Jenn handed her a milk crate filled with office supplies and the three of them trudged into the house.
“I don’t know how you found this place, Jenn, but you really outdid yourself.” It had a large living room and dining room on opposite sides of the entry, and a kitchen, bedroom and bath in back. Upstairs were three large bedrooms and a bath. The furnishings were old but not antique, and Jenn would drill into everyone tonight that they were expected to leave it better than they found it.
“I told Marty he might have to sleep with the guys.”
Stacie shrugged. “There’s plenty of room for all of us.” She and Jenn always bunked together, sometimes with a third girl if the room was big enough, and she appreciated that Jenn wouldn’t put her in an awkward position by asking her to share a room with a guy. “I staked out the bedroom on the first floor. It’s off the kitchen, which is bad, but it has its own bathroom, which is excellent. If you’ll let me leave my stuff in there, I don’t mind setting up my cot in the dining room. It’ll be like having my own room. Just promise I can have the bedroom to myself for an hour a day.”
“Right, your yoga session. No problem.”
“How many people are staying here?” Marty asked as he went through the kitchen opening cabinets and drawers.
“Counting the three of us, there should be thirteen by dinnertime. The house can easily sleep that many if people remembered to bring a cot,” Stacie said. “Most of these folks will stay at least a couple of weeks to get things rolling, maybe even the whole time. We should have a local team up and running by the end of the week.”
Jenn tossed her sleeping bag onto the bed. “We’ve got about thirty more commitments if we need them. I told them to hold off till we get more space.”
Though technically there was plenty of room, thirteen was a crowd in a four-bedroom house. If it got too crazy, Stacie would sneak out to a cheap motel for a few nights.
She caught herself smiling. Or maybe she’d follow up with Cate, the woman who was lurking online last night. Finding someone else on SappHere in Duluth had been a delightful surprise. Cate was forty-four years old and her maturity showed in her interests—reading, art galleries and film. Of course, that was what women listed when they wanted to put out a sophisticated image, when their real interests were lying on the couch watching trashy TV. There was no way of knowing if Cate was sincere, but the tiny part of her face she posted in her profile picture suggested it might be worth finding out. Besides, Stacie was looking for a diversion, not a wife.
“Stacie?”
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I said Marty’s dad knows a chemistry professor at the University of Colorado. He gave us the name of somebody at Bemidji State we could work with. Izzy said you got some samples.”
She presented the vials and described her reconnaissance in the kayak. “I don’t care what Nations Oil says this is. I think it’s bitumen. I was scooping it up off the bottom of the lake in clumps as thick as peanut butter.”
Marty scowled. “Sounds like the same mess they had in Wyoming. What do you want to bet they’re still running it through old pipelines built for conventional oil? It’s a wonder we don’t read about this happening every day.”
That was one of the problems but it wasn’t the main issue as far as Stacie was concerned. “All that sand and clay is so corrosive it doesn’t really matter what kind of pipeline they use. Does anyone honestly expect all two million seams to be perfect? Any pipe’s going to wear down eventually, and they never fix their infrastructure until it breaks. They’ve done the math. It’s cheaper to clean up after a rupture and pay a fine than it is to maintain it. But these people don’t live along the pipeline so they don’t care if the groundwater is contaminated or the soil is ruined for the next millennium.”
Jenn added, “That’s why we can’t let them build the Caliber Pipeline. They want to run it right through the breadbasket of America, and for what? They’ll tell us it’s about energy independence, but their real plan is to ship it all to China and make a shitload of money for people who already have a shitload of money.”
It took very little to get any of them worked up over the politics of the oil industry, and one of these days Stacie would probably have to take medicine for her blood pressure. For now her outlet was protest, whatever she could do to have an impact on public perception and policy. If they could build a nationwide groundswell of opposition, they could kill the Caliber Pipeline once and for all.
* * *
Cathryn propped open the apartment door with her briefcase and ferried four bags of groceries in from her rental car. Basic provisions—cereal and milk, lots of fruit, an assortment of lean frozen dinners and enough diet soda to float a small boat. Just because she had a kitchen didn’t mean she wanted to cook.
As a special gift to herself on this momentous day, she’d also picked up an expensive bottle of chardonnay, but couldn’t enjoy it until it chilled. All afternoon she’d been on cloud nine replaying Hoss’s words in her head. It was thrilling to get definitive confirmation that her hard work and loyalty would be rewarded soon. Nations Oil had only two women on its corporate slate, the vice presidents for human resources and procurement. A jump to that level would mean a six-figure raise plus stock options worth millions. More important, it would speed up her retirement timetable by eight to ten years.
If she were back in Houston she’d call someone to celebrate. But here in Duluth there was no one.
Scratch that. There was Marlene.
Cathryn had checked in on SappHere a couple of times during the day and was grudgingly pleased not to see Marlene online. Women who stayed logged in all the time struck her as desperate. It was too bad, however, that Marlene wasn’t around tonight. It could have been fun to kick back and forget about work for a while.
And then her profile appeared.
Chapter Three
It was a longstanding tradition that Stacie and Jenn made dinner for everyone on their first night together, and they’d also invited the locals who had joined their cause. Curried chickpeas with spinach and tomatoes over basmati rice was always a hit, though Stacie wasn’t eating with the group. She had plans for dinner with Cate, who had dropped onto SappHere like manna from heaven.
Also tradition was her welcome speech, which she delivered while everyone ate. Since the dining table wasn’t large enough to accommodate everyone, they dragged chairs into the living room and balanced food on their laps while she stood in the center of the room.
“I see a few fresh faces here. It always excites me when new people come on board. And I’m especially glad to welcome back John and Rita. Don’t hesitate to ask them for help if you can’t find Jenn or me.”
John and Rita Mauney were in their fifties, both professors at Michigan State University. They’d gotten involved with CLEAN during the Enbridge disaster at Talmadge Creek, and were personally responsible for bringing in hundreds of allies. Stacie liked the enthusiasm and energy of young people, but mature couples like the Mauneys could gather support among Baby Boomers, who donated money as well as time.
“In the last fifty years, and particularly since Reagan, we’ve seen a massive shift in our country toward corporate power. Many of our elected leaders no longer work for us. They answer to the industries that fund their campaigns, and they use their power to do the bidding of their corporate masters. At CLEAN, we don’t have that kind of money or nearly as many friends in the halls of government. What we have is the power of people, and it just so happens that people control the right of way where Big Oil wants to drill and build its pipelines. If enough of us say no, the money will have to shift to clean energy. That’s what we’re about.”
The room erupted in a raucous cheer.
“Our objective here is to get the people of northern Minnesota behind us. Nations Oil just ruined one of their pristine lakes, possibly forever. We don’t have to yell and scream about that. We don’t have to set fire to oil tankers or block people from bu
ying gas for their cars. We just need to make them think, and if we tell them the truth about how ruthless and reckless all these oil companies are, they’ll want clean energy too.”
At any given time, CLEAN’s donor list was 700,000 strong. More important, they could turn out a dedicated team of volunteers like this one anywhere in the country at a moment’s notice.
“We have a few hard-and-fast rules for how you should conduct yourself while you’re here. In this age of ubiquitous surveillance, environmental activists are often likened to terrorists. Corporations and law enforcement work hand in hand to protect their interests, and they’re just itching for an excuse to treat us as a security threat. And you know what? We do threaten their security, and for that they want to shut us up and lock us away. We’ll be called ecoterrorists and anarchists. We’re hippies who get high all day, we have free-love sex with different people every night, and we never, ever bathe. They’ll say we have no respect for authority.” She paused and cocked her head. “Come to think of it, they might be right about that last one.”
A nervous chuckle rattled through the room. Some of these people had no idea what they were up against. If they survived this baptism of fire, they’d take that resolve and leadership back to their communities and grow the clean energy movement even more.
“There is a high likelihood that sometime over the next few weeks you will be arrested. When that happens, you are to be compliant and respectful. Do not hide, do not run, do not resist. We have an attorney here in Duluth who will handle our cases as they arise, and I’ve given him a very large retainer in case we need to post bail. That’s part of Big Oil’s intimidation campaign. They want us to get discouraged and quit. We won’t.”
“Damn right we won’t!” Rita said, pumping her fist.
“A few more rules. No alcohol, no drugs and no weapons of any kind. And no touching anyone without permission. No exceptions. There’s nothing they’d like more than to catch us doing something illegal, and we can’t give it to them. When you’re out meeting with the public, there’s to be no cursing and no arguing with people who push back. It is vital to our cause that we always make a good impression. If people don’t respect us, they won’t respect what we have to say.”
John leaned over to his wife and said, “Did you hear what she said? No touching me without permission.”
They all laughed at Rita, who jabbed him numerous times with her finger.
Stacie continued, “Several of you are newbies, and I know it can be challenging to share space with a lot of people. If any of you were the selfish type, you wouldn’t be here, but that doesn’t mean we won’t get on each other’s nerves. I ask you to remember that everyone’s personal belongings are sacred. If it isn’t yours, don’t eat it, drink it, wear it, read it or use it.”
“And speaking of drinking,” Jenn said. She held up a red plastic bottle with the CLEAN logo on the side. “No bottled water. I have a couple of boxes of these very attractive, BPA-free bottles out in the van. See me if you need one.”
Stacie grinned at Ethan as he surreptitiously kicked an empty plastic water bottle beneath his chair. “That’s all the hard-and-fast rules. These last couple of things are just guidelines. You don’t have to go out there in dresses and neckties but we do want you to be clean and to wear nice clothing that is appropriately modest. No straps showing or see-through tops please, and no jailing britches with your Batman underwear hanging out the top. That’s all part of making a good impression. And the last thing is about our food here at the house. People who are really concerned about their carbon footprint don’t eat animal products. Jenn can share some of the science with you if you’re interested, but the bottom line is we could cool the planet tomorrow just by shutting down the livestock industry. We promise not to beat you if you’ve just got to have a hot dog, but please don’t bring it here to the house.”
As the volunteers finished their dinner, Rita and John collected their dishes and ferried them off to the kitchen.
Jenn passed out hefty stacks of CLEAN brochures. “This talks about CLEAN’s mission, which Stacie just covered. Anytime you engage someone who wants to know more, put one of these in their hand and make sure you get their name and email address.”
“We have a simple strategy at CLEAN for signing up supporters,” Stacie said. “We call it Double Every Day. Starting tomorrow, I want each of you to recruit at least one person who will join our fight. I’m not talking just about somebody who’ll sign a petition or swear off buying gas from Nations Oil. I’m asking you to recruit one person every day who will come to our rally, who’ll help us gather signatures, who’ll stand at an intersection with a sign, and most important, who aren’t afraid to ask their friends to do the same. You recruit one person. The next day, you both recruit one person. That’s four people. The day after that, you have eight. That’s how we build our network.”
John laughed. “It’s like Amway for the environment.”
“Right you are,” Stacie said. “The first thing I’m going to do tomorrow is get us some office space so we can set up a phone bank. Then I’m going to plan a rally for next Wednesday. We’ll get a local band and some guest speakers. Our goal is to tell everyone how important it is for ordinary people to stand up to Big Oil and stop the destruction of our planet. Since your job is to double every day for the next eight days, my job is to find a place that can hold five thousand people. If we can pull that off, I guarantee it’ll be the biggest thing to happen in Duluth all summer. When you get that many people to show up for a cause, the press covers it and that makes government pay attention. You will have accomplished a great, great thing.”
A turnout that size was unprecedented but the local media hadn’t yet framed its coverage. If CLEAN could get them to use words like “disaster” and “tar sands,” it could quickly stir up negative reactions, and their efforts to drum up support could snowball.
Stacie thanked everyone and turned the orientation over to Jenn, who was passing out materials for the next day’s assignments. By the time she’d showered and dressed, the training session was finished and Jenn entered their bedroom.
“I can’t believe you’ve been here one day and you have a date already.”
“What can I say? I’m a social butterfly. It’s just dinner.”
“Right. Remember that time we went to Sacramento to testify in front of the legislature? You stayed out all night.”
Stacie smiled. “I got lucky.” She tucked her pink shirt into gray slacks and fluffed her hair. It was a stroke of luck she’d been at the conference in Chicago when news of the spill broke, so she had several dressy outfits to choose from. Somehow she doubted Cate would go for her usual faded jeans and workboots. “Besides, do you and Marty actually care whether I come home or not?”
“You got me there. But it’s going to get really crowded if you bring her back here with all her stuff.”
“How many times do we have to go through this, Jenn? The U-Haul happens on the second date. Tonight we’ll profess our undying love.”
“Silly me.”
“But if you never see me again, tell the police it was somebody named Cate with a C.”
She slipped out the back door, counting her lucky stars to have found such a great coordinator for CLEAN. Jenn Kilpatrick could handle most anything, including the executive director job if Stacie could just talk her into it. It was time for Stacie to focus her efforts on lobbying and legislation.
Tonight however was about Cate with a C, and her electronic persona, Marlene.
The best thing about SappHere was its spontaneity. There were no rules or channels, no emails or waiting periods. A lesbian was nearby and she wanted to meet now. Stacie rarely used the app at home in Pittsburgh, preferring to meet women the old-fashioned way through friends and parties. Those were potential relationships after all. Dates like Cate were, for lack of a better word, hookups. Most of the time it was for just a drink or dinner, but she wouldn’t rule anything out if the chemistry w
as right.
The parking lot at Cowboy Grill was packed, and country music emanated from the building like a mournful pulse. A restaurant known for steak and ribs wouldn’t have been her first choice, or even in her top hundred, since she was vegan, but it would have been rude to accept the invitation and then insist on a different locale. Cate might very well be the only other lesbian in all of Duluth.
At the bar sat a woman who looked a bit like the fragmented profile photo she’d seen on SappHere—except way better. Long blond hair, an angular face and eyes as green as a cat’s. Unfortunately she was cozied up to a man.
On second glance, it was the other way around. The woman pointedly looked past him to wave at Stacie. The man turned and checked her out sullenly, and after a few more words, retreated to the other end of the bar.
As Stacie walked closer, her hopes soared for this to be Cate. Tight black dress with a belt of woven silver chains…and stiletto heels. Anyone who wore shoes like that had calves of steel.
“Marlene?”
“Cate! So nice to meet you.” So very nice. Stacie suddenly felt like a kid at Christmas.
Cate tipped her head toward the man who had just walked away. “If I had to name the worst thing about meeting someone in a bar, it would be that.”
Stacie nonchalantly took the glass of red wine from her hand, sipped it and handed it back. “At least he took ‘get lost’ for an answer.”
That quip earned her a truly charming chuckle, one that lit up a dimple on Cate’s left cheek. “Let’s get a table and I’ll buy us another drink.”
They were off to a great start if Cate’s visible reaction to seeing her was any indication. It was an unavoidable fact that some women wanted a polished femme while others preferred a stronger, athletic type. Stacie defied labels. Truth be told she could pull off any look she wanted but preferred to be herself…or rather, to be Marlene. If Marlene had a label, it would be laid-back, whether decked out in pumps or boots. There was no point in putting on pretenses when the whole purpose of going out in the first place was to relax.
Anyone But You Page 4
