“I’m… sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Forty Three
Early August brings to the Caffé a wholly unexpected event: a wedding. A couple of diehard Optic fans, James and Cecily, have talked Karen into closing the place for the evening – and, what’s more, serving as their officiant. (Five minutes at an online site and she is ordained.)
The ceremony is a great coming-together of noir tropes. Gerry installs Venetian blinds over the windows and leaves them half-open, creating the striped shadows beloved by noir directors. They use the Caffé’s length to create a church-like aisle. The groom arrives in a gray-green zoot suit, double-breasted with enormous shoulders, a long gold watchfob and a black fedora. He slinks in to the creepy crawl of Minnie the Moocher, then waits as the music goes orchestral, the Sinatra arrangement of Someone to Watch Over Me. Cecily, a beautiful Latina with a head of dark, kinky hair, walks down the aisle wearing a copper headband and, of all things, the flaming dress.
Gerry, shooting from behind the altar, whispers, “You didn’t!”
Karen whispers back: “I did!”
The ceremony is filled with delectable little touches. It’s apparent that Karen has examined each phrase of the traditional wedding ceremony and given it new clothing.
“We are gathered here,” she begins, “to initiate and celebrate the marriage of James and Cecily.” She tells the story of how the two of them met – at a ‘40s cosplay convention – and discovered a mutual love of Harry Optic’s novels. Instead of scripture or poetry, she reads lyrics from great jazz standards: Where or When, Tenderly, I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm, The Shadow of Your Smile and I Could Write a Book.
Without really trying, Karen is committing a huge faux pas – drawing attention away from the bride. She wears a silver man’s suit with a black and gray tie and a white Panama hat. It is transexually sexy in a Katharine Hepburn kind of way. She’s also equipped with an aura, built up by the modeling, the emcee jobs, the Caffé celebrity. Gerry spends most of the ceremony with her in his lens, feeling, as usual, a little transfixed.
After a set of vows delivered in the punchy dialogue style of the genre, She declares them husband and wife, and they regress to applause. Gerry takes the formal photos in the lobby as the Bond Girls swoop in and clear the chairs. The Caffé is thus turned into a dance hall, and everyone kicks it up to great American swing tunes. It’s clear that the bride and groom have had lessons. Gerry is shooting candids when Lullaby of Birdland comes up. He feels a set of fingers slipping into his. He’s almost surprised to find Kerry in a red vintage dress, her green eyes doing their best to knock him out.
“Well hi,” he says.
“Are you allowed a timeout to dance with your girlfriend?”
He sets his camera on Harry’s bookcase.
“For a gorgeous dame like yourself, anytime.”
“Thanks, Bogie. Do you know how to swing?”
He takes her hands, pulls her into a cradle and rolls her back out.
“Daddy was a jitterbugger.”
“Thank you, Daddy!”
Kerry unzips him on the drive home and goes to work. They arrive at his place, but she pulls him into the back of the Explorer. He knows what she’s up to. Although she has accepted Karen’s gift, she wants to despoil it every chance she gets. To which he would say, Yeah, okay.
Sometime in the post-orgasm fuzz, he holds his naked athletic girl and stares out the windshield at a front of clouds charging over the golf course. He has always discounted this thought, but he wonders if it’s possible to be in love with two women at once, in different ways. And he suspects that one day the bill for all this bliss will arrive at his table.
Karen wakes to Kerry’s moans, working their way through the shared wall. A normal person would find this annoying, but if Karen has learned anything this year, it is that she is far removed from normal. She loves both of them, and feels justly proud of bringing them together. She reaches between her legs to see what she might derive from her eavesdropping.
Early in the morning, Kerry makes her standard trek through the living room and sees the red Nikon on the coffee table. She pulls up the display screen and scrolls through the shots, noting how a disproportionate number of them are of Karen. She sets it down and walks into the pre-dawn light, feeling like she should not have done that to herself.
Forty Four
Oh, there are benefits to being the boyfriend of Kerry McPherson. This occurs to Gerry as he sits at Elevation 486, a modernist restaurant that rises like a poker hand above the rim of the Snake River Canyon in Twin Falls. They are seated on the patio, watching the sunset turn the river orange. Gerry bites into a fire-grilled Oregon quail (with a honey bourbon and jalapeño glaze) and smiles at his partner.
“I have no idea what I’ve done to deserve this.”
Kerry takes her time with a mouthful of ruby red trout (with food like this, there’s no hurrying for conversation) and follows with white wine.
“The thing is, dahling, you know I have money and I like to spend it on you. So you don’t have to deserve it. But I’m afraid I do have a reason. The thing is, I can’t make the eclipse.”
“No! Really? Why not?”
“A company in Boise just booked us for this enormous golf party. And they’re offering us a couple truckloads of cash.”
“You can’t get someone else to cover it?”
“I have no backup. It’s too important.”
He takes a bite of coconut jasmine rice. “Damn. I was looking forward to this. I’ve never seen a total before.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well I can’t go without you.”
“Nonsense. Go with Karen. Take lots of photos and tell me all about it. I’m sure it’ll be amazing.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“You are the best.”
“I know.”
The day offered the usual heat, and on the drive home Kerry rolls down her window to enjoy the warm wind. It blows through her hair, making her look like a model in a music video. She unbuttons her blouse and keeps going until she’s riding topless. Gerry reaches over, but she grabs his hand.
“Some ground rules, Mr. Driver. You are to touch but not look. Keep your eyes on the road, or the girls go back in their hammocks.”
It’s an awkward angle, but Gerry manages to fondle, to cup, to find a nipple and roll it. Kerry emits bird-like sounds as the buzz rides her synapses. She undoes her jeans, takes them off and pulls his hand into place.
“Right there, young man. Rub that button and I will be yours forever. Are you hard?”
“Of course.”
“Remember – oooh! – eyes on the road. Is that a crossing?”
“Norton Bay Road.”
“Take it, and pull over.”
He steers into a turnout. Kerry runs to the rear, lifts up the hatch, spreads her legs and pulls him inside.
Forty Five
From the beginning of the trip, Gerry senses a magnification of events. They pack up the Explorer in pre-dawn silence. The air is chilly – surprising for August – and the sun shoots pink rays over the horizon. A squadron of clouds lines up to the east, shaped like benign cyclones with flat-top haircuts. Karen follows Gerry’s gaze.
“I wonder if there’s a name for that,” he says.
“They look a little malevolent.”
She sparks at her own word choice. Her hair is tied up under a black ballcap, and she wears not a touch of makeup. Still, the faint lighting touch-dances the hazel in her eyes, and her smile produces a small dimple at the corner of her mouth, something he has never noticed.
“What are you looking at?”
He shakes it off. “Oh, just… still bummed that Kerry can’t make it.”
“Come on, we’ll be back before you know it. And you’ll have all these new things to tell her. Are you all packed?”
“Yep.”
“Well let’s hit it, pal.”
The fif
ty miles to Twin Falls is a quiet ride, morning light falling across the windshield in stripes. Gerry has to admit, he’s allowed himself to get a little obsessive. He has an entire suitcase packed with books, maps, charts, photographs and five cameras. The thing is, the eclipse is only three minutes long. No second chances.
“Doughnuts!”
He looks at Karen as if she’s just decided to start spitting out random words. “Lascivious! Consternation!” A strand of hair slips from the cap to shadow her left eye.
“Doughnuts! Pull over.”
They’re in Jerome, Idaho, a place called Billy Bob’s Doughnuts. A few minutes later, they’re back on the road. Gerry chews on a blueberry cruller and washes it down with surprisingly good coffee.
“Good call, partner. Y’got any other brilliant ideas?”
“Actually, yes.” She eyes her road atlas. “The Morley Nelson Snake River Birds of Prey National Conservation Area.”
“They need a shorter name, but okay.”
“Cool.”
“Will that throw off our schedule?”
“You’re not gonna miss the eclipse, dude. It’s directly on our way.”
“Not after we’re carried away by cargo raptors.”
“Beg pardon?”
“North American cargo raptors. They steal cars and sell the parts. It’s an invasive species from New Jersey.”
He glances her way and catches the smile. Superpowers spread through his limbs.
“But I’ll do anything for you, Lois.”
“Oh Clark, I can’t help but feel that there’s some kind of super man inside of you.”
She holds his hand over the parking brake. He lets her.
They drive to Dedication Point, where the Snake River describes the letter U past the observation deck, cutting a teal swath in the canyon floor. Gerry stands at the concrete barrier, scanning the area with his red Nikon. Karen wraps her arms around his torso, peering over his shoulder at the camera screen.
“Any specimens?”
“No birds, but I saw a vindshield viper.”
Karen laughs. Gerry feels it in his ribs.
“So you know that joke?”
“No. But it sounds funny.”
“I’ll tell it to you on the drive.”
She grabs his arm. “Omigod! To your right. That dead tree over there.”
He pulls back on the zoom, spots the tree and tightens back in. “Nice pull, honey. Let me get a couple shots.”
He hits the shutter and shows her the screen. She stands on tippy-toes, her breath in his ear.
“Beautiful.”
“I think it’s a prairie falcon. The blue-gray feathers, the speckles on his chest. Quite handsome.” He pulls down the camera. “I’d say our work here is done. Shall we go?”
He finds her smiling up at him.
“What?”
“You called me ‘honey.’”
“Oh, sorry. I guess I’ve gotten into the habit.”
“No. I like it. Darling.”
She pats him on the cheek and walks away. She’s wearing white shorts that clock back and forth. The camera’s still on, so he sneaks a shot.
They continue along the Snake and realize that they aren’t going to make it to Spray by nightfall. They pull into the little farm town of Parma, stop for a Chinese dinner, then discover the Parma Inn and Grocery, a red-and-white cinderblock box that looks like it could be the set for a Hitchcock film. Karen checks her smartphone and finds it’s rated 1.8 out of five stars. The clerk is an old Eastern European woman who seems tremendously annoyed that they’re disturbing her with their business.
The room is clean, but features a painting of a ballerina with a clown’s head. There are no towels. Gerry is half asleep, watching a soccer match in Spanish, when Karen emerges from the bathroom in a T-shirt and panties. She gets into bed and wraps herself against him.
“I gotta admit, Gerry – sweetie – I miss having you all to myself. Before I gave you away to that oversexed golfer. But I love you and I love that oversexed golfer, and I’m glad you’re having such great intercourse.”
“It’s the best,” he replies. “Thanks for being my matchmaker. Pookie.”
“You’re welcome. Pumpkin.”
Gerry turns off the TV and falls asleep.
They cross into Oregon and stop at a diner called Rusty’s. Gerry orders the farmer’s breakfast, which includes ground sirloin, two eggs, hash browns with country gravy and pancakes. Karen gets the eggs Benedict. She sits beside him and runs a hand along his thigh.
“Sweetie, I hope you don’t mind me being so touchy-feely. I feel like I shut myself off after Harry passed, and flirting with you seems to be a good way back in.”
He takes her hand. “Karen, darlin’. It’s fine. I enjoy it. Besides, we were like that before. And I like the idea that the citizens of Ontario, Oregon think I’m with this hot brunette.”
“As opposed to a hot redhead.”
“I like to mix and match.”
“It’s no wonder you’re eating so much, having to maintain two girlfriends.”
Ontario is dry farm country, but as they head east on route 26, the landscape gets more classically western. They enter the little town of Unity and find arid mountains rising to the west. They head uphill at Austin, passing long stretches of evergreens, then descend into the town of John Day, a name that will follow them the rest of the trip. They take the John Day Highway along John Day River and stop at the John Day Fossil Beds to see hillsides striped with orange, yellow and scarlet. The landscape is fully desert now, rising in igneous cathedrals, buttes and hoodoos.
“This is so cool!” says Gerry.
“A photographer’s dream,” says Karen. “You’re gonna love Spray.”
They slalom a couple of high ridges and come into town, pop. 160. Just before the turnoff, Gerry sees a farmland spread before a curtain of carved brown rock. They cruise the main strip between a general store and a surprisingly large school, and take a rightward bend toward the riverfront park. What is usually a nondescript grassland is now covered in campsites. They pull up at the entrance, where a teenage girl emerges from a shade tent to check them in. Following her directions, they take a right and pull in next to a large white oak. They comb the soil, picking out rocks and twigs, then Gerry manages to deploy his six-man tent.
“Babe!” Karen exclaims. “It’s like our own country cottage.”
“I likes my space.”
“Why don’t you put on your trunks and we can try out the swimming hole?”
“You got it.”
The temperature is in the nineties, so Gerry is more than happy to ditch his clothing. The workouts have had their effect, and he feels confident going topless. Karen wears a navy blue one-piece that hugs her curves. She has managed to stay pretty white – due to all the work hours – but fair skin seems to suit her.
They follow a dusty road through the grounds. Groups of campers sit in the shade, conserving their energy. They pass a row of tents offering items for sale – jewelry, tarot readings, T-shirts – and continue to a wide spread of river rocks. The shore is dotted with parasolled picnic tables along a swelling in the water (the John Day River). Gerry’s vision catches on a woman at one of the tables, thick in all the right ways and rocking a red bikini that few women of her body type would try. She gives off the aura of someone who would prefer to be buck naked.
“Augie!” Karen flip-flops across the rocks to the lady in red and gives her a boisterous hug.
“Gerry, this is Augie, our fabulous hostess.”
Augie cuts the formalities and gives Gerry a skin-on-skin embrace. She is blessed with cuteness: a round face, bright blues eyes, sandy curls. She gives him a small, pert smile.
“So good to meet you, Gerry! Karen says you’re God’s gift. Are you excited about the eclipse?”
“Gerry’s a photographer,” says Karen.
“So you’re definitely excited.”
Gerry gets the feeling he could go the
rest of the day without saying a word.
“Well!” says Augie. “I have to check on my workers at the entrance. But tonight, let’s have a field trip. I have a helluva party for you two. Enjoy the swim. It’s delicious.”
“Bye!” says Karen. They watch her go. “Is she hot or what?”
“Yes.”
“It’s all in the attitude.”
“Definitely.”
“I won’t tell Kerry how much you’re enjoying watching Augie walk away.”
“That’s okay. She’d be watching, too.”
“Ha! You’re right.”
They wade into the water, which is impressively cold, but things numb up quickly and soon they’re up to their necks. The contrast with the sweltering ridges above them is startling. Karen slips behind him and works her hands along his ribcage.
“This,” she whispers, “is the most delicious thing I have felt in months.”
She swims away, a burst of white limbs, then stops to tread water and smile his way. He ducks his head underwater and sails the ice green halo.
They take a narrow road through cowy hillsides, along a deep canyon and onto a spread of ochre grassland rung by low hills. The road turns from asphalt to raked gravel as they head for the lowering sun.
“Honey!” shouts Gerry. “This is it. This is where we will watch the eclipse.”
Augie, riding shotgun, giggles. “Okay. Number one, what’s all this ‘honey’ stuff, and number two, what’s wrong with watching the eclipse from Spray?”
Karen calls from the back seat. “The honey stuff is our little running joke.”
“As for the eclipse,” says Gerry, “Spray is surrounded by high ridges, which would eliminate some of the peripheral phenomena.”
“Man! You got this thing scoped out.”
“I do,” says Gerry. “Now, being the local girl, do you know anything about this particular spread?”
“The Rick Paul Ranch. You’re probably okay loitering here as long as you stick to the roadsides. Oh! Look.”
The Girl in the Flaming Dress Page 14