program, Jane Fonda’s. That woman is a national treasure.”
“I loved her
in Barefoot in the Park ,” he says, by which time the folder’s nice and
snug down my boot.
“You’re a
sensitive soul, Darling. A sensitive soul. And I want to thank you for seeing
me today.”
5
Walking back
downtown through Times Square, keeping an eye out for fedoras on my tail, I
begin noticing a little looseness around the waist of the Italian suit and get
to wondering if maybe Junie got my measure wrong. Then I recall the pants are
carrying around a good twelve plus dollars in quarters and realize that for the
first time in a long time, I may be in the financial position to set myself up
with something really stylish in the belt department. So what I do, I take me a
little detour over to the East Side, the location of Bobby Le Ray’s Famous
Western Store. I’m thinking ostrich skin or one of your finer large birds.
Maybe even pick me out a discreet luxury buckle. Little sculptures, Bobby Le
Ray’s buckles. Once found me a turquoise armadillo in the same location that
stood with me as faithfully as any hound dog through more than any armadillo
should be asked to bear. Ended up having to hock it to a Vietnamese pawnbroker
in Lubbock whose wife took to wearing it around her neck on a chain. Gave me
great pain whenever I happened to run into her in the supermarket.
Anyway, I made
his honored acquaintance but once, Bobby Le Ray, over a little misunderstanding
at the cash register, but two things Bobby knew were quality and women. Knew
how to hire the help, Bobby did. I recall a big beautiful thing called Louella
who once set me up in a pair of leather chaps I took to wearing around the
home. Knew how to make you comfortable in a pair of chaps, Louella did. So I
just stroll on in there and make my intentions known. Ostrich in belt form and
a little something special in the buckle department, specifically a turquoise
armadillo if they’ve got one. I go ahead and pull out the wallet to get them
moving. Nobody’s ever heard of Louella, but then it’s been a while, and Suzanne
couldn’t be nicer in her blue jeans.
She picks out
a belt that will do me. “Suzanne, sweetheart,” I say, “I’m no astrophysicist so
explain to me if you would how those jeans of yours work. I guess they just sew
them straight onto you at the factory. Must be quite an operation.”
She giggles
and looks down at her boots as she brushes this crazy curly hair back behind
her ears. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to contact a few acquaintances of mine
at the PBS channel and enlighten them to the potential of a half-hour
documentary on you in those blue jeans.”
Suzanne does some
more giggling so damn charming I find myself selecting a higher-end Manhattan
skyline done up in fourteen-carat silver with a little ruby for the torch of
Lady Liberty. Patriotic as hell, this buckle makes me feel. From California to
the New York Islands. Gets me thinking of wide-open spaces and the rack of
handmade cowboy hats they’ve got across the room next to the bolo department. I
catch a glimpse of me in the mirror wearing a calfskin number they call The
Kid, with this copper penny hat band that gives it that extra something. Never
had any homosexual tendencies myself, to be perfectly honest, but what I see in
that mirror is enough to make me reconsider. Suzanne sidles up next to me and
makes it amply clear that she’s under the same impression. She suggests a pair
of ostrich skin Lucchese boots to match the belt and for the hell of it, and
although it’s tempting coming from Suzanne, and though my Madonna-stuffed boots
have seen better days, they were made to measure by a former El Paso bootmaker
acquaintance of mine, and in matters concerning boots I tend towards the
sentimental. Belt and hat matters too, but that’s why I’m in Bobby Le Ray’s.
Storing up a little sentiment for a rainy day, so to speak. You really can’t
put a price tag on that kind of thing,
“I loved her
in Barefoot in the Park ,” he says, by which time the folder’s nice and
snug down my boot.
“You’re a
sensitive soul, Darling. A sensitive soul. And I want to thank you for seeing
me today.”
5
Walking back
downtown through Times Square, keeping an eye out for fedoras on my tail, I
begin noticing a little looseness around the waist of the Italian suit and get
to wondering if maybe Junie got my measure wrong. Then I recall the pants are
carrying around a good twelve plus dollars in quarters and realize that for the
first time in a long time, I may be in the financial position to set myself up
with something really stylish in the belt department. So what I do, I take me a
little detour over to the East Side, the location of Bobby Le Ray’s Famous
Western Store. I’m thinking ostrich skin or one of your finer large birds.
Maybe even pick me out a discreet luxury buckle. Little sculptures, Bobby Le
Ray’s buckles. Once found me a turquoise armadillo in the same location that
stood with me as faithfully as any hound dog through more than any armadillo
should be asked to bear. Ended up having to hock it to a Vietnamese pawnbroker
in Lubbock whose wife took to wearing it around her neck on a chain. Gave me
great pain whenever I happened to run into her in the supermarket.
Anyway, I made
his honored acquaintance but once, Bobby Le Ray, over a little misunderstanding
at the cash register, but two things Bobby knew were quality and women. Knew
how to hire the help, Bobby did. I recall a big beautiful thing called Louella
who once set me up in a pair of leather chaps I took to wearing around the
home. Knew how to make you comfortable in a pair of chaps, Louella did. So I
just stroll on in there and make my intentions known. Ostrich in belt form and
a little something special in the buckle department, specifically a turquoise
armadillo if they’ve got one. I go ahead and pull out the wallet to get them
moving. Nobody’s ever heard of Louella, but then it’s been a while, and Suzanne
couldn’t be nicer in her blue jeans.
She picks out
a belt that will do me. “Suzanne, sweetheart,” I say, “I’m no astrophysicist so
explain to me if you would how those jeans of yours work. I guess they just sew
them straight onto you at the factory. Must be quite an operation.”
She giggles
and looks down at her boots as she brushes this crazy curly hair back behind
her ears. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to contact a few acquaintances of mine
at the PBS channel and enlighten them to the potential of a half-hour
documentary on you in those blue jeans.”
Suzanne does some
more giggling so damn charming I find myself selecting a higher-end Manhattan
skyline done up in fourteen-carat silver with a little ruby for the torch of
Lady Liberty. Patriotic as hell, this buckle makes me feel. From California to
the New York Islands. Gets me thinking of wide-open spaces and the rack of
handmade cowboy hats they’ve got across the room next to the bolo department. I
catch a glimpse of me in the mirror wearing a calfskin number they call The
Kid, with this copper penny hat band that gives it that extra something. Never
had any homosexual tendencies myself, to be perfectly honest, but what I see in
that mirror is enough to make me reconsider. Suzanne sidles up next to me and
makes it amply clear that she’s under the same impression. She suggests a pair
of ostrich skin Lucchese boots to match the belt and for the hell of it, and
although it’s tempting coming from Suzanne, and though my Madonna-stuffed boots
have seen better days, they were made to measure by a former El Paso bootmaker
acquaintance of mine, and in matters concerning boots I tend towards the
sentimental. Belt and hat matters too, but that’s why I’m in Bobby Le Ray’s.
Storing up a little sentiment for a rainy day, so to speak. You really can’t
put a price tag on that kind of thing,
Similar Books
