by John Sayles
“You meet really good-looking guys at the powwows,” says Fawn, turning to check her butt out in the mirror. The jeans she walked in with fit like a second skin, and these look cheap on her. “But that’s like a part they’re playing– old-time Indians. Nobody lives like that anymore.”
“And your stepfather won’t let you date other kinds of guys– like white guys?” Tina rarely tries things on if she’s not buying, and after the iPod and the Nokia smartphone she won’t be buying again for a couple paychecks. While Jolene–well, this is her chance to wear clothes her parents will never allow.
“He never put it exactly that way, but he’s like Mr. Red Power, Red Pride, so I gotta figure–”
“He knows you hang with Dylan,” says Jolene.
“Dylan is so wasted all the time, nothing you do with him could be considered a date. These are probably made in China.”
“Or Turkey, or Portugal.” Jolene was part of a sneaker boycott when she was in junior high back on the rez, and always has some product or other on her shit list. Jolene takes a lot of flak for being so serious, but she’s cute and can be fun and is really loyal.
“Hey, they’re called No Boundaries. Could be from anywhere.”
“Are there any sweat shops on Indian reservations?” Tina again.
Fawn laughs. “Sweat lodges, but no sweat shops. Not that I know of.”
“So the boyfriend thing,” says Jolene, getting back to the subject. She’s not allowed to date, kept on a really short leash.
“Well, my stepdad was cool with Dickyboy back in junior high. Before he puffed up.”
“He’s a good guy, Dickyboy. And he used to be– you know.”
“He never met a carbohydrate he didn’t like. Sure, his family’s a mess, but that doesn’t mean you have to stuff yourself.” Fawn is wearing her striped top from Aeropostale, which they don’t have one yet in Yellow Earth. There was some talk about a new mall being built, but since most of the new people are oil guys it probably wouldn’t have any good stores.
“So if the rez boys are all losers and you can’t date white boys,” Tina continues, checking the time on her new cellphone, “how come we barely see you anymore?”
Fawn looks around, sees Marjorie Looks for Water squinting through her glasses at sweaters a couple rows over in the plus sizes, then gives them her wicked grin and crooks a finger. “Step into my office.”
They got kicked out of the dressing room once before here, the lady saying there was a rule against three at a time but looking at them like they were lesbians or something, and Fawn keeps her voice low as she steps out of the tagged jeans and wriggles back into her own.
“There’s this guy– he’s like, older.”
“An oil worker?”
“Not exactly. He’s my stepfather’s partner.”
An appropriate moment of awe.
“The guy with the Vette,” says Tina, not totally believing it.
“The married guy with the Vette,” says Jolene, already set to boycott him.
“Married to Dumb Bunny. Brent says that’s basically over, they’re like business associates now.”
“If she’s so dumb, how can she be–”
“There’s certain things he can’t have in his name. My stepfather’s always doing the same kind of stuff. It’s standard practice.”
“And you’re like– what?” asks Jolene. Jolene who is so cute but has definitely not had a boyfriend.
“Like everything. He’s a grown man, he’s gonna what– hold hands?”
Spartina definitely is not telling them about her and Wayne Lee. Not just that they haven’t gotten that far yet, but it seems too much like bragging, showing off.
“You’re like, being careful.”
“As careful as you can be, under the circumstances. I mean, like try to get birth control on the rez or in Yellow Earth without everybody in the world knowing it.”
“So he uses–”
“Pretty much always.” The wicked grin again. “But there have been a couple panty-twisters.”
Fawn’s mother gets Cosmopolitan, which Fawn shows to her friends so they can squeal over the sex articles.
“So is he getting a divorce or something?”
“He says it’s complicated. Like he’s having this whole new house built, but it’s in her name.”
“Sounds like you should be careful.” Sometimes they call Jolene the Fire Marshal because she is the first to tell you what could go wrong or what’s already gone wrong or what went wrong in the past. Her parents are Pentecostals, but she never mentions Jesus as her special pal or tells her friends they’re going to Hell or anything, so it’s hard to know if she’s a hardcore believer or not. They’ve never asked and she’s never told.
“We’re in love,” says Fawn, and suddenly Tina feels sick to her stomach.
THEY MEET AT HARRY the Greek’s on the way east out of New Center. Danny never could stomach lamb till the place opened, but the gyros here are killer. Ruby comes in after him and they do their usual friendly but businesslike hello, the chief counsel and financial adviser for the tribes and the head of the reservation police getting together to compare notes. Part of Ruby’s campaign ‘not to get mired down here.’
“Jurisdiction,” he says after they’ve ordered. “The usual nightmare.”
“You want the council to pass an ordinance?”
“If it would help. We got all these oil company guys living on the reservation now.”
“Renting from enrolled members who need the income.”
“Want the income.”
“Same thing.”
They smile at each other. Ruby intimidates people here without trying– Eastern law school, always with a full deck of facts and figures to lay on the table, her self-confidence. But Danny likes how smart she is, likes that what you get from her is a competitive spirit and not just attitude. He’s had enough attitude for a lifetime from Winona, who was born with a chip on her shoulder that had nothing to do with being Dakota.
“One way or another,” says Danny, “I think the word has spread that I can’t touch these guys cause they’re white, and the county sheriffs around us are too overwhelmed by the invasion to drive out to the reservation.”
“The drillers are all white?”
“All the ones I’ve seen. Good-ole-boy kind of thing.”
Ruby nods, considering. “When they had the Indian Territory it was the same deal– tribal police could only go after Native-on-Native crime. So every rustler, train robber, and bootlegger from the surrounding states moved in, spread a little money around so they’d be warned whenever a federal marshal with a stack of writs in his saddlebags rode through.”
“The Wild West.”
“And you’ve got one hand tied behind your back.”
“Sometimes it feels like both of them are tied. Will Crowder makes an effort to cooperate, but he’s got Yellow Earth to cover.”
“I hear they got a strip club now.”
“Two of them.”
Ruby raises an eyebrow.
“So I hear.”
“Any trouble at Bearpaw?”
“You know, for whatever reason, they’re pretty well-behaved over there.”
“Too busy having their pockets emptied.”
Danny shrugs. “The whole gambling thing is a mystery to me. You got money to burn, get yourself an ex-wife and two kids.”
“Poor baby.”
He’s never seen her in traditional dress, but Ruby is the most Indian-looking woman he’s ever known, a poster girl for Red Pride. And the business suits look great on her. Pocahontas in pinstripes.
“How’s life with Harleigh?”
She takes a moment to answer, scanning the room. A couple drillers who have discovered the place, a tourist couple being amazed by the food, Harry behind the counter.
“Between you and me,” she says, measuring off an inch with her thumb and forefinger, “the shit is this close to the fan.”
“That bad?”<
br />
“I advise, I issue warnings, I cite conflicts of interest. But he’s a– you know.”
“He’s Harleigh.”
“I would have voted for him if I was enrolled here. Looking to the future, dresses the part, talks a great game.”
“Are we talking criminal behavior?”
She shakes her head. “Not even illegal unless you apply standards that nobody else is operating by. But whenever somebody takes the role of advocate for his people and owns a private business affected by the decisions he makes for them–”
“That partner of his–”
“Golden Boy. Don’t get me started on him. These days Harleigh keeps me totally in the dark about what goes on inside of ArrowFleet.”
“Probably a good thing.”
“And you’ve seen some of the mess the drilling people are leaving around.”
“That’s supposed to be Ricky McAllen’s turf.”
“Ricky only does what Harleigh lets him, you know that.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Honestly? I’m going to get out before any of it sticks to me.”
The waitress sets their food down, asks if they want refills on the drinks. Danny has lost his appetite.
“And go where?” he asks when the girl walks away.
“Somewhere they’ve got enough money to warrant looking after, where the politics are reasonable.”
“In Indian Country? Come on.”
“I said reasonable, not perfect. Here I’m afraid all the time.”
“Of going to jail?”
Ruby leans a little closer, lowers her voice. “I put the nix on this deal Brent Skiles wanted to do– a leasing scheme run through the tribe that would mostly benefit him. I insisted it go up in front of the council and told them– Harleigh and Brent– that I’d have to voice my legal reservations. The way the guy looked at me– if he had superpowers I’d be a pile of smoldering ash.”
“And now you’re scared that–”
“I read a thing where certain people can be in a room with a psychopath and just sense it, not a word spoken.”
“Psychopath, wow.”
“My skin gets all tingly when he walks into a room.”
“You know, the same thing happens to me when I see you.”
She smiles. You should have a license to carry a smile like that around.
“Anyway, I can’t stay here.”
“You want me to talk to him? Brent?”
“You mean lean on him?”
“Just as a, you know, person. My badge doesn’t mean anything to him.”
Again the smile. “Except you get to pack a pistol. You’d do that for me, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course I would.”
She looks at him then like she might cry. “Eat something. It’ll get cold.”
“Yes, Mom.”
They eat their gyros and fries, silent for a little bit. There is not a lot of drama with Ruby, and she seems to like him for what he is. Winona had been all scalding or freezing, either fierce love or violent retribution– if Winona had tangled with a character like Brent Skiles there’d be blood by now.
“So what about us?”
Ruby sits back. “You could come with me.”
“To wherever.”
“Yes. That’s an invitation.”
The idea of it makes him sweat. He doesn’t even really like to go to Yellow Earth or Bismarck– the idea of starting from scratch on a reservation where he’s a stranger, a nobody, not even an enrolled member, no history, no family–
“Think about it, okay?”
“I will.”
“The thing to get out of your head,” says Ruby Pino, “is the idea that you’re irreplaceable. You might be good at what you do, great at it even, but if you take a powder tomorrow, life will go on. Believe me, none of the places I’ve left has disappeared from the map.”
He can’t think of who on his staff is ready to step up and take over the job. But then he’s not exactly got the reservation under control–
“Can I come over tonight?”
The council gave her the old Lundgren house as part of the inducement to take the position. He parks a couple blocks away behind the post office and walks around to her back door.
Ruby smiles. “You had better.”
THERE’S NO ART IN the council room. Most of the walls in the other tribal spaces are covered with the stuff, heroic history pictures or traditional symbols and designs. A Lakota woman up from Standing Rock did a lot of it, beautiful work, and it’s good for people not to forget what came before.
“I think we should talk about the People’s Fund,” says Teresa Crow’s Ghost.
“It’s not on the agenda.” Doris takes the minutes on a legal pad and doesn’t like to have to erase or cross anything out. A computer has been suggested, but she claims ‘it’s too easy for things to disappear’ on the machines.
“I make a motion to discuss the People’s Fund,” sighs Teresa.
“Second,” says Harleigh. Might as well get it out. “All in favor?”
He raises his hand even before Teresa and the others follow.
“I’m hearing complaints,” says Teresa, “that the money isn’t being distributed. And rumors that it’s being invested in some risky oil venture.”
Eyes swivel to Harleigh and Norman Ross, the treasurer.
“Not much risk in oil these days,” says Harleigh. “Not from where we’re sitting. Not if you got half a brain.”
“So it’s true?”
“The money is sitting in escrow, Teresa. It can’t be touched without an amendment to our bylaws. But if you think you could double or triple it real quick, we’re all ears.”
“How come there hasn’t been a disbursement?”
He shrugs. “Weather’s still holding. I figure when the winter really hits, people got heating, car problems to deal with, Christmas– five hundred to a thousand bucks’ll look pretty good then.”
“That’s what it comes out to?”
“Right now it’s about eight-fifty if we include nonresident enrollees. Interest we’re making is ahead of the cost of living increases, and there’s wells left to be dug on reservation land.”
“So it should go up?”
“Absolutely. Maybe we ought to release a statement every couple months, let folks know where we stand.”
“It would keep the rumors down a bit.”
Always good to have something he and Teresa agree on. She has stayed militant, whatever that means if you’re not actually carrying a rifle, and is generally impossible to please.
“Doris, could you put a statement together? Norman can give you the exact numbers.”
“And the disbursement will be?”
“Let’s say second week of December. Next item?”
Doris scans down her list. “A petition to the council– request for closed hearing.”
“Bring it on.”
Harleigh has called the meeting because he’s got a bundle of leases for approval, always best held for the end when the council members are tired and don’t want to hear any more details.
Doris opens the door and Phil Enterlodge steps in.
This won’t be good.
“What can we do for you?”
Phil won’t look him in the eye, instead standing at the far end of the oval table and addressing the other six on the council.
“I am here regretfully,” he says, voice a little strained, “on a matter that brings me against the Chairman.”
Nobody says a word. They know Phil Enterlodge was his partner in the little gravel trucking business before the oil, that they’d split over Phil thinking he did all the work, and that he’s had his own outfit for a couple years now, struggling to get by.
“I believe that Mr. Killdeer is in violation of conflict-of-interest rules.”
They’d been friends once, and Phil was lawyer for the tribes before Harleigh hired Ruby Pino away from the Puyallups.
“And
what might those be, Phil?” At least get the man to look you in the eye.
“Using your elected position to–”
“There is no rule prohibiting a council person from engaging in a business.”
“I bid on the same service contracts you do.”
“Which is your right in a free market.”
“I beat your rate by five, ten percent all the time.”
“Good for you.”
“My people got more experience, more local knowledge than yours.”
“You’re getting colder, Phil.”
“And I get squat. Oil people won’t go near my outfit cause of yours.”
“Competition, Phil.”
“Because they know that if they don’t hire your bunch their leases will be held up.”
“I have never, ever interfered with a lease to bring more business to my company.”
“Well they Goddamn well think you do!”
For a guy with a law degree, Phil never really saw the big picture. “I can’t control people’s perceptions,” Harleigh says softly.
“But you don’t do anything to change them, do you? And you’re happy to rake in the dough.”
“Tell me where something illegal has been–”
“It may not be illegal, but it is absolutely unethical!”
Harleigh turns to the secretary. “Remind me, Doris, do we have an ethics board?”
“No, sir, we don’t.”
“Well you have a code,” says Phil. “I got a copy right here.”
“Does it say who is meant to adjudicate any alleged violations?”
“If it’s not the council I don’t know who it is.”
“Neither do I.” Harleigh looks to the other council members. “I make a motion that the council, at our next meeting, consider the formation of an ethics committee.”
“Second,” Norman calls out. Always good to keep a rubber stamp nearby.
“All in favor”– hands go up. “Motion passes unanimously.” He looks to Phil. “We thank you for your time.”
After the meeting, leases approved with only a little opposition from Teresa, he asks Doris to find him a copy of the ethics code.