The Ice Age (7 page)

It's not the same without Gunther. It doesn't seem as adventuresome. When he was out having his night, and I was out having mine, we were still linked, due to reconvene. Sometimes I really did feel like two vampires out on the feed. Out there in the night, kissing boys was safer
and
more thrilling. Gunther was my anchor, and I was out swimming on a line.

Things have been boring for a while with me working, Stephanie working, her dating, and me not being in the mood for boys. I'm saving up money, but I'm still not sure what to do with it.

Phillip came over for dinner, after those two had been dating a few weeks. I had the night off, and they said I could stay put. Well, Stephanie did, and Phillip concurred. He said I could call him Phil. She was making grilled fish with various side dishes, and going to a lot of effort.

He said, ‘Mmmm, something smells good.'

They drank white wine and talked about work. He gave her plenty of advice on people and things. I guess he'd been working there a lot longer. Steph seemed to be taking it all in. She tapped the wine bottle and raised an eyebrow in my direction. I shook my head in a quick secretive jerk. Phillip seemed square as all hell, and I didn't want to bring down Stephanie's rep.

But then she did it herself in a matter of seconds. She regaled him with the finer points of our night of sanctioned under-age drinking. The horrible old hens crashing in on us, the rites-of-passage speeches, laughing away. She didn't seem to notice his look of brow-furrowing concern.

I thought, ‘Man, Steph is such a ditz sometimes.' So I said, ‘It was my idea.' Then, ‘Steph was already drunk.'

We all sat there in tense silence. I think Phillip actually clucked his tongue; think I saw him shake his head. Then I thought, ‘Crud. I am a feeble fucking excuse-maker.'

‘Stephie, I don't think that sounds right,' he said finally.

Christ. Why do they all call her ‘Stephie'?

She said, ‘Yeah you're probably right.' Then added softly, ‘She's older than she…seems.'

‘And now, I don't think that makes sense.' He peered meaningfully into her eyes. He has brashly blue ‘I'm a rugged yet sensitive guy' eyes that are somewhat piercing. Hers are warm brown. By this point he had summoned enough dripping earnestness to add, ‘…Do you?'

I got up and sat on the couch, turned on the TV. The living room shares a doorway with the kitchen; I could still see them in there. Stephanie was washing the dishes, and Phillip was standing behind her rubbing her shoulders. Really, he was more just grabbing her shoulders, holding her there. He shot me a couple of sidelong glances. He was telling her she was a nice lady, and shouldn't let herself be manipulated by a kid like me.

I was still miffed the next morning. Stephanie and I shuffled around awkwardly and didn't say much to each other. I ate too much breakfast and lay around on the couch like a beached whale. There was an extremely authoritative knock on the front door.

I thought, ‘Jeez, there's no need to knock like a cop.'

Apparently there was. It was a cop.

He said, ‘Afternoon, miss.'

I said, ‘Morning.'

He said, ‘I've heard reports of some underage drinking going on here. Would you know anything about that?'

I said, ‘No…sir, I…Stephanie occasionally has a…nightcap, but I don't join her.'

‘Stephanie. That's the lady of the house?'

‘Yes.'

‘Is she at home?'

‘I'm right here.' Stephanie came marching in looking put out and determined.

‘Ma'am, I've heard accounts of underage drinking here. You wouldn't be supplying liquor to a minor by any chance, would you?'

Stephanie said pleasantly, ‘Now, we did have a toast the other night, because it was her birthday—'

‘I had root beer!' I shouted.

The cop kept his attention directed at Stephanie. ‘Are you this child's legal guardian?'

‘I'm her…She is under my care.'

He leaned over me. ‘Would you say you're being well looked after?'

I said yes, and he said he'd be in touch.

Naturally this exchange stressed us out, but we didn't have time to talk about it until that night, when we'd both got home from work. We were cursing whoever turned us in.

Stephanie said it must have been the uptight ‘well-wishing' bitches. (One of them had actually left a card, propped up on the television. It read,
I deeply
feel your loss
against a background of sunset pink.)

‘Or Jimmy,' I said. ‘He gave us a funny look.'

‘Yeah,' she mused, ‘he's probably bearing a grudge.'

‘Or Phillip!' I chimed.

‘What?'

‘Why not?'

‘Phillip's a very nice man.'

‘Oh, c'mon Stephanie. Phillip would rat us out and act like he was doing us a favor.'

She got pretty crotchety. ‘He's the nicest man I've been out with in quite some time,' she said.

I was fixing to say, ‘That's not saying much,' but thought better of it. For one thing, it mightn't be true. Her late husband Ward was probably nice; Gunther had said as much.

We chugged our hot chocolates and went to our respective beds. I did my usual pine for Gunther. This was my nightly ritual, the way some people say prayers. I dropped off to sleep, and slept half the next day away. I missed Stephanie leaving for work, and nearly missed leaving for work myself.

It was funny how Stephanie could get the cops called 'round for drinking backwash on her own porch, while Gunther could sit out there passing joints back and forth with me like no one's business. God I miss that self-made renegade. How he's gracefully expanded beyond the confines of acceptable living, pushed past the walls of that box that most people cower inside. Was he ever stuck in there at all? It's hard to imagine.

Dale was damn chatty that night. I was too grumpy to offer much in the way of responses, but he didn't seem to notice. If anything, he liked it better that way. Maybe he liked talking to an employee and not having to scan their replies for sarcasm.

Stephanie was in bed when I got home. The next day she told me Phillip had vouched for her respectability. She'd already told him about the cop dropping by. So by the time the cop found the gall to go sniffing around her work, Phillip was all ready to be her knight in shining armor. He sent the pig packing, with an impassioned tirade which combined a nod to Stephanie's upstandingness with a lamentation on the breakdown of civil liberties. It sounded like quite a performance; Stephanie was visibly moved.

He came around for dinner again, too soon for my liking. He asked us if we'd learned our lesson, playing with fire like that. He said he hoped we had, and that sometimes you had to learn things the hard and fast way. Then he dribbled on about something his grandfather had taught him; tough love and all that. And I thought, ‘This nutball turned us in.'

He gave Stephanie one of those looks again, across the table.

‘So we've had enough excitement for a while.
Hmmm, Peachy?'

Peachy? When did that start? It's a bit early for pet names. I had lots of things running through my head. Gunther likes me to respect my elders, but he also doesn't mind me getting feisty now and again.

I said, ‘Anything would be too much excitement for you,' as I pushed my chair out from under me and left the room.

Later that night, after Phillip left and Stephanie had done all her little chores, she came and sat next to me.

She said, ‘I don't know why you're trying to fuck this up for me.' She peered at me and said, ‘
Are
you trying to fuck this up for me?'

I was at a loss and just stared at her.

She went on, ‘I really like this guy, and I don't know if you're jealous, or what, but…Don't fuck this up for me.'

I was still stuck for words. I hadn't been this disgusted with Stephanie for a long time. For one thing, I couldn't see what the success or failure of her lame relationship, a mere link in her chain of bad relationships, had to do with me. But more to the point, and this I decided to share:

‘He's a dick, Stephanie.'

‘What? How could—he is not!'

Now I was in the thick of it. She shouted, ‘Why you insolent little—you
are
jealous!'

That jealousy stuff was really cranking my shaft, and I hit her with, ‘What, do you have to be drunk to listen to reason?'

She gave me a withering fiery glare. I just sat there. I imagined two little lasers, boring into my flesh. Then I mumbled, almost apologetically, ‘He's just as much a dick as Jimmy, just in a different way.'

I figured we were done talking and banished myself to my room. But I kept the train of thought. That night was one long meditation on dickishness, which I picked up again in the morning. I woke up, got ready, and headed for the door, thinking, ‘God, they really are all dicks. Gunther is the only non-dick.'

But then, where the hell is he? Abandoning someone you supposedly care about, who cares about you tons, without so much as a word…His lame fucking disappearing act—Gunther's just as much a dick as the rest of them.

No sooner had I thought this, when I opened the front door to see him standing on the porch. He had a sheepish but very self-possessed grin on his face. I stared up at him in all his tallness, with the sun behind him. He looked like Jesus on a fucking cloud. If Jesus were a lanky vampire. It was blinding.

I packed my bag and grabbed the typewriter. I didn't bother telling work I wouldn't be in today, or ever again. I wasn't sure if Gunther had spoken to Stephanie. I didn't care. I planted myself in the passenger seat as quickly as I could.

I was quiet for a minute, just breathing in the relief of being back on the road.

Then I said, ‘I have lots of money now, Gunther.'

And then, ‘Where the fuck have you been?'

He grinned just faintly enough to show a hint of fang. I didn't really care where he'd been. Now he was back.

He asked, ‘Did you and Stephanie have fun?'

I said, ‘Stephanie's a pain in the ass.' Then I mumbled, ‘We had our moments, I guess.'

He grinned wider.

We did our usual, passing through towns, stopping at diners. I just filled my eyes with Gunther. I'd pictured our reunion over and over back at Stephanie's. I was nearly always giving him a big serve, and he was almost always remorseful. But now I found I wasn't mad at all. All Gunther's disappearance and reappearance served to do was bowl me over with how crazy glad I was to see him. God, the sun is shining down on me, on us, again.

I wonder if he knows I'm legal now. Because I've been doing a lot of thinking.

We holed up in a hotel room and passed our first reunited evening in the customary joint-rolling and smoking fashion. I hadn't smoked in a while. We talked a little, but it was all such a dream. I fell into a deep sleep without even noticing.

I was pretty groggy the next morning, but slotted quickly back into the old morning processes. We did all our individual getting ready stuff, and packed the car. Gunther had half a trunk full of grade-A recycled paper. I had to move two newish looking typewriter ribbons off my seat. I sort of giggled. ‘What am I writing, War and Peace?'

He answered, ‘I don't know. Maybe,' and started the engine.

Gunther has his stubborn air of mystery about him, as always. I mean, for an open guy, for someone who draws chosen people in close, he still has his distinct limits. Probing is nearly always fruitless, and feeling like a pest hurts my pride. I don't like the sensation of him reeling away, so I try not to cross his lines. I wait for him to come to me. Unless we're stoned and joking around. All's fair in drugs and war! I once shouted that at him, whilst jumping on a hotel bed. It wasn't quite a rooftop, but who else did I need to tell?

So I wasn't too bothered about asking him where he'd been and why. It was just Gunther stuff, I'm sure. But he asked a bit about me and Stephanie. I told him some of the ups and downs. Gunther thinks I'm smart, and he thinks I ‘get people'. He didn't think I was off in left field when I declared Stephanie's men dicks. He figured I had my reasons, which I did. I asked him what Ward was like. He said he was serious.