Significant Others (24 page)
The Hillbillies plaque depicted Pan with his pipes and a naked female spirit rising from the steam of a caldron. “Would you look at that?” said Thack, standing back to admire it. “Pure Art Nouveau.”
Michael, who still felt like an impostor, refrained from a telltale display of aesthetic appreciation.
Thack led the way into an enclosed compound dominated by a two-story redwood chalet. Half a dozen men of varying ages were gathered around a fireplace in the courtyard. One of them stared hard at the newcomers, then sailed in their direction at great speed, wearing a phosphorescent smile.
“Michael, my child!”
It was Father Paddy Starr, the television priest who presided over religious affairs at Mary Ann’s station.
“Oh, hi,” Michael said feebly, panicked at the sight of a familiar face.
“What a lovely surprise!” Father Paddy clamped his chubby hands together. “Have you been here the whole time?”
It was probably an innocent question, but Michael got flustered, anyway. “Well … uh … no, actually. We just got here. We’re guests of Booter Manigault.”
Father Paddy’s brow wrinkled. He began to cluck his tongue and shake his head. “The poor old dear,” he said.
Thack shot Michael a quick glance.
“Has something happened to him?” Michael asked.
“Well,” the cleric replied. “I expect you heard about Jimmy Chappell?”
“No … uh … not really.”
“Oh. Well, Jimmy died last night.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I know who …”
“No, of course not. How silly of me. He was one of Booter’s oldest chums.”
“Oh,” said Michael.
Father Paddy heaved a sigh. “I think it’s been hard on him, poor dear.”
“You haven’t seen him, have you?”
“No. I expect he’s gone home.”
“No,” said Thack. “We were supposed to meet him here.”
“Ah … well, then he must be up at Lost Angels. He has friends up there.”
“Lost Angels?”
“C’mon,” said Father Paddy. “I’ll show you.” He turned to Thack and extended his hand, palm down, as if to be kissed. “I’m Father Paddy … since Michael’s forgotten his manners.”
Thack shook the cleric’s hand. “Thack Sweeney,” he said.
“An Irishman! I might have known.”
Thack pointed to the Hillbillies plaque. “What can you tell me about the artist?”
“Not a blessed thing,” said Father Paddy, “but isn’t it adorable?”
As the priest sashayed out, leading the way, Thack spoke to Michael under his breath. “So,” he said. “The straightest place on earth.”
B
OOTER HEARD FOOTSTEPS AGAIN, THE TENT FLAP
opened, to reveal a Negro girl wearing gym shorts and a bright blue T-shirt. “Hi,” she said, with surprising cheerfulness. “I’m Teejay.”
He wasn’t about to swap nicknames with her.
“The water girl,” she added, holding up a canteen.
“You know,” he said, “you can all be arrested for this.”
Kneeling in front of him, she lifted him to a sitting position. “Are your wrists uncomfortable?” she asked.
“What do you think?” he replied.
She examined his bonds for a moment. “I can’t loosen it without taking the whole thing off.”
“Then do it,” he said.
“Sure.” She smiled at him. “And let you bop me on the head.” She lifted the canteen to his lips, tilting it slowly, wiping away the overflow with a blue kerchief.
When she was done, Booter said: “I don’t bop people on the head.”
She tightened the top of the canteen. “Rose says you make instruments of war.”
“I make aluminum honeycomb,” he said.
“She says you went to Bitburg and laid wreaths on Nazi graves.”
“That was a
reconciliation
gesture. Look … what’s going on here? You can’t just hold me indefinitely. I didn’t do anything.”
The girl used her fingers to comb the hair off his forehead. “We’ve had … some harassment. Rose thinks you’re part of it. She wants to hold a tribunal.”
“A tribunal? What? Here?”
She nodded.
“She’s crazy,” said Booter. “She’s a complete lunatic. If she thinks she can humiliate me …” He collected himself and tried to sound as reasonable as possible. “Look … I don’t have anything against you or anybody here. I’m a man of my word. If you let me go, I promise I won’t lay a finger on you.”
“No,” she said. “You have to.”
“What?”
“We have to make it look that way.”
“Like what?”
“Like you overpowered me. Otherwise I’ll catch hell.”
He grasped her meaning with a rush of relief. “O.K. Fine. However you want to do it.”
Leaning closer, she said: “The best way out is the way you came. Your canoe is still there.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve already checked,” she said.
“Are we near the river?”
“Oh, God,” she said. “You don’t know where you are?”
“No. How could I? That … whatshername—”
“O.K.,” she cut in. “There’s a dirt road just outside the tent here. Down a little and to the right. Follow it until you reach the river. Then …” She fell silent suddenly and cast an uneasy glance over her shoulder.
“What’s the matter?” he whispered.
“Nothing,” she said. “I thought I heard something.” She listened a moment longer, then continued: “The canoe is up the river about fifty yards from the point where the road meets the river. Got that?”
“I think so, but …”
“What?”
“Well, I can’t paddle back to … my place. The current’s against me.”
She pondered the problem, then said: “There’s a Baptist camp about a mile downstream. You’ll be safe there.” She knelt behind him and began to tug at the ropes around his wrists. “Just make it damn quick and don’t look at anybody on your way out. This is women-only space.”
“If they see me, though …?”
“You’ll be all right,” she said soothingly. “We’re not all like Rose.”
“Is that right?”
came a voice outside the tent.
There was no mistaking it, and no mistaking the sculptured scalp which burst into view through the tent flap.
The girl let go of the ropes and spun around to face her superior. “Rose …”
“This’ll go on my report,” said Rose.
“I was just loosening them,” said the girl.
“I heard what you were doing.”
“Rose, he’s an old man.”
“So was Mengele,” said Rose.
Booter had heard enough. “Listen here, young lady—”
“Don’t you call me that!”
“I’ll call you anything I want!”
“Rose, we can’t legally—”
“Get out, Teejay!”
The girl stood there a moment longer, saying nothing, then muttered under her breath and left.
“Please,” Booter told her, “call the police….”
The shaved woman began rummaging noisily through a pile of gear in the corner of the tent. Booter watched as she ripped open a cardboard box, then tore off lengths of masking tape. She leaned over him and clamped something white and gauzy against his mouth, binding it in place with the tape.
His eyes had begun to water a bit, but he could still discern the label on the box:
New Freedom Maxi-pads.
I
T WAS ALMOST NINE O’CLOCK WHEN BRIAN RETURNED TO
the cabin on Austin Creek. All he had done was drive, following the coastal highway as far as Elk, then swinging south again in time for dinner in Jenner at the River’s End Restaurant. Having spoken to no one except a waitress and an Exxon attendant, he welcomed the prospect of company.
But Michael and Thack were gone. They weren’t in the cabin and they weren’t by the campfire, and they didn’t have a car. Had they walked into Cazadero for dinner?
He lit a fire and tried to get back into
Jitterbug Perfume,
but his mind began to wander. On an impulse, he picked up the phone and called Mrs. Madrigal.
“Madrigal here.”
“Hi. It’s Brian.”
“Oh … yes, dear. Are you home?”
“No. We’re still here. Just thought I’d check on things.”
“Oh … well … good.”
“Has Puppy been a problem?”
“Don’t be silly. As a matter of fact … Puppy dear, come say hello to Daddy. Go on. That’s right, it’s Daddy. Say ‘Hello, Daddy.’ ”
“Hello, Daddy,” came a small, familiar voice.
“Hi, Puppy. Have you been good?”
“Yes.”
“I miss you a lot.”
Silence.
“Do you miss Daddy?”
Silence.
“Puppy?”
Mrs. Madrigal came back on the line. “The telephone throws her. She thinks you should be on TV.”
“What do you mean?”
The landlady chuckled. “When Mommy’s away, Mommy’s on TV. So when Daddy’s away … well, it makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
“She misses you, dear. Take my word for it.”
“Is Mary Ann O.K.?”
“Fine,” she said evenly. “I haven’t seen her that much, but she’s been so busy lately. Did you try to reach her at The Summit?”
“No.”
“Well, she’s at some big gala tonight, but she should be home by ten.”
“O.K.”
“She was lovely on that Hollywood show. Did you get a chance to watch?”
“No.” he said.
“Well, she was … very poised. What’s the name of that show?”
“Entertainment Tonight
,” he said.
“Yes. She was just splendid. I’m sure she taped it. You can watch it when you get home.”
He couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Dear, are you all right?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
“No you’re not.”
“I’m just a little tired tonight.”
“Well, put your feet up. Have some chamomile.”
“O.K.”
“When are you coming home?” she asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“Good.” She paused. “We lost our appeal, by the way.”
“Oh … the steps, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
“Well … they tear them down on Monday.”
“So soon?” said Brian. “How will we get up to the lane?”
The landlady sighed. “Apparently on some horrid temporary thing. Aluminum. Until the concrete sets.” She was quiet for a moment, then added: “It’s too awful to contemplate.”
He murmured in agreement.
“Am I being silly?”
“No. Not at all.”
“You know … I sit there with my tea in the morning. The wood gets warm in the sun. The very
feel
of it under my fingers …” She sounded like someone remembering a love affair.
He asked: “Couldn’t they build a new one in redwood or something?”
“That’s exactly what I proposed. They can’t be bothered.
Maintenance,
they said.”
“Those assholes,” said Brian.
“All of life is maintenance, for heaven’s sake. That’s the
pleasant
part. Taking care of things.”
He thought about that for a moment. “Have you spoken to Mary Ann?”
“Yes, but … you were right. It’s not really suited for her show.”
“Maybe so, but she could … I dunno … talk to the people in News, at least.”
“Well, I mentioned that to her, but she said they would need … a hook, I believe she called it.”
“A hook!” All of a sudden he was mad. “They’re tearing down the steps! There’s the hook!”
“I know, but … she’s the professional.”
“That’s for goddamn sure! What does she want you to do? Chain yourself to the steps?”
“Dear … calm down.”
“Well, she pisses me off sometimes.” Mrs. Madrigal paused. “Why are you so cross with her?”
“I’m not cross with her,” he said.
He was back on the sofa, buried in his book, when the phone rang.
“Yeah?”
“Brian?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s Wren Douglas.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“If you’re wondering about your roomies,” she said, “I made off with them.”
“Oh. That explains it.”
“They asked me to call you. They’ve gone on a little mission for me.”
“They’re not there, you mean?”
“No. I’m gonna meet ‘em down in Monte Rio in an hour or so. I’m just here, waiting for their call. I thought you might wanna join me.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he said: “Uh … sure. Great.”
“We can hang out … talk. Whatever.”
“Terrific.”
“You remember the way?”
“How could I forget?” he said.
T
HEIR STOMACHS AGLOW WITH FORBIDDEN FOOD, DEDE
and Polly returned to the Halcyon-Wilson campsite, to find Anna reading comic books in her pup tent.
“Hey,” said DeDe, “did you cut your quilting class?”
Her daughter shook her head. “We got out early.”
“You’ve been here all alone?”
“Yeah.”
DeDe felt a twinge of guilt. “Have you been O.K.?”
“Mom.”
“Polly and I just … took a walk.” She wasn’t quite sure why she lied about this, why her trip to the greasy spoon had felt so much like going AWOL. Polly was just as puzzled, apparently, giving DeDe a funny sideways look.
“This lady was looking for you,” said Anna, turning back to the ThunderCats. “When?” asked DeDe. “Little while ago.”
“What sort of lady, Anna?”
The child shrugged, but didn’t look up. “A black lady.”
“Did she tell you her name?”
“No … yeah. Two letters.”
“Two letters?” DeDe gave her daughter the evil eye. “Put that down and look at me.”
Anna did so begrudgingly. “What?”
“What do you mean, two letters? Was it Teejay?”
“Yeah. Teejay.”
“Did she say what she wanted?”
Anna screwed up her face. “She said … meet her behind the Womb as soon as possible.” Polly snickered.
DeDe glared at her and turned back to her daughter. “Why, Anna? Did she say?”
“There’s gonna be a tri-something.”
“A tri-something?”
“A triathalon,” said Polly.
“Shut up,” DeDe muttered. “A tri
bunal,
Anna?”
“Yeah. That’s it.”
“I’m supposed to meet her?”
“Yeah. Behind the Womb.”
“Dear God.”
“What is it?” asked Polly.
“Nothing,” said DeDe, her heart rising to her throat.