Bull Head (18 page)

Dawn breaks across the sky, splashes the mountain peaks with a scarlet glow. A couple staggers along the sidewalk, flags me down. I turn off my overhead light, speed past them. The man shouts, the woman flips me the finger. I whiz through the streets with the windows down; the rush of cold air washes out the cab.

The door to Linda's suite is unlocked. I turn on the shower
and use her toothbrush to brush my teeth. Her necklace lies on the counter with her makeup. I try to wash the Bride off me, spit out the toothpaste, gulp down hot water from the showerhead. I shampoo my hair and take the loofah hanging from the shower and scour my body until it tingles and burns. I rinse myself, stand for a long time under the hot water, then turn off the taps, towel dry, and clean my teeth again before sliding into bed. Linda shifts, mumbles, “How's work?” I hold her close, anxious that my body might betray me, whisper, “Busy night.” My chest rises and falls against her back, and I focus on breathing slow, wait for sleep to come. I get a flash of the Bride, on her hands and knees, her cheek pressed against the wall, my fist clenching her hair. I feel myself stir next to Linda and press hard upon her. She doesn't move. I kiss her shoulder, but she doesn't move. I hold her tight, terrified that if I let her go, she'll drift away.

Hops grabbed the girl's hand and spun her around a couple of times. “Nothing like a good slow waltz.” He winked at me.

“Stop it. You're making me dizzy,” she said.

He pushed her down on the couch.

“It's dirty.”

“We gotta get back to work,” I said. The quad buzzed in the distance.

“Shut your trap.” Hops ripped her T-shirt up over her head, tossed it to the side. He squeezed her plum-sized breasts through a small bra.

“Ouch. You're hurting me.”

Hops twisted her bra strap, snapped it, laughed. “Off,” he said.

She shook her head. He grabbed her hand and rubbed his crotch with her palm. “Gross. Stop it.” She pulled her hand away and began to cry.

“Let's get out of here,” I said.

The next day I find Travis at the golf course sitting outside the clubhouse on the patio overlooking the eighteenth hole patio. A Bloody Caesar sits on the glass table. The trees have turned, their golden leaves brilliant flares against their white trunks. Elk bugle in the distance; their shrieks float across the neatly clipped greens and fairways. Travis lifts his head. He wears sunglasses, his dark hair dishevelled. He reaches for his glass and holds it up. “Hail, Caesar.”

“You look like shit.” I feel refreshed as if the events of last night occurred last year. I'm good at forgetting quickly. I've had plenty of practice.

“Cheers, buddy-boy.”

“To the Bride.” I raise my glass.

Travis lowers his sunglasses. His eyes are bloodshot, weary. “Tell me you're joking.”

I slap down the money I grabbed from her purse. “Drinks on our mutual friend.”

“That's seriously cold, man.”

“Pay up.”

Travis chuckles. “Well, well, you're just full of it today, huh? Good for you. It's better than seeing you drag your ass around like some sad sack.”

I lean back in my chair. The Lizard Range holds snow to the
tree line and soon will be coated in white. “What'd you do last night? Or should I say, who?”

“The usual. Northerner.”

I laugh and punch his arm. “Didn't get lucky, huh?”

“Holding out on the Aussie.”

“Not going to happen.”

Travis stands, puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezes it. “It is going to happen. I'll double our bet. That's how sure I am.” He counts out a hundred bucks and drops it on the table. “Enjoy the moment.”

“Oh, I will.” He walks through the restaurant and leaves. I order a drink and sip it alone. The narrow fairway slices through the valley beyond the green where men drive around in silent carts. Upriver, a bugling elk pierces the silence.

The girl shrieked, her thin arms crossed in front of her chest; she wriggled and twisted. Hops dropped down on her, grunting. She pried her arms free, slapped and punched him wildly, blue veins swollen on her neck. He pulled his jeans down with one hand, held her jaw tight with the other. She whipped her head side-to-side, snapped her teeth, but he leaned his forearm into her chin, muzzled her mouth with his elbow. Her face was contorted, red, unnatural, ugly; her eyes watery, pleading; her breath patchy, gasping sharply. The sunlight cut through the leaves and glinted off the scythe's blade.

Travis and I wait for Linda to bring us another pitcher of beer
and when it arrives, he smiles slyly at her and she smiles back at him. I pour him a glass.

He licks my face. “I love you, man. Especially when you're buying.”

I push him away. “I'll buy a lot more if you stop licking my face.”

There's a commotion at the front door. A vaguely familiar voice draws near before I recognize it. The Bride stands in front us.

“Who the hell do you think you're fooling?” she screams.

“What are you talking about?”

“You fucking thief.” Her face is red and her fists are clenched. She pounds the table. “Give it back.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” I turn to Travis and chuckle.

Travis shakes his head and stares at the tabletop. Linda stands near the service area with a plate in each hand.

“You goddamn coward.”

“Be reasonable. Let's sort this outside.” I get up and try to lead her toward the door, but she swings her arm away.

“Be reasonable? You steal my money and want me to be reasonable?”

Travis shifts in his seat. I search for Linda, but she's nowhere to be seen. I dig in my pockets, offer forty dollars to the Bride. “I'll pay the rest tomorrow, when the bank opens. You've made your point. Just go.”

“You're pathetic, you know that? Scumbag.”

“While you're here, maybe you want to ask him for your knife?” It's a dumb-ass, cheap move, narking on Travis, but I have no choice.

“What knife?”

Travis stands and makes his way across the bar. I point at him.

“I don't know what kind of game you're playing,” she says. “You're one sick asshole.”

Later, at my place, I lie to Linda. She leaves it open for me, her fingers move up and down my forearms, her voice soft against my neck. I don't disappoint her. I tell her I drove the Bride home once and that she flirted with me, but I rejected her. That must be why she made the accusations. Travis slept with her, stole her knife, and bragged about it.

I stick as close to the facts as possible. It helps me believe the story myself, and I'm certain Linda believes it, too. It's easier to handle than the truth. I feel an unusual softness toward her, this unspoken pact between us, and I consider that this closeness will see us through.

She stops stroking my arm. “Thanks for telling me.” Her voice is quiet.

I want to kiss her on the lips to confirm that my lie has worked, but she turns away.

“I'll walk myself home.”

In the distance, I heard the quad stop and idle at the store, its drone crackling the air. Hops pried the girl's legs apart with his knees, yanked his underwear down, fumbled his hand between them. She cried out and reached toward me, her hand shaking. Her eyes turned toward the scythe leaning against the tree.

Vince came out of the store to meet Harley. Vince shrugged his shoulders, pointed toward the stand of trees we were in. The
quad groaned to life and rumbled as Harley sped toward us. He stood and leaned forward, squinted in our direction, and hollered.

I grabbed the scythe, clutched it tight. Hops had his back to me, his jeans were at his knees, and his belt flipped back and forth against the dirt. I raised the scythe above Hops; the girl's eyes widened. The quad wailed closer, Harley's voice screeched in the air. I wanted to tell her that it's okay; it will all be okay, that it will pass, and you'll be fine. It might take some time, but you'll learn to slash it out of you bit by bit, leave it behind until maybe there's nothing left. Nothing left to do but survive.

As the hot grass swayed beneath us, I dropped the scythe beside her and sprinted out of the forest, away from Harley, away from it all, running as fast as I could, screaming at something, a past, a future, a life that seemed like no way out at all.