Cold Storage, Alaska

by John Straley

  “But …” Clive sat down and cracked one of the fifteen-inch crab legs against the corner of the table. “… to answer your question, I only think that I’m a Reggie. In fact, I am much more a Jughead but with some of Dilton Doily’s intelligence.”

  “And your brother?” Tina leaned back and crossed her arms.

  “My brother wants the world to think he’s an Archie, when in fact he’s really Mr. Weatherbee.”

  “Mr. Weatherbee?” Miles didn’t have much fight in his voice.

  “Oh, yeah,” Clive insisted. “The B. Ever since he was a kid, he’s had that frustrated authority thing going.”

  The door opened and Nix came in, looking like she’d been skiing or sledding. Her nose was running and her face was flushed and Little Brother was following close behind her. She stopped and said to him, “I’m sorry, sweetie. You wait outside, and I’ll try and bring you something later.”

  He looked at her for a moment as if pretending not to understand. She pointed at the door and scowled at the dog. He slowly backed out, turned to jump onto a snow-covered table by the window. He circled twice and settled down, his head level with the bottom of the glass, his sad eyes scanning the inside of the café.

  Nix walked through the steamy clatter, pulling off her stocking cap and unwinding the long scarf around her throat. Clive jumped up and waved Nix over.

  “Whew, it smells good in here. I’m hungry.” She sat down opposite Tina and slipped the parka off her shoulders but awkwardly kept her arms in the sleeves. Clive smiled, offered to buy her breakfast, and she was about to go over to the buffet when Tina reached over and grabbed her arm.

  “Don’t you think I’m a Betty?” she pleaded.

  “You mean like Betty Rubble in the Flintstones?”

  “Oh, Christ.” Tina put her head in her hands and almost started sobbing. Outside, Little Brother lifted his head and squinted to see what was going on.

  “That could be it,” Clive exclaimed. “Betty Rubble.”

  “She’s hot.” Miles smiled as if remembering an old affair. “I always had a kind of secret thing for Betty Rubble.”

  “Me, too!” Nix put her hand on Miles’s shoulder. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. I thought I was the only one. That nice little shape, the short skin dress. Rowww.” Nix got up, ambled lazily over to the buffet table.

  “Betty Rubble was married to a dope,” Tina moaned.

  “But she was sexy as all get out,” Nix called over, “and besides, her husband was a lovable dope.”

  Meredith made Nix some scrambled eggs with crab and melted cheese on top and added some toasted English muffins to her plate. Nix poured a mug of black coffee, leaned back in the booth.

  “My husband has a crush on you,” said Tina after a while. Clive and Miles watched without moving. Meredith came running back out of the kitchen to listen.

  “I know,” Nix apologized. “I’m sorry. I haven’t done anything to encourage it. Do you believe me when I say that?”

  “I do … I think.” Tina hesitated. “But are you maybe sending him signals that give him hope?”

  Nix picked up her English muffin, bit into it, and melted cheese pulled away like a thread. Everyone in the restaurant, including the dog out front, waited while she swallowed.

  “When I think about it now,” she said, “Ed’s a definite Barney Rubble. He’s nice. He’s nice to me. But I don’t want to sleep with him, and I definitely wouldn’t want to get between him and that gorgeous Betty.” She rolled her eyes heavenward at the mention of Bedrock’s siren.

  Tina smiled. Meredith went back and got a bowl of oatmeal. Little cups on the side held yogurt, raisins, and brown sugar, and Tina looked down at it.

  “I think I’ll have the buffet,” she said. “I’m a brand-new Betty.” She sounded amazed, but Nix held the palm of her hand up and they high-fived.

  THE REST OF the band came in one by one. They stamped the snow off their feet before opening the door and blew on their bare hands once they were inside. Earl walked over to the booth, greeted them with, “They’re not out of the crab, are they?”

  They weren’t.

  Miles took his pot of tea over to the counter where Bonnie was sitting on a stool, hunched over a menu.

  “We really only look at the menu when we don’t want to talk to folks, but since you are relatively new here, I could be misinterpreting the signals,” Miles said to the side of her face.

  “Huh?” Bonnie looked up. “I’m sorry, Miles, I was just thinking.”

  He sat down. Billy billowed through the door, nodded over to Bonnie, and then walked to the back of the café.

  “Billy’s got a whole new look now.” Miles turned to watch the jeans and black tuxedo jacket, the unshaven face, and the new haircut stride over to the horn section. “It’s that half-shaven, magazine model, ‘Oops! I didn’t realize I was so sexy’ look.”

  “Tell me about it.” Bonnie didn’t look up.

  “Let me buy you breakfast.” His good mood was holding up rather well, probably would until the southerly weather blew up in a couple of days. The wind that would come and make a grey, sloppy mess of the whole town.

  “No, that’s okay, Miles.” She smiled weakly at him. “I’m just going to have some toast and coffee. I’ll save up your offer for the time I can really soak you.”

  “You look like you’re thinking about heading out of here.”

  Bonnie kept her eyes on his. “No … not really … well, I don’t know. I like this place, Miles.” She looked at the plate of toast that Meredith set in front of her as if it held some answers. “You know, my life has been screwy for the last few months. I took some right turns when everyone expected me to go straight ahead.”

  “But now the glamorous rock and roll life has jaded you?”

  “No, that’s not it. I don’t regret coming to Cold Storage, it’s been great …” Her voice drifted off.

  “But?”

  Bonnie looked out the steamed up window, out past Little Brother waiting on the cold table. The snow was falling past the rigging on the boats in the harbor; the water was a flat slate-green, and the snow fell into it without a ripple. A crow was standing on the handrail of the boardwalk, snow gathering on its back.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing here.” It sounded as though the thought had just occurred to her. “It’s dumb, I know, but I’m still not sure if I’m in the right place, doing the right thing.” She put down her mug and turned toward him; opened her mouth; stopped and looked down into the swirl of her coffee; didn’t notice the sound of the door opening, one person coming in, another one leaving.

  Miles spoke finally. “Heck, Bonnie, I don’t think anybody ever really knows.” He played with the damp string on the tea bag.

  The crow on the handrail strutted back and forth for a moment, jabbing the air with his pointy beak until a kid with a sled came barreling down the boardwalk.

  “You know what I thought your big question was?” asked Miles.

  “No …” Bonnie drew the word out. She looked as if she were expecting a scolding.

  “I thought you were wondering if you should have bothered rescuing Billy.”

  “Ah, no, that’s not it.” She looked at Miles. “That was a good thing. The weird part is, as incredibly romantic as this all sounds, pulling him out of the ocean and all, I just don’t love him.”

  “That’s the weird part?” His eyebrows arched.

  “That’s terrible, isn’t it?”

  “Heck, no. It’s not terrible. Jumping in and grabbing him was a choice you made at the time. It wasn’t a contract,” said Miles clearly.

  Bonnie shook her head. She looked him straight in the eye. “I know that, Miles, but … you know … sleeping with him for a few months could give him an impression that I was in love with him.”

  “People make that mistake all the time.” Miles smiled at her.

  “I don’t.”

  “Well, do you want to stick this out with Billy because you
rescued him?”

  “No.”

  “So, where do you want to go? What do you want to do?” Miles picked up a triangle of her buttered toast.

  “Maybe I just need to go some place warm for a while.” She sighed, hunched up her shoulders.

  Miles stood up and pulled on his gloves. “You want to come up with me to the tubs?”

  Bonnie looked down again and slowly took a sip of her coffee. Outside on the rail, the crow lifted into the air and shook off the snow like a spray of water. Cold Storage, Alaska, was too small, she thought to herself, but then the crow flapped off into the same sky that covered the Pacific Ocean, the same sky that covered Hawaii and the Sea of Japan. The crow was either gone forever or just around the corner.

  “Yes.” She stood up, walked directly out the door without fanfare.

  Clive turned and watched from his booth. “Come by the bar later?” he asked. “I need a signature on the last of the forms. I promised to mail them. Can you do that?”

  “Uh … yeah …” Miles tried to look out the door and over at his brother all at the same time. “Yeah …”

  “Well, don’t worry about it now. You better get going.”

  “Uh … yeah …”

  “Go!” said Clive, and Miles went.

  IN ITS HEYDAY, Cold Storage had been the summer headquarters of the salmon fleet. There had been a well-stocked store with fishing and mechanical supplies, three shipwrights, a welder, a portable sawmill, and a fair selection of lumber. There had also been a snack bar on the docks and three fully professional whores who lived above the two bars. When one of the whorehouses featured a short wave radio and a tall antenna to pick up late night radio signals in distant towns, the old timers complained about the encroachment of civilization.

  Use of the bathhouse had been divided into men’s and women’s hours, but in the summertime at the height of the season, it was generally acknowledged that any time after eleven o’clock at night the tubs might be used by both sexes. By eleven o’clock in late June, the sky was a purple bruise of twilight; if you were walking down the boardwalk on such an evening, you would likely see the impossibly white skin of Norsky fishermen’s backsides as they stood naked and steaming by the railing outside the bathhouse. They would be drinking from a can of cheap beer and talking about fish prices. They would nod to you with their chins as you passed, without an ounce of shame at their startling white nakedness. It had not become so civilized that a man couldn’t stand naked in the middle of town.

  ON SUNDAY AFTERNOONS now, the bathhouse was closed for cleaning. Different volunteers signed up for duty but it was hit or miss if any of them ever showed up, so even though it was noon on the dot by the time Miles and Bonnie showed up with towels and cleaning brushes, the place was empty. Weasel, looking more than slightly hungover, had just arrived, but he wasn’t overwhelmed with enthusiasm at the prospect of draining the tub, scouring the rock sides, and scrubbing the concrete decking. When Miles suggested that he and Bonnie take care of the cleaning, Weasel handed his buckets to them with a smile and walked away without saying a word.

  Miles swung the sign on the door over to the CLOSED FOR CLEANING—DON’T BOTHER KNOCKING BECAUSE WE WON’T LET YOU IN side and locked the door.

  “What do we have to do?” asked Bonnie.

  “We warm up in the tub. Then we drain it, scrub it, mop around the sides with some cleanser, and then sweep out the dressing room on the way out.” Miles started to unbutton his shirt. “There are some extra bathing suits in the lost and found, or you can work in your underwear. I usually just take my clothes off, if that’s okay.” He stopped and looked at her, trying to look completely impassive about working in the nude.

  “That’s fine. I’d rather not wear someone else’s old suit anyway,” she said, and slipped off her parka, sat down to untie her snow boots.

  The oil stove didn’t throw out enough heat to keep the air much above freezing; they took their clothes off, went into the next room and down the concrete steps to where the tub lay sunken into the floor. Miles filled one of the plastic dipper jugs. He carried it over to stand by one of the drains and poured the water over his head, and Bonnie followed suit. The sound of the water hitting the concrete clattered in Bonnie’s ears like marbles. Then they walked back and eased themselves into the warm water.

  The skylight above them was covered with snow that melted around the edges, and the only sound in the cavernous room was the fat plonking of drops falling into the hot water where they leaned back across from each other, their white skin flushed red, their heads resting on the upper lip, and their legs spread out. The tub was large enough that their legs overlapped but their toes didn’t touch the sides.

  “Are you in love with anyone here, Miles?” Bonnie’s voice echoed.

  “No.” They listened to the drops hitting the water.

  Bonnie turned away, rolled into the water, dunked her head, embarrassed. Sputtering, she came up next to Miles’s outstretched legs. He noticed that her hair was very thick and more red than it had first appeared.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” she said. “Just forget I asked that.”

  Miles sat in the hot water, felt the heat easing into his bones, and fanned the water with his hands, held up one red leg to let a fat drop of snowmelt land on it. He didn’t say anything. He lowered his leg back into the water and watched drops falling through the gloom and plopping into the water near Bonnie’s face.

  “All right, tough guy. Enough out of you.” She smiled. “I don’t want to know anymore.” She cupped his bare foot in her hand for a moment and sat up on the ledge. She had small breasts and broad shoulders, like a good swimmer, Miles thought, and his mind flashed on a picture of her pulling through the waves to snatch Billy out of the sea.

  “You pretty warm?” he asked her.

  “Yeah, I’m hot.” She waved her hand in front of her face.

  “Come on,” he said, and walked over to the darkest corner of the concrete bunker, to a door of thick planking with mildewed canvas stuffed around the edges to keep out the cold air. He wrenched it open.

  Outside at the base of the hillside was a small fenced yard, smooth as a blanket, with fifteen inches of undisturbed snow. Fence posts wore white caps, and trees were laden with pillows of snow. Wind blew near the ridge up on the mountain, and snow sizzled off the trees like goose down. The woods were a tangle of dark green, and Miles stepped out into the yard, lifted his feet like a crane and punched holes through the snow.

  “This used to be where they stored coal for the dressing room furnace. They used up all the coal and switched to oil,” Miles explained and turned toward her, spread his arms wide and looked straight up into the falling snow. Flakes clung to his hair, melting as they touched his flushed skin, and he fell backward, landing with outstretched arms to make a snow angel.

  Bonnie jumped in, too, swung her arms and legs, shrieked as the cold crept back into her bones. She was ready to run and jump into the hot water until she looked over at Miles. Snow lay on his chest, around his groin, and his penis had retreated; she reached over and put her hand on his chest.

  “Holy cow, Miles,” she asked. “How much cold can you take?” She rubbed her cold hands up and down his chest.

  “I don’t know,” Miles kept staring up into a maelstrom of flakes, “but I’ve just decided something.”

  “What’s that?” She rolled over, her belly and breasts against his chest, and started to shiver, but he could feel her warm breath on his face.

  “I’ve decided I don’t want to find out.” And he jumped up, rolled Bonnie off into the snow.

  “Good,” she said, “because I’m not up to saving another man.”

  Miles looked down at her pale heat-pink body curled into the outline of the snow angel, steam rising from every inch of her. He pulled her up with both hands, and as he did, he kissed her. He had meant it to be a quick kiss, a sort of introductory offer, but she held him hard and her slick mouth stayed against
his mouth. Her skin was warm underneath the melting snow clinging to her back, and as they kissed, he moved his hands up and down her back, wiped the ice off her body. She wiped the ice off the back of his arms, then leaned away from his face, wiped the snow from his hair and put her cold fingers to his cheeks.

  “Let’s go get warm,” she said, and put the flat of her cheek against his chest.

  GETTING BACK INTO the hot water, their bodies ached at first; their hands and feet stung where the cold had taken hold. Miles sucked in his breath and eased into the water and felt as if his bones were bending out of place, but then the warmth came on like the blush of morphine and his body relaxed into the thermal water. Bonnie’s eyes closed and she pushed the water with her hands, floated over to the ledge and put an arm around Miles’s waist.

  He got up to get the bucket and the stiff-bristled deck brushes from the dressing room and, as the water level went down, he showed her how to clean the sides of the pool. They spent an hour scrubbing the walls while hot water continued pouring in through cracks in the rocks, and if they began to cool, they poured water over their heads. Miles finished his side of the tub; he sat near a small stream of hot water at the bottom of the rocks, sluiced water over his head, and watched Bonnie.

  She had her back to him, and against the sharp angles of grey-green rocks, her body seemed a miracle of smooth edges and pliable strength. She poured water over her head; Miles watched it slide down her throat to the groove along her spine, between her shoulders, up over the curve of her hips, then spread over her bottom, flowing to her legs. Miles had never looked at a woman like this before. Her arms were strong and, as she worked the rock with the brush, the wings of her shoulder blades widened and her muscles pushed against her reddening skin; she occasionally reached behind her back and scratched the skin above her waist or on her upper thigh, and in the heat-soaked atmosphere, her fingers left faint red tracks.

  He felt almost dizzy watching her. He wanted to say something about how beautiful she was, but he didn’t know if he could say anything clearly; he had become too thickheaded. But they talked about their lives, about the different wars they had fought and the journeys they had made. They talked about people they had lost and books they had read and music they loved. The talk was easy as they were working in the nude, and their minds were unhinged with the strangeness of it all.