strike moral poses about large doses of morphine. Or
Nembutal, if it comes to that. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
Based on what had happened to Al Templeton, I guessed that was true. I put my arms around her,
this time hugging very gently. I kissed one leathery cheek.
She bore it with a smile, then slipped away. Her eyes searched my face. “I’d like to know your
story, my friend.”
I shrugged. “I’m an open book, Miz Mimi.”
She laughed. “What a crock of shit. You say you’re from Wisconsin, but you showed up in Jodie
with a New England drawl in your mouth and Florida plates on your auto. You say you’re commuting
to Dallas for research purposes, and your manuscript purports to be about Dallas, but the people in it
speak like New Englanders. In fact, there are a couple of places where characters actually say ayuh.
You might want to change those.”
And I thought my rewrite had been so clever.
“Actually, Mimi, New Englanders say it a-yuh, not i-yuh.”
“Noted.” She continued to search my face. It was a struggle not to drop my eyes, but I managed.
“Sometimes I’ve actually caught myself wondering if you might not be a space alien, like Michael
Rennie in The Day the Earth Stood Still. Here to analyze the natives and report back to Alpha Centauri
on whether there’s still hope for us as a species or if we should be exploded by plasma rays before we
can spread our germs to the rest of the galaxy.”
“That’s very fanciful,” I said, smiling.
“Good. I’d hate to think our whole planet was being judged by Texas.”
“If Jodie were used as a sample, I’m sure Earth would get a passing grade.”
“You like it here, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Is George Amberson your real name?”
“No. I changed it for reasons that are important to me but wouldn’t be to anyone else. I’d prefer
you kept that to yourself. For obvious reasons.”
She nodded. “I can do that. I’ll see you around, George. The diner, the library . . . and at the party,
of course. You’ll be nice to Sadie Clayton, won’t you?”
“Nice as pie,” I said, giving it the Texas twist: pah. That made her laugh.
When she was gone, I sat in my living room for a long time, not reading, not watching TV. And