by Rex Bolt
“That mean then, Steve, you don’t want to hit some tennis balls at Julius Khan? My game’s getting rusty.”
“You’re dead,” Maierhaffer said, and hung up.
Christian sat in the car and watched a huge container ship sail into the bay, two tugboats escorting it. The ship had a foreign-looking green and red emblem on the bridge, and he could only imagine how ready the crew was to get off the thing.
He called Birgitte. “Hope I didn’t wake you up,” he said.
“You did not,” she said. “I slept like a baby, though. The evening was so enjoyable, I honestly don’t know where the time went.”
“Well at the risk of being forward, would you want to follow it up with a bite of dinner tonight?”
“Do you mean with you and Ray again?”
“No. Just with me.”
“I see . . . Chris? Would you mind if I called you this afternoon? I’m going to need to do a bit of soul searching.”
“Absolutely, please do,” he said.
It was close enough to lunchtime that it made sense to pop in at Weatherby’s. On the way there, Bethany called. “This is business, not personal,” she said. “Dr. Steiner asked me to get you on the line.”
“Tell him my schedule won’t permit it,” Christian said.
“Christian?” It was Steiner. “Listen, it’s been four weeks since your diagnosis. We need to follow up.”
“Billy, it’s simple. When I collapse I’ll let you know, okay?”
“Are you noticing any changes at all?”
“I feel pretty good. Other than the energy’s not a hundred percent there sometimes. Not sure if I’m screwed that way, or if I’m running around trying to do too much.”
“Why are you running around trying to do too much? What’s the need?”
“Well, you don’t want to waste time, obviously . . . And be good to leave the world just a tad better off than I found it.”
“Okay fine, whatever. When can you come in?”
“You’re not fooling around with Bethany, are you? I mean I wouldn’t blame you.”
A pause.
“God damn it Chris, I’m here for you on this.”
“I know you are,” Christian said.
+++
It was a lively mid-day crowd and it took Shep a few minutes to get to him. “Hey my friend, always nice, breaks up my day around here.”
“My doctor wants me to see him. It’s been a month.”
“You don’t look that bad,” Shep said. “Your color’s fine. You seem to have sufficient energy for womanizing too, is my impression.”
“Some of that, yeah, but nothing’s clicked. I’m thinking at the end I’m just going to have a bunch of people mad at me.”
“And what about the other . . . proceedings?”
“I’m going out-of-state tomorrow. See what happens. I’m not even positive I have the correct match.”
“So how do you make sure?”
“I guess I have to ask him.”
“And if you get a satisfactory answer, take care of it right then?”
“Then or later, it depends. Or if he comports himself really well, maybe not at all. The whole deal is more work than most people realize.”
“You riding solo?”
“Nah, I got someone coming along, I think.”
“Well, I gotta go. It’s been nuts in here. Send me a postcard.”
+++
Christian was dozing off in his recliner with House Hunters on when Birgitte called. She said, “Needless to say, I’ve been introspective the last few days.”
“Unh-huh,” said Christian.
“My short-term conclusion is: yes, dinner tonight sounds perfect.”
“Wow.”
“Did I startle you?”
“Actually, you did. But you’re making the right decision. When you have to go through something like this, the worst thing is sit around.”
He told her he’d pick her up at seven, and realized he better get the heck organized if he expected to drive to Idaho tomorrow.
When he finished packing the car he called Allison. “No, I didn’t forget,” she said. “And can you bring your guitar?”
“Just bring yours.”
“I am, but then we can jam and stuff.”
“Ah Jeez. Jamming’s not at the top of my list, to be honest.”
“So what is?”
“All right, I’ll try . . . Be watching for me at five. Sharp. I don’t want to have to turn off the engine.”
“That early? Do we have to make it there in one day?”
“Definitely.”
“Chris, you’re no fun.”
“Get a good night’s rest,” he said.
+++
Birgitte said she wouldn't mind seafood so they went to The Spinnaker in Sausalito. The restaurant was built on posts sticking up out of the water and you had all-glass walls with views in every direction.
"My, the city is breathtaking tonight," Birgitte said. "I've never been here. I had always assumed they catered to tourists."
"Took me a long time to try it myself," Christian said. "Funny thing is, you hear the original old-time San Francisco accent in here. Apparently it's popular with the North Beach families that moved to Marin."
"Well the petrale sole is my favorite, and this is as delicious as I've ever had. It’s very nice of you to bring me here, Chris."
"Steve called me this morning," he said.
"He did? Oh."
"You don't think Steve could ever . . . hurt you or anything, do you?"
"Gosh, why would you ask that?"
"He was in a threatening mood. Toward me, not toward you. Pretty sure it was an act, but he's never put his hands on you, has he?"
"No. Never."
"Okay, I’m glad to hear it . . . Are you looking to the future at all?"
"Yes, of course I know I have to make a change. It's so hard to conceptualize turning my world upside down though."
“So why do anything for a while? Let it settle, who knows, you might work it out.”
“I fear that is impossible. Whenever I’ve read about any sort of addiction, it seems the person never ultimately overcomes it.”
“You think Steve has an addiction?”
“Maybe not a clinical addiction, but yes.”
“He’s not just a guy with a need to prove himself? The way we all are to an extent?”
“That’s entirely plausible. But I went through his desk drawers from top to bottom. Notebooks, scraps of paper, it goes on and on, and has, apparently, for quite some time.”
Christian waited a minute. “Getting back to that one thing though: if Steve ever did put his hands on you, you’d call me right away?”
“It’s certainly not something I’m anticipating, but fine.”
“Middle of the night, whenever?”
“If it makes you feel better, please know that I would.”
“On a lighter note, the bread pudding may not sound like much as desserts go, but it’s pretty darn good.”
Heading home he asked if she wanted to get an after-dinner drink somewhere.
“I was contemplating that as well,” she said. “Where do you normally go?”
“I’m fairly limited. I mostly stay in my neighborhood. You have Booker’s, where we went, and then Weatherby’s, which tends to be my establishment of choice even though I don’t really fit in there.”
“Any place is fine actually,” she said. “Or maybe you’d like to come to my house. It would be my pleasure.”
“Ooh. When is Steve due to return from San Diego?”
“On Sunday.”
“And you don’t think he could be stepping up his business schedule, now that the proverbial shit has hit the fan?”
“No, but if that were the case, too bad. You and I are having a drink together. I’d call that pretty mild compared to his goings-ons, wouldn’t you?”
“I have to say, I’m admiring your spark,” he said.
Chr
istian didn’t want to get too sidetracked with Idaho looming, but Steve’s well-stocked liquor cabinet was appealing. Birgitte sat him down on the couch and sure enough, brought out the cognac.
“I don’t know much,” he said, “but something tells me old France.”
“You’re not far off,” she said. “This is about fifty years old. Chateau de Montifaud. Steve has a connection.”
An hour went by and Christian said he better get going. “Is that non-negotiable?” Birgitte said. “Because you’re splendid company at the moment.”
“I have an early day tomorrow, but sure, I don’t mind sticking around a little longer,” he said.
“Do you work on Saturdays?”
“Sometimes, yeah . . . So . . . I’m not trying to back you in a corner or anything, but as a general question, if you slept with someone would you tell Steve?”
She kept her eyes on him, steady, serious.
“Absolutely. I might not volunteer the information, but when asked I would be completely truthful.”
“And he wouldn’t get violent or anything?”
“Chris, you keep addressing that. After twenty-three years of marriage, you know someone.”
“You’d think, but look what happened.”
“I’m talking about someone’s inner nature. Granted Steve gets upset on occasion, but I can tell you he’s not a violent person.”
Christian moved over, touched her cheek and gave her a little peck on the lips, a test kiss. Birgitte responded in full, and soon the trip to Idaho didn't seem all that urgent . . .
The sunlight woke him up. “What time do you have?” he said.
“It’s 9:20,” she said. “I’ve been watching you sleep for quite a while.”
He bolted up. “Wait a second. Oh my God.”
“Chris, is everything all right?”
“I just . . . really blew it with the time . . . I can't believe this."
"I feel I'm partly to blame, then."
"No, no, not in a million years. Everything'll be fine, it's not like someone's going to die . . . Come here."
Birgitte nestled in against him. “You treated me so wonderfully last night," she said. "What can I do for you?”
“Just stay here for a minute would be good. Then I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee to go.”
“Oh that’s perfect. I’ll brew you a Scandinavian blend. I’ll think you’ll love it.”
When she went downstairs, Christian took a shower and got dressed. There was a bureau on Steve’s side of the bed with several framed photos of Birgitte on top. Next to the pictures was a wooden box. Christian looked inside and it was full of loose change.
Hmm.
He dug around in his wallet and pulled out a business card from his short-lived post-Chronicle writing career. It said:
Christian Seely, Freelancer.
He stuck the card on top of the change and closed the box.
Birgitte was right, the coffee was special.
“In Denmark we do a lighter roast,” she said, “which highlights the flavors intrinsic in the beans.”
“Now you’re going a little too far,” he said. “But you know what? You’re a special woman. I’m predicting a solid future.”
She gave him a kiss. “I’ll see you again?”
“Not right away, but promise me you’ll call me any time.”
“And you please be safe as well,” she said.
24 - Lucky Buck
“See this is the thing,” Allison said when he arrived in Berkeley at close to eleven.
"There's nothing to talk about," Christian said. "I'm not even going to say I'm sorry, because it won't matter."
"Did you bring your guitar at least?"
"I did, and that's part of what slowed me down. I was somewhere else and had to go back and get it."
"I can see how that would slow a person down by six hours," Monica said. She had joined Allison on the front porch and had a suitcase next to her.
"You've got to be kidding me," Christian said.
"I wasn't planning on it originally," Monica said. "But with all this extra time this morning to think it over, a road trip could be fun."
"It won't be. Whatever. Whoever's in the car in the next thirty seconds, I'm going."
A half hour up Highway 80 he realized he was starving and pulled off at a truck stop in Fairfield. Allison said, "That wasn't the longest first leg of a trip. But I like stopping places."
A half hour later Christian said, "I feel better now, finally getting something in my stomach. The towns along here—Vallejo, Fairfield, Vacaville—they used to be like old middle-America. You'd hear pieces of Oklahoma accents as remnants of the dust bowl migration. Now it's gangs and oxycontin."
When they were past Sacramento into the foothills of the Sierras, he said, "Something I neglected to ask you last time. What do you both do, that you can take off without worrying about it?"
"Temp work," Monica said.
"Not a bad idea actually. That pay the bills?"
"Usually," Allison said. "And Henry understands our situation, so if we're short he works with us."
"Good old Henry," Christian said.
It was starting to get dark past Reno and he asked if anyone could drive a stick. Monica said they couldn't and what was the problem, he was doing just fine. The two of them were sprawled out in the back seat, half asleep.
"That's it," he said when they got to Winnemucca. "Unfortunately."
They checked into the Frontier 8 Motel a couple blocks off the main drag. "You guys get the better room," he said. "Two beds, no doubt all kinds of amenities."
"Thank you for getting two rooms," Allison said. "You don't have to."
"Oh yes I do," Christian said. "Here's a few bucks for some dinner, have fun, and don't bother me until the morning."
"Meaning 5 am," Monica said. "Sharp."
Christian got cleaned up and walked over to the strip of casinos they had seen coming off the Interstate. He picked Stan's Lucky Buck and sat down at the lounge bar. A guy was up front on a little riser, playing guitar and singing Toby Keith with synthesized backup. It was a nice place, it had a homegrown feel to it, very different than the unpleasant corporate atmosphere that had taken over Vegas and most of Reno too.
The cocktail waitresses were jammed into shiny blue and gold outfits. After a few minutes of watching them Christian asked the bartender, a friendly young guy wearing a long-sleeved western shirt, "There any of those legal ranches around that you hear about in Nevada?"
"You mean like the old Mustang?"
"Yeah."
"Well, we got a few of those places in town. Pretty basic stuff, not really ranches anymore for the most part."
"Is there one you . . . recommend?"
"That'd be the semi-legal one, the Tumbleweed J. There you do have a ranch. It's about six miles east on Jungo Road, which is State 49. You just go out the main door, go up the corner and hang a left at Burger King."
"When you say 'semi-legal', I mean I wouldn't want to be breaking the law or anything."
"Not a concern. They got technicalities with code and shit. Maybe once every couple years they'll haul in a few of the gals and patrons, hold 'em for an hour. It's all for show."
"Anyone in particular there?"
"Well what are you, late 30s, early 40s?"
"Yeah."
"I'd go with Sandra. She's lived a little bit. Very compassionate lady."
Christian thanked him for the tips, finished his beer, and headed out to try to find the place.
It was definitely a ranch, there were barns and corrals and you could smell the animals and feed. The parking area was crowded, and Christian remembered it was a Saturday night.
There were four or five guys standing around in the entry parlor and two of the working women were sitting on couches, one smoking and staring into space, the other wrapped up in her cell phone.
An older woman in jeans and a starched white blouse appeared and said she was Daisy and could she
help him, and Christian asked if Sandra was available. "Sandy's here tonight," Daisy said, "but she's booked up through her shift. You've visited her before?"
"No, I got a referral."
"Okay let's see. I'm thinking Jeanette might be a good fit then. She's newer here but she's one of our more mature girls, like Sandy."
Christian said that'd be fine, signed something, took care of the credit card and Daisy walked him to Jeanette's room, which had an outside entrance.
A movie with Robert De Niro was on with the sound off. Jeanette said, "How are you?"
"Hard to say," Christian said. "I always anticipated this moment, but now that I'm here, it’s an odd vibe."
"Do you mean me?"
"No, that part’s fine. Just not sure I want to do anything about it.”
“Okay, fair enough. There’s no need to announce anything, should you change your mind.”
“Do you . . . get there . . . ever?”
“You mean when I’m working?”
“Yeah.”
“Not during the act. Occasionally from foreplay. Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it all though.” She took off her top, everything bounding forward.
“I see,” Christian said. “Well, maybe I can give it a go at that.”
When they were laying back, Jeanette said, “I’m really glad you relaxed your guard. It’s just a sense, but I feel you’re hiding from something. Or running.”
“I am wrestling with my mid-life direction,” he said. “Which makes you perceptive.”
“You learn to size people up," she said. "If I can distract you for an hour, I’ve spread a tiny bit of goodness out into the world.”
+++
They had lunch in Twin Falls and got into Pocatello before three. A guy at the gas station mini-mart recommended a motel on 5th Street, so they went with it. Christian showered and took a little walk out the front door, and just up the block was the beginning of the Idaho State University campus, which he didn’t expect, another college.
A few blocks further he passed a steakhouse that looked good and he went back and rounded everybody up and took them there for dinner. “I’d highly recommend suspending the vegan act for tonight,” he said. “If you insist though there’s always the chef’s salad, if they hold the hardboiled egg and ham.”
To his surprise, Allison and Monica ordered house specials with fourteen ounce rib eyes. “Something about being in this environment,” Allison said. “The meat fits.”
