in a basket on top of the washer. He offered further commentary upon his return.
“Could get seasonal work, keep from getting tied down that way. A lot of the pickers around here end up in Texas and Florida in the winter.”
Russell nodded to signal that he was listening, but he was in no mood to seriously consider any advice. He was content to deal with things as they came up, to tend to his survival on a daily basis and devote himself more to the present than the future. It was novelty he needed, not stability. But he didn’t feel like explaining himself, so he suffered Manny to continue.
“You know Felix, Carmela’s brother?”
Russell shrugged. “By name, yeah. I don’t think I ever met him. I only know Carmela, Isabel, and Nestor. There’s two older brothers, right? I think they were already out of the house by the time I started coming around.”
“Felix and Luis. Luis is set to take over the dry cleaners whenever the old man retires. But Felix is a manager out at the gravel quarry now—he’s always bitching about how hard it is to get good workers. Want to swing by there? No harm in seeing if he’s got anything open. It’s hard work, but it’ll keep you in shape, give you something for your resume. Come on, and then I’ll take you out to the Mega Cart. It’s really pretty cool.”
Russell couldn’t object. He had nothing else to do and didn’t think he could insist on staying behind. Besides, he didn’t want to discourage Manny’s concern for his welfare.
“Pull that door hard so it’ll lock,” Manny said, loping down the steps. Russell slammed it hard enough to rattle the windows, then checked to make sure it was locked. The door opened, so he slammed it harder. This time the lock caught and he walked down to the driveway. He smiled to see the car. It was the same one Manny had driven in high school: a cherry red ‘63 Impala that Carmela had named “The Imp.” It had been well cared for. The chrome was polished, and the waxed body glinted in the sun.
“Water lilies are ancient plants,” Russell observed as they drove along the shore of the lake. “Been around a couple hundred million years at least.”
Manny looked at him over the top of his sunglasses, his wrist resting on the steering wheel. “You notice the new paint job on The Imp? Original color, new paint. Took it to Earl Scheib—any car, any color, ninety-nine dollars. Dropped a new engine in her a few years ago.” He rubbed the upholstery on the seat. “Had this cleaned, the whole thing detailed. It’s like new. I want to keep this car forever.”
They turned and headed downtown on their way to the gravel quarry.
“I saw the weirdest thing this morning,” Russell remembered as they approached downtown. “In the parking lot of Fisker’s Furniture. This fat guy in a nightgown and one of those long nightcaps standing next to this big old bed. He was waving a wand and there was this sign that said, ‘The Celestial Bed.’ It was freaky. I just kind of looked at it and walked on.”
“Let’s check it out,” Manny said. With a jerk of the wheel he changed lanes and made a hard right, racing through a yellow light. They pulled into the parking lot. It was empty. As they idled there, Manny looked carefully around him.
“What are you talking about? Celestial Bed, my ass. I ain’t seeing no Celestial Bed, pal.”
“I’m telling you I saw it earlier. Go in and ask if you want.”
Manny shifted the transmission into park and shook his head. “Right. I’m going to go walk into Fisker’s Furniture and ask to see ‘The Celestial Bed.’ Yeah, right. What do you think I am, some kind of fool?”
“I’m just telling you what I saw.”
“Well, you see it now?”
“No.”
Manny clicked his tongue. “Say it,” he ordered.
“What?”
“Say, ‘There ain’t no Celestial Bed.’”
Russell barked a bemused laugh and repeated, “There ain’t no Celestial Bed.”
“Say it again,” Manny insisted.
“Oh, come on.”
“Say it again, and mean it this time.”
“There ain’t no Celestial Bed.”
“All right,” said Manny, now thoroughly humored. “Let’s get out of here.”
Abruptly reversing, he spun the car around and squealed out across four lanes of traffic, gunned it through a red light and sped out of town.
A guard walked toward them as they approached the gate to the quarry.
“Flip him off,” Russell sneered, poking Manny in the ribs. “Flip him off and ram the gate.”
Manny swatted him and leaned out the window. “We’re here to see Felix Contreras.”
The guard nodded, opened the gate and waved them through. Men covered with dust worked among roaring machinery. Mountains of sand and gravel rimmed the pit. They drove slowly to a corrugated tin building where they were directed to Felix’s office. He was on the phone when they walked in and greeted them with a hesitant wave, holding his hand in the air while he continued his conversation with a strained expression. Noise from the machines outside vibrated the fake wood paneling of the windowless room. Fluorescent tubes glared from a cracked fixture. A fan tried to ventilate the room, but succeeded only in rustling the pages of a company calendar tacked on the wall behind the desk. They remained standing, although they could have seated themselves on a sagging couch. Felix hung up and loosened his tie. Sweat beaded on his brow as he addressed Manny.
“Hi. What are you doing here?”
He turned to Russell and nodded, letting his gaze linger on him a moment.
“Hey, Felix. You know Russ Pinske?”
“Afraid not.” He extended his hand. “Good to meet you.”
“Yeah, Russ is an old friend of ours. He just got back in town. I told him about you always looking for help.”
Felix sighed. “Guys, I wish you’d been here about a month ago. I got a full crew now. Nothing open except for haulers.” He looked hopefully at Russell. “You got a commercial license?”
Russell considered whether he should reveal that his ordinary license had expired a while ago, but said only, “No.”
“That’s all I need now. But who knows—a week from now could be different. Here,” he reached under a stack of papers on his desk and handed over a card. “Give me a call if you don’t find anything else. Jobs open up all the time.”
Relieved, Russell turned to leave. Manny stayed behind.
“You coming by tonight?” he asked.
“No,” Felix said. “I’m coaching Ernesto’s Little League tonight. We’ll probably stop by, but it depends on Liz. She’s feeling tired all the time these days.”
Manny nodded. “All right. Later on.” He walked to the door where Russell stood.
“Take it easy,” Felix called out from behind his desk. “Thanks for coming by.”
Manny cranked the volume on a disco station as they jostled along back roads. A hawk circled in the hazy, humid sky. Fields of corn and beans blanketed the rolling land, interspersed with clumps of trees. Russell didn’t know exactly where they were, but Manny seemed to know where he was going, and he seemed to want to get there in a hurry. He muscled the wheel and swerved onto another road, sending gravel and dust flying behind them. They crossed a bridge over a creek and Russell recognized the road they were on.
“OK, I know where we are. I went to grade school out here.”