My Three Husbands

by Swan Adamson

  “Did the sprinklers go off because of the candles?” I asked.

  “Probably. The smoke detector wasn’t properly calibrated.”

  “Could have been worse, Daddy.”

  “I’m not so sure,” he sighed. “Of course they want to blame me, but it’s the manufacturer who’s at fault. And the installer.” He scratched his jaw, fingernails rasping on the stubble, then nervously turned back to his model, like a bird protecting its nest. “Everyone demands heightened security systems. But if they don’t know how to properly install or operate them, what good are they?”

  “It was an adventure, Daddy. Nobody got hurt. It’ll give them something to talk about.”

  “That’s what the management’s worried about.” He spied a smudge on the Plexiglas covering his model and rubbed it with his shirt sleeve.

  It was one of the few times in my life that I’d seen him unshaven, his face covered with the dark sexy shadow of a beard. He hadn’t been to bed at all, he said. After the “sprinkler event,” Geof Killingsworth asked Daddy if he’d accompany him on a complete inspection of the hotel to make sure there was no additional water damage. Then Daddy had voluntarily helped to coordinate the cleanup effort. He wanted to make sure that the staff didn’t use any abrasive solvents or tools that might damage the fresh new surfaces of his building. Daddy couldn’t bear it when people moved into his buildings and didn’t take care of them properly.

  Now, at 5:30 A.M., he was waiting for Geof Killingsworth again. This time Geof needed his help to deactivate the computerized smoke alarm and sprinkler systems. Lumina International, the company that owned and managed Pine Mountain Lodge, didn’t want to risk any more unpleasant surprises that might make their rich and famous guests bolt and spread horror stories to the media. From a public relations standpoint, this gala opening was crucial. So the highest-ups had decided to switch off the fire systems until they could get the installer back to recalibrate.

  “It hasn’t been much of a honeymoon for you,” I said sympathetically, clasping Daddy around the waist from behind, the way I used to when I was a little girl and wanted to keep him from going off to work.

  “Things happen,” he said, stroking my cold hands. His hands were big and warm and calming. “Whitman understands.”

  I put my cheek against his back, like a papoose. “I wish I did.”

  “What?” He stroked my arms.

  “Understand.”

  “Understand what, baby?”

  “Why things happen the way they do.” It was puzzling to me. “I mean, do we make things happen to ourselves? Or do they just happen, and there’s nothing we can do about it?”

  “Both,” Daddy said.

  “So how’s a person supposed to know what to do?” I asked.

  “Depends on the person and the situation,” he answered.

  “Okay, let’s say someone’s missing. Maybe. You aren’t sure. I mean they could be missing, or they could just be pissed off at you and staying away.”

  “Who is it?” Daddy asked. “Child, lover, husband, parent, who?”

  “Let’s say husband.”

  “Tremaynne?”

  I pulled away from him, trying to hide a sudden squall of weepiness. “Let’s say my husband is missing. Maybe. Let’s say I can’t be sure.”

  Daddy smiled and took me in his arms again. His breath smelled of coffee. “You’d have to be a pretty careless wife to lose your husband on your honeymoon.”

  It came out before I could stop it. “That’s when Mom lost you, wasn’t it?”

  Daddy let go of me and stepped back with a cool, disapproving look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, you didn’t want to have sex with her, did you?”

  “Yes,” he said, “I did.”

  “But you didn’t. Or couldn’t.”

  He frowned at me.

  “So that’s when she knew she’d lost you. Women know when they’re not wanted.”

  “Venus,” Daddy said, “what’s this about? Whatever it is, it’s not about your mother and me.”

  I turned away and sucked in a ragged breath as my eyes filled with tears. I could barely choke out the words, but it was a question that I really needed to ask. “How do you know when someone loves you? How do you know that?”

  My sudden burst of weepy emotion drew a look of bewildered concern. “I suppose you can tell from the way a person behaves toward you,” Daddy offered.

  I sniffed and cleared my throat.

  “Venus?” He lifted my chin and made me look at him. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong? You haven’t looked happy once on this trip.”

  I wanted to tell him. Oh man, I wanted to scream out my frustration and doubts and worries. But I couldn’t bear to admit, even to myself, that I was a loser in the sweepstakes of love. I wanted my life to be fun and glamorously romantic, the way Daddy’s life was with Whitman. And what was it, so far, my life? One big messy mistake after another.

  “Sorry, Daddy. It’s nothing.” I blew out a deep Buddha breath, the way Whitman had taught me years ago when I was painfully constipated and needed enemas all the time. “I’m just really tired.”

  Daddy kissed me again, this time on the lips. “This is your honeymoon, baby. It’s supposed to be fun. Unforgettable.”

  I nodded. “Well, so far it’s been pretty unforgettable.”

  Daddy suddenly looked amused, like he was keeping a funny secret to himself. “What do you think of Geof Killingsworth?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Really handsome and really tight-assed. Why?”

  Daddy looked at me, then away, like he was embarrassed. “He made a pass at me.”

  “Oh my god. When?”

  Daddy didn’t seem to hear me. “I was stunned. No one’s made a pass at me in twenty years.”

  His naïveté was mind-boggling. “Daddy, people make passes at you all the time. Men and women. You just don’t see them. It doesn’t register. Because you’re always so tuned in to Whitman.”

  “This one registered,” he said.

  “Well? What happened?”

  “Swear you won’t tell Whitman Whittlesley the Fourth?”

  I raised my hand for the solemn oath. “I swear.”

  Daddy thrust his hands in his pockets and began to jingle his change. “Well, we were going around the building and suddenly he just stopped. We were standing in a hallway. Right about here.” He tapped on the Plexiglas, above a wing of the lodge. “He just stopped and turned around to face me. And he said, ‘John Gilroy, you are the hottest man I’ve ever known. I’d do anything to have a lover like you.’”

  “Wow.” My pulse was racing. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. I was too embarrassed.”

  “So what happened?”

  Daddy scratched his chin again. “Well, I just sort of nodded and said thanks. And he nodded and we started off again.”

  “And now you’re going off with him again?” I couldn’t help thinking that maybe Daddy was secretly attracted to Geof Killingsworth. If he was, it was the first time his attention had ever strayed from Whitman—at least that I knew about. Maybe the dads weren’t as happy as they seemed.

  “John?”

  We both turned. There was Geof Killingsworth hurrying down Daddy’s signature staircase. He was graceful as a dancer and carried what looked like a thick manual.

  My presence hardly registered with the manager of Pine Mountain Lodge. He couldn’t peel his eyes away from Daddy. “I think between us we can figure out how to disengage the system,” he said.

  “We can give it a try,” Daddy agreed.

  “I really appreciate all your time, John. There’s no one else around who’s smart enough to help me with all this.”

  Daddy thrust his hands back into his pockets and jingled some more change, rocking back and forth on his heels. “You don’t want the system turned off for more than a day or two,” he said. “In case there’s a real fire.”

  “I know,” Geof said. �
��But we can’t afford to have another sprinkler event.” He turned to me with a big disarming smile. “You’re not going to write about that in Travel, are you?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s the sort of glitch that can happen with any new computerized security system.” Geof Killingsworth looked at my dad again. “Okay, John, should we go?”

  Daddy nodded and the two of them hurried off, heads together, discussing the sprinkler system.

  Or were they?

  When I got back to my suite I fell onto the bed and wept until my eyes burned. But crying didn’t provide any relief.

  I had to do something.

  But what?

  I couldn’t just sit back and passively wait for Tremaynne’s return. I had to get across that goddamned river and find him. Without letting the dads or anyone else know what I was doing.

  I had to let him know that I loved him. That I wanted him back. That I’d do whatever he wanted.

  So how?

  That cold, swift river scared me.

  And so did the realization that my brand-new husband, still under warranty, had up and left me without so much as a word of explanation.

  I hated him for that.

  Between bouts of sobbing I looked up and saw that the telephone message light was blinking. My heart leapt. Then crashed when I didn’t hear Tremaynne’s voice.

  “Venus, this is Whitman. I don’t want to disturb you so I’m leaving this message without having the phone ring. Listen, I think you’ve still got my cell phone. I gave it to you yesterday when we were driving here. In Hell’s Canyon. At least that’s what I remember. Anyway, sweetheart, I can’t find it anywhere and I’ve got a lot of important numbers and things programmed into it. So please be a darling and bring it over to our room when you’re up and about. Just leave it on top of my briefcase if I’m not here. Looks like both your dads are going to be busy all day. But sometime later this afternoon we’re going to sneak away and try to find that secret hot springs my source told me about. We’ll need the four-wheel drive, so leave the keys on my briefcase with the cell phone. Okay, darling, that’s it. Bye-bye. I hope you’re enjoying your honeymoon. Everything’s free, so take advantage of all the spa services.”

  Whitman’s cell phone. I ransacked my purse and luggage to make sure it wasn’t there. Then I sat on the edge of the bed, panting and chewing my lips.

  I’d given the phone to Tremaynne. He’d made that first call on it. He’d never given it back to me. He still had it.

  I picked up the room phone and dialed Whitman’s cell number.

  It rang four times, then I got a message that the call was being forwarded to a voice messaging system. Whitman’s voice came on, asking callers to leave a message. I hung up. Then redialed. Again it rang four times before clicking over to the message.

  I did this for an hour. I figured if Tremaynne had the phone he’d eventually answer it. If your cell phone rang steadily for an hour wouldn’t you assume someone needed to talk to you really bad?

  But maybe Tremaynne didn’t have the phone. Maybe he’d lost it or someone had stolen it or he’d turned it off. It was my responsibility to find out. Otherwise, Whitman might find himself with a ten-thousand dollar phone bill and it would be my fault because I was the one who handed the phone over to Tremaynne in the first place.

  Finally it happened. Someone answered.

  But nothing was said.

  I thought I could hear birds chirping and maybe a distant voice on the other end.

  My heart started to hammer. I walked out to the balcony. “Tremaynne? Can you hear me? It’s Venus.”

  “Yeah,” he finally whispered. His voice sounded frightened.

  “Where are you?”

  “Hot springs.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “Can’t. Big fuck-up.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “Can’t talk!” he hissed.

  “Are you hurt?” Silence. “Tremaynne, are you hurt? What’s the matter?”

  “Don’t tell anyone where I am.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Silence.

  “I’m coming to get you,” I said.

  “Hurry!” he said.

  The phone went dead.

  I didn’t have any practical outdoor clothes with me. The lodge boutique sold expensive “casual wear,” but I didn’t have enough cash to buy anything and all my credit cards had been revoked. Besides, the boutique didn’t open until ten o’clock.

  I called the switchboard and asked to be connected to Marielle and Fokke Van der Zout. I prayed Marielle would answer.

  She did, but obviously I awakened her from a deep sleep. It took her a moment to register who I was and what I wanted. She told me the room number and said, “Come over.”

  I had a quick morning wake-up smoke out on the balcony, tossed the butt into the hot tub, and moved into action. I was completely focused on what I had to do. There was no time for hesitation or procrastination.

  Tremaynne was in danger. I was sure of it.

  I had to rescue him.

  As I hurried down the corridors, the lodge was coming to life. A hand reached out from one of the rooms and snatched up the New York Times lying in front of the door. Room service was busy delivering breakfast. Service carts laden with fresh sheets and towels and rolls of toilet paper appeared in the hallways.

  Marielle opened the door. I almost gasped when I saw her. I had no idea how much work went into how she looked.

  She’d pulled on a long purple silk kimono. Above it, her scrubbed face looked as shiny as a waxed apple. Her skin was blotchy, her eyes puffy, and she didn’t seem to have any eyelashes. She fussed self-consciously with her stiff tufts of hair, trying to smooth them down. “Come in, Venus,” she murmured politely, still half-asleep, unable to stifle a yawn.

  “Marielle! Call down for some coffee!” Fokke shouted from the bedroom. He stared at me as I entered, looking me up and down. He was sitting in bed, naked, with the sheet pulled up to his waist, pointing a remote wand at the television. He looked like a chubby little boy with soft hairy tits. “Been up all night, party girl?”

  I nodded.

  “Marielle,” he called again, turning back to CNN, “did you hear me?”

  “Ya, I heard you,” she grumbled. “I have to pee first.”

  “Call down for some coffee. And rolls. While you’re pissing. See if they have those fig and anise rolls. And some good Gouda cheese.”

  Marielle obeyed. It was the first time I heard someone peeing and ordering breakfast at the same time. While she was on the phone, I stood as still as a statue, surveying their hotel living habits. The room was messy. Wineglasses and an empty bottle. Plates with orange peels and banana skins. Newspapers, magazines, and thick hardcover books scattered about. Towels thrown outside next to the hot tub. Fokke’s laptop open, with a stack of documents beside it.

  But the bed had a warm, mussed, slept-in look that made my heart ache.

  “No fig and anise rolls,” Marielle reported from the bathroom. “How about spelt and raisin?”

  “Ya, okay.” Fokke’s attention was riveted on a news story about a group of anarchists clashing with police at some economic conference in Brussels. He laughed excitedly and shook his head in disbelief. “Idiots! How can anyone be an anarchist in this day and age?” He shot me a glance and shifted on the bed so that the sheet fell down to just above his dick. “Tell me, Venus. What kind of world would it be if anarchists were in charge? Hey? Hey?”

  “I hate politics,” I said.

  “I’ll tell you what kind of world,” he said. “One no one wants to live in! Ya! Because if everyting’s anarchy, dere-dere-dere’s no system but a non-system. And people need systems to live by. Hey?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Your generation just wants to have a good party, right? Make love and have orgasms all over the place.”

  “Yeah, that’s all we want.”

  The toilet f
lushed and the bathroom door opened. Marielle motioned me in. Through another door, which she had to unlock with her room card, there was a large, private dressing room. The first thing I saw was her yellow diamonds, laid out in a long box with a black velvet lining.

  Marielle yawned again. “Ya. So. What do you need? You can have anything except my diamonds.”

  Funny how you never really know what you’re capable of, or who your friends are, until there’s a crisis.

  Marielle, it turned out, was a friend.

  Wearing her blue jeans, a little tight in the rump and thighs, and her wilderness hiking boots, about a size too large, and a thick knitted wool sweater, shaped to her ample breasts, and an all-weather jacket, I clomped down to the reception desk.

  “Good morning!” It was Mike, the same red-haired desk clerk who’d checked us in. His smile looked completely fake. “How can I help you this morning?”

  “I’m told you sell maps down here. Really detailed maps that show logging roads and hiking trails and stuff like that.”

  He pulled a map out and said, “Eight ninety-five. It’s the most detailed map you’ll find.”

  I smiled and moved closer. “I’m not very good at reading maps. I wonder if you could help me with it.”

  “I can try,” he said, trying not to stare at my tits.

  “Someone told me there’s a wonderful hot springs. Somewhere out in the woods.”

  “Devil’s Spring?”

  “Yeah, I think that’s it. Sort of a secret place.”

  Mike looked down at the map. “Lumina International says we’re not supposed to give directions to Devil’s Spring. Forest Service, too. People have gotten lost trying to find it.”

  “Okay,” I said calmly. “I understand. But just tell me, is Devil’s Spring marked on this map?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  I laughed, trying to put him at his ease and turn him on. It was awfully early in the morning to be seducing someone, but I had a job to do.

  “Ma’am?” I said, leaning closer to him over the counter. “Come on, Mike. Do I really look like a ma’am?”