by Don Porter
“Aye, aye, my fearless if sexist protector. You go out and get shot. I’ll wait here like a good little girl.”
“Damn it, Angie. Me Tarzan, you Jane. We both have roles to fulfill. It was foreordained by the primal drive for the survival of the species. As the female, you must be protected at all costs; as the male, I’m highly expendable. You hold the door. I’ll go out and get shot. There might be enough trouble outside without you giving me any in here. Men have all the fun, so shut up, like it, and hold the door.”
“Yes, master.”
She did hold the door open a crack. I gripped the pistol and walked up behind the sedan. I could see through their windows, no weapons apparent. Two women came burbling and giggling out of the theater, opened a back door and slid into the sedan. The engine started, the sedan pulled out into traffic, and I beckoned to Angie to join me.
The Buick was parked on Second Avenue, but short of the din that was coming from the native bars. My cellophane fluttered out of the doors again. We tucked ourselves in and found a hole in the traffic. We turned right on Cushman, over the bridge, and thence to the Rendezvous Club. No Cadillacs, no Mercedes, so I parked in the lot, and was surprised when Angie climbed out of the car with me.
“Sure you want to go inside?”
“Yeah, I’ve always been curious. You will protect me? I mean, you are still carrying your gun?”
“Not much protection against Jody, but come on in. The club is a little scary but it actually is legal.”
Angie stopped just inside the door and stared. Romey was on the stage, wearing very little more than a smile, and making suggestive gyrations around a fire pole. The stage was ringed with shouting admirers, most waving bills to be stuffed into the few strings Romey was wearing. I scanned the bar, saw no familiar backs, so turned a sharp right to the dark corner table, and Jody beat me to it. She was carrying a paper grocery bag.
“Here’s your glasses, handsome. Cash on delivery, of course, and no more assignments. I was mauled worse than when the sourdoughs come in from the creeks.”
“Thanks a bunch, Jody. I really appreciate this.” I handed her three twenties which went straight into her garter.
“And I appreciate this.” She meant the cash. “Care to buy me a thirty-dollar bottle?”
“Some other time, okay? I’m with a friend.”
“I thought you came in with that sweet pea who’s cowering by the door. If she’s looking for work, I’ll bet Satch could use her.” She didn’t catch the double entendre of use.
“Thanks again, Jody. Always a pleasure doing business with a pro.” She didn’t catch the implications of pro either. I left Jody adjusting the bills in her garter, caught Angie’s elbow, and steered her outside.
“My God, I didn’t realize men are so desperate. Alex, you didn’t, you couldn’t.”
“Of course not. I told you she tried to glom onto me and I had to brush her off. Ever try to clean molasses out of velvet?”
“So, what’s in the bag? If it’s souvenir lingerie, I’ll kill you on the spot.”
“What I have here, my doubting and possibly jealous Thomasina, might be the evidence that’s going to break the case. Now, how about barbecued ribs at the Wagon Wheel?”
“Lead on, my stalwart and sterling-charactered protector.”
Cellophane was in place on both doors. I drove fast into town, crossing the Lacey Street Bridge, then circled a block and came back to the river at Wendell Street. We were not being followed. I decided to give paranoia the night off.
***
The Wagon Wheel is a long low structure with appropriate bits of memorabilia from the horse-drawn era hung on rough-hewn log walls. Its two claims to fame are superb pork ribs slow barbecued over a birch wood fire, and Steve Hahn playing an electric organ that can make you cry, laugh, or sing at his command.
We were ensconced at a table in a dark corner beside the dance floor, enjoying both the ribs and the music. We’d started with rum and Coke, and when the ribs were delivered, we didn’t bother to change. The atmosphere was too rugged for wine, and the rum too good.
Maybe thirty couples occupied tables that were scattered around the edge of the dance floor, most of them gnawing ribs, all of them seemed to be enjoying themselves. The thing is, you can’t be stuffy or formal because you have to eat the ribs with your hands, and are going to get barbecue sauce on your fingers and your cheeks. You keep mopping cheeks and licking fingers, but you still have to laugh at yourselves. A perky little waitress in a cowgirl outfit kept us supplied with towelettes and kept the rum and Coke flowing.
“Kinda gives new meaning to informal dining, doesn’t it?” Angie asked.
“I think it gets back to the basic human condition. Ever see the movie Tom Jones?”
“Yep, and I know the scene you mean. They’re gnawing on bones, grease to the elbows, and it was the sexiest scene that’s ever been filmed.” She reached across the table with a towelette and took a swipe at my cheek.
“Trying to keep me from getting too sexy?”
“No, that was the maternal instinct. Ever watched a two-year-old eating cereal?”
A few couples had finished dining and moved to the dance floor. I noticed a familiar back, and when he turned, it was Freddy, wrapped around a fragile-looking redhead. They were half tripping, half gliding, and headed our way.
“Look out, Angie, I think that couple is about to join us.”
“Quick, finish that last rib and clean yourself up. This could be embarrassing.”
“Yeah, well you’ve got a dab of sauce on your nose, but it’s kind of cute, and I’m too polite to mention it.”
We dived in, finished the last ribs. Leaving even one bite was not an option, and we both applied towelettes. We made it just in time; Freddy spotted us and dragged the redhead over.
“Hi, Alex, this is Jeannine. She just got off the jet from Arkansas this afternoon. She’s the new schoolteacher for Stevens Village and I’m teaching her some survival skills.”
“Hi, Freddy, hi, Jeannine. This is Angie, born and raised on the Kuskokwim, and she’s just been giving me a few pointers. Care to join us?”
Jeannine peeled herself loose and sank into a chair. I got the distinct impression that her first priority was surviving Freddy. Freddy grabbed the other chair, just a little too close to Angie, and rubbed shoulders with her while he sat. Angie adjusted her chair a couple of inches my way.
“Where in Arkansas?” I asked.
“Fort Smith, and it is pretty different. Ever been to Arkansas?”
I nodded. “Yep. I was in Fort Smith on New Year’s Day once. Comfortable in shirtsleeves and fall-colored leaves still on the trees. You are so right, this is very different, and it’s going to get a lot more different in the next few weeks.”
Freddy flagged down our waitress and ordered two gin and tonics, so apparently he intended to stay a while. I pointed to the two glasses Angie and I had nearly emptied. The waitress nodded and went to fetch a round.
Angie was shaking her head, and reached to squeeze Jeannine’s hand. “Arkansas to Stevens Village? What have they told you?”
“Well, it’s a one-room school with eight grades, but only twelve students. What else do I need to know?”
I jumped in. “One thing you need to know is the school is heated with a wood stove, and your contract better specify that someone in the village will cut the wood and light the fire every morning. Where are you going to stay?”
“I have my own room in the storekeeper’s house. His wife does the cooking, so it will be like boarding.”
“That’s appropriate. Six of the kids belong to them, but having your own room may mean you’re only sharing with the girls. Anyhow, they’re good people.”
“Freddy has just been telling me that I need to wear a wedding ring, and he’s volunteered to pretend to be my husband.” Jeannine looked up at Angie, then me. She was hoping we’d contradict that bit of advice, and I
was sorry to disappoint her.
“Well, the wedding ring is a must. If you show up as single, the men in the village will not understand why you don’t pick one of them. You’ll be the most beautiful girl they’ve ever seen, so the competition could get ugly and the women won’t like it much, either. You pretend to have a husband and talk about him all the time. A single woman who wants to stay that way simply won’t make sense to them.”
Jeannine blushed, but I hadn’t intended a compliment; I was telling her the unvarnished truth. “You’re scaring me. Am I really in for an ordeal?”
Angie took over. “That depends on your attitude. If you came for an adventure, you’ll love it. Watching the Yukon freeze up, stop, and become a highway is fascinating. I promise you, if you make it to spring breakup, you’ll never want to leave. The power and grandeur of the Yukon waking up in the spring might be the most exciting thing on the planet. If you just came here for the money, you’re in trouble.”
Jeannine seemed to be considering. She picked up a fresh towelette and shredded it, stacking the strips on my plate of bones. “I’ve read Robert Service and Jack London, and all of that, and I’ve always dreamed of coming to Alaska, but they are paying me over twice what I was earning in Arkansas.”
Freddy piped up. “They darn sure should, and believe me, you’re going to earn every penny of it.”
Angie stood and reached for Jeannine’s hand. “Come on, you and I need to powder our noses.” She led Jeannine past the dance floor toward the facilities.
Freddy leaned back and got comfortable. “Well, you old dog, where have you been hiding Angie, and how much am I bid not to tell Celeste about her?”
“Sorry, not up for blackmail. Why do you think I care what you tell Celeste?” I thought Freddy frowned when I said blackmail, but it was his idea.
“You think I’m blind? I’m surprised the two of you haven’t got it on right on the counter.”
“Okay, I guess I did notice Celeste, but Angie’s my sister-in-law, and our relationship is as pure as the driven snow. Tell you what. I’ll buy the next round, just on general principles, and you keep your mouth shut to save me some explaining. Fair enough?” He nodded. The waitress appeared and dealt out the drinks. I dropped a twenty and a five on her tray. The five was a tip, and it did earn me a half smile, but the poor kid appeared almost too tired to smile. She squared her shoulders and dove back into the fray.
Freddy sampled his drink. “Sister-in-law, huh? Funny, I disremember you having a brother.”
“Don’t get too technical, I’m telling you the truth. In the Yupik Eskimo Nation where her husband and I worked together, we were called Eelooks, partners to the death. You don’t have to share genes to be brothers. It was my partner, Angie’s husband, who was killed when that pickup exploded at the Rendezvous Club.”
“Aw, Jeeze, Alex, I’m really sorry.” Freddy did look stricken and subdued. Either there was more human compassion in him than I had supposed, or else the gin had finally caught up with him.
The ladies seemed to be taking a long time in the powder room. Freddy and I sipped politely for a while, then just gave up and finished our drinks. I waved down the waitress again and she brought two more. That time I dropped a ten and a five on her tray and she smiled again.
“So, you’re flying Jeannine out to Stevens in the morning?”
“Yep, got to get my new wife properly settled.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a despicable scumbag?”
“Oh yeah, the subject comes up now and then, but it’s worth it. Look, I’m not going to rape the girl. I just happen to know how lonely she’ll be in a couple of months. Hey, giving her a shoulder to cry on is practically a public service.”
Angie and Jeannine threaded their way back across the dance floor. Jeannine seemed to be taller and happier than when they left. Angie sat down, but Jeannine stood by her chair.
“Freddy, would you take me back to the hotel, please? I’m really jet-lagged and tomorrow’s a big day.” She didn’t wait for an answer, she turned and started for the door. Freddy scowled, drained his drink, and got up. Then he reached for Jeannine’s untouched glass and carried it with him, sipping as he went.
“Good Lord, Angie, what did you tell that girl?”
“Oh, I just mentioned the birds and the bees, Alaskan style. She may have a new idea about who’s boss, and she does know to call me if she gets lonely. Just the usual girl talk. Alex, do you think Freddy is a friend of yours?”
“Well, he used to be, but after tonight I’m not so sure.”
“Damn, men are so blind. He can’t blame you for Jeannine’s rescue, I mean in general.”
“Aw, come on, Angie. I’ve known Freddy for fifteen years. We flew together when we were trying to figure out which end of the airplane goes first.”
Angie shook her head, obviously disgusted with me, and downed half her drink. The ice was almost melted. She wrinkled her nose and reached for my glass. “Alex, all I can tell you is to just look in his eyes sometime. Did you bring me here to dance, or to argue?”
We danced. Swede was on a nostalgia kick. We did foxtrots from the Fifties, the Swing a couple of times, even some disco. The mood was just right for us. If you’re dancing for fun, not trying to smother your partner or using the dance as foreplay, you give your partner some room and go with the music.
The waitress brought fresh drinks. I tipped her again, we danced again, and again. Around two, Swede played his theme song.
The theme song, of course, is “Wagon Wheels.” I hope you know that song, and if not, your parents and grandparents do. Wagon wheels, wagon wheels, keep on a turnin’ wagon wheels.… It evokes endless prairies, loneliness, but bravery and determination. That song has always struck me as appropriate for Fairbanks because if there weren’t people with more bravery, guts, and determination than good sense, Fairbanks wouldn’t exist. Wagon wheels, carry me ho-oo-ome, then, very softly, wagon wheels, carry me home. Swede shut down the organ.
House lights came up full and people scrambled out as if the lights were a cold shower. We sank down at the table and drained our glasses.
“Want to take me back to the hotel, Alex? I may be catching jet lag.”
“Nonsense, the party is just starting. Help me stand up and I’ll show you some real music and dancing.”
Chapter Ten
Come what may, time and the hour run through the roughest night. We gave up trying to appease hangovers with decaffeinated coffee at the Maranatha, and I braved the morning sunlight in search of a phone. No telephone in the room, of course, no doubt because it might disturb our meditation. I found a pay phone in the lobby and fed it quarters until Trooper Tim came on the line.
Tim is the special trooper who serves the villages around Bethel so he’s a steady charter customer. He’s also a very good friend.
“Alex, when are you coming home? My hair’s turning gray.”
“What, you want me to pick up some hair dye in Fairbanks?”
“No, I want you to come back to work. Vickie has been sending me out with Pat.”
“Hey, Pat’s a fine pilot. One of these days he’ll be driving the jet when you go into Anchorage.”
“Yeah, the sooner the better. You know that sand spit where we land across the river from Sheldon Point?”
“So?”
“So, Pat and I landed there yesterday and we were both terrified.”
“Tim, Pat is a good pilot, what can I tell you?”
“Maybe he is, but I wish he wouldn’t turn pale when I show him where to land. What’s up?”
“If I send you a couple of drinking glasses counter-to-counter can you get them fingerprinted and cross checked?”
“If it will bring you home sooner. Prints belong to Saddam Hussein?”
“I have no idea, but I need to know. The glasses will be on the next jet.” The phone dinged for more quarters, but I was tapped out. It went dead, so I hung it up.
Angie was hovering by the coffee shop door. “Alex, I’m hurting, and I should go to work in a few hours.”
“Want to hit the Model Café for some real coffee?”
“That would help, and a Bloody Mary wouldn’t be bad either.”
“Check and cheque. The coffee shop at the Traveler’s Inn.”
We drove across town, and I was pleased to note there were no dents in the Buick. When you wake up with a fuzzy memory of the night before, there’s always some concern for the car. Venturing out on the highway in that condition would be tantamount to suicide or murder, but a few blocks in town are usually survivable. Not smart, just survivable. Most cars in Fairbanks have a crumpled fender or two, and no one seems to mind.
“How much rum did we drink last night?” Angie did look a little pale, which was alarming, considering her ancestry.
“I never count while the party is raging. It spoils the mystique, you know. Maybe six before they closed the Wagon Wheel Club. After that I have no idea.”
“We went to the Squadron Club so we could park at the hotel. You were driving mostly in the right lane and gave me a lecture about the drunk drivers on the road. Traveling with you certainly is educational. I’m amazed at how many occupations are open to women in this town.”
We parked at the Traveler’s, had Bloody Marys and a pot of real coffee, and the world did settle down. Normally I want nothing to do with vodka, but on the morning after, when it’s suitably mixed with tomato juice and Tabasco, it is prescribed by nine out of ten drunks.
Angie had returned to her normal hue and was even getting some sparkle back in her eyes. “Orders of the day?”
“I need to nip out to the airport. I want to get Jody’s underwear on the morning flight. Then, I guess I’ll stop by Interior and pick up my paycheck in case you want to lead me astray again tonight. Can I drop you at the station? It is your car.”
“No thanks, and I’m never touching alcohol again. Take me back to the room for two hours repair work and I’ll grab a cab to the station.”
“Your slightest whim is my edict. Do you need help standing up?”