Use Somebody

by Beck Anderson

  “We’re pushing 20,000 c.f.s. This is no kiddie pond, gentlemen.” Macy isn’t wearing waders today. She approaches us with several rods in hand.

  Todd takes a step toward her, offers to carry the gear. I hate him. “C.f.s?”

  She hands him one rod. “Cubic feet per second. I told you Palisades Dam was going to do a release. Pretty high water.”

  Andy takes the rest of the gear from her. “So drift boats today? Where do we put in?”

  I’m not crazy about boats. “Boats?”

  “Since there are four of you, we’ll go two and two. Evan will man one, and I’ll handle the second. You’ll like it—it’s an easier day, and we’ll get more strikes, maybe even land more trout.” A worried look flits across her face for a second. Maybe she thinks one of us is going to make a stink.

  No way in hell am I going to be her pain-in-the-ass customer. “Sounds like it’ll be epic.”

  Her face relaxes a bit. “It’s safer, too. Evan’s with the van—we’ll put in upstream a couple miles.”

  We follow her to the van in the parking lot, and I fall back to Andy.

  He looks at me, smiles. “We’ll get you in that boat with her. I give you my word as a man.”

  “Just saying that proves you’re an actor. Pretty sure that’s the weakest promise I’ve ever heard.”

  “Pretty sure I said that in Redcoats Rising. Damn, I loved that script. The speech-making, the battles—”

  “The scenery-chewing.” I smile and size up Tucker and Todd. Tucker’ll get it, and I won’t even have to say anything to him. Todd? He’s a dumb ass, and if he gets wind of what I want, he’ll be sure the opposite happens. “Play it cool, Andy. I don’t want her to think I’m desperate to be in her boat.”

  “I thought you were desperate to be in something else of hers.” He laughs. “Ha! I’m good.”

  “No, you’re not.” I leave his side and take a couple casual strides to put myself directly behind Macy as she approaches the van.

  She turns to see me and smiles. It seems like she’s pleased to see me. I hope she’s pleased to have me with her, in close proximity, for the entire day. I’m salivating at the thought.

  “You’re in my boat today, Mr. King,” she says.

  Damn, that was easy. I nod and go to introduce myself to Evan, the other guide. I can be friendly now that I know I don’t have to hang out with him for the day.

  “And you, too, Mr. Ford,” Macy says.

  Todd smiles. “Excellent.”

  Seriously? Is he going to try to edge in on Macy? Maybe he needs more than a good punch in the mouth. Flows are high—maybe a nice, hearty shove overboard would do the trick.

  We all climb in the van and set out on the road, headed upstream.

  Evan the other guy (seriously, my investment in him will not go much farther than this) explains that he and Macy will be the oarsmen on each of the boats. Our jobs are to not fall out of the boats and not put a fish hook into anybody on a cast.

  I pay attention. I want to just watch the back of Macy’s neck and think about nibbling it, but I want to look competent more than I want to fantasize right now.

  Since college, I’ve worked hard to earn my place as an alpha, and I’ll be damned if I’m not the alpha in that drift boat with Macy. Todd’s sensitive musician thing might draw some women in, but I’ll wager that if Macy’s had it tough, she likes a man who knows who he is. Someone self-assured. Evan the other guy might tell me something useful, and I want to be useful.

  Soon enough we pull into a dusty turn-out from the highway and park. The river rushes by us, high and angry-looking. The sun is hot in the bright blue sky. The guides are out of the van quickly, leaving us civilians to unload at a more leisurely pace.

  Andy gives me an elbow. “You almost look like you’re enjoying the day.”

  Tucker joins in. “This is the color the sky is supposed to be, Jeremy. Crazy, huh?”

  “I don’t know why everyone seems to think I’ve never left LA. I travel. I’ve been to the Maldives, let me remind you. I’m not an idiot.”

  Macy’s down by the river. She waves the group over to the shore. “Time to put in. Mr. Pettigrew and Mr. Caldwell, you’re first.”

  Evan and drift boat number one wait at the river’s edge. Tucker and Andy spring into the boat and push off into the current. They make everything look easy. Damn them.

  Todd looks at me, and I ignore him. I’m going to ghost him as much as I can. I exist; he does not. This is the plan for the day in the boat. I walk over to Macy. “Where’d the boats come from?”

  Macy shakes her head. “They appeared on the river at your summoning, Mr. King.”

  “That’s quite the salty tongue, Miss Summerlin.” I consider giving her a nudge, but she’s not really given me the “touch me” signal, and the last time I got too close, I got a split lip, so I keep my distance.

  She looks like she’s reconsidered the sass. “Kevin and Kramer came up with the trailers earlier. As soon as we got up this morning, I knew we were on the boats today.”

  “Kevin and Kramer?” I think about the river guide crew. I haven’t sized all of them up. Is one of them a boyfriend?

  She points to a truck and trailer rig, and I notice two guys sitting on the tail gate, killing time until we leave, apparently. With my eyes on Macy, I’ve been missing lots of other details of my surroundings.

  I give them a little nod. One of them has a ridiculous beard and the other is freckly and beanpole-thin. I don’t peg either them as competition. I’m not contending with them for Macy, I wager.

  “Ladies first?” Todd offers Macy a hand.

  “Guests in the boat first, but thanks.” Macy holds the prow of the boat, steadying it against the insistent river current.

  Todd shrugs and climbs in. He’s not as agile as Andy and Tucker, but he manages.

  I follow quickly and size up the seating arrangements. Macy’ll be in between the two of us. I take the seat at the stern. I’d rather not have Todd behind me. I’ll have a better handle on the situation, and maybe Macy won’t be able to see me as well, but I can watch her.

  She proves me wrong quickly. As she pushes the boat into the river and climbs aboard, she takes her position at the oars. She faces me and smiles, digs into the current and pulls the boat into the middle of the river with a nice backstroke. “Mr. King.”

  I watch her face, and the muscles in her shoulders under her t-shirt as she pulls the boat along under her power. “Nice view.”

  She actually ducks her head a bit. I like that. I think I made her shy, just for a split second.

  Then she’s back to business. “We’re going to ride out the current for just a bit, but around this bend, the river opens up wide and it’ll slow quite a bit. Then we’ll do some side drifting and you all can get down to catching fish.”

  She points to her dry bag. “Mr. King, if you’d be so good as to dig in there for the fly boxes for today.”

  I do as I’m told and pull two boxes out. I hand one to her.

  She nods. “You gents will be using wet flies today. Nymphs.”

  As much as I’ve tried to ignore Todd, there he is in the front of the boat, and damn it if he doesn’t speak up. “Why wet?” Macy hands him the other box of flies. He still hasn’t caught the clue about his invisibility, I guess.

  She turns a bit, speaks to him over her shoulder as she continues to pull us through the current. “Sunken flies in high water. That’s what the trout want today.”

  I pop open mine and work to be the first one ready to cast when we clear the bend.

  Soon enough, the current slows, just like Macy said it would. We come to a wide, brown belt of water, and Macy’s insistent rowing slows, narrowed to small, sculling movements that turn the boat and keep us in essentially one place.

  I’m eager. I don’t really care about the fishing. I do care about winning. “Are we all systems go?”

  Macy sweeps a hand over the expanse of river in front of us. “It’s a
ll yours. Make sure you’re steady on your feet and have at it.”

  I’m up and get the first cast out. My overhead cast sucks, really, but I don’t put a hook in the ear of the guide I’m trying to impress, and my fly lands on the water and sinks just so.

  “That was nice.” Macy keeps scanning the river, upstream and down, adjusting our position with her work on the oars. I feel guilty. She’s working. Really hard. Just so some rich jackass like me can be amused.

  But then, then, she smiles. She closes her eyes and lifts her chin, lets the sun illuminate her smile, her cheekbones, play in the loose tendrils of hair around her ball cap.

  And Todd calls out. “Hey! It’s a strike! A fish, a fish!”

  Damn him.

  Macy pops to attention, swivels her chin to the prow of the boat. “You got him? Is he still on the line?”

  In response to her question, Todd’s rod bows under the weight of the sizable fish who’d rather not be hooked. “It’s pulling hard!”

  She maneuvers to give him the broad side of the boat. “Let him run, don’t fight him now.”

  Todd lets the line run out through the guides of the rod.

  “Okay, pull him in a bit, pull your rod to the side just a bit.”

  I watch her shoulders as she rows, steady and sure, keeping Todd and the trout in line with one another. I feel a sharp stab of jealousy.

  “Mr. King, I think we’re just about ready for the net.” She tosses her head in the direction of the landing net stowed near Todd’s spot.

  I set my rod in its place and step carefully to Macy. She relaxes, lets the oars loose, and waves me by her. “After you.”

  I slip by her, close enough to brush her. I swear I feel sparks.

  I can see the trout’s spine arch in the sunlight, twisting and writhing against the hook set in its jaw. I reach for the net and come to the side of the boat, in between Todd and Macy.

  “When the fish’s within reach, gently net it. Then I’ll help to get it in the boat.”

  Todd’s still working line through his fingers and reel. “I’m ready for a little back up. This is exhausting.”

  I lean over and sweep the net low, catching the fighting fish.

  Macy’s right there, and I can smell her, feel her at my side. “That’s right, just a big scoop. The net won’t hurt him.”

  I lean back and the net and fish come up and into the boat much faster than I expect. I’m off balance, and put a hand out, looking for something to brace against. It’s Todd, and he’s not prepared to be the brace. So, instead of having something to right myself against, I’ve given my fishing mate a nice hearty shove.

  Net, fish, Todd, fly rod, and almost me, all go loose in the bottom of the boat.

  “Hey! Watch out, man! Jesus!” He’s ass over tea kettle, and the fish leaps around the boat.

  Macy scoops the net and fish up and gets all of it over the side of the boat in a swift, graceful motion. “Nothing to worry about. The fish can still pose pretty for its close-up.”

  But Todd and I aren’t paying attention to the catch anymore. Todd’s up off the bottom of the boat. “Dude. Next time you want to push me overboard give me a little notice.”

  Now I’m pissed. If I fumble something, give me room to save face. Don’t call me out. I stand tall and take advantage of the maybe half inch I have over him. “If I wanted you overboard, you’d be overboard. I don’t need your snarky bullshit.” I lean into his face, gritting my teeth. I can feel the hot flush of embarrassment on my cheeks.

  He backs down immediately, shuffles back a step. “God, Jeremy! It’s not a pissing match. I know you didn’t mean it.”

  Macy turns to us and stands up. “The fish is gone. Accidents happen, Mr. King. Sit down!”

  I look at her face and immediately realize my mistake. Macy clearly does not appreciate my temper.

  I curse under my breath and sit back at the stern. This is a royal fuck-up. She pointedly turns her position and rows with her back to me.

  Todd knows me well enough to not poke an embarrassed and pissed-off bear. We spend a good two hours fishing in silence. And thank God neither Todd nor I land another trout so we can stay in the corners we’ve been put in by Macy.

  It’s painful. I want to apologize. I really do.

  Listen, looking stupid in front of other people, I know I don’t do it well. Call it my Achilles’ heel.

  The sun gets really hot, and the fish go to the deep, cool bottom, uninterested in taking any of our flies, sunken or not. We drift on the current, casting in silence. I can make out Andy and Tucker’s boat ahead of us. Thankfully I don’t think they were anywhere near us when we just about capsized. I can see the lodge and breathe a little easier. The sooner I can escape to my room and pretend like nothing happened, the better.

  Macy edges the drift boat gracefully to the take out, where Kevin and Kramer stand in wait.

  The beanpole speaks first. “How was it?”

  Todd’s out of the boat and out of my reach when he answers. “Clumsy?” He looks at me, teasing.

  I could let it go. I could laugh it off.

  Unfortunately, I’m Jeremy King. Tucker may have been right. I don’t find much funny. “Fuck off, Todd.” I sit back and let him get up the bank before I climb on to shore.

  Kevin and Kramer wrangle the boat as I take the rods out of the boat and make my way up to the lodge. I ignore Todd and drop the rods with the other gear that the guides have collected from the boats.

  It’s not one of my finest moments.

  “Mr. King? Can I talk to you for a minute?” It’s Macy. She’s behind me, but I don’t turn around.

  My wish here is that I can just escape to my room and cool off and hope that everyone else forgets that I was an ass. I keep walking.

  She doesn’t call my name again.

  I make my way around our house and get up the steps. As I cross the threshold, I notice that Macy and Todd have come around to the front of the lodge, too. He walks close to her, elbows almost touching.

  No way he’s going to make a move on her now. No way.

  They talk for a moment, out of my earshot. Then he gives her a wave and strolls off to the main building. He looks pleased with himself.

  Macy turns on her heels.

  I should let her go.

  I don’t.

  “Hey!” I step out on our front porch.

  She looks at me, comes to the bottom of the steps. “What?”

  “Just ‘what’? Is that the way you talk to the guests?” As soon as I say it, I know it sounds horrible. God, I’m an ass.

  Her lips are pressed tightly together, and I suppose if I were a more thoughtful or observant man, I’d notice that people do this when they’re trying not to scream at me. “Mr. King, I’ll treat you like a guest when you behave like one.”

  “I was going to apologize to you. I’m sorry. I was embarrassed. I do stupid things sometimes. I wanted to impress you. I didn’t like looking bad in front of you.”

  Now I’ve done it. She climbs the steps, and I’m pretty sure I can see the steam coming from her ears. When she’s eye to eye with me, she speaks to me again. It’s in a deathly quiet voice. That’s a bad sign with women. “Oh, do not put this on me. You totally and completely own that dick behavior. Don’t say you were acting that way to ‘impress me.’ That’s not my fault at all. No, no, no. Nuh-uh.” She shakes her head so vigorously, I wait for her neck to seize up.

  “Nuh-uh? Are you two? A toddler?”

  She grits her teeth. “Let me put this more plainly. No. Heck no. Naw. No way.”

  “Fine, you can stop now. I get the point.”

  Now she puts a hand up, as though she’s considering pushing me, thinking about giving me a hearty shove, maybe. “No one—” she takes a breath, and I think she’s trying to calm herself— “no one tells me to shut up.” She turns around and takes five steps down the stairs. Then stops and turns back to me, and all of a sudden she’s up in my face, so close I can feel her
breath and almost taste the peppermint Chapstick on those plush lips of hers.

  I try to hold my ground. “I didn’t say ‘shut up,’ I said ‘stop.’” Now I’m the one who sounds like a toddler.

  “You. I swear, you—” She can’t get the words out.

  “You have something else to say to me?” I’ve never gotten in a fight with a girl, but that’s almost what this feels like. Either we’re going to throw down or have really intense sex.

  I’m not dumb. She wants to kick my ass.

  She narrows her eyes to slits. “Self-deprecating.”

  I take a step back. “What?”

  “That’s what sucks the most about you. You wouldn’t even begin to know what that word means.” She kicks at the doorjamb. “God! Why, why do some men have absolutely no sense of humor when it comes to themselves?”

  I stuff my hands into my jeans pockets in the hopes that I look less arrogant, or stupid, or whatever it is that’s pissing her off so badly. It’s time to suck it up. “Now what are we talking about?”

  “You have no sense of humor about you. I bet you’ve gotten in fights over shirts.”

  I have. A pink shirt I wore in college. Actually it had pink under the white collar; the body of the shirt was poplin blue. It was a Brooks Brothers, one of the first really nice pieces of clothes I ever could afford on my own. Some douche at a soccer house party said it was a Ken doll costume, and I chipped his tooth in reply. “So?”

  “I want a guy who can laugh at himself. I do not want some guy hopped up on testosterone who’s worried about being the biggest, baddest guy in the room. I’m so sick of alpha males I could spit.”

  “So you want a sensitive guy. Until you want someone to tear off your clothes and be an animal in bed; fight for your honor. You’re so predictable.”

  She spits. Seriously, she’s so mad she’s spitting. “I call your bullshit. Men like you build up tons of walls because you’re terrified. Well, I hope you drown and rot. Leave me alone.”

  She turns around this time for real and charges off.

  I stand at the top of the stairs and watch her for a moment.

  That went well.

  I walk around the house for a minute and reflect.