Nebraska: Stories by Hansen Ron

Author:Hansen, Ron [Hansen, Ron]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Grove/Atlantic, Inc.
Published: 2012-02-29T16:00:00+00:00

“Look at that,” he said. “My wife. She goes out spending my hard-earned money on records. The Carpenters. John Denver. I don't know what gets into her sometimes.”

“I kind of enjoy John Denver,” said Rick.

“See?” Karen called.

As they walked to the thrumming Oldsmobile, Walter leaned into Rick, fanning three tickets out like a heart-stopping poker hand. “How about these beauties, Richard?”

“Wow! What do I owe ya?”

He frowned and pushed the tickets back into his wallet. “De nada,” said Walter. “Buy me a beer.”

As Rick drove, he and Walter talked about their budding families. You could see it was driving Mickey bananas. Here he was a bachelor, giving up a night when he could've probably had some make-out artist in the sack, and all he was hearing was talk about drooling and potties and cutting new teeth. So as he climbed up onto the highway Rick introduced the topic of college basketball, and Walter scrunched forward to talk about the Marquette scoring threat, but Mickey interrupted to ask Walter if he knew that Rick was considering his own distributor-ship.

“Hell,” the banker said, “I'm the one who put the gleam in his eye.” He settled into the backseat and crossed his kid leather gloves in his lap. “I think that's a tremendous opportunity, Rick. Where've you gone with it lately?”

“He's been testing the waters,” said Mickey.

“I've sort've put it on the back burner until Jane and the kids get a better lay of the land,” said Rick. “I think it might be a pretty good setup, though. Almost no time on the road and very little selling. I'll see what it's like to stay around the house and carry those canvas money bags up to the teller's window.”

Walter grew thoughtful. “I read somewhere that every per- son who starts a new business makes at least one horrible mistake. Something really staggering. If you get through that and you don't get kayoed, I guess you got it made.”

They were quiet then for several minutes, as if in mourning for all those bankrupts who had been walloped in the past. The tape player clicked onto the second side. Mickey tapped one of his black cigarillos on his wrist.

“You really like those things?” Rick asked.

Mickey lit it with the car lighter. “Yep,” Mickey said. “I like them a lot.”

Rick turned into the Notre Dame parking lot. “Since I gave up smoking, I notice it all the time. This health kick's really made a difference. I'm down two notches on my belt, my clothes don't fit, and I want to screw all the time now.” He switched off the ignition. “How's that for a side benefit?”

Mickey said, “You smile a lot, you know that?”

It was just an okay game, nothing spectacular as far as Rick was concerned. In fact, if you conked him on the head, he might even have said it was boring. Where was the teamwork? Where was the give-and-take? A couple of black guys were out there throwing up junk shots, making the

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