by Clark Hays
She shook her head, “I don’t know, I just … it was like they wanted me to see it, like it was done for me. I nearly fainted, but they held me up and made me watch. Julius kept looking right at me and smiling.”
She held a fresh cigarette. “Light this for me,” she said and I took the matches from her trembling hand so I could oblige. “I ran for the door, right past the bodies all hanging dead, but it was locked. But then he just casually asked me if I wanted to leave, walked me out, and put me in a cab.” She was silent a moment. “I called the police, of course, but when they called back later, they hadn’t found anything. No bodies, no vampires. Just a regular art gallery with regular art. No chains, no blood. The number on the invitation was disconnected. The police said the address was a cemetery.”
“A cemetery? Is that a joke?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. The cops were not very happy, thought I had made the whole thing up. But I didn’t, I swear.”
“Who is this Julius?”
“He invited me to the party in the first place.”
“I already don’t like him,” I said, feeling a certain hardness come over me.
“He called the next night. Said he wanted to see me. I told him that I didn’t want to talk to him or see him or any of his strange friends again, ever. Later, I thought I saw someone outside my apartment. I just packed a bag and left. Didn’t tell anyone, but Ric and my landlady. She said she’d feed my cat.”
“And then you came here.”
“Don’t get the wrong idea. It’s not like I need someone to take care of me or anything like that,” she snapped and then stood. Her jaw was set all hard, and she stared out at the mountains without saying a word. I could tell she was struggling to keep her defenses up, and doing a pretty good job of it.
“You’ll be safe enough here, I reckon.”
“I don’t need a protector, Tucker. I just had to get away for a while, get my thoughts in order, sort out fact from fantasy.”
“I can’t argue against that.” Plain to see this was new territory for her, this being scared and asking for help. She stood without talking for a couple of minutes, the whole time Rex staring up at her. At last, something in her softened and she sat down beside me.
“I’m sorry I snapped. It’s just that there’s something about you and this place. I can’t explain it.”
“Might help to try.”
“We are so different. Opposite worlds. I thought it was just some little fling, sex with a cowboy. The last cowboy. Something to brag about.”
That hurt a little, and she must’ve seen it, because she quickly went on. “But it turned into something else, something bigger. I don’t quite know how to say it. I’m more me, or at least the me that I want to be, when I’m with you.” She shook her head. “I know this sounds crazy, maybe you can’t understand — you’ve never been alone, without family. I’ve been completely alone since I was twenty, no mother, no father, no family, not even any friends really. And honestly, I don’t really like anyone very much.”
She shrugged, not so much pained at the admission as mildly embarrassed. “So, it’s just been me. I thought I had it all figured out, thought I could take care of myself, make a name for myself. And I can do all those things.” She was talking a mile a minute.
“Don’t forget to breathe,” I said quietly. She smiled a crooked smile.
“Now here I am, scared about all the horrible things I saw at the party, but what’s really weird is I actually had someplace, no, someone, I wanted to run to.” She paused. “God, even the sound of my own voice is annoying.”
“The only thing annoying about you is how stubborn you are,” I said. “And I thought Snort was bad.”
She laughed at that, poked me in the ribs and then got serious again. “There’s more and it’s harder to say.”
“I ain’t going anywhere.”
“It’s hard because you’ve seen a side of me that no one else ever has. I bet you wouldn’t even recognize me in New York.”
I didn’t answer, only because I didn’t know what to say. I guessed she had something big churning inside and I didn’t want to steer her away from it by saying the wrong thing.
“I’ve never done anything, not one thing, for anyone.”
“Your life ain’t over yet.”
“How can a roughneck cowboy make me think like this? I was fine without you. Wasn’t I?” And then she whispered, “This is a new concept for me, Tucker.”
I sat for a minute, thinking. “How long?” I asked.
“How long, what?”
“How long are you staying?”
She looked out over the mountains, the snowcapped loneliness there, and sighed. “I hadn’t really thought about it. A week? A month? How long will you have me?”
“Stay as long as you like,” my mouth said, but all the while my mind was thinking just how long it had been since I’d had a woman underfoot and despite the severity of her situation, how it might interfere with this illustrious single life I’d been living. I had been seriously thinking about getting a satellite dish, now that was off. Sure can’t watch TV with a woman wanting to talk all the time. And what about Rex? He was used to being my significant other and now that would no longer be the case and he’s awful sensitive. And I’d probably have to start buying groceries on a regular basis, and good Lord my bathroom just wasn’t big enough to keep all the things she’d want. A month, my Lord! In a month she’d be talking about babies and buying a house and …
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Absolutely.” A dark wind blew between us, and in that keening silence Rex sat up to regard us curiously, his head cocked to one side.
“How will you know when to go back?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“I’ll get my head together soon enough. I’ll call Ric in a week or so and see what’s up.”
That was probably the happiest week of my life, the happiest time of my life.
The only thing that even came close was a shining and notable eight seconds of happiness as I clung grimly to a disgruntled Brahma bull named Boxcar at the LonePine Fourth of July rodeo. I was a high-school senior desperate to attract the attention of Missy Speck, a cheerleader and, as far as I could tell, the most beautiful girl in school. Although, with a total of only eleven girls in the class, it wasn’t too wide a field.
On her account, I gave Boxcar the ride of my life, literally, since it was both my first and last professional rough-stock event. I was spurring him hard, digging my boots deep into his ribs and using that force to keep astride him. My free arm was whiplashing like a radio antenna and the crowd was roaring. I just knew Missy had to be falling for me but good after a ride like this. The buzzer blew and everyone was on their feet stamping and clapping and spilling their beer, so I took off my hat and waved at the stands.
As I started my dismount, my hand got all tangled in the rope and Boxcar, sensing imminent disaster, pulled right as I leaned left. I slipped down underneath him and he stomped right in the middle of my face, pushing my nose way over to one side and dang near ripping my ear off. The rodeo clown pulled me free, left me lying in the mud and blood and bullshit listening to the sirens of the ambulance as it pulled into the arena thinking ain’t that the way it goes, from eight seconds of glory to waiting for a ride to the hospital.
Missy never came to see me in the hospital. I don’t know why I even thought she would. The sad fact was the only visitors I had were Mom and Dad who brought me some Louis L’Amour books I’d already read a half-dozen times, a jug of orange juice and a hopeful wish that Boxcar had stomped out my desire to be a rodeo cowboy, which, in fact, he had.
Laid up there for three days, I got to thinking about how love was a doomed endeavor at best and how the price you pay for happiness is dear, even for just eight seconds’ worth.
I couldn’t help but wonder what the cost of a week’s worth of pure happiness with Lizzie would be. Seems it would have to be mighty high.
&nb
sp; That price began with a phone call.
We had spent the last hour dancing close to country songs on the radio. She was laughing and when the commercials came on, we’d just hold tight and whisper wordless things back and forth. Eventually she set me down beside Rex and announced she was calling Ric to see how things were back in New York.
By all rights I had no reason to begrudge Lizzie’s friendship with Ric, but there was a certain glint that came to her eyes when she talked about him and a nervous motion in her fingers that let me know they’d tried and failed. I’m man enough to admit I was a scrap jealous when she finally got around to calling him because I didn’t know how quit they really were. Not being the jealous type by nature, I wasn’t real sure how I should act, so I settled on sullen with a speck of furious and sat on the couch pretending to read Western Horseman and pretending not to listen.
There was a heat flushing the back of my neck and my hands was clenched so tight the magazine was squeaking.
“Tucker,” she said
“Hmmm?”
“Don’t be jealous.”
“What’s that?” I choked out. “I’m not jealous.”
“He’s just a friend.”
“I’m not jealous,” I said, voice cracking. “Besides,” I muttered under my breath, “it’s your life.”
She punched the number in, listened for a minute, then hung up. “It’s like his phone is picking up but he’s not there. Listen.” She held the phone to my ear and called again. It rang once and then there was a whistling emptiness that sounded cold and far away, and a wet click unlike a connection being made or unmade. I handed it back to her.
“That ain’t right.”
“Ain’t isn’t a word,” she said, cradling the phone.
“Maybe not in New York.”
“Not anywhere,” she said. “I’m trying the office.” She punched in a new number. “Hi, Ric Castlin’s desk, please. What? Ric Castlin.” She put her hand over the receiver and said, “That’s weird, the receptionist …” then made a gesture with her hand as someone took the line. “Mr. Meyers? This is Lizzie Vaughan, I was trying to get hold of Ric. Wait, what?” She paled. “Oh my God.” She turned to look at me, her eyes wide. “He’s dead.”
There was more conversation, but her voice had grown cold, the words clipped and betraying no sense of what she might be feeling. I held her hand and she avoided my eyes, stumbling over her words.
After she hung up, she looked blankly at the wall, silent tears streaming down her face, tears that were strangely out of place, as if falling from her eyes for the first time. When she did finally speak, it was in a quiet, detached tone that was mighty unnerving. “I didn’t even cry when my mother died, why am I crying now?”
“Maybe you’re crying for her too,” I said softly. She looked at me quizzically and then, just like that, the tears stopped.
“Ric committed suicide, slit his wrists. His boss asked if Ric had been acting weird.” She shook her head. “He would never,” she said, “there was no reason.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “Truly. I know you were close.” I put my arm around her, and she let me. Drawn by that, Rex came up too and did his best at comforting her. As she petted him, he watched her with those big, serious eyes of his. I took her into the bedroom and we spent the night like that, me holding her and her holding Rex, who curled up in her arms, both of us waiting for her to sleep.
FIVE
The next morning, more to get her mind off things than for any other reason, we decided to ride up to Widow Woman Creek and stay a few days.
We borrowed a horse from Melissa, a bay named Dakota, who Snort was more than a little sweet on. I packed us up a bag of food, a couple bottles of wine, and we set out that morning with Rex running ziggedy-zag and forth and back between us until by late afternoon we arrived at the cabin. Rex was plumb worn out, dragging along fifty yards behind with his head low. Lizzie got down stiff, walking gingerly on account of her tender behind, and I brushed the horses down and turned them out into the little corral. We sat on the fence holding hands while they rolled around in the cool grass kicking their legs in the air.
Way back before I came along, Dad built the cabin on Widow Woman Creek. It was where him and Mom first started. Wasn’t much, but it was snug and in a real pretty spot — set back into a stand of aspen with a view that opened onto a beaver pond. From the front porch, you could look all the way down onto LonePine, which was barely worth the look, and then on past to Campman Plains and right up into the mountains.
Besides the view there were many other benefits such as no electricity and an antique wood stove that was both hard to keep lit and filled the cabin with smoke. Outside the door was an old-fashioned pump that froze up and busted every fall, and inside was a rough-cut pine bed which was comfortable enough but managed to fill my ass with slivers every time I slept on it.
There’s nothing like roughing it.
I spread our bedrolls out on the bed as Lizzie stood on the porch and watched the sunset, dipping cheese spread out of the jar with little crackers. “Dad built this place back in, hell, a long damn time ago,” I said as I walked past and brushed off first my saddle and then hers resting on the split-pole corral built right off the cabin wall.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Did you grow up here?”
“No. By the time they moved up here, Mom was four months pregnant with my brother. About fifteen minutes after the first snow fell, she packed her stuff and moved back to town. Told Dad he was welcome to come with her if he wanted.”
“Not entirely unreasonable.”
“Guess not.” I poured some dog food onto the ground. Rex sniffed at it and then cast a mournful look at the saddlebags with our food.
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Lizzie said.
“I don’t. Not anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be.” I pulled out a bottle of wine and screwed the cap off, to which she wrinkled up her nose. “I know this is probably not what you’re used to, but it’s all they had at the Gas ’N’ Get.”
We sat on the porch and sipped wine out of enamel coffee cups and watched night stretch across the valley like a shroud pulled over the land. The sky came alive with stars, coyotes started calling back and forth, night birds whooshed through the darkness and now and again a fish jumped and broke the surface of the pond with a distant splash. I built a fire and wood smoke trailed between us and some even escaped out the chimney, but soon enough the crackle and warmth of a fire filled the cabin, making it downright cheerful.
We passed several hours talking about nothing in particular and telling jokes and watching Rex be adorable until she got a look in her eyes that corresponded to a feeling I had in my heart and I took the cup from her hand and set it on the porch railing. Back inside, she stood by the stove as I undressed her there in the faint glow and shadow, mesmerized by the rise and fall of her breasts and her eyes burning like the embers in the fire. She pulled at me, at my shoulders, and then with her arms around my neck, pressed into me like we were just one body. I wrapped her up tight in my arms and laid her back onto the bed, onto the bedrolls still smelling of sunshine and of the horses where they’d been lashed.
We made love under the first layer of coarse blankets quietly and slowly, both scared of this powerful thing between us, but neither of us backing down or hiding at all, just staring deep into each other and holding on so fiercely it seemed there was nothing left in this broken-down old world except for me and her and what was felt between us.
That and pine splinters in our private parts. And Rex, who’d crept up to the foot of the bed, and who I kept kicking at but he refused to budge until I at last grew tired of fighting him and he stretched out proper across the bottom blankets, trapping my feet.
SIX
“I cannot believe this place,” Desard said, peering over the steering wheel of the rented luxury sedan as the headlights washed over the deserted main street. Rain
was falling hard, running down the pavement.
Elita slid down in her seat and shook her head. “I haven’t seen this much desolation since the black plague.” She pointed. “Pull in there.” The open sign of the Sagebrush Cafe flickered feebly in the darkness. “I want coffee.”
They entered, Elita at the front with her elegant stride, followed by Desard, and behind him, two nondescript vampires with nervous eyes and pale skin.
“Four, please,” Elita said as Hazel looked up from the counter, her mouth hanging open. Well-dressed strangers in LonePine were surprising enough, more so after sundown.
“Uh, smoking or non?”
Elita blew a thin stream of clove-scented smoke in her direction and smiled. “Smoking.”
Hazel ushered them to a booth. “This all right?”
“Of course it is.” Desard leaned close to read her nametag. “Hazel. Yes, that makes sense. And we don’t need those,” he said, tugging at the menus under her arm.
“Nothing to eat?” Hazel asked.
“Just coffee,” Elita answered as she paused to let one of her silent companions into the booth. “Four coffees.”
Desard raised his hand. “And Hazel, make mine a decaf, would you? Otherwise I’ll be up all night.”
Elita stifled a laugh. It was the oldest joke.
“I’ll have to start a fresh pot,” said Hazel, tucking her pad back into her apron.
“Quite all right,” Desard said, shouldering out of his leather jacket to reveal a wiry frame nearly swallowed by a billowing silk shirt.
Hazel brought back four coffee cups, filled three and returned shortly with Desard’s decaf. When she left, Elita took a sip of the bitter brew, grimaced and rolled her eyes.
Desard turned to stare through the window at the empty street and darkened buildings behind them. “I have died and gone to hell,” he said to no one in particular.
Silence ensued until Elita looked narrowly at their silent companions. “Aren’t you two the life of the party?”
“Sorry, Miss Elita,” one said at last, “it’s just that …” He shrugged and looked for support to his companion in silence, who continued to stare intently into his cup.
