American Dreams (25 page)

Barney latched the cowl, jumped in the car, and waited as the advance man lifted his starting pistol. Barney snugged his goggles on his nose; chomped his cigar. The pistol fired. The crowd screamed.

Barney sped away to the first turn, spewing dust behind. The National circled the track and blazed past the grandstand, this time taking the green flag to signal the start of the test lap. Carl was on his feet, yelling. He tried to time Barney by taking his pulse but soon lost the count in the excitement.

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Barney took the checkered flag and slowed down. He U-turned at the head of the backstretch and drove to the stands. Just as he arrived, the

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advance man rushed down from the judge's booth, where he'd collected timing slips. Barney chugged to a stop in front of the center stand, timing it perfectly to hear the advance man shout through his megaphone:

'Ladies and gentlemen, we have the official results. The Speed King of the World has just set a new record for the measured mile - forty-three and two-tenths seconds, which breaks his previous record by one-tenth of a second!'

Pandemonium. People tossed programs, threw confetti; Carl's head was draped with crepe paper streamers. In his excitement Tess was completely forgotten.

Barney and his team followed the speed run with three five-mile heat races. The competing cars were a Peerless and a Stearns. Barney took the first heat by two car lengths. In the second heat the driver of the Peerless, Red Fletcher, passed him going into the final lap. Barney fought back, gunning it and trying to maneuver around Fletcher. He failed, and the Peerless won by a length.

At the start of the final heat Barney looked grim as a man on death row.

The race was a heart-stopping duel between the Peerless and 'Old Glory,'

one nosing ahead, then the other as they ran wheel to wheel dangerously close. Going into the last lap, Barney trailing on the outside, it looked like a repeat of the second heat. As the two leaders screamed down the home stretch - the Stearns was still rounding the far back turn -- Barney suddenly wheeled over behind the Peerless, accelerating between his rival and the fence.

Too narrow, you 'II crash! Carl didn't know whether he shouted it out loud or only in his head. Barney drove relentlessly, never looking to right or left. He roared over the finish line half a length ahead of his rival, who slowed down, shaking his head in-despair.

Carl had a brief suspicion about the outcome. Was it rigged? Didn't matter, the spectacle was thrilling. The celebration in the stands was as great or greater than that after the speed run. Barney leaped out of his car, tore off his goggles, made nearly opaque by dust, shot both arms over his head triumphantly. The standing ovation lasted five minutes.

Carl limped down the grandstand stairs, exhausted. As the May twilight settled, he leaned against the stand and rolled a cigarette. He knew what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.

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152

Striving

After the crowds dispersed, Carl loitered near the livestock barn being used as a garage. The evening was cool, the red of the western horizon shifting chameleon-like through shades of delicate blue-green, pale blue, dark blue high up where the stars winked. Eventually Barney emerged from the barn with his teammates, pit mechanics, and his wife, a brunette with a lush figure and smoky good looks. Barney wore his long sealskin coat.

Laughing and chattering, they all climbed into two Chalmers touring cars provided by the track. Carl heard someone say there was a good roadhouse a half mile up the pike. The open autos drove away. Carl flipped his cigarette into the dust and followed on foot.

At the roadhouse, more hangers-on appeared, including four women with the rouged look of whores. Carl squeezed into a spot at the bar, awaiting his chance. Barney bought drinks for his crowd, polishing off three whiskeys with little apparent effect. The advance man started a stud poker game, and Barney's wife drew up a chair to watch. In another corner the whores clapped and cheered for men shooting dice on their knees. Carl saw his opportunity, walked up to Barney, and offered his hand.

'Can I talk to you a second? My name's Carl Crown.'

'Hey there, Carl Crown. You know me -- Barney Oldfield.' Up close, Barney's eyes had a filmy, not quite focused look. Both men had to speak up because of the noise.

i sure do,' Carl said. 'That was a great performance this afternoon.'

'Why, thanks. Enjoyed it myself.'

'I thought for a minute that the National might not run.'

'You kidding? We loosen a spark plug lead ahead of time so these magic fingers can fix it.' Barney showed the hand with the glittering rock. 'They love it.'

'I've driven some races around here,' Carl said. 'Is there a chance I could get on your team?'

Barney eyed him up and down. 'Tell you another little secret. Fellas who drive for me don't win unless I order it.'

That answered his question earlier. 'Well, I wondered. It would be okay with me. I just want to get out of Detroit and drive full-time.'

'Sure you know what you're doing? I can't count the times I've crashed.

Anytime you race, you're liable to wind up with a head full of stitches, or
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a leg sawed off, or a neck broken. Webb Jay wrecked his Whistling Willy steamer last year, twenty-seven fractures and a brain concussion. He may never get out of bed. It isn't a game anymore, it's a blood sport. The crowds want wrecks. They want to see you bleed and die.'

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'I understand the risks.'

'Then if you're not scared out of your drawers, you must be born to do it. Got a job right now?'

'Yes, at Ford.'

'Family?'

He didn't answer right away. 'No. But there's--'

He stopped, aware of someone shouting Barney's name. At the tables and along the bar, people swiveled to look at a man standing in the middle of the sawdust floor. A haggard man, wearing a suit that would have done credit to an undertaker. He had a hot-eyed look.

'Barney Oldfield,' the man said.

Barney leaned back against the bar, resting on his elbows. He gave the stranger a bleary smile. 'You have the advantage of me, pal.'

'James Marble. South Bend. I accuse you of having an assignation with my wife at the railroad hotel the night after your exhibition.'

Barney considered the charge for about two seconds, then waved.

'You're all wet, pal. Who told you that fairy story?'

'My wife. After I beat it out of her with my belt.'

Softly but audibly, Bess Oldfield said, 'Oh, my God.'

'Bess honey,' Barney said without looking at her, 'this bird's loony.'

The haggard man trembled and sweated. Men near Carl began to edge away. He heard one of the bartenders moving behind him. James Marble stabbed a hand into his coat, came up with a blued revolver. He aimed to the left of Barney.

'Hands above the bar, you. Reach for anything, I'll blow your head off.'

Barney pushed Carl, then the man on his other side. 'Get clear, boys. I don't want anyone hurt because of some drunk's half-baked fairy tales.'

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Carl stepped over in front of a threesome at a table. He stood rigid, the backs of his legs against an empty chair. Everyone was motionless except Marble, who shuddered continually. Layers of cigar smoke coiled under the tin-shaded lights.

'Fairy tales?' Marble said. 'Everybody knows your reputation. You're a dirty lecher who corrupts other men's wives.' He swung the blued revolver suddenly, aiming it at Bess. She covered her ears and ducked.

'You took that tramp to bed before--'

'You shut your fucking mouth. Bess was a respectable widow.'

'--before you divorced your first wife. Well, you're all through.'

Barney was sweating as heavily as Marble. He rubbed his left hand against his shiny cheek; the knockout diamond flashed.

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Striving

'Marble, let's cut a deal. Let's you and me step out that door and discuss it. I don't want that gun to go off and hurt any of my friends.'

'They get it after you get it,' Marble screamed. He clutched the pistol with both hands to steady his aim. At that moment Carl grabbed the empty chair behind him and hurled it. The chair caught Marble at his knees, making him stumble. Barney dove to the floor. Marble's pistol went off, but the bullet clanged on a tin shade and ricocheted harmlessly.

Men

from Barney's team swarmed on the floundering man, ripped the gun out of his hand, knocked him down, pummeling and kicking him.

Marble stuck his rear in the air and propped himself on his elbows, protecting his head. Barney's advance man kicked him in the side.

'Awright, let the poor slob alone,' Barney said, pulling them off.

'Someone haul him out of here and tie him up and call the sheriff. Bess, you all right?'

'I'm all right, Barney,' she said, shaken. Still, she was looking at him with a strange expression.

'Come on up here, have a drink. Everybody have another drink, the drinks are on Barney. Sorry for the fracas,' he said to the three bartenders.

He handed five dollars to each. While the crowd swarmed to the rail, Barney approached Carl.

'You saved my ass, kid. Got a quick head on you. Do you drive the same way?'

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'Well, I try.'

'Tell you what. I'll be all over the map this summer, but in August I know I'll be in Indianapolis to open the new motor speedway. I think my second driver, Red, may leave me about July. His wife's got a loaf in her oven. If he does leave and I haven't filled the opening, I'll try you out.

'I'll find you. Thanks.'

'No guarantees, understood?'

'I'll take my chances.'

'Good, that's the game we're in, taking chances. What's your name again?'

'Crown. Carl Crown.'

'Carl. Got it.' Barney cocked his thumb like a pistol and shot him.

'Step up and have a drink on Barney Oldfield.'

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30 A Desperate Call

Carl leaned in the doorway, in his nightshirt, wakened by loud knocking.

Mrs. Gibbs stood there, with a candle set in a dish. It burned so dimly, her head seemed to float bodiless in the dark.

Carl knuckled his eyes. 'What time is it?'

'Half past four.' Tuesday, two days after he'd met Oldfield. 'Not a decent hour for anyone to be calling a respectable household.'

'Calling?' His voice was fogged with sleep.

'Some female on the line says? it's an emergency. Mrs. Wallauer ran over from next door and woke me up.'

'Good God,' Carl said, alert suddenly. 'I'll go right over.'

'Put a coat on, you're not decent,' the landlady cried, but he was already thumping down the stairs.

Mrs. Wallauer was a tiny woman with moles. She handed him the earpiece and retired a few steps down the hall. Carl turned his back,
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wondering. Had his mother or the General died suddenly?

'Hello?'

'Carl, it's me. I can't talk long.'

'Tess. What is it?' He heard a tremor in her voice. Something dire had happened.

'I wanted to wait until tomorrow, but I couldn't sleep, I'm too upset.'

'Tell me what's wrong.'.

% 'I can't go into it now, I'll tell you in the morning. I'll pick you up at half past eight.'

'Tess, it's a workday.'

'Give them an excuse. Call in sick.'

The little boy raised with stern German rectitude kicked and squalled.

'I've never lied to get a day off.'

'Well, aren't you a saint? Aren't you just wonderful? Do you give a damn about me or not?'

t 'You know I do.'

'Half past eight.'

With a click the connection broke.

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Striving

He hung the earpiece on the hook. A noise behind him reminded him of Mrs. Wallauer. 'Something bad?' she said, with an ill-concealed hopefulness.

Bewildered and scared, he looked at her. 'Yes. Yes, I think so.'

Tess arrived in the red Clymer fifteen minutes early. By the time Carl ran out the gate, cloth cap in hand, she'd moved to the passenger side. He was in such a rush, he'd barely remembered to button his suspenders onto his pants.

He opened the door, stepped on the running board, horrified by the sight of her -- cheeks raw from weeping, eyes like blurs of watercolor in larger splotches of shadow. She wore a tan driving duster and a broad brimmed hat held under her chin with a red silk scarf. She was kneading
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her hands in her lap. He'd speculated about her monthly female complaint but decided it had to be something far more serious.

'Where do you want to go?'

'Out in the country. Anywhere.'

Ducking his head so as not to bang it on the top, he shut the door, grasped the wheel. 'Did the woman on the telephone raise the devil about my call?' she said.

'It doesn't matter, she knew it was an emergency. Did someone hurt you?'

'Not physically.' She closed her eyes; it squeezed tears onto her cheeks.

'Just drive.' He'd never seen her this way. She was always so strong and sure.

He negotiated the busy morning traffic, heading west across Woodward and out to the northwest along Grand River. The air in the Clymer was stuffy, and he unsnapped a side curtain. Tess stared ahead through the windscreen.

Two miles past the city limits the brick pavement ended. The Clymer lurched along a more typical road -- essentially sand, with deep ruts.

Sunburned men worked in bean fields, pea patches, apple orchards. Tess roused a little, opened the curtain on her side. Carl was aware of the bounty of the countryside, maples and sycamores and cherry trees budding, wildflowers blooming, birds warbling, a jackrabbit jumping across the road in front of them chased by another.

He saw a track leading off through the tall grass of a fallow field and wheeled the Clymer into it. He braked and shut off the engine.

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'I can't wait any longer, Tess. What's happened?'