Heart of Texas Read online

  Heart of Texas

  Kirk Haggerty

  Published in 2015 by FeedARead.com Publishing

  Copyright © Kirk Haggerty

  The author asserts his moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  To Kevin

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Special thanks are due to Lilian Kendrick for editing Heart of Texas, and to the readers and writers of the YouWriteOn and Scribophile online communities for their feedback during the writing process.

  Chapter One

  “Daniel, could you come into my office, please? I need to talk to you.”

  Well there it was. My boss wanted to ‘talk to me’. Every time Mr. Bronsworth invited someone for a chat, they always left his office teary-eyed and on their way to packing their desks. Perhaps it was for the better. This wasn’t my dream job.

  I also made enemies.

  Not here in Boston, but hundreds of miles away in Texas. Lots of folks from the Lone Star State had sent me hate mail to my nationally syndicated blog. As I approached the throne of judgment, I thought I saw my life pass me by, like a near-death experience. But there were no tunnels or white lights, just flashbacks of what brought me to this point.

  You see, I always wanted to be a journalist since I was a kid. My father gave me an iMac when I was thirteen and I took to it like nothing else. I wrote horror stories like Stephen King and made up Star Trek episodes for my best friend’s webpage. I led the team for my high school newspaper, and later in college I worked my way up their campus newspaper.

  Almost every summer, my parents took me to Berlin to visit my family on my father’s side. I learned to speak German fluently. After college I moved overseas and got a job at a night-club magazine called ‘Berlin-Berlin’. I was mentored by some of the best editors in Europe and the city life provided incredible experiences for a young man.

  I stayed for four wonderful years, but I knew it was time to return to the ‘mother ship’. After all, the Beatles started in Hamburg, but couldn’t stay there. I stepped off the plane in Boston with an awesome resume. Who could say no to someone like me?

  Everybody!

  None of the major papers were interested. I had to stay with my folks for three months until I found a foot-in-the-door job with a sophisticated men’s magazine, and that was because someone went on maternity leave. ‘Leather and Lace’ wasn’t as exciting as one would think, such as writing erotic smut or what not. It turned out my job was to report the political culture of young people in America. Excuse me? They write about that in a soft-porn mag? This could only happen in liberal Boston.

  Mr. Bronsworth was OK to work with in the beginning. As time passed he enjoyed my writing style and entrusted me with my own blog, including a pay raise. I was feeling pretty good about myself.

  Then he gave me a new project. The 2012 US elections were coming up and I was assigned to write an article about the benefits of The Affordable Care Act. After researching everything I could find and weighing the pros and cons, I thought I had a pretty watertight argument in favor of ACA. After all, in Germany, they’ve had universal health care since the days of Bismarck, something I wanted to emphasize.

  With a single mouse click, I posted my article and felt proud of my accomplishment. The following day the overwhelming majority ripped into me, as if I had a disease.

  I’m posting a few samples here for your entertainment. I didn’t correct their spelling:

  “Can I ax you a question, sir? From what I hear, you’ve been in Germany for years and it looks like you don’t know whats happening in these parts. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY wants Obamacare. The government can’t force us to pay into something. That’s unconstitutional. Don’t tread on me! Don’t you know that Texas is a conservative republican state, and all but 2% of Texas republicans hate Obama?” Louis – Austin.

  “I’m against this Czar Obama and his health care. My husband has a small company and if we have to pay into this for our employees, our business will be ruined!” Sally – Corpus Christi.

  You commie, pinko bastard. Go back to Fuckn Europe where all those Putin spys come from. We don’t need no Marxist, homophonic bullshit in this country!” Don – San Antonio.

  “We’re being forced to do something we don’t want to do. I have my private insurance, and it aint fair that I have to pay my hard earned bucks to support some lazy ass who can’t pull his weight.” Arthur – Plano.

  “I can care less how Germany, the UK or Canada manages their health care system. This is the United States of America, and we’re going to do things OUR WAY!” Amanda – Wichita Falls.

  Boy, did I see fangs on that one.

  All the flack came from Texas. I thought to myself, “When did they write this, in the Dark Ages? Is this the mindset of an entire state?”

  After consulting with Mr. Bronsworth, he pointed out that Leather and Lace had never received so many ‘hits’ on its internet site since its inception.

  “I think we’ve hit a nerve here, Daniel,” he said. “I suggest you write a rebuttal and post it tomorrow. Show no mercy.”

  “What do you mean? ‘Show no mercy?’”

  He smiled and said, “If it’s Texans who are giving the flack and criticism, I want you to make Texans look stupid, you hear me? I want to see more hits on our website than a nuclear attack. Do you have any ideas how many sales we’ll generate after this?”

  I understood what was required of me. So I got to work.

  I’ve been living in the big city all my life. So I figured the people had these opinions because they were ‘simple folk’, living on ranches, with their minds baking under the hot sun.

  Here’s my rebuttal article:

  Wow, after reading these opinions I don't blame the government for conducting all those sterilization experiments. And no, you may not ‘ax’ me a question. I don’t speak Walmart. Why are all these accusations coming from Texas and nowhere else? Is everybody else in the country sleeping? Or is everything outside the Texas state line Canada?

  Sorry for being stereotypical, but you Texans can be such gun-toting, knuckle-dragging hillbillies. Is there anything of value in your state? (Apart from them full-blossomed Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, but that’s beside the point). So, all but 2% of Texas Republidolts hate Obama? Wow. That's a stunning number. Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups. Do I have to spell it out in ‘Sesame Street’ terminology? It-IS-possible-to-finance-health-care, even-in-Texas. Yup-we-can! (I had to dumb it down for Bush Country).

  As for the accusation of Obamacare being a Marxist plot, if anything, the Affordable Care Act solidifies the private sector’s control of health insurance. That whole idea is based on a Republican policy. Yep, partner, that’s right. It was dreamed up by the conservative Heritage Foundation in 1989, championed by Republican Senators, and enacted into law by noted Republican Mitt Romney in Massachusetts. Just to let you know, the GOP loved the individual mandate before it had Obama’s name on it.

  Hey, as you’ve said, I’ve been out of the country for too many years. What do I know? I guess you Texans don’t need Obamacare after all. I can hear the rednecks right now, “My pa took me to the dentist when I was six – haven’t gone ever since and don’t need to go again. Who needs health care
?” Yee Haw. So, are you and your sister still getting married this weekend? And ‘homophone’? That’s what we Android users call iPhones.

  Well, I became an overnight pariah at least in Texas; the new public enemy number one, right up there with bin Laden and Dillinger. My hate mail box rose to astronomical heights, but Mr. Bronsworth was enjoying every minute of it. He got his desired shit storm and a jump in sales. Like a seedy network producer in ecstasy over soaring ratings, a virtual Scrooge McDuck wallowing in mountains of money. I was hoping it would soon pass, like a headache or a bad dream. It didn’t.

  “Have a seat,” said Uncle Scrooge – er, I mean, the boss. I sat down and accepted one of his bourbon whiskeys. He had the best window view of Fenway Park, and was a devout Red Sox fan, with paraphernalia tacked across his office wall. “Son, you’re the best damn asset this magazine has.” His Boston accent was stronger than anyone I’ve met. It was like a character from an old gangster movie. “It’s not the lingerie or the titties, but your blog.”

  “Thanks. Just doing my job.”

  “I want to send you on a wicked assignment.” Everybody in Boston likes to throw in the word ‘wicked’ to spice things up. “You’ll be down there for a while.”

  “Down where?” I hoped he meant Australia.

  “My boy, you’re going to good old Texas. I’m sending you down there to find out first hand if they’re that backwards, and write it up.”

  I had to take another sip of whiskey to calm my nerves. Was he sending me to my death? “Mr. Bronsworth, they’ll shoot me if I even set foot there.”

  He waved it off as if my concern was a fly buzzing around his head. He leaned back in his leather chair and said, “I’ve made all the arrangements. I’ve prepared a flight ticket and a driver’s license with a fake name on it. Just grow a three-day beard and nobody will be the wiser.”

  I always took pride in being a clean-shaven, all-American, sandy hair bachelor, who kept in shape by practicing kick-boxing. A three-day beard would make me look like a terrorist.

  “Did you say I’m staying there for a while?”

  “A year.”

  “What?”

  “Hear me out.” He stood from his command chair, a gesture he often made in staff meetings, to say the final word. “You’re going to settle into some small town, find a place, get a job, mingle with the local yokels and write me a story about your observations over the course of a year, and that’s that.” He opened his drawer and handed me the flight ticket. As if I was hypnotized, I took it without hesitation. “Your plane leaves tomorrow morning for Dallas- Fort Worth.”

  There was nothing else to say, because the alternative would have been the unemployment office. I nodded, but I had to speak up when I saw the transfer connection. “You’re sending me to Waco?”

  “You’re going to get a leased car at the Waco airport and drive west to a place called Hamilton, population 3,000.”

  He could have ordered me to Siberia or to an Al-Qaeda training camp and I would have gone – but this place?

  “What the hell am I supposed to do there? Count cattle?”

  He crossed his arms and answered, “You’re a writer, Preis. Your folks own a bookstore. Go open a shop – if they can read, of course.” He chuckled.

  But I didn’t. What was my girlfriend Debbie going to say about this?

  Chapter Two

  I took Debbie to the Barking Crab on the waterfront, thinking it would be the perfect place to break the news to her over a wine cooler. It was a warm evening so we drank in the open tent, decorated with colorful lights, starfishes and other sea motifs. The aroma of cooked lobster was everywhere. Above the bar was a hundred-year-old rowboat, fastened by equally old pairs of ropes. It hung over me like the Sword of Damocles as we stood there drinking.

  Debbie was wearing short, cut denims, with a thin black top and light cardigan. But it’s her dreamy green eyes and long brown hair that make me want to fall to the floor and worship her. I only wish she felt the same.

  “I just can’t believe what you’re tellin’ me?” her tone was heavy with irritation. “They might as well lock you in a containah’ for a TV reality show.”

  “Well, I was hoping you could visit me.” I took a sip from my glass. “I’d hate to be lonely out in the Wild West, you know.”

  “You know I hate the desert.”

  “It’s not desert, its prairie. It can’t be that bad, can it?”

  She started fishing for a cigarette in her purse. Why do I always fall for gorgeous girls who smoke? She lit up and continued, “I could neva go out there. I know you’re doing your job and all that, but what you wrote was correct.”

  I remained silent to allow her to vent her feelings. She blew smoke in the direction of the harbor and sighed.

  “I read wutz on your blog. Those people are bonkers. What do they know about civilization? I mean we got history, ships, lobsters, the Celtics, real culture right here.”

  I smiled. “They got yacht clubs in Houston. I hear the catfish is good.”

  “They’re country hicks. The men are all Barney Fifes and Gomer Pyles. And the women, oh my gawd, they all look and talk like Dolly Parton.”

  “That doesn’t sound too bad, now that I think about it.”

  “You wipe that smirk off your face. There’s more to life than big tits.”

  I put my hands around her waist. She had this glittering piercing on her navel.

  “Hey, baby, I love your tits.” I gave her a kiss, but I could tell she wasn’t in the mood.

  “You leavin’ tomorrah mornin’?”

  “That’s why I want to spend my last evening with you.”

  “They’ll kill you down there. They’ll come after you with white sheets and burning crosses.”

  “You’re so kinky when you talk like that, baby.” I signaled the bartender to pay for the drinks. I took her hand so we could leave.

  “It’s late,” she said.

  “We can still get seats for the midnight show. Let’s see Rocky Horror.”

  “You need to go home and pack.”

  “Gee, mom, I’ll try to pack clean underwear, just for you.” She let go of my hand.

  “Please, Daniel. I’m not happy tonight. I want to go home.”

  I walked her out of the tent to her car. Some ‘kids’ were blasting their boomers from their backseats too loud as they roared around the corner, missing the edge of the pier. Would I have done that a few years earlier?

  “I’ll call you when I find a place to stay,” I told her.

  “I know.” She pulled out her keys.

  “You sure you don’t want to visit?”

  “I don’t know. It’s all too confusing for me right now.”

  I bent closer to give her a kiss. She gave me a hug, but not a warm one. It sounded too corny but I had to say it anyway, “Will you at least wait for me?”

  Without looking into my eyes, she muttered, “Sure, Daniel.”

  The flight to Dallas-Fort Worth took about four hours. I sent off three SMSs saying that I was on my way: one to Debbie, one to Mr. Bronsworth, and one to my parents. At least two out of three would miss me.

  From my window seat, I could see the endless urban sprawl surrounding the downtown area, with various skyscrapers reflecting the sunlight of the mid-morning. Dallas looked like your typical, modern American city. It was Big Texas right away at the airport. I could count at least seven runways from the window.

  I had a two hour wait before my transfer flight, so I spent the time at a bar and grill, trying a porterhouse steak and a Lone Star beer. I saw people from all over the world – I even picked up on the conversations of German tourists passing by.

  When I paid the meal, I chatted with the waiter about how cosmopolitan Dallas looked.

  “Well, if you want to see what Texas looks like, you have to get out of the city and into the country side.” He had a Mexican accent.

  “I figured that much.” I gave him an extra tip because I knew what it�
�s like to wait on tables.

  “Gracias. By the way, Señor, if I were you, I would take off the Red Sox stuff.”

  It was rainy when I left Boston and I was wearing my Red Sox jacket and baseball cap. “Right now?”

  “Well, it’s 80° outside. Where are you heading?”

  “Waco.”

  “Do it before you go to your boarding gate. There you find the typical redneck gringos.”

  The waiter was right. As I turned the corner for the boarding gate, I noticed white trash wearing jeans and t-shirts; many of them sporting cowboy boots. The only thing missing was the tobacco spitting urn. Better not to provoke the local yokels too soon on my journey, so I removed the last shreds of my true identity and stuffed them into my carry-on. Hopefully they wouldn’t have ‘Yankee-sniffing’ dogs nearby.

  After landing, I picked up the leased vehicle reserved for me. I had a choice between a four-door economy car or a truck. I didn’t want to look out of place, so I chose the truck; a black Dodge Dakota, four-seats, auto transmission and, most importantly, air-conditioning.

  I programmed the GPS to search for a motel in Hamilton, about a ninety-minute drive west of Waco. The radio played all kinds of music: country AND western. I figured they wouldn’t play any of my classic-rock favorites, so I kept a few songs on my iPod for later. The road signs showed a maximum speed limit of 75 MPH so I tried not to go faster. The land around me was grassland plains, dotted with occasional trees. The towns I passed through had this neo-wild-west look, with hitching posts and an old-time ‘General Store’ backdrop like in Western movies.

  Ranches, yes, they do have open-spaced ranches in Texas, with white wooden fences and wide-gaping entrance arches, like on the Dallas TV show. A large ad on the roadside made me chuckle: “Your In-Laws are not your Retirement Plan.”