by Building Fires in the Snow- A Collection of Alaska LGBTQ Short Fiction
Trish caught Tierney’s expression. “She’s good, isn’t she? She makes the rest of us look pathetic, but what the heck.”
Unlike the others, Pearl danced a total of four numbers before she left the stage. Tierney knew that never in a hundred years could she perform with the elegance and grace that Pearl had just exhibited.
The three each danced one more set apiece that night and that was it. They walked home together in the dusky night, dawn already lighting the mountaintops.
“How much do you get paid?” Tierney asked Donna Sue.
“Forty a night, but fifty if we dance on Friday or Saturday. Plus we get tips on the drinks we serve.” Donna Sue glanced at her. “Of course, Pearl and Cleo make a lot more than we do.”
It sounded like a heck of a lot of money to Tierney, especially when you considered that it was for only about four hours’ worth of work. But when she tried to picture herself half-dressed on that plywood platform, her mind balked. No way, she thought. Not me.
Once they got home, they ate up the leftover tacos and played cards for a couple of hours. It was fully light by the time they finally went to bed, Tierney choosing to sleep on the couch in her sleeping bag. Trish looked a little miffed about this, but she didn’t say anything.
The next day, Trish went with Tierney to several restaurants, but none of them were interested in offering Tierney a job. They weren’t hiring, she was repeatedly told. When they left the third establishment, Trish said, “You should go by yourself. They all know I’m a dancer.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re family businesses. They think we’re immoral.” Trish shrugged as if it didn’t bother her, but Tierney could tell that it did.
So Trish went home, and even though Tierney made a point of systematically visiting all the eateries in Seward, she failed to turn up a single lead. “I even walked out to the cannery, but it’s closed,” she said to Trish, who had showered and was wrapped in a towel, perched on the edge of the tub shaving her legs for work later that night. She was smoking a fat joint that smoldered on the lip of the sink.
“Want some?”
Tierney shook her head.
“Cannery won’t be hiring for a while yet. I should have warned you, saved you the trip. Sorry.”
Tierney tried to read the book Cleo had given her, but kept getting distracted by her anxiety that she would never find a job—any job—and would have to borrow money from these girls in order to pay her way home.
That night, Trish danced while Angela got a day off. Not surprisingly, Tierney thought, Trish was good at it. Not on a par with Pearl, of course, but good at it in the sense of making the dancing seem like fun. She had a sassy, teasing air that many of the men seemed to appreciate, hamming it up through “You’re So Vain.” When the music started for her last number, “Dueling Banjos,” the crowd roared at Trish’s song selection: she danced faster and faster as the banjo pickers’ tempo accelerated, finally collapsing in a histrionic heap on the stage. When she returned to the table after her set, she was laughing. Donna Sue swung by with a tray full of unserved drinks, to let them all know that their boss Donald, the elderly owner of the bar, had just fired the dishwasher and was in the back with his sleeves rolled up, elbow deep in soapy water. The others took turns tiptoeing to the kitchen to see for themselves. It was a cause of great merriment, Tierney noticed, apparently because the girls disliked Donald and thought he was sleazy.
It took Tierney half of Pearl’s dance set to recognize the opportunity, but when she did, she pushed her chair back from the table so abruptly that it fell over. “Where are you going?” Trish said.
Tierney entered the kitchen, approaching the stoop-shouldered, gray-haired man she found rinsing plates before an industrial-sized stainless steel sink. “I can do that,” she said. “I have experience.”
Donald looked at her in surprise. “No kidding?” he said, already stepping back and shaking water off his hands.
“No kidding.” Tierney stepped forward, pulling up her sweatshirt sleeves.
“Five an hour?” He dried his hands on a towel and reached to shake hands with her, looking her up and down, appraisingly.
It was double what Milly had paid, but then again, Alaska was expensive. “Okay.” Tierney shook his hand and stepped toward the sink.
“Wait a second,” Donald said. “Can you dance?”
Tierney shook her head. “Nope.”
For an hour or so, she felt triumphant, proud of having taken the initiative to score the dishwashing job, like it was some kind of major feat. But it didn’t take long before the familiar isolation and drudgery of washing dishes reminded her that this was the only thing that she knew how to do, that she was completely lacking in other marketable skills. She was relieved to be earning money again, it was true, but it was discouraging to find herself once more standing in front of an oversized sink. Wasn’t Alaska supposed to be her fresh start, her brand-new life?
Cleo arrived the next day, Saturday, in her black VW bug. Apparently, she had developed quite a reputation and following as one of Alaska’s top exotic dancers, having performed all over the state for more than a decade. She had wrangled a special contract out of Donald, dancing only one night a week as a kind of star attraction. And either because it was the weekend and/or because of Cleo’s popularity, the bar was packed that night with pipeline workers in cowboy boots, sporting gold-nugget jewelry and belts with oversized buckles. Trish, Donna Sue, and Angela scurried around from the get-go, taking drink orders, serving, and clearing the tables of empty glasses.
Cleo had real acts: the Schoolmarm was one; another was the Lion Tamer (with a stuffed lion that she’d brought with her). The men went crazy every time she cracked her leather whip while standing near-naked in a pair of high-heeled black boots. Of them all, Cleo was the most like a stage actress, inhabiting her various roles with real conviction.
Tierney was disappointed to have to miss most of Cleo’s act. This was another problem with dishwashing; you were always far from the action. By the time she was able to take another break, she was thoroughly disenchanted with her tedious, humid job. Trish hauled her outside into the alley and for once Tierney was happy to get high with her. Anything to spice up the monotony of washing dishes. Once they returned inside, Trish coaxed Tierney to taste her drink, a Tequila Sunrise, which mostly just tasted like fruit juice. Since Tierney was thirsty and due back in the kitchen, she downed the whole thing.
Half an hour later, Trish found Tierney at the sink in tears. “What’s wrong?”
“It would be one thing if I were at Cleo’s. At least then I could do the dishes outside in the open air. But this,” Tierney blubbered as she gestured to her windowless corner, “this just sucks.” Donna Sue and Angela arrived to unload trays of dirty glasses, and the three huddled around their new friend, seeking to console her.
“You should try dancing,” they chorused. “It’s easy. The money’s good. The guys get to look but they’re not allowed to touch.”
Soon Cleo and Pearl came looking for them, and the two professionals also persuaded Tierney to give it a try. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Pearl said. Donald showed up next, glaring at everyone, and the three younger cocktail waitresses slunk back to work. Donald’s expression quickened the moment the two older dancers explained to him that Tierney was going to give dancing a try.
“I’m all in favor of that,” he enthused, ogling Tierney’s chest.
“I have the perfect swimsuit for you,” Cleo said. “It’s not very revealing at all. With your coloring, they’re going to think you’re Hawaiian. Exotic! And this is the perfect night for your first time, because it’s actually much easier when the house is full.”
So they got her ready, Pearl digging an artificial flower hibiscus from her satchel of props and clipping it to Tierney’s hair. Cleo beamed and clapped her hands. “Aloha!” Trish proffered another Tequila Sunrise, urging Tierney to chug-a-lug, before Cleo helped her make three so
ng selections at the jukebox. Then Tierney mounted the little stage wearing her jeans and T-shirt over the tropical pattern bathing suit that Cleo had loaned her, her face feeling hot. She stared at her feet, her arms locked rigidly across her front, and found herself utterly incapable of taking off her shirt. The music kicked in, one of her favorite songs, “Crocodile Rock,” and being careful to look only at Cleo and Pearl, seated at the front table with encouraging smiles on their faces, Tierney managed to shuffle jerkily, arms still crossed.
“Take it off,” one of the men in the audience yelled. Another yelled, “Take it all off!” It was like waking from a trance; Tierney froze. She knew she could no more take her clothes off in front of all these people than she could fly to the moon. She hung her head and mewled, distinctly hearing Trish intone, “Uh oh,” from somewhere out on the floor.
Cleo and Pearl came to Tierney’s rescue at the edge of the stage, both reaching out a hand to help her down, sitting her between them at the table and consoling her as best they could while the song finished. By the time Jim Croce had sung a few bars of “Bad Bad Leroy Brown,” Pearl was scrambling to get herself ready to start her act early, reaching into her bag for the scarves and hats that were part of the costuming for her performance. Tierney covered her face with her hands, aware of the commotion she had stirred. She wanted to hear Trish crack a joke and say it was no big deal, happened all the time, but she knew Trish had to keep working or she would be fired.
Tierney couldn’t look at anyone. She mumbled something into her hands. “What?” said Cleo. “Can’t understand what you’re saying.” Suddenly the three younger girls all converged at the table.
“I said I didn’t come all this way to be a stripper!”
“We’re not strippers!” Pearl hissed, flustered and offended.
“I mean, nothing against any of you, but it’s just not for me.”
No one said anything, but they all moved away from her, the other girls returning to work and Pearl mounting the stage with no choice but to dance to Tierney’s final song selection, Paul Simon’s “Kodachrome.” Not a very Pearl-like song, Tierney realized. She knew she had disgraced herself—not by her failed attempt to join their ranks as a dancer, but by her awful comments. When she was finally composed, she returned to the kitchen, still wearing the fake hibiscus blossom in her hair and the swimsuit underneath her clothes.
By the time Tierney had put all the clean dishes away, Donald was ready to lock up. The others had already departed, but Trish waited, though she had a decidedly frosty air about her. The two girls walked home without speaking, and just before they reached the house, Trish muttered hotly, “I wish you hadn’t of said what you did.” She stopped before the front door.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“It sounds like you think you’re too good for what we do.”
Tierney couldn’t bring herself to look at her. “I know. I’m sorry,” she said again.
“Anyway, you’re supposed to be at least nineteen, so you couldn’t have done it anyway.”
Tierney’s mouth fell open. “Why didn’t you say something earlier? Why’d you let me make a fool of myself?”
Trish shrugged. “It never occurred to me until right this minute. Listen, you have to sleep in my room tonight; Cleo always gets the couch when she’s here.”
“Okay, but I’m sleeping on the floor.”
“Suit yourself.”
The following day, a Sunday, was the only day of the week that the Majestic was closed, so everyone was off duty. After some awkwardness in the house—she could tell the others were doing their best to avoid her—by midafternoon it felt to Tierney like she’d mostly been forgiven. It probably helped that she’d walked to a store and paid a small fortune for a pound of bacon and a dozen eggs, cooking them up for everyone’s brunch. Later, in celebration of the solstice, Cleo and Pearl bought picnic food; they all piled into the Lincoln and drove out to Lowell Point, where they built a fire on the beach. It was a warm day, perfect for sunbathing, roasting hot dogs, toasting marshmallows, and wading in the ocean as the tide went out. Tierney was thrilled to find a bald eagle feather, determined that it should prove her lucky talisman.
Trish lit a joint that no one else wanted to smoke. Cleo and Pearl shared a bottle of red wine. The sunlight never dimmed. Finally, Pearl stood and brushed the dark sand from the seat of her pants. “If someone wants to give me a ride home, the rest of you can stay here.”
Tierney noticed that Cleo had a pained look on her face; soon the others had noticed it, too. They waited for Cleo to explain. “Last night was my last night,” she finally burst out, her voice quavering. “I already told Donald.”
The others gaped at her. “What do you mean?” Pearl said, looking stunned.
“I promised Gavin I’d quit,” Cleo explained tearfully. “He’s earning good wages on the pipeline now. We don’t need the extra money. He made me promise.” She cried copiously. “I never thought it would be this hard to tell you.” After an initial flurry of concern and consternation, wherein they all converged around their queen, Tierney noticed that Pearl had withdrawn from the circle. She looked slightly ill, her hands held together in front of her mouth as if she were praying, her eyes flitting from Cleo to the ocean and back again.
By midnight, it was decided that Cleo would take Tierney home with her to Raven Creek the next day, where Tierney would be her “right-hand girl” in exchange for room and board and spending money. Cleo promised her that it wouldn’t all be work, that they’d find ways to have fun as well. She offered to teach Tierney how to sew, and even though Tierney had absolutely no interest in sewing, as much out of gratitude to Cleo for taking her in as out of politeness, she murmured her thanks.
“Don’t let her take advantage of you,” were Trish’s parting words. She told Tierney she always had a place to stay in Seward. “You can sleep on the floor as much as you like.” Trish promised to show up at Raven Creek sometime soon so they could further explore the valley. “You can help me find the abandoned gold mine that’s supposed to be up there.”
Tierney quickly fell into the rhythm of life at Raven Creek, and it never lost its enchantment. She kept in touch with her dad through her sister, until the day Rita told her he’d calmed down over Tierney’s unannounced departure, at which point she called him directly.
“Where are you, exactly?” he asked.
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“I’m scared you’ll try to come find me and take me home.”
He said nothing for a whole minute, and then he sighed. “I know you had to leave,” he said, “but I wish you didn’t have to go so far.”
“But it’s Alaska,” Tierney told him somewhat boastfully. “Sometimes it’s worth it to go the distance to get what you want. You’ve said so yourself.”
“I know, missy,” he said—a little sadly, Tierney thought. “But sometimes people go too far and forget where they came from.”
“I promise I won’t do that.”
The truth of the matter was that even though she’d come a long way, Tierney knew she still had a long way to go to become the person she hoped to someday be.
Another young woman disappeared, this one a diminutive Filipina dancer who had recently moved to Anchorage from Kodiak. Immediately following her vanishing, the Alaska State Troopers announced they’d located human remains they had identified as those of Karen Ann McMasters, missing since spring, near the Knik River. They determined that she’d been shot in the back of the head. A few days later, Trish and Pearl showed up at Cleo and Gavin’s homestead. They were on their way to the Anchorage airport, Pearl explained. She had broken her dance contract at the Majestic and was flying home to Vegas.
“Whoever’s going after little brown-skinned girls might decide to come after me,” Pearl said.
“It can’t be that Seattle killer because they just had another disappearance down there, too.” Trish looked at the others. “Although I
guess they’re also getting shot in the head. What is the deal, anyway? When did it get to be open season on girls?”
“When has it ever not been?” Cleo said.
“So far, up here, it’s only colored girls,” Pearl said a little bitterly. “Anyway,” she continued, glancing pointedly at Tierney, “it was never my intention to be a career dancer—no offense, Cleo. I’ve been saving up for nursing school next year.”
Both she and Trish commented on how long Tierney’s hair had grown and, over tea and homemade oatmeal cookies, the two of them took turns styling Tierney’s locks into various hairstyles, her favorite of which was multiple little pigtails sprouting all over her head. Pearl and Trish spent the night, everyone staying up late and then sleeping in Cleo’s house. When it was time for Trish to take Pearl to the airport the next day, Cleo and Pearl hugged each other and cried.
In late July, the US Supreme Court unanimously voted for the president to turn over his secret tapes. Cleo said it was the beginning of the end for Richard M. Nixon. A week or so later, stepping out of the toolshed in the middle of the night to pee, Tierney realized it was pitch dark. And cold. She saw stars glittering overhead, the first she’d seen in Alaska. On August 8, while on a shopping trip to Anchorage, she and Cleo were surprised to find many of the customers in the Prairie Market gathered around the boxy radio at one of the cash registers. As they joined the group, Tierney could hear a familiar voice intoning, “I have always tried to do what was best for the nation.”
