Addled

by JoeAnn Hart

  A twig snapped. He looked around. The darkness was ripe with menace. All around him it seemed as though something waited. He didn’t move. A goose honked softly, as if nudged. He felt the landscape press upon him; the vines and vegetation were closing in, growing with a savage violence. Strange things happened on golf courses after dark. Teenagers turfed around the local munis at night in their rusty Camaros, drinking and drugging. And Eden Rock had its recent history of hunters. What if Bellows was coming back for a second go at the birds? He could be shot by mistake! Should he make himself known? But what if it wasn’t Bellows?

  What then?

  He couldn’t think, what with his heart pounding in his eardrums. Not to mention all that fine cognac flowing through his veins. Then it became deadly silent, the pack pausing before the kill. The twist in his stomach made him wish he’d had something more to eat that day than cold, congealed blintz. Another twig snapped. Was it? Yes, it was. Footsteps. Clendenning. Was this his idea of getting rid of a valued employee? Hunting him down like some beast?

  Gerard backed up slowly. The stone bench was not far. If he could find it, he could hide under it, or tip it up to use as a shield. He held on to his stick and moved with infinitesimal steps, right up to the moment he saw the figure. A shapely figure. Phoebe Lambert? Carrying a gun? Clendenning was unconscionable! How diabolical to send her to do his dirty work. But One Blow Gerard would show them both. The girl hadn’t seen him yet. He would hide behind the tree and ambush her. He would get the upper hand after all.

  He turned quickly. His foot skidded out from under him, and for a nanosecond he felt himself weightless in the dark. Then his head cracked sharply against the stone bench, and for the first time in many hours he was finally out of pain.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The Gear

  BY FOUR THIRTY Wednesday morning, Phoebe had set up her campsite under the spreading arms of the oak by Trough, Hole #11. She checked things off in her head: a sleeping bag, a cooler with food, a cooler with water, a tarp in case it rained, and a bucket of clumping kitty litter, with tp. She still wasn’t sure how that was supposed to work. Then again, she didn’t expect to be here all that long. Maybe she could just hold it.

  Her sit-in was just about ready to begin. Yes! She felt a little bad about changing into her old leather sandals, but she couldn’t get anything done with bad feet. She stood on one of her coolers and tacked her sign—ERCC! SAVE THE WORLD! GO VEGAN!—high up on the tree trunk. Gerard groaned but did not wake. She wondered for the umpteenth time what he’d been doing here so late at night, wandering around in the dark like that. Maybe he’d been stalking her. She got down from the cooler, careful not to step on his face, and looked at him. So peaceful. And familiar in a way too. What-ever, she didn’t get any “uh-oh” feeling about him. This guy might be weird, but he wasn’t a pervert. He was probably just out marking his territory. She tried to wake him up again and send him home, but he was still too drunk, and so she decided it was meant to be. In fact, maybe it would be cool to have him be the first to witness her sit-in. It would move things along, and she wouldn’t have to wait to be discovered by golfers. She’d ask for vegan but settle for vegetarian. The Club could still have eggs and dairy, she supposed, because she knew what it was like to need a fix of ice cream. She put her hand in one of the many pockets of her cargo shorts and crumpled the wrapper of a Dove Bar. Why did her mom have to keep that stuff in the house?

  She looked around one more time. She should get some sleep for her big day. In just a few hours, Gerard would wake up, or come to, and the Club, begrudgingly for sure, would announce they were going meat-free and declare the Club a sanctuary for the geese (yes, she would include that too!) and everybody would be happy.

  Of course, Mr. Clendenning might be a little pissy throughout the whole thing, but in the end, even he would have to agree that it had all been done for the higher good. Her mom might not be too thrilled either, and as for Dad. . .he was too gone to care. The light in the garage had still been burning when she’d gone poking around for a chain sometime after midnight. The windows were all boarded up, but she could see light flashing blue around the edges, like in Frankenstein’s castle. It was pretty wild.

  She found one end of her chain and wrapped it around the tree trunk, clamping it shut, then wrapped the other end around her ankle and held the padlock in her hand. There would be no going back once she snapped this sucker on. The key was back in her room, hidden away so her mom wouldn’t be able to find it if the cops hassled her. Not that her mom would try to sabotage her efforts, only that she always seemed to do what she was told.

  Now it was time. This was it. Everything she’d ever worked for was riding on this little padlock. Dare she?

  Yes, she dared. The world was more than just a place for humans to trample about for a while in ignorance, then die. There was meaning to be had here, somewhere, and maybe even an awesome future, if they could only get it together to make it happen. The world and its wars and cruelties, it was all so screwed up, but here was something she could do to make it just a little bit better. Ideas were one thing, but action was something else altogether. She clicked on the padlock and smiled.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The Shanks

  THE EXCITABLE BIRDS and hacking crows woke Gerard up at what seemed the very depth of night, announcing a dawn invisible to the human eye. He sat up and looked around, tenderly touching the swelling on the back of his head, which triggered a recall of the night’s events. Yes, he’d fallen, and fallen hard. Damn geese. And Phoebe! He looked around in fright, and there she was, sleeping. There was no gun. Could he have imagined that? One of her bare legs peeked out from her sleeping bag, and in the dark he thought he saw a creepy bug on her calf. He was going to shoo it away, but then he remembered it was her little Earth tattoo.

  He leaned back against the tree and contemplated his head. The chattering of birds got suddenly louder, increasing in decibels as the sky lightened in increments. But instead of becoming annoyed, he became entranced. His skin tingled, and he sat straight up. Light flickered on the horizon, a thin line, a golden thread. So tenuous. So brittle. The birds held their breath as the line shimmered to life. A solar breeze picked up, and he heard the lake lap softly against the shore. The light, tinged with green, began to expand, and along with it, so did he. The earth’s inner core seemed to pulsate, filling both the sky and his body with an intense glow. The sun continued to rise, pulling him up, up into the great canopy of the sky, which luxuriously unfolded in turquoise and gold, salmon and magenta, violet and teal. And he was there, a part of it. He was It.

  When the sun completed its transformation and sat fully whole and glowing on the horizon, still wet from its dawning, he was back under the tree. By the time the church bells in town chimed a short while later, he was empty of all rage against the geese and filled with grace. Everything around him sparkled with a new clarity. He was not just a new man, but as newly hatched as the original man, in a world so fresh the animals had yet to be named. Here he was, on the morning of Creation, and there, a woman by his side, the miracle of Eve. And Clendenning? Where was that snake?

  Forget Clendenning! He was a crusty relic of the old world. Gerard looked over at Phoebe, with the dawn’s light washing over her. So sweet. Her yellow tangle of hair seemed utterly pastoral, and the gold links on her ear sparkled. That mouth, with the teeniest protrusion of her upper lip, perfection itself.

  No, no carnal thoughts. If he were to be truly free of the material world and all its petty considerations, if he were to maintain this calm and dissociative state, he had to not think of her body. Not think, not think, not think. . .

  Phoebe opened her eyes, then sat upright with excitement. It was time! Things were really going to start happening now. She smoothed out her T-shirt with both hands. “Hey, dude, you’re up. Cool.”

  “I’m not just up,” he said. “I’m up and open, for the very first time.”

  Phoebe frowned, g
rabbing hold of the amber beads around her neck so she could think. That fall on the bench must’ve crossed his wires. “So,” she said, pronouncing her words carefully, “aren’t you going to ask what I’m doing here?”

  He rolled onto his stomach and tilted his head. “What are any of us doing here?”

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m all about this nonviolent sit-in.” She pointed to her poster, then picked up her chain. “I’m going to hang out here until my demands are met. I want the food service to go vegan, no meat, no dairy, no eggs.”

  “Excellent idea!” Gerard stood up and felt around in his jacket. “This is going to be fun!”

  “This is serious. Don’t you think you should, you know, go to Mr. Clendenning and tell him what’s going down?”

  Gerard pulled his Club tie out of his pocket. “Let him come to us when he sees us on the news.”

  “No,” said Phoebe. “You can’t join me. You’re on the other side.”

  He strung the end of his tie through a link in her chain, then tied the other end to his ankle. “I’ll be your hostage. It will make your case that much stronger. After all, you might do me some harm if you don’t get your way.”

  She tried pulling her chain to her. “No! Kidnappers go to prison.”

  He kept his hand over the knot to keep her from undoing his work. “I thought you had conviction,” he said. “I thought you believed in your cause.”

  He leaned back against the tree in satisfaction. This was so much better than killing the geese. That would have been wrong, and he was glad fate had intervened. His future was tied to Phoebe’s now. And what was so bad about that?

  “I do believe,” she said, tugging at the chain. “But I could get into deep shit if I have a hostage. I promised myself a nonviolent demonstration, that’s why.. . .” She thought of the gun, only a few yards away, almost exactly where she had found it weeks before, except it was tucked under a bush so it would seem like it had just been overlooked. But now, Gerard might have seen her with it last night. If he told the police she used it to take him hostage, she would go to jail. Her fingerprints were on that gun. She was such an idiot!

  Gerard regarded Phoebe and nodded to himself. She hadn’t been stalking him last night—that was the imagining of a crazy drunk. She had the gun Bellows claimed was stolen, and she must have been returning it to where she’d found it. God knows what her plans had been before that, but she must have finally come to her senses. Just like him.

  “Get out of here!” she screamed. “Go report me to the police. Go! You’re not my hostage.”

  A cell phone sang from Gerard’s pocket, and he held a finger up to Phoebe.

  “Barry,” said Gerard. “Good to hear from you. What a day.” He breathed in deeply, then pushed Phoebe’s hand away from his tie.

  “Vita told me about yesterday, boss,” said Barry. “The goose and all. She said she hadn’t seen or heard from you since.” In the background, Vita was telling Barry to tell Gerard that she thought his job was safe, to come out of hiding.

  “Tell Vita, thank you for her concern,” said Gerard. “But things have a way of working out for the best.”

  “Your car’s here in the lot,” said Barry. “Where are you?”

  “Trough, under the oak.” He pulled his jacket over his head and whispered, “Phoebe Lambert has taken me hostage.”

  Silence.

  “Be right there,” said Barry, and before he hung up, Gerard could hear Forbes utter a worried, questioning beep.

  Chapter Thirty

  Topspin

  AT NOON, Humphrey Clendenning called Vita into Gerard’s office. He stood at the picture window and shut the blinds with a single yank on the cord, not so much against the view as to protect himself from being viewed.

  “Sorry I’m late, Mr. Clendenning,” Vita said, panting slightly. “My mother called as I was leaving the kitchen.” She shrugged to indicate, What are you going to do about mothers? but he looked at her as if he didn’t know what one was, and that might very well have been the case. She looked around the office and her stomach sank. Still no Gerard. What was taking so long? With the banquet just days away, there was no time for such foolishness. She should be downstairs soaking the giant fava beans, which, when perfumed with garlic and epazote, were to go under all the entrées—be it goose, cod, or organic filet mignon. There was no time for a kidnapping. Or what-ever it was. When Barry had returned from seeing Gerard that morning, he was baffled. “Gerard says he’s a hostage, but that Lambert girl says he’s not. He wants me to bring him a chain of his own, and she keeps yelling at him to leave.”

  “Hmm.” This was all very worrisome, but Vita had her dinner to fret over, and even as she talked to Barry, she kept glancing down at her clipboard, checking to make sure everything was on hand for the first course of stewed corn, red beans, chickpeas, and goose jus to be served with the grilled foie gras, which remained frozen, suspended in time.

  “Vita,” said Barry. “What should we do?”

  Vita bit her pencil. “How does he look?”

  Barry stared at his cracked hands and whistled softly for the right word. “Calm.”

  “Calm?” Vita was concerned but still distracted. Her mind had moved on to the soup course, a Latinized bouillabaisse doused with sofrito, lime, and cilantro that would train the tongue for what was to come. “Hmm.”

  “I asked him if I should bring him some clean clothes, or a toothbrush or something, and he said no.”

  Vita put her clipboard down. “Maybe it will all just go away if we do nothing,” she said, hoping against hope it would, and soon too.

  Forbes pecked on the windowsill, and Barry motioned that he’d be right out. “Vita, Phoebe has demands.”

  “Oh?” On hearing the word demands, Vita remembered that Mrs. Wingate was having one of her library teas on Friday. That meant that Jordan—who was already baking from midnight to six all week to free up kitchen space—would have to make lemon squares for the tea tray in addition to her demanding roster of desserts for the weekend.

  “Before she’ll let herself go, the Club has got to become a goose sanctuary. Gerard seemed to agree.” He looked up at the windowsill to check on Forbes, who had his beak pressed against the glass.

  Vita rummaged through a shelf, looking for a jar of lemon curd. “It’s been a goose haven for years.”

  “Another thing.” Barry lowered his voice. “The restaurant has to turn vegan.”

  Vita put one hand on the counter and the other to her heart. “No.” Who would have thought Phoebe could be so vindictive? This wasn’t about some lofty principles, it was about punishing Vita after their squabble last night. No doubt about it, Phoebe was a Club member, born and bred, and she could stay tied to that tree ’til she rotted. Maybe it would make her more tender, like hanging did for the geese. She looked at Barry, who chewed on his lower lip. “And Gerard is going along with this?”

  “Can’t tell. Maybe he just wants to be with her.”

  “Oh, no,” said Vita. “Don’t tell me he’s in this for the nooky.”

  She tapped the counter with her fingers. She should have gone to see Gerard in his office yesterday afternoon and told him that dropping the bird was not the end of the world. Now he’d gotten himself in love, which she could have prevented with a little kindness.

  “There’s no way we can keep this from Clendenning,” she said, with reluctance. “You’d better call him.”

  “He’s going to be as explosive as a golf ball in a microwave.” Barry turned and headed back up the steps, where Forbes waited for his return.

  As for Vita, she didn’t have to wait long for Clendenning to call her into Gerard’s office.

  “Vita, Gerard Wilton will be tied up for an unspecified time, and I’ll need your help to make things go smoothly in his absence.”

  “Unspecified?” Vita looked around uneasily. Gerard’s absence, or aub-sunce, as Clendenning pronounced it, was taking on a rather sinister flavor. “What’s g
oing to happen? Are we just going to leave him out there?”

  “Barry reports that he can leave any time he chooses, so he is either working on this situation from the inside, or he has snapped. We’ll find out soon enough, and since he is still, technically, an employee, he may stay where he is. And Miss Lambert is a member in good standing, as her parents continue to pay her junior dues, so if she wants to camp out there, so be it. But as far as her demands go, the Eden Rock Country Club does not negotiate with terrorists.” He’d been looking at the corner of the room while he spoke, but now he smiled and looked right at Vita. “Unless, of course, you’ve been making plans to give up serving meat anyway, which would be a monumental insult to the culinary world. The steak you prepared last weekend was truly magnificent. I’m looking forward to it again on Saturday.”

  Vita was pleased. At his request, she had added beef to the banquet menu for those, like him, who needed to see bull blood on the plate to feel that they had eaten well. For vegetarians, she had nothing but sympathy. To make up for that, she’d promised her staff, and Barry, that starting next week, she would include a veggie dish at every meal, but she would never let Phoebe think it was a result of her coercion.

  “So, we’re not going to rescue Gerard?”

  “What shall we rescue him from?” asked Clendenning. “A pretty, unarmed woman? The rest will do him good. As far as logistics, we are making him as comfortable as we can. Barry is moving a Porta John within reach, for when nature calls, and some waterproof tarps, for when nature threatens.” Clendenning turned and peeked out of the blinds. “Bleane’s brought on extra security to watch for accomplices breaching the walls, but I don’t think that will happen. Miss Lambert’s friends at the gate have gone away for a few days. I’d arranged for some very desirable concert tickets in Maine even before this situation developed, to get them all out of the way for the tournament. Bleane handled it. He told them he won the tickets from a local radio station and handed them out. Phoebe’s been left behind. When she sees that she is alone and that no one is paying attention to her, she’ll get tired of her game and go home. For the moment, it seems wise to let sleeping dogs lie.”