The Ego Makers

by Donald Everett Axinn

  I brought a scotch on the rocks up to my room and luxuriated in a long, hot shower, thinking of it as a kind of ritual purification.

  My business problems receding, I began to feel better. I knew they were still there, as New York was still there. But I was here, fifteen hundred miles away. And I was going off to a good home-cooked meal. I had been too wrapped up in myself to recognize that there were other worlds besides mine. It was time to take a look at them, even though I would eventually have to get back to mine.

  2

  THE telephone rang. It was the clerk at the front desk. “There’s a lady here to see you, Mr. Martin,’ he reported. ‘What shall I tell her?” His smug tone told me that he had seen more “him-and-hers” in one week than most of us see in a lifetime.

  “Tell her I’ll be right down.” I put on a new crimson-colored Lord & Taylor shirt, tucked it into my chinos, donned a pair of tasseled loafers, no socks, and slung a cashmere sweater over my shoulders, tying the sleeves loosely around my neck, European style. I descended the stairs to the pool area, was engulfed by the thick humidity, and quickly walked into the air-conditioned lobby.

  Gone the shapeless pilot garb. Julie was wearing a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a jersey polo shirt that left little question about her measurements.

  “Hello,” I managed.

  She waited, then said in a throaty voice, “Hi.” She looked at me looking at her. After a couple of eons, she said, “Martin, your mouth is hanging open. Shall we go and have dinner?”

  “Follow me, Martin,” she said after a minute. As she swung around, I followed her every curve and how they moved. Outside was a red Alfa Romeo convertible, on the front seat of which was a large, standard poodle. “Sirius, in the back!” She started the motor and zipped away.

  Her hair was jet black. I guessed one of her parents was native Alaskan or Canadian. She was sexy, spunky, combative, and blunt to the point of being offensive.

  She roared down the road, over Interstate 51, then pulled over sharply, screaming to a stop.

  “Showing me how you can bring this mad machine to a halt in three seconds flat?” I gasped.

  Julie turned and stared straight into my eyes. “I forgot to tell you, Sirius back there is my bodyguard.”

  I gave her a look that loosely translated meant: ‘What does that have to do with me?”

  "I'll tell you what it means to you, Martin. I wouldn’t want Sirius to hurt you.”

  “Look, we met an hour ago,” I countered. TU be out of here in a day or two.” I turned around and confronted a friendly dog who had been nudging the back of my neck. “You have nothing to worry about from me.”

  “Do you believe that, Sirius?” She turned to me. “Let’s begin by getting rid of any questions you've been thinking up.” She roared away from the side of the road without any warning or signals.

  “All right. Was your mother here your real mother?”

  Julie reached her version of cruising speed — roughly a hundred, I calculated. “No, not my biological mother, if that’s what you mean, but without question my Veal mother, Len is my adopted brother.

  ‘I’m Native American,” she said. “In case you hadn’t guessed. Part Inuit, part Tlingit. Born and raised in Lake Minchumina. Nearest road is … there aren’t any. It’s a little place about a hundred miles northwest of Denali. Mount McKinley to you. When my French-Canadian father became a permanent drunk, he also became a wife beater and a child abuser, so we left him. First to Whitehorse in British Columbia, then to Fairbanks. I never heard anything from him until we learned he had drowned in late winter. He ran a trapline up there for furs. Went through the ice.

  “At least he had the decency to cut the dogs loose when he figured they wouldn’t be able to pull him out and that they’d only go down with him. After that my mother did her best. We moved to Ketchikan, farther down on the Alaskan panhandle, between Juneau and Vancouver. I was sixteen when she died.

  “Mom — Randi — had flown up to Alaska to retrieve her husband’s body. He was killed climbing on Mount Elias. It's nineteen thousand feet, and damned unfriendly. So, Randi and I both needed someone. We met in Ketchikan. I was a mess. Wild. She took me back here to Wausau with her. It was her strength and love that turned me around. That was some years ago. When I lapsed, Mom pushed and pulled me. She made me work hard at school, after I had caught up. A scholarship to the university, a master’s in education, but here I am flying. That’s enough of the story for now, Martin.”

  We were traveling in an established residential area of Wausau. The streets were uniformly laid out, houses set on small, neat, rectangular lots. Julie didn’t stop at the stop signs. “Got another question, as long as you’ve offered,” I said. She nodded. “Been married?”

  “I will answer that,” Julie said, “but some other time. We’re almost home.”

  We pulled up to a small, pre-Second World War, canary yellow, one-and-a-half story Tudor house on a street named Waukesha. Green shutters and flower boxes hung below multipaned, double-hung wood windows. An orange wind sock had been placed on the peak of the roof and a smaller one on the lawn next to a driveway that led to a separate two-car garage in the rear. In the small parking area, a basketball hoop had been attached to the side of the house.

  “Welcome to Wausau Flight Services’ Downtown Operations,” Julie announced as we came through the front door. “Meet my Aunt Nadine. She and Mom used to fly all over the place in Alaska back in the ‘50s, when you had to fly by the seat of your pants. But then, you wouldn’t know about that kind of flying, would you Martin? Aunt Nadine, meet our guest Henry Martin, a hotshot pilot from New York!”

  I greeted Julie’s aunt, who was serene by comparison and seemed amused by our badinage. She was in her late fifties, not unattractive. I assumed she and her dead sister, Randi, had always lived together. Her neatly combed gray hair was held in place by a tight barrette. She was obviously not Julie’s blood relative. You could see that she had been a handsome woman in her prime. She taught high school English and history,

  “Can I make you a drink?” Julie asked. “I'll even open a new bottle of Stolichnaya.” She smiled at me, then glanced at her aunt, who shook her head.

  “I'll have a very light scotch and water, if you have any. Without ice. Really light.”

  The two women disappeared into the kitchen. The living room was cluttered with knickknacks and mementos, doubtless collected by Randi and her husband over the years. The rug was frayed at the edges. A pair of plain couches faced each other, with a homemade coffee table between them. A small TV stood in the corner. The furniture in the dining room and hallway was also simple. Not a frill in sight, but everything was spotless. I did notice several scrapbooks and assumed they contained photos and articles about Randi and her husband’s flying exploits.

  Len came down the stairs. In such a small house I had heard him taking a shower. Julie came back with drinks, together with some pretzels and potato chips.

  “Well,” I said after we were all seated and began to eat, “you folks are very nice to have me over. Frankly, it’s a kind of hospitality I’m not used to.”

  “We figured you’re used to eating rich food in those fancy New York restaurants. Out here in the provinces it’s pretty simple. We’re not big on finance and fashion,” Julie said, a grin across her face.

  “I suppose,” I responded, “you have to depend on traveling salesmen and minstrels for news. I’ll fill you in best as I can.”

  When Julie got up to get herself a second vodka, her aunt scolded, “Honey, don’t you think you ought to hold off on another? There'll be beer with dinner you know.”

  Julie ignored her and poured herself a drink.

  “I’m not worried, you understand,” Nadine said when Julie was in the kitchen. “Not about our Julie. She can take care of herself.” Her voice trailed off “It’s just that too much liquor is bad for you.” Nadine looked around and shrugged. Len gazed the other way.

  At one point durin
g dinner, Len turned to Nadine and said reproachfully, “No Hammerschlanger’s, Aunt Nadine? What’s wrong, out again?”

  “Aunt Nadine,” Julie said. “Didn’t you pick up a case? You promised you would.”

  “I tried, I really did,” Nadine said, looking thoroughly admonished. “But they were plumb out. Again. I love that beer. Peter Bauer, at the deli, took down my request and said he’d see what he could do. Especially since we’re such old customers.”

  I glanced around at them. “What’s so special about that beer? You have lots of wonderful local brews. This is Wisconsin, isn’t it?”

  They looked at one another and shook their heads, as if I hadn’t a clue. “Tell him, Julie,” Len said.

  “Hammerschlanger beer is without any question the best there is. Like love in a canoe,” she replied.

  “Is that their ad line?” I said. “If the beer’s half as good …”

  Instead of responding, all three suddenly broke into song: “Hammerschlanger’s beer is like love in a canoe — fucking close to water!” They all roared.

  Back home, I would have doubtless reacted badly if I’d been the butt of a joke, but here, I laughed. “Can I put in my order, too? Make it ten cases. Ill try to get a distributor for it back east.”

  It occurred to me that Julie might be a bit nervous in spite of her bluster, and perhaps that’s why she was drinking. In any event, the evening was relaxed and fun. I was feeling good. Wausau was turning out to be exactly the right beginning for my odyssey.

  Coffee laced with Drambuie was served after homemade walnut ice cream over homemade apple pie. Julie drove me back to the Best Western. I asked her if she wanted me to drive, but she shook her head.

  She pulled in to the side of the motel next to the outside stairs that led up to my room. A few lacy clouds crossed over an almost-full moon, the air was scented and very much alive. It was quiet and so was she.

  “Thanks for dinner,” I said. “I really enjoyed it.”

  “What’s up for tomorrow?” she asked. “Are you moving on?”

  “No,” I said. “Not with that weather.”

  ‘I’m glad,” she said. ‘Why don’t you call me in the morning? I’ll show you our town.” She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, then once quickly on the lips. I dwelled on her eyes, deep set and very brown, now almost black. I kissed her tenderly on each eye, and then lightly crossed her lips with mine.

  ‘I’d better go,” she whispered.

  I was on the verge of inviting her up for a nightcap, then remembered Aunt Nadine had said something about expecting her right back. Anyway, it had been a long day, I rationalized.

  “See you tomorrow,’ I said, and kissed her again lightly on the cheek.

  After she left, I went up to my room. In some ways, I was glad Julie had gone. I had just fallen asleep when the phone rang.

  “Can’t sleep. Want me to come by?’’

  I’ll meet you downstairs right where you let me off. Uh … where’s Sirius?”

  “At home where he belongs.” She laughed. “He is very jealous.”

  I greeted her, we kissed, and ran up the stairs like two kids. I started toward her, but Julie pushed me gently back, pulled my sweater over my head, moved behind me, and let her fingertips wander across my back, from the spine outward, over my shoulders and neck, through my hair and across my eyes, then she pressed herself against me. She began to trace the muscles and curves on my back with her lips. Then, slowly, she touched the back of my body with hers, until I could feel all of her against me.

  She moved around to face me. “I don’t have anything to be concerned about, do I? You know…”

  “Not a damn thing if you mean what I think you mean.”

  She took off her polo shirt, then let her jeans slip to her feet. Everything seemed in slow motion. She took my hands, reached around to the back of her bra, and together we unhooked it. Then she held my hands and pulled my palms from her hips slowly over her nipples, which became harder and harder. I heard the unevenness of my breathing. Hers too. She took my right hand and brought it down across the flat of her stomach, over her panties to the area between her legs. She trembled. I could feel her moistness as I moved my fingers under her panties and slipped into her.

  We tumbled onto the bed, she under me at first until she said breathlessly, “No, wait.” She removed her panties and pushed me down on my back, placed my hands above my head, and laid her body over mine, her legs closed until my erection was pressed down. She raised herself slightly, separated her legs, closing them around it. “Shh,” she ordered. “Wait.”

  I was out of it, lost in pleasure and anticipation. Finally she spread her thighs wider. When I was fully inside, she moved in a circular motion until she became rigid and climaxed, emitting a long, animal-like moan, one I had never heard before. I quickly reached the point of no return and shuddered.

  I fell into a doze and awoke when Julie pulled away, laughing. “Beats sleeping.”

  “Any day,” I agreed.

  “Or night,” she added.

  “I’m not sure I've had enough of you,” I whispered.

  “So what are you going to do about it, Martin?” she said.

  “Henry,” I corrected.

  “So what are you going to do about it, Henry?” she said, moving her fingers artfully across my mouth, then her tongue across my chest. We made love again, and then fell into a deep sleep. I awoke some hours later when she bent over me and planted a full kiss on my mouth.

  “I want to get home before the rooster crows. Aunt Nadine’s liberal, but she doesn’t have to know I spent the entire night with you. She’d say it was too soon. She’d be right.”

  “No, she wouldn’t.” I held her hands in mine. “We could have waited, but that would have been wasting valuable time. See you tomorrow. No, today. Sleep well.”

  “I will.” Julie closed the door. I went to the window and looked out into the Wisconsin sky. The night bathed in contentment, the world completely at peace. I looked at Orion’s Belt, then the Pleiades and Big Dipper. I tried to find Jupiter and Mars. Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. It made no difference.

  3

  HALCYON days enveloped in saturnalia. The next two were simply fantastic. Julie and I played like kids. Everything was fun. Games of all kinds, new ones we invented. Dashing around in her Alfa Romeo with the top down, regardless of the rawness, mist, fog, and the cool temperatures. Her family seemed to accept me completely. Nadine kept an eye on us, but because Julie was happy she kept any comments to herself.

  Sex taking showers, sex in the car, sex on the floor, sex on the edge of the bed, and any other novel idea either one of us had. We even did it in the corner of a furniture showroom. “Henry, I've always had a fantasy of doing it here.”

  “C’mon, Julie, you’re nuts. Someone’s sure to see us. Think of Aunt Nadine!”

  “Quiet. Sit in that big armchair over there in the corner, and I'll get on your lap. If anyone comes along, we’ll read newspapers and tell them we always try out furniture before we buy.” And, by God, we did it, just like that.

  The weather cleared. Two days became four. Aunt Nadine and Len were undoubtedly wondering when I would leave. More curiosity than a suggestion I leave.

  “Henry,” Julie said one afternoon as we were dressing, “this has been great fun, but Fm neglecting our operations. I'm shooting over for a few hours to relieve Len.”

  “Oh,” I said to her, my disappointment obvious. She stopped tying her shoes and searched my face. I didn’t want her to leave.

  Even though we were so different Julie and I seemed to belong together. I had never felt this way with Joyce, with Nancy or Karen.

  ‘Would you consider coming with me?” Her face remained impassive, ancestral. “I've never felt anything like I do with you.” I took a deep breath. “I need you, Julie Roppel. I want you.”

  Finally, she spoke. “I've had more fun with you — in and out of bed — than I can remember, Henry Martin. But it�
��s all been play. We have to get back to our lives.” She was candid. And maybe correct.

  “Don’t be so sure,” I said. “We don’t know how things might unfold. They could even get better.”

  She came over and folded her arms around me. “Nothing could be better, Henry. Nothing.” She pulled away. “But if we’re meant to be, it’ll happen. Even with you battling it out back there in the trenches of New York, and me teaching flying here in Wausau.”

  I didn’t want to plead, to pressure her. In the long run, I knew it would never work.

  At dinner that night the spark was missing, as Aunt Nadine was quick to note. “What’s the matter with you two?” Nadine asked. “Have a squabble?”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said, “Julie has to get back to work, and I have to leave tomorrow.” Under the table, I squeezed Julie’s hand.

  “So you'll be separated,” Nadine said matter-of-factly. “It’s not the end of the world.” She looked over at Julie, then back at me. “Henry, some more steak?” she asked.

  “A small piece. I'll share it with my friend here.” I turned to Julie, who nodded. “I have to say, at the risk of sounding corny, these last several days have been just wonderful. I was a complete stranger. You’ve made me feel like family. It’s your cooking and the Hammerschlanger’s!”

  ‘You’re still an eastern dude,” Julie said, “but when you made that wide pattern the day you landed, we decided you couldn’t be all bad. Very considerate of you.”

  “I was just trying to save my ass from a crazy.”

  The rest of the meal was filled with the same banter, but I felt a tug somewhere in my heart. “Henry,” I told myself, “remember who you are. You don’t fit in here.”

  That night, Julie and I didn’t sleep very much. Too busy talking and playing. I made sure not to make any unrealistic promises, but I did say I would fly back to see her, whether in Wisconsin or in Timbuktu. I didn’t know exactly when, but it would be as certain as the ice breaking up every spring.