We stop and float. Eddy and Jay smoke a joint. I think they are crazy. I am very drugged already. I hope they don’t die. I kiss Abbey. I start to notice that I am this human with two parts—this essence that is thinking right now, and the body that this essence is stuffed into. I make the essence float up and hover above my body. I try to make the essence fly up onto the mountain tops, but it is chained to my body with a leash. The leash is about four or five feet long. I realize that the body wants Abbey and that my essence doesn’t give a damn. I realize that most of the time this essence tricks me and makes me think I’m just one thing, not two. I want the separation to stop. Now. But I remain split. I tell Abbey that I want the mushrooms to wear off. She smiles and says, “Enjoy them. They last a long time.” I am scared even without the snakes.
2:49 P.M. My watch is talking to me. It sounds like an insect. I want this stuff to wear off. Time moves slowly. I have to pay my dues.
Eddy is really fucked up. So is Jay. They are drinking and smoking joints. Abbey and Sly keep laughing. Everything is funny to the girls. They all ask me why I am so quiet. This is fun they say. It is a trip they say. They swim and dive off the boat. I am worried the boat will start and cut somebody up. They keep swimming near the prop.
Eddy slips and cracks his elbow on a metal cleat. He is bleeding. He has just come out of the lake and is wet. The blood stream mixes into the thin sheet of water on his freckled body. It is a bad cut. Sly says she can see the bone. She wraps his arm in a towel. Jay gets Eddy another beer. Eddy thinks hurting himself is a joke. “Ouch,” he says. “I’ve got an ouchy, Mommy.” Everyone starts laughing again. Jay howls, “Ouchy, ouchy, ouchy.”
4:15 P.M. Eddy’s lake house. Eddy wants to watch TV. He is tired from the boat ride and his arm is sore. We leave him and go away.
My essence keeps hovering over me. I am still split in two. I am a character in a movie. My essence is watching me. Abbey keeps touching me. I don’t want anyone to touch me. I want to crawl inside myself. I think of the snakes.
Jay is really fucked up. He drives up a dirt fire road to the top of a mountain. He wants to see a view. We park. Abbey knows I’m freaking out. She is being nice. She hovers over me. I tell her not to touch me. She says we need to walk. Jay and Sly stay behind. They are going to do it in the van. I know. My essence wants to watch them. My body is repulsed by the touching.
I tell Abbey she is being nice, and tell her not to touch me because I am separated. We walk. It is starting to get dark and I see a woodpecker. The bird is pecking. Knock. Knock. Knock. I reach down and pick up some bark and give it to Abbey for payment for taking care of me. The forest smells like sap. I am not getting sober, but I am not getting any more head rushes now.
We walk back. Jay and Sly are playing Frisbee in the dusk. They are not screwing. They are both athletes. Abbey talks to Jay and Sly. I pretend like I can’t hear but I can, “He’s getting better…it was so cute, he gave me a piece of bark….”
Jay slaps me on the shoulder and asks me if I had a good trip. I lie and say, “Yes.”
“Bitchin’,” he says.
7:00 P.M. We are buying groceries. Sly and Abbey are still girlfriends. They are going to make dinner at Sly’s. I am not split anymore. But everything is still bent. Abbey and I hold hands in the store. Her hand feels okay. She is leading me around as if I were a child.
We will barbecue chicken. I enjoy the shopping. I enjoy looking at all the labels. Everywhere I look there is something interesting in the fine print: “$2.19/#, taste-O-fine!, Thiamine Mononitrate, push down and twist counter-clockwise to open childproof cap, SALE ITEM, imported from Korea, artificial flavor, Yellow 5 color, Monosodium Glutamate, COUPON INSIDE BOX, contains partially hydrogenated soybean or palm oil….”
Abbey finds a package of chicken. There is a bright orange sticker on the cellophane that says, “Great on the grill.” There is an old couple next to us. They are mountain people. His clothes are dirty. She has a big frayed hole in the back of her sweater. They are looking at chuck roasts. They are proud people. They stand up straight and proud and search through the packages until they find one they like. He finds a small one but she says it’s old and brown. She finds a bigger one. She seems delighted that they will buy the big one. We buy our groceries and the mountain people are in front of us. They buy their food with food stamps. The man buys a pack of cigars and some candy for his wife with his own green money, a $5 bill.
The old mountain couple are so beautiful that I want to cry. I feel the floor beneath my feet. I am heavy and my bare feet are pressed against the flat, cool floor. I am off the ‘shrooms. I am glad I didn’t die. I am glad I didn’t see any snakes. I feel very lucky. I feel like a loser.
M M M
It was past midnight when Abbey and I got back to the cabin called Oz. Jay stayed up at Sly’s apartment, and we drove home in the van. It was peaceful in the cabin. Zoe and Seth were deep in sleep. Upstairs, Seth’s snoring was rhythmical and low. This sound of sleep blended nicely with the dull whine of the electric clock in the kitchen and the dark vacuous breeze of the forest outside.
A big smoldering log in the fireplace cracked and popped as sap boiled deep in its core. A wispy flame hung on top of the chunk of firewood, the flame going whoosh whoosh trying to stay alive. Aside from the firelight that seeped through the fireplace screen, a vintage darkness seasoned the cabin; it was as if we had disappeared inside a huge cask, the wooden walls aged and stained from dark purple wine.
I stoked the fire, and the flame, which moments before cowered with dying breaths, now voraciously engulfed the fresh, dry log I threw on. Abbey and I lay in front of the hearth on fat pillows that smelled of mold and the pickling forest scent. We entwined ourselves like stacked spoons—her front to the fire and her back pressing against the front of me. We lay very still and watched the fire move.
Abbey’s voice was a quiet saxophone. “You scared me today. All that stuff you kept saying. Being split. Being separated.” As she talked into the fire, her words bounced off the flames and flew back like little spirits. “How come that weird stuff never happens to me?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “Drugs affect different people differently, I guess. In you, drugs play like music In me, sometimes they play like —, like a charade. Sometimes the mask they make me wear doesn’t fit so well. The mask digs in.” I placed my hand on the slope of Abbey’s hip and gently gripped it, feeling underneath my fingers the sleek bone darting toward her pelvis. I withdrew my caress and said, “Eddy’s the one that really cracks me up. Drugs make him think he’s Superman. He’s the kind that’s going to kill himself on them.”
“Who cares about Eddy?” Abbey said. She took my tentative hand and clasped it tightly against her bosom. I felt Abbey’s fingers drawing imaginary pictures on my palm. She was sending signals of affection that she had never sent before, and I was both delighted and frozen.
My eyes rode her curves like a roller coaster. Her faded jeans, her girly stockings with snowflakes stitched on them, her silky blouse untucked at her waistline, her wonderful herbal smell.
Gingerly, I stroked the tip of one of her breasts through her blouse and camisole. I touched her so faintly that I wasn’t sure if she noticed. My perception narrowed until I heard nothing but our breathing and the crackle of the fire. The moment was so pleasurable it made me dizzy. I wondered if I was separating again.
Abbey said, “That feels nice.” Beneath my fingers I felt a hard knot, and I cupped the breast with newfound boldness. While my fingers played, Abbey hummed quietly, the way people do when they dream, in low chirps and singing exhales. The thought of making love to Abbey made my heart do pirouettes inside my chest.
She rolled on her back and smiled at me. Her green eyes were full of glassy orange diamonds from the fire, and her brown hair flowed sexily all over the faded pillow.
“It’s time,” she said. “I think we’re both ready.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Thanks for what? We haven’t done anything yet,” she said. Coy and sweet and sassy—that was Abbey Butler.
I slipped my hand under her top and felt her hidden flesh. I moved on top of her and kissed her passionately. I became afraid when she pushed me away.
Her eyes were full of orange diamonds again. “We better go upstairs,” she said. I took her hand.
I lit a candle and apologized for the rumpled underwear that was strewn on the crates Jay and I had made into a dresser. The loft was a meager and simple space underneath slanted, unfinished rafters; in places, toothpicks of silver night peeked through the lattice of shingles. But it was my turf, my element. I felt increasingly bold and sensual there with Abbey.
We stood and began our lovemaking systematically. I unbuttoned her blouse and tossed it on Jay’s bunk. She kissed me hotly and pulled off my T-shirt. It got stuck around my neck because she was too careful; so I intervened and ripped it off. My face stung as she claimed her prize and threw it side-armed onto Jay’s bunk.
The pace quickened, and my hands moved all over her.From her charming face that was still candy-red from the sunshine, to the languid curves of her churning and wiggling slim buttocks, to her soft naked breasts and perfect nipples, erect from both delight and the chilly mountain air.
Her hands moved all over me, too, responding and inquiring.
Deep kisses. We siphoned each other’s spirits back and forth, back and forth, as though we were mixing our passion in two swirling glasses of brandy. I got on my knees to remove the chastity of Abbey’s final garment. I was already naked and openly stiff. Her panties were tiny and of the same dull white silk as her camisole. Above the hidden fluff between her legs was a dainty bow sewn onto the middle of the elastic band. I nuzzled her. Her hips danced a slow waltz. She hummed more loudly a melody of sleepy love sounds.
I removed her panties so that we could finally come together. The nakedness between her legs was more womanly than I had imagined—thicker and more symmetrical. In the crease of one leg, between her pelvis and upper thigh where the elastic of her panties still left an impression, was a small mole the size of a grain of coarse pepper. The dark spot was moving and beautiful.
We lay on my bed and continued to breathe each other’s breaths, our darting tongues mimicking the motion that was beginning between our bodies. Abbey’s humming exhales turned to passionate moans, and she spread her legs to share herself. I let my face travel to her smooth, flat belly and kissed it and felt tantalizing heat steaming inches below. I arched forward, and our bodies slipped together with a perfect fit.
Chapter 9
Mr. Clobber’s Wild Ride
Love mends, and, like dope, love bends….
"It’s hard to believe it’s already August,” I said. Jay and I were sitting on Schooner Pier, our favorite hangout on the lake front. There was a nip to the morning air, and I wished I had brought along a sweatshirt or something.
We hoped Eddy would stay true to his word and take us out for a pull that morning. Both Jay and I watched the horizon for the Blue Max. Yet we knew not to become overzealous. Eddy was flaky—sometimes he showed up when he said he would, and sometimes he didn’t.
* * *
“Look at the lake, just a slight chop,” Jay said, “—fucking primo, dude. I’ll bet over in Emerald Bay it’s as smooth as glass.” He raised his eyebrows. “If that donkey, Eddy, shows, I’m going to give you some water ski lessons today. I’m going to show you how to shred.” He gave me a hearty slap on the back. I felt warmer.
“What’s Sly up to? Isn’t it her day off?” I asked.
Jay shrugged his sinewy shoulders. “Yeah, she’s going shopping with Abbey and Zoe.” His face looked uneasy, like a parent’s face looks when his kid does something new on his own. “They called her up last night, said they’re going to South Shore.”
“I think it’s good that the girls are all getting along.”
“It’s cool, I guess,” Jay said. “I’m going to see Sly tonight.” He grinned and exposed the silver caps on his eyeteeth. “I have some major sperm build-up I need taking care of, dude. I’m going to give my lady an extra large hot beef injection.”
Jay and I both laughed devilishly.
Seriously, I did think it was nice that the girls were getting together with Sly. Other than the one time we did ‘shrooms, Abbey acted icy toward her. In fact, when Abbey and I were alone, sometimes she made fun of Sly: “That accent of hers is probably a fake. She just wants you guys to think she’s chic. God, and the way she bounces around and sticks her boobs out….”
I couldn’t find anything wrong with Sly, myself. She treated Jay like a king. I wished Abbey was as openly affectionate with me.
Abbey Butler’s relationship with me was tenuous. It had a way of wringing me out like a wet dishrag. Abbey didn’t have a big heart. She had, I decided, a high-quality small heart, which could issue affection so pure and so strong that it was addictive. She could also shut it off in an instant.
Jay finished cleaning the lenses of his Vuarnet sunglasses and retied the bandana around his neck, then put his shades back on with cool precision.
“Do you love Sly?” I asked.
Jay leaned over the edge of the pier and hurled a scoopful of icy water onto me.
I felt cold again.
“Hey, wait a minute. Is that Eddy?” He pointed at a blue ski boat that, from our perspective on the pier, was only about an inch long. We watched the boat’s image grow as it moved toward the Schooner Pier at an angle.
The boat turned sharply, whipped a skier in a graceful arc, then headed away. It wasn’t the Blue Max.
“Shit, Jay said.” He lay down on the faded wood pier and told me to keep watch.
I stared at the lake for a long while. Its surface captured the crisp, morning-time beauty like a painting. Brush-strokes of purple, green and gray whisked over the blue canvas; ripples made curved mirrors to wink back at the sun. The thing about Lake Tahoe was that it was so gut-wrenchingly vivid, sometimes it frightened me.
“Why’s she such a fuck-up?”
Jay didn’t answer.
“I’m talking about Abbey.”
He sat up and carefully surveyed the lad for Eddy. “She’s a rock‘n’ roller. Being a party hound comes with the job. Lighten up, donkey.”
“It pisses me off how she wipes herself out sometimes,” I continued. “Like at the Lake Club audition. Why did she freak out and rip reality out of the ground? What do you suppose she’s keeping from us, when she escapes into Never-Neverland?”
“Look it,” Jay said. “You party, I party. You have secrets, I have secrets. Not many chicks are like Abbey. Not many chicks can sing like Abbey. She’s no angel. The reality of it is, man—she never will be.”
Jay’s smug, cool attitude was chafing on me.
Neither he nor the rest of the members of Bandit said much about it, but everyone knew he was coming. There were flyers all over the place. The friggin’ Tahoe Tribune ran a half-page ad in the entertainment section.
“What the hell is going to happen when the Pricey Dexters show up for their Labor Day gig?” I asked. “I have a feeling their drummer is going to be a pain-in-the-ass.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing him, myself,” said Jay. “I like the dude. So I’m asking you to give him some respect.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“It’s about you and Abbey, I know,” he said. “But I was there, dude. Dom and Abbey ended up hating each other’s guts. I don’t know what the whole story was. But listen to this, when Abbey split that was it with her and my buddy, Dom. I’ve known her for longer than you have, dude. She likes you. She cares for you.”
There was something in Jay’s speech, however, that didn’t underscore what he said. It was the cadence of his voice, the way he
tried to rush through the facts and get the topic over with.
We waited until one o’clock, and Eddy finally showed. It had gotten choppy on the lake, and few skiers were out on the water. Jay and I didn’t give a damn. We went for it and beat our legs to death out on the big, blue lake.
* * *
The only western prop left in the Lone Star was a mechanical bull named “Mr. Clobber.” When the bar used to be an Okie club, the bull was named “Thunder ‘n’ Lightning,” and some people, like Mike, the bartender, still referred to it that way.
The bull’s new name was associated with skiing, Tahoe’s numero uno sport. The verb “To clobber” is local dialect meaning “to crash” or “to wipe-out.”
Tacked onto the wall in the back room where we dressed, there were some snapshot photos of the Lone Star Version One. Sawdust on the floor. Checkered tablecloths. Cocktail waitresses dressed like cowgirls. Mike, the bartender, dressed like an Indian. In front there even used to be a sign of a cowhand roping a lone star with a lariat. Now, there was a sign of a skier doing a back-scratcher, with a lone neon star plunked over his head.
The Lone Star Version Two was your basic post-disco era, jogger generation, class “A” nightclub, and I endorsed all renovations made except one. The bull I saw in the snapshots had dignity—he was a thoroughbred creature. “Thunder ‘n’ Lightning” was sleek. His saddle looked oiled, his metal unrusted, and his two glass eyes had a proud, noble glint.
Now he was very ill-kept.
His hide was miserable and ragged; his saddle was worn and cracked; his metal was tarnished; and his right eye was missing and now just a frayed socket. Somebody placed a ski hat—the elfy, pointed kind with a little fluff ball on top—on poor Clobber’s crown. Nailed to the underside of his rear quarters were two stuffed socks. When they jiggled everyone would laugh.
Something else about Mr. Clobber was that his control lever was “ca-broke.” The settings in the middle didn’t work, leaving only two extremes—low and high. Because of his faulty circuitry, he bucked and spun in only one direction.