Up in Smoke (7 page)

Time to stop dithering. What did it matter if they could describe her afterward. She never expected to survive anyway. “I'm here to volunteer.”

“Hey, that's great. We can use the help. Garrett's really the best, you know?” The woman whipped out a form to fill in.

Em accepted it, moved a ways along the table, and sat down. Awkwardly, as though she couldn't remember the spelling, she wrote in the name Em Shoals and the address of the motel, then put check marks more or less randomly beside any task that would keep her at the headquarters.

A young man with springy ginger curls and a pleasant face came from the other side of the partitions. Jeans and a white T-shirt, bulging arm muscles. “Stewart Gallagher.” He grabbed her hand and shook it. “This is really great. We're glad to have you.” He took a moment to look at the form she handed him. “Come with me,” he said. “We'll put you right to work.”

The area behind the partitions was one large room filled with long tables of the fold-up kind with volunteers sitting in front of telephones making call after call and reading from a script in front of them.

“With the primaries starting in about ten weeks, we need to identify which voters will vote for Governor Garrett and make sure they're going to the polls. That's what we need you for.”

“But I thought the primary wasn't until next year.”

“Yep. D.C. in January, ours in February.” He grinned. “Voters need to be nudged along, you know.”

The volunteers were all young, most probably students at Emerson. She felt odd, different, like she didn't belong. “You have so many already, maybe—”

“Right,” Stewart said. “The second shift comes in at night. For the people who have jobs.”

“Well, maybe—”

He gave her a big smile. “It's easy,” he assured her. “You get a list of voters with information on what party they belong to, the precinct, where they live, and ethnic background. That way precinct captains get a list of Jack Garrett voters to get to the polls.” Another big smile. “This is really important. If you do your job, if every volunteer does his or her job, Governor Garrett could get the nomination.”

Getting caught up in the fever of his excitement, she smiled back.

“You'll be fine,” he said. “All you have to do is follow the script.” He introduced her to another young man named Skip who led her to a chair at one of the tables. Skip pointed out the computer list of names she was to call and explained the form that was to be filled out. “Just note whether you talked with the name or not and who the name is voting for. Garrett or Halderbreck. At the end of the day, total up the number who are for Garrett and the number who are for Halderbreck. Okay? If you have any problems, give a holler and I'll come running.”

He gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder and galloped off. She read the script.

Hello. This is (your name) and I'm calling for Governor Garrett.

Is (voter's name) there?

If no, May I leave a message?

If yes, Great. I'm calling to see if you'll be supporting Governor Garrett in the primary.

With some reluctance, Em picked up the phone and poked in the number.

“Hello?” The voice sounded like an elderly woman.

“Hello, this is Em Shoals. I'm calling to see if you support Governor Garrett.”

“Oh, absolutely. He's so wonderful. He reminds me of that actor. Oh, you know the one, that was so brave in the movie—”

When she hung up, Em thought how really odd the world was. She'd just gotten a vote for a man who would be dead before the primary.

11

When Cass got home, she went back to it, filled boxes of life's leftovers from the attic and stacked them in the dining room. Monty hissed and growled from the top of the refrigerator and the Black Dog stretched out in front of the cold fireplace and moaned in her sleep. At eight-thirty, drooping from fatigue and the satisfaction of accomplishment, she dropped into her aunt's easy chair and clicked the remote for the television. After twenty minutes of watching whatever appeared, she fell asleep.

Blood-curdling barks pierced her dreams. She shot up from drowning, choking on imagined water and her own pounding heart. The doorbell rang.

Sniffling at the crack between door and frame, the dog growled deep in its throat, fur stood up on its neck. Cass put a hand on the collar. “Who is it?”

“Eva sent me to pick you up.”

“What?”

“The party. She told me to come get you.”

Cass had completely forgotten. “Oh, I'm sorry, I can't go. Tell Eva I'll call her tomorrow.”

“She told me you might say that and not to leave without you.”

“Tell her I'll call,” Cass repeated.

“I'll wait till you're ready.”

“I'm going to bed.”

“How do you like your eggs?”

“What?”

“For breakfast in the morning. I'm not going anywhere without you. I'll stay all night if I have to.”

“This is ridiculous. Go away.”

“Sorry, can't do that without you.”

Cass yanked open the door. The dog snarled, saliva dripped from very impressive teeth.

“Bernie Quaid,” he said. Tall, lanky, curly brown hair, smile, dark blazer, pale blue shirt, and dark tie. “Part-time chauffeur and other end of the spectrum from rapist and murderer. You might want to grab some shoes.”

She looked down at her bare feet and the threadbare corduroys with her knee poking through a rip in one leg. “Do I look dressed for a party?” she said.

“You look great. We don't have to stay long.”

“No.” She had trouble hanging on to the dog who kept lunging at Bernie Quaid as though she wanted to rip him apart.

“Please,” Bernie said. “Just make an appearance. Step in, look around, say hi to Eva. I'll bring you right back.”

“No.”

“Look, I know I'm bugging you. That's the last thing I want, but I'll probably get fired, if you don't come.”

She let disbelief leak into her impatience.

He raised his right hand. “God's honest truth.”

“I'm sorry about the loss of your job, but I've spent all day with past lives and I'm wiped. Go away.” She started to close the door.

“Food,” he called through the crack.

Her resolve weakened.

“Great food. And anything you want to drink and my undying gratitude and—”

The second mention of food roused an awareness of hunger she didn't know she had. “I'm going to let you in. If the dog doesn't eat you while I'm trying to find something to wear, I'll go.”

“Deal,” he said. “Dogs love me.” He started in and the dog leaped for his throat. Dragging it back, toenails scraping on the wooden floor, she let Bernie in, settled the dog by the fireplace and told Bernie she'd only be a minute.

She took a quick shower, put on a long black wool skirt and a long-sleeved gold top with a scoop neck. In the living room, Bernie sat frozen in a wing chair, the dog at his elbow growling softly, waiting for an excuse to grab his throat.

“We can go now,” she said when he didn't stir.

“Your dog won't let me move.” To illustrate, he started to lean forward, the dog's upper lip curled and the growl got more intense.

Cass grabbed its collar and told Bernie to go outside, she'd follow. He rose slowly. The dog hadn't wanted to let him in and she didn't want to see him go. She kept suspicious eyes on him as he opened the door and went out.

In the car, Cass asked Bernie how he knew Eva.

“Just met her two hours ago.” And that was all the explanation she got. He mentioned the vastness of the sky, how bright the stars looked, how close the sliver of moon seemed and how different the landscape was than he'd expected, totally flat, not these small hills.

Parking anywhere near Eva's house was impossible. Every feasible niche and some that weren't had a vehicle in it.

“How many people did she invite?” Cass asked.

Bernie drove slowly past the house.

“Reporters?” What the hell? She counted at least five reporters in front, a couple with technicians armed with minicams. Grouped on the sidewalk, they talked among themselves and sipped from steaming paper cups.

Bernie made a U-turn and pulled into Eva's driveway. The reporters surged toward the car. When she stepped out, they drifted back, obviously realizing she was nobody. Arm on her back, as though afraid she might make a run for it, Bernie walked her to the door.

“You're finally here!” Eva gave Cass a fat smacking kiss on the cheek. “I was beginning to think you'd copped out on me. Or fell head over heels and decided on a night of romance with Bernie.” Eva had to shout to be heard above the din. Brown hair sleeked back, eyes bright, looking very festive in a long filmy salmon dress, she squeezed Cass in a hug. “It's so great you're back!”

“Eva?” someone shouted from the kitchen.

“Be right there!” she yelled and turned back to Cass. “There's so much I have to tell you that—”

“Eva!”

She took in a long breath of air. “I've really got to see what this problem is. Everything's in the dining room. Help yourself.”

Cass had to flatten herself against the wall to squeeze past the closely packed bodies. At first glance, Cass didn't see anyone she recognized. Where were all those old friends Eva had promised? Putting on a party smile, Cass squeezed through the people grazing at a dining room table piled with slices of ham and roast beef, fried chicken, cheeses, breads, crackers, salads, sliced fruit, and fancy cakes. Bottles of wine, designer water, and hard liquor sat on a sideboard.

Bernie materialized at her side and leaned closer to make himself heard. “Gin and tonic? I make a mean gin and tonic.”

“Scotch and water. Heavy on the water.”

Music throbbed a witless atonal noise that made her temples ache. Bernie returned and handed her a squat heavy glass. She took a sip and choked. He'd reversed the proportions. Smiling and murmuring inane replies to inane questions, she was buffeted through the crowd and funneled into the living room.

“Best fuckin' smoke jumper ever was,” a drunken voice muttered. “Anybody doesn't agree can tell it to me! Just try! Try! I'd give my life for him! My life!”

Wakely? His voice startled her. What was he doing here? She'd thought he was pretty much a recluse and seldom left Jackson Garrett's side. Cass squirmed through groups of people and sat in the chair next to his wheelchair. She was shocked by his appearance. He used to be a huge, robust man with boundless energy and a shy sense of humor, now he seemed just a shell, fragile and hollow. “Hi, Wakely.”

He jerked back and regarded her with bloodshot eyes. Homely, like an old Irish water spaniel, he had a long friendly face, bristly reddish hair flecked with gray and soft brown eyes. “Well, if it isn't my old pal Cassie! How you doin', Cassie? My God, how many years has it been? Must be fifty.” He took a hefty gulp from his glass.

He was maybe three more swallows from passing out. “Twenty,” she said. The same number since his spine had been crushed and he'd ended up forever in that chair.

“Twenty!” he shouted as though the answer had just popped into his mind. “Seen the governor?”

Trickles of apprehension crawled along her neck. “He's here?”

“Has to be. I'm here, aren't I?” he demanded belligerently. “Go everywhere together. Everywhere. Together. Everywhere together. Best pal. Hero! Fucking hero!” Wakely listed in her direction. “Don't you say different. Saved my life!” He slammed a fist on the chair arm. “Nothing but a crispy critter wasn't for Jack Garrett.” Tears filled his bleary eyes and ran unchecked down his face.

“I know, Wakely.”

His right hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. His legs, flaccid in the chair were wasted and useless, but his upper body was thick and muscled and his hand clamped her wrist like a vise. “Wanted to talk.”

No one can talk with a drunk.

“Death fires.”

She tried to pull her arm away, but he held her anchored in place. “Excuse me, Wakely, Bernie is waiting—”

“Killed her.” He leaned so far toward her she was afraid he'd fall out of the wheelchair.

“Who?” She drew back from his stale alcohol-smelling breath.

“Dead. Gone.”

“Time to go, pal?” A blond young man, muscles brimming with fine-toned health, like an expensive trainer from an upscale gym, grabbed the chair and pushed Wakely through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea.

Cass followed in his wake, looking for Eva and finally finding her in the family room, refilling bowls of chips. “Have you seen Bernie?” Cass asked. “I'm really beat. I need to get home before I collapse.”

Eva looked around vaguely. “He's here somewhere. Are you okay? You don't hate me, do you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jack. Isn't that why you're leaving? I know I should have told you but I was afraid you wouldn't come if you knew.”

Silence slammed into Cass's mind.

Eva nodded. “In the kitchen, I think. I—”

Into the stillness, whispers floated like tattered wisps of fog, with the faintest crystalline echoes. At first they were on the far side of hearing. Gradually, they thickened and shaped as she still strained to hear.
Never came back. Never came back.

“Cassie, you okay?”

“Fine.” Why was she so surprised? Wakely had told her Jack was here. Her mind had simply refused to take it in.

Governor Jackson Garrett, sleeves rolled up, stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes. Head down, he was listening intently to a young woman in a short black skirt and white blouse, one of the caterers. Funny thing, you always forgot how big he was until you saw him again and it jumped out at you. His dark hair was now liberally sprinkled with gray.