Camptown Ladies (29 page)

“Did I scare you?” she asked.

Why, yes, you did, I wanted to say . . . very, very much.

There was a long pause before I could say, “I’m fine.” But I wasn’t. She looked at me as if I should have more to say, but I had nothing. “This table needs to be against the wall.” We moved the table together and when I released my end so I could get some distance from her, I noticed she still had her end raised from the ground.

“You should let it go now,” I said.

She stayed still, looking hurt. Specifically, she looked like I was hurting her. She also looked beautiful, which hurt me. Touché, I thought.

She finally lowered her end of the table and walked away. I watched her safely from a distance as she did a final check on the wiring for the sound system, while all I could do was lean heavily on the table we had just moved, exhausted. I looked across the room in time to see that Vince was also leaning on a table, also looking at Erica, also looking hurt. I left the hall and was relieved by the coolness and privacy of night, content to be swallowed up by the darkness. I rested my head against the side of the rec hall and closed my eyes.

How would I ever get myself out of this one?

Sadly, this was one of those times when you ask the universe a question and the universe answers you. Not the best answer, certainly, but that universe was pretty fucking funny sometimes. When I opened my eyes, Lorn Elaine was standing in front of me. Very close.

Lorn said, “I saw Erica and she said you just slipped out back. Are you OK?”

I had forgotten how her voice used to affect me, and my exhausted heart started pounding. I felt relieved by it, hoping it was for Lorn, but fearing it was more likely from the mention of Erica’s name—and the fact that she had been watching me.

“I just needed to take a moment. Lisa works us to death,” I said, but I could see she doubted this was the reason I was faking a horizontal snooze against a spider-covered wall. “Why did you come back?” I asked her.

“I never really left. I just gave you some time. I’m here so we can talk about this . . . huge mistake I made.”

I sighed. “Oh, there have been so many mistakes since then,” I said coldly. “A few months ago, I would have been thrilled to hear you say that.”

“What’s happened since then?”

“Nothing,” I said, defensive, “nothing at all. I’m still the same.”

“Still in love with me?” she asked.

When I didn’t answer, she studied my face and said, “Am I too late? You said there wasn’t anyone else?”

My head spun a little, then I shook it emphatically, No. “Of course there’s nobody else,” I said, and I held her gaze just to prove it. She was beautiful. But she wasn’t Erica.

Lorn took this as a sign she should move closer, “You don’t know how sorry I am. Please tell me it’s not too late.”

It was way, way, too late. Not only had that ship sailed, it had wrecked into a dock and taken out a deck hand—namely, me. And that was why grabbed I both sides of her face and kissed her. Hard. She was surprised at first, but recovered, returning a passionate kiss, which felt familiar and good. My head spun again, maybe with the memory of loving her, or maybe it was my desperate wish that I still could. Lorn was beautiful, that had not changed, so why was it I held my eyes so tightly closed?

Maybe this was exactly what I needed now.

When our kiss ended, we were left staring at each other. Lorn had the same look on her face I must have had the whole time we were together. It said: Is this for real? I was grateful she didn’t ask. “I should go back inside,” I said.

“I know,” she said. She reached into her purse and handed me a plastic card. “I’m in room two sixty-seven. Right up the street at the Radisson. Will you please come when you’re done here?”

Would I ever be done here?

She left then, and I watched her go, her beautiful auburn hair shifting in the moonlight, wishing it still affected me as it once did. I attempted to regroup by taking deep breaths going back into the hall, but all was lost when I walked through the doorway to find Erica waiting for me, her hurt expression hardening. I didn’t know what to say, but she did.

“She’ll leave you again.”

“I know,” I said stupidly, our eyes locked like angry neighbors over a much-needed fence.

Erica walked away, and I fought the powerful urge to follow her as I thought of my sister throwing
Little Women
into her trashcan. This evening may not have been the tale of awakening lesbianism for which Erica may have hoped. I imagined myself running after her, and spinning her around to kiss her, my body weakening at the
thought. How could the mere thought of kissing her eclipse a real-life kiss with Lorn, the person I once thought was the love of my life? The bigger question was how could I even imagine ever hurting my brother?

I reassessed the dining hall and saw that Uncle Freddie had appointed himself doorman to keep the crowd from re-entering until Lisa got the dining hall converted to a dance hall. Soon the music was underway and the gay boys took turns singing respectful renditions of “Dancing Queen” and other Abba delights, as children slid on the new weatherproof floor, comparing their dance moves. Adults gathered around the edges of the room, well armed with coolers of beer substituting as barstools.

As low-brow as this scene may have been, I found myself marveling at the mix of people gathered happily under the wounded roof, lulled into cheerful camaraderie by the best food they may have ever tasted. The twinkle lights in the rafters became a star-filled sky, and with Lisa’s dry ice machine cranking, the floor filled with a low-hanging cloud of thick white mist, moving in magical swirls the entire rest of the evening, every time Erica walked through it.

Twenty-Four

Greg Brady Learns His Limits

It was late and I was driving away from the camp like a fugitive. I saw Erica leave without saying goodbye to anyone except Lisa, and I had done the same. The Dove was still in high swing when I made my escape, telling Lisa I wasn’t feeling well and that I needed to go to bed. I had not lied. Minutes before, I had allowed myself a long glance at Erica, and was scared to death that Vince saw me do it, though he didn’t act differently toward me when I said goodnight. Soon after, I approached Lisa to let her know I was leaving.

She was surrounded by an enthusiastic crowd of campers, mostly straight, mostly drunk, and all die-hard fans of her cooking. I waited patiently to talk with her, forgetting my troubles for a few minutes as I took pleasure in my sister’s success. One by one they took turns telling her that she could be the chef of a five-star restaurant (to this, Lisa answered that Camptown Ladies
was
a five-star restaurant) and they tried not to insult her while finding out why she was “wasting her talents cooking at a campground.”

An elderly lady—who liked to be called Grandma Mitzy by everyone except her grandchildren (they were only allowed to call her Grandma)—grabbed Lisa by the arm as only an old person is allowed to do. “This was the best meal I have ever had in my all my seventy-eight years,” she said, in a frail but cheerful voice. The crowd nodded their heads and several lifted their cans of beer in agreement.

Lisa beamed and said, “Why thank you,” and she gave a gentlemanly bow.

Grandma Mitzy said, “If you could do anything, what would your
next goal be? Do you want to find a nice fellow and get married? You gotta have goals in life,” the old lady schooled. “Otherwise, life just happens to you.”

Eddie was always one to join a drinking crowd and he called out from the back of the group, “Yeah, Lisa, do tell us your goals,” he said, smirking at her.

Lisa said, “Well, I have this one fantasy . . .”

I braced myself as Grandma Mitzy said, “Oh please tell us, dear.”

Lisa said, “I want to cook dinner for Meryl Streep and Dana Delany. But that’s not all, I want to eat with them too.” Eddie chuckled, but Mitzy listened with rapt interest, as I tried to catch her eye to warn her to be polite.

Lisa created an invisible diagram before them. “Meryl will be right sitting here,” she indicated close to her right, “and Dana will be sitting right here,” close to her left side, “and we’ll be sitting at this tiny, tiny table. Almost not a table at all, it’s so small. Actually, it might just be the pole that the tabletop is supposed to sit on . . .”

Grandma Mitzy was perplexed, “But how would the food fit on a table that small?” she asked.

“Not sure, I just know the table would be so very tiny that our elbows and knees would have to rub against each other . . . and maybe even our vulvas.”

Eddie slapped his hand over his mouth, but not before a tiny shriek slipped out. He turned away and doubled over to finish his girlie chortling into the privacy of his own crotch. A few people chuckled with him, and one bearded guy shouted “Yeah!” Only one woman walked her child away in disgust, so, all in all, it could have been worse. Grandma Mitzy glanced down at Lisa’s T-shirt, then patted Lisa on the arm and said, “That’s nice, dear. If those two girls have any friggin’ taste at all, it’ll happen for you.”

Lisa started toward the kitchen, but Mom walked over in a little panic just before I could catch her alone. Mom said in a hushed voice, “There are two cars out there with Massachusetts license plates.”

Lisa said, “Mom, a Massachusetts plate doesn’t necessarily mean we have drug runners. Rhode Island is the size of a postage stamp, we’re bound to have some out-of-towners.” Mom let out a clucking
sound with her tongue to indicate Lisa still had so much to learn; she really had no idea how her children had survived this long.

When Lisa broke free into the kitchen, I followed her.

“Listen, I’m not feeling well. I need to go to bed,” I said.

Lisa glanced at me sideways. “Bed, huh?”

She had me. I pig-scrambled to be more convincing.

“I think I’m coming down with something.”

Lisa said, “I think you’re going down on something. Lorn’s pussy.”

I breathed a sigh of relief that I turned into a sigh of exasperation. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Have fun,” she said sarcastically as I left the kitchen. “But remember, Einstein’s definition of insanity is fucking the same woman again and again, and expecting a different result.”

I don’t remember the drive there, but it wasn’t because I was drunk. I actually drank safely in my car just before I knocked on her door. When she opened the door, I thought it best to launch at her like a misfired rocket and kiss her, before I thought about what I should or shouldn’t do, or before I thought about my brother. Erica responded, and her kiss was warm and wild, as we both clutched at each other, tearing off each other’s clothes before I could get fully through her door.

“Are you sure? You’ve been drinking.”

“Yes, I’m sure I’ve been drinking.”

I wanted to look at her, but kept my eyes tightly closed, so I could pretend it was all happening to me, and not because of me. This just happened, it’s not that I ran to her. I didn’t drive over here, I didn’t have the criminal intent to pack some liquid courage to swill in the car before attacking her in her doorway. I wouldn’t think of Vince. I would think only of her.

As I unbuttoned her pants, she whispered within our kiss, “Yes, please.” So, I shoved my hand down and she moved her hips up toward me so I could get inside. Perfect. Women are so perfect, I thought, as she moved against my hand, moaning my name in my ear, and I felt myself responding as she was. “I love you, Marie,” she said.

I rammed into her harder, not my usual style (unless specifically requested, of course), which made her words melt into senseless sounds, which was exactly what I was going for. I didn’t want to hear that she loved me. I didn’t want her to make any sense at all. It was all so very wrong, and I fought to keep thoughts of my brother’s love for Erica out of my head as I moved her away from the door. Since she was impaled on me, she had no choice but to comply, and I may have even lifted her a little.

“I want you,” I said, a bit of a redundant declaration when you have a woman attached to your hand, walking her backward down a hallway like a bowling ball.

She said, “I need you,” and I shut her up by angrily kissing her again.

We reached the bed. I need you too, I thought. More than anything, more than everything . . . obviously. Why else would I do such a thing as this?

Vince would move on eventually, I thought. He would find someone else and be happy again. This happens all the time, right? Erica had fallen for me and there was nothing he could do to change that. I had realized there was nothing I could do either. When Erica left the campground tonight, she had ripped my heart out of my chest, flinging it across Lisa’s restaurant, possibly landing undetected into one of Lisa’s vat of meatballs, and now that my heart had been broken free, it was likely devoured by some Budweiser-drinking camper in a dirty John Deer baseball hat.