“Is there any action?” Earley surveyed the room. It looked pretty much like the usual suspects; the few women there were all twined around husbands.
“Hope springs eternal in the tit,” Scoter said.
Earley laid a big hand on his shoulder. “So what are we drinking?”
“Whatever you’re buying. You owe me for two goddamn towels, you hick. Think my boss doesn’t count every night?” Scoter signaled the bartender. “Jack Daniel’s.”
“I’m, uh, not in a Jack kind of cash flow this moment,” said Earley. “I was hoping that you’d do the honors.”
Scoter’s sneer looked a lot like his father’s. “No way am I carrying your sorry ass tonight.”
“I can’t carry yours either, my man. No hard feelings.” Earley thumped Scoter’s shoulder and got up to leave.
“I might purchase a bit of that Maui, though,” Scoter said. Earley paused. There were a few joints in a Band-Aid container under the seat of his truck, but they weren’t his to sell. Reed wouldn’t mind if he smoked one or two, though, so why would this be any different? A couple of joints was a small price to pay for an evening alone with Zan. In my goddamn bus, Earley thought. With my woman. Or should be my woman. I don’t owe that lucky prick anything.
“Two Js,” he told Scoter. “Five bucks and a shot of Jack. Back in a flash.”
Earley went out to the truck, slid the two joints into a used Slim Jim wrapper and went back inside. “Here,” he said, handing the Slim Jim to Scoter, “eat hearty.”
Scoter bought them both shots and schooners. Earley knocked back his bourbon and chased it with Oly draft, licking the froth from his mustache.
“Your old man was telling me somebody’s after some acreage up around my way. You heard any grapevine on that?”
“I know nothink,” said Scoter, imitating the fat guy on Hogan’s Heroes.
“Too true,” Earley said. “But if you were to pass on a rumor . . .”
“There aren’t any rumors,” said Scoter. “Not about Royalton, anyway. Not about two thousand acres of virgin Doug fir to the west of Suhammish.”
“Two thousand acres? What access?”
“I don’t have a clue.”
“Don’t dick with me, Scoter. I live up there.”
“I wouldn’t dick with you on a bet, Ritter. That’s all I know.” Scoter waved at a few of his millworker buddies as they came through the front door. They came over and sat with him. One of the mill rats got onto some endless story about a half-Indian trawler captain who’d practically drowned his whole crew off of Teahwhit Head, and Earley took off for the pool room. He paused in the doorway, remembering his first view of Zan leaning over her cue in that spill of light. A curly-haired guy in a cowboy hat nudged a ball into the pocket and straightened up, looking at Earley. He seemed to be puzzling out where they’d met before.
“Hey, aren’t you Zan’s friend? I mean, like, her friend’s friend?”
Earley figured that was about the size of it. “Yeah,” he drawled, eyeing the pitcher of beer on the table. “My name’s Earley Ritter.”
“Robbo,” the guy in the cowboy hat said. “And this here is Nick.”
Young Nick had unbraided his hair and removed the hawk feathers, probably a smart move if he wanted to walk through the Cedar without getting punched out by some redneck. Or by an actual Indian. “We’ve met,” Earley said.
“Herbal tea,” Young Nick nodded. He looked ill at ease clutching a pool cue, as if one of his mythical tribesmen might spot him and say he’d sold out. Robbo bent over and shot, dropping the cue ball straight into the corner.
“Out,” he said to Young Nick. “Three for three.” He emptied his beer mug and looked up at Earley. “You play at all?”
“Sure, if you want to go four for four. Rack ’em up.” What he really wanted was some of that beer, but there was a protocol. First lose at pool, then hang with the victor. The losing part wouldn’t be hard; Robbo looked serious. Earley went to the rack and chalked up the longest cue as he shoved in two quarters. The balls clattered down and Robbo corralled them into a plastic triangle, lifting it carefully.
“Your break,” he said. Earley hitched up the back of his jeans and circled the table. He placed the cue ball just a hair to the left and got into position, aware of Robbo’s and Young Nick’s eyes on him. As he drew back the cue, he saw Cassie wending her way from the ladies’ room. She was wearing a crocheted vest over a peasant blouse, a long skirt made out of a split pair of blue jeans and Frye boots whose heavy heels accented her slouching gait.
“Oh, hi,” she said, her voice rising in that uncertain lilt she had, as if nothing she uttered could stand on its own two feet.
“Hey,” Earley nodded, and bent down to break. Cassie pulled over a stool and sat watching them, taking sips from a bottle of unfiltered apple juice. Earley wondered which one of the guys was her date. Her spaciness went with Young Nick’s, but Robbo, with his tangled curls and fleshy mouth, seemed to have more on the ball. It didn’t take him too long to ream Earley at pool, and just as he’d hoped, Robbo thumped on his back and asked him to sit at their table. Young Nick poured him a beer.
“Here’s to the earth,” he intoned. “To the spirit of hops.”
“John Barleycorn must die, man,” said Robbo.
Earley was dying to ask him about his grouse-hunting technique, but he didn’t want to send Cassie off on a tear. “You folks are planting some nasty terrain up there,” he said instead. It seemed safe enough, but Young Nick launched into a rant about clear-cutting raping the earth, wrapping up with his girlfriend’s commitment to Greenpeace and how she was, even now, sailing off to save whales from extinction. Earley didn’t point out how few whales lived in clearcuts; these things were connected in Young Nick’s mind, and Young Nick was buying the beer. Hell, maybe they were all connected. He thought of what Scoter had told him and winced at the thought of two thousand shaved acres. “How long have you been planting trees?” he asked Robbo.
“Two months,” said Robbo.
“Me too,” Cassie chimed in. So they were an item. But Cassie was looking at Earley with a flushed, eager gaze; she’d already asked Zan whether he had a lady. Was this some kind of treeplanter chick thing, sitting next to your lover and flirting with somebody else? Cassie did share a tent with Zan. Maybe she’d been taking notes.
Robbo kept talking. It turned out he was just out of high school. He’d grown up in Tacoma, had gotten his steady girl pregnant, married her fast and was trying to make some quick money before he became a dad. “It’s pretty heavy,” he said. “But I’m up for it. Gotta save money, though. I shouldn’t even be feeding the pool table. I’ve got to save up for like diapers and cribs and stuff.”
“You’re propagating the species,” said Young Nick soberly. “You’re in your sowing phase. Sowing trees, sowing your seed.”
“Reproduction,” said Robbo, “here’s to it.” He raised his glass. Cassie blushed again, looking at Earley. Well, that answered that. She wasn’t with either of them, and she was flirting with him. He rolled it around in his head for a moment. Going home with her did have a certain allure: he could get drunk for free, get rid of his blue balls and even wind up with a free place to sleep—in Zan’s tent, of all places, while she was in Earley’s bus. Cassie was willing, that much was clear. It was all there for the taking.
But something had changed since he’d fallen for Zan. Earley had always been willing to go with the flow, to settle for less if less was what came his way. He thought of that song that went, “If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with,” and looked over at Cassie. She wasn’t bad looking. A little anemic, but nothing a couple of steaks couldn’t fix. She had pale blue-gray eyes and a longish, straight nose, a thin dancer’s body. She could have passed for Reed’s sister.
Young Nick got up to buy the next pitcher and asked whether anyone wanted a slice of pizza. “It’s white flour and all, but I do like my ’za,” he said.
&nbs
p; Robbo and Earley said sure. Cassie shook her head, arms folded over her chest. “I’m a vegan,” she told Earley. “I don’t eat any product that comes from an animal, living or dead.”
Earley pictured himself hunkered over the campfire, chewing charred trout off the bone. This could be a deal-breaker. “The way we treat animals is, like, a mirror,” said Cassie. “Who gave us that kind of empowerment over their lives? I’m not judging you or your choices, I just think we should try to evolve beyond all that aggression. You know?”
Earley nodded, his heart sinking. Cassie shifted around in her chair so her leg brushed against his. He noticed the way she kept touching her hair, as if someone had told her that it was her best feature. Earley looked at Cassie, trying to make himself want her, but he just couldn’t find it; his whole nervous system was wired for Zan. He couldn’t bring himself to make love to her just out of convenience. Margie was different; they’d hung out together already, he liked who she was. And even though lately she seemed to be hoping for more, the fact she was married to that redneck shit put a limit on things. Earley wouldn’t be promising something he couldn’t make good on. Cassie was melting in hope, like a big pat of butter.
Which she wouldn’t eat, Earley thought, and that clinched his decision. If he was going to let her down, better to do it right off the bat. He excused himself and went to the bathroom. When he came back out, he walked straight through the crowd at the bar, fully aware he was being a coward by not even saying good-bye, that she’d see the back of his head looming over the much shorter guys he was passing. So be it. If Cassie thought he was a snake, she was probably right. Earley was heading back home to the woman he loved, even if he walked in on her loving the one she was with.
ELEVEN
Earley’s lone headlight bounced over the unpaved road. It wasn’t exactly raining, but a drizzle filmed over the windshield, obscuring his view. He turned on the wipers. It smeared and got worse, so he turned them back off and kept driving. The dark road seemed longer than usual, and his truck seemed to wobble and lurch over every exposed root. Shocks must be going, he thought, adding that onto the list of repairs that he couldn’t afford.
He thought about Robbo, nineteen or whatever he was, hoarding his quarters for baby supplies. Earley had only himself to support, but instead of making him feel lucky, like it was supposed to, that thought suddenly made him feel barren, alone on the planet. Maybe a baby wouldn’t be all that bad. Someone to love you helplessly, whose very existence would tie your life to a woman’s in ways that could never dissolve. Reproduction, Robbo had said, and for that one moment he’d known something none of the rest of them knew: that being a man meant more than just fucking and losing and fucking again. Maybe those planters were on to something, walking around in the mud like Johnny Appleseed. Earley made his living carving up other men’s leftovers. Thirty years from now there’d be a forest where Robbo and Young Nick and Zan had been working. What would his legacy be? Shorter stumps.
He was up at the clearing. He pulled alongside Zan’s old Volvo, facing the midnight blue bus. He cut the ignition and sat for a moment, unsure of himself. There was a faint glow of light from the midsection windows: if a candle or oil lamp was burning, they weren’t asleep. What would it feel like to open the door on the sounds of Zan and Reed in full rut? Earley gritted his teeth. He’d made his decision back there in the bar. They weren’t going to drive him away from his home.
He got out and slammed the door loudly. Fair warning, he thought; no surprises. He pissed on the base of a hemlock, then circled around the far side of his bus, stumbling over some beer bottles, sending them rolling, but keeping his balance. I’m losing my drunk, he thought. Not fair.
He swung himself onto the tailgate and through the emergency exit. The bus was warm, fragrant with woodsmoke and some kind of incense. He popped a cassette in the tape deck and peeled off his clothes as Santana played “Black Magic Woman.” One of Reed’s favorites. So what.
Earley climbed into his bed and lay listening. Over the chords of the song, he heard murmuring voices. They were talking again. No. It was just Reed’s voice, rising and falling. He’s reading to her, Earley realized. He’s lying in bed next to Zan’s naked body, and reading? Maybe it’s some kind of college boy foreplay. Maybe he’s running his hand up and down her thigh as he reads, or stroking her belly, her bush. . . . Earley’s hand slid down into the bulge of his longjohns. He closed his eyes. Better than nothing, he thought as his hand started moving. I’m here, Zan, right here.
Three sounds hit his ears at once: breaking glass, “Jesus!” and a shriek of pain. Earley was out of bed instantly. He strode through the bus and pulled down the Mexican blanket, not stopping to think about privacy. Reed’s bed was on fire. Flames leapt from the bedding, from shards of the hurricane lamp. Zan’s hair swirled through the air, its black ends alive with fire. She was screaming as Reed tried to beat it out.
Earley threw the striped blanket on top of them both and lunged into the kitchen, grabbing the dishpan on top of the counter. He sloshed water over the bed, recoiling as dishes flew out with the soapsuds, shattering under the weight of a cast-iron frying pan. Jesus Christ, he thought wildly, I could have killed someone. Smoke hissed from the sheets. He grabbed hold of a pillow and dived for the bed, trying to smother the last flames. Reed threw him the blanket.
And then it was over. The air smelled of singed hair and lamp oil. Earley rocked back on his knees, his breath heaving. He looked up at Zan. She was nude, her eyes huge. The fringe of her long hair was kinky, uneven. Reed reached to comfort her, but she ignored his hand.
“You okay?” Earley asked.
She nodded. “You’re bleeding.”
He looked at his hand, where the cut glass had nicked him, and wiped it across the wet sheet. “Well, you can’t sleep on this mess,” he said, trying without much success to stop staring at Zan’s naked breasts. She was staring right back at him, not even trying to hide it. Reed must have felt it as well; he was standing between them, nude, like an animal frozen by two sets of oncoming headlights. His eyes flickered towards Earley’s erection, which, Earley realized, had started to poke through the slit of his longjohns. Embarrassed, he shifted the fabric and got to his feet, gazing down at the smouldering mattress.
“You better take my bed,” he muttered.
Zan took a step forward, placing her hand on his chest. “You too,” she said.
Earley looked over at Reed, who looked paler than ever. He didn’t protest. Earley could feel the blood rise to his ears as he looked back at Zan. He was hers.
Zan led them both back to Earley’s room. The sheets were thrown back from the futon, a disheveled mess. The tape was still playing. Zan turned towards Earley, her nipples just grazing his chest. She reached down to peel off his longjohns. Earley tried not to catch Reed’s eye as she lowered them down his legs, her hands roaming over his buttocks and hipbones.
“I don’t think . . .” he started, then trailed off. He didn’t know what he didn’t think.
“It’s all right,” said Zan. She knelt at the edge of the mattress. “Lie down,” she said, turning to Reed. She was the only one who seemed to know what to do, so they both obeyed her. Reed lay on the outside edge of the bed, Zan in the middle. She took Earley’s hand, guiding him onto the mattress right next to her. The three of them lay stiffly, side by side. Earley didn’t know what to do with himself. He was dying to touch her, but what about Reed?
Zan seemed to know what he was thinking. She lifted his hand and placed it on her ribcage, guiding his fingertips towards her breast. Earley’s breath seemed to freeze in his lungs. He felt like a teenager, faced with forbidden fruit. Go on, her hand told him. It’s yours. His palm traveled upwards, cupping her breast. He heard her sharp intake of breath as his thumb found her nipple. Her skin was so warm it felt feverish.
“Earley,” she whispered, her lips nuzzling into his shoulder. He could feel the sharp edge of her teeth, the tip of her tongue on his bare ski
n. She wanted him, no doubt about it. And he wanted her—God did he want her—but there was Reed, lying next to them in the dark while he felt Zan up. I would have punched me out by now, Earley thought. What is he thinking?
Zan traced his lips with her fingertips, and he kissed the palm of her hand. His tongue found the pulse in her wrist as her hand traveled over his cheek, the rough beard on his jawbone. He could feel Zan responding, how ready she was. Her breast seemed to swell in his hand. They were moving in silent slow motion, alert to each other’s cues, fully aware that each move they made might be the one that would push things too far. He knew they were crossing a boundary—had already crossed it, in fact—and that nothing they did now was safe.
Earley slid his hand downwards, caressing the curve of Zan’s belly, and bumped against Reed’s fingers lying there. He pulled back instinctively, but Zan wouldn’t let him go. She rolled into his embrace, turning her back on Reed, caution behind them. She kissed Earley full on the mouth, twining her limbs around him like a vine. He pressed himself into her body. Her mouth opened into his, hungry and warm, as her hand slid between his thighs, cupping his balls. Earley forgot about Reed. He forgot about everything. Nothing mattered but this; there was nobody else on the planet.
He arched up to enter her, rising on both arms. Zan moaned as he slid inside, plumbing her depths in slow motion. She rose up to meet him, her legs sliding over his back as she drew him in. They were a perfect fit.
Sweet Jesus, Earley thought. Oh my sweet Lord. This was what men and women were made for. They were moving together as if they’d been practicing all their lives. Earley remembered the words from the Bible: he knew her. Not just her body, but her, her whole essence. Her sadness. The tough little girl she’d been, with bruised knees and elbows, hating her father for calling the shots. The lovers she’d run from. Her rootlessness. That she would never have children. Earley didn’t know how he knew this; he just did, and he knew that Zan knew the same things about him. He could feel his heart swell in his chest. It was all he could do not to blurt out, “I love you.”
Clearcut Page 10