Man Camp (18 page)

Adam doesn’t feel so sure about confronting a man with a gun. “Um, Cooper,” he says cautiously. “The guys and I would like to talk to you about something.”

“Yep,” says Cooper, raising his gun and squeezing off the first round.

Adam works up his courage. “We know about the foreclosure situation. We saw the notice and the sheriff’s deputy leaving the scene.” He pauses, waiting for a reaction, but Cooper just keeps shooting.

“The good news is we’ve come up with some really great ideas on how to help,” Bryce says enthusiastically.

Cooper’s aim suddenly loosens, and bullet holes spread out along the target. “Great ideas, huh?” His gaze is still fixed on the silhouette. “Thanks, that’s very kind of you boys, but I have the situation well under control. Now, how about you get in your alleys and give this a go?”

“We actually had something else in mind,” Kurt says forcefully. “We thought we should all spend the rest of the afternoon in your office and get to the bottom of this before you lose your farm.”

Cooper lowers his gun and faces the campers. His eyes are narrow slits of concentrated disdain. “And what exactly would be the point of that? Y’all don’t know shit about cows or farming.”

Simon, Bryce, and Jesse take several small steps backward and Cooper realizes he’s scared them. “Look, gentlemen, I don’t mean to come across as unappreciative, but this is a private matter and one you know nothing about. The fact is, things
have
been rough, but I’ve straightened it all out today. End of story.”

“Mind telling us how?” Kurt asks.

“If you must know, the bank has agreed to give me a little more time, and I plan to have an auction after you leave. I’ll sell some livestock and equipment, get the cash I need to pay off the farm’s debts, and then start up operations again.”

Kurt looks skeptical.

“This is how farmers do it,” Cooper says.

“It’s how farmers fail,” Kurt says, taking out his calculator. He shakes his head when he realizes he has no numbers to plug in. “Look, I have no idea how much you can get for your cows and machinery in auction,” he says, “but common sense tells me it can’t be enough to pay back your debt
and
buy new livestock and equipment. Have you even considered the capital gains taxes you’ll have to pay? None of this adds up. You’ll be left with nothing to start your operation again.”

Then Jesse inches forward. He speaks to Cooper the way he talks to authors who don’t want criticism. “What I think Kurt is trying to say is that you have nothing to lose by letting us help,” he says. “If we team up, I bet we can solve the problem once and for all.”

This silences Cooper.

“I know we might seem like nothing more than a bunch of sissy city boys to you,” Adam says, “but we actually
know
stuff. I’m getting my Ph.D. in economics. Walt’s a producer. Kurt runs his own software company.”

“I’ve taken three businesses out of bankruptcy,” Kurt adds.

“Just let us have a look at the numbers with you,” Adam says.

The alley is ringing with guns exploding, targets zipping back and forth, men unleashing their pent-up frustrations, and suddenly Cooper feels tired, very tired. He stares for a long while at the target he’s filled full of holes. “I suppose it can’t hurt to take a little look-see,” he says, and very slowly his taut facial muscles relax into unmistakable relief.

MARTHA AND LUCY are back in the kitchen once again, preparing for the party: arranging flowers, washing vegetables, wrapping silverware in napkins. Beatrice has just ordered fifty pounds of ribs and gotten in touch with the last of her neighbors to coordinate who’s bringing what when she suggests a walk. “How about I show you girls the venue?” she says. “It’s less than a mile from here.”

The girls have been waiting for this moment all day and can’t get out of the kitchen fast enough. They dry their hands, grab their jackets, and call to Tor and Tap, who bound over, delighted at the prospect of a walk. They set out on the gravel drive, cross the cattle grate, and make their way along the dirt road. The sky is marvelously clear and as they walk, they can hear distant sounds: children playing on a neighboring farm, cowbells on the other side of the knoll, a truck laboring up a nearby hill.

“You gals are going to love the old green barn. It’s a very special place,” Beatrice tells them. “You’ll understand when you see it.”

“Why isn’t it used anymore?” Martha asks.

“We still use it,” Beatrice says. “We pen the calves there and store hay in the winter. Nothing on this farm ever goes to waste. It’s just not the main barn anymore.”

“Why are the calves separated from the rest of the herd?” Martha asks.

“Because we’re a
dairy,
” Beatrice says slowly, regarding Martha with bland bovine patience. “Would you have us feed our profits to the calves?”

Martha’s cheeks flush, but she still doesn’t get it.

“What exactly do you think calves eat?” Beatrice asks.

Lucy pantomimes milking and, humiliated, Martha finally understands.

They pass deceased tractors and broken-down mowers with blades that look old enough to be museum artifacts, and Martha fantasizes that someday Beatrice, too, will be a rusted relic of Tuckington’s past.

They’re almost to the top of the hill when Beatrice mentions that Jolene will be joining them. “She’ll be such a help. She’s a real whiz at parties.”

Martha searches her pockets for her cigarettes, which she finds in her jacket.

“To me, Jolene epitomizes what a woman should be,” Beatrice says. “She’s brilliant and talented, and yet still has enough charm to make any man feel smarter and taller and better-looking than he actually is.”

“That’s quite a skill,” remarks Martha, imagining a sea of Lilliputian men around her ankles. “What does Jolene do for a living?” Martha imagines she’s a cupcake froster.

“She’s a livestock veterinarian.”

When they get to the top of the hill, they see the old timber-frame barn nestled into the slope below them. It’s so perfectly dilapidated and picturesque that it seems more like a romantic notion of a barn than an actual place where cows live. The barn is rustic and simple, with a slightly bowed roof and huge wagon doors opened wide and welcoming. They enter and walk down a central aisle on either side of which are stalls where calves are kept; above them is the huge hayloft where the party will take place. Their arrival disturbs swifts and starlings, which swoop out through the enormous side windows from where the hay is pitched to wagons below. From inside, the barn looks like a great upturned boat, with rafters from front to back and thirty-foot-high ceilings. It smells like the very passage of time.

“Could there be a more perfect place for a party?” Martha asks.

For once, Beatrice agrees with her.

The afternoon is mild and a sweet-smelling breeze rustles hay on the floor. “How about we have the band at the far end, and the bar and food right here by the stairs,” Martha suggests, gesturing with her arms. She closes her eyes and pictures how the barn will look from the outside when it’s full of people dancing, and how the light and noise will contrast with the dark and quiet of the rest of the farm.

“I’m afraid that would never do,” a voice from behind them says.

Lucy and Martha turn around. The voice belongs to a ripe young woman with an abundance of wavy chestnut brown hair and adorable dimples. She’s sitting on a square bale of hay to one side of the stairs, and Lucy and Martha realize they must have walked right past her.

“Jolene, honey,” Beatrice says, walking toward her with outstretched arms. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Just a few minutes,” Jolene says, springing up to greet Beatrice, after which she saunters toward Lucy and Martha. “I hope you don’t mind my adding my two cents. I just think it would be a mistake to create a logjam at the entrance. You’d be smarter to put the food closer to the band, to keep things circulating.” She shakes Lucy’s hand first, then turns to Martha. “So you’re Martha.”

Her voice is like a lullaby, musical and calming at once. Jolene is extremely pretty, with the type of smooth skin, blue eyes, and shiny hair that can only be described as wholesome. “The problem with putting it where you suggest is that it will cut into the dance floor,” Martha says. She points to a spot halfway in between. “What about there?”

“Um. Not a good idea,” Jolene says.

“Definitely not,” Beatrice agrees.

Jolene shows Martha two massive cutouts in the floor. “No reason a city girl would know about them,” she says. “They’re for lowering hay.” Her laugh tinkles. “They certainly make for a hazardous dance floor!”

Martha sees their point.

“Thank God you’re here, honey,” Beatrice says to Jolene. “We’d have men falling through the cracks without you!”

Martha joins Lucy, who’s standing off at a distance, staring out one of the side windows.

Beatrice and Jolene don’t seem to notice their absence and continue to make decisions as if they share one big party-planning brain: “Tables here?” “Absolutely.” “Flowers at the top of the stairs?” “Perfect.”

“Don’t we get any say in this party?” Martha asks.

“Not by spacing out over here,” Lucy says. “Get back in there and stand up to them.”

Martha takes a deep breath.
Be assertive. You’re Sharon Stone in
Basic Instinct, she tells herself,
but with underwear.
She knows it’s the wrong casting decision and lights up a cigarette for courage. With her first inhale, she feels some relief; with her second, the tension is blowing right out of her body.
It’s just a party,
she reminds herself. Then she hears a shriek.

“Are you completely out of your mind?” Beatrice screams. “Who smokes in a barn? You want to burn this place to the ground?”

Martha looks stricken. Her eyes start to water and as she races downstairs and out of the barn, she overhears Beatrice cackle and say something about needing to start a Woman Camp.

Lucy chases after Martha, catching up just outside the barn. “What a complete bitch,” she says, though even she can’t believe that Martha lit up in the barn. They sit down on the hillside. “You okay?”

Martha shakes her head no. “You know the worst thing about the South? Southern women.”

As if on cue, Jolene and Beatrice exit the barn.

“Now, Martha, I’m sorry if I startled you,” Beatrice says. “It just took me by surprise that anyone could do anything so . . . so . . .”

Martha rises and toes her cigarette out in the dirt in front of her. “May I have a word with you in private?” She leads Beatrice around to the other side of the barn. “I’d like to know why you veto every idea I come up with.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Beatrice says.

“I don’t think I am. What is it you don’t like about me?”

“Dear, I don’t know you well enough to not like you. Now, I’m sorry if you don’t like that I’m particular about not burning down barns, but that’s just the way I am.”

Martha shuts her eyes. The conversation is going nowhere.

“And frankly,” Beatrice adds, lifting her chin defiantly, “I’m not used to being addressed this way and I don’t like it.” She turns abruptly and walks away from Martha, back around the barn. She starts up the hill and toward the road that leads to the farmhouse.

“Stay,” Martha whispers to Tor and Tap in an attempt to enlist them on her side, but they dash after their mistress.

“What on earth did you say to Beatrice?” Jolene asks Martha.

“Sadly, not half of what I wanted to.”

“She’s seventy years old!” Jolene says, talking to Martha as if she were a child. “There’s no need to be disrespectful.” She jogs ahead to catch up to Beatrice.

“Please tell me that woman isn’t staying for dinner,” Martha says to Lucy. “The idea of watching her flirt with Cooper . . .”

“Don’t worry about Jolene,” Lucy says, as they begin reluctantly following them back to the house, a few paces behind. “She’s no threat. Cooper likes you.”

“No threat,” Martha says, watching Jolene’s perfectly shaped bottom sway above her long, coltish legs. “No threat. No threat.”

When the four women are almost to the driveway, Cooper’s truck comes barreling around the bend in the opposite direction. Adam’s beside Cooper in the passenger’s seat and the rest of the campers follow in the second truck.

“I wonder why they’re back so early,” Martha says.

Cooper slows down to say a quick hello, smiling politely at Jolene but saving his conversation for Martha. “I hope you understand if we’re a little late for supper,” he says. “The boys and I have a few things to take care of.”

When Adam waves to Lucy, Jolene assumes she’s the object of his greeting and gives him an enthusiastic wave back.

Lucy feels the hairs on her arm lift. “Did you see that?” she whispers to Martha.

“She’s no threat,” Martha says, imitating Lucy. “No threat!” COOPER’S OFFICE IS CRAMPED and filthy, with yellowed milking charts tacked to the walls and a decade’s worth of
National
Dairyman
clippings scattered on the shelves. The men awkwardly arrange themselves on the banged-up furniture: a steel desk, a dented file cabinet, and three stools. Cooper, Adam, and Kurt stand, leaning against the walls.

“Where do we begin?” asks Cooper, suddenly overwhelmed.

“Why don’t you start by telling us where you think things went wrong,” suggests Jesse.

With that, Cooper begins to unload. He tells them that since he took over the farm at the time of his father’s death, profits have slowly and steadily fallen. He doesn’t understand why; he’s doing everything exactly the same as his father did: same number of cows, same acreage used for crops, same blend of feed, same trucking company, same processing plant, same type of cows, same breeding schedule, same everything.

“That might be your problem right there,” Adam says. “It sounds like you’re farming imitatively rather than creatively.”

“It’s the only way I know,” Cooper says.

“It’s not always a bad thing,” says Kurt, “but chances are, you’re missing some opportunities.”