Willing

by Scott Spencer

  Okay, gentlemen, two more hours, Castle called out, and then we meet right here, bags packed. An irritating edge of bossiness had crept into his voice, and I thought to myself He’s used to failing. The men began dispersing, and suddenly I was the only still point in a sea of activity. I wasn’t quite sure what was happening. Were the women already upstairs? How did the other men know who was to go where, and when? Where had I been when all these arrangements were being made? I drifted toward the exit, hoping that Sigrid would and would not be waiting for me in my room. The couple hours of sleep I had managed to get since landing in Iceland, rather than refreshing me, had only created a dark backdrop against which the glittering multifaceted diamond of my exhaustion could be displayed. Regardless, I thought it might not be the worst luck in the world if I were to find Sigrid, bathed and perfumed, propped up with a book in my bed, with the covers drawn chastely up to her breasts…

  But Castle called out to me before I was out of the conference room and when I turned toward the sound he waved me over with proprietary urgency. All I could manage by way of resistance was a sigh and a frown, but beyond that, delay seemed an exercise in sheer pointlessness, This trip was not quite so gratis as Uncle Ezra had implied, but then again nothing in this sad and beautiful world comes to us free of charge, free of complications or obligations; even the milk we drink from our mother’s breast comes with a bill that we are eventually meant to pay.

  That was a hell of a thing you did back there, Castle said, draping his arm over my shoulder. The biting? I said, showing my teeth, trying to make light of it. Look, the most important thing here, Avery, is that whatever happened back at the lagoon—and I can promise, by the way, that I’m never bringing another group to that place, that place is nuts—the whole thing stays there, we lick our wounds, we learn our lesson, and we move on. I need you to be my eyes and ears on this one, kiddo. Okay? I don’t want the guys getting involved in vigilantism. And we sure as hell can’t have them throwing their money at some local goons to take care of things. You understand? Of course I understand, I thought. I speak English. What’s not to understand? I was slightly sickened by my own ill temper; I was poisoning myself.

  A woman in a beige dress and an apron came in with a vacuum cleaner. She might have been Indian or Pakistani. She cast a brief apologetic look in our direction and then started the machine, which, in the empty conference room, seemed as loud as a jet engine. Castle was forced to practically shout. The thing about these guys is that they think they can buy justice, or payback, or whatever they want to call it. They think they can buy anything.

  I knew I was tempting fate and could possibly get myself thrown off the tour, but I could not help but ask, So tell me, are there things you think money can’t buy? Castle waved me off. Oh please, that’s a childish question. There are so many things money cannot buy, I don’t want to waste my time or yours enumerating them. Castle brushed coppery wrist hair away from the face of his watch and checked the time. Okay, see you back here in one hour and fifty-two minutes. Are you packed? I shook my head no. The cleaning woman vacuumed a coin up, and it rattled around in the hose; she stared at the canister, as if wondering if she should open it up and retrieve the coin, but then she sighed unhappily and continued moving the head of the vacuum cleaner over the dark blue carpet, back and forth, steadily, as if she were rolling paint. Then you should pack. You’ll see, once we’re in Norway you’re going to be really, really happy. Trust me, I know. I’ve got an instinct for these things, Avery.

  I just have a few things to put in order, I said. It won’t take ten minutes. Great. Then you have time to enjoy yourself right here. Castle put up a finger, tapped it thoughtfully against his chin. Sigrid, right? Yes, Sigrid. May I ask you how she is? I noticed she didn’t come with you to the Blue Lagoon. She’s fine; she’s great. No complaints. Then you find her satisfactory? I wondered why Castle was essentially asking the same question. She’s great, I said, careful to keep my tone noncommittal; she’s an interesting person. I’ll be honest with you, Avery. I came very close to discontinuing Sigrid, though I personally find her to be a very nice person, she takes terrific care of herself, and she’s the kind of girl you can have an actual conversation with. Why were you going to fire her? Castle smiled and pointed at me, with that annihilating joviality you find in salesmen. That’s something I’m not going to talk about, he said. But did you get a look at Magdalena? There’s nothing about her not to like. She’s with Lenny, and they’re having a ball. And the Metal Men? Oh man, the Metal Men are over the moon. One of them, I won’t say which one, told me that this has been hands down the greatest experience of his life. Here’s a guy, good looking, young, absolutely loaded, with all the opportunities any man could want, but he’s never been with such a beautiful, talented girl before, someone whose only focus is to make him extremely happy. You think that when some animal is having sex he’s thinking Oh, I hope she doesn’t think this or I hope she doesn’t want that? No, they’re just doing it, my friend, they are in the moment, like Zen masters. Isn’t it funny that when a woman wants to criticize a man, she’ll say He’s a dog. You know what I say to that? I say I only wish, but thank you anyhow, I appreciate the compliment.

  And Tony? Castle said, smiling, shaking his head, as if now we were going to discuss some lovable eccentric, about whom we both had had occasions to worry in the past, but who now was giving every sign of being out of the woods. Tony is winning that lottery over and over; that, my friend, I can promise you. People ask me where the satisfactions come from in this line of work. You want to know where? The Tonys of this world. Look, I’m not saying anything about him that he wouldn’t—and hasn’t—said about himself, but his life until now hasn’t exactly been a grand buffet of pleasures. I’ll tell you something, if Tony needs to engage the services of an escort, I am really glad he came to me and didn’t take his chances on the so-called open market, because there he would most likely be cheated, disrespected, and overall eaten alive. Guys like Tony, they come into a bit of money and figure Well, it’s now or never, I want to have this experience; just like people want to go to the Louvre or see Angel Falls, they want to experience some of the wonderful things, things that may have been denied them over the course of a difficult life. They want to taste the sweetness of life. But if the Tonys try to do it on their own, most of the time they spend just cooling their heels in some overpriced hotel suite, or ending up with some hard-as-nails street hooker and having a depressing experience. Where’s the justice in that? What did Tony ever do to deserve to be treated like that?

  The listening aspect of my job was proving, for the moment at least, to be more than I could manage. I felt trapped with Castle, which made me long to be in my own room, the thought of which created a surge of ancillary longing for Sigrid, which may have been Castle’s aim all along.

  At last, I extricated myself from Castle’s moist verbal embrace. In the lobby, waiting for the elevator, I felt none of my previous self-consciousness about the hotel staff, and what they might be thinking about me: did they think I was one lucky bastard or the scum of the earth or some marginal man who had to pay thousands of dollars for what most people enjoyed as freely as they enjoyed the sunlight or the sight of children happily playing in the park? All of these nervous thoughts about the desk clerks and the bellhops, the restaurant staff and the bartenders and the cleaners and the waiters and the cooks and the handy-men were subsumed by my anxiety that at any moment Castle would come hurrying out of the conference room with yet one more thing to say. I watched the numbers count down on the lighted display above the elevator doors, and when the doors slid open I darted in and stood off to the side, with my back against the wall, hoping to make myself invisible should Castle come into the lobby before the doors slid shut.

  The elevator stopped at the next floor. The doors opened to a young woman with short reddish blond hair and broad shoulders. I recognized her from the breakfast buffet and, as far as I could remember, she had gone off with Michael
Piedmont, which may have been exactly what she had wanted, if she had been tipped off about how supernaturally rich he was, though there was, of course, a chance that she had viewed him with horror and alarm, seeing only a man in his early forties who had committed an act of self-vandalism so extreme that it was difficult for him to walk, whose body was desecrated by a kind of long-term feeding frenzy to the point that anyone having relations with him was facing the prospect that even the most gingerly pursued sex act could lead to a heart attack or stroke, after which she might find herself trapped beneath the landslide of him, gasping for air.

  She pushed the button for the third floor, even though it was already lighted. She moved as far from me as the elevator car would allow. It was as if even proximity to a man was something she chose to avoid when she was off the clock. We arrived at the third floor. I waited for her to get out, and then I followed behind her at what I hoped would be perceived as a respectful distance. She stopped at Room 340 and knocked lightly. It’s me! Her voice was girlishly airy, not entirely real. Piedmont wasn’t about to come racing to the door to let her in and so she was still standing in the corridor when I walked by, and I may have passed a little too close to her. Fuck off! she said. Creep. I could think of nothing to say, no way of striking back, no way of ameliorating the insult. I cast my eyes down and hurried toward my room; my face was burning. I heard the door opening behind me, heard Piedmont’s wheeze, and then the woman said Oh God, what’s been going on in here? Look at this place!

  I unlocked my room door with the electronic key, but someone—it had to be Sigrid!—had fastened the security chain, stopping the door after six inches. Hello, I called, and Sigrid’s voice answered Avery, is that you? Icelandic women knew little about safety. You don’t say Avery, is that you, you don’t give away the name; a bad person at the door could so easily say Yes, it’s me. But then I wondered Maybe it is, maybe it is a bad person at the door.

  Just then, the door across the hall opened. Len Cobb was standing there, immense and totemic, covered only by a bath towel wrapped around his waist. Other than the couple of corkscrews of hair in the hollow of his chest, his skin was smooth and seemed to radiate an inner glow. His knees, however, were a mass of scars, wormy pink welts. Hey, come in here for a sec, would you? Cobb waved me in, while checking up and down the corridor for anyone else who might be around. His eyes were reddened, as if he had been drinking or weeping. I was just, um…I pointed to my door, which was being unlatched and opened by Sigrid, whose dark hair was slicked back and who looked kind and cozy in one of the terry cloth bathrobes supplied by the hotel. Just for one sec, okay? Cobb said. I need some help.

  He wanted my help in opening his minibar. I angled around the bed, stepped over a pair of pants that had been dropped onto the floor, as well as a sports bra, and a pair of women’s underpants about the size of a false mustache, and then I crouched in front of the minibar, which was in the cabinet beneath the TV. A nearly naked round-faced woman with curly blond hair sat on the edge of the bed with a small towel on her lap. She hadn’t bothered taking off one of the sleep masks that had been in the complimentary toiletry bags Stephanie had given each of us on the plane. Who have you brought in here? Cobb’s girl wanted to know. Is he going to video us? It’s just a friend; he’s going to get this damned minibar open. That’s right, I said, in what I hoped was a reassuring tone. The pliable little key to the minibar was in the slot, and it had been twisted practically into an S shape. I think I turned it the wrong way, Cobb said, in a worried voice, as if he had just run over a cat. He massaged his forehead with his long fingers. Oh man, he said to me, softly, did you ever miss someone so much it’s like you’re going crazy?

  The woman on the bed lifted her sleep mask. Her blue eyes were cool and inexpressive. You’re with Sigrid, yeah? I nodded yes. They don’t miss a trick. I finally got the key out of the hole and did my best to bend it back into some approximation of its former shape. I don’t think this is going to work, but we can give it a try, I said to Cobb. I’m so hungry, the woman said, rubbing her tummy. The little joke dislodged her towel, but she didn’t seem to mind, or notice. Her heavy thighs were pressed tightly together; her pubic hair grew out in long arcing swirls. I slowly worked the key back into the hole. What could be in that cold box that would be worth all this trouble? Cobb picked up the towel and tossed it back onto his companion’s lap. For God’s sake, he said. I slowly wiggled the key back and forth until the lock tripped and the door opened. Inside was an assortment of soft drinks, Scandinavian beers, chocolate bars, nuts, sugar wafers, breath mints, and dollhouse bottles of liquor. Voilà, I said, standing up. The girl tucked her hair behind her ears, sat straighter, a look of concentration on her face; she took eating rather seriously. I will like a bag of M&M with peanuts inside. She stuck out her hand, but I knew it wouldn’t be politic for me to give candy to Cobb’s girl.

  At that moment, Sigrid walked in. Why are you in here? she wanted to know. She was in platform shoes, a bright turquoise sweater, white jeans, and her hair was plaited into pigtails. Alarming swaths of bright pink scalp. Cobb turned his camera on her and began recording her. I am waiting for you in your room, Sigrid said, looking away from the camera. Hello, Sigrid, the girl on the bed said, and Sigrid said Hello, Magdalena, and then Magdalena got off the bed and the women kissed each other on either cheek. Magdalena, not noticeably concerned that she was the only one in the room naked, squatted down in front of the minibar and took not only the M&Ms but a bottle of Perrier and a Twix bar.

  I should be with you, Cobb said to Sigrid. How tall are you anyhow? She said I don’t know, in the way you measure. Do you know the metric system? Fuck no, he said. Good old American feet and inches. She stood next to him. She took the camera out of his hand and tossed it on the bed. The top of her head came up to the groove between Cobb’s chin and his lower lip. His dark eyes widened. You’re tall, he said. She pointed down at her shoes, not wanting to be given credit for the inches they added. He took her by the shoulders, turned her around, and looked at her from behind. Sigrid was looking directly at me now, and her expression was slightly offended, but in a good-natured way, as if Cobb was a joke we were sharing and she were saying Can you believe this guy? Magdalena sat on the bed and emptied the bag of M&Ms into her hand.

  How about we trade? Cobb said to me. It seemed a barbaric idea, and, frankly, I would have much rather spent this last time in Iceland with Sigrid, if only because I sort of knew her, and now, with a degree of comfort, or at least familiarity, I was starting to piece together a series of questions I could ask her. Yeah, we should trade, Cobb said, his voice becoming more animated, let me hang out with…He pointed at Sigrid, and she supplied her name. You can come back next time, she said, and you can tell Mr. Castle you are requesting me. There’s not going to be a next time, Len said. Why don’t we work this out right now? How about this? he said to Sigrid. Avery can scrimmage with Magdalena and I stay with you. Why don’t you ask Avery? Sigrid said. Me? I cried out, pointing to myself. I’m not the boss of anyone. But can we just trade people as if they were slaves? Hey, Cobb said, taking offense, I was traded six times. Does that make me a slave?

  Magdalena finished the last of the M&Ms and said For extra money, we can all do it together. No way I’m doing a four-way, Cobb said. Magdalena was unfazed by his refusal. Just two thousands of dollars, she said. No, Magdalena, Cobb said, no, you and I, no more. One thousand, Magdalena said, lifting one finger and then moving it back and forth like a metronome. Cash. She rocked back on the bed and then sprang to her feet. She skipped across the room, collecting her clothes, humming to herself.

  Just then, Tony knocked on the half-open door to Cobb’s room and let himself in without waiting for an answer. He wore only a pair of yellow terry cloth shorts and a pair of flip-flops. He was breathing shallowly, and his delicate fingers moved in the air in front of him. Oh Len, I’m sorry, but there is something happening in Webb’s room. I hear the most terrible sounds coming through the wall, a
nd when I knocked on the door, Webb said Go away and when I said Is everything okay? he said Get the eff away or I will effing kill you.

  Eff? Magdalena looked to me for an explanation. What means eff? It means the letter f, as in fuck, but Tony doesn’t want to say fuck, I said. He’ll pay to do it, but he won’t say it. Hey, you know what? Tony moved closer, and pointed his finger at me. You don’t know what I’m about. If you did, you’d be very surprised. For a moment, it seemed as if I was about to have my second physical altercation of the day. This was by far the most violence I had known since that stretch of childhood under the rule of my third father. If only I had exercised that newfound capacity for physical confrontation back then, everything in my life might have turned out differently. I realize this might be one of those fatal errors built into standard-issue masculine mental equipment, but still I could not help but think if I had even once knocked Norman Blake back on his ass—oh, what a world that would have been!

  Now, however, my back ached from the violent twisting at the Blue Lagoon, and—though this may have been my imagination—I still had the taste of blood in my mouth. Despite the theory that my life could have turned out better if I had been more willing to mix things up physically, at this point I would rather have rolled over than thrown a punch. Look, man, I’m sorry. Can we just drop it? Tony nodded, lifting his chin, pressing his lips together, with a manly implied smile. What about it, guys? Cobb said. Can I get a little privacy here?

  But his privacy was only further violated by the entrance of Jordan, who came hurrying in, along with his new companion. He was able to get the youngest girl after all. She wore a hotel bathrobe and her eyes pulsated with fright; Jordan was in his blue Oxford cloth shirt and his Brooks Brothers boxers. His left leg, like his face and neck, was covered in burns that rose off of him like mountains on a topographical map. Webb’s gone crazy, he said. He’s got his girl by the back of the neck, and he’s running her up and down the hall. I think he’s going to smash her head into the wall. Sigrid gestured impatiently while she said something in Icelandic to Jordan’s girl—I guessed it was something along the lines of You saw this and you let it happen?—and then she said to me, We better see what is happening here. He’s with Enir, she’s my cousin. And my friend, added Magdalena.