Eureka
A full moon hung
over the Trinity River Valley in Northern California. It made for a beautiful drive—the
moonlight on the water, the gentle slope of the canyon lined with pines, the
river like a rippling white ribbon. Ward glanced up from the winding road,
determined to print the scene in his mind. He’d never seen a picture so
perfect. He figured he’d be in Eureka around 10:00 p.m., get a room there and
take a long, hot soak in the tub and then a shower. After camping for five days
on the Trinity, a hot bath and a warm bed seemed like heaven.
He had left Jimmy in
Junction City at Pat’s place. Jimmy would be heading home tomorrow, back to
Redding and down through the long valley to Vallejo. They had fished the
Trinity hard, from Weaverville to Junction City, with nothing to show for it
this year. Nineteen seventy-three was not a banner year for salmon. That didn’t
matter. October on the Trinity was reward enough: the clear, cold mornings out
on the water, the afternoon temperatures climbing into the eighties, the air so
fresh you could taste it, and then hanging out at the bar Pat owned where cold
beer and conversation flowed like the river itself. The fishing didn’t matter.
This was his last
trip with Jimmy, Karyn’s father. That’s what mattered. Karyn was moving on and
there was no way to change that. She was in love, and you can’t fight love. You
can’t say don’t love him, love me. It doesn’t work that way. It was good
of Jimmy to plan the trip, their last hoorah so to speak. They had fished the
Trinity for salmon every fall for a half-dozen years and this trip was a nice
nod to tradition. Jimmy was a good man, damn good, and he’d been a great
father-in-law. For the five days they were together, he’d never mentioned
Karyn, never asked about the break-up. Ward was grateful. He didn’t want to
talk about it.
Ward made it to Eureka on schedule and found a room at a motel on West Fifth Street. After the hot soak and shower, he felt like a new man. He was ready to find a friendly tavern and throw back a cold beer or two. The attendant at the front desk directed him to a place a couple of blocks over, an easy walk from the motel.
Ward wasn’t
looking for excitement. He thought about turning around and heading back to his
room. Finally, he crossed the street and went inside. There were a handful of
customers at the bar and in booths along the wall. A small dance floor took up
the back of the room, a jukebox off to one side. He took a stool and waited.
The bartender was
busy with the two recent arrivals, especially the blonde girl. She was talking
loud, laughing, poking fun at him, and he was giving it right back to her. It
seemed they knew each other. She stood on her stool and leaned across the bar, showing
generous cleavage from a scoop-neck knit top, and demanded a kiss from the
barkeep. He grabbed a breast in each hand and planted a kiss on her lips, all
the while squeezing the ripe little peaches. The blonde girl found this
hilarious. What strange world had Ward stumbled into?
The bartender
broke away and came toward him. “Hey, buddy! What can I get you?”
“Whatever you have
on tap. Hey, what’s with the wild child over there?”
“Oh, don’t worry
about her.” He smiled. “Her sister is keepin’ an eye on her.”
So that was it:
little sister, big sister. Ward nursed his beer and tried to relax. He noticed the
girl glancing his way every now and then. After a couple of rounds, she was
starting to look pretty good. She was a little plump, spilling over her jeans
at the waist, but she had a pleasant face and large, expressive eyes. It really
was a nice face. You’d have to say pretty if you were being fair. She smiled at
him once when their eyes met and she had a nice smile, too. Another couple of
beers and she would look like a young Shirley Jones. The Partridge Family theme played in his head.
Ward took some
change and wandered over to the jukebox. It was a good playlist and he dropped
in a few quarters and started to punch in his picks. And then the girl was
standing next to him, bumping elbows.
“Why don’tcha play
‘Earth Angel’? I love that song.”
“Sure.” He punched
in the letter-number combination, wondering at the choice, a song from the
mid-fifties. “Anything else?”
They scanned the
columns and made a few more selections. She was very young. Was she old enough
to be in this place? He got a strong whiff of cologne, mixed with the alcohol
on her breath, and he recognized the scent: it was Karyn’s favorite. What was
it called? Emerald, or Emeraude, something like that. This girl had bathed in
it.
“I’m Ward, by the
way.” He waited for her to respond. “And you are?”
“Umm, I’m Jane.
Call me Jane.”
“Jane Doe?”
“What?”
“Nothing. Can I
buy you and your friend a drink?”
“Sure.” She led
the way over to the bar. “This here’s my sister. What’d you say your name was?”
“Ward.”
“This here’s Ward.
He’s gonna buy us a drink.”
Big sister gave Ward
a critical glance and then nodded. She had no name she wanted to share. She was
drinking club soda. Jane ordered a 7-and-7. They sat through several rounds and
chatted about nothing in particular. Big Sister kept her eyes straight ahead,
chain smoking and sipping her soda. She had nothing to say. “Earth Angel” came
on the jukebox again.
“Oh, come on,
let’s dance.” Jane grabbed Ward’s arm. “I love this song.”
They slow-danced
to “Earth Angel,” and then to two more ballads. By the third song, Jane was
wrapped around him and Ward couldn’t help but be aroused. He knew she could
feel it but she didn’t pull away. He was lightheaded from all the beer. Or was
it the cologne? As the music ended, she reached up to him, her lips parted, and
he kissed her long and deep. When she stepped back, there were tears in her
eyes.
“Hey, what’s
wrong?”
“Nothin’.”
“Come on, I
thought we were having a good time.”
“It’s not you,
Ned—”
“Ward.”
“Ward…sorry. I’m
thinking about my old man, my boyfriend. He’s doin’ six months in county. I
really miss him.”
“Sorry to hear
that.” He started to ask six months for
what? but he didn’t want to know. “Come on, let’s have another drink. Maybe
you’ll feel better.” He led her back to the bar and ordered another round.
“I really feel
bad, ya know? I miss him. He’s not a bad guy. He was always good to me.”
“Well, maybe he’ll
get out early, good behavior or something.” Ward glanced at Big Sister who gave
him a look that said Yeah, sure.
“But I feel bad,
’cause while he’s been in there, I chippied on him. I chippied on him a lot.”
Ward thought he
knew what “chippied” meant, but he wasn’t sure and he didn’t want to ask. It
was time to take a trip to the men’s room and splash a little water in his
face. He excused himself and made his way down the narrow hall past the dance
floor.
As he washed his
hands, he noticed the condom vending machine mounted on the wall. He thought
about the kiss on the dance floor and imagined taking that warm young body to
his bed. He dried his hands, dropped in the required coins and stuffed the foil
packets into the pocket of his jeans.
When he returned
to the bar, Jane was gone. Big Sis was there, chain smoking and fixing him with
a steady gaze. She turned on her stool to face him.
“Watch yourself, Ward.” Her voice was calm and cool, but
she pronounced his name like an exclamation point. She was about Ward’s
age—mid-thirties—and though her hair was dark, the resemblance to her sister
was clear.
“What?”
“You heard me.
Watch yourself. She’s just a kid, a kid with problems. The last thing she needs
is a one-night stand with a jerk like you.”
“Look, I don’t
know what you think—”
“You think it’s
going to be easy, a sure thing. Right, Ward?
You’ll just say, ‘Hubba hubba, baby. Let’s go back to my place. I’ll show you a
real good time.’”
“No, I mean, come
on…” He glanced around as though looking for help. He could not look her in the
eye.
“And what’s your
story, Ward? Divorced? Separated?
Yeah, I noticed the little tan line on your ring finger.”
He covered his
left hand with his right.
“And now you think
you’re God’s gift to wayward girls?” She punctuated the question with a wry
smile.
“Look, Big
Sister…sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“My name doesn’t
matter, Ward. Let’s just say I’m your
conscience, here to make sure you do the right thing.”
“Which is?”
“Leave now, while
she’s still in the lady’s room. Go back to wherever you’re staying, watch some
porn, whack off, do whatever it is that you do. And leave my sister alone.” She let it sink in for a few seconds.
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell her you said goodbye, good luck, best wishes. All that
crap.”
There was nothing
more to say. He’d been busted and he was no match for this woman. He got up off
the stool, dropped a few dollars on the bar, and headed for the door, away from
this strange encounter in Eureka.
Ward checked out
early the next morning. He popped the tailgate and tossed his bag into the back
of the compact wagon. As he stuffed his dirty clothes in among the camping
gear, he saw the shirt he’d been wearing the night before. He picked it up and
brought it to his nose. It smelled of cigarettes and cologne. He paused to play
back the events at the bar and felt the blood rush to his cheeks. Big Sister,
God bless her, had been right.
Ward sniffed the
shirt again, then closed his eyes, and just for a moment Karyn was there. She
had not been with him all week on the Trinity, but now she was. He started to
say her name, but his throat tightened. He’d lost her, and now he was out here
on his own, acting the fool.
He wadded the
shirt into a tight ball and threw it—hard—into the back of the car. His shout
became a howl, echoing through the parking lot and down Fifth Street until the
air was gone from his lungs.
It was time to
move on, time to forget, and that scent carried memories.
"Emeraude"...it was just yesterday. Okay, it was 60 years ago...middle of a high school love. Stationed in New Mexico and the Azores. Love letters spiked with Emeraude every week for damn near 4 years total. Then the last...with no Emeraude. Still, things worked out for the best. She did fine and so did I. A 54-year marriage to the best person I have ever known. Thanks for the story and stirring the good memories Chuck.
ReplyDeleteYou are welcome, Tom. I wonder if Coty still makes Emeraude? Best to you and Julieann...
DeleteWonderful story, Chuck. I loved it. Well written. Andrea L
ReplyDeleteThank you, Andrea. High praise from one of my favorite poets.
DeleteIn answer to your question in the comments, Chuck. Cody still makes Emeraude. I checked on a Google search.
ReplyDeleteMy letters to VietNam were sprayed with the "I-Can't-Stand-It-Now" Lily of the Valley perfume.
But here's a hint for the grand-daughters. Never fall in love with a guy who splashed on colonge from his best friend. It might just be the scent you're in love with!
Ha! I'll pass on that advice, Billie.
Delete