by Larry Watson
“Not straight,” I added.
“So who’s the best golfer? Be honest.”
“Johnny,” I said. “By far.”
“The best baseball player?”
“We’re both pretty shitty,” replied Johnny. He was already opening another beer and reaching for the wine.
“The fastest runner?” asked Louisa.
“Johnny. Not even a contest.”
“The strongest?”
“Definitely Matt.”
“I’ve seen the two of you studying your little heads off. Who’s the best student?”
“That’d be Johnny. I don’t think he’s ever gotten anything but A’s. Ever.”
“I got a B in Latin,” he said.
“But not for a semester grade.” I finished my beer, set the can on the floor, and kicked it across the room. It bounced and clattered across the linoleum, then came to rest in a urinal.
“Well, I know who the best hockey player is.” And how, I wondered, did she know that? Had Dr. Dunbar somehow entered this competition? “Who’s the best dancer?”
“Matt. He’s had the most practice.”
“With what’s-her-name?” asked Louisa.
“Debbie,” said Johnny, and reached again for the bottle of Regal House to pour more wine into his beer can. When he handed the bottle back to Louisa, she took two quick swallows, as if she knew that at the rate Johnny was going, the wine wouldn’t last long.
“Here’s one for you,” she said. “Who’s the best kisser?”
“How the hell would we know that?” I said. “We’d have to kiss the same girl, and then she’d have to tell us.”
Johnny lifted his foot to rest it on the bench, but he missed and almost fell over. He giggled. “Or else we’d have to kiss each other!”
Louisa dropped her cigarette on the floor and crushed it with her foot. “Okay. Come over here. Both of you. Stand right here in front of me. Put your drinks down. We’ll settle this now.”
We arranged ourselves side by side in front of Louisa. She stood, letting her banner-shawl slip to the floor. Then she took off her gloves and put them in the pocket of her coat. “Let’s see. Who wants to go first?” She squared her shoulders like an athlete before an event.
Without another word, she stepped up to Johnny, took his face in her hands, and kissed him on the mouth.
Whether it was the effects of the beer-wine combination, the force of Louisa’s kiss, or both, Johnny lurched back a step when she kissed him. But somehow Louisa didn’t lose contact. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to watch them or stare straight ahead.
“Okay. Not bad. Some girls don’t care how a guy kisses as long as he’s good looking. But that’s not me. If a guy can’t kiss I don’t want anything to do with him.”
“How about Lester?” I asked. “How was he?”
“Oh, please.” She put her hands to her ears. “Don’t even mention his name.” But then she brought her hands down and broke her own commandment. “He was pretty good. He wasn’t the best-looking guy around, but he was a good kisser. He really was.”
She beckoned me toward her, though we were only a couple feet apart. “Come on, come on. The contest isn’t over. Next.”
I stepped closer. Just as she had with Johnny, Louisa put her hands on my cheeks. Her hands were cold, but her lips were warm, and the wine she’d been drinking gave her breath a sweet mineral smell.
I put both arms around Louisa, pressing one hand on her back between her shoulder blades and cradling the back of her head with my other hand. But before I could exert much pressure, she broke away.
“All right, all right. That wasn’t bad either. And I didn’t get wet, rubbery lips from either of you. No runny noses. And no teeth in the way. So that’s all to the good. But which was the best? Hmmm.”
She pushed Johnny and me closer to each other, until our shoulders touched. “I’ll need another round of testing.” She popped her lips together a few times. “Once I get this settled, maybe I’ll go over to the high school and write the results on a wall in the girls’ bathroom.”
This time I was first, and again I put my arms around Louisa and pulled her close. I felt her body’s contours through the layers of our clothing. With this kiss her mouth opened wider, and her lips felt softer yet pressed harder against mine. It seemed for a moment as if her breath was quickening, but before I could be sure, she pulled back.
“Next!” she said. “Come on, let’s go. Quick, quick.” Before Louisa and I had stepped far apart, she reached out and grabbed Johnny’s arm, almost as if she wanted to drag him into our embrace. And as she did this, I resisted an impulse to push him away, to push him so hard he’d fall to the floor.
But just before Louisa could put her lips to Johnny’s, he said, as if once again he could read my thoughts, “I have to go get my cigarettes.” We were all standing so close that I felt the warmth of his breath on my cheek.
“Smoke Matt’s,” said Louisa.
Johnny was already moving toward the door. “Can’t. Gotta be filters. Gotta be Winstons.”
When the screen door slammed, Louisa said, “Jesus. What got into him?” She sat back down on the bench and reached for the bottle of wine.
The Valiant’s engine grumbled, caught, then roared to life. As Johnny circled the parking lot on his way out, the beams from his headlights swept across the locker room walls.
“What the hell!” Louisa jumped up. “I thought he was getting cigarettes from the car!”
“He’ll be back.”
“He better be,” said Louisa. “We’ll freeze if we have to walk home from here.”
“Trust me. He’ll be back.”
“Hell, we might freeze in here.” She swiveled and sat sideways, bringing her feet up on the bench.
“You want my coat?”
“Aren’t you the gentleman. No, I’ll survive. You can give me another cigarette though.”
I lit her cigarette and noticed her watching me again. This time her look seemed wary.
“Hey Louisa, can I ask you something?” Had I ever addressed her by name before? “What are you doing out here with”—I almost said “me”—“with us?”
She exhaled, and the plume of smoke had the same blue hue as the vapor of her breath. “Simple. I wanted to have a little fun. You know what it’s like being cooped up in that clinic all day? All those tight-assed Norwegians coming in, and obviously they’re sick or why would they be there, and when I ask them how they’re doing, they say, ‘Oh, pretty good,’ because they think there’s no sin worse than complaining. Or else there’s nothing wrong with them and they come in bitching and moaning like they’re dying. Shit, who wouldn’t be ready for a drink after a few days of that?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Now I got a question for you. I heard you’ve been trying to protect my reputation. By beating up guys. What put an idea like that in your head?”
So Johnny had told Louisa about Glen Van Dine’s remarks, as well. “That’s not exactly what happened. And it was just one guy.”
“Yeah, well, don’t bother. You won’t salvage my reputation no matter how many arms or heads you bust.”
“Why’s that?” While we were talking, I was trying to think of a way to close the distance between us. Louisa Lindahl had kissed me—twice—and I had to make it happen again. If I sat on the bench facing her, her feet and legs would be between us. But if I sat on the other side, her back would be to me. I decided on the latter course of action.
“Why? You must be kidding. Because Lester and I were shacked up. Because he shot me, so people can’t help but think I must have done something to deserve it. And besides, if the stories about me sound good, people will just keep repeating them. It won’t matter if they’re true.”
Louisa’s theory of how and why gossip spread struck me as closer to reality than Dr. Dunbar’s.
“Are they true?” I couldn’t have asked that if I’d been facing her.
“I can’t answer that without
knowing what people are saying, now can I?”
I swallowed hard. “That you’d do ... anything that Lester Huston asked.”
She laughed. “Well, you know that’s not true. I already told you Lester took a shot at me because I wouldn’t cook a Thanksgiving dinner for him!”
“You know what I mean. Anything ... sexual.”
I was sitting close enough to feel her shrug. “I guess. I can’t think offhand of any outrageous request Lester made. But then he didn’t have much of an imagination. Or much of a sex drive. Most of the time he was too drunk to get it up.” She reached down to the floor, picked up the bottle of wine, and drank. “Is that the kind of information you’re looking for, Matt?”
If I had been more sensitive to the ways people relate to one another, I would have realized how rare Louisa’s candor about such matters was. But I was too intent on what wasn’t happening to notice what was. “Is it true,” I asked, “that you jacked a guy off in a bar because Lester told you to?”
“My, you have heard some tales, haven’t you? You see, that’s exactly what I mean. That story isn’t true, but it really doesn’t matter. It sounds good, so it gets repeated. And then it might as well be true anyway, because everyone believes it. And then of course it fits with what some people want to believe about me. And what really happened isn’t nearly as interesting. Yeah, I grabbed a guy’s cock, but not because Lester asked me to. Not exactly. I did it sort of on a dare. And because I was sick of listening to one more man’s big talk. It was no big deal. Believe me, it was no big deal.” Her laughter then was painfully derisive.
I should have taken her laugh as a warning to abandon the topic, but I had come too far to stop now.
I swiveled around on the bench and put one leg on each side so I had better access to Louisa. I stroked her hair, then pushed down the collar of her coat and pulled the hair away from her neck. I leaned forward, but just as I was about to kiss her, she spoke up in a voice that was quite a bit louder, “What are you doing, Matt?”
I spoke into the warm hollow of her throat. “You did things with Lester Huston. Anything he wanted, you said. And you didn’t even like him.”
“Because I needed him. For a while.” She lifted her shoulder, but only slightly. It was the tiniest of gestures, but there was no misunderstanding it. This was not the twitch of a woman excited by passion, but rather that of an animal trying to rid itself of a fly.
I sat up straight. “And you don’t need me.”
“That’s right. I like you well enough, Matt. But I don’t need you. You think you and I have something in common, but when I look at you, I just see another guy who wants to tear off a chunk of me. And you know what? I don’t really need any more of your kind in my life. I don’t mind putting out, but from now on I want it to be with someone who can do me some good. More than taking me out of a crummy little apartment just to move me to a crummy little shack.”
I slid farther down the bench. “Is it Johnny? Is that who you need?”
“Oh, Matt! There is so much you don’t get. Johnny Dunbar isn’t interested in me. Not like that.”
“Is it the doctor then?”
There was a long pause. Louisa put her feet firmly back down on the floor that was pocked and punctured from the spikes of hundreds of golfers. She stood up. “He’ll come around,” she said. “Now go out in that other room. I need to take a leak.”
I walked out of the locker room and continued right out of the Merchants clubhouse.
The polished penny loafers that embarrassed me at the start of the evening now troubled me in another way. They were filling with snow, and I had barely started down the drive leading away from the golf course, trying to walk in the tire tracks of Johnny’s car. The wind was quickly erasing them.
A subzero night like this one had a smell, sharp and faintly antiseptic, and when I breathed it in my nostrils burned with cold. Somewhere far beyond this hilltop, grass grew and dirt sifted through the hand like flour. But much as I tried, it was impossible to imagine this in midwinter Minnesota. I had miles to go, my ears and feet already tingled with cold, and frostbite seemed a real possibility.
Out here everything was a shade of blue—the dark blue of the winter sky, the darker blue of tree trunks and fence posts, the pale blue of the snowfields. The moon had drifted south and risen higher, its light not much more helpful than a star’s.
The road paralleled Harp Creek, which also served as a water hazard along the fifth hole. I’d driven any number of balls into it over the years. The creek was iced over now, and because I’d walked that terrain often, I could tell how impressively the snow had drifted along the fairway.
Perhaps it was all the cold and snow that caused me to think, when I saw the white Valiant in the distance, that it was just another snowbank, mounded high by the wind alongside the road. But when I came closer and recognized the dark rectangles of its windows, I ran, or as close as I could come to a run without slipping on the packed snow or out of my shoes.
The car’s lights and engine were off. Two of its tires were on the road, and two on the shoulder. Johnny was folded over the steering wheel, passed out or simply sleeping on his own crossed arms. I rapped repeatedly on the window, and eventually he came around. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see me.
He rolled down the window. “Matt. How long ... did you ... you know? With Louisa?”
“What the hell are you doing here? Are you okay?”
“I started to drive, but I knew . . . I couldn’t.... I was fucked up. Like Lester said. Too fucked up. I was going to give you two hours and then—” He looked past me, or tried to, but his eyes wouldn’t focus. “Where’s Louisa?”
I opened the door. “Scoot over. She’s back at the clubhouse. Waiting for you to rescue her.”
“What did you—?”
I got behind the wheel and started the car. “Not a goddamn thing. Unless you count making an ass out of myself. And how the hell did you get so drunk so fast, anyway?”
He slumped against the passenger door. “I told you. Fucked-up juice.”
By the time I had the car turned around and drove back to the clubhouse, Johnny had passed out again. I loaded the remaining cans of Budweiser in the trunk, and Louisa climbed in the driver’s side and slid across the seat, careful not to disturb Johnny. His slumber relieved us of the pressure of searching for something to say to each other.
I drove to my house, where I’d once again hide the beer in the garage. But before I sent them on their way, I whispered instructions to Louisa. “Sneak him into the house through the back door. Dr. Dunbar might still be up, but if he is, he’ll be in the front parlor. So take Johnny up to his room by the back stairs. If anyone sees you, make like you don’t know what happened. Tell them Johnny and I went off by ourselves. I don’t give a shit. Go ahead and tell them I’m drunk, too.”
After hiding the remaining cans of Budweiser under the tarp, I took two beers into my bedroom again. While I drank, I relived the evening, concentrating on what had occurred and what it had to do with human intimacy. These were not sexual fantasies, however. Instead, I replayed the conversation I’d had with Louisa, realizing that it might have led to something rarer than sex—friendship, which could develop further as we discovered that we really did have something in common. But, I also relived how I’d sent away a friend and let him shiver in a parked car while I tried to exploit his housemate. Maybe I could have reached some understanding, some insight into my character, from this line of thinking, but just as I approached that point, another thought obliterated all others: That second kiss—it wasn’t an act, was it? It couldn’t have been.
15.
LIKE OTHER FAMILIES OF STANDING in Willow Falls, the Dunbars breakfasted at the Heritage House’s restaurant after church services, and anyone who observed those Sunday morning gatherings might have fairly concluded that it was not the children, but rather the men, who were so restless they couldn’t sit still. Carrying their coffee cups, smoking
the cigarettes or cigars they had gone without for an hour, the husbands and fathers moved from table to table, gathering others in their band as they moved through the restaurant. Dr. Dunbar barely sat with his family long enough to place his breakfast order before he was on the move. Like a politician seeking votes, he walked the length and width of the room, stopping at a booth here, a table there, and moving the length of the counter like a boy with a stick along a picket fence.
Has that antibiotic taken effect, Mrs. Richards?
The Wildcats might have won that game last night with a stouter fourth-quarter defense.
George, are you and the Missus flying to Arizona this winter or driving?
That sounds like gout, Gary; you come in and see me first thing tomorrow morning.
No, Bob, I’m not ready to trade in the Chrysler yet, but when I am, you’ll be the first to know.
Harold, when I hear a compliment like that I have to wonder if you’ve already started your campaign for state’s attorney.
Jane, Tom, when I see the poise in that daughter of yours, I say to myself, now there are parents who did more than a few things right.
No, no, I don’t think it’s croup, Mrs. Ecklin. A cold, nothing worse. It’s just settled in her chest.
It was something to behold, Dr. Dunbar and the other men too, in motion and at rest, effortlessly ruling their town with nothing but small talk and handshakes. Their easy application of power remained mysterious to me, no matter how much I studied them Sunday after Sunday.
My mother had no religion, at least none I was aware of, yet when it came to her son she must have felt she had to take extra precautions to protect my soul, should I actually have one. She saw to it that I attended church, Sunday school, and confirmation classes. By then the habit was formed, and I continued to attend church more or less regularly. I was a Presbyterian for no reason other than that the Dunbars were, and the Sunday morning breakfasts at the Heritage House, to which I had a standing invitation, had as much to do with my church attendance as did any religious convictions.
