Free They Don't Dance Much: A Novel by James Ross Page A

didn’t take a backset. The reason Smut was so anxious for it to be published this time was that he had a big ad to put in there.
    That afternoon we stuck poles on each side of the highway and hung a big sign between the poles. Of course it was up high, so it wouldn’t get knocked down by the first big truck that came along. On the sign it said:
    BIG FORMAL OPENING, OCT. 28
    RIVER BEND ROADHOUSE
    DINE AND DANCE
    FRESH PIT BARBECUE
    CHICKEN DINNERS
    EVERYBODY WELCOME.
    Besides that, Smut had stuck posters all over Corinth where he could get folks to let him, or where he thought he could get by with it. He had nailed them to trees, and telephone poles, and pasture fences. He seemed to think it would get a big crowd out there for Saturday night. But I doubted it; I thought he might work up a good business in time. But not right off the bat. I could see us sitting around Saturday night with nobody out there but the usual mill hands and farmers and kids from uptown that ought to have been home studying their Sunday-School lessons for the next day.

6
    THAT AFTERNOON SMUT SAT around and worried about the Enterprise getting out. He said Fletch told him that he would stay sober, but you couldn’t put much dependence in Fletch. He was off to the bootleggers at the drop of a hat. About four o’clock Smut got ready to go to Corinth and see how Fletch was getting along. But while he was trying to find the truck keys a car pulled up in the yard. It was Astor LeGrand’s car, and Fletch was with Astor.
    Fletch opened the door and hopped out. He looked mighty bad; you could tell he was sober. He was a long, slim fellow, with hollows under his eyes, and lips that were yellow from cigarette stains. He’d light a cigarette and let it burn into his lip before he threw it away. He was waving a couple of newspapers in his hand.
    ‘Here you are, Smut,’ he said. ‘Out on time, just like I promised you. I brought you a couple of copies here.’
    ‘Did you mail them all out?’ Smut asked him. I reckon he was afraid maybe Fletch had just set up the type and run off a couple of copies and then took a notion to come out and throw a long drunk.
    ‘Every damn subscriber will get his paper in the morning, and if he don’t want to read it he can go to hell,’ Fletch said. He didn’t sit down, but stood there kind of twitching his shoulders. His hands hung down by his side. He kept clinching his fingers together, then unclinching them.
    Smut opened the paper. ‘I’ll get you a drink in a minute, Fletch,’ he said. ‘How’re you today, Mr. Astor?’
    Astor LeGrand sat down on one of the nail kegs. ‘Nothing extra, thank you,’ he said.
    I picked up the other paper that was lying across Smut’s lap. I guess Fletch didn’t know much news that day. Most of the paper was about our opening the roadhouse. On the first page there was a full column about it. In the main it just said that the River Bend Roadhouse would be opened to the public on Saturday, October 28, and went on to tell about Smut Milligan and what he had in mind. Then there were several other little pieces about who was going to work down there. One of them said: ‘Mr. Matthew Rush has accepted a position as waiter with Mr. Richard Milligan at River Bend Roadhouse. Mr. Rush is well known about Corinth and has spent most of his life here. He will begin his new duties tomorrow.’ The rest of them were about like that. There was a lot of guff about Mr. Milligan having operated various roadhouses and taverns on the Pacific Coast, from Lower California to British Columbia. The piece said he was amply qualified to serve the public.
    On the back there was a full-page ad of our place. It was about like this:
    BIG FORMAL OPENING SATURDAY, OCTOBER 28
    THE RIVER BEND ROADHOUSE
Mr. Richard (Smut) Milligan announces that he will be ready to serve the public with Superior Sea Food, Sizzling Steaks, Curb Service, Dancing Accommodations, Hot Rhythm, and Various Other Things, at his location