Free The Clarinet Polka by Keith Maillard

good. And I have been. At least most of the time. Up until now.”
    â€œDo you have any idea,” she said, “what it’s like being cooped up with a six-year-old and a four-year-old in a big house in a quiet neighborhood in a town you hate where you don’t know a soul and don’t want to know a soul with a husband who works twelve to fourteen hours a day?” Nope, I said, I didn’t have a clue.
    One of her favorite things was complaining about the double standard and she couldn’t see why women—and, by God, I should never call them girls —so why shouldn’t women be as sexually active as men? And I’d say, “Gee, Connie, I don’t know. Why the hell shouldn’t they?” I wasn’t exactly checked out on women’s lib in those days, and all this stuff was news to me.
    Then one night I’m crashed out in the living room watching TV with Old Bullet Head. He’s reading the paper, and Mom and Linda are out in the kitchen cleaning up so they can’t hear us. The old man’s eyes have been perfectly fine his whole life, but practically overnight he needs reading glasses—it’s funny, but the same damn thing’s just happened to me—and so he gives me the icy blue stare over the top of his glasses, and he says, “Okay, so who’s the woman?”
    â€œWhat woman?”
    â€œThe married woman you been screwing in the back of Vick’s truck.”
    â€œJesus, Dad, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
    â€œDon’t give me that shit. Somebody’s been doing something in the back of that truck. She left her unmentionables—”
    â€œHer what? ”
    â€œHer frigging underpants. Come on, Jimmy, don’t play dumb with me or I’ll bounce your ass right out of here. Who the hell you think you’re fooling? You drive away for a single call at noon and you haven’t made it back to the shop by closing time, what the hell you think Vick’s going to think? He figured it was the girl in the miniskirt—you know, the one with the wedding ring on her left hand . You following any of this, or am I way over your head?”
    â€œI’m following you.”
    â€œYeah, I thought you were. Okay, there’s just two things I got to say about this. One is, what you do on your own time is nobody’s business but yours, but Vick’s just trying to make a living like the rest of us. Is what you’re doing fair to him?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œOkay, and here’s number two. I’ll let you in on a little secret, bright boy. Getting involved with a married woman is just about the dumbest thing you’ll ever do in your life.” And that’s that. He picks up the paper and starts reading it like he hasn’t said a word.
    I was so steamed I walked out, went straight down to the PAC, had a couple shots to calm down, said to Bobby, “Hey, put the word out, will you? I’m looking for a place to live. Someplace cheap. A fixer-upper maybe.”
    The next morning I said to Vick, “You know, sometimes when I’m off with the truck, I’m not working for you. It’s kind of obvious, right? Okay, suppose when I do that, I put the time back later?”
    A big grin spread across his face, and he said, “Okay, Jimmy, that’s okay with me.”
    All that was left was Connie. “Okay, Miss I’ve-got-a-degree-in-philosophy,” I said, “what are you doing leaving your panties in the back of Vick’s truck?”
    It was like I’d dumped cold water on her, and then, just for a second, she looked like a little kid when you catch her pulling the cat’s tail. She couldn’t meet my eyes. “Oh,” and she gives me this little hee, hee kind of phony laugh, “is that where they went?” And I’m feeling a buzz, like, hey, this doesn’t add up. Looking back on it, I suppose I could say it was