Field-Tripped

by Nicole Archer

  “All right,” he says. “We’re gonna haul you out of there with the snowmobiles and a harness.” He lowers down a rope.

  “My dogs are down here!”

  “Is that where the big guy is? You got the little guy, too?”

  “Yeah, he’s down here.”

  “Eli, think you can hold onto him?” Burt asks.

  A hundred and fifty pound dog? No way. But then I take stock of Charlie’s worried expression. “I’ll try.”

  “Too bad I don’t have the tranquilizer gun,” he laments.

  “You have a tranquilizer gun?” I ask.

  “For bears.”

  “Your godfather scares me,” I say out loud.

  “Charlie first,” Burt shouts. “Stuff the little pooch in your jacket.”

  She tugs on the rope. “Got ‘em.”

  The engines turn back on. On the way up, she crashes against the glacier about twenty times.

  I’m totally going to kill her dog.

  When it’s my turn, Burt doesn’t drop the harness. “Night, Beaver Boy!”

  “What the—? Man, I am not in a joking mood.”

  “I’m just messing with you.” He lowers the harness. “Get in, hippie.”

  Somehow I don’t drop the dog. Instinctively, he lies perfectly still in my arms, as if knowing it was a life or death situation.

  We make it to the top alive, albeit banged up and bruised.

  The first thing I do is charge over to Burt with my dukes up. “You stupid son of a bitch. What were you thinking leaving us out here with no communication?”

  “What happen to the avalanche beacon?” Art asks.

  “What avalanche beacon?”

  “On the GPS?”

  “There was an avalanche beacon on that thing?” Charlie asks.

  “And a walkie-talkie.”

  “We lost it in the avalanche!” I shout.

  “Dumbass,” Burt grumbles.

  “How’d you find us?” Charlie asks.

  “The dogs wandered back to the lodge. We followed the cache route and saw Charlie’s pack. On a hunch, we rode up here. Good thing we did.”

  “Aw, my boys saved our lives.”

  “They sure did. Jump on. We’ll get you up to the yurt.”

  I protest. “We need to go back to the lodge.”

  “The yurt’s two clicks up. The lodge is a good hour drive. It’s best to warm you up and get you fed. We’ll take you back in the morning.”

  I can’t argue with that. My blood feels thick, like I’m on the verge of hypothermia.

  On the way to the hut, I’m stuck with the beast and Burt, and my butt hangs over the edge of the seat.

  A short while later, we arrive at our destination—two glowing yurts in the middle of the forest. A stream babbles nearby, and there’s a tinge of sulfur in the air. It must be the hot springs he was talking about earlier.

  When we make it inside, everyone’s half-naked and seated around a table, playing strip poker. No one looks up from their cards.

  Christine is passed out on the floor with a bottle of wine next to her.

  “Took you long enough,” Joy says.

  Charlie looks like she’s about to decapitate her designer. “That’s because we were trapped at the bottom of a cliff!”

  “I bet,” Sam says with a shitting-eating grin.

  “No really,” I say. “We were in an avalanche.”

  “Buried deep, eh?” Jerry bucks his hips.

  “Shut it, Jerry,” I growl.

  Alan weaves out of the bathroom in his boxer shorts and heads straight for Charlie. “There you are! I was worried sick.” He hugs her.

  She pries his hands off. “I can see that. How much have you had to drink?”

  He pinches a finger and thumb and closes one eye. “Little bit.” His hammered bloodshot gaze shifts over to me. “Was he with you?”

  I wave my fingers. “Right here, asshole. And yes, we were together.” I’m guessing he still hasn’t put together the Eli-Charlie puzzle. Just as I open my mouth to fill him in, she grips my bicep and whispers, “Let’s go to the other hut.”

  I crack my neck and nod. We don’t bother to say goodnight.

  Once inside, we take off our wet clothes and wrap wool blankets around our naked bodies. Then we slam down a couple of sandwiches, feed her dogs, and drink about a gallon of water.

  Afterward, we huddle together next to the potbelly stove.

  “It was over Thanksgiving,” she says quietly. “I was lonely. It was a mistake. I don’t have feelings for him.”

  “Have you told him that?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  I stand and wrap a blanket around my waist. “This isn’t Facebook, Chicken. You don’t get to use that bullshit status with me.”

  She rubs her eyes. “He handles all my operations. He’s got my bank passwords, the keys to the agency, the access to our databases. I can’t log in and change everything. I don’t have a computer. I keep blowing him off. I don’t know what else to do. This situation requires finesse, Elliott. I have to wait until we’re out of here.” She buries her face in her hands. “I’m exhausted. Can’t we talk about this tomorrow?”

  I help her up and shuffle her over to a bunk. We hold each other tight for a long while, until our tired muscles give out. “This isn’t over.” I tilt her chin up. “Just because we’re off that mountain, doesn’t mean everything goes back to the way it was.”

  A raspy sigh of relief follows. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

  “I can’t make love to you,” I say after a bit. “I’m too tired. Rain check?”

  “Top or bottom?”

  I grab her ass. “I love you on top.”

  “No, I mean the bed. Top or bottom bunk?”

  “Bottom, I guess.”

  We tuck ourselves in, and just as I’m about to crash, she peeks over the edge and whispers, “I love you.”

  “Would it be weird if I wept like a child?”

  She snorts. “A little.”

  “I feel like someone gave us a second chance. Like I need to seize life by the balls and do something amazing.”

  “Me, too. It’s almost like I’ve just given birth…to me. Charlotte Sullivan, born again.” She giggles and yawns.

  “’Night, Chicken.”

  “’Night, Loser.”

  FORTY

  Eli Is A Loser

  Survival Tip: Decisions should be based on the information you’ve gathered, as well as the nature of the terrain.

  Eli’s Mixtape: Kishi Bashi, “Can’t Let Go, Juno”

  THE NEXT MORNING, Burt and Art haul us out of the yurts on snowmobiles. Most everyone is in dire pain, due to hangovers.

  Charlie and I are so banged up we can barely walk. Her godfathers do us a favor and take us back last, so we can soak our bruised and battered bodies in the hot springs.

  I’m in pain, not just from the avalanche, but because the future has arrived.

  Today’s the last day of camp. Two days before Christmas Eve.

  I don’t think I’ve ever been less excited for the holidays. I know Charlie invited me to spend them with her, but I can’t get over the feeling that the promises made on the mountain aren’t to be taken seriously—those plans were made under duress.

  Later, back at the lodge, everyone is in their rooms. The atmosphere is still and heavy and cramped, like the log walls are getting ready to fall in.

  There’s something uneasy between Charlie and I today. She’s been super short with me. Not about anything in particular. It’s the usual Sullivan stubborn stuff—asserting her independence, refusing help for the stupidest things. I think she expects the worst.

  And then there’s Alan. His blatant denial kills me. Is he blind or stupid or crazy or what? I don’t get it.

  I get that she doesn’t want to rock the boat, but it’s causing a rift between us. I know it’s jealousy talking, but I guess I still don’t trust her. What if something happens to us, and she turns to hi
m?

  It feels like I’m walking on unstable ground, like tremors are rocking the planet.

  Do I go back to New York? Do I stay here? What do I do? How do I figure out the rest of my life in a few days?

  Charlie and I haven’t even had a chance to discuss what happens after this is over.

  In the afternoon, I meditate in my room. That’s the only thing I can think to do—clear my mind.

  It doesn’t work.

  Instead, I ponder the pros and cons of giving up my life—my simple life—back in New York. At one point, I get so tired I give up and fall asleep.

  Two hours later, I wake up to the smell of grilled meat and baked bread. Proton asked us to dress up for the awards ceremony dinner tonight. They’ve hired caterers, bartenders, and even a DJ for the party. I’m a little insulted they didn’t ask me. But then again, they know nothing about my past life.

  They’re announcing the winner tonight. After the avalanche, Proton gave both teams a point. That means we’re tied. Skip’s been baked all day. The man’s stressed beyond belief.

  He’s not the only one.

  After I dress, I meet everyone in the dining hall. The table is crowded with food.

  Charlie and I send clandestine glances to each other. She’s not hiding behind a mask tonight. There is nothing but worry in those brown eyes.

  Under the table, I hold her hand. Her palm is sweaty and cool. I grip hers tighter, not letting go.

  Once dinner is over, we head to the den. Malcolm is the MC, and tonight, he’s dressed in full drag. He makes dumb jokes, and while people laugh, I feel sick to my stomach. I want to beg him to slow down, not talk so fast, let the night linger as long as it can.

  Staying true to the authenticity of a real camp, Proton hands out individual awards to everyone.

  Orion is first onstage. Stanley receives an award for “Loudest Camper.” In reality, he’s the quietest guy I’ve ever met.

  Deadhead Duffy gets “Best Hair.”

  Christian Christine receives “Most Likely To Be Picked up on Prostitution Charges.”

  Joy gets “The Most Positive Camper.”

  Wang receives “Biggest Slob.”

  “Most Sedate” goes to Charlie.

  Big surprise, I get “Busiest Beaver.”

  Sam scores “Worst Dancer.”

  “Best Trash Talker” goes to Preeti.

  Jerry gets “Classiest.”

  Avery, “Most Energetic.”

  Sabrina, “Most Likely to Solve World Hunger.” She doesn’t “get” her award.

  The best award goes to Alan. “Human Vulture.” “Not sure what that means,” he says with a tight smile.

  It means he’s been pecking at my scraps the whole time.

  Art tells him it’s related to his voracious appetite, and then he asks Skip to come onstage.

  Burt lays a hand on Skip’s shoulder and steps up to the mic.

  Holy shit! Maybe we will win this business after all. Shimura needs this so bad. I stand up and pace in the back of the theater.

  “I’d just like to say what a pleasure it’s been to have you all here,” Burt says. “I realize you probably all feel like a bunch of guinea pigs, but you’ve helped us see some of the kinks we need to iron out when we open up for business.”

  Yeah, like not sending campers to their deaths.

  “Before I hand out this next award,” he continues. “I’d like to extend an offer to spend the holidays with us. This is the first time Art and I won’t be traveling, and we’re planning on making Christmas extra special here at the lodge. We’re decorating a tree and having a big party, so if you don’t have any plans, come spend the weekend with us.” He clears his throat. “All right, this last award is the only serious one of the bunch.”

  I stop pacing and straighten my spine. Here it comes.

  “Skip, in you we saw a great leader—”

  Someone in the crowd coughs a laugh.

  Burt directs his speech to the audience. “A great leader is someone who can step back and delegate, who pushes his staff to do their best. Someone who can instill humor into a serious situation. And someone who sacrifices his own happiness, for the sake of his employees.”

  Everything the old man says is true. Skip’s a shiny diamond disguised as sarcastic coal.

  He didn’t want to run his dad’s agency. But he did it anyway, because he didn’t want to let anyone down.

  Burt hands the trophy to him. “Congratulations, Shimura, you win the award for ‘Most Likely to Succeed,’ and we mean that, sincerely.”

  Skip’s brows rise a foot. “Does that mean I won the business?”

  “Ah, no.” Burt says, unapologetically. “Orion won the business. But you’ve got a great future ahead of you, kid.” He actually has the gall to slap him on the back.

  Skip walks out and leaves the award on the podium.

  The only sound in the room is Avery’s heavy sigh.

  The DJ dims the lights and blasts disco music over the speakers.

  None of us have moved from our seats yet.

  I feel Skip’s disappointment deep in my gut. I wish there was something I could do for him.

  A sort of hypnotic trance takes over my thoughts as I watch the disco light spin. I could quit. I could quit and move here and work with Charlie. That makes one less person he has to lay off. And I get to be with her.

  Problem solved.

  Then why can’t I take in a full breath?

  FORTY-ONE

  Charlie Sleeps With A Boy

  October 1998

  IT WAS Elliott’s thirteenth birthday last night. His mom and dad did something bad, so he spent it with us.

  He was so mad that Weiner gave him an ax and let him hack down two of our trees. Dad almost had a coronary.

  He won’t tell me what happened, but I know it had something to do with catching his parents in the middle of some sort of kinky sex.

  I overheard him telling Mom about it.

  Later, I let him sneak into my bedroom and sleep with me. He smells like bubble gum, and his hair is so soft. Like feathers.

  It may have been the worst birthday for him, but for me, it was the best day ever.

  FORTY-TWO

  Charlie Beats A Stoner

  Eli’s Mixtape: Snoop Dog, Whiz Khalifa (feat. Bruno Mars), “Young, Wild & Free”

  THERE WAS NEVER any doubt I’d win the business, but I didn’t expect to feel bad about it.

  Elliott told me Skip will probably have to lay people off.

  There’s also the fact that I can’t really guarantee my own staff’s future once I sell the agency to Grayson Advertising.

  I should feel like celebrating. Instead, I feel a foreboding sense of dread.

  After the awards ceremony, I sneak outside to the hot tub, to gather my thoughts.

  I find Skip there, smoking a joint and staring at the stars.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  He gestures a hand to the adjacent seat.

  “Sorry, Skip. I know how much you need this business.”

  “Don’t sweat it. I never expected to get it.”

  “Really? How come you didn’t leave?”

  “Because I’m having fun. This will probably shock the shit out of you, but I’m not much of a business-y kind of guy. If I didn’t like money so much, I’d be content to spend my life surfing, boarding, and living in a van.”

  “But you like money.”

  He takes a hit off the joint and blows out a smoke-suffocated “Exactly.” His rests the back of his head on the edge of the tub. “Maybe one of these days, I can do something like this. Make money off other people’s vacations.”

  “My dad once said it was not a good idea to turn your passion into a job. It stops being fun.”

  “Makes sense.”

  The water foams and fizzes around our silence. “So…Eli tells me you have to let some people go.”

  He sinks lower under the water. “I don’t know. I’ve been selling my personal
stock, trying to keep the agency afloat, but at some point, I’m going to have to stop caring and start becoming a ruthless asshole.”

  “I hate firing people. It’s the worst part of the job. I’m probably going to have to do that when I get back to real life.”

  “Let me guess—Alan?”

  I nod.

  “That guy kind of reminds me of a diluted Jerry Reno. There’s something about him. I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “I’m not a very good judge of character.”

  “I don’t know about that. St. James is a pretty stellar guy.” He offers me the last of his joint.

  I turn it down.

  “So are you going to steal away my designer?” he asks.

  “I hope so. He’s being wishy-washy.”

  “Can you blame him?”

  “No.”

  “He’s a smitten kitten.”

  “Think so?”

  “I’m terrible at my own relationships, but when it comes to other people’s, I’m like an old matchmaker.”

  I snicker.

  “I can always see when something special is about to begin. Saw it with my best friend, when she and my art director took off on a business trip together. Saw it with her sister a year later when she met St. James’s roommate. It’s like watching the spark at the end of a dynamite fuse. They burn and chase each other until they explode.” His hands burst out of the water in a mock explosion.

  I smile. “I like that.”

  He flicks a finger. “Ah, but what happens after the fire burns out is the true test of love. So far, I haven’t been wrong.”

  I can’t imagine our fire ever dying. Ours has been burning for a decade.

  Skip stretches his neck and sighs. “I think Avery, Sam, Preeti, and I are going to stay for Christmas. We’re all orphans.”

  “I’d like that a lot, and I know Elliott would too.” I pause. “I wish we could all have a happy ending.”

  “We’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Eli can have his Buddhism bullshit. I’ve already found the trick to happiness.”

  “Weed?”

  “A sense of humor. Don’t take life too seriously. That’s my motto.”