Free The Ying on Triad by Kent Conwell Page B

nice."
    "One of the homes where President Johnson once
lived," she said, her own eyes fixed on Jack.
    "That's nice," he said once again.
    "I'm anxious to see it," Diane said.
    Jack nodded. "That's nice." He continued to stare at her
for another moment until he realized what he had said. "I
mean, I'd like to see the house too," he mumbled, his eyes
still locked on hers.
    Witty repartees obviously were not one of Jack's strong
suits, so I did what I could to help out. "Jack, why don't
you take Diane out to the complex and show her the apartment. No sense in wasting time. She might want to move
in tonight." I smiled inwardly at my deft maneuvering.
    Without looking at me, Diane gushed. "I think that
would be absolutely wonderful, that is, if you don't mind,
Mr. Edney"
    "Not a bit, not a bit." Jack gushed back. "And call me
Jack."
    She smiled coquettishly. "All right, Jack, but you have
to call me Diane"

    Suddenly I was jealous. I had made every effort to
dump her on Jack, but now she had dropped me like the
proverbial hot potato. Hold on, Tony, I reminded myself.
That was what you wanted. On the other hand if that were
so, why did I feel as if I had been jilted?
    They headed for the door, eyes still fixed on each other.
Not even looking in my direction, Diane said, "Thanks,
Tony. See you later."
    I had the distinct impression that the remark was simply an afterthought. I was nothing more that the period at
the end of the sentence.
    Jack confirmed my feelings. Without looking at me, he
mumbled over his shoulder, "I owe you, buddy."
    I watched as she climbed into his Cadillac, leaving her
SUV in my driveway.

     

Janice had dressed as Little Bo Peep in black pumps,
long white stockings, a billowing dress, lacy bonnet, and
pigtails. A shepard's staff topped off the ensemble. I was
decked out in a devil's outfit, replete with two horns and
a pitchfork.
    We tucked into her little Miata, but neither her staff nor
my pitchfork would fit inside with the top up, and the
weather was too chilly to ride with a window down.
    Grudgingly, she accepted the fact that she was reduced
to riding to the party in my Silverado. I tried to pacify her.
"A lot of the folks at the party drive pickups. No one will
notice."
    "I will," she replied with a petulant curl to her lips.
    "I'll bet Nora Charles wouldn't mind," I said, teasing her.
    "I'm not Nora Charles," she snapped.
    I shook my head. Poor little rich girl. If anyone ever
tries to convince you that money-piles of money-could
never spoil you, don't believe him. In all fairness, Janice
did try to fit in with the masses.
    Once we drove off, the first subject she broached was
Diane.

    Making a concerted effort to appear blase about the
whole matter, I explained what had taken place and
added, "She and Jack seemed attracted to each other"
    "Good!" she sniffed. "Maybe she'll leave you alone"
    Downtown, we turned off 1-35 onto the access road.
The Hotel Chateaubriand was on the corner of Fifth and
Congress.
    The corners of Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Streets and the
access road were the gathering spots for homeless,
vacant-eyed winos and tattered itinerants scrabbling for
coins to purchase another bottle of Thunderbird wine.
    In the mornings they waited for contractors looking for
day workers. At night they panhandled cars stopped at the
light signals.
    We hit a green light, and as I turned onto Fifth, I gave
a cursory glance at a small cluster of dirty men standing
under a street light. They all looked the same, pinched
faces, hollow eyes, and patched clothes that hung from
withered bodies. I shivered, wondering how they could
tolerate such a life.
    Half a block past the huddle of winos, one of the faces
suddenly exploded in my head. My old man! John Roney
Boudreaux! One of the winos looked exactly like him.
    I cut sharply at the next corner.
    Janice looked around at me in alarm. "Tony! What on
earth are you doing?"
    "Nothing. I saw something back there I