Quarrel with the Moon (6 page)

Josh looked away. "Of course I still care for you, Cresta."

"You've got a fine way of showing it. If I didn't know how much you hated to travel, I'd think you'd arranged this trip on purpose. How are you getting there, anyway ... Trailway Bus? Surely you're not flying."

In spite of the situation. Josh laughed. "No buses, no planes, no trains. I'm going first class. I've rented a Scamper."

"What's that?"

"One of those trendy new campers. You don't think I'm going to rough it down there among the hillbillies, do you? It comes complete with kitchen, bed and bath."

"Those things must be a block long."

"It's only sixteen feet. Don't you remember me telling you that in high school I worked summers driving a coal truck for the company where my old man worked?"

"No, I don't," Cresta replied bitterly. She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand and stuck out her chin in determination. "Josh, I'm going with you." He started to answer, but she stopped him. "No, no, I want to. It would be good for us. I know it would."

"But your work...."

"Screw my work! I've worked like a Goddamn dog all summer doing the fall lines, with practically back-to-back bookings, five, six and seven days a week. You know that. Besides, there's a lull now. I don't have that much lined up for the next few weeks. I know I could fix it. And if Jason gives me any trouble, I'll just tell him my psychiatrist says I need a rest. Josh, I've never been to that part of the country. I'd like to see where you came from."

"It's pretty rustic, love."

"But we'll have the camper, darling. It'll be so perfect - all that mountain air, natural living ... making love beneath the stars."

"We'll still be taking our problems with us."

"Oh, Josh, we'll work them out, I know we will. Part of it is just living in this Goddamn city - the terrible heat, the crime, all the lines you have to stand in."

Josh was not convinced. As casually as possible he asked, "But won't you miss the night life, the theater, the discos," he ground his teeth together, "your fabulous friends?"

Cresta came to him and brushed her lips against his. "I won't miss anybody or anything, darling, as long as I have you."

Josh kissed her in return, but he was frowning. "My business there, Cresta - it's confidential."

She made an elaborate show of crossing her heart. "I promise I won't ask you a thing about it. Goodness, Indian relics are probably the last thing I'm interested in anyhow. Besides, I've been told I look awfully cute in denim. Check the
Charisma
cover."

"I know," Josh grinned, "I bought it on my way to work."

Cresta smiled with pleasure. "You did? Then you have to admit I look pretty sexy in a haymow." She kissed the tip of his nose. "Come on, Josh, what do you say?"

Josh smiled warmly at Cresta. "I'd love to have you come with me." He held up his hand. "But you've got to pack fast. I want to leave New York by six."

"It won't take me any time, and I'll finish yours, too! Oh, Josh, you've made me so happy."

"I'm glad. Now you get the packing done and call Jason. I'm going to pick up the camper."

"I promise I'll be ready at six." Josh kissed each of Cresta's tear-stained cheeks. "By the way, Josh, have you seen my guitar?"

"Your guitar?" he asked warily.

"Yes, I thought I'd bring it with me. A perfect time to brush up on my chords."

Josh began laughing. "She only knows one song, and what do you think it is?" He began singing in a wavering baritone. "'I'm leaving on a jet plane.'" Before he closed the door he shouted, "It's against my better judgment, but it's in the hall closet."

Cresta forced herself to stop laughing, sat down on the bed and dialed Jason Gold, the owner of Famous, Inc. Modeling Agency. She braced herself for the inevitable loud arguments from her mentor. "Jason, it's Cresta. I've got a small problem. Jason, I
have
to get away, now, tomorrow. I want to take off a couple of weeks ... yes, I know I've got bookings. But there aren't that many. Jason, I'm really tired. Even the makeup man was complaining about the bags under my eyes this morning ... Goddamn it, Jason, I've worked my ass off all summer, booking after Goddamn booking. I. Am. Tired. I'm standing on my nerve ends. My psychiatrist told me I need a rest. Look, Jason, you can scream all you like. Dr. Benjamin will write a letter if necessary ... Don't threaten me, Jason. You know as well as I do that a letter from a psychiatrist will stand up in any court." She held the receiver away from her ear while Jason cursed loudly at the other end. "Are you finished? ... What kind of a deal? ... Oh, no, you're not going to blackmail me. I will not spend the winter in Europe shooting the spring collections. No, I won't do it. Jason, you know I'm involved with Josh. No, I wouldn't consider it and that's final." She sighed and waited out another tirade. "Jason, I'm going, and that's final ... Two weeks, maybe three at the most ... To the mountains of West Virginia, that's where. Look, why don't you give that new girl, Cassie McLaughlin, some of my bookings? ... All right, all right, you make the decisions." Her voice softened. "Jason, I really do appreciate this. I'll bring you back a jug of moonshine. Love you too. See you in three weeks."

Cresta put the receiver back on the cradle and pursed her lips in a soundless whistle. It had been easier than she had thought it would be. Then she quickly called her lawyer, who handled her business affairs, and her answering service, to make sure they would pick up all phone calls while she was gone. She thought briefly of phoning her parents, but changed her mind. They had never approved of her lifestyle, much less her relationship with Josh, and in turn Cresta had little to do with them. She wrote a note for Esther, the twice-a-week maid, and left her three weeks' salary in advance. Then she dashed back into the bedroom to complete Josh's packing and her own. Because of her work, Cresta kept her closet very organized, arranged according to season and mode of dress. Her shoes were lined up in colors as were her blouses, sweaters and lingerie. She managed to keep Josh's wardrobe and chest of drawers in similar order. She finished the packing with time to spare, treated herself to a quick shower, and, after drying off, began packing her toilet articles in a large straw hamper. She started to reach for her bottle of Valiums, hesitated for a minute and dropped them into the hamper. Humming to herself, Cresta carefully made up her face. She parted her bright red lips and sang with gusto, "'I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again.'"

At the rental agency, Josh signed his name to the forms and handed the clerk his American Express card. Since Cresta was coming on the trip, he had rented a much larger Scamper. This one had a complete kitchen, twice as much closet space, and what was called a bedroom. He glanced at his wristwatch, a thin sliver of gold which Cresta had given him the previous Christmas. It was five thirty-five. He was making good time.

Josh was in an exuberant mood as he drove toward the apartment. He had been caught up by Cresta's enthusiasm and, upon reflection, now believed that sharing the trip could only deepen their relationship. He handled the camper with ease, moving steadily through the thinning traffic.

At the corner of Amsterdam Avenue and Eighty-Sixth Street, a blinking neon sign caught his eye.

"Liquor - Liquor - Liquor."

Josh quickly pulled over, double-parked and went inside. After all, it was a holiday of sorts. He would just buy a few bottles of wine ... and perhaps some vodka.

It was ten after six when Josh arrived back at the apartment. Cresta, sitting on a stack of suitcases in the hall, gave him a huge smile. Josh felt a sudden surge of tenderness for her. He knelt in front of her and buried his face in her lap. "It's going to be good, love. I promise you that. It's going to be so good."

Cresta was completely enchanted with the camper. She walked all the way around it, pausing to stroke the glossy white paint and trace her fingers over the intricate design - a stenciled band of curlicues - which ran the full circumference of the trailer somewhat like a belt. He took her inside.

"I can't believe it!" she exclaimed. "It's like a miniature house on wheels. We should give up the apartment, Josh. It would be much cheaper to rent a parking space."

Josh laughed. "We'd probably get hijacked by some freaky terrorist group."

"A shower, a stove, a john - everything really works?"

Josh nodded. "I tried everything, except, of course, the bed." He pushed open a sliding door leading to the tiny bedroom. "A wall-to-wall mattress. Just the thing for kissing and making up."

Cresta became serious. "Josh, we're not going to fight on this trip. I promise you. No more bitch."

"No more bastard." They embraced and held each other tightly. Cresta felt Josh become aroused. "Josh," she admonished, "we can't. Not here on the street."

"I know, damn it, we're double-parked. We'd better get going. We'll stop somewhere in Jersey at a supermarket and pick up some supplies. If you've noticed, the camper comes equipped with dishes, flatware, pots and pans and so forth."

"Wonderful. I thought we were going to have to live off of paper plates." Cresta flipped open a cabinet door and saw the collection of liquor and wine bottles. She bit her lip to keep from saying anything, and when she turned to Josh he was already climbing into the cab.

"Come on, love. At this rate, we'll never make it to Jersey."

Cresta glanced back at the cabinet. They would be lucky if they made it at all.

A burial mound is an artificial hill of earth built over the remains of the dead. They were characteristic of Indian cultures of Eastern North America from 1000 B.C. to A.D. 700. The mound on the Cheat River was approximately twenty-two feet high and one hundred and ten feet in diameter at the base. It enclosed several tomb chambers or vaults. Numerous relics had been discovered from two of the burial chambers, and Harry Evers and his assistants were in the process of excavating the third.

The camp was situated about thirty feet from a palm-shaped cove in the Cheat River. About a hundred and fifty yards to the right was the Indian mound, and beyond that the green curtain of forest.

The moon was full. Flat and white, it resembled a round piece of paper pasted against the indigo sky. Fast-moving clouds glided across the moon, making it disappear, reappear, and disappear once again like a magician's illusion. The shifting light infused the darkness with a certain life. Shadows moved within shadows, and the silhouettes of trees constantly rearranged themselves into different shapes. It was a setting full of surrealistic images.

The campfire hissed and sputtered as if protesting the ambiguous night. The trio - Harry Evers and his two assistants, Ted Dwyer and Amy Parrish - gathered closer to the glowing embers, but not for reasons of warmth. It was balmy, and under any other circumstances the three would have found pleasure in the comfort of the tepid air, the rushing sound of the nearby river, the scent of coffee brewed over an open flame. But they were troubled by things that they had left unspoken.

They glanced uneasily at the dream-haunted sky, then at one another. Suddenly they broke into shamefaced grins.

"How about a ghost story?" offered Ted Dwyer, a slender, bespectacled young man of twenty-three. Ted wore his black hair shoulder length and sported a full beard and mustache. From his left ear a feathered earring dangled like a bird wing.

"Ted! That's not funny," groaned Amy Parrish, his lover, a quietly pretty, serious young woman, also twenty-three. Amy's face was covered with freckles, but no makeup. Her curly red hair, parted in the middle, sprang from either side of her head at a forty-five degree angle, giving her the appearance of a hippie sphinx.

"All right," persisted Ted, "if not a ghost story, how about a love story?" He grinned and looked to Harry Evers.

Harry, a bulky man of forty-six years, with ginger-colored hair and watery blue eyes, smiled in the affirmative. He was a bit weary of the world, but never of the antics of young lovers.

Ted stood up and launched into a verbal valentine to Amy. "The young man and woman in this story had what the playwrights call a 'cute meet.' The scene - Berkeley campus, the time - the first day of registration. He and she keep running into each other, since they're both signing up for the same courses." Ted's baritone raised and lowered at the appropriate dramatic spots as he told the tale with all the fervor of a snake-oil salesman. "Now being persons of a friendly nature, they introduce themselves, and bam! A couple of days later, they find themselves sharing the same frog in Biology I." Harry laughed gruffly and Amy, delighted at being the center of attention, clapped her hands together. "Now I ask you, was that or was that not a 'cute meet'?"

He started to sit back down but Amy protested, "Go on, Ted. Go on with the story."

Ted lowered his voice. "In addition to their
intense
physical attraction for one another, they have other things in common. They find that they care for the environment, worry about the preservation of wildlife and enjoy sleeping - together - in the same sleeping bag. They are kindred spirits of the heart, mind and ...," Ted bent over and kissed Amy quickly on the forehead, "body."

"And then they go to New York," prompted Amy.

Harry supplied the ending. "Where they come to work at the New York Institute of Anthropology. And after tight-ass Phelps gets a look at them, he promptly hands them over to Harry Evers." He regarded them affectionately. "Who is eternally grateful to the old son of a bitch."

Harry Evers' deep, throaty voice wrapped around the couple like a warm embrace. For the moment he dispelled the subtle undercurrent of fear which had pervaded their existence since the discovery of the strange skull and bones. Harry's self-assurance was perhaps not genuine, but he was stalwart to a fault and, as such, believed in "nipping trouble in the bud." Hadn't he single-handedly done as much in the past? He had convinced Javanese priests that his excavations would not bring down the wrath of their gods, persuaded angry workers at Luxor to return to the diggings after an insurrection, successfully traded trinkets for shrunken heads in Brazil and managed to keep his own at its original size.