Snake Face

by Amber Foxx

  “But I lost him at a rest stop. People from anywhere could have found him on the interstate.”

  “That’s true. Even the cat shipper could have found him.” The clatter of a small twig landing in the hot spring tub reminded her to get up and clean it for the night’s soak. She crossed the yard and began to pull out leaves and other windblown detritus. Mostly feathers. Once she’d found a scorpion, after a big storm. “How come you didn’t have him in a crate?”

  “Cat that size in a little cage? Seems cruel. Anyway, I needed to touch him. He didn’t slide around much.” A deep, uneven breath. “I miss him so much. I can’t believe I fucked up like that.”

  Needed to touch him. Jamie missed Gasser not only because he loved him, but for his soothing effect on anxiety and insomnia. “Don’t beat up on yourself, sugar. We’ll both do our best to find him.” She turned on the pump and let a brief spurt of the spring water wash the grit toward the drain, helping it along with her hand. It would be nice to come out for a soak after Stamos left later tonight, to unwind from studying. “You hanging in all right, sugar?”

  “Yeah. Not too bad. Harold Petersen’s ex-wife is being like a mum to me.”

  “Harold Petersen?” Mae turned off the water and straightened up. “As in Blues Ridge?” The band was from Asheville, so it was possible, yet the situation surprised Mae.

  “Yeah. She’s kind of a fan. Can you believe that? Harold Petersen’s ex.” Jamie sounded like a fan himself, awed to have a connection with a famous man’s former wife. “I did laundry at her place, and she gave me a discount at her bookstore. She said I can cook at her place or have dinner with her—and she’s loaned me her bike. My hotel has a bloody awful pool, size of a fucking toilet, feel like a flushed goldfish trying to swim in that. Nice to get out and ride.”

  “She’s doing all this because she likes your music?” It sounded as if she had practically adopted him. “That’s quite a fan.”

  “Nah, not just that. She’s in a drum group, all these middle-aged white women playing drums and dancing around. Wendy found them somehow. They are into my music, but they came to my show so I’d have drums. I didn’t tell you someone stole my instruments, did I?”

  “Oh my god, sugar. No. When?”

  “When I was in Austin.”

  “That’s awful. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Jeezus.” He paused. “Didn’t want to whine. Y’know? Jamie has a problem. Again.” Another pause. “Anyway, I’m getting them back.” He sounded pleased, even delighted. “People are so kind, it’s amazing. Naomi doing all this stuff for me, and you looking for Gasser, and then this lady in Austin who works at this brewpub where I played, she actually bought all my stuff back from the thief at a flea market, and she’s keeping it for me. She’ll even bring it to me. Not asking for money, either. Is that fucking amazing?”

  Amazing? It was beyond belief. She returned to the steps and sat. “I hate to burst your bubble, sugar, but when something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.”

  “Jesus, you and Wendy. Skeptics. It’s all up front. Sylvie sent me pictures. It’s my didg, for sure. Close up of the shakuhachi, too. I know my things, love. They’re on some metal shelves in like a garage or a storage room or something.”

  “She might really have them, but that story’s fishy. She bought them back. I don’t buy that.”

  “Good pun, love. But it’s not fishy. Give me one reason she’d make this up.”

  “Some women get a little funny when they see a man onstage.”

  “Come on, you’re saying she wants to fuck me?” He exploded into a roar of laughter. “A woman so desperate for my donger that she steals my stuff?” A snort-laugh. “Mae. You’ve been around me. You know better. Even when I try, I’m not a charmer.”

  What could she say? His language, manners, and social skills were a little rough, but he still could charm someone. “Be careful. Fans can get weird. You know how you hear about them doing strange things sometimes.”

  “Right. I could attract”—another uproarious laugh—“crazy people.”

  “It’s not funny. You’ve never been out on tour before, never traveled alone.”

  “So?”

  “You get lonely and anxious.”

  “Don’t worry. Jesus. My fans are fine, and so am I.” He paused. Soft traffic sounds passed. “Someone left me food last night at my show. Gift bag. Red chile chocolate, green chile pistachios. Fucking heaven. Think I ate like two thousand calories. You didn’t send that stuff, did you?”

  “No.” She’d never seen green chile pistachios in North Carolina. She could see how he thought the gift came from New Mexico. If only he hadn’t thought it was from her. “Maybe your family?”

  “Nah. Asked. It’s not from them. Wendy didn’t send it, either. Must be one of those crazed fans.”

  “Giving you nuts and chocolate is a whole lot more normal than someone saying they bought your instruments from the thief. I’d be flattered by the gift, but I’d worry about her.”

  “Right.” He sounded flat and deflated. “Don’t trust people being nice.”

  “I don’t mean that. Don’t twist it. Some people really are kind. You just need to know the difference.”

  The deflation sank even lower. “You don’t trust my judgment.”

  “Think about it. Would the thief really keep all the stolen things together and try to sell them the next day in a public place? That’s like asking to get caught.”

  “Sylvie said this kid wasn’t a hard-core thief. Might not think of all that, y’know? She didn’t report it. Felt sorry for—guess it was him, dunno, can’t remember what she said—anyway, she didn’t want to get this kid in trouble. Just rescue my stuff.”

  “That’s ... kind, I guess.” If this was true—and Mae doubted it was—Sylvie had some extreme ideas of generosity. Letting a criminal go free. Buying stolen goods and returning them to a virtual stranger. Mae picked up her amethyst crystal, wishing she could check the story out as a psychic, but she couldn’t. She had nothing of Sylvie’s to use for access to her past actions. “It’s not something a thief would count on, though, so he still took a risk. And even if the thief was that careless, why sell at a price a waitress could afford? People steal valuable stuff to make money. Then, even if he sold that cheap, what were the odds someone who’d been at your show would be at the flea market where the thief was? Any one of these things could have happened, but all of them together?”

  “Jeezus. All right. It’s unlikely. But do you really think she’d make it up so she could drive all the way to North Carolina to have a go at me? If she wanted to make a move she could’ve done it when I was drunk.”

  “You sure she didn’t?”

  “Hope not.” He made a shuddering noise. “Think I’d remember it. She’s being nice and all, but she looks like a weasel. Fuck.” A clattering noise in the speaker, bicycle brakes, another distant “Fuck.” He’d dropped the phone. A car’s tires breathed past. “Sorry. Car. Had to grab the handlebars with both hands.”

  “You need to get off the bike while you talk, or off the phone while you ride.”

  “No worries. Car saw me. I glow in the dark.”

  She pictured him flashing his face-splitting smile at someone who almost hit him as he wobbled along, one handed. “I’m not laughing at that. You don’t drive and talk on the phone. Why would you ride a bike and do it?”

  “I’m safe. Just circling round and round.”

  “Near your hotel?” Those were near major highways usually.

  “Naomi’s neighborhood. My fan-club base. Twenty-five zone. Speed bumps. Take off your worry hat, love. Sylvie being good to me is no weirder than you helping me find Gasser or Naomi loaning me her bike.”

  “Okay.” Mae thought it was, but she couldn’t think of a defense for her distrust other than the coincidences or the unusual lengths to which Sylvie was going. “I’ll let it rest for now. I should let you go.” She went into the house, slipped her shoes off, and
put the crystal away in the velvet pouch in her purse. “Reckon it’s time for you to get ready for your show.”

  “Nah, it’s my night off. Plenty of time. So—we’ve caught up on me. How are you? Tell me everything. How’ve you been? School, your dad and Niall, the bloody perfect Greek ...”

  Mae held back a scold. She didn’t like Jamie’s resentment of Stamos, even if it sounded half joking, but there was no point in arguing with Jamie about his feelings. She walked down the hall from her bedroom to the kitchen. She needed to get dinner before Stamos arrived. Her culinary skills were so limited she hadn’t offered to cook for him, and she’d let him know she probably never would. He didn’t mind. “I’m in the middle of exams now. Stamos and I are studying together in an hour or so.” She paused. No groans or sighs. Good. “Daddy and Niall are doing great. You should get in touch with them.”

  “I will. This’ll be your first Christmas with them coming up, won’t it? Must be nice.”

  “Actually, since I see them every day, I’m gonna go to North Carolina and see my step-daddy Arnie and my young’uns, as soon as exams are over.”

  Jamie spoke faster, excited. “Fuck me dead—really? What part of North Carolina?”

  She opened the refrigerator and got out a box of prewashed salad greens and a cucumber, and then gave up on trying to fix a meal with one hand on the phone. She settled at the yellow Formica table. “Cauwetska—it’s just south of Norfolk.”

  “I’ll be stuffed. When’ll you be there?

  “We’ll get there Monday if we leave Friday night. Why?”

  “We—who’s we?”

  “Me and Stamos. He’s from Norfolk. We’re driving together.”

  “Bloody hell.” Jamie fell silent. When he spoke again, it was with a kind of purposeful cheer. “I’ll be there when you are. You could be a fan, hit all my shows.” A burst of genuine laughter. “Stamos would fucking love it.”

  “I won’t be in Norfolk. I’m driving with him, not spending my whole vacation with him.”

  “Yeah?” Jamie’s eagerness practically sprang through the phone. “So you’re not—y’know—fuck, I can’t ask that.”

  “No, you can’t.” There would be a few nights on the road where anything was possible.

  “Sorry. I ... y’know ... spring eternal for you. Can’t help it. Fuck. Did you hear me? Just apologized for it and did it again in the same breath. Better go. Hooroo, love. Catcha.”

  Mae sighed, set the phone down, and got up to make a salad and a sandwich. Jamie messed with her peace of mind, and not just because she worried about him. One of them had to find Gasser soon. The unrequited love dance would never end if she had to call him every day about his lost cat.

  He called back a few hours later, in the middle of her study session, as she was on her way back to the living room after starting a fresh pot of coffee brewing. She picked up her phone from the kitchen counter and paused in the doorway.

  “There are only three pet shipping companies,” Jamie said, “and they needed a destination and a person who shipped him, and some sort of order number. Weird conversations, y’know? ‘How do you know he’s being shipped if you don’t know who shipped him where?’ ‘Got a friend who’s psychic.’ And they’d hang up.”

  “Sorry it didn’t work. I’ll look again tomorrow, see if I can find out where he got shipped to.”

  “You can’t look tonight?”

  Mae glanced at Stamos, who sat on her couch, draining the last of his coffee and reading their class notes that were spread over the coffee table. “I’m kind of busy right now. I’ve got two exams tomorrow. I don’t think I’m gonna get him back to you much faster if I do it tonight instead of tomorrow after the tests.”

  “Yeah. Sorry. Not begging.”

  “It’s okay. You’re worried about him. I’ll call you tomorrow after I search again, all right?”

  Silence, then an indrawn breath. His voice grew tight and urgent. “Don’t go.”

  Mae walked back into the kitchen and lowered her voice. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah—just—just talk with me a bit, will you?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Bloody hell, will you stop acting like something has to be wrong because I want to talk with you?” After the weighted, almost inaudible sound of his previous words, this snap of anger startled her. “Jesus. I just wanted to talk.” A creak like bedsprings, another noise, unclear. “Hope you didn’t hear that.” A laugh, another noise. “Sorry. Good thing we’re not talking on a smellaphone.” Snort laugh. “Jeeezus. Pasta fagioli. Sorry.”

  It shouldn't have been funny, but it was. Even when his humor was juvenile, his laughter was contagious. “You didn’t call me up for that.”

  “No.” The word snapped, not his usual nah. His mood seemed to swing back from humor to a touch of anger. “I was lying around in bed already. That’s not normal. Y’know? Fucking sick people go to bed that early.”

  “Maybe you need some sleep.”

  “Maybe. But I’m—dunno—head’s in a funny place. Had dinner with Naomi and coming back here was like leaving home and going back on the bloody tour, y’know?”

  She hesitated to cut him off, but he didn’t so sound desperate anymore. He’d figured it out. He was lonely. “Can you call another friend or read a book or something? If there’s nothing seriously wrong, if you’re just at loose ends ...”

  “Yeah. I’m an idiot. Just bought three books and I’m in too much of a fog to think to read them. Sorry. Yeah. Sorry I bothered you. Study. I’ll let you go.” A pause. “You ... you sure you didn’t send me the red chile chocolate?”

  “No, sugar. It wasn’t me.” How could he think that? “You’ve got fans, remember?”

  “Yeah. Not used to it. Naomi kept teasing me about it at dinner. Why hadn’t I asked from the stage, y’know? ‘Whoever gave me this gift, see me after the show.’ Said the blokes in Blues Ridge would’ve done that, and found a girl for the night. So I started thinking about what you said about Sylvie and I thought, ‘Bloody hell, Naomi’s not being a mum, she’s throwing her giant arse at me. She gave me the fucking chocolate.’ I tried to be tactful, y’know, turn her down, and she laughed so hard I thought she’d piss herself. She thought it was ... cute. Cute. That I thought she was cracking onto me. She laughed for like twenty fucking minutes.”

  “I’m sorry, sugar. That must have been embarrassing.”

  “It was. Think I ate about fifty pounds of pasta after that. Pasta with beans. Feel like I ate stones.”

  “No wonder you’re in bed already. I’ll look for Gasser tomorrow.”

  A long pause. “Thanks, love. Good to hear your voice.”

  She could feel him hanging on, a kind of clinging energy. Anyone else would have taken the hint to say goodbye, but he didn’t. Was he getting depressed? Fucking sick people go to bed that early. She didn’t want to cut him off if this was more than a lonesome rambling sort of call.

  “I need to go, but call back if it’s urgent, all right? I don’t want you to think you can’t—”

  “And I don’t want you to think of me as a fucking wreck waiting to happen. Jesus.” Another flash of anger. “I’m not broken.”

  “I know you’re not.”

  “Just cracked.” A burst of laughter. “Makes me more valuable, like an antique.” Now he sounded oddly confident, maybe even flirting. “Hooroo, love.”

  He ended the call, and Mae returned to sit beside Stamos. It was the first time he had been to her house, and even though they were only quizzing each other on material for an exam tomorrow, it was awkward having Jamie interrupt yet again. “Sorry—that was Jamie.”

  “You take care of him. Like you take care of our young classmates who don’t work as hard as we do.” Stamos stood and took their coffee cups to the kitchen, refilled them, and came back. “When do you take care of yourself?”

  “All the time. I’ve got more time for me than I ever had in my life. I know it doesn’t look like that to you, but
to me, going to school is taking care of myself. I never had the chance ’til now. And I soak in my hot spring every night and I run five miles up at Elephant Butte most days. I take good care of myself.”

  Stamos nodded. Of course he would understand exercise as personal time. “Do you have enough time to simply have fun?”

  “Not enough. But I’ve got a surprise. We’re both gonna have some fun.” She’d meant to wait until after studying to tell Stamos, but they had already been interrupted. “I wondered if you’d like to go to a concert Friday. I got some tickets to see Joe Wayne Brazos in El Paso.”

  “That’s quite an investment.” Stamos frowned. “You already have the tickets?”

  “Yeah.” This wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. Why wasn’t he excited? “Daddy gave ’em to me this morning. It’s an early Christmas present.”

  “Thank you for inviting me. Let me think about it.”

  This was so strange. Stamos loved country music. “Don’t you like Joe Wayne?

  “His music, yes. But the man ... no.”

  “You know him?”

  “We have met. Please, don’t worry about it. Of course we’ll go. Thank you for asking me.”

  What was the matter between Stamos and Joe Wayne Brazos? How in the world did they know each other? Before the two-hour drive to El Paso, she’d like to find out. No—they were looking at more than that two-hour drive. This event was on the same night they’d planned to start out for the East Coast. Going to the concert would take them off their route, and keep them up too late to start the trip. Before she could speak, she could see Stamos seemed to be processing the same thing.

  “I think all this studying has damaged our brains,” he said, leaning back with an amused sigh. “We’re driving to ...” Holding up a finger, he appeared to trace a map in the air and pinpointed the spot. “Shamrock, Texas. First stop.”

  Mae didn’t want to give up the chance to see Joe Wayne. She’d gone to one of his concerts several years ago with Hubert, and it had been extraordinary, one of the best date nights of their marriage. Brazos put on a show to remember. “We could take turns driving and sleeping in the car and skip that stop, and still do the concert.”