to cry. “We do, but I don’t love you . . . that way. I can’t. I can only love women that way. But nobody can know it.”
Teach had thought she could love him that way. She had sure acted like it. In motels across two counties, she had acted like it very well. But acting was acting, and she was right. Nobody could know it. Not in that time and place.
“You have to promise me,” she said. “Nobody can know.”
“Sure, I promise.” And he had meant it. He asked her, “So do we keep on . . . ?”
“Yeah,” she’d said, crying hard now. “We have to keep on . . . for a while. Then,” she was sobbing so hard that he moved back to her and took her in his arms again, “then we have to break up. It’ll be in all the papers. Our breakup. It’ll be big news. And we, I mean, I won’t date anyone after that. I’ll be carrying a torch for you.”
“So I’ll be the reason we break up?”
“Yes. If you don’t mind. Please, Jimmy, I’d like it if you’d be the reason. It would be better for me.”
They both knew this meant that Teach had to find a new girl, and he had to do it publicly, and that in the public eye he would be the lout who had dumped Bama Boyd, ruining a sports-page romance.
“Okay,” Teach had said, “but I’m gonna miss you.” He held her hard in his arms, trying to press into his body the memory of hers forever, and hoping that as she wept and pressed back, holding him hard too, in some strange way she was not acting. And he did miss her. For a long time.
Now Bama backed up, gave the Alfa’s once-furious engine a couple of rumbling revs, and rolled toward Teach. He duckwalked around to the front of the Buick, hid there, his head throbbing with shame, while she rolled past. Teach tried to form in his mind the words of the apology he would phone to Bama. He would tell her about hiding. She would know about that. And he’d tell her it wasn’t her he was hiding from.
TWELVE
Meador Pharmaceuticals operated a manufacturing facility in what had once been an orange grove west of Tampa. The firm produced formulas developed by its small research division, but mostly served as an importer and distributor of offshore drugs. An anti-inflammatory from Mexico, a hypertension pill from Switzerland, and fertility drugs from France and Germany. James Teach managed the sales force, men and women who went out every day to physician’s offices, clinics, and hospitals purveying Meador drugs and the perks that went with them. Teach had started with Meador on the loading dock and had risen to sales, then to sales management, and finally to a vice presidency.
He had known for a long time that he would not be considered for the presidency. Mabry Meador, the company’s founding president and CEO, and his wife, Oona, had produced two daughters. One daughter had married well, the other not so well, but both had married ambition. Mabry Meador was as healthy a sixty-year-old as Teach had ever seen, and when he decided to step down, the top job would go to a son-in-law: Ambition A or Ambition B. Teach figured he’d be swept out in the housecleaning when Ambition ascended to the presidential suite.
As he got out of the LeSabre and stood stretching in the hot, muggy morning, he knew that even his present position was uncertain. Mabry Meador would have read the newspaper. If he had missed the article about Teach, then someone from the company would have called him, in the company’s best interest, of course.
Mabry Meador encouraged such things. He was a Southern Baptist who believed in a heaven of cottony clouds and plucking lyres, and a hell of eternal, unbearable fire. He abhorred shady dealing or sharp practice. The Meador sales force was required to balance expense accounts to the penny and to submit to vigorous questioning by company accountants should any voucher suggest lavish tendencies. Meador insisted that all members of middle- and top-level management attend biannual retreats on the campus of a
Teach had thought she could love him that way. She had sure acted like it. In motels across two counties, she had acted like it very well. But acting was acting, and she was right. Nobody could know it. Not in that time and place.
“You have to promise me,” she said. “Nobody can know.”
“Sure, I promise.” And he had meant it. He asked her, “So do we keep on . . . ?”
“Yeah,” she’d said, crying hard now. “We have to keep on . . . for a while. Then,” she was sobbing so hard that he moved back to her and took her in his arms again, “then we have to break up. It’ll be in all the papers. Our breakup. It’ll be big news. And we, I mean, I won’t date anyone after that. I’ll be carrying a torch for you.”
“So I’ll be the reason we break up?”
“Yes. If you don’t mind. Please, Jimmy, I’d like it if you’d be the reason. It would be better for me.”
They both knew this meant that Teach had to find a new girl, and he had to do it publicly, and that in the public eye he would be the lout who had dumped Bama Boyd, ruining a sports-page romance.
“Okay,” Teach had said, “but I’m gonna miss you.” He held her hard in his arms, trying to press into his body the memory of hers forever, and hoping that as she wept and pressed back, holding him hard too, in some strange way she was not acting. And he did miss her. For a long time.
Now Bama backed up, gave the Alfa’s once-furious engine a couple of rumbling revs, and rolled toward Teach. He duckwalked around to the front of the Buick, hid there, his head throbbing with shame, while she rolled past. Teach tried to form in his mind the words of the apology he would phone to Bama. He would tell her about hiding. She would know about that. And he’d tell her it wasn’t her he was hiding from.
TWELVE
Meador Pharmaceuticals operated a manufacturing facility in what had once been an orange grove west of Tampa. The firm produced formulas developed by its small research division, but mostly served as an importer and distributor of offshore drugs. An anti-inflammatory from Mexico, a hypertension pill from Switzerland, and fertility drugs from France and Germany. James Teach managed the sales force, men and women who went out every day to physician’s offices, clinics, and hospitals purveying Meador drugs and the perks that went with them. Teach had started with Meador on the loading dock and had risen to sales, then to sales management, and finally to a vice presidency.
He had known for a long time that he would not be considered for the presidency. Mabry Meador, the company’s founding president and CEO, and his wife, Oona, had produced two daughters. One daughter had married well, the other not so well, but both had married ambition. Mabry Meador was as healthy a sixty-year-old as Teach had ever seen, and when he decided to step down, the top job would go to a son-in-law: Ambition A or Ambition B. Teach figured he’d be swept out in the housecleaning when Ambition ascended to the presidential suite.
As he got out of the LeSabre and stood stretching in the hot, muggy morning, he knew that even his present position was uncertain. Mabry Meador would have read the newspaper. If he had missed the article about Teach, then someone from the company would have called him, in the company’s best interest, of course.
Mabry Meador encouraged such things. He was a Southern Baptist who believed in a heaven of cottony clouds and plucking lyres, and a hell of eternal, unbearable fire. He abhorred shady dealing or sharp practice. The Meador sales force was required to balance expense accounts to the penny and to submit to vigorous questioning by company accountants should any voucher suggest lavish tendencies. Meador insisted that all members of middle- and top-level management attend biannual retreats on the campus of a
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