In the Field

by Claire Tacon

  Jason howls back, “Quit talkin’ about me!”

  Bobby starts the applause as soon as the percussion dies. Linda walks back, triumphant.

  It’s a group of students next. Three guys rotate through So Whatcha Want by the Beastie Boys. The university girls rush up to the front to dance for them, grinding their asses into each other.

  Gail leans over the booth, the exertion pushing her breasts farther up and out of her V-neck so we can see the fuchsia lace trim of her bra. “We’re up soon, buddy.”

  Richard shoots me a look. He’s decided he wants a beer after all. Something in a bottle. The bar is packed and I have to jostle to get to the front. I order a Coors Light because it’s the only thing I can think of when the bartender takes the order. I also get four more draft beers. The bartender is a young guy, second year maybe. When I pay for the drinks he smiles and asks if I’m going to need help taking them back to the table.

  “You got a tray?” I hear my accent slipping back in.

  The bartender waves to his buddy. “Give her a hand.”

  A hulking guy comes over and grabs all four drafts in one hand. “Where are you sitting?”

  The kid gives me a wink when I thank him.

  “It’s about to get awfully hot in here,” the host bellows on the mic. “Because we’ve got some Summer Lovin’.”

  Gail props Richard over by the left mic, takes hers off the stand and slides over to him. She’s exceptionally breathy when she sings—Olivia Newton-John with a tracheotomy. At first Richard’s terrified, but he plays along once he picks up the tune. When the line about getting so damp comes, Gail dips down, the wire between her legs and barely resists grabbing her crotch. Richard swings his arm around her, leaning in like an old crooner as they hit the final high notes.

  Even the university kids cheer. Gail waves us away as we keep whooping then announces that she’s going to the can. If I don’t go now too, I’ll have to crawl over Richard again.

  The women’s washroom is filthy, graffiti everywhere, the taps running, paper towels scattered across the floor. Only one of the doors locks and there’s someone in it. “Come on,” Gail says. “You hold the door for me and I’ll hold it for you.” She goes into the far cubicle and I’m stuck trying to keep the door closed, which is hard when you’re short as I am. There’s a big gap between the edges of the cubicle and I tilt my head so I won’t catch a glimpse inside. She pisses loudly, in a great big stream that goes on forever.

  “Your hubbie’s got a good voice.” There’s the rip of a pad off the wrapper. “How long you been married?”

  “Fifteen years.”

  “Christ, I’m lucky if I can keep it together with a guy for three months.” She flushes and comes out of the stall. “I like variety.”

  My turn. I get shy once I’m on the toilet.

  “You need to take a dump or something?”

  “Nervous bladder.”

  “Please, Linda’s the same way. Just break the seal already.”

  It takes almost another minute.

  “So,” she says while I’m mid-flow. “Is Richard as big as his voice?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know,” she titters. “Black cock.”

  The right thing to do would be to shut this down with a quip about racial stereotypes. I just say I don’t know, he’s the only black guy I’ve been with.

  “But you didn’t save yourself or anything?” Gail asks, horrified.

  “ No.”

  “I forgot—you and Chuck.”

  “What do you know about that?”

  “Everyone knows you two fucked around.”

  I zip up my pants and come out of the stall. “Well, Richard’s a lot bigger than Chuck.” It’s so stupid. I don’t know why I say it. But Gail starts to laugh and then we both laugh and she holds her hands out about a foot and I hold mine out double. “Oh honey,” she says. “That would come out your nose.”

  When we get to the table, Linda’s nuzzling into Bernie and holding one of my draft beers. He’s supporting the back of her head, her bleached hair pouring through his splayed fingers. They don’t notice when I slide onto the bench. Bernie and I haven’t talked all night and watching him so into Linda brings a mixture of relief and feeling left out. I down the remainder of my drink, letting it slide over my tongue quickly so I don’t have to taste it.

  Richard’s ordered himself a gin and tonic.

  “Am I driving?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m just sipping this one. It’s courtesy of them.” He waves over to the group of black men we saw earlier and nods his head in thanks.“They’ve invited us to a part-ay next week,” he says, putting on a Jamaican accent. “Apparently they know a guy from Trini, but he didn’t come out tonight. They’re trying to reach him on his cell.”

  “How did they know your dad’s Trini?”

  “They kept asking where I was really from.”

  “Are they seasonal workers?”

  “Yeah. You never told me about that.”

  “Well, we get seasonal workers.”

  “We?”

  I wave my hands to signify the bar, the town, the province.

  “They wanted to know why I talk so funny.”

  Gail leans over the booth to whisper in Linda’s ear. A moment later, the two of them drag me up to the bar to do shots. Someone is singing Sweet Caroline. The bartender pumps the peach schnapps in the air for the chorus “bah, bah, bah.” It goes down sickly sweet as Dimetapp.

  Linda orders the next round.

  “Same thing?”

  “No,” Linda says. “Screaming orgasm. Ellie here needs a screaming orgasm.”

  Gail starts giggling. “We all need a screaming orgasm.”

  The bartender’s seen it all before. He pours out something layered and says, “Happy to help, ladies,” his voice flat.

  “Sounds funny when you say it,” Linda says to me.

  “Say what?”

  “Orgasm.”

  I pull out a twenty and motion to the bartender. “Another round. Your choice.” This one’s second cousin to Pepto-Bismol.

  Linda looks back and forth between me and Gail, smirking. “When I first met you, I thought you’d be one of them frigid city bitches.”

  I don’t know what to say to this.

  “Then I heard a few rumours about you in high school.” Linda stacks her cup into the empty one in Gail’s hand. It’s high school again—Charla giving me a hard time on the way to Martock. Any girl-to-girl camaraderie has vanished. I turn to walk away but Linda grabs my arm and spins me back. “Heard you nailed two guys at the same time. Chuck told me.”

  “Chuck still screwing everything in sight?”

  “Bernie told me you and Chuck couldn’t keep out of each other’s pants.”

  “Come off it, Linda,” Gail says. “Chuck brags that he nailed all the tail in his class, doesn’t make it true.”

  “No, it is,” I say. “When I was eighteen I was stupid.”

  “Aw,” Gail says. “We all screwed him too.”

  Linda slaps her shoulder, but Gail continues. “Come on, Lindie, you said you blew him at Apple Blossom.”

  Linda scratches at the corner of her mouth, ready to lunge.

  “That was before Bernie, of course,” Gail says, oblivious to what Linda’s really getting at.

  “Maybe we should ask Bernie,” Linda snarls, “if he knows about you, Chuck and Jason.”

  I don’t know if it’s the drink that’s making her mean or if she’s been storing it all up since we met. “Jason?” My mumbled denial’s interrupted by Bobby Vince calling Linda’s name.

  Richard doesn’t have to ask as I collapse in the booth. We both know I’m blitzed. He gets up to grab me some water. When he’s gone I reach for the last beer. I’d like to get this night over with. Bernie slides in next to me and kisses my cheek. When I react, it’s less a double take then the slow pan of a flashlight over a crime scene. He laughs and holds his hands up, pretendi
ng to back off.

  “Where’s Linda?”

  “She’s off with Gail. She pissed off with you or something?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Yeah, she’s pissed with you.”

  “She asked if I ever had a threesome with Chuck and your brother.” More beer. Bernie and I have still never spoken about that night. Most likely, he saw it for what it was, a betrayal.

  “You know I didn’t tell anyone.” Bernie puts his hand on my leg and rubs his thumb over my knee. He whispers, “This is only hard because we’re sneaking around.”

  Richard comes back to the booth before I can answer. Bernie’s hand is still on my thigh. My husband hands me two glasses of water and Bernie backs right off. Richard’s got one eyebrow cocked as he watches him slide out of the booth in search of Linda.

  “Drink this then we’ll go pick up the kids.”

  I need to pee again.

  Richard gets out of the booth instead of letting me scoot over him. It’s ten-thirty now and there’s a lineup for the girls’ bathroom. The guys laugh as they go past. One of them looks me up and down and says to his buddy, “Cougar time.” It’s loud enough for everyone to hear. I wait a moment and then twist behind me, hoping to see someone else—Gail maybe. It’s all young co-eds. Twenty years on and it’s still the same. I’m eighteen, trashed after the ski trip, hating that all they can see is townie.

  There isn’t enough distance between Coldbrook and New Minas to get sober. I lower the windows, press my wrist to the cold metal exterior and try counting back from 100. We pass all manner of neon lights—motels, fast food, gas stations—and I strain to decipher the lettering, my success a barometer of sobriety. Richard drives in silence, abandoning me to quackery.

  It’s just the two of us picking up the kids. Linda still had songs in the queue, so she and Bernie suggested we all meet up at Traders Restaurant in Wolfville. Richard was happy enough with the arrangement. Food’s my last hope of getting up in the morning and he can’t hide the tension in his voice as he says it. Richard’s a knot of concentration but the alcohol’s left me in slow melt. With each breath, I sink deeper into the upholstery. We’re only two feet apart but we’re on opposite sides of a single process—Richard the contraction, me the release.

  In the end I decide that the best thing will be to say as little as possible. Our kids haven’t seen enough inebriated people to recognize the subtler signs of shit-faced.

  Traders is one of the few places in town that hasn’t changed. Same cheesy movie posters, same forest green paint, same salted potatoes on a plate. We order six baskets of potato skins, two sundaes and a full complement of fountain pop.

  Richard asks how the kids liked the movies.

  Stephen and Max look down at their plates and Lisa starts to well up. Max gives her a pleading look but it’s too late. She wiggles her way onto my lap and I have no choice but to hold her against me as she cries. It’s late and she’s probably overtired.

  “It was scarier than we thought it would be,” Stephen explains.

  Luke looks at his brother, then his father and doesn’t say anything.

  Max mouths “baby” at his sister and she chucks a sugar packet at him.

  She wants to know when her mom is coming.

  It takes an hour for Linda and Bernie to arrive, long after we’ve finished the chips and ice cream. Even with the greasy food, I’m still feeling tipsy. Linda, however, is ripped. She sways and stabilizes herself on the back of Lisa’s chair. Bernie’s drunk, but he’s holding it together. He pats Linda on the back. “You should have seen her close the place down with I Will Al ways Love You.”

  Max smirks and Linda calls him on it. “What?”

  “That song blows.”

  Stephen almost loses it.

  Bernie breaks it up by asking Richard what he owes him for the food.

  “Don’t worry, you’ve been taking care of us.”

  “Nah, come on, let me pay for the kids’ food.”

  “No, no, it’s on me.”

  “Save the money for gas, Bernie,” Linda says and hiccups. People are looking over at the table.

  “Well, thanks,” Bernie says, and motions to the kids.

  Richard stands with them and puts his hand on Bernie’s shoulder. “Can I give you guys a ride?”

  “Nah, got the truck. Plenty of room.”

  “Come on, I’ll drop you home, you can get the truck in the morning. The last thing you want is to get stuck in one of those RIDE programs.”

  The two of them stare at each other, deadlocked. The rest of us hover around the table, unsure of what to do, like players in a game of musical chairs waiting for the music to start.

  “Ellie, you know Bernie can drive,” Linda says. “He drove your drunk be-hind home enough times in high school.”

  “That was 1984.” Pregnant women were still smoking in 1984.

  Bernie pulls out his keys. He forces a chuckle and waves away Richard’s concern. “Christ, we’re all adults here.”

  Stephen has his arm around Luke and both of them are looking at the floor.

  The waitress asks us to leave.

  Once outside, Bernie starts walking away and doesn’t look back. Linda shepherds the kids behind him.

  “Am I going to have to chase after him?” Richard asks.

  Stephen looks up at his dad, pleading for him not to embarrass him in front of his friend.

  I go running off down the street. Bernie stops when he sees it’s me.

  “What is it?”

  “Richard just wants,” I pant.

  Linda looks at me, filled with contempt. “Honey, back off.” She stumbles towards me but Bernie holds her back by putting his arm out. She turns on him, swatting him with her purse. “What the fuck?”

  “Don’t be like that, Linda.”

  “You’ve been screwing her, haven’t you?” Linda screams down the street. “It was you and Chuck in high school wasn’t it?”

  It breaks my heart that the boys have to witness this.

  Bernie relaxes his grip on Linda. She totters on her mules and props herself up against the lamppost. Bernie takes a step towards me, into the pool of light. His face is an open target. For a moment all I can see is him at seventeen. “What do you think, Ellie?”

  “Why don’t you just take a cab?”

  He grabs my forearms hard and leans into my ear. “It’s always the short end of the stick.” He lets go and stumbles backwards.

  “I’m trying to do the right thing.”

  “Is that what you’ve been trying to do?”

  Richard calls out from behind, “Ellie, just let them go.”

  We’re halfway up the hill to Canning when we see the blinking lights of a cruiser coming from behind. The first thing I think is, I hope the kids were wearing seat belts. Then I realize how ridiculous that is. Even if they’d had an accident, there’s no way a cop would be coming to inform us. I don’t know if they’ve phoned our plates in out of revenge or if this is a legitimate spot check. The cop shines a flashlight in the open window, the beam washing over the boys, terrified in the back seat. I don’t recognize the officer at all.

  “Licence and registration.”

  Richard hands everything over, very calm.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the car.”

  The officer asks him if he’s been drinking tonight.

  “Two drinks several hours ago.”

  The cop makes Richard walk in a straight line and explains that there’s been a report of a car matching our description swerving dangerously. Richard is released back into the driver’s seat. I roll down my window and haul myself half out of the car, leaning on the roof. “Did Linda set you up to this?”

  “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to lower your voice.” The cop shines his light full force on my face, blinding me. “Ellie Lucan, right?”

  “Ellie Bascom.”

  “Grant Jenkins. You remember me?”

  I’ve got no re
collection of the name.

  He sets his flashlight on the roof and makes a few notes in his pad.

  “Linda set you up to this, didn’t she?”

  “Settle down.”

  My leg is being tugged back into the car—Richard’s forcing me into the seat. I relent and sink back against the headrest.

  The officer nods at Richard, then taps on the car. “Go ahead.”

  In the driveway, in the dark, the house looks like the flat front of a film set. It’s not the same house we left this evening. I’m sure that if we walked around the back, all there’d be is timber bracing.

  Richard tells Stephen to take his brother inside and get ready for bed.

  Stephen helps Luke out of his seat belt. No one says anything. I press my cheek against the window to cool its flush. Richard leaves the headlights on until the boys are inside. There’s enough reflected light from the moon to see Richard’s profile, but when he turns to me, it’s all in shadow.

  He unbuckles his seat belt and releases the seat to give himself more legroom. He’s planning to be here for some time. “I want to say this where the boys can’t hear me—have you been screwing around with him?”

  I jerk myself upright. “No.”

  Richard’s hands seem to glow blue in the moonlight, as if outlined with pastel. He grips the wheel and repeats his question.

  “Bernie’s an old friend.”

  He releases the wheel and props his head up with his hands, letting out a long exhale. “You’ve been leaving me all summer, haven’t you? Cancelling the flights, the Kentville job, Bernie—I should have added it up a lot sooner. I’d thought it was Marc I had to be worried about.” He rubs the pad of his thumb over his cheekbone and across the bridge of his nose. It’s like the arc of a snail, the same wet trail in its wake. “What I don’t understand is how you can build your whole life in one direction and then. . . .”

  We’ve been hurtling all summer towards this conclusion but now that I’m confronted with it, I’d make any bargain for us to reconcile. If I denied everything, if I offered to leave tomorrow, he’d relent, I know he would. But for better or worse, Richard’s got the right to make his own decision based on all the facts.