33

THE DRAWING OF STRAWS

June 1979

Bayard stood at the sink with a dish towel tucked in the waistband of his jeans. It was close to nine and the party was winding down. The kitchen window had been closed, but he could still smell the light perfume of chlorine from the pool. Darkness would soon settle over the patio, erasing the day. Austin had flapped open an oversize plastic garbage bag, into which he shoved used paper plates, plastic ware, soft drink cans, crumpled napkins, and leftover food. Most of the time Austin played King of the Hill, happy to be regarded as the man of the hour. School was out and he told everyone his parents had offered him the cabin for the party. Bayard had his doubts. More likely it was Austin’s idea and he’d failed to tell his good old mom and dad that he was entertaining. Now he was busy covering his tracks, erasing every vestige of the gathering. Austin, for all of his braggadocio, was a chickenshit at heart.

Bayard was nicely drunk, his inebriation buffered by the dope he’d smoked, each balancing the other in terms of their effect. The alcohol made him loose. The cannabis made him mellow. Bayard never got falling-down drunk and he was never out of control. This bunch of high school yahoos drank and smoked to excess and they were all over the place, passing out, puking, laughing like hyenas, munching down everything in sight. Or in the case of Patti Gibson and Stringer, getting it on in one of the guest rooms. Bayard’s thoughts flitted to his dad’s diagnosis and the most recent test results. Things were not looking good. They’d done a CAT scan with contrast and Maisie said his dad’s insides lit up like a Christmas tree. Bayard shut the door on that idea. Certain subjects he didn’t like to visit even in the privacy of his own head. Especially matters related to his father’s death.

He’d learned to toss painful issues into little boxes with the lids nailed shut; this when he was five years old and his parents got divorced. Even at that age, he recognized the jeopardy he was in. He was the focus of the hostilities—not his person, but the fact that he was Tigg and Joan Montgomery’s only begotten son. They quarreled, through their attorneys, over legal custody, physical custody, visitation, child support, schooling, and every other decision that was made from the moment they separated. He was pulled this way and that, loyal to one parent at the expense of the other, which generated its own anguish. Into the box with that one, he thought. Sometimes he knew how good it would be when one or the other of his parents died, which would, at least, cut the agony by half. In his father’s case, it looked like his wish was coming true. Recent revelations had threatened his financial expectations and he still hadn’t decided what options he had, if any. For now, he’d medicated his rage to a manageable level.

Stringer came into the kitchen, in the process of rounding everyone up for the drive back to town. “Where’s Iris?”

“On the couch last I saw,” Bayard said. He turned and verified her presence in the living room. “How you doing?” he called though the open door.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said.

Stringer said, “Well, do it somewhere else. I’m outta here and I don’t want you barfing in my van. You with me, Michelle?”

“Sure.”

Austin said, “What the fuck, Michelle. You’re taking off? This place is a mess. You can’t just walk out and leave me with this.”

“I told you I had a curfew. I don’t go with him, how’m I going to get home in time?”

“What a load of crap! It’s still light outside. What time’s your curfew, nine o’clock? Hold your horses and I’ll take you. I told you I would.”

“Sure. When and if you ever get around to it.”

Stringer stuck his head in the front door. “Hey, Michelle. You coming or not?”

“Hang on just a second, okay?”

Stringer disappeared.

Michelle said, “Austin, I really have to get home. Bayard’s doing dishes and the trash has been dumped so what more do you want?”

“I want this place cleaned up. Bring in stuff from the patio and gather up all the soggy towels so I can start a load. Ten minutes more is all I ask.”

Michelle was annoyed, but she seemed resigned. “Shit. Let me get my purse. I left it in Stringer’s van.”

Austin lifted the plastic bag, which was bulging with trash. He tied the plastic strands in a knot and put the bag by the back door. He turned his attention to the kitchen counter, which was littered with condiments. He replaced the cap on the ketchup, recapped the mustard, and placed both in the refrigerator.

Troy came into the kitchen. He’d changed from his bathing suit into jeans and a white T-shirt. “Where’s Michelle off to?”

“She left her bag in Stringer’s van. She’s coming back.”

“Man, I don’t think so. She got in the van and they all took off.”

“Stringer did?”

“Right. Him, Betsy, Patti, and Roland Berg. They couldn’t wait to get out of here. Rats deserting a sinking ship. They probably thought you were going to ask them to pitch in for the keg.”

“What about Blake?”

“Him, too. I saw him scoot over to make room so Michelle could crawl in the back.”

“Damn it! She said she’d help.”

Troy said, “Apparently not, pal. I guess she didn’t want to get into an argument.”

Fritz wandered into the kitchen, dressed except for his feet, which were bare. “Anybody seen my shoes?”

“In your hand,” Austin said.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

“You know what? This is the last of my parties you’re invited to. Go hang out with those bullshit sophomore friends of yours.”

Sloan, coming into the kitchen from the patio, caught this exchange. She was still in her bikini and flip-flops and she carried a stack of empty punch glasses that she tossed in the trash. “Why are you on his ass? He didn’t do anything.”

“He doesn’t have to do anything. He gets on my nerves.”

“Give him a break. You don’t have to put him down in front of everyone.”

“What’s your problem?”

“I’m just tired of your being such a shit to everyone.”

“What, now you’re the champion of the underdog? Fritz can look after himself. He doesn’t need you coming to his rescue.”

“Don’t turn this into a pissing contest, Austin. I’m asking you to get off his case. And mine, too, while you’re at it.”

“And I’m asking you to shut your big mother and butt out.”

Sloan suddenly laughed. “Oh my god, did you hear what you just said. You said shut your ‘big mother’ instead of shut your big mouth. Talk about a Freudian slip. That’s hysterical.”

“Ha . . . ha . . . ha,” Austin said, giving each word emphasis. “And by the way, where’s the tape? The deal was you’d bring it with you.”

“I forgot.”

“I’m tired of talking about this. Why don’t you go put on some clothes, Miss Porky Pig. I can’t believe you’d wear that bikini and leave all your fat hanging out. It’s obscene.”

Troy said, “Hey!”

Sloan’s smile died. “That was in bad taste, even for you.”

“Oh, lighten up. Can’t you take a joke?”

Sloan said, “I’d tread easy if I were you. Keep in mind the fact that you want something from me. I don’t want anything from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, oops, I told a fib. I don’t have the tape at my house. I left it somewhere else. I’ll give it to you as soon as I get it back.”

“And when would that be?”

She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Well, who has it? You have no business giving it to anyone else.”

“But I did.”

“What are you trying to pull?”

“I’m training you to be nice. I know it’s an alien concept, but I’m sure you can learn. The deal was treat me nice or no tape.”

“The deal was no more shunning.”

“No, Austin. That was your claim. You called off the shunning voluntarily. You said it was a done deal. You said if I gave you the tape, we’d be square.”

“Right.”

“So you didn’t say you’d go on treating me like shit. That’s not going to work.”

“You know what? Trying to control me is a bad idea.”

“Just give it some thought.”

“Give what some thought?”

“Being nice. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go put some clothes on my porky self.”

“About time, you oinker.”

Sloan left the kitchen and moved into the living room, headed for the master bedroom, where she’d left her clothes.

Austin said, “What a bitch. Did you hear that? What makes her think she can threaten us?”

“What threat? Why do you push everything to such extremes?” Bayard asked, annoyed.

Austin moved into the living room and opened the end table drawer. He took out the Astra and checked the magazine. “She still has the tape, doesn’t she? Or did she give it to you?”

“She didn’t give me anything,” Bayard said. “What are you so pissed off about?”

“Don’t you get it? She won’t cooperate unless I eat shit.”

Troy said, “She asked you to be nice. Why is that so hard?”

“Listen, you halfwit. She’s gaming us and I won’t put up with that. Time to put the pressure on. She wants to go home, she’ll have to hand over the tape or it’s a no-go.”

“She can’t hand it over if she doesn’t have it,” Troy said.

Austin closed his eyes, his patience sorely tried. “I guess I didn’t make it clear. No more stalling. She should have brought it with her. I told you to make sure she had it, didn’t I?”

“I asked her when she first got in the truck and she told me she didn’t have it. What was I supposed to do, make her get out and walk? You didn’t say anything about forcing her to do anything.”

Austin said, “You should have insisted. You should have made it clear we meant business.”

“What are you talking about? Even if I’d insisted, she could have refused. I have no control over her.”

“You know something, Troy? You’re weak. I should have known better than to trust you with this.”

“Fine. I’m weak. Now what?”

“Now I’ll take care of it.”

Bayard said, “Why don’t you drop it, Austin? For god’s sake.”

Austin stared at Bayard and slowly lifted one finger in the air. “One phone call.”

Bayard dropped his gaze. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? I’m telling you what I’ll do if you cross me.”

“Fine. Have it your way,” Bayard said darkly.

“My plan exactly. We take her up the mountain and keep her there until she figures out we’re serious.” He found the extra magazine and slid it into his jeans pocket.

Bayard looked over at Iris, who rose from the couch and walked hurriedly toward the master bathroom, her fingers pressed to her lips. He shook his head and then shifted his attention to the handgun. “What’s that for?”

“Insurance.”

Troy said, “No, man. I’m not doing this. I’m outta here.”

“What about you, Fritz? Are you bailing on me, too?”

“No, I’m in. I mean, I don’t want to hurt anyone . . .”

“‘I don’t want to hurt anyone,’” Austin said in a mewling tone. “You know your problem, Fritz? You’re a fucking faggot.”

“I’m not.”

“Then prove it. Take this and shut your trap.”

“I don’t want it. I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Really. I thought you were having such a good time with it.” He imitated the sounds of gunfire that Fritz had been mouthing earlier. “How about this? We’ll draw straws. Guy who gets the short one takes the gun.”

Fritz said, “What straws?”

Austin crossed to the fireplace, where a stack of newspapers and long wooden matches had been left near the pile of logs. “We’ll use these. There are four of us, right? So we’ll pull four and I’ll break one and then I’ll line ’em up behind my back.” He took four long wooden matches from the box.

Troy said, “One chance in four. Not very good odds.”

“Not so. It means three out of the four of us don’t have to worry. Hang on.”

He turned aside and Bayard heard the faint snap of a wooden match. Austin turned back. He held out his hand, with four wooden matches lined up evenly above his thumb and index finger. “Who wants to go first?”

“I’ll go,” Troy said. He chose one of the matches and pulled it out from between Austin’s fingers. It was clearly a long one.

Austin smiled. “Lucky draw. You’re off the hook. Who’s next?”

“Me,” Bayard said. He studied the remaining three matches, hesitated, and then pulled one. Again, it was a long one.

Austin laughed, amused by the tension he’d generated. “Down to you and me, Fritz. Have a go and best of luck.”

He held out the matches, pretending to steer Fritz from one to the other of the remaining two.

Fritz picked one and pulled. The match was two inches long.

Austin put the remaining match in his pocket and held out the gun. “You gonna take this or not? If you’re chickenshit, that’s fine with me. I’m not going to pressure you.”

Fritz said, “I’ll take it.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I drew the short straw. Everybody saw that.”

Bayard found himself looking at Austin’s left hand, wondering why he’d done such a smooth job of tucking the remaining match out of sight.

Austin was still watching Fritz closely. “Short straw doesn’t commit you. You can tell me to stuff it if you don’t like the deal.”

“I’m good. Gimme the gun. I’m cool with this.”

“Attaboy. You’ll do fine.” He turned toward the hall and then turned back to Bayard. “Go find out what’s taking Sloan so long.”

Bayard left the living room and crossed the hall to the master bedroom. The door to the bathroom was open and Iris was sitting on the floor by the toilet, her cheek resting on the rim. The air smelled sour. He paused in the bathroom doorway, watching her. “This doesn’t bode well.”

“I don’t feel good.”

“You don’t look so hot, either. Are you done?”

“I think so.” Iris put a hand on the vanity and pulled herself to her feet. She lowered the lid on the toilet and flushed it. Then she leaned over the sink, turned on the water, and rinsed her mouth.

“Your parents have any idea where you are?”

She shook her head. “They signed up for this marital retreat to deal with some of the stress I caused them by getting kicked out of Climp. They’re supposed to get home tonight, but they weren’t sure what time. I told them I was spending the night with Poppy, but if they call to say hi, then what? She won’t lie for me now, after what went on. My parents are already furious. What am I gonna do if they find out I’m not at her house?”

“Has it occurred to you that you have no business being here in the first place? This is a bad environment for a girl like you.”

Iris turned off the faucet and placed a hand towel against her face, dabbing off water. “What’s Austin need a gun for? That’s what I don’t get.”

“It’s all bull. You know him. He does shit for effect.”

“So everything’s all right?”

“Of course. All Sloan has to do is tell us where the tape is and we can get this over with.”

“Do you think we should call the sheriff?”

Bayard laughed. “What for?”

“To make sure no one gets hurt.”

“Seriously, Iris. Are you going to call the sheriff’s office and have some deputy show up? Austin would shit a brick. I don’t think his parents have any idea he invited us up here. Last thing he needs is some cop at the door. We got enough booze and dope up here to land us all in jail. Is that what you want?”

Iris hesitated, her face pale. “I’m worried about Sloan.”

“Well, don’t. You just worry about yourself.”

“Bayard, this is scaring me. There’s no telling what Austin might do.”

“You want him to turn around and fix his beady eye on you?”

“No.”

“What then?”

“I want to do what’s right.”

“Then go ahead and call the cops, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said. He turned and did a visual search of the bedroom behind him. “Where’s Sloan? I thought she was in here.”

“I didn’t see her. I’ve been puking my guts out.”

“She didn’t come in to get dressed?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Where’d she go then? Her clothes are right where I saw ’em earlier. And isn’t that her gym bag?”

“I guess. Maybe she left. She might have gone out the front door.”

“Fuck.”

Bayard returned to the living room. Fritz had tucked the gun in his waistband and Bayard was already worried the fool would shoot himself.

Austin looked up, expecting to see Sloan.

Bayard said, “She’s gone. Iris thinks she might have left by the front door.”

Iris appeared in the doorway behind Bayard. Austin was still focused on Bayard. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What are you standing around for? You guys get out there and round her up. Can’t any of you think for yourselves?”

Troy was exasperated. “Okay, so we round her up. Then what?”

“Then we take her up to Yellowweed and have a chat.”

“Why do we have to drive up there?” Troy said. “Why not have a chat here and then we can get the hell home?”

“You’ll get home, dude. No sweat. I have something to show her so she’ll know we’re serious.”

“What are you going to do, strip her clothes off and leave her up there?” Troy asked.

Austin laughed. “Not a bad idea. I like that.”

Bayard shook his head, staring at the floor. “You know what? This is all more trouble than it’s worth. Why don’t we just bag the whole idea and get out of here? We can pick her up along the way.”

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Austin said. “We’re all in trouble as long as she has that tape. Just find her and bring her back. We’ll go up the mountain, smoke a little dope, and negotiate.”

“And that’s it?” Troy asked.

“I want us to get this settled. You think I like being a shit? Well, I don’t. I’m trying to work this out so it’s win-win.”

“That would be a first,” Troy said.

“Don’t start on me, Troy. I’m doing my best, okay?”

Troy studied him for a moment while Austin looked him steadily in the eye.

“Okay,” he said. “We’ll swing by and pick you up as soon as she’s in the truck.”

“Thank you.”

•   •   •

As the three of them trooped out the front door, Iris sent Bayard an imploring look. Her face was dead white and she looked like she was on the verge of bursting into tears. She might be right about making that call to the sheriff’s office. He debated about going back to reopen the subject, but she’d already turned away.

He went out on the front porch and zipped up his sweatshirt jacket, which wasn’t nearly heavy enough to protect him from the mountain cold. Dark had descended at some point during the last hour and the temperature had dropped sharply. Troy’d had the presence of mind to bring a leather jacket. He pulled the truck keys from his right pocket and opened the door on the driver’s side. Bayard went around and got in on the passenger side.

Fritz said, “Where’m I supposed to sit?”

“In the truck bed, fuckhead,” Bayard said. He didn’t like any of this, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it. He thought Troy was in his camp, sensing that the situation was already out of control.

Once the three reached the road, Fritz clambered up into the truck bed while Bayard turned in his seat and slid back the glass in the rear window.

Bayard said, “You okay back there?”

“Yeah, but it’s cold as shit,” Fritz said. He crossed his arms tightly against his body and put his face close to the space created by the sliding glass window like some eager pup going on his first road trip.

Troy started the truck and made a slow, easy U-turn on the two-lane road. “Why don’t we just tell Austin we never saw her? How’s he going to know?”

“We can’t leave her alone out here,” Bayard said. “What if something happened to her?”

“Like what?”

“She could get hit by a car or picked up by some weirdo.”

“Better than dealing with Austin.”

“If we lie about it, Fritz will blab,” Bayard said. “Kid can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“Hey, I’m right here! I can keep my mouth shut.”

Troy said, “There she is.”

They’d only driven half a mile when the headlights picked her up on the side of the road, where she trudged doggedly. She was still wearing her bikini, but she’d buttoned a man’s flannel shirt over it. Instead of flip-flops, she’d shoved her feet into size twelve men’s dress shoes, which looked incongruous. She’d lifted all the items from the closet in the master bedroom. As the truck approached, she glanced back and stepped off the road.

Troy pulled up close to her and looked across Bayard in the passenger seat. “We got worried about you,” he said.

“Bullshit. Austin sent you as soon as he figured out I was gone.”

“True,” Troy replied.

She began to walk again, not looking at them. Troy idled along at her pace.

“I’m not going back,” she said.

Bayard rested his right arm on the open window. Wind roughed his thatch of dark hair, which lent him a childish air of innocence. “Come on, Sloan, just do it. Come back and talk to him. He’ll never give you any peace until you kowtow to him.”

“You ought to know,” she said. She held up one finger, indicating that she understood why Bayard was doing Austin’s bidding.

Fritz said, “What’s that mean?” He held an index finger up as Sloan had.

“It’s no concern of yours.”

Sloan had stopped in her tracks. Troy brought the truck to a halt. The road was quiet except for the truck engine huffing. Exhaust fumes mingled with the scent of bay leaves. Bayard was hoping she’d decided to return to the cabin with them.

He said, “Get in the truck. Please. You can’t walk back to town dressed like that. It’s ten miles in the dark and it’s dangerous. Make your peace with Austin and we’ll give you a ride home.”

She turned and faced him directly. “No deal. I’ve had it with him. He’s a fuckin’ bully and he wants me to knuckle under, which I won’t.”

“Why infuriate the guy? You know he doesn’t react well to stuff like this,” he said.

“Who cares? He thinks he can push me around? I’m not going to do it.”

Fritz swung himself down from the truck bed, using his left hand in a surprisingly graceful move. “Maybe this will help,” he said. He had the gun in his right hand, which trembled with the unfamiliar weight.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Sloan said. “Don’t point that thing at me.”

“Yeah, Fritz. Cut it out,” Bayard said. He opened the passenger-side door and stepped out on the gravel berm.

Fritz backed up a step, gesturing with the gun. “Get in, Sloan. I’m serious. Austin told us to bring you back and that’s what we’re doing.” He turned the gun on Bayard. “Get in the back. I’m riding up front with her.”

“This is a nice development. You’re acting just like him,” she said.

“That’s exactly right. You think I’m a dope? Now I’m a dope with a gun, so maybe you could show me some respect,” he said. “Get in!”

Sloan exchanged a look with Bayard, but she did as she was told.

Bayard hauled himself up into the truck bed.

With the gun still trained on Sloan, Fritz got into the passenger seat so she was wedged between him and Troy at the wheel. “Make a U-turn and let’s go.”

Troy shook his head in disbelief. “I think I can manage to drive without help. Is it all right with you if I back up and do a K-turn instead?”

“Do it any way you like,” Fritz said.

Troy put his right arm on the seatback and turned so he could see through the rear window. He made the turn, shifted from reverse into first, and headed back the way they’d come.

The four of them rode in silence. Bayard sat in the truck bed with his legs stretched out in front of him and his back against the cab while he kept his eyes on the road. Fritz was right, it was cold in the truck bed with the wind whipping in from all sides. Fortunately, they didn’t have far to go. When they reached the cabin, rather than parking at the road, Troy turned left into the rugged driveway and trundled up to the parking pad just outside the cabin.

Austin had apparently heard the rumble of the truck and he appeared on the porch, zipping himself into a puffy black parka. Iris appeared in the open doorway behind him. She’d hauled a comforter off one of the guest beds and wrapped it around her like a cape.

Austin came down the porch steps and crossed to the driver’s-side door. “What have we got here?” he asked when he saw the players in their new configuration.

Troy said, “Your boy Fritz is now calling the shots, so to speak.”

Austin seemed amused. “Will wonders never cease?”

Troy said, “So now where?”

Austin hoisted himself into the truck bed and settled beside Bayard. He leaned toward the sliding panel in the rear window, directing his instructions to Troy. “I told you, Yellowweed. Go back to the 154 and take a left.”

For the second time, Troy put the truck in reverse and swung around until he was facing Horizon Road. Bayard turned his head toward the cabin and fixed his gaze on Iris, who hadn’t moved. This sequence of events felt weird. He had no idea what Austin intended to do, but it couldn’t be good. He locked eyes with Iris and lifted a hand, making a gesture as though he were talking on the phone. He wasn’t sure if she picked up on it or not. The last he saw of her she was still in the doorway, silhouetted against the living room light.

Once the truck was out of sight, Iris stepped into the cabin and closed the door, shivering uncontrollably. She could feel sobs bubbling up and she made a small humming sound, trying to get control of herself. What did Bayard expect her to do? Why would the guys take Sloan up to Yellowweed unless it was for something bad?

She thought about Bayard’s gesture. What did that mean? First, he’d told her to look after herself. He said Austin would be furious if the cops showed up. Was he now urging her to call for help? What if she made the call and meanwhile Sloan and Austin settled their differences? Austin would never forgive her.

She was in trouble enough as it was. She eyed the phone, torn by indecision. Better to do something. How long was the drive to Yellowweed? Time was running short. She took out a tissue and blew her nose. She dashed tears from her face and picked up the handset. What did it matter if one more person was mad at her? She punched in the number and waited, sniffing quietly to herself. As soon as she heard the man who picked up the line, she began to weep. In a squeaky little girl’s voice, she said, “Daddy? Can you come get me?”