“I don’t trust you, Max,” Zack said calmly.
“All right, Bernie can give it to you, but you’ve got to drink something, mate.”
Bernie took the plastic cup of water and handed it to Zack, who grinned at him and slurped it loudly.
“You remember that nutter we met in Rockland? Wouldn’t come out of his room?”
“Jeeeeeeves,” Zachary said. “I thought it was funny because he sounded more British than you.”
“Right,” Maxwell said, smiling a little – a good sign. “Did anyone tell you why he wouldn’t come out?”
“No, but I tried,” Zack said, drooling a little water.
Bernie remembered it, they were at the Nyack Motor Inn, and the desk clerk made the mistake of telling them not to bother the only other person at that end of the building, he was a resident named Jeeves who rarely left his room. He remembered her saying that, rarely, not never, but Zack was sure she said never, so later that night, after their gig down the road, Zack got away from the band and started pounding on his door, drunkenly inviting poor Jeeves to party at three in the morning.
They were ejected from the Nyack Motor Inn, and ended up sleeping in the bus that night. What Max was going to do with that story, Bernie had no idea.
“So, I had some time to chat with the desk clerk, and she told me all about Jeeves,” Max said calmly, taking a seat on the bunk across from Zachary.
“She didn’t,” Zack said. He looked to Miranda and held his glass out. “Refill! Water, it makes me alive!”
Miranda smiled kindly at him and refilled his glass. Zachary watched her every movement.
Maxwell waited until the plastic cup was back in his hand before gently continuing with his story. He had to start twice to get Zachary’s attention back, repeating; “The desk clerk was very nice to me because she thought I had an interesting accent,” clearly and slowly, leaning on his English accent.
“I heard you, Max,” Zachary said.
“All right,” Max said, smiling. “She said Jeeves had a rare condition, where his skin was turning orange.”
“No,” Zachary said skeptically.
“It’s true,” Bernie said. “I was there.”
“No shit?” Zachary asked.
“Absolutely,” Bernie reassured.
“But poor Jeeves,” Max continued. “It didn’t stop at a little orange. Soon, he started looking about as orange as you do,” he said, nodding at Zack’s bare chest, where the reflection from the old yellow paint on the ceiling was tinting his skin bright orange thanks to a mild sunburn.
Zack looked down at his chest and seemed a little concerned. “Nope,” he said quietly to himself. “Nope,” he repeated in an urgent, hushed whisper.
“In fact, everything he saw started to look orangey-yellow,” Max said. “So I have to ask, are we looking a little off color to you?”
Zack’s eyes darted to Miranda and Bernie then back to Max, alarmed.
“See, Jeeves went to see his doctor, and he told him that he’s fine, but there was only one solution for his condition,” Max said as though he was breaking the most serious of news, but gently. “You have to sleep a whole night through to the dawn. There’s no other way. Oh, and stay well watered if you can, because your skin needs the water to recover.”
“You’re lying, you’re, there’s no way,” Zack said, looking at his chest, poking it.
“You can’t pick it! That’s the worst thing for this condition,” Max said. “Because there’s people out there who don’t understand, they don’t like people who see everything in orange, who look orange.”
“Oh, my God,” Miranda whispered, hiding her face in Bernie’s back, trying as hard as she could not to laugh.
“There are people who walk around, watching for the orange skinned.” Max whipped the orange peeler out of his pocket and brandished it between them like a deadly weapon. “Who will want to peel you!”
Zachary shrieked, tossed the plastic cup, retreated into the back corner of the bunk and pulled the sheet up between him and Maxwell. “Stay away!”
“Do you want to get better?” Maxwell asked.
“Yes!”
“Good! Then sleep, drink water! Stay on the bus where you’re safe,” he said, standing up and slowly backing towards the front of the bus. “There are a lot of people out there.”
“You’re such a fucker, Max! Don’t peel me!” Zachary cried.
“I’m going to leave this with whoever guards that door, and if you try to leave, they’re going to peel you like an orange,” Max said in a matter-of-fact manner.
“I won’t leave,” Zachary whimpered.
“Good, you know the rules: no picking, drink water, no leaving the bus, and sleep.”
“I know the rules,” Zachary repeated.
They made it off the bus, and Miranda buried her face in Max’s T-Shirt and laughed so hard she could barely breathe. “I can’t believe that worked,” she whispered after the hysterics passed, and she leaned on Max with an arm around his waist.
Max pointed at their backup guitarist and crooked his finger. The guitarist walked over. “You got the acid for him, you guard the bus.” Max planted the orange peeler firmly in his hand.
“I didn’t buy it,” he replied.
“I know you’re lying,” Maxwell said. “Zack there is too spazzy to deal with bikers when he’s sober, and I know no one else would get it for him, so it’s you. You stay here ‘till Zack’s back and don’t let him out.”
“What do I do with this?” Darren asked, holding up the orange peeler.
“Threaten him with it if he tries to get out,” Maxwell said, causing Miranda to snicker. “Trust me, should keep him under control for a couple hours if you just let him keep believing what I told him. He hasn’t peaked yet. Oh, and did you get the shit back from him?”
“Yeah, but,” the guitarist started to explain.
Max gently pushed Miranda away, then turned to Darren and jammed his hands down both his pockets and forcefully fished out a clear vial with an eyedropper. “None of this, thanks,” he said as he uncapped it and dumped the contents onto the grass. “Lots of older teens looking to make new mistakes here this weekend, and I’m not going to have you selling or doing this shit here,” Max recapped it and carefully put it in his pocket. “Not even leaving you with residue.”
“Man, I wasn’t going to share, that’d be so stupid,” Darren said.
“Now the only stupid thing you have to avoid is letting Zachary off the bus for about six more hours. This isn’t the kind of thing where you let stoned morons like him walk around.”
“Fine,” Darren said. “Anything you say, Master, swell.”
Maxwell put his arm around Miranda’s shoulders, she put his arm around his waist and they started towards the main house. “Beach,” she said.
“I’m knackered,” Max retorted. “You can go swim though.”
“Nope, beach,” Miranda said, pulling at him. “You can sleep on a towel down there. Catch a nap before dinner with me.”
“Just make sure nothing falls on my head,” Max replied, changing his direction towards the road leading through the farm, down towards the shore, the cabins and the beach.
Bernie couldn’t help but notice the faint smile on Susanne’s face as she started to follow them. He caught up to walk beside her.
“There are sparks above them, and trailing behind them,” Susanne said so only Bernie could hear. “He is a good man though, isn’t he? The destiny does not guarantee that.”
“He’s my best friend,” Bernie answered, it was the most honest response he could give.
V
Maxwell was faced with a choice, try out his new guitar, or to get to know Miranda that afternoon. The guitar lost by a surprisingly large margin.
The cabins on the way to the beach were well kept, despite Bernie and Max’s absence for most of the previous three summers. Allen had a lot of helpful neighbors who traded days at the cabin during the summer for s
ervices, and their work was better than anything Maxwell, Bernie or Scott could do.
The year round and summer cabins were arranged in two large half circles. Most of the smaller summer cabins were in the outer ring with tree and foliage coverage between. The larger, year round cabins were in the inner circle, and some of them were large enough to have a small yard.
The largest of the cabins, number fourteen, stood apart entirely, closest to the lake. It had two full storeys, and Max was still surprised that he and the band would be staying there with their guests. “Is there a bathroom down here, or is it all still outhouses?” Miranda asked as they passed through the heavy front door. It was made of thickly varnished medium sized logs, Max remembered putting it in with the help of Bernie and Scott while Allen put the hinges on.
“This cabin’s more a house,” Max said. “The john’s just down there at the end.” He pointed down the hallway past the kitchen.
“Okay,” Miranda said, walking towards the hall. “I remember getting into big trouble when we were kids for getting caught in the cabins. Whatever they thought we were doing must have been so much worse than the truth, I couldn’t visit for a week.”
“High cost for hanging out away from the parents,” Maxwell agreed. He remembered stealing keys in the off-season and sneaking off to a cabin with all his friends. It was the first time they really got time away from their parents without supervision, close by, but no one knew where they were. Nothing really changed, Maxwell still had an acoustic guitar, Miranda still played flute back then, and that was taken into the cabin, and Bernie and Scott were right behind. If anything, they were too young and too interested in being together as a group to get into any serious trouble.
The real rascal business took place when Maxwell and Bernie were thirteen. Scott and Miranda were twelve. They snuck into a cabin and discovered a mostly full jumbo bottle of peach schnapps. Everyone got into that precious supply, by the time they got through half of it, Miranda was sound asleep, Bernie was stumbling drunk and worried that his father would discover them. Scott and Maxwell were taking turns on the bottle, both of them were desperately ill later, leaving vomit deposits behind the cabin, but their drunken sleepover was never discovered. Maxwell still couldn’t smell peach schnapps without feeling a little ill, however.
The ceilings in cabin fourteen were tall, made of split logs with heavy beams for support. The main hearth was an oddity, it actually had a cast iron screen that could close it in, and heat pipes leading to other parts of the house. He always thought it looked like it was grinning at him, when the iron mask was brought together. During the summer the hearth doors were open, it was clean and empty. A half circle of stones from the lake surrounded the front of it, and hard wood floors with broad, varnished boards surfaced the rest of the large room. There were three large sofas against the walls, two six foot long hand made side tables, and still enough room in the middle for a couple dozen people to gather. Towards the kitchen there was another large room, where a hand carved table and chairs for twenty-one people.
The cabin was rented for receptions, special parties, and many other occasions, but the cost to outsiders was so prohibitive, they almost always decided against it. Locals knew that they could offer trade in services and some cash, Allen’s preferred method of bargaining to use the space. When it wasn’t rented Allen and the staff prepared meals for the other cabin guests. The food was plentiful, filling and cheap, while the atmosphere was always social. What Allen and his family had in their cabin business and the lake the Three Families shared was just short of magical to Maxwell. It was a wonderful place to grow up.
Max paid little attention to the space then, except to acknowledge that it was spotless. He took the key out of the second largest room’s door and went inside. It was furnished with a broad, low dresser with a triple panel mirror, a queen-sized bed with a wrought iron frame, and a door leading out to a balcony. He took the key from the trunk at the end of the bed, opened it and dropped his saddlebags inside. There was just enough room for his new guitar behind it, so he put it on top and opened the case. It was the kind of instrument he pictured himself earning with a hit record. Their debut only seemed to resonate with audiences after they saw Road Craft live. They needed the album after that, but the album itself didn’t draw much attention unless the listener was already a fan of darker music.
He another took a look at the glossy black guitar, followed the trim with his eyes to the dark rosewood fret board and shook his head. The dream of making the band work, getting in front of large audiences as Black Sabbath and Cream had done seemed to go hand in hand with a guitar of that class, one didn’t seem to make sense without the other. He would still play his new instrument, despite the strings he felt were attached to it, and he would do so as if there were thousands in the audience. He closed and latched the case then slipped it behind his saddlebags in the trunk.
There were some improvised jean shorts that would work for something to swim in, that is if she got him in the water at all, in his saddlebags, and he immediately got to opening and digging. After a moment he found them, and was half way out of his clothes – the bottom half – when he heard Miranda coming up the stairs. “This place is amazing, I love how the stairs are all split logs. This main house was run down when I was a kid, I remember-“ He turned his backside towards the door, being between jeans and shorts, and continued to change.
“Hello,” she said with a giggle.
“Sorry, been in close quarters for too long, not used to having a door to close,” Maxwell said as he buttoned the jean shorts. “Not many secrets on that bus.”
“No complaints,” Miranda said. “You didn’t tell me to stay downstairs, either. Oh, I found towels.”
He turned to see her framed by the doorway, down to her dark swimsuit, having left her dress behind somewhere along the way. She was holding up a pair of large folded towels. “That’s good,” Max said, closing the trunk and locking it. He put the key under the leg of the bedframe. “As long as I don’t have to use the towel I stole from a hotel a month ago. It hasn’t been washed since.”
He stepped outside and locked the bedroom door, wedging the key in a tiny space where the wall met the floor on the other side of the hallway. “Worried about people getting into your room?” Miranda asked. “Here?”
“No, luv,” Max said, accepting a towel from her. He felt a strange lump in his pocket and realized then that he’d taken the shard with him. “Just making sure I get the nicest bed in the house. Never know who’ll try to take the room.”
“Do you still have a room in the main house?” Miranda asked as they headed down the stairs.
“I cleared out by June,” Maxwell said. “Thought this would be our summer, you know? Coming back from tour early wasn’t the plan, there’s just not much booking out there. Too many disco stages. Looks like I’ll be moving back in.”
“Well I’m happy you’re back,” Miranda said.
“That’s a silver lining,” Maxwell replied as they passed through the front door. “A shiny one.”
They made their way out of the cabin. Miranda was about to go towards the main beach. Maxwell could hear the murmur of the crowd and sounds of children at play. He put his arm around her waist and said; “You remember when you were here, there was the big beach, and the other beach?” He slowly guided her in the other direction, watching a smile grow across her face.
“We were never allowed to go there,” she replied.
“Now it’s our turn,” Maxwell said. “Thought that’s where you meant to take me when you tried to drag me off to the beach.” He led the way down a nearly grown in path behind the cabin. It was clear enough to walk down at night, but straying would get anyone lost in the dark. During the day, it was dim, hot and the air felt thick.
A natural cave leading through a rock face awaited them, it had been cleaned up and a thick boardwalk was built to lead through it. The cool air in the dark passage was a momentary relief. As soon as they rea
ched the other side, a waft of pot smoke drifted past the entrance. “I’m no prude,” Miranda said. “But I’m not going to smoke, or take anything this weekend, except for maybe a few beers. I’m not going to do anything I know I’ll regret either,” she said.
Maxwell looked back at her and she avoided his gaze, obviously wary. “I just don’t want that loud beach,” he said. “I’m not dragging you off to get you high, luv. Feels like I’ve been on the road years, seen more people half-mad on that stuff. Just dealt with one of them.” He had her full attention, her expression had already turned from one of trepidation to a soft smile and in the golden light of the afternoon as it was screened by leaves overhead, she was prettier than any women he’d ever seen. He wanted to do what his well-tested instincts told him to, to take advantage of the situation and get closer, but he decided to trust her instead. “In all that time, after all those parties and strange places, what I think I saw today has done my head in worse than anything.” He stepped in closer to her. “If the first thing you said when you came through there was that you’d be getting lost on an acid trip, or even lost in some smoke, I’d have found my way off alone somewhere.”
“I can help you with whatever’s going on, Max,” she whispered, taking his hand. “We’ll have an afternoon, some quiet.”
She took the lead then, slowly following the last twenty feet of the trail down to a secluded beach, located in the nook of a bend on the relatively small, spring fed lake. The beach shore wasn’t sandy, but made of tiny, fine grey pebble stone gathered from a nearby streambed.
There was a large fire pit and a smaller one off to the side. With trees bending down overhead, encroaching ferns and other undergrowth all around, the sounds of the larger beach were absent, and there was room for twenty people, their towels, coolers, and any other basic beach supplies. The pot smokers who Max and Miranda caught a whiff of earlier were near the trail entrance sitting on lawn chairs in the nude. “Two beards, can you take that down the beach a bit?” Max asked politely of the trio. “Breeze is carrying that right into the cave.”
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