Stir It UP

When Brian returned to the lodge, Angelina hurried out to apologize. “So sorry.  I sent you to the wrong place.”

He interrupted and his words rose in urgency to tell her what had happened at Debbie’s, but she shook her head. “No. Hush. Please, it’s my fault.”

On the porch, they rocked in the chairs and Polly brought them lemonade. The air stirred as honeyed light poured through the treetops.  Invisible insects buzzed under the porch and happy shouts occasionally burst from the carpenter’s distant dreamlike patois as they ate lunch at picnic tables.

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Angelina said, “Marijuana is a misdemeanor in North Carolina. So even if I didn’t know the police chief and several judges personally, the penalty for ten pounds of weed stashed in my car is $5,000.  Right now I’m making twice that off one pound a week. Trust me.”

“I’ve learned the hard way, Angelina, not to even jaywalk.”

“What if Trevor accompanies you?”

“For now, sure. But the summer session starts in two weeks.”

“I’m going over a new schedule with Kaya. See that van under the carport? I rented it so the Jamaicans can go into town. Trevor’s band is playing at the Avalon tomorrow night, so everyone’s buying new clothes. Trevor’s making fashion suggestions, but I’m driving. Tagging along so people can see the men are my friends.”

“Gives me time to study,” Brian said, “unless someone thinks I need special clothes.”

“Spend time with Carla when nobody’s here for once. Even Polly’s coming with me.” Angelina sipped her lemonade and offered Brian her newly lit spliff.

Brian sucked in the smoke as if for the first time. When he handed it back to Angelina, his voice croaked, holding it in. “Does Trevor know? It’s a misdemeanor.”

Angelina shrugged.

“Don’t tell him.”

Carla and Polly were cleaning up after lunch. Did Brian want rice and beans? Cucumber salad? Aware he was grinning for no reason, he refilled his lemonade glass and fixed a plate of cheese and cut fruit.

He and Carla had worked long, exhausting hours for weeks. So that afternoon, when the whole camp was theirs, they made love on a blanket under the trees. Later they fell into the comfort of their bed, made love, and rested again. They woke and showered together and curled up again in bed. When Brian touched Carla and looked in her eyes, she welcomed him without distraction. And he realized, for weeks now, they had loved each surrounded by static. Finding each other and staying there, riding each other’s waves, took no effort. No preliminary, secret mental processes to separate from everyone else; no struggle to come together. She dozed on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

The group returned, shouting and high stepping. The days were growing long and dusk hadn’t begun to settle. Brian heard Trevor call, “Twenty minutes!”

Carla got up to stand naked at the window.

“Earle, Zanz,” Trevor yelled. “Twenty minutes. Dress rehearsal.”

She stayed near the window and Brian watched her. Carla’s hands rested on her hips, the left side cocked high. After a minute or two, she arched her head backward, shook it, and returned to Brian.

He closed his eyes and lay still as death, wishing he hadn’t seen what he saw. Carla might have tried to tempt Andrew, as she suggested. But what bothered her—Brian saw this without doubt—what made her sour and irritable was Trevor. Not, as she was always claiming, because she thought Trevor stole attention from Brian. But because she couldn’t tempt Trevor.

The darling jester Trevor might grab Carla to play, but he desired her no more than he did Polly. With his eyes closed tight, Brian recalled how Carla moved around Trevor, languidly circling him again and again, signaling him: Look at me. She expected Trevor, who loved all kinds of women, to feel some heat coming from her. Carla belonged to Brian. Therefore, Trevor should feel a terrible pull. In all decency, Carla should bother Trevor enough so that pushing her away hurt him.    

Brian pretended to wake and held Carla’s face, searching for the tiniest hint he could be wrong. He wasn’t.

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