Windwhistle Bone

by Richard Trainor

The embarrassment Ram felt lingered for a moment, and he flushed. Then he climbed into the tub, immersing himself until he was totally underwater, watching the bubbles swirl about her. He touched her belly lightly, just beneath the navel where a birthmark was. He surfaced slowly, and as he did, she came out of the water, found his lips, and kissed him softly and deeply. His reticence now a thing of the past. She held him there for a minute or two and then released him.

  “Okay, here it is,” said Ram, taking a seat on the bench facing her. He closed his eyes and began to speak. “You said to start at the beginning and tell you all of it,” he stammered, “And I was thinking about that while I sat out here. I’m trying to find the beginning. I know it has a beginning… but, I’m not sure if I know where it is just yet. Maybe I’ll find it by telling the story and see where it leads me to, or where it leads me back to, to Paris, to Hungary, or wherever… stories,” he laughed bitterly. “This story has turned me into this… this somebody who doesn’t know what it is anymore or what I do. I’m like a blind man stumbling about his room after someone came in and rearranged the furniture while I was out at the store. I can’t tell anymore, like it’s not real, like I made it up… Then I wake up in a motel room in Morro Bay with my heart in my throat and I know that it is… real anyway… So anyway, here’s the story…”

  He told Sara that it began in the spring four years ago when he was approached by an eccentric designer/engineer, a university professor from Poland who had admired Ram’s journalism. The designer had an entry in the landfill cleanup competition; a competition that wasn’t a competition at all; it was a rigged game with a stacked deck; a crooked process that capitalized on this process to produce billions of dollars in profit on stocks; that it had been going on for over a decade now since the first deal went down in Orange County; that all Ram had done was connect the dots and unravel the money chain; that it wasn’t even convoluted anymore; the corruption was naked and blatant and transparently open because nobody had the guts to move against Liquid Louie Verde and his profit-generating machine.

  Ram told Sara of the meticulous documentation he had assembled, of his unceasing efforts to get the story into print, and how the various publishing deals would all come unglued at the last moment, after a phone call had been made or something had been dropped in conversation about him, leaving him to begin all over again, and again, and again. He told Sara of the Emile Donner connection to the story and how that connection helped him unravel the skein. He told her of the death threats—including the one by Big Louie himself; of the smear campaign that was launched against him, and why he had come to LA to see The Big E and see if there was some way he could get the monster off his back. And there was more, he said, but then he stopped. He opened his eyes and saw Sara looking at him calmly. She lifted her glass, drained it, drained half of his, and then refilled them.

  “This is unbelievable. It’s like a fucking movie.”

  “Like too many movies. A touch of Maltese Falcon, some Out of the Past… others.”

  “Certainly some Hitchcock,” she laughed, a little nervously at first, but then Ram joined her and a smile came to her laughter.

  “Goodness gracious. You’ve got a tiger by the tail.”

  “You’d think so, huh? But it’s more the other way around. It’s got me—by the balls.”

  “Hold on. I’ve got to pee and I want to put on some music. Let me chew on this awhile,” Sara said, getting up and kissing Ram, lightly at first, then hard and deeply, grabbing his hair as she did.

  “I believe I might be falling in love with you.”

  “Don’t do that. There’s more that you need to know.”

  “I don’t need to know anything more.”

  “Yes, you do, or at least I need you to know.”

  Sara kissed him again, got up and wrapped a towel around her. A moment later, “Suzanne” came over the speakers. He thought of what it would be like with Sara. He thought of them traveling together—London, Venice, Vancouver, Amsterdam, and Oaxaca. He thought of making love to her, of going camping with her of all things, not knowing why he would think of this, of baking bread together, another curveball out of right field that seemed somehow more sensual than it already was: the rising dough, the twisted plaits, the deliriously warm smell… he thought of going to baseball games and picnics with her. Then the reverie turned to the nightmare of what he might be bringing her. Different movies flashed before him, none of them pleasant. He saw her living with him on the run, saw her sitting in a courtroom in widow’s weeds while he was on trial, saw her as friendless and lonely and frightened as he was—in a state reduced from living to existence, saw her savings depleted as his were because of the sacrifice she’d want to make to help him, and how no amount of sacrifice would be enough; that it was beyond help, beyond fixing, the taint too ingrained and institutionalized to root out, the players too big for the law to bring them to justice, saw her reaching for a car door, the white flash before the roaring sound, before he could warn her. Then the real Sara, not the reverie or nightmare-infused projections, slipped into the hot tub and sat down beside him.

  “What is it?” she asked, seeing his look.

  “I hope nothing… Or something.”

  “Come back to earth. You’re here, with me now. That’s all that matters, because it’s all we have… Hey now, come on,” she said, seeing that Ram still wasn’t there. “Come back to me. Be here with me. Talk to me… kiss me,” she said, leaning over and giving Ram a loud smack on the lips.

  Ram laughed and Sara smiled again. He was about to resume his tale but Sara put her hand over his lips.

  “No more. I’m still digesting what you’ve told me and besides, I want to tell you a few things—about me and who I am and what I do, and what I’m feeling right now. Let me have the floor.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  “Well, you know my name—my full name is Sara Suzanne Dutra—and you know what I do. I’m a realtor. Now tell me truly. Do you remember me at all?”

  Ram stopped himself from making something up.

  “Not really,” he said.

  “Good,” said Sara. “I caught that… Okay, Ram Le Doir, now here is my story,” she said, taking the bench next to him. “I’m a simple country girl from Great Falls, Montana. Do you believe me so far?”

  “Yes,” he answered, “everything but the simple.”

  “Okay… good. It’s true though… I knew I didn’t want to stay there because there wasn’t anything for me there, no future for me, except as a wife, which I did once but it didn’t work out, and when that ended, I took what money I had and came out here to LA. I got myself a studio apartment just down the hill in Hollywood and hacked around for a while, worked in a dry cleaners, sold appliances at Sears out in the valley, posed for some nudie pictures, then I got into the Fashion Institute on a hardship scholarship… I made all my own clothes then and some for my friends who liked my style. The Institute liked my look and liked my book. I guess they thought I had potential and that they could help me develop it… Who knows? I was just happy to get in… Anyway, one thing led to another. At the end of my second year, I started working with Jill and Donna, and that’s how I hooked up with that crowd, your old crowd, that’s when I met you… I was seeing somebody then, a musician, but after I met you, I dumped him. Not because he wasn’t nice or because I thought I had any chance with you… it was just that I realized that unless I had somebody who really meant something to me, such as you in the abstract did, then there really wasn’t much point, was there? I’d already been somebody’s wife, and I didn’t want to be somebody else’s better half, their significant other… Can you tell me just what that is anyway? I mean, what does that mean?”

  Ram shook his head. “I never had a clue either, but I know what you mean.”

  Sara smiled and nodded. “Good, I knew you would… Anyway, I dumped the guy. Had a few short-term lovers and kept working on the costume design stuff with Jill and Donna, but eventually, it just got c
razy. All the cocaine, all the intrigue and slinking around… I just bagged it one day and signed up for the real estate course. Worked for a couple of different firms for five years or so, then started my own company three years ago. I’m doing OK—a million in profit last year—and I like it. It’s simple and straightforward once you learn the rules, and that’s what I like about it. Remember, Ram, I told you I’m a simple country girl,” she said, cocking her eyebrow and looking into him. “Remember?”

  “I do.”

  “Now do you believe it?”

  Ram considered for a long while. “Yes,” he answered finally.

  “Good, because here’s where you come in,” said Sara, reaching out and pulling him next to her on the bench. “Remember I told you that I had a crush on you, and God knows many women did. But you were with Vera, and I didn’t think that I had a chance. I mean Vera Dubcek? Come on Sara, get real… I read all your stuff, all your stories in Golden State Magazine, and I thought you were brilliant, and my God, were you ever sexy and handsome… I could have eaten you alive. I even got to be a dinner guest of yours and Vera’s one night a few years back at Musso-Frank’s. Remember?” she said, shaking her head. “But that wasn’t really it, although all of that did appeal to me… do you want to know what it really was?”

  Ram shook his head.

  “It was the way you talked with me at that party and the way you listened to people. We were talking about somebody, I forget who, and this person was really going through hell, and you said, ‘It’s a hard thing to find out that trouble is real,’ and I said, ‘In a faraway city with a faraway feel,’ and you said, ‘Amen and rest in peace, GP.’ And I thought: ‘My God, he’s my favorite singer, and this guy pulls that line out of his head.’ Then we were talking about something else, and I said, ‘So, you’re a fatalist then?’ I saw a look of recognition come over you. Then I knew that what I saw and felt with you was real… That was the kind of thing I wanted.”

  “I remember now… now I really do remember, Musso’s, GP, and all that stuff.”

  “Good. And now I believe you… And it went on like that for the rest of our conversation that night… It wasn’t that I thought I’d known you for years or anything like that… It was just a sense, a feeling I had about you… You were intelligent and sensitive to others and what they were thinking… You listened to me and I could talk, and now that I’m with you, I see that what I sensed was true is true. I can see that I can be who I am with you without you trying to own or suppress me or have me become some appendage of yours. God, I hope I’m not being too direct here. Am I?”

  “No, I like that. I like that very much.”

  “So what do you think of all this?”

  “I don’t know. It’s something to think about. But what about all this other shit that I’m in the middle of… this swamp full of snakes. Have you considered that?”

  “Not completely. Not even a beginning just yet. It’ll take me some time to process the information but I’m glad I know it. I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell me. Now tell me this: why did you tell me?”

  “I don’t know… I thought I should because of the danger that might come to you.”

  “Come on. That’s bullshit. They’re not going to do anything to me… What good what it do them?”

  “Hard to say. I don’t know,” said Ram. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “So why did you tell me?”

  “God knows… Why do we do the things we do?”

  “That won’t do either. Nice try though. Heaven’s Gate. I know the scene.”

  “Touché,” said Ram.

  “Touché yourself, Le Doir. Now tell me why, really.”

  Ram felt her peeling him away, layer by layer, skin by skin, getting close to the core. He was grateful that she was, for he felt he was beginning to apprehend the why of it a little bit more. One thought entered his head and the words almost came forth, then another. Finally, his answer came.

  “It had something to do with the afternoon we spent together two days ago. Then tonight brought it home even more. I needed to get all the way open with somebody and you seemed to be someone I could trust. I needed to unburden myself, to a friend, a woman really. You just happened to arrive at the right moment.”

  “I’m your streetcar; synchronicity.”

  “Precisely, and then that comment about fatalism.”

  “Which you’d totally forgotten until I reminded you.”

  “Precisely. Exactly. Spot on.”

  Ram shook out a cigarette, lit it, and exhaled a plume of smoke.

  “I wish to God this happened before I got myself into the middle of all this shit.”

  “But it didn’t. It’s happening now. We don’t control the timing of these things. All we can do is deal with it when it comes.”

  “Well, my timing couldn’t be worse. A case of synchronicity gone wrong, I guess.”

  “Synchronicity is never wrong,” she said firmly. “And as for the timing, well, we’ll have to deal with it as best we can; take the bad and turn it into something good.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “I’ll have to think it through, Ram. There’s an answer, but I can’t see it yet. I’ve taken in as much as I can. Tell me, Ram… what is it that keeps you going? What do you really need and how can I help you?”

  “You’ve already helped me more than you could know, but I don’t need your sympathy, Sara. I need your strength, because I’m all out. I’ve been running on fumes for months now and you’ve given me the essence of what I need to finish it. Now there is one other thing you can do to help me.”

  “Name it.”

  “Make love to me as though you never heard any of this, as though you felt as you did that first night you met me.”

  “I can’t do that, Ram. It’s not the same now. Now I know all this stuff and both of us are different from the way we were then. What I felt for you then doesn’t hold a candle to what I feel for you now.”

  They climbed out of the tub and toweled each other dry. Sara led Ram by the hand and guided him into the back of her home where the bedroom was. She told Ram she wanted to put on some different music, steered him into the bathroom, and gave him a new toothbrush and washcloth. Ram washed his face and noticed his eyes in the mirror as he was brushing his teeth. They were bloodshot with dark circles below them. ‘What a train wreck,’ he thought. Sara came up behind him as Dusty Springfield’s Just a Little Lovin’ came over the speakers. Ram sighed, his shoulders shuddered. Sara held him until the convulsion passed. She guided him to the bed, turned down the covers, and Ram slipped inside. She lit candles and incense. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she whispered. She went inside the bathroom and closed the door, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and put on fresh lipstick. She put one drop of perfume behind each ear, on both wrists, and behind each knee, then put on a rose-colored slip and covered it with a black printed kimono whose symbols signified infinity. She looked in the mirror, liked what she saw, and thought Ram would too. She turned off the light and opened the bedroom door. “I’m ready now,” she said, entering the room and walking to the bed. As she got closer, Sara could hear Ram snoring softly. At first, she was disappointed, then felt relieved. She laughed, got into bed, kissed Ram on both eyes, then once on the lips.

  “It’ll have to wait till morning, my love,” said Sara, stroking his face and kissing him on the forehead. “Poor baby’s too tired for loving. All done in,” she whispered. She got up and blew out the candles, got back in bed and spooned in next to Ram. A moment later, Sara was fast asleep.

  It rained during the night; a hard, warm rain with sporadic thunder and lightning flashes that was eerily reminiscent of that night in Refugio with Vera right after he returned from Paris. Ram dreamed a dream of islands and sun and comfort, skin-diving somewhere in the tropics, carefree and untroubled. When he awoke ten hours later, he was rested and composed.

  He heard her in the kitchen. There was the sound of a kettle about to boil
and the smell of something cooking. A moment later, Sara peeked in and saw that Ram was awake. She was wearing a different robe now—silver silk and jacquard printed with pale-red roses. Underneath it, she was naked. She had on black horn-rimmed glasses from the 1950s and her rich hair tumbled softly over her shoulders. She was whistling “Whistle While You Work.” She stirred Ram to the core of his being.

  “Well, sleepy, are you ready for some breakfast now?” she purred.

  “I’m ready, but not for breakfast.”

  Sara laughed, came over to the floating king-sized bed, and sat on its edge. “Are you now?” she asked, reaching down and finding him hard. “Maybe after breakfast, but you need some more nourishment first, then we’ll see.”

  Ram rose, showered and shaved, and slipped on the terry cloth robe Sara had laid out for him. When he walked into the dining room, a breakfast of Eggs Benedict, fresh fruit and a mimosa awaited him.

  “This looks delicious… as do you. You’re spoiling me, Sara.”

  “You’ll get used to it. That’s the way I am. I always spoil my men. And besides, Ram, you’re my champion, so it goes both ways.”

  Ram smiled, then drifted.

  “Not again. That’s enough of your going walkabout. It’s nearly over now,” Sara said, whispering in his ear and finishing with a wet kiss. “Eat, then we can move back into the bedroom for dessert.”

  The phone rang. Sara answered it and her expression changed. “It’s for you,” she said. “He says it’s urgent.” She passed Ram the phone and watched as he took the call. When he finished, he told her he had to leave.

  “I’m sorry. It’s important,” he stammered, collecting his things.

  “Is this a part of the story?”

  “Yeah, a big part. An answer from on high.”

  “Will you be gone long?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so, but I don’t know the answer yet. It all hinges on that.”

  Sara dropped her fork and cursed. “Wait a fucking minute here, Le Doir. You’re not charging out of here to disappear on me, are you?”