(no subject)
I don't know what rush of blood to the head caused me to write this short piece. While Jack and Ennis are never far from my mind I haven't seriously written anything in a long time but, inspired by a throwaway line out of The Outland, I felt the urge to deal with one of the tragic aspects of Jack's life. Enjoy. Or not, as the case may be. Sorry for the horrible formatting; it's been a while since I posted fiction on LJ.
MASTER CLASS
'Jack Twist, Ron Underwood.'
Jack stretched out his hand, flashed his new smile, dipped his head.
'Ron. Any friend of Larry's is a friend of Newsome Farm Machinery.'
His smile widened to display the whole row of gleaming new tombstones and to underline his joke. There were no outward signs, however, that he'd spotted the slight hesitation in Ron Underwood's response.
'Good to meet you, Jack.'
Larry launched into an explanation about how Ron was visiting, down from Oklahoma City where he ran a machinery franchise, just the small stuff, nothing you'd see in Newsome's yard. Jack's face was a study in congenial concentration, as befitted the slightly tipsy ramblings of a good customer, but behind his eyes an entirely different dialogue was happening. With the sales floor heating notched up for the pre-Christmas drinks party, a slow trickle of sweat was making its way down Jack's spine.
'...so the Versatile harvester went through the crop like a hot knife through butter. Jack could sell snow to Eskimos, but that don't mean he's not selling the best.'
'Couldn't lie to you, could I, Larry? You're far too canny for me.'
'And what was that new tractor you were telling me about, the one with the fancy action? First one in the world?'
'Can't rightly remember--'
'Sure you can. The bi-something. Bi...bi...dammit, slipped my mind.'
'Bi-directional, the Versatile 150.' Jack kept his voice low and level. The guy from Oklahoma had his gaze fixed firmly on Jack's mouth.
'And what was that thing you said, had me laughing so hard?'
'You won't know if you're comin or goin. Tell you what,' and Jack collected the men's half-empty glasses, 'let's get some more cold beers before the wife has us all bastin like Christmas turkeys.'
The Twists had gone to the expense of hiring catering staff for the occasion, and Jack made certain he dropped the girl behind the makeshift bar a good broad wink as she passed over the fresh drinks.
'Thanks, sweetheart. Doin a fine job there.' His smile got another workout.
It had taken Jack a while to get used to the new teeth, but there'd been a time not so long ago when he'd barely been smiling at all. Before that, all it used to take to have his face splitting in the biggest beam was the thought of jumping in the truck and heading north, back to Wyoming. But after that one trip, the one which followed the only phone call he'd ever got from Ennis, the smile had shrunk down to a shadow of its former self. Even his father-in-law's passing had failed to revive it. Jack ran his tongue across the flashy dentistry, wondered what Ennis would think of it when next they met up in the new year.
Ron Underwood cornered him outside the bathroom and wasn't about to let Jack slip by him and back into the crowd.
'The Tulsa Show. That was where it was. Couldn't place you at first. The teeth and mustache kinda fooled me.'
'Tulsa? Can't say that's ringin any bells, uh--'
'Ron.'
'Yeah. Ron. Think you might be confusin me with someone else.'
'No, I don't reckon so, Jack. That was a pretty memorable night. If you know what I mean.'
'Like I said, someone else. Now, if you don't mind, I gotta go and mingle before that wife a mine sends out a search party.'
Ron's brows came together but he nodded assent.
'Sure, I get it. Can't be too careful. Hey, I'm in town a couple more days--'
'Someone else. Sorry.'
But he didn't head back to the sales floor where the bubble of voices and laughter sounded like a party going well enough without him. Down in the small back room with the newly painted sign on the door which proclaimed it as his office, a fifth of whiskey was calling to him. In the dark, stretched out in his chair, feet on the desk, he sipped his drink and tried to ease the unquitting tensions, find a balance point, a stillness in the confusion of his life.
Against the glow from the passage his painted name read backwards, TSIWT KCAJ. He softly sounded it out, the way all kids do. Yeah, Jack, don't know if you're comin or goin. Jack Twist: a name on an insignificant door, a scrawl on a postcard, a sound in someone's mouth. Who the hell was Jack Twist anyway? Twist this way and that way, twist any way he had to, any shape that was needed.
Jack Fucking Twist.
And hadn't he run to that man on the landing? Hadn't he flung himself into his arms, knowing for sure, that this would be the end of the pretence and loneliness, and the beginning of his real life? But the lies had started way too early. Queer? Me neither. Yeah, it's just a one-shot thing. How smoothly that denial had slipped out, born of necessity and shame, and now nothing could override it. Twice he'd made that drive with his heart on display, and twice he'd been turned away, and so he'd learned the hard way that no-one on God's good earth wanted Jack Twist as he really was.
And yet....
Unbidden it came as it always did, the one shining memory of his life, of the time when the future revealed a mysterious promise.
Oh, Ennis.
It didn't matter, it had never mattered, that on that summer evening by the fire Ennis couldn't hold Jack face to face; it didn't matter that he couldn't bring himself to admit that it was Jack in his arms. All that mattered was the way the embrace made Jack feel: whole, loved, accepted. And as long as that memory endured, as long as that future promise shimmered almost within reach, he'd find the strength to struggle on.
A shadow came to rest against the frosted glass. The door handle rattled.
'Jack? Get your sorry ass outa there. Don't bother playin possum. I know you're there.'
He flicked the lock, emerged quiet and defeated.
'Sorry. Got this headache. Real bad pains, like knives through my eyeballs.'
'Not just the whiskey?'
'Swear to God.'
A flicker of compassion passed across Lureen's face.
'There's aspirin in the First Aid kit if you need it. Sorry, honey' - she'd had one or two drinks herself, he guessed - 'but we can't afford to drop the ball now. Customer loyalty to Daddy don't mean it'll pass onto me. Us. These people are our bread and butter, Jack, so put on your best face and let's get back out there. Make those fancy teeth earn their keep, hey? You can do it.'
He laid his arm across her shoulders, pulled her close, kissed her temple.
'Yeah, I can do it.'