Seth MacFarlane's A Million Ways to Die in the West(16)

“Hi,” he said.

She looked up momentarily, smiled with a polite “hello,” then went back to inspecting her pot.

“I, uh … notice you’re looking at pots,” he said.

“Yeah, I am,” she said, once again giving him the polite smile.

“Store’s pretty great, huh?” He smiled back. “There’s gotta be like twelve different items in here. I mean, how do you pick, right? It’s like sensory overload.” His humorous, sarcastic observation would surely get a giggle out of her.

“Yeah,” she answered, offering up a less enthusiastic variant of her smile.

“Ran that eight-item store outta business. Right? That was pretty sad.”

Now the girl did not respond at all. Her full attention was on the cookware.

Albert shifted his approach. “You ever tried gum?” he asked, deliberately increasing the volume of his chewing.

“No,” she said, her eyes now fixed on a set of plates.

“It’s this new thing, pretty cool.” Albert smiled with faux confidence. “Just came out, been makin’ its way around the country. It’s like candy, but you don’t have to swallow.”

The girl put the plates back down on the shelf and granted Albert a last perfunctory look of acknowledgment. “Well, have a good rest of your day,” she said, turning to the selection of fabrics farther down the shelf. Albert pretended to be very interested in a sack of henhouse feed for a moment, then moved to follow. He had one arrow left in his quiver.

“Hey, listen,” he said. “I don’t know if you’re doing anything next Sunday after church, but they’re gonna be delivering a big block of ice into town and … should be pretty cool to watch. You don’t usually get a chance to see that much ice all together in one place.”

“That doesn’t interest me,” she said.

“Yeah, no, me either; it’s gonna be stupid,” he responded, jumping ship on the idea.

Then all of a sudden she turned and looked directly at him, giving him her full attention. His courage swelled momentarily, until: “I just figured out where I’ve seen you,” she said. “Aren’t you the guy that backed out of that gunfight?”

“Uh, yeah … You were there?”

“Pretty much the whole town was there.”

“Whole town, yeah. Guess I’m a pretty popular guy.”

“No, not after that.”

Knowing he’d blown this encounter and feeling defensive, Albert reverted to grade-school mode.

“Oh, yeah, like you’re so popular,” he said.

“Actually, I was voted prom queen,” she responded.

“Well, okay, but … how many people were in your class? Like three?”

“Six.”

“Oh, actually, that’s a lot,” he admitted.

Albert spun on his heel and walked out, feeling like shit all over again.


And so it was for the next several days. No one could have accused Albert of not trying to get back on his feet in the dating department, but between the scant offerings available in Old Stump and Albert’s own romantic ineptitude, he found himself doomed to letdown after letdown.

There was young Betty Alden, the saloonkeeper’s daughter, who could outdrink any man and who ended up vomiting in Albert’s lap as they sat on the front porch of her home, looking at the stars. There was Georgia Behan, an attractive-enough young seamstress who, however, had a superfluous incisor growing from her left nostril, which made kissing her a painful and sometimes injurious experience. And there was Yao Ling, the lovely Chinese girl Albert had met on the road on his way back from Edward’s Shoe Repair, whom he had subsequently asked out to dinner. They met at Clara’s Restaurant, Old Stump’s one and only dining establishment, and it didn’t take long for the evening to go sour.

“So, tell me about your family,” Albert asked her as they were waiting to order. “What do your parents do?”

“Are you … are you serious?” she responded blankly.

“Well, yeah,” Albert said.

“My dad owns a business that manufactures brass light fixtures for upscale hotels.”

Albert was impressed. “Wow, really?”

Her expression instantly turned contemptuous. “No, he’s a fucking railroad builder, like every other Chinaman out here.”

Albert laughed nervously. “Oh. Ha. That other thing was so specific, I thought—well, I bet he’s a … really neat guy, though,” he offered lamely.

“Gosh, I wouldn’t know, I never see him,” she shot back with bitterness. “You know how many hours he works?”

“Um … all the live-long day?”