I slept through the night in the warmth of Alden’s strong arms. Whenever I stirred in my sleep, he pulled me even tighter to him, grasping me firmly to his body in a spoonlike embrace as if he understood exactly what I needed in order to fall back into my dreams. Several times during the night I could tell that he was hard, and at some pre-dawn hour, in a pearl-grey light, I felt him grab me against him and he eased inside of me.
Neither of us said a word, our bodies doing the communicating for us, rocking each other in a soothing rhythm until we were both satisfied with the connection of skin on skin. Once again, we didn’t speak, and this time we didn’t even meet eyes. I couldn’t force myself to pull away from him, to roll over and see what sort of expression might be on his face. I didn’t want to lose the feeling of his warmth against me, so I stayed languid and let him do the work. Our bodies remained connected, even after we came.
I opened my eyes a bit before six, and saw the room in that hazy early-morning glow. Alden’s boots were still in the corner of the room, his clothes tossed in a haphazard manner on the wicker chair by the bed. When I rolled over on the mattress I saw that he was asleep, his expression one of peace. I nestled against him again, my face on his chest, and he brought one arm around me and held me tight.
I thought we’d talk when we got up, that he would explain to me what had happened, but the next time I awoke it was long after dawn, and I was by myself in an empty bed. There was no sign that Alden had even been there, aside from the flecks of dried mud left by his boots on my polished hardwood floor. That and the fact that my body still hummed with aftershocks of the pleasure we’d shared. I didn’t understand what his nighttime visit meant, and I didn’t have time to find out. Mia was taking a late-morning flight, and I wanted to be in San Francisco by the time she got there.
With my mind still on Alden, and Sheila, and whatever had happened to him the previous evening, I packed my bags and headed to the city. I drove without seeing the sights, taking the curves through the tall redwood trees in my stride, paying little attention to the beauty of nature that surrounded me.
The city brought me back to my senses, and I felt myself sliding into LA mode as I manoeuvred among the congested traffic, dancing from one lane to another with the type of grace that only comes from years of city-driving experience.
I checked into the hotel Mia had named and unpacked my small satchel, then waited for her. I raided the mini bar for the makings of a cocktail, and spent my time drinking Johnny Walker Red and doing my nails.
In college, our trio only occasionally was forced to make actual plans of attack. Usually, Joelle and Mia came up with an idea on the fly, brainstorming a way to get me past an angry girlfriend, or hosting a night of such decadent orgy-like festivities that nobody remembered one measly indiscretion. But this was different. Now that the whole town was talking about me, Mia needed to give them some drama, something big and fierce to take their minds off the Alden situation.
‘So the question,’ she said over drinks at the top of her favourite San Francisco hotel, ‘is who?’ We were in a famous bar that rotated, turning in a perfect circle every hour to give the most breathtaking panoramic view of the city. I could tell that the majority of the other patrons were tourists, but that didn’t bother me. Being surrounded by strangers felt oddly comforting after being so rudely confronted in The Saloon the previous evening.
‘Who what?’
‘Who am I supposed to go for? If I’m going to create some new scandal for people to gossip about, then I want to make sure I pick the right guy. Not just any guy, but somebody who will be worth my trouble.’
‘God, there are so many. The soap operas that go on in town are unbelievable. Each day, people are on to something new.’
‘Then why am I even here?’
‘Because those are the fillers. The little newsbites. I’m the story of the week. The banner headline.’
‘And are you going for this guy for real, this firefighter guy?’
I shrugged. I had no idea. I’d wanted a bit of companionship, not a whole full-blown drama. And I had no idea how to deal with what had happened the night before. Alden had stayed in my bed all night long, but he hadn’t talked to me about Sheila, or the gossip, or even what the firecall had been about. If he wanted to be with me for real, he’d have to do better than that. He’d have to let me get inside.
‘Charlie, I’m not trying to be a pain, but I have to ask again: why am I here?’
I sighed. ‘Because I want to stay in Raysville. I don’t want to bow out after a month. And, if I’m going to make it, I need a little more time before everyone judges me.’
‘From what you’ve told me, I think they’ve already judged you.’
‘Then I want them to see that they’ve misjudged me.’
‘Or, rather, you want them to spend their time judging me, right?’
‘Well –’
‘So who do I shower my affections on?’
I thought about the bevy of bar beauties. The girls and their boyfriends who hung out at The Saloon. Was there one couple in particular who would be susceptible to a gorgeous blonde stranger swooping in from out of town? It was Mia’s intention to say she was here from Texas, her original home-state, to avoid any connection to me. She still can put on plenty of accent to sound authentic, and I didn’t think anyone would question her cover story. She’d decided to claim that one of her magazines had sent her to do a profile on B&Bs in the area, and that she was spending a month driving up and down the coast. She’d stay at the Oleander Inn, the nicest B&B in nearby Dogtown, but she’d spend plenty of time in the Raysville hangouts, in order to understand the local colour.
‘Hangout,’ I corrected her. ‘There’s only one nightspot in town.’
‘And the cantina,’ she said. ‘You told me they were all talking about you there.’
‘And the post office, and the grocery store,’ I repeated miserably.
‘I’m going to put in appearances at all these places. So, once again, Charlie, tell me who I should focus my attention on.’
I thought hard, and then smiled.
‘You have someone in mind for me, don’t you?’
‘Noah Sweet,’ I said, feeling pleased.
‘I like the name already.’
‘You’ll like the man even more than the name. He’s got a total Jim Morrison quality –’
‘Before or after the drugs started to take effect?’
‘A young Jim Morrison,’ I responded quickly. ‘Tall and dark-haired, a bit brooding as if he always has something serious on his mind. He’s very handsome and he plays with a local band that does mostly reggae covers. There are three girl singers in the band – the Sweethearts –’
‘The Sweethearts?’ Mia sounded incredulous.
‘I know. It’s too perfect. They wear pink and red tie-dye with assorted heart shapes printed on them.’ Mia made a face that indicated she was about to be sick, but I kept talking. ‘And, according to my sources, he’s slept with them all. In fact, he’s done the rounds in town quite extensively, if you want to believe the rumours. People say he’s worth the effort, even if you know from the start that it won’t last.’
‘Then will anybody even care if I’m on the scene?’
My grin broadened. ‘Oh, yes, they’ll care. Everyone will. All the ladies pay constant attention to who he’s with. As I understand it, the belief is that he’s playing the field only long enough to decide which chicklet to choose as his homesteader. Until he chooses, they’re all still in the running.’
‘Is it all about the guys choosing the girls still? Are we on Outback Jack?’
‘He’s as cute as Outback Jack,’ I told her with a grin. I was starting to feel really good about our plan.
‘I’m serious, Charlie. Don’t the women have a say out where you are?’
‘I know it’s a bit old-fashioned sounding. That just seems to be how things are out here. I can’t really tell how, but I think the girls simply manage to let the guys know when they’re available.’
‘They put a neon sign outside their double-wide?’
‘Not everyone lives in a trailer.’
‘But enough do, according to you,’ Mia said. ‘Enough to give definition to the expression “trailer trash” if I’m to trust you.’
‘That was just the one story I heard –’
‘What else do I need to know?’ Mia asked, toying with the thin red straw in her drink. ‘Does he bathe? Does he drive a pick-up truck? Does he like to party?’
‘Yes, to all those counts. I mean, I assume he bathes. He definitely scrubs up nice enough. I think he’ll take your breath away when you see him for the first time.’ I thought about her other questions. ‘When I stood near him at the bar, he smelled divine. And he drives a vintage green Ford with a bumper sticker on the back window that says “If it’s tourist season, why can’t we shoot ’em?’”
Mia giggled.
‘Tourists are a big deal in Raysville. Nothing like in LA, where they really would rather stay in their own quarters: Disneyland, Universal Studios, the Hollywood sign. Here, when it’s tourist time, the whole town fills up with people. You can’t get a parking space at the market. You can’t find a seat on the sidewalk outside of the Cowpie. You’re just lost in a sea of pastel-clad strangers.’
‘And I’m going to be the newest stranger in town,’ Mia said, smiling. ‘So how should I approach this Mr Sweet?’
‘He plays every Saturday night at The Saloon.’
‘You didn’t just say The Saloon, did you?’
‘That’s the one place in town that tourists seem to know not to go to. Years ago, someone was shot in the place, and that memory lingers. It’s as if The Saloon were a cowboy who enjoys the bad-boy reputation. The murder went unsolved, although I’ve heard that everyone in town knows exactly who did it and why.’
‘You’ve got your own set of laws out there?’ Mia said teasingly.
‘If you show up and play a little pool and drink a little whiskey, I’m sure that Noah will find you without a problem.’
‘So that’s the plan?’
I nodded.
‘And how will you and I communicate? Cell phones?’
‘No. The reception out there is unspeakable. Or rocky, anyway. You have your laptop. We’ll have to email, and then meet out of town. You can start by getting a place at the B&B and sending me an email when you’re situated.’
‘This really is an undercover project.’
‘Like you wouldn’t believe. The locals are extremely suspicious. Stick to your story like glue. Don’t make a change for anyone. They’ll compare notes. It’s what they do. God, it’s what they live for.’
Mia motioned to the waitress that we were ready for another round, and the restaurant slowly spun a little further. It was a rare fogless day, and San Francisco looked like a fantasy city, the strange skyscape with the pyramid-shaped Transamerica Building, the cigarette-silhouette Coit Tower and the dramatic dome of the Palace of Fine Arts. We stared together for a moment, while I visualised the skyline of Raysville. No buildings. No treacherously windy streets. No cable cars. Just mountains and cow country. And, somewhere in a distant firestation, Alden.
Was he worth all this?
I’d have to take a chance to see.