by Warren Adler
“They’ll have to dip the flies in booze to get a strike.”
“It’ll piss off the tree huggers.”
“Let’s just hope we don’t piss off old Harry.”
They filled the bottles from the stream, tightened the tops, and tried their best to make the seals look as if they hadn’t been broken. Then they silently retraced their steps, put the bottles in the hole the way they were found, and carefully covered them with dirt, patting it down.
They made their way carefully back to their tents.
“A couple more days, and we’re home free,” Courtney said, squeezing Scott’s hand.
“I think we got what we came for,” Scott said.
She put her mouth close to his ear. “There’s still Muriel.”
“He says this was all her idea.”
“That’s the problem. Seems like everything from now on will be her idea.”
They headed back to their tents.
Chapter 17
They hiked for a mile or so along the bank downstream until they found a spot where the stream widened, and it struck Courtney as a good place to wash. The sun was rising orange through the tree line.
They had informed Tomas, who had served them eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee, to tell Harry whenever he awoke that they preferred that today be a down day. Their father had told them that he would be spending most of the day taking pictures around the camp, and they had all agreed that they would meet for dinner. Tomas had packed them a lunch of cheese sandwiches, apples, and cokes.
They both carried a towel, a change of underwear, and socks and fresh shirts. Before attempting to wash in the icy stream, they sat on the bank and waited until the sun warmed the cold air.
Courtney had stayed awake after their return from diluting Harry’s bourbon, contemplating their financial future. Something had begun to nag at her concerning her father’s generosity. Other implications began to surface. Danger signals had emerged. She put it directly to Scott.
“You realize, of course, that Dad’s apparent generosity could all be a ploy to placate us, while Muriel gains the bulk of his estate when he dies.”
“Not that again,” Scott said.
Courtney paused, ignoring his comment.
“Considering that his current will probably names us as principal heirs, he’s sure to make changes when dear Muriel gets her hand on the tiller. We might be selling ourselves short.”
“For crying out loud, Courtney, we can’t stop him from making changes.”
“Just thinking out loud.”
She was fully aware where her thoughts were taking her. Was he getting the point? She looked at her brother, who turned away.
“Let’s clean up,” Scott said, obviously avoiding the subject.
They undressed and moved cautiously into the cold water.
“Colder than a witch’s tit in hell,” he said, soaping himself. She did the same.
“Let me do you,” she said, laughing, splashing him with water, soaping his body, particularly his genitals. He did the same to her. They splashed water on each other like children, giggling and screeching.
Blue with cold, they ran out of the stream and toweled each other dry, but their teeth still chattered from the icy water.
“It looks lifeless,” she laughed, caressing him. “Needs a warm-up.”
Soon they were both aroused and making love in whatever postures they could devise. Naked, they enjoyed the sensation of doing it in the wilderness, which heightened their enjoyment. She screamed out the intensity of her pleasure.
“You’ll scare the grizzlies,” he said.
“Bring ‘em on. I feel as if I could fuck a bear.”
He doubled up with laughter. They found a grassy knoll nearby and warmed themselves in the sun.
“I love this freedom,” she said. “Don’t you feel like an animal?”
He roared and beat his chest.
“We are animals,” he said.
“They have no taboos, no distinctions. Everybody screws everybody.”
She turned and got on her hands and knees.
“Let’s do it their way,” she said. He got down behind her, and she drew him into her.
He obeyed, and they were locked together in an animal sexual pose.
“Bark for the audience,” he cried.
“Woof. Woof.”
Finally it was over, and they disengaged and lay down while the sun warmed them.
“Lady Chatterley’s Lover,” she said, laughing, nestling in the crook of his arm. “Remember?”
“The book?”
“She was fucking the gardener. Fancy lady of the manor. Having a ball in the garden. Just like us.”
“Life outside the box,” he whispered. She knew what he meant, and it added to the thrill of it.
“Abandonment,” she said, conscious of the purity of its definition.
He embraced her. They were like two fitted spoons now.
“I’ll never forget this day,” she said, sure of its endurance in her memory. “It’s like stepping into another dimension. Letting go. Getting down to the nitty-gritty. Shrugging off all so-called civilized behavior. I feel like …,” she paused, “pure flesh and spirit.” She turned and looked into his eyes. “And you?”
“Different,” he said. “Weird, but as you say…pure flesh and spirit. One with nature.”
“That’s it. Yes, Scottie. One with nature. How could this be wrong? This is as right as it gets. We’re…well, Adam and Eve. Can you imagine what she must have thought, seeing that damned thing rise, stiff and hard?” She looked at him. “Like now.”
This time she rose and mounted him, making strange sounds like talking in tongues as she rotated on his body. Again, they felt extreme pleasure together, and she screamed out her ecstasy. When the spasm was over, they lay together in an embrace and, without speaking, dozed. When they awoke, they dressed and started back to camp.
“No one would believe this,” she said to her brother.
“Who would we tell?” Scott asked.
“Maybe,” she said, “we could meet somewhere, say once a year, and be together like this. Our secret life, our deliriously wonderful secret life.”
“Over when it’s over, sis,” Scott replied. “Let’s keep it as an idea.”
“You’re right,” she said, remembering the angst of years ago. “Let’s not get carried away. Keep it in your memory bank.”
They dozed then copulated yet again. It was getting late, near lunchtime.
They dried themselves and dressed, then headed back toward the camp. She felt energized and alert, calm and confident. A sense of well-being filled her with optimism. Walking beside her, Scott looked at her, winked, and nodded as if he had read her mind.
They walked for an hour in silence, and when they arrived in the camp, they saw only Tomas working the fire, obviously preparing lunch. Neither their father nor Harry was anywhere in sight.
“Dad,” Courtney called. She inspected her father’s tent. It was empty. Then she turned to Tomas who shrugged.
“Went riding,” he answered, in an indifferent noncommittal voice.
“Where?”
Tomas shrugged and continued to work preparing the food. He was making some kind of bean concoction, probably chili, and toasting leftover bread. A pot of coffee was beginning to boil. For some reason it struck her as somewhat late for making lunch, long past noon. She let the idea pass. Her concern was for her father, who had planned taking pictures around the camp in the morning.
“He go with boss,” Tomas informed them.
“Without us?” Scott asked.
Scott beckoned Courtney, whispering.
“Guy gives me the creeps,” he said.
“They say when they would be back?” Courtney asked.
Tomas shrugged.
“No say.”
“That’s unusual, isn’t it, Tomas?” Scott pressed.
Tomas didn’t answer but continued preparing the food, mixing the chili with a
ladle.
“You eat now?” he asked.
“We’ll wait for them,” Courtney said, moving with her brother to the edge of the camp to a spot overlooking the stream.
She felt a rising sensation of anxiety but fought it off. It was not a logical feeling at that point. But after an hour had gone by, both she and Scott became more concerned. Tomas squatted near the fire. From time to time he mixed the chili, looking toward them.
“I’m really concerned, Tomas,” Courtney said approaching the Mexican. “Shouldn’t we go and look for them?”
“They be fine.”
“Hey, don’t start that routine,” Scott said angrily. She knew, of course, to look for them on horseback could not be a course of action. They would lose their way quickly.
“I’m getting really worried,” Courtney said, when another hour passed. The sun had fallen behind the highest treetops. But beneath her anxiety was yet another thought. What if something did happen to their father? What then? No Muriel to spoil their inheritance prospects. The thought was strangely comforting.
“Do you think he’s all right, Scott?” she asked, conscious of the rehearsal aspect of the remark, as if an air of innocence would be appropriate at some point in the near future. Scott looked at her archly but did not comment. Had he read her thoughts?
They sat on a log, and Tomas brought them their dinner, for which they had little appetite. Tomas cleared away their metal plates, not commenting on their leftovers.
The sun had dropped behind the tree line when they heard approaching horses. This spared her any further reflection on such issues. Harry and their father rode into camp.
Their expressions told the story of their absence. Harry’s complexion was florid and his anger palpable. He was quite obviously drunk. Temple’s complexion, on the other hand, was ashen, and he looked exhausted. Harry seemed shaken by rage and frustration. They watched him as he dismounted clumsily, shaking his head, fuming, barely able to stand. They ran toward their father and helped him down from the horse.
“Fuckin’ pain in the ash,” Harry fulminated, looking toward their father with anger and contempt.
“Mean drunk,” their father muttered with disgust. “Look at him.”
“Fuckin’ stupid jackass prick,” Harry cried. “Can’t even take care of your own shit.”
“What the hell is he bitching and moaning about?” Scott asked.
“Lost hish fuckin’ camera,” Harry said, pointing a finger at their father. “Had to go all the way back there to the goddamned lake to look for hish fuckin’ camera.”
“Lost your camera, Dad?” Courtney asked.
“At first I thought maybe you guys had taken it with you, but then neither of you knew how to work it. Besides, you would have told me. I must have lost it yesterday on the trail or where we stopped at the lake. All the pictures were in it, everything I took out here. You know how important those images are to me. I can’t imagine how I could have lost it.”
“Five fuckin’ hours we looked for that fuckin’ camera,” Harry ranted drunkenly. “Can’t even take care of your fuckin’ camera. You people are nothing but trouble. Fuckin’ trouble. I don’t know why the fuck I took you on. Worse mistake I ever made. God damned shtupid …” He upended his canteen, discovered it was empty, then threw it at Tomas. It missed.
“And where the fuck were you, you dumbass spic prick?” He shook his head. “Nowhere around when you need him. Where the fuck were you?”
Tomas shrugged and pointed with his chin toward the stream.
“I got hoarse calling you. Gone deaf suddenly?”
“I no hear,” Tomas said defensively.
“You could’ve gone with this stupido damn spic idiot.”
His accusation made little sense to Courtney. None of it made much sense. Yet he continued to roar out insults to their father and Tomas. Then he turned his drunken ire on Courtney.
“And you, you stupid bitch. Did I tell you about dropping the reins?” He looked at Scott. “Did I tell her?” Then to their father: “Did I tell you about the fuckin’ quagmire in the stream bed? What am I, your fucking nursemaid?”
He was obviously beyond reason, a man in a drunken rage and probably dangerous. Besides, as they had learned from his killing of the mule, he had firearms. They speculated that he had emptied a half-full bottle and was frustrated and angry that it had shortchanged his intoxication.
“Why don’t you calm down, Harry,” their father said, forcing himself to be the gentle voice of reason. “Go sleep it off.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m grateful, really grateful for your helping me look for the camera,” Temple said, with both condescension and caution. “I appreciate it. I really do, but it’s the booze talking now, Harry. Really, don’t ruin things for yourself …”
“What did you say, Temple?” Harry cried, charging menacingly toward their father. Scott moved quickly between them. “You threatening me?”
“Don’t be dumb, Harry,” Scott said. The outfitter stopped abruptly, his eyes moving to the faces watching him. He fixed his gaze on the Mexican.
“Bring me more,” he said, turning suddenly and staggering back to his tent.
Tomas looked at them, said nothing, and did not move. Something in his expression seemed strange. There was a thin smile on his lips, and his eyes reflected a bold assertiveness that Courtney hadn’t seen before. It puzzled her. She looked toward Scott and motioned with her eyes toward Tomas. Suddenly, she sensed that the three of them were communicating in a weird way, with Tomas projecting something ominous that both she and Scott understood, although they could not articulate what it meant.
Suddenly their father broke the circuit, beckoning them to his tent. Courtney and Scott crawled in after him. They sat cross-legged in the tight space and spoke in whispers.
“I’m really sorry, kids,” Temple said.
“No point, Dad,” Scott said. “We drew ourselves a hopeless drunk. We’ve got to persuade him to take us the hell out of here. And fast.”
Tomas kneeled at the tent’s entrance and handed over their father’s dinner then withdrew. Temple picked at it with little appetite.
“It was scary out there,” Temple said. “The more he drank, the more belligerent he became. It was awful.” He shook his head. “All for naught. We never did find the camera.”
“Are you sure you lost it?” Scott asked, starting to look around the tent, looking under the sleeping bag and feeling around the duffle bag that held his father’s possessions.
“I’ve looked everywhere,” their father said. “I must have dropped it somewhere. It’s a real bummer, kids. I was hoping to make a record like last time.”
“It’s okay, Dad,” Courtney said. “Unfortunately, the issue at hand is how do we get out of here unscathed? I feel as if we’re held hostage by a madman.”
“He’s okay and perfectly rational when he’s reasonably sober,” Temple said, reaching for logic to ease their obvious anxiety.
“I don’t think we can count on that, Dad,” Scott said.
“And I wouldn’t trust him to take us out of here.”
“Would you trust Tomas?” Scott asked.
“I don’t know,” Courtney mumbled, giving Scott a quick glance.
“It’s like being caught between a rock and a hard place.”
They were silent for a while. Courtney looked out through a gap in the flap. Tomas was busy cleaning up around the fire, his face impassive.
“We’ve watered his liquor supply, Dad,” Scott said, explaining their action during the night.
“Is that good?” Temple asked.
“Never can tell with an addict,” Courtney sighed. “Maybe it made things worse. Maybe it wasn’t too smart.”
“Let’s think this out,” Temple said. “Maybe try getting out of here on our own.”
“Bad idea, Dad,” Scott said, shaking his head. “We’re city-folk tenderfoots.”
“We might make a deal with the Mexican,�
�� Courtney said. “Probably knows the way out.”
“You mean buy him?” Temple asked.
They exchanged glances.
“How much cash do we have between us?” Scott asked. “I have a couple a hundred.”
“About the same,” Courtney said. “And I doubt if he’ll take credit cards.”
Her attempt at humor fell flat.
“I have about five hundred dollars. Obviously there is no need for cash out here,” Temple said.
“Might be enough for the Mexican,” Courtney said.
“Okay, so he takes it and then what? Harry sobers up and comes after us. Or the Mexican has second thoughts and leaves us stranded,” Temple reasoned.
“And remember Harry has a firearm,” Scott said.
“Let’s not jump from the frying pan into the fire,” their father said, now in thoughtful mode. Courtney had often seen him this way, reasoned, practical, logical. Sometimes this attitude infuriated her, resulting often in more rumination than action.
“Our most important consideration is safety,” Temple said. “Let’s hope we can talk to Harry when he sobers up.”
“We’ve been there,” Scott said, with a worried glance at Courtney, who nodded.
“And what happens when he finds out his booze has been watered?” Courtney asked.
“He blames Tomas,” Temple said, quick to understand the implications.
“Less booze, less effect,” Scott muttered. “Which was our motive in the first place. I guess lacking the full dose freaked him out.”
“We’ll have to see how it plays out,” Temple said. “The way I see it, we’ve got to negotiate a way out of here.”
“From his attitude, one would think he’d be happy to take us out,” Scott said. “He thinks we’re shit.”
“Or he may come on contrite again, full of remorse and willing to make amends,” Temple said. “Frankly it has me baffled. I’ve never come up against this in my life.”
“Spend some time in Hollywood. You’ll see all kinds of irrational conduct, some by people addicted by substances and some by people addicted to meanness.” Courtney looked at her father.
“I just want us to get out of here safely,” Temple said.
