The Right Thing to Do Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Baby,
you
need to get up. Malcolm could sleep in.”
    “That what you want, little brother?”
    Malcolm said, “Up to you.”
    “See.” Steve kissed the top of his head. “He’s just like I told you, agreeable.”
    “Lovely trait.” Ramona smiled. “Or maybe he just knows you.”
    “Hey—what does that mean?”
    “You like to draw out the map and plan the route.”
    “Not with you, Mona, that’s for sure.”
    “Sometimes with me, baby.” She laughed. “When I let you.” To Malcolm: “You’re sure you’re still interested in what passes for interesting in this crazy town?”
    “I’m having fun,” he said.
    She gave him a doubtful look. “Okay, then, I’ll clean up this mess and you boys get out of here.”
    “Hey,” said Steve. “You’re making it sound like we’re bunking down together.”
    “Hay’s for horses,” said Ramona. “Behave yourself or that’s exactly how it’s going to be.”
    As the brothers walked together toward the rear of the house, Steve disrobed in motion, exposing his broad, tan, perfectly hairy chest and crumpling his cowboy shirt into a black, pearl-buttoned wad. “Man, I’m bushed—you sure you’re up for it tomorrow, Mal? I’m talking early—six thirty.”
    “Sure.”
    “Great! Okay, here’s where you get off the bus.” Pausing by the door to the spare bedroom. “I’d read you a bedtime story but I never even did that when we were kids.”
    Malcolm smiled. “That guy, Eddowe.”
    “What about him?”
    “He seems to be keeping his distance. Like he’s not part of it.”
    “That’s ’cause he’s a drunk, a washout, a nobody putz who’s working for peanuts.” Steve grinned and beat his own chest. “Unlike other people, who’re working for peanuts plus Cracker Jacks
plus
Baby Ruths.” The handsome face grew grave. “Wish I coulda showed you better times, kiddo. When I had a real dressing room. All the so-called accoutrements—there’s a Harvard word for you.”
    “Everything seems great to me,” said Malcolm.
    “Hey—uh-oh, Mona hears she’ll clap a feed bag on me and put me out to pasture.” Steve neighed like a horse. “That’s why I dig you, baby bro. You always say the right thing.”
    —
    The following morning, they set out at six fifty a.m., Malcolm ready but Steve a bit hazy until he had his three cups of black coffee while driving. She’d seen them off, wearing a Japanese kimono and looking fresh and pretty.
    Steve took the same route to the Antelope Valley but even Malcolm knew enough to realize when his brother had veered well before the road to Deuces Wild.
    “Something I want to show you,” he said, speeding straight at what appeared to be a clump of Joshua trees. “That’s why we had to start before usual. Okay?”
    “Okay.”
    The clump cleared, revealing a split in the middle that parted to more desert, a random stand of palm trees, banks of fat-leafed succulents, a few spiny cacti. Then a forest of Joshuas, followed by another open space prickled with smaller palms as the road smoothed and straightened.
    Up ahead was a padlocked gate connected to what looked like a metal corral. Steve put the Caddy in Park, got out and popped the lock, tossed it in the dirt and swung the gate open and got back in the car.
    They drove past a new-looking wooden plaque on a post with burned-in lettering.
    F IRST- T AKE F ILM R ANCH
    But no sign of trailers or outbuildings, electrical cable, or anything else Malcolm had come to recognize as movie-related. Just dry dirt that continued for another thousand yards, the straight road kinking again, finally unraveling to reveal a white clapboard house larger than the most generous Victorians Malcolm had seen in Cambridge. A white board porch ran across the front. Three steps led up to a porch big enough to accommodate the Caddy.
    Steve whistled through his teeth and chain-lit a Camel. “Home sweet home, bro. What do you think?”
    “Nice.”
    “No, it isn’t. Not yet, but it will