Текст книги "The Call of the Mountain"

Автор книги: Sam Neumann

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“You could,” he said. “And tell them what?”

“Everything. Show up at the station and tell them what happened. Tell them you set me up. Make it my word against yours.”

“And who,” he asked, “do you expect them to believe? A New Yorker they’ve never met? Or a man they’ve worked with for a decade?”

I shrugged. He was right, but I couldn’t show it. “Stranger things have happened.”

He stepped toward me and grabbed the front of my shirt, the first time he’d put his hands on me. His eyes stared into mine and his voice lowered, almost to a whisper.

“You’d be dead before you reached the station.”

He let go and I exhaled. We stared each other down.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said. “I’m offering you a generous compromise, one you’d be wise to take. The last thing you want to do in these mountains is fuck with me.”

He patted my back again and led me through the doorway.

“Tomorrow night, eight o’clock,” he said. “I’ll see you both there.”

38

The Otter Ridge Steak Room was an opulent affair; a cozy log building the size of a home, nestled into the side of the mountains. The main dining room held no more than a dozen tables. Our table was in a small private room at the far side of the building, filled with lit candles and smells of pine and basil. The lighting was dim, the mood intimate. Our table sat beside a large window displaying a view of downtown Otter Ridge below. The lights of Main Street burned bright in the cool autumn night.

The ambiance was welcoming; the mood at the table was not.

By the time I convinced Suzanne to join me for dinner, she had calmed to a point that was manageable. I thought she would be fine in front of Vince and Adeline. I was wrong.

“Come with me tonight,” I’d pleaded to her, holding her hand between mine in her apartment living room. “Please. I need you.”

“You’ve made it quite clear that you don’t,” she said, yanking her hand away.

“We can talk about it after. I promise. We’ll talk about everything.”

She said nothing.

“It’s a free dinner and cocktails at this nice restaurant. Would it be so bad?”

“Depends on the company.”

“Vince and Adeline are your friends. They were your friends before they were my friends. You like them.”

“Perhaps I don’t like you,” she said, and shrugged.

The conversation continued like this for twenty minutes until she finally softened and agreed to go. We would dress up, eat dinner, and have a nice time, and afterward we would talk things through. I really did need her.

On the drive to dinner, me in a sport coat and her in a red dress and doused in perfume, the trouble began. I will never understand how this happened, or why. But she somehow got the notion I’d slept with another woman, despite the fact that there were virtually no signs. It’s as if she smelled it on me.

“You’re different,” she said, glaring.

“In what way?” I asked. I’d never been particularly good at lying.

“You’re full of shit.”

And it continued like that, until she accused me of cheating on her. There was the fact that she and I had never verbally defined any sort of relationship, and therefore cheating was impossible, but I didn’t dare bring it up. When we pulled up to the restaurant, she was resting her head on her hand, which was resting on the passenger side window.

“You’re unbelievable,” she said. “Damn unbelievable.”

“We’ve established there’s zero basis for what you’re accusing me of,” I said.

“There doesn’t need to be. You ooze infidelity.”

I put the car in park in the small, secluded lot, and looked at her.

“Could you just be cool?” I asked. “You sound insane.”

She shook her head. “You would think of it that way.”

I sighed. “You have no idea how insane you sound.”

“Fuck off.”

“Listen!” I yelled. “Could we just table this shit? Could you just relax for an hour? Would you mind putting off your delusions and accusations for that long, and just have dinner with your friends?”

She shook her head and said nothing.

“Hey, you haven’t heard from Damon, have you?” I asked.

She scoffed and opened the car door. I followed her inside.

For thirty-two minutes, everything was fine. We entered, her slightly in front, and were led to the table where Vince and Adeline already sat. They greeted us warmly, and we responded in kind. For thirty-two minutes, Suzanne acted normally; wordy and cosmic. Thankful for the invite. We both thanked them. The couples sat across from one another. Vince spoke and Adeline smiled. We listened and laughed when appropriate. Cocktails were served, menus were offered and declined. Vince would order for the table. For thirty-two minutes, the mood was bright, and I had nearly forgotten I was being blackmailed by one of them and had slept with two of them and was in considerable danger because of all three.

We spoke of frivolous matters; of changing seasons and food and music and recreation. We did not discuss work or relationships.

“I still remember your set here,” Vince said to Suzanne.

“You sang here?” I asked.

She looked down and suppressed as smile. “It was a long time ago.”

“It was fantastic,” Vince said.

“It was,” Adeline agreed.

“Swanky place,” I said.

“There was a time,” Vince said, “when Suzanne sang at least once a week in the valley. Always the classiest spots.”

It went on like this for thirty-two minutes, cordial and flattering and almost fun. The second round of drinks were served and the food was ordered—steaks for the men and seafood for the women. We talked and laughed and I didn’t think of the perils of my situation. I didn’t think of smuggling heroin. I didn’t think of Vince’s words, which hung in the air when they said them and kept me awake that night.

You’d be dead before you reached the station.

I didn’t think about it. For thirty-two minutes I drank martinis and ate beef tartare and didn’t think about it.

It started with Adeline. She sat across from me, and yet I hadn’t been worried about anything going wrong with her; I’d been focused on the one to my left. Adeline gave me eyes when we sat down, and again when she took a drink of her martini. That didn’t matter; no one saw. She brushed my shoulder once when she excused herself to use the restroom. That didn’t matter. She laughed at most everything I said, and winked at me once. That didn’t matter. None of this mattered, because neither Suzanne nor Vince saw it, and because I ignored it. I wanted to stare at her and yell—Cut that shit out!—every time she made contact. But I couldn’t. I just had to get through the dinner. And for thirty-two minutes I did.

In the thirty-third minute, Adeline touched my foot with hers beneath the table, and this time Suzanne saw it. It was a harmless, innocuous touch—less blatant than her other cues, could have even been an accident—but she saw it. She saw it, her face went blank, and she stared at me.

She spoke eventually, but at first she just stared. Vince was telling a story about a party years ago, recounting a pot– and whiskey-fueled happenstance. He laughed, Adeline laughed along and so did I. Suzanne stared, but he kept talking.

“You piece of shit,” she said, coldly looking straight into my eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Excuse me?” I asked.

Vince stopped his story. “Everything alright?” he said.

“No,” she said, still looking at me. “Not at all.”

Adeline said nothing. I said nothing. We stared at Suzanne and waited.

Vince surveyed the situation, then cleared his throat. He’d seen behavior like this before.

“Listen,” he started.

“No,” Suzanne said, and raised a hand. “This doesn’t concern you.” She looked at Adeline, who wore a nervous smile, then back at me.

“Actually,” Suzanne said, “perhaps it does.”

Vince cleared his throat to speak again, but before he could, she started yelling.

Bastard. Son of a bitch. Go to hell. All the classics, all out of virtually nowhere, all very loud. She yelled something at Adeline, too, but I couldn’t understand what it was. Something about a bitch. Her lovably eccentric demeanor was gone, and she just yelled, like a normal person. The fact that we were in a private room didn’t matter much; I could tell without looking the other patrons could hear it.

“Suzanne,” I said, trying to calm her, “you’re acting crazy.”

“Am I?” she shrieked. “Am I?”

“What are you even talking about?” I asked.

“Suzanne, honey,” Adeline said, “I don’t know what’s going on, but there’s no need to make a scene like this.”

“Oh fuck you,” she said, finally lowering her voice.

In the corner of her eye, I saw the beginning of a tear.

“Fuck both of you,” she continued. “Fuck all three of you.”

“Just what in the hell has gotten into you?” Vince asked in a hushed voice from across the table. He was becoming aggravated. His face reddened and he clenched his teeth. “You need to calm down.” He put extra emphasis on the last words, enunciating them slowly.

At that moment, three waiters entered the room with our entrees. The conversation ceased. Suzanne held her tongue, but tipped back her martini and gulped the rest of it.

“I’ll have another,” she said. “Ketel One, dirty.”

A waiter acknowledged her and they served our plates. In front of me was a twelve-ounce filet and asparagus. It looked impressive and smelled delicious. I wouldn’t be able to appreciate it.

“We’ll all have another round, actually,” Vince said, and the servers left to fetch the drinks.

As soon as they left, she started again.

Asshole. Whore. The words flew around the room and crashed into each other.

“Did you know about this?” she asked in Vince’s direction.

“Jesus, Suzanne. About what?”

“Of course you don’t,” she said. “Why would you? You’ve never seen what’s beneath the surface. You never have.”

She kept going, plowing straight ahead, spewing out half-sentences and disconnected thoughts that made little sense. It scared me, both the way she was acting and the fact that she knew the truth. She could ruin me. She could take me down right there. She was trying.

I looked across the table at Adeline. She wore a blank expression, neither engaging nor concerned. Simply watching the train wreck. A spectator. When I caught her eye, she turned her head and, ever so slightly, winked at me. The woman actually winked at me. That was when I knew she was insane.

The drinks arrived and the conversation again ceased. Uncomfortable silence hung in the air as the waiter placed martini glasses in front of each of us—mine next to my last drink, still half full.

“You’re seriously that stupid?” Suzanne continued once they left. “These two…”—she pointed to Adeline and I—“…have been together. Intimately. They have us fooled.”

Vince looked at her, then the two of us. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment he studied my face, and then hers. His eyes moved back and forth between us, like watching a tennis match. I should have said something, but all I could do was shake my head. My mouth was dry.

He looked at us, back at Suzanne, and after far too long of silence, he tipped his head back and laughed. A deep, belly laugh, reserved for only the most humorous situations. He laughed for thirty seconds, and the rest of us watched. There was a nervous energy. The laughing was misplaced.

“Oh Suzanne,” he said when it died down. “Oh Suzanne.”

Vince rocked forward in his chair and leaned across the table, putting his face in hers. His face straightened.

“Listen,” he said, “you need to calm the fuck down.” His teeth were gritted and his words measured. “I don’t know if you’re going through something, or you keep having episodes, or you’re just not right in the head. But you need to get your shit sorted out. This has gone on long enough, and I will not tolerate it any longer.”

She looked down at the table, like a scolded child. She avoided eye contact and didn’t say a word.

“Now,” Vince said, leaning back in his chair, “are we ready to eat dinner?”

Adeline and I nodded. Suzanne still stared at the table. We all began to eat.

The steak was probably delicious. I cut off the first bite and put it in my mouth, melting on my tongue, tasting like nothing. I sipped the martini. To my left, Suzanne gulped half of hers down. I touched her leg, trying to console her or calm her down or something, and she jerked away.

“Don’t touch me,” she said.

“Sorry.”

“No,” she said. “You know what?” she pointed at Vince. “I’m sick of your shit. I’m sick of you treating me like your unstable daughter.”

“Be careful,” he said.

“No. Fuck that. I’m sick of being treated like I’m crazy. I’m not crazy.”

This was between the two of them now. He said nothing.

“Say it,” she said.

He said nothing.

“Say I’m not crazy.”

“I never said you were crazy, Suzanne.”

“You didn’t have to. But now I want you to say I’m not.”

“Take it easy,” he said.

“Say it.”

He turned his attention back to his steak.

“Fuck this,” she said, and flung her cloth napkin on the table. She slid her chair back and stood up. “You can go to hell,” she told Vince, before looking at Adeline and I. “And you can go to hell, and you can go to hell.” She lifted her martini glass, tipped back the rest of it, and threw it across the room. It shattered against the wall.

Suzanne stormed out of the room, through the front door, and into the mountain night.

The three of us watched her leave, slamming the door behind her, then turned our attention back to each other.

“What was that about?” I asked.

Vince shook his head. “I can explain some,” he said, “but I’m afraid not all of it.”

“I should follow her,” I said, getting up from my chair.

“No,” Vince said. “It’s best not to.”

“It’s best not to,” Adeline agreed.

I looked at the door. “She doesn’t have a ride. She’s probably just waiting out there.”

“She’s not waiting,” Vince interjected. “She’s gone.”

“She’s gone,” Adeline said.

I looked at them. “How can you know that?”

“I know her quite well,” Vince said.

I expected more of an explanation.

“So,” I said, raising my palms in the air, “where did she go?”

“She belongs to the mountains now,” he said.

I shook my head and raised my voice. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“Please,” Vince said, “sit down. Let’s eat. Let’s have dinner, like we were supposed to. And I’ll explain as much as I can.”

I looked at him suspiciously. Then at Adeline. Then back at him. When would the explaining be over?

“Trust, remember?” he said, and held out a hand suggestively.

I sat down.

The steak did not regain its taste, and I kept glancing back at the door, expecting her to walk back in, teary-eyed and ashamed. But she didn’t.

Vince explained. And for once, something made sense, if only a little.

39

The candles burned down as Vince spoke, their hot wax flowing down the sides and hardening into new shapes. The martinis kept coming, and the lights seemed to dim.

“In our community,” he started, “women are welcomed with open arms.”

He went on to explain, in depth, the community of which he spoke. It was a cooperative living effort—not under the same roof, but spread out over many apartments and homes, all owned by Vince and one of his business partners, from the sound of it. The idea was that anyone who worked for them—or “with” them, as he said—in any capacity would be provided shelter, food, and amenities.

“We didn’t just want to build a business, but a community,” Vince said. “Where like-minded people can live together, work together, and help one another out when needed.

“There are all sorts of responsibilities assigned to individuals. Cooking, cleaning, small construction projects. Simple things like harvesting firewood in the winter. Most jobs vary by season, and often rotate. The majority are simple, straightforward tasks to keep our community going.”

“And the other thing,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, “and the other thing. Probably twenty percent of the community members help out with my transportation business. Drivers and processers.”

“So those guys that always gave me a ride back to my apartment after runs?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “On my payroll. Some of the few people in the community that know the specifics of what we’re hauling.”

“What do you tell everyone else?” I asked.

“Most don’t ask. They have no interest in what I’m actually moving. They go about their business and live comfortably, and never once have to see heroin.”

I looked around the restaurant, caught off guard by him mentioning the drugs so freely.

“Don’t worry,” he said, motioning around the room, “these guys are legit.”

I looked at Adeline. She sat quietly.

“Why didn’t you tell me this up front?” I asked. “The community. No one told me. Is it some kind of secret?”

“We generally don’t like to explain the community to outsiders right away,” he said. “They can get the wrong impression.”

“Like it sounds like a cult?” I asked.

“Cult is one we’ve heard. Or simply oddball hippie commune.” He took a drink. “We’ve found when we can bring people into the community gradually, introduce them slowly, those sorts of preconceived stereotypes are broken down by the time they’re fully involved. It allows them to see us for what we are, rather than some cartoonish assumption.”

“So that’s what you were doing with me?”

“In a way. Though you made it quite more difficult than most.”

He laughed. She laughed. I laughed, because it felt right.

“I recognized your curiosity early on,” he said. “Putting you as a driver was an error on my part.”

They each took a bite of food, and new drinks appeared. My head was getting cloudy, and I reminded myself to stay sharp. I was driving, and I needed to process what was happening. I stopped drinking.

“Okay, so how does this explain Suzanne?” I asked after a lull.

Vince looked at Adeline.

“Suzanne and I came to Otter Ridge together,” she said, patting her face with a napkin, “as friends. We went to school together in Oregon.”

I nodded. She continued.

“It was years ago. At that time, we were very close. Like sisters. Attached at the hip in school, did everything together. We came out here looking for seasonal work, just trying to avoid getting a nine to five and falling into a boring life.

“We shared a tiny apartment we couldn’t afford and got crappy jobs. She was a bartender—that’s how she started singing in bars around here—and I worked at a ski resort. It was winter then. Before long, we met Vince and his people, and started working for them.”

“Define ‘working,’” I said.

Vince chuckled. “Nothing shady. At first, they both did a little of everything—odd jobs, keeping places clean—then they became our de facto chefs.”

“We essentially cooked for everyone in the community,” she said. “Suzanne and I, we were a team. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was fun. We were good at it.”

“The boys loved it,” Vince said, now recounting the time with nostalgia. “We’d never had a dedicated chef before. I understand how this might come off to some—two women doing the cooking for a company of mostly men. I understand how it might sound, if you were of the closed-minded ilk. It wouldn’t surprise me if your east coast roots were tugging on your brain right now, screaming sexism or chauvinism. Not by any fault of your own, of course, but because of how you’ve been conditioned. Because of how we’ve all been conditioned, over time.”

He was right.

“Maybe a little,” I said.

“The thing you have to understand,” Adeline said, “is that in our community, sexism isn’t an issue. We strive for—and come very close to—total equality. Everyone’s equal, but that doesn’t mean everyone’s the same. Suzanne and I had a gift for preparing food, so it only made sense that that gift was utilized. We could have rejected that notion, under the guise of feminism, but in the community, we were unthreatened by our male counterparts. Feminism isn’t necessary, because we’re already equal.”

“And of course,” Vince said, “it wasn’t only women.”

“Of course,” Adeline said. “The men would routinely help us with preparing meals, given the time. And we would help with outdoor and shop projects from time to time. In fact, there were women who did those jobs full time. Not a lot, but a few.”

“It’s how the community works,” Vince said. “We’re looking forward to you learning more about it, and expanding your role.”

They both looked at me. I nodded my head. This felt like a recruitment, but I was already in. One of Vince’s mind games, maybe, or maybe he really was just trying to build trust. The more and more we talked, the more and more it seemed he really did just want me to buy in.

“Okay,” I said.

“But Suzanne,” Adeline said. “You’re wondering about Suzanne. After being in the community for a while, Vince and I began our relationship. This of course changed things, and Suzanne never dealt with it very well.”

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“My role changed,” she said, “I had different responsibilities as Vince’s companion.”

“And she didn’t like that?” I asked.

“It was hard for her, I think. She and I had been together for so long, the move kind of took us apart. We still saw each other plenty, of course, but not in the same capacity. I moved on, and she stayed as a chef for a while, before bouncing around to other, similar tasks.

“Part of it was jealousy, I think. She’ll never admit it, but she’s never completely gotten over it.”

“Which brings us to today,” Vince said. “Suzanne’s been unstable for a long time now. Between her inability to cope with Adeline’s changing role, and her general disposition, things have gone the wrong direction. She was able to mask it for a while, and be a productive and positive member of our community. But lately this has not been the case. She’s been angry, distant, borderline violent.”

“She bounced around between a number of men,” Adeline said. “I apologize for bringing that up, but it’s important.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said.

“We were hoping you would be the stabilizing force she needed,” Vince said. “For whatever reason, that has not happened. It’s unfortunate, but not surprising. No one’s to blame.

“For obvious reasons,” he continued, “someone in such a destructive state of mind cannot operate in our community. It’s bad for everyone. The negative energy coming from one person is enough to slowly erode everything we’ve worked for. So when it comes to this, generally the community member in question is asked to leave. It’s happened a few times, and it’s always for the best. Suzanne has been with us for a long time. She’s generally beloved, and for those reasons we’ve given her much more leeway in this regard. But it comes to a point when you have to do what’s necessary.”

I nodded.

“That point is tonight,” Vince said. “Suzanne has been very close to leaving on her own accord for a long time now. She hasn’t worked in some time, and generally avoids the conversation. We’ve given her the benefit of the doubt due to her longevity, but increasingly it has seemed she is no longer interested in being a part of our cooperative effort. Adeline, others with an interest in the matter, and I have agreed, if she chose to leave, we’d honor that choice. That is what happened this evening.”

“How do you know that?” I asked. “How do you know she’s not just blowing off steam?”

“She made the choice,” Vince said. “She has to live with it. She won’t be invited back.”

“That’s how it works?” I asked.

“That’s how it works.”

I thought about it. Adeline sat straight-faced, ready to answer any questions or spit more information about the “community” and Suzanne. She was remarkably adaptive, able to pivot from provocative touches and batting eyes to cold businesswoman, the first lady of Colorado heroin smuggling. Each time I met her, she surprised me in some way.

“She’s not getting hurt or anything?” I asked.

“No,” Vince said with a wave of his hand. “Julian, no. Of course not.”

“We’d never hurt one of our own,” Adeline said. “Even though Suzanne may not be a fit for the community anymore, we still consider her a friend. We would never hurt a friend.”

I asked more questions, and each of them was answered. I asked about the dealings with the local police, and was told it was a necessary relationship that was brokered long ago, and again was assured it was nonviolent. I asked about the drugs, how much the others knew, and who was using. Vince told me a very small percent of the community members knew what was being shipped—only those who worked directly with the product—and zero percent used heroin.

“Not a single one,” he said. “It’s strictly a way to support the community. It’s very important to us that our members don’t use. A few have gotten caught up over the years, but those cases are extremely rare and immediately dealt with.”

“So no heroin,” I said, still uncomfortable with the word and keeping my voice low, “but I’ve seen plenty of weed smoked.”

“Marijuana is fine,” Vince said. “We treat it the same as alcohol. Psychedelics are okay on occasion, with approval, but that’s it. Our policy beyond that is zero tolerance.”

I asked about the future plan for me, and was told I was in control of it.

“Of course,” he said, “we’re constrained a little at the current time. Right now, we can’t have you leave the community completely. I understand how this sounds, and I need you to understand why it is, and that it’s a special case.”

“I get it,” I said. “We went over it.”

“Of course,” he said. “Past that, your role is up to you. You can be as involved as you’d like. If you just want to continue doing runs and live on your own, that’s perfectly acceptable.”

“But,” Adeline said, “Vince and I both agree, ideally, your role would expand. Despite some bumps in the road, he sees your value. We’d like to see where you could go within the community.”

I looked her in the eye and tried to see the other side of her. The other sides of her. The girl who showed up at my apartment drunk and slept over. The one in the coffee shop who expressed uncertainty about her relationship. The knockout at the ball with a tight dress and flowing hair, making small talk with her friend. I looked in her eyes and tried to find these people, but saw nothing but a calculated CEO. I saw my former bosses, I saw Wall Street, I saw emptiness.

We finished dinner, Vince picked up the check, and I drove home. Despite everything, I still expected Suzanne to be waiting at my apartment, but she was not.