Significant Others (25 page)
She left Anna’s tent and walked back to her own, Polly nipping at her heels. “C’mon, DeDe, what is it?”
“They’re gonna nail me,” she said. “They’re gonna burn me at the stake.”
“Who?”
“Rose Dvorak … and the rest of ‘em.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Teejay
works
for Rose.”
“Oh.” Polly wrinkled her nose. “So what are they gonna do?”
“I dunno. Whatever they do at tribunals.”
“C’mon. They’re gonna
try
you? What for? Letting those rednecks in? That was a mistake.”
“It isn’t just that,” said DeDe.
Polly looked at her, slack-mouthed. “What else have you done?”
“It wasn’t me. It was this woman named Mabel. I was with her when …” She ducked into her tent and collapsed on the sleeping bag.
Polly sat across from her. “When what?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said DeDe.
“Aren’t you gonna see her?”
“Who?”
“This Teejay person.”
“No. Hell, no. I’m gettin’ outa here first thing in the morning.”
“What about … you know … D’or?”
“What about her?” asked DeDe.
“What if she doesn’t wanna leave?”
DeDe shrugged. “She can stay. The kids and I are going.”
Polly looked at her wistfully. “What if
I
don’t want you to leave?”
“You’re sweet,” said DeDe. “You’re really nice.”
Polly slid closer on her denimed butt, then leaned down and gave DeDe a clumsy peck on the mouth. “D’orothea is nuts,” she said, her voice turning husky. “I’d be with you all the time.”
“Polly …”
“All the time.”
DeDe backed off a little. “It’s not that way when you’ve been together for a while. Not for anybody.”
“I dunno.”
“Well, I do.”
Polly gave her a crooked grin. “Whatever you say, Deirdre.”
This rattled her. “Where did you hear my real name?”
“Anna told me yesterday. When you were swimming.”
For some reason, this struck her as vaguely conspiratorial. “She just … volunteered that?”
“No. I asked her. I wanna know all there is to know about you.”
DeDe fidgeted with the zipper on the sleeping bag.
“I’m really gonna miss you,” said Polly.
“And I you.” She hated people who said that, but it just tumbled out in her embarrassment.
“Will you come visit me at the nursery sometime?”
“Well … D’or does most of the gardening.”
“I can call you, can’t I?”
DeDe avoided her gaze.
“O.K., forget it.”
“Polly …” DeDe took her hand. “Friends are one thing. What you want—”
“You don’t know what I want.”
DeDe chose her words carefully. “Maybe not, but … c’mon, I’m a stuffy old married lady.”
“I don’t care,” said Polly.
DeDe drew back. “You’re supposed to say I’m not stuffy, I’m not old.”
“I like ‘em old,” said Polly.
DeDe groaned and lobbed a sneaker at her. Polly deflected it, grinning impishly. “O.K.,” she said. “I’m outa here.”
“No,” said DeDe. “Stay and play Pictionary.”
“We need three people for that.”
“Well … practice with me, then.”
“Your lover might come back,” said Polly.
“So what?” said DeDe. D’or could certainly use a dose of her own medicine. Besides, Rose was on the rampage, and DeDe hated the thought of being alone.
F
ATHER PADDY LED THEM INTO THE WILDERNESS, CHATTERING INCESSANTLY.
“By the way,” he said as he charged up a winding trail. “I’m aware the dress is a bit much.”
He meant his cassock, obviously, but Michael refrained from comment.
“I wore it for poor Jimmy’s memorial service, and I haven’t had a
moment
to change. Please don’t think me ostentatious.”
“No,” said Michael.
“Usually,” added the cleric, addressing Thack, “I’m content with a simple turtleneck and crucifix—especially at the Grove—but the deceased was a theatrical sort, so I felt a little pageantry was in order.”
Michael detected a puckish gleam in the priest’s eye. He was testing Thack, apparently, trying out his time-proven shtick on an unwitting neophyte.
“How did he die?” asked Thack.
“Oh, you know … the ticker. Happens fairly often here.”
“I can imagine,” said Thack, dryer than usual for Michael’s benefit.
Now well above the floor of the gorge, Father Paddy turned off the main trail and led them across an elevated boardwalk spanning a dry creekbed. At the end of it lay a tented pavilion, vibrant with lights and laughter. Three or four similar camps were visible beneath them, clinging to the side of the hill.
“Lost Angels,” said the priest, gesturing toward the pavilion. “Booter’s bound to be here.”
“Why do they call it that?” asked Thack.
“Well …” Father Paddy leaned closer and spoke from behind his palm, as if imparting a shameful secret. “Some of them are from Los Angeles.” He approached a fortyish man near the end of the boardwalk. “Evening, Ollie.”
“Evening, padre.”
“Haven’t seen Booter, have you?”
The man shook his head. “Not since the funeral.”
Scanning the revelers in the pavilion, the priest said: “I thought perhaps …”
“Look around,” said the man. “Help yourself to some chow while you’re at it.” He turned to Michael and Thack. “You fellows look like you could use a drink.”
Michael glanced at Thack.
“Go ahead,” urged Father Paddy. “Belly up. That’s what it’s there for.”
“I’ll get ‘em,” said Thack, addressing Michael. “What do you want?”
Michael pondered. “Uh … gin and tonic.”
Thack turned to the priest. “Father?”
“Oh, thanks, no. I only drink on duty.”
Thack grinned and headed for the bar. When he was gone, Father Paddy pulled Michael aside and said: “He is absolutely adorable.”
“I know,” said Michael.
“Are you two … together?”
“Not really.”
The priest looked stern. “Don’t be coy, my child.”
“Well,” said Michael, “it hasn’t been that long. He’s just visiting from South Carolina.”
“Oh.”
Uncomfortable, Michael glanced around and tried to change the subject. “Do you think maybe Booter …?”
“You look just perfect together.”
Michael shrugged.
“Just for the record, I have a marvelous little solemnization ceremony.”
“What?”
“It’s not a marriage, mind you. The Holy Father will have none of that. But it’s a blessing of sorts, and it’s very sweet.”
“Father.”
“All right. I’ll shut up. Forget I mentioned it.”
“It’s a deal,” said Michael.
“I’ve never done one, and I’ve always wanted to.
But
…” His hand made several wistful loops in the air.
“He’s going back to Charleston,” said Michael.
“Very well.”
“And we’re both very independent.”
“Mmm.”
“Plus, you forget … I’m not even Catholic.”
“Oh, really,” said Father Paddy. “Picky, picky!”
Later, when they’d retreated to a bench above Lost Angels, Thack asked: “What do we do now? He’s obviously not here.”
“It’s impossible to tell,” said Michael. “There are so many camps.”
“Yeah, but we could spend all night looking.”
“I guess we should call Wren.”
“You think something’s happened to him?” Thack asked. “I mean, like … foul play?”
“Not really.”
“I don’t, either.”
“I think Wren’s overreacting.”
“Yeah,” said Thack.
They were quiet for a moment, then Thack asked. “What were those eye signals all about?”
“What eye signals?”
“You know. Down there. Between you and Sister Bertrille.”
“Oh.” Michael rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna believe this.”
“Try me.”
“He’s matchmaking.”
Thack gave him a blank look.
“He offered to marry us.” Michael widened his eyes to emphasize the frivolous nature of the idea.
“What?”
“To perform the ceremony,” said Michael. “Cute, huh?”
Thack frowned a little. “Where did he get that idea?”
“Beats me. He just liked the way we looked together.”
Silence.
“I told him we were buddies. That you didn’t even live here.”
“Here” wasn’t right somehow, considering their location. Softened by woodsmoke, the tiny tent villages beneath them seemed more dreamlike than ever. It was hard to imagine
anyone
living here.
“Fuck him,” said Thack. “Who needs the church for that?”
His vehemence was a little surprising. “Are you Catholic?” Michael asked.
“Ex. I belonged to Dignity for a while, but I quit.”
“Why?”
Thack shrugged. “Why should I keep kissing the Pope’s ass when he doesn’t even
approve
of mine? I don’t call that dignity. I call it masochism.” He smiled suddenly. “I’ve got a great idea.”
“What?”
“Wait here.” He shook Michael’s leg and ran off down the trail, darting into the undergrowth near the lights of Lost Angels. He returned five minutes later, dragging a twin-sized mattress behind him.
“Where did you get that?”
“One of the cabins,” said Thack.
Michael frowned.
“An empty one. We’ll return it.”
“Yeah, but what if …?”
“C’mon,” said Thack.
Michael followed him up a slope through a tangle of pesky undergrowth. When they reached a ledge about twenty feet above the path, Thack dropped the mattress.
“I wonder if we should be paranoid?” said Michael.
“That’s easy,” said Thack. “We shouldn’t.”
“Yeah, but we don’t really know how private …”
“Look, we can see the path from here. They’re too old and drunk to make it up this far.” He sat down on the mattress and dug into his shirt pocket, removing a joint and a matchbook.
“Where did you get that?” Michael asked, sitting next to him.
Thack lit the joint. “Wren. Our reward.” He toked a couple of times and offered it to Michael.
“No, thanks…. Oh, to hell with it.” He took the joint and filled his lungs with the stuff. He’d been careful all year. Tonight, his immune system could just go fuck itself.
“Listen,” said Thack. “ ‘The Trail of the Lonesome Pine.’ ”
“How wonderful.” Michael tilted his head to hear pianos and banjos rambling through the old tune.
“That was Gertrude Stein’s favorite song,” said Thack.
“It was?”
“I think so.”
Michael returned the joint. “Where’d you hear that?”
“I don’t remember, really.”
“It’s a great song,” said Michael.
Thack stretched out, arching his ivory neck. “Look at that fucking moon. Is that beautiful or what?”
It was full and fluorescent, a real troublemaker. Michael stretched out next to Thack, leaned back on his elbows. There was something supremely sexy about a man who planned ahead like this, who wore his options like a tool belt, ready for any emergency.
Thack took another toke, then stubbed out the joint. He rolled his head over lazily and gazed at Michael. “I thought this would never happen.”
Michael smiled at him.
“You’re a great guy,” said Thack.
“You too.” Michael turned on his side and flicked open the pearly snaps on Thack’s denim shirt.
His mouth went straight for the left nipple, pink and proud as a tiny cock.
Afterwards, they lay there motionless, listening to the music. A snail’s trail of semen still glimmered on Thack’s stomach. He kept his hand cupped gently around Michael’s cock, as if it were a wounded bird trying to escape.
Michael said: “Where’s a priest when you really need one?” Thack chuckled and nuzzled Michael’s shoulder. “Was that really Gertrude Stein’s favorite song? Did you make that up?”
“Why would I do that?” asked Thack.
“I dunno. To get me in the mood.”
“Gertrude Stein is a turn-on?”
“Well … it worked for Alice.”
“You were already in the mood,” said Thack.
“This is true,” said Michael.
Further down the gorge, another piano began to play. Joyful male voices floated toward them on the breeze. For some reason, Michael thought of a faded daguerreotype he had seen in an antique shop on Union Street: a dozen lumberjacks with huge mustaches and vintage Levi’s, straddling a fallen redwood tree.
“Brian would have loved this,” he said.
“Think so?” said Thack.
“Yeah. He’s a big kid.”
“Like you.”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
Thack snuggled closer and slid his hand up to Michael’s belly. “You’re kind of a couple, aren’t you?”
“Who?”
“You and Brian.”
“Well … yeah … in some ways.”
“How long have you known him?”
Michael thought about it. “Nine years, almost ten.”
“Have you always been friends?”
“Not at first,” said Michael. “But we … you know, swapped stories.”
“About what?”
“Oh … getting laid.”
Thack chuckled.
“He’d come bounding down the stairs after breakfast—he lived on the roof then, so he could see anybody who crossed the courtyard. He’d say something like: ‘Michael, my man, how dark was it when you dragged that one home?’ ”
“Nice guy.”
“Oh, I’d get him back. You know … tease him about the dog he took to bed. It was just a game.”
“Yeah, but …”
“O.K., objectifying other people. But it brought us closer, and we never hurt anybody. I loved dishing with him. He loved sex as much as I did.”
“Did?” Thack nipped at his ear.
“Do,” said Michael, smiling.
“That’s better.”
“He was a big romantic, really. Mary Ann wouldn’t date him for years, because she thought he was such a pig. When he finally fell in love with her, he courted her like crazy. He spilled his guts to me whenever the slightest thing went wrong. Meanwhile, I was having this on-again-off-again thing with my lover, and lots of other people. So Brian and I just kept on coming back to each other.”
“I see,” said Thack.
“It’s funny,” said Michael. “When I look back, he was the only constant.”
“Mmm.”
“He was there in the room with me when my lover died. Holding my hand.” Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring the moon. He wiped them away with two efficient strokes of his fingertips.
