Bad Call

by Stephen Wallenfels

  Rhody is next up on the poker food chain, then it’s down to the inevitable Ceo vs. Grahame bluff-fest, which Ceo with the deeper pockets usually wins but not tonight. As the smiling Grahame rakes in the mound of quarters with a few singles mixed in, saying, Gentlemen I believe this is the biggest pot of the night, Ceo announces that speaking of pot, I have a proposition for the group. But first I must share the tale behind it.

  He tells them about a drug-smuggling plane that crashed in a remote mountain lake in Yosemite back in the seventies. The rock climbers got to it before the rangers did, scoring a lifetime’s worth of prime Colombian weed and spiking the local economy with a flood of money and flashy cars. The plane and the weed are long gone, but the legend lives on. Movies have been made on the subject.

  Grahame shuffles the cards and says, Mon, dat’s a fine story, don’t cha know, so what be da proposition?

  Ceo asks Grahame to switch the music to Game of Thrones. With that symphony of drama pulsing in the background, he says a tale this epic deserves a pilgrimage up to that lake.

  Rhody asks him to define pilgrimage.

  Ceo says, A ten-mile hike one way.

  Grahame asks, Does this mean real camping with sleeping bags ’n’ shit?

  Ceo says, Yes, especially the shit.

  Ceo and Grahame share a smile, suggesting there might be more than just woodsmoke rising up from their campfire. That adds potential dimensions to this trip that Colin would rather weren’t there. His head starts swirling with the repercussions of Ceo’s unfolding plan.

  Rhody asks, How will this pilgrimage happen, seeing as we can’t get away for a weekend unless it’s approved by the faculty?

  Ceo reminds them that Coach is going back east for a wedding the third weekend of October, and there happens to be a tournament in San Diego that very same weekend.

  Colin says, We still need Coach to sign off.

  Ceo says, We’ll use the note from last year. Rhody can change the dates and location, then hack into the server and upload it. Right, Rhody?

  Not a problem, Rhody says.

  Colin asks what if he checks the results online.

  Ceo says, He’ll be in freaking Boston getting wrecked at a wedding. It’s preseason and not a sanctioned tournament.

  He won’t give a shit. Rhody says, I could build a bogus website with bogus results.

  Ceo says, There you go. Problem solved. It’s time to ante up, my friends. Are we pilgrims or not?

  Grahame says, Will the pilgrims be just us four guys?

  Ceo says, Yes, absolutely. Just us four.

  Grahame says, Solemn poker vow?

  Solemn poker vow, Ceo confirms.

  After a beat Grahame says, If it’s just us, then I’m in.

  Rhody says, Sure, if I don’t have any tests.

  All eyes turn to Colin.

  He says, We don’t have any gear.

  Ceo shrugs. I’ll get what I have from home. Craigslist will take care of the rest.

  Colin thinks about costs. About the work he’ll be missing, the studying that won’t get done, the physics test he won’t be ready for when he gets back. Lying to Coach. But all that is dwarfed by the fact that he’s still reeling from what Ceo did at the match and the profound impact it will have on his future at CGA. Coach said Mad Maxine has already contacted him about his student-athlete endowment status for the spring semester. The fact that it’s his senior year has no bearing on the outcome. Rules are rules. His mother cried when he told her that he dropped out of the top two and was going to lose the scholarship. She offered to sell the tractor, take out a loan, whatever he needed to stay. He said no, he’d find a way to make it work, although folding towels for ten bucks an hour wouldn’t cut it. Meanwhile Ceo sits across from him with a hopeful smile, acting like their friendship is back to the status quo. Like he’s moved on, and so should Colin. But he’s not staring at thirty grand in debt and the possibility of transferring back to Vermont. Doubting Ceo will get the deeper meaning, Colin says, Guys, I can’t afford this.

  Grahame says, Dat’s da bool-sheet, mon.

  Ceo says, C’mon, Q! We’ll divide the expenses four ways. You have to eat anyway, so that expense cancels out. All we’re really talking about is the gas. Fifty bucks per person, tops. You must have that squirreled away in your little envelope.

  Grahame and Rhody nod at the logic.

  Colin feels his resolve withering under the heat of their expectant smiles. He can’t give up the cash destined for textbooks, but there is a fifty-dollar gift certificate to Foot Locker his father gave him at the airport. Grahame could buy that with tonight’s haul. He looks at his tennis sneakers by the door. Gaping holes in both. With duct tape and more glue they can last another month.

  Ceo says, C’mon, Q, fifty bucks is nothing for a memory that will last a lifetime.

  Colin still hesitates.

  Eyes boring into his, Ceo says, Hey, you and I, man. We need this.

  And the dorm room fills with the sound of Colin’s wall of resistance cracking, then falling to the floor. He decides he needs to go on this trip more than he needs to be left behind.

  The Ceo Effect strikes again.

  Colin says okay, okay. I’m in. But I’m not getting high, so don’t even ask.

  Ceo beams, raises his can of Dew, and toasts to the pilgrims four.

  Grahame asks, What’s the name of our epic destination?

  Ceo says, Lower Merced Pass Lake. But in honor of Grahame’s future in the army, let’s call it Operation Cannabis Cove.

  We’re parked nose-in at a Chevron in Oakhurst, facing the store windows, where Miller Lite is on sale by the case for $12.99 and the Powerball is at $256 million. Ellie headed straight for the back, disappeared through a door, and that’s where she’s been for at least two songs. She seemed in a hurry. Ceo is searching his phone for news about the fire, and Grahame has been silent since we parked. With him you never know if that is a good thing or not. I’m still spinning from Ellie’s knowledge of John Cusack and her spot-on analysis of my favorite scene from Good Will Hunting when Grahame asks Ceo if Ellie really is one of the best goalies in the country.

  Ceo says, “She got the state record for consecutive shutouts—in her sophomore year.”

  Grahame says, “Maybe she has a really good defense backing her up.”

  “Dude, she’s on the U-18 national team. She played in Barcelona in June and had a shutout against freaking Brazil.”

  “So she’s really good.”

  “Yeah. Like really freaking good.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  Grinning back at Ceo, he says, “Have you scored on her yet?”

  After a beat, “No comment.”

  “You know what I think?”

  “No comment.”

  “I think she’s got another shutout going.”

  “Still no comment.”

  Grahame smiles at me. He’s just getting warmed up.

  “So da question, sports fans,” he says, “ees will da Ceo-mon end da shutout?”

  Ceo says nothing. But I hear him breathing. Like a bull in a ring.

  Grahame looks at me, still with that smile. His teeth are huge, matching the rest of him. He says, “Q. Wanna bet Ceo tries to slip one into the goal tonight?”

  Ceo slams his fist into the back of Grahame’s seat. The impact is so hard it snaps Grahame’s body forward. Grahame laughs.

  Ceo says with his voice controlled but working hard to keep it that way, “What we do or don’t do is none of your business.”

  Grahame says, “Here’s an update, chief: it’s totally my business.”

  The only good thing about this situation is that they’re separated by a seat. Even though Grahame has Ceo by three inches and forty pounds, Ceo won’t back down. I say, “You both need to shut up and listen to Bob Freaking Marley,” and crank the volume way up. The Cherokee starts vibrating.

  Ceo leans forward between the seats and shouts, “Dud
e, what’s your fucking problem? She likes your dumb-ass reefer music.”

  Grahame shouts back, “You know what my problem is?”

  “What? That she’d kick your ass in soccer?”

  “My problem is you brought a chew toy on this trip.”

  “Why is that your problem?”

  “You said it was guys only.”

  I turn down the music. If they’re just going to shout, why bother? I glance at the store window, looking for signs of Ellie. She’s two people back in the checkout line, phone out and texting. I say, “Let’s wrap this up. We’re all here to go camping. Commune with nature. Find our inner selves. Focus on that.”

  Ceo says, “Works for me. If Mister Chew Toy is done being an ass.”

  Grahame says over his shoulder, “Have you told her about Cannabis Cove?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I haven’t.”

  “Does she even get high?”

  “I don’t know. I’m guessing probably not.”

  “She’s your girlfriend and you don’t even know if she smokes?”

  Ceo doesn’t answer. Ellie is at the register paying with cash.

  Grahame says, “Give me Rhody’s share of the weed and I’m good.”

  I say, “Here she comes. Time to put away your knives.”

  Ceo says to Grahame, “I have an update to your update. There is no weed.”

  “No weed?” Grahame hisses. “What the fuck?” This is news for me too. Good news, actually, but not for Grahame. For him it’s like he’s five years old and his father just told him Christmas is canceled because Santa got drunk with the elves and forgot where he parked his sleigh.

  It’s Ceo’s turn to smile. “Dude, floor tickets for the Lakers are not cheap.”

  Ellie stands in line for the register, grateful to be out of what could be the rankest bathroom of all time. She’s waiting behind a man in a Harley jacket with a beard the size of a horse’s tail, pondering the choice she made a minute ago and is already regretting. A thumping bass beat out the window distracts her. She turns, along with all the other heads in line, to find the source. She’s pretty sure it’s from the Cherokee because that same beat has been playing in her head ever since they left the airport. Ceo is leaning forward between the seats. He appears to be shouting, probably trying to be heard over the music. Grahame smiles at whatever Ceo is saying. Colin is turned, facing Ceo. All she sees of him is the back of his head.

  Her phone dings.

  NADIA

  Where are u?

  ELLIE

  A Chevron in Oakhurst.

  NADIA

  Hows Mr. Abs?

  I met the friends.

  And?

  All guys.

  The music stops thumping, and the line shuffles forward. Now it’s Beard Man buying six Powerballs and a tin of Skoal. She wonders if she should tell Nadia about her decision.

  Yikes! Are you ok?

  One likes JC and plays soccer.

  NADIA

  Your twin lives! Does he know Newton?

  ELLIE

  TBD. Gotta go.

  It’s her turn to pay. She puts her purchases in a neat little pile on the counter: an emergency two-pack of Kotex lights and dental floss. And a box of condoms. She was walking past the display, stopped, thought for a moment, then did what she never does—made a spontaneous decision of significant import without weighing all the variables, X, Y, and C for Ceo. Never having bought this product before, she grabbed the box with the most wilderness-sounding name, Trojan Bareskin, and went with that. She thought about consulting with the ultimate resource, Nadia, but chose to not go there. She’s pretty sure Beard Man would have been happy to share his thoughts on the subject as well.

  The clerk, a kind gray-haired man with weary eyes, rings up the Kotex, then the floss. Just as he’s reaching for the condoms, Ellie tucks the box behind a display of Hostess cupcakes. She replaces them with a box of cinnamon Tic Tacs.

  The old guy says, “They don’t do the same thing.”

  Ellie says, “I know.”

  He looks out the window at the Cherokee, then blinks his weary eyes at her.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  The woman behind her coughs.

  “That’ll be five seventy-five,” the old guy says, and gives her change for a ten. “Would you like a bag for these items?” he asks.

  “No, thanks,” Ellie says, “I have pockets.” She exits the store and heads for the Cherokee, which is roaring to life, feeling those weary eyes on her back all the way to the car.

  Ellie opens the door and climbs in. We smile at her like monkeys in a banana tree. If she bought something, I don’t see it.

  Grahame says as he’s backing out, “Ellie, did you buy any gum?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Ceo needs a chew toy.”

  “What does that mean?” Her seat belt clips in.

  “Just ignore him,” Ceo says. “Were you successful?”

  “I was.” She shows him a pack of Tic Tacs. “Want one? They’re cinnamon.”

  After the Oakhurst stop the conversations align geographically, with Ceo and Ellie talking quietly in the back. I hear her laugh a couple of times, so Ceo must be working his magic. The smell of cinnamon Tic Tacs fills the air. Meanwhile I’m up front drilling Grahame with questions from the ASVAB practice site. That ends abruptly when his Samsung drops the signal and my crappy phone is not an option, with my battery indicator flashing red.

  Every few minutes Ceo emerges from his conversation with Ellie to ask Grahame to please oh please stop playing Bob Freaking Marley. He seriously doesn’t want that music in his head when he’s hiking up the trail. Grahame finally complies by punching up the sound track to Game of Thrones. It’s an improvement, but not without a cost. Grahame descends into silent mode. Since I don’t want to eavesdrop on the backseat dialogue, I watch big, ancient trees flash past my window and contemplate the recent chain of events that led to me occupying this seat on this day. I start at last Saturday’s poker game and work my way back from there. It was this very same song that was playing in the background when Ceo pitched the pilgrimage to Cannabis Cove.

  I work my way farther back, landing on the day I arrived in LA from Vermont, blinking at the palm trees and worried about the scope of my decision. That transferring out of my high school and away from my friends to a school for the über rich that would put my family into eons of debt, even with my scholarship, was a burden so heavy I was surprised the plane was able to take off. Coach sent Ceo to pick me up, and we’ve been oddly paired friends ever since. So when Ceo whispered those words at the poker game, the only real option I had was to swallow what was left of my pride and agree. Yeah, I pretty much caved.

  So here I am, in this seat, watching the scenery flow by.

  Then Grahame, out of the blue, asks me what I’m doing for Thanksgiving.

  I tell him, “I’m not sure. Why?”

  “We always have a huge dinner at our house. Dad has one of the casinos cater it, Mom hires a pastry chef to make these amazing pies. There’s always way more food than mouths to eat it. And this year my brother has a game against Denver. Dad had a theater built in the basement just to watch him play.”

  “Sounds like a good time,” I say, not even able to imagine what a Thanksgiving like that would look like.

  “So, anyway, what I’m thinking is if you’re not doing anything, I can ditch my plane ticket and we can drive to Vegas in the Cherokee.”

  I notice that the conversation in the backseat has stopped. I wonder if that’s because Ceo made me the same offer, but at their house in Big Sur. I said no because I was planning on going home to Vermont to have dinner with my mom. It would be her first Thanksgiving without Dad, and I didn’t want her to eat alone. But my financial situation has changed now that my scholarship is a smoldering ash heap. I canceled my flight, took the partial refund, and hoped to pick up hours at work while I still
have a job.

  Knowing that Ceo is listening, I say, “Sounds like fun. But I need to be back for work on Sunday.”

  Grahame says, “Cool. I’ll tell Mom we’ll have a Vermonter coming for dinner. She’ll freak.”

  More silence from the backseat. We pass a sign announcing that Yosemite is six miles away.

  Ellie breaks the backseat silence by saying she has a question for me, if that’s okay.

  I say, “Sure. What is it?”

  “I’m wondering why, out of all the great quotes by John Cusack, you picked that specific quote?”

  Ceo says, “Shit. You mean there’s more than one?”

  I look over my shoulder at her, needing to know if she’s serious or if she’s just joking around, in which case I will avoid the truth and make something up. She’s leaning forward against her seat belt, eyes straight ahead and focused. She has the kind of eyes that know which way a foot is going to kick a ball before the laces hit the leather. I have this feeling that if my answer is remotely untrue, she will call me out on it, or worse, apologize for asking.

  I say, “It’s a compass quote.”

  Ceo says, “Remind me again. What was this amazing Cusack quote?”

  Ellie says, “‘To hang on to sanity too long is insane.’ Here, suck on this.” I hear the Tic Tacs shake. Then she grabs the back of my seat. “So tell me, Colin. What is a compass quote?”

  “You sure you want to hear this?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “All right. My father collected old compasses. He had over two hundred of them, some dating back to the days of Ethan Allen and Fort Ticonderoga. He kept them in a felt-lined wooden box in the basement. In that same box was a folded sheet of paper with twenty handwritten quotes by people ranging from Ben Franklin to Maya Angelou and Steve Jobs. I asked him why he kept those quotes in the box with the compasses. He said good quotes and good compasses do the same thing. They help you find your way through the woods when you’re lost. He called them compass quotes. So back to your question, that Cusack quote helped me find my way.”

  “To California?” she asked.