by Amber Foxx
Zak bent down to whisper in the exotic woman’s ear and she giggled, giving his arm a playful swat. Hot Native Guy didn’t waste time, did he?
Mae rose, fed up with Zak. Time to go to her car for her warm clothes. A flash of color across the aisle caught her eye. The plump young woman at the pottery booth had blue streaks in her short dark hair, and her earrings, fluttering in the breeze, were made of long cobalt-blue feathers. Like the ghost of Florencia’s macaw.
Chapter Five
Jamie called repeatedly, apologizing, saying everything was taking longer than he’d thought. A lot longer. Though disappointed, Mae was determined to enjoy the evening anyway. She sat with Bernadette, Michael, and his wife and their daughters, bundled in blankets in the first row of the bleachers, watching the mountain gods’ dances in reverent but companionable silence, broken by occasional soft exchanges. The night grew blacker as the ceremony progressed, clouds dimming the half-moon over the mountains.
Bernadette scooted closer to Mae and whispered, “Are you understanding it?”
“Sort of.” Mae wasn’t sure how much an outsider was allowed to know. Earlier, Bernadette had told her a legend about two men, one blind and one crippled, who were left behind in a cave as their band was fleeing an enemy. They’d thought they might die, forgotten, when spirits appeared and did this dance, healing them and opening a path through a rock that showed them their way home. “I get the feeling of it, but not what each symbol means.”
One group of the painted dancers left and another came in, followed by a procession of men who added massive logs to a fire blazing in the center of the dance arena.
“You don’t have to,” Bernadette assured her. “You can understand without thinking so much.”
Zak strode up, talking on his cell phone. Mae had felt discourteous taking Jamie’s calls during the sacred event and had jogged out to the vending area whenever her phone rang. Zak didn’t seem to care. He sat on Mae’s other side without acknowledging anyone. “Yeah. I’ll be there.” He listened, his knees jiggling, shoulders hunched in. “Okay. See you then.” He ended the call and leaned his elbows on the bench behind him in his model pose, arms, chest, and abs on display. His arms had goose bumps, but apparently he thought he looked too good to put on a jacket. “Pudge stand you up? Need me to keep you company?”
First Baldy, now Pudge? “He should be here soon.”
Zak made a clucking noise with his tongue and shook his head. “But I’m here now.”
“Excuse me.” Mae stood. “I’m supposed to meet him down near the music.”
As she started down the steps of the bleachers, she felt Zak’s eyes on her, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking around to confirm the sensation.
She joined a cluster of people standing behind the singers and drummers who sat on the benches in front of the big tipi. The only thing good about meeting Zak was the contrast. He reminded her how lucky she was to have Jamie.
Trusting he would show up any minute, she focused on the dancers. Those nearest to the musicians began to smack their lightning-painted sticks against their leather kilts. Then glorious chaos broke loose. The four groups of dancers, some painted green with yellow moons or stars on their chests and backs, others painted black with white zigzags or mountain shapes, circled the fire, their body paint streaked with sweat despite the cold. A lean, muscular man, his face masked in black fabric with glittering shells above the eye holes, began to leap side-to-side, swaying his torso in deep lateral bends, holding his sticks up and rattling his towering, multi-pronged headdress.
The surge of life force through him was so raw and electric, Mae felt it in her body. As the dancers passed in front of the singers, one by one, they danced as if the spirits they personified possessed them. When Jamie had tried to describe the ceremonies to her, he’d said, Lightning will strike your bones. It did. She was mesmerized.
The boy clowns, painted ashy white, ranged from scrawny little fellows of seven or eight to a big, fat lad of around twelve. They comically exaggerated their steps when they neared the drummers. On the edge of the crowd, two tiny children with sticks in their hands imitated the dancers, as fully absorbed as the men and boys in the ceremony.
A woman Mae could only see as a black silhouette beyond the fire circulated behind the people who sat in lawn chairs around the edge of the arena. She paused occasionally, leaning down to talk to someone. The silhouette made Mae think of the woman Zak had flirted with at the pottery booth. A huge man in a sagging chair waved his arms, gesturing directions. The woman hurried off.
Hope she’s not looking for Zak. Mae pictured Melody at home with the kids, while Zak was out—not paying attention to the ceremonies, but, from the sound of his phone call, making other plans. The memory of Mae’s first marriage surfaced again, those nights she’d spent angry, worried, and alone.
“Hello, love.” An arm slipped around her shoulders, and a big warm body snuggled beside her. Jamie had walked up without a sound, as always. The night had gotten colder than she could have imagined, and his heat was welcome. She put her arm around him inside his jacket. Jamie moved her hand under his shirt. Her cold hand on his bare skin. “Warmer?” He kissed the side of her head.
She cuddled closer. He was both solid and soft to hold onto, fit but carrying a few extra pounds. “Yeah. Thank you, sugar.”
“You having a good time?” He reached around and gently drilled his thumb between her eyebrows and then brushed them with his fingertips. She must have been frowning. “Everything all right?”
“Almost.”
“Sorry I was so late—”
“It’s not you. It’s just—” She couldn’t start their vacation with a complaint. “I’ll tell you later. When we drive back to my place.”
“Nah. Not doing that. Got a surprise for you, remember?”
“Sugar—you didn’t get a motel—”
“Sh. Tell you in a minute.”
The singers’ voices rose, and Jamie sang along. He was an inch taller than Mae, with chocolate-brown skin, full lips, a broad straight nose, and thick, crinkly ash-blond hair that reached past his collar. He’d braided his dark goatee with a silver bead on the end. The pointy little beard emphasized his wide jaw and cheekbones, and also drew attention to the hint of a double chin. His huge black long-lashed eyes glowed with an inner light, and the gold tooth in his face-splitting smile caught the firelight. When they’d first met, she’d thought he looked strange, but now she found him, in his own way, beautiful. His trained tenor voice blended with the others but didn’t disappear among them. Mae doubted he understood Apache, but it didn’t surprise her that he had still picked up the songs.
Thunder rumbled over the mountains, and a stroke of lightning slashed the night. From the direction of the long arbor and the family tipis, a silent procession approached. The medicine men, the four young women in fringed white deerskin dresses, and their godmothers walked slowly into the big tipi behind the drummers. The beauty of the moment made Mae catch her breath. The yucca leaves that blanketed the entrance to the open tipi gave off a fresh green scent as the procession passed over them. Immediately, some of the people who had been watching the mountain gods’ dance moved to peer into the entrance to the tipi, blocking Mae’s view as she turned to look.
“Don’t worry. They’ll just sit a while,” Jamie whispered.
Mae faced the Ga’an dancers again, and Jamie rejoined the song. No one else in the group behind the singers moved with the beat, but he kept a pulse in his legs like the gourd dancers had, as if he couldn’t stop the music from taking him over. She let the music and the dancers and Jamie’s energy carry her into an altered state, a kind of ecstatic trance. Bernadette had been right, telling her to stop thinking. In some wordless way, Mae almost understood the ceremony.
Her mind snapped back to ordinary reality when a man’s voice on the loudspeaker from a booth above the bleachers reminded non-Indians to leave at midnight.
“Come on, mate, I’
m indigenous somewhere,” Jamie said, but it was a good-humored complaint.
He took Mae’s hand and started around the side of the big tipi, then stopped. “Listen.” Through the canvas came the medicine men’s sweet, melodious song, accompanied by the rustling of rattles and the strange high note of the girls’ chanting. He looked up at the stars, and then hugged Mae to his side to resume their walk, heading toward the exit. Trucks and vans were pulled up to the booths as the vendors packed up for the night. Jamie said, “Thanks for hanging in with me, standing that long. You good? Was it all right?”
“More than all right, sugar. It was amazing. Now what’s my surprise?”
“Camping.”
Mae’s heart sank. “You spent all that time getting ready for camping?”
He grinned. “Yeah. That and the van. Jeezus. All that bloody paperwork. And then I wasn’t sure what to bring and I kept repacking. Never camped with you, y’know? I almost brought Gasser, thought he’d like it better than a cat sitter but he’d stink up the tent, poor bloke. So, anyway, I got a double sleeping bag—that took time—hard to find—and I brought my stove so we can make coffee and breakfast. Hope the food’s all right. Did some baking. Think I got everything we need. Lots of water. Headlamp, little flashlight. Got this great solar lantern, too, holds a charge forever, makes a good nightlight. Nah, that’ll bother you won’t it? Never mind. Brought a couple of my flutes, play you a lullaby if y’like.”
He was so wound up and excited about this surprise, Mae didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but she’d seen his tent, a tiny high-tech dome, and she couldn’t imagine the two of them spending four nights in it. On top of all the other hassles of camping, Jamie was challenging to sleep with even in her house or his apartment. Though he hadn’t brought the cat, and he’d already conceded on the light—two of the ways he kept her awake—he radiated so much heat in his sleep, she imagined the one-man tent becoming like a sauna. If he slept. He had insomnia. In a tent, he couldn’t go in another room to be restless. She made an effort not to sound as dismayed as she felt.
“Where are we camping?”
“Right here.”
“We’re allowed to?”
“Not on the ceremonial grounds. Down below the rodeo grounds. Dad’s in with Indians, y’know? He and Mum always camp there when they come for the ceremonies. Bit rough. No showers. Portapotties.” He let out a soft snort-laugh. “Jeezus. Making this sound romantic, aren’t I?”
“Sure are. Better than a candlelight dinner. But seriously, sugar, how do we get clean?”
He released her waist and slid his hand down to hers, swinging her arm as they walked. “Wash basin. Joking. We’ve got friends.”
“You mean you go to people’s houses and use their showers?”
“Yeah. No worries. I cook for ’em, and they let us get clean.”
“What about locking our things up? Do we keep going back to our cars? You can’t leave everything in a tent, can you?”
“Why not? I do. Plenty of people around. Lot of them know me and my parents.” He kissed her on the temple. “Did you see Bernadette? Is her brother here?”
“Yes. I met her family. I like all of them except Zak.”
“Old Zak’s all right. Hot air, y’know?”
“He’s not nice to his wife. And he gives me these looks.”
“I’ve known Zak and Melody for fifteen years. Don’t mind him. He flirts with everyone. It’s like a disease, y’know? He can’t help it. Don’t think he really cheats on her. He’s got a good heart. Just won’t show it.”
He sure won’t. Mae suspected Jamie was too generous in his estimate of Zak, but if he liked him, she shouldn’t say any more.
They paused for cars moving out of the parking lot and then walked single file through the tall grass at the side of the road, heading downhill from the ceremonial grounds to the camping area. As they got away from the parking lot lights, thousands of stars exploded into the sky. Occasionally a car would slow down and someone would lean out and talk to Jamie and drive on. He was easy to spot in the dark, with his cloud of fair hair. Mae heard some of his acquaintances address him as Baldy, the same weird nickname Zak had used.
“Why do people call you Baldy?”
“Used to shave my head when I was fourteen, fifteen. Felt weird about the—learned a word for it, did you know there’s a word for this?—neoteny, retention of juvenile traits in adulthood. My neotenous hair.” Aboriginal children were often blond and turned dark-haired as adults. Jamie was the one in a million who didn’t. “Then I’d look like a rotten peach when the fuzz grew in. My head’s perfectly round.”
Mae giggled and reached up to feel his skull thorough his hair. It was round.
He continued, “Had a lot of nicknames. Baldy. Blondie. Pudge. Pavarotti. Used to call Zak Skinny, ’cause his name was Fatty and he wasn’t. But I was. So that’s why I was Pudge. Melody was ... fuck, what did we call her? Dunno. She wasn’t fat back then. Pretty. Kind of wild. Cher. Yeah, that was it, ’cause she could sing real low like Cher. We’d sing duets and I’d take the high harmony.”
“It’s hard to picture Melody happy enough to sing.”
“Not if you know her. She used to be fun. Being a mum took it out of her. Or something did. Dunno. Didn’t come last year. Longest I’ve gone without seeing them.”
Jamie guided Mae to a stop as they reached a triangular grass island at a Y in the road. Parked in the middle was a metallic-blue van with smoked rear windows and dealer plates. “There it is.” He gazed at it a while. “You like it?”
“I do. It’s nice.”
“Thought the dark windows were good, y’know? Traveling with all my instruments in the back. And it was hardly even used—I lucked out. Wonder if it’ll get hit. Can’t figure out if it’s safer here or on the side of the road. Y’think I should move it?”
Worrying. A sign that he liked the van. “I think it’s safe here. You’d have to be a pretty bad driver to hit it.”
“Reckon?” He studied the van a little longer. “Some people are bad drivers.”
“Relax. Come on. Let’s get—” Get it over with, she almost said, thinking of going into the tent for the night. “Get settled in.”
He opened the lift gate. The interior still smelled new—and had her suitcase in it.
“Sugar, how’d you get my things?”
“Told your dad and Niall what I was doing. Stopped by T or C. They let me into your house. Made a long fucking trip, but I couldn’t take you camping with no clean clothes and no toothbrush. Niall said you’d be pissed, me going in your drawers and everything, and that people hate surprises, but your dad thought I was being romantic.”
Mae wished Marty had remembered that she hadn’t liked camping—or had she been too polite to tell him when she was eight years old? She didn’t think she’d ever admitted it to him. It was easy to be honest with a jerk like Zak, but hard when it would disappoint someone she loved who was trying to make her happy. Especially Jamie. She met his eyes. They were huge, dark, and vulnerable. The baby seal look. Mae looked away and picked up the suitcase. “Thanks, sugar. You were real sweet to think of this.”
He took the bag from her, set it down, and wrapped her in an embrace. “Had me worried for a second. Thought Niall had been right.” Jamie let out a long sigh and kissed her ear, her cheek, and then her lips. “I love you so much. I want to make you happy.”
He squeezed tighter and prolonged the next kiss. Mae’s doubts about camping partially dissolved as her body responded. She stroked his back and murmured against his cheek, “You do, sugar. You do.”
They crossed another road and passed through an opening in a white fence, coming into a congested village of tents, camper trucks, and RVs behind a row of trees. Jamie stopped outside a little dome tent next to a larger, old-fashioned tent with poles and a peaked roof. He whispered in Mae’s ear, “We’re next door to the oldies. Don’t scream too loud. And if they do, don’t listen.”
While he apparent
ly found the lack of privacy funny, Mae found it potentially embarrassing.
They had to duck and crawl through the flap of Jamie’s tent. Once inside, he turned on his solar lantern. Beside the sleeping bag sat a stack of plastic tubs, Jamie’s backpack, and a few jugs of water. There was scarcely room for Mae’s suitcase. “Cozy, isn’t it?” He smiled and wrestled her onto the sleeping bag, pulling her on top of him.
Shortly after they made love she drifted off, but not for long. The heat woke her. Jamie had wrapped around her with all four limbs like a tree sloth holding onto a branch, and he was breathing strangely with long exhalations. With each inhalation, his belly released and softened against her side, bringing more heat to her, and then withdrew a little on the extended exhalations, letting air touch her skin.
“You okay, sugar?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m good. Doing some breath work, y’know? So I can sleep. Sh. Go back to your dreams.” He kissed her, cuddled her closer, and rocked her a little. “Want me to sing to you?”
“That’d be nice.” Silence was all she needed for sleep, but the singing would do him good. He sang sweetly, the “Goodnight” song from the Beatles’ white album, and after a verse they both slept with the bag opened to let out the heat.
After what felt like an hour or so, she woke again, this time to surreptitious rustling sounds and then the pop of a plastic food tub being opened. “Sugar, you are not eating cookies in this sleeping bag.”
“Mm, but I already ... mmm.” Chewing sounds and a smell of chocolate chip cookies. “Want one?”
“No. You should think things through. You’ll want to get up and brush your teeth.” She knew how his mind worked. “And then you’ll have to get out and get dressed so you can go out and spit.”
