Free The Cadence of Grass by Thomas Mcguane

he produced in her.
    Evelyn loved Natalie’s food and so did Paul, who owned a sensitive palate among other refinements including prairie architecture, Porsches and Eames furniture. He spotted Art Deco details on buildings, radios and furniture; and for a while was besotted by Bakelite. Sharing his quest for esoteric collectibles, Natalie was once able to discover what a short leap it was from Bakelite to sordid motels on the interstate and the subsequent raw and bankrupt carnival.
    “I love you, Evie, and I don’t want you to do what’s not right.”
    “I love you too, Nat.”
    “Now,” Natalie sobbed, “we shall simply have to downsize.”
    “My God!” Evelyn snapped. “What do you expect?”
    Natalie flung her face up, awash with tears, damp hair tangled at her temples. “I’ll tell you what
I’d
do. I’d drum up some fucking
white marriage
, some ill
u
sion to get the rest of us living like
human beings
.”
    “What about my life?” Evelyn shouted.
    “What about it? Does
mine
have to disappear while you review what makes
you
comfortable?”
    Evelyn stood and said, “Thank you for a lovely lunch.”
    Natalie bowed her head and did not look up when her sister departed. After a decent interval and a deep breath, she consulted her watch, then gave a small sigh.
    It was time to go to town.
     
    When Evelyn called her mother to explain she had to pick up some medicine for Bill and would be a few minutes late, Alice said with perfect sincerity, “Bill comes first.”
    Why was she always so utterly solicitous on his account, Evelyn wondered, standing in line at the pharmacist’s window while the two men in front of her had a conversation she couldn’t help overhearing. “. . . pulled it out and cleaned it up. Maybe I knocked a hole in it, put the acid to it and then . . . damned if I know. It don’t look dirty but it is. I went on ahead and clamped it but then it dropped several amps. Must be dirty . . .” Men were always talking like this: you couldn’t understand a thing they were saying.
    Once she’d paid for the prescription, Evelyn started up the icy sidewalk toward her car. Coming from the opposite direction was a dandyish male wavering in the poor light of a fall afternoon. Before the figure finally emerged into deep focus, Evelyn felt something of an anxious chill. It was Paul, of course.
    “Hello, Evelyn,” he said levelly.
    She busied herself tying a better knot in the green silk scarf she’d wound around her neck. “Paul. I’m afraid I didn’t recognize you at first.”
    He smiled. “So, Evelyn, why don’t we ever see you down at the plant? Those are your vital interests.”
    “It’s never really fascinated me, Paul.”
    “But it’s on-the-job training for the new CEO, and I’ve got all these dependents!”
    “How do you stand it?”
    His smile seemed unevenly distributed on his face. “It’s a living.”
    “I picture a ship without a rudder.”

“Oh? We’ve already been approached by a broker out of Atlanta, Joel Kram, old southern family. He made a fortune with a caffeine-laced dairy product called Kreem, then lost half of it defending himself in lawsuits. He used stock footage of Martin Luther King’s famous speech in his ads and dubbed in the word ‘Kreem’ for ‘dream.’”
    “Do we have to meet Mr. Kram?” Evelyn’s arms hung straight at her sides, and she was unafraid.
    “I tell you he’s real. I’ll tape a Dun and Bradstreet to his face so you can read his balance sheet while speaking to him.”
    Evelyn was tired of listening to him. “I hope you do
something
. From what I hear, you’re running it into the ground.” Then she walked away, skin crawling at this brush of his wings. She was entirely uncertain if she was widening the distance.
     
    “Paul has offered to lend me his luggage for my trip,” Alice said, standing stocking-footed in the carpet beside neat piles of her travel clothing. “Isn’t that nice?”
    “You’ve got your own