“And you want to bring Nellie with you?”
“Yes.”
Stan thought a while. “We’re gonna have to figure out how to clue her in to the real deal then. It has to be handled just right. Let me think about it while I’m sittin’ in the woods with nothing else to do.”
Stan walked off to where his kayak was beached, and I tried to imagine him as a rough-hewn Thoreau, mining philosophical gems in his isolation by the shore.
But such a fantasy evidently required a bolder imagination than mine.
37
It was just around noon on a bright Friday, with the weather holding unseasonably warm. Walking out of the office, I wondered idly how climate change might affect our resort. Would the lake remain full all summer? Would the high season get extended? Wet kids dashed around, yelling and ignoring their mothers’ calls to get out and dry off for lunch. A party of six nonresident hikers emerged from the woods, heading for the dining hall as if beckoned by the enticing smells that wafted from its open windows.
I was expecting the arrival of our band. For the first time, we were trying live music. It was just a local jazz trio, but one with a good statewide rep. The Lucky Graves Group, featuring a slightly unorthodox combo of sax, keyboard, and drums. Nellie had thought they might draw people from Centerdale, nonguests who would make the drive and drop some much-needed dollars. Dubious at first, I soon caved under the force of her enthusiasm.
“Glen, you got to take a chance!” she said. “Spend money to make money. You’ll see! Why’d we ever build that little stage in the dining room if we aren’t ever going to use it?”
“I dunno, maybe because DiPippo forced it on us to jack up his bill, and we had to agree if we wanted to keep him and Broadstairs happy?”
“Ay, you cynic! Always with the downers. Trust me, this is gonna be great. Besides, maybe I can get these guys to play some batuque—after midnight, when all the kids have gone to bed. I think I heard they know how. You watch me dance batuque, you are gonna explode in your pants!”
With a promise like that, it was hard to refuse.
But Nellie and her batuque prowess were nowhere around at this crucial moment, as I heard the sound of tires on gravel and looked up.
Like some infernal harbinger of doom, the black Escalade rolled onto the grounds of the Bigelow Junction Motor Lodge as smoothly and inexorably as a storm cloud. I tried to see it as a talisman of our imminent good fortune, but the vibe it gave off was not amenable to any optimistic spin.
I went back inside the office and told our clerk, Anildo Pereira, to go to Vee’s unit and deliver a message.
“Tell her the fish has arrived and is ready to be gutted and filleted.”
Anildo seemed puzzled. He and the rest of the new staff knew Vee only in her role as the motel tramp. “I didn’t know Ms. Aptekar helped in the kitchen.”
“Just run and tell her, okay? But don’t make a big deal out of your errand, right?”
I supposed I should have gone out and boldly greeted Nancarrow and company at their car, putting on my Mr. Greedy Hospitality Guy hat just as I had a few days ago for Digweed and Rushlow. But instead, trying to master my emotions and nerves, I pretended not to notice the SUV’s arrival and stepped back inside the office and waited for them to come to me. I double-checked the registrations to make sure the two units reserved for our trophy fish were still vacant. And, of course, they were.
The screen door of the office opened outward under the hand of someone hazed by the sunlight into a white glare.
It proved to be Buck Rushlow, followed closely by Needles Digweed. They swept in like the king’s advance guard, looking left and right. And behind them, an impeccably put together Barnaby Nancarrow. Dapper, self-assured, radiant from Pilates and the tanning salon. A true master of the universe, even though that universe had been born in the white-hot big bang of many arson events.
Now or never, do or die. Into the valley of death rode the lonely ex-junkie disbarred lawyer …
My smile radiated game-show-host wattage. “Why, Mr. Digweed and Mr. Rushlow! Very nice to see you. Though frankly, I am surprised to have a chance to greet you again so soon. I thought we had disappointed you.”
“Naw,” said Rushlow. “We didn’t mean half that shit we said. Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed that morning.”
“In fact,” Digweed chimed in, “when we got home we told our boss about what a great place you had, and he insisted on coming up for the weekend. No hunting, though—just relaxing. He even brought us along, since we had to cut our vacation short before. He’s a pretty great guy.”
“This is him,” said Rushlow. “Glen McClinton, Barnaby Nancarrow.”
The way Rushlow intoned Nancarrow’s name, you might have thought I was being introduced to a hybrid of Prince Charles, the Koch brothers, and George Clooney.
I shook hands with Nancarrow. He had a decent grip that was obviously doled out according to some kind of internal meter that registered the importance and net worth of the recipient. I moved the needle a tad past halfway. I had something he wanted, but I didn’t possess much status or value on my own.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Nancarrow.”
His plummy voice betrayed none of his underclass roots. “Barnaby, of course. And I’ll call you Glen.”
Although I had met Nancarrow that one time at a party, during my respectable days, and had seen him at a distance on our way out of the city, this was my first real chance to take him in up close.
I had to admit, he was a handsome bastard. Tall, sandy-haired, eyes the color of windshield-washer fluid. His clean-shaven profile might have allowed him to serve capably as the TV-commercial spokesman for a pricey brand of liquor that didn’t taste very good compared to less-famous beverages, but which coasted along on chic patrons and astute product placement. He kept himself in top shape with what must have amounted to twelve hours a week in the gym. His determinedly casual outfit must have run him somewhere north of two thousand dollars, not counting the shoes. As a former fan of male finery, I recognized Paul Stuart tailoring. A cashmere and silk zip-neck sweater in forest green, gray houndstooth wool trousers, blue suede hiking boots. The final touch would have looked ridiculous if Stan or I or most other guys had tried it, but somehow, he managed to carry it off: a light-as-air silk scarf printed with ancient Persian warriors on horseback, in a palette of golds and browns. I figured the warrior motif was meant as subtle intimidation.
I don’t think I was too obvious in my appraisal, or took too long in making it. Nonetheless, he seemed to register my scanning for what it was, generously permitting it, even basking in it, as if he were accustomed to such admiration wherever he went. It was his way of silently saying, Admire me all you wish; you will never measure up.
But despite his flawless dress, his manicure and epidermal exfoliation, his intelligent gaze and lofty air of superiority, and his name on all those elegant plaques outside so many doors, there remained about him an ineradicable nimbus of Gulch alum Algy Teague—an oily exudate compounded of coarse avarice, desperate striving, and a carefully masked sense of inferiority. I could easily believe that here was the man who had ordered Stan Hasso to torch so many of his holdings.
Or maybe I was just projecting onto him the insecurities I wanted him to bear. Maybe I couldn’t stand the thought that he had succeeded in transforming himself from his rough origins into something better, while I had taken the opposite course.
Nancarrow’s next words were a little disconcerting.
“Glen, my associates and I took an awful chance in coming up here unannounced.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. In our spontaneous excitement, we neglected to book ahead. Now we can only pray that you have lodgings for us at your fine establishment, and on such a busy weekend.”
“Well, it seems you’re in luck, Barnaby. We do have two rooms, thanks to an unexpected cancel
lation. I assume that Mr. Rushlow and Mr. Digweed won’t mind doubling up again?”
“Boys? Any objections?”
The smarmy duo, no doubt recalling the fun they had as bunkmates with their casual motel tramp earlier, registered no complaints.
Anildo returned just then and eyed me significantly, as if to say, Message delivered. Leaving him to handle the paperwork, I took the unit keys.
“Let me show you to your rooms. We can pick up your luggage as well.”
The bodyguards went through the door first. But despite their precautionary vigil, as Nancarrow exited, he was nearly bowled over by someone hurtling into him.
38
Vee had outdone herself in come-fuck-me allure, without actually teetering over into hookerwear. She wore a little flowing, flouncy white summer dress with spaghetti straps, revealing much and hinting at the rest. Her tanned legs fairly glowed. Platform sandals with straw uppers added statuesque inches to her height, and the classic seductive arch to her posture.
Bouncing back off Nancarrow, Vee fell against the willing arms of Rushlow and Digweed. She righted herself with a hand on each man’s chest. They looked both flustered and titillated, with a veneer of embarrassment at their failure to catch Vee before she had caromed into their boss.
“Oh, boys, thank you so much!”
Nancarrow rapidly regained his aplomb and adjusted the minor kinks in his attire. He regarded Vee with unabashed desire modulated only by the immense number of women he had possessed.
“Oh, Mr. McClinton, I am so sorry! You know I don’t generally run around knocking people down—especially impressive strangers! It’s just that I was so upset, I had to hurry over to get your help. When I stepped out of my room, there was a snake on my doorstep! And he was huge!”
“I don’t believe we’ve had a single snake sighting around the lodge before this, Miss Pomestu.”
Since Vee could not very well go by her real last name—the surname of Nancarrow’s betrayed partner of yore—she had coined this one.
Vee scowled now at my judgmental attitude about her snake sighting, and put fire in her tone and eyes, making her all the sexier. “Are you saying I imagined the snake, Mr. McClinton?”
“No, no, of course not. It’s just that—”
Nancarrow graciously but firmly interrupted. “This could all be handled so much more efficiently by simply going over to the young lady’s room and checking for any slithering trespassers. May I offer my services, Miss …”
“Pomestu. But you can call me Vee. Oh, and I haven’t said sorry yet for bumping into you. I’m so sorry!”
“The encounter was actually quite pleasant, Vee. I’m Barnaby Nancarrow, by the way.”
Vee accepted Nancarrow’s hand and held on to it a beat longer than etiquette demanded. Rushlow and Digweed were smirking behind her back until they caught the steely look in Nancarrow’s eyes and shifted to more formal demeanor.
“Pomestu—that’s an unusual last name.”
“It was originally Estonian. That’s where my grandparents came from. But I’m afraid it got messed up when they came to America.”
“Well, I have to say that based on what I have seen, Vee, Estonia must be home to some of the most gorgeous women in the world.”
“That is so sweet of you to say, Barnaby!” Vee huffed at me. “At least some people know how to treat a lady.”
“Shall we go and investigate now?”
“Please. I’d be ever so grateful.”
I accompanied all four to Vee’s doorstep, just a few yards from the office. Of course, no snake was to be seen.
Nancarrow was pure solicitude. “Do you suppose it could have gotten inside, Vee? Perhaps we should check.”
“Oh, would you, please?”
She unlocked her door, and Nancarrow and I followed her through while his two muscle heads stood guard outside.
The room represented the essence of bachelorette existence: a bit of whimsy in the stuffed animals and decorative pillows, some hard-edged practicality in the stockings and slip drying over the back of a chair, and some desperate touches in the overflowing ashtray and stack of Cosmo magazines. There was no trace of Ray Zerkin, of course. He was now bunking with me, and Nellie was sharing Sandralene’s cabin.
Explaining these new arrangements to Nellie without revealing the scam had taken some delicate footwork. Luckily, we had never gotten too specific about why Vee and Ray were here at the lodge in the first place. We had just let Nellie assume they were friends of Stan’s who needed a place to stay.
I eventually boiled down my lies to a new and fictitious incompatibility between Vee and Ray.
* * *
“Ay, I can see that,” Nellie had said. “That Vee, she’s really gone off the rails. I don’t understand it. Those first few days after I came here, she seemed okay. Talvez um poku frio. Maybe kind of distant, you know? And all those weeks when the workmen were here, she kept a low profile. She could have been hitting on them, but nothing. Then, once we go into operation, bam! She turns into some kind of mulher de vida fácil. It’s hard to figure.”
“People are strange,” I said.
“Verdade!” At the time, we were behind the screen in the office, and Nellie snuggled into me, all soft, firm curves and pleasant scents. “But, Glen, this is going to make sleeping together impossible for us!”
I had been so engrossed in carrying out our entrapment of Nancarrow, I completely failed to consider this. “It’s just for a little while,” I said. “Bookings will tail off when the high season’s over, and we’ll get Ray set up in his own room. Meanwhile, we can always steal an hour here or there when he or Sandy is out.”
“Oh, I hope so, Glen!” she had said, with a kiss full of fleshly promise.
* * *
Now Vee said, “I don’t see any snake. Oh, my God, maybe it’s under the bed! Mr. McClinton, would you look? I think you should be able to ensure that your guests are safe!”
I got down on my hands and knees and scoped out the dust kitties under the bed. When I got back on my feet, Vee was just pulling back from whispering in Nancarrow’s ear. He did not seem displeased.
I tried to sound suitably annoyed yet deferential to a paying customer. “Miss Pomestu, if you’re done with us now, I have to get Mr. Nancarrow set up.”
“Oh, of course. Sorry to be such trouble!”
Vee stood in her doorway and watched us proceed a few yards away to the two adjacent units that would accommodate Nancarrow and his lunks. Nancarrow looked back at her before going inside. Vee waved happily at him.
If there was ever a man who did not think with his gonads, I hadn’t met him.
39
I thought I could spare a few minutes from supervising everything at the lodge to go see Stan and not get caught doing it. I missed his reassuring presence more than I had expected. And maybe I still felt he was the senior partner, and just needed some attaboys from him, and another pair of shoulders to bear the angst. Also, he might have some thoughts about how to bring Nellie up to speed on what was really going on. Contemplating the moment when I had to disclose everything to her was giving me the heebie-jeebies.
The hired band, the Lucky Graves Group, scheduled to go on at eight, had shown up around five in a hard-used white Ford van with some amateurishly drawn musical notes adorning its sides. Nellie introduced me to the ebullient Lothar “Lucky” Graves, the leader and sax man. The skinny, plain-faced woman on drums was Maxie Trimmer, and the keyboardist was a chunky bearded guy named Ledger Danielson. Once they had inspected the room and the stage, they settled down in the shade of a chestnut tree for a noodling rehearsal. Lodge patrons, attracted by the music, came and went. Ms. Trimmer had only part of her kit set up, and Danielson was fooling around with what looked like a child’s toy keyboard, but they sounded pretty good, and I hoped their reputation would draw in the Cente
rdale crowd that Nellie anticipated.
I checked out the kitchen, then headed to my room to get into my swim trunks. Nellie intercepted me halfway there.
“Glen, this new guest—who is he? He came with those hunter jerks who were here before, and I had him figured for just another olho do cu like them. But he seems more high class. Pretty nice, in fact. You know what he just asked me to do?”
It flashed through my mind that Nancarrow had decided to hit on Nellie as backup, just in case he crapped out with Vee, and I started to get mad. I also felt a little nervous that she might say something to him that would unsettle our scam, or that he would say something about a possible sale of the lodge—he hadn’t broached the matter with me yet. I really didn’t want the two of them getting chatty.
“I don’t know anything about him, really,” I said. “The hunter boys said he was their boss. Boss of what kind of business, I can’t say. Maybe he runs a club and they’re his bouncers. I have to admit, he does have better manners than those two mooks. But he’s also a lech. He’d like nothing better than to perv on a sweet young thing like you.”
“Ay, you’re jealous! It’s so cute! No, believe me, I didn’t get those vibes from him. He just wanted me to arrange a favor. He brought his own champagne with him. Two cases of Dom Pérignon—I seen the labels. You know what that juice costs? About two hundred dollars a bottle! He just wanted to know if we had room to chill it down, and I told him seguro.”
I felt myself relax. “Oh. That’s all right, then.”
“Maybe he’ll share it with us if we ask nice. I never tasted stuff that good before!”
“Well, let’s just concentrate on showing him a good time, and maybe he’ll feel generous. Don’t go bugging him.”
“Bugging him? I got too much to do!”
She kissed me quick and scurried off.
I unlocked the door to my room. The shades were drawn, and the Ray Zerkin fug of spilled snack foods and teenage sweat was thick but not terrible. As an adolescent, I had no doubt generated just such a musty atmosphere back in my hooked-on-video-games days. I thought of how my parents had indulged me back then, and a pang of regret and nostalgia shot through me.
The Big Get-Even Page 18