It’ll Do
Copyright William J. Conaway,1989
Episode 9 – James Calhoun Baldwin
This is what Mavis would call an auto-biographical story, bless her heart.
Folks around here call me J.C. It started just as you’d expect—in the It’ll Do. It was a Saturday and I was just lounging around, hoping to work up a money pool game.
There are some of us who consider the It’ll Do to be a second home, and I guess I’m one of those. Now that Vera and Sully are married, it seems almost like a family in here.
Second home or not, it just wasn’t enough for me. I spent more time over at the “Barn” and fooled around with some of the girls over there. It helped some, but something still was missing. When I was at the It’ll Do I’d catch Sully and Vera taking looks at each other while they were going about their business, and it would come on me. I just didn’t know any proper unattached women. One day, after about six dark beers, I edged up to the subject with Vera.
“Vera,” I said, “I’ve got a problem.”
“I know you do, J.C.”
“Do you know what I’m talking about?”
“Yep.”
“Well, I’m starting to get miserable.”
About that time Sully came over to the end of the bar and he put his arm around Vera. That seemed to make it somewhat worse. Strange as it may seem, those two are nearly perfect for each other. Vera looked over the bar at me. Her brown eyes, which seemed like they could see through a lead-lined box, looked right into mine.
“Hang on a while, J.C.,” she said.
So, I had been feeling sorry for myself, and some drunk too. When Vera puts her mind to something, you’d better either run for cover or expect a miracle, whichever is appropriate.
Eph Swain came into the bar a few days later. This was surprising. Eph is a pretty well-known farmer around here, but he didn’t come into the It’ll Do, ever. Even stranger, he brought his niece, Cherry Davis, with him.
Now, I don’t want to tell you that I saw her as being beautiful—about all I saw was that she was The Niece of Mr. Swain. They went over to one of the booths and he ordered two beers.
Everyone in town knew Eph Swain—he was one of the smartest, and most prosperous, farmers in the county. It was his niece we didn’t know. She was pretty. Well, I was in the It’ll Do when they came in, and Vera was there too. I had been sort of hanging around the pool table when Vera came over and gave me one of those looks.
“J.C., it’s your time,”she said.
“What?”
“Shut your mouth and come with me.”
I wasn’t about to argue. I followed her. She made a bee-line for the table where Mr. Swain and this girl were sitting. Vera introduced herself, and then introduced me, James Calhoun Baldwin—damned if she didn’t—old Eph invited me to sit with them, which of course I did.
I could see that this girl had that look of a pool shooter that has lost way too many games. Eph just sat there, sipping his beer, and left the conversation up to us.
“I haven’t seen you around Cherryville before,” I said, feeling like a fool and sounding like one, too.
“No, I’m from Little Rock.”
There was something sad in her voice. Before you knew it, I found myself wanting to protect her, although I didn’t know exactly from what. We started to talk. Old Eph sat between us, not saying a word. It came out that she had been married, but it hadn’t worked out. She was just an average girl. No children. Suddenly, I imagined I might just possibly be falling in love. I would have sworn that Eph smiled just about the same time as I was thinking this.
That’s also when Vera came back over and invited Mr. Swain up to the bar for a minute. Cherry and I, started to talk without a halter on. Mind you, we were sitting on opposite sides of the table.
What she was searching for (I think) was someone who would treat her right—and she sure as hell didn’t find that in her first husband. There I was, half-convinced that I could be falling for her. She sure wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t in that class at all.
So, we started getting together pretty often and, sure enough, it wasn’t too long before we were engaged. And, quicker than I’d have thought possible, there I was up at the altar, getting married.
Cherry was a good and loving wife. We made a good family, I thought. I’d quit hanging around the It’ll Do so much and gone to work at my dad’s Ford Agency—starting as a stock clerk, but that was all right. Dad was glad to get me in the business.
How can I put this? Cherry was wonderful, but she was shy. She was even shy with me, which didn’t make any sense. She must have had some hellacious times with her first husband. She was just shy, and, whatever I tried to do, I couldn’t seem to bring her out of it. On the top of it, we were doing all right, below, there was something that wouldn’t let us truly be together.
At last, I got up my nerve and went and asked Vera about it. I guess Vera knows more about people—with no nonsense—than any other person I know. I asked her what I could do.
“J.C.,” she said, “you’re a good man, and I know you’re trying to do your best by her. I’ll tell you this; you just keep on trying—the rest is up to her.”
No nonsense, that Vera—but it wasn’t seeming to help much. Three weeks later Cherry left. To go back to her first husband. Damned if I know why. I went back to the It’ll Do for double dark beers—as many and as fast as I could get them down.
Vera came up to me. “I heard,” she said.
“Yeh.”
“Come over here with me, J.C.,” and she waved toward one of the booths.
Well, hell, I was more than half-drunk by that time, but I went along. I’ve always liked Vera, and I trust her.
“You can go running all over five states looking for her,” she said, “but if she can’t live with you, she just can’t. Get your divorce and be done with it. There are more women—good women—than you think. You just happened to latch on to one where it didn’t work. So, go off in the woods and cry or cuss, if you feel a need to. It won’t change one thing. So you go ahead and get your divorce and put it behind you.”
I’ll be damned if she didn’t have a tear or two in her eyes, like maybe she’d had to do that same thing, some time or another.
“Someday,” and she nodded over to where Sully was tending bar,” you’ll find—not the perfect one, there’s too many memories will come back to haunt you—but a really GOOD one. And she’ll make you happy, maybe then you’ll know what love is all about.”
“But, Vera…” I started to say.
“Hell, J.C., love isn’t what you thought it was. You have to learn it, little-by-little. Grow with it, weeds and all.”
“I don’t think so, Vera.”
“You shoot pool, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
“Did you ever miss a shot that you KNEW you could make?”
“Sure.”
“Did you give up the game?”
“Well, hell, no.”
“As I said, your a good man. I’ll be damned and gone to hell before I’d believe you’re a quitter. Now you go off somewhere and sleep it off or cry it out—I’m going to call my sister in Saint Louis and tell her to get her pretty little butt out here right away. I want you to be in good shape when she gets here.
I’ll be damned if she didn’t do just that.
Living and Writing in Mexico 
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