Читать книгу Perfect Bait - Michael Douglas Fowlkes - Страница 11

As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.

Chapter 3

The clear, balmy June afternoon couldn’t have been prettier. It was the weekend following our high school graduation ceremonies. Our fairy-tale wedding made news in the local papers. “The Perfect Wedding” read the front-page headline in the social section of the Seattle Post, a newspaper Mr. Lake supported annually with major advertising dollars.

“… Corey Phillips marries into the Lake family, taking the hand of the charming and talented Ms. Karyn Lake, only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Charles Lake … Corey Phillips is the eldest and only grandson of Seattle’s own R. J. Walters, President and CEO of Walters Processing and Shipping, the largest purveyors of seafood on the west coast … Sweethearts since childhood, Karyn and Corey looked ready to take on the world today. The wedding took place under clear blue skies on the terrace of the exclusive West Bay Yacht Club. Among the notable in attendance were … and all of us here at the Post wish them the very best. Good luck, newlyweds.”

All the while, Mrs. Lake silently thanked God that Karyn wasn’t pregnant under her wedding dress for the extensive photo spreads.

Despite my new in-laws’ offer to help us with the down payment on a house for our wedding gift, Karyn and I decided we wanted to live together on the houseboat. We loved it down there. She transformed the boat into a delightful floating home. In spite of themselves, by summer’s end Karyn’s parents enjoyed spending Sunday afternoons with us. At first, they’d refused to set foot on board the boat, but after awhile, seeing how happy their daughter was, they couldn’t resist. Sundays became a tradition—barbecuing fresh salmon on the back deck, a big pot of crab legs steaming on the old oil stove, and the mouth-watering smell of Karyn’s home-made sourdough bread filling the air. We were becoming a family. With her mom’s homegrown garden salads and a couple of bottles of White Zin from their private reserve, life was good. After dinner we’d sit on the back deck, enjoying the quiet beauty of a summer’s day drawing to a close.

“You still like working at the cannery?” Mr. Lake would inevitably get around to asking.

“Daddy, you know he does. Why do you ask us that every time we see you?”

“I just want Corey to know there’s a spot for him if he ever wants it, that’s all.”

“Appreciate the offer, Mr. Lake, I really do, but I like what I do.” I’d had offers to crew as well, but didn’t want to be away from Karyn for weeks at a time. So even though the money wasn’t great, I kept my job as a buyer. Being home every night was worth it. We couldn’t have been happier.

With Karyn and my being married, Shane was now the odd man out in our little threesome. Shane and I made it through a rocky spell after Karyn and I first hooked up. But being as athletic and good looking as he was, it didn’t take long for him to feel he was the lucky one—with all the trim he was getting. When we were alone, he couldn’t stop spewing the intimate details of his endless nights of romance.

“How can you just hang with one chick?” he wanted to know. “Karyn’s cool and all, but dude, there’s nothing like fresh pussy.”

“Maybe,” I’d say humoring him. “But what else can I tell you? I’m in love.”

“Love, you say.” He jumped down my throat. “Why are you always talking about love? I ain’t talkin’ love, man. I’m talking sex. Pure sex. About getting into as many pairs of sweet young panties as I can. Every chick has her secret, my friend. Every one of them. And trust me, it’s there, right there, between their legs. Everything else is an afterthought.”

“You’re sick. You know that?”

“Heaven on earth, baby. Heaven on earth,” he’d say, laughing and punching me in the arm. “I’m telling you, you’re blowing it, only fucking one chick.”

“I feel sorry for you.”

“You only live once.”

“You’re a bad cliché,” I said, shaking my head. “No wonder women grow to hate men.”

“You’re just jealous you’re not getting any of the fresh stuff.”

Never for a split second did I feel as if I was missing out on anything by being with Karyn. I was the luckiest man in the world. As much as Shane tried to convince me otherwise, Karyn and I were as one wrapped in each other’s arms.

But then the war came home. I don’t know if it was because of Vietnam or the fact the world just started spinning a little off its axis, but for three kids growing up listening to the boys from England, believing peace did stand a chance, we were about to be thrown into a world of napalm and bombs that didn’t give a rat’s ass who you were, or what you believed in. Nixon was elected President in 1968, and the first draft lottery since World War II was held December 1, 1969; it determined the order for conscription into the Army for men born between January 1, 1944 and December 31, 1950. In the fall of 1971, having your number picked didn’t mean winning the lottery—it meant a one-way ticket into hell. If you were an able-bodied, all-American male, eighteen to thirty-eight, and your number was called, you were basically fucked.

Being single and not in college, Shane was USDA prime beef, 1-A draft status. Of the three hundred sixty-five birth dates selected for the draft that year, Shane’s came up forty-third. A few weeks later he was standing in line in his underwear, along with a thousand other inductees, turning his head sideways and coughing while some medic held his nuts, told to urinate in a cup, was stamped 1-A, and shipped off to Fort Ord for basic training.

The night we found out Shane was headed to basic training, I announced during dinner, “If you’re going, then so am I.” Karyn and Shane both looked at me, but neither one said anything.

Finally Shane reached over, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, “Listen up, amigo, I know what you’re saying, and I appreciate it.”

“Bullshit,” I said, sensing where he was headed. “I’m going.”

Shaking his head, he squeezed my shoulder hard. His vice-like grip actually hurt. “I love you like a brother,” he told me. “You know that.” I nodded as he continued. “But you’re married. You have Karyn to think about, to take care of.”

“But …”

Karyn was hanging on his every word, but remained silent.

“No buts about it. You’re staying here. You’ve got responsibilities. I promise you. I’ll be all right.” I looked away. He squeezed harder, forcing me to meet his eyes. “I promise,” he repeated, staring into my eyes, until he saw my look of surrender. “Not all of us are destined to be warriors,” he said softly. “Not this time around, anyway.”

Karyn reached over and put her hand on my knee.

Shane gave me a little squeeze before letting go of my shoulder. “Besides, I’m not going to have time to look after your sorry ass over there. You’d probably end up getting us both killed.”

Springing out of my chair, I flew at him with an open arm tackle, tipping his chair over. We both went tumbling to the floor. “I’ll show you whose sorry ass needs looking after.” But pinning me in seconds, Shane soon had me begging for mercy.

Karyn’s laughter rang in our ears as she started clearing the table. “You guys will never grow up.”

After three months in basic training, Shane’s platoon was given a four-day pass, and he flew home for the long weekend before being shipped off to defend our nation against the all-powerful North Vietnamese. Those were the last days of life-long friendships.

For the first time in history, the mayhem of war was played out in living color every night on the six o’clock news. The effects on the country were mind numbing. By the time Shane finally came home, he and America were changed forever. Other than a few bumps and bruises, he’d escaped physically unscathed. Decorated with honors for bravery and heroism, he stood erect and proud, but his eyes were deep orbs of darkness and depression. The horrors he’d seen had manifested into a vicious cancer that was eating him alive from within. He was a hollow shell of the proud, young man he once was.

Without a second thought, he moved in with Karyn and me, taking over the same stateroom we’d shared as kids. The three of us were reunited. The post-war Shane didn’t talk much, and when he did, it was never about the war. As far as I could tell, he didn’t sleep much either.

One afternoon while Karyn was at the market, I asked him if he wanted to talk about what had happened over there. He paused, staring at me with unblinking eyes. Shaking his head slowly, he said, “You don’t want to know.”

I held his gaze. Searching his eyes but finding only darkness in the blank emptiness of his stare sent a cold chill up my spine. “Don’t ask me again, okay?” he said. That’s the last time we ever talked about the war.

From day one, he cautioned Karyn and me never to come into his cabin at night. “Can’t sleep much,” he told us after being back a few days. “What rest I am getting is only skin deep. So, please, for your own safety, don’t ever come into my cabin without knocking.”

Karyn and I nodded, thinking we understood. We didn’t.

“And most importantly, wait ’til I say it’s okay before you open the door.”

Karyn and I nodded again and exchanged glances.

Seeing our confusion, he added, “I might react without thinking.” He paused before drifting away again. We waited. We were growing accustomed to his disjointed conversations. He was never fully present. “Especially at night, when I’m in the dark, when I’m sleeping. Don’t come in on me, okay?” It wasn’t really a question.

The weeks passed. I went off to work every morning, leaving the two of them to take care of things around the boat and handle the chores. They’d shop for fresh vegetables, home-made breads and pastas on Market Street or pick up lunch and bring it down to me at the docks. The time they were spending together, walking our old stomping grounds, seemed to be slowly helping Shane ease back to normalcy.

One afternoon I came home early, needing a file that I had stored in his cabin. Before he moved in, I’d been using Shane’s cabin as a home office. He and Karyn were out when I got to the boat, so I just went in to get the file. What I found instead scared the crap out of me.

When they came home, I was sitting on the back deck, holding his loaded 9mm in my lap. They both saw the gun as they stepped on board. Before Karyn or I could say anything, Shane stated flatly, “I sleep with it, locked and loaded, on my chest. Can’t close my eyes without it.” Karyn and I looked at him as he continued. “I’ve been trying to wean myself off it. Like today,” he said, looking at Karyn, “forcing myself to leave it here when we go out.”

“Do you mean you’ve been carrying that thing around town with us?” Karyn asked.

“Afraid so.”

Karyn was stunned. “I’ve got to put these groceries away,” she said heading inside.

Shane’s eyes never left the gun. I handed it back to him. “Thanks,” was all he said, taking it and following Karyn into the salon. For the first time since he came back, I realized I didn’t want to know what happened over there. Ignorance was my bliss; Vietnam was his hell.

That night as Karyn and I climbed into bed, I asked her if she’d been able to talk to him at all about what had happened over there.

“Not really,” she said. “Sometimes in the mornings after you go to work, we’ll sit together, sipping our coffee. We mostly just sit, listening to the stereo. But sometimes he’ll open up a little.”

“And say what?”

“Nothing really. He loves the music. Wants to know all about the artists—Joni Mitchell, Crosby, Stills and Nash, Richie Havens, Country Joe, Janis, Credence, the Who, and especially Dylan. Says if it weren’t for the music, he doesn’t know what he would have done over there. Says it was the one thing that kept him from going insane.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Says if he had it to do over, he’d go to prison before letting them use him like they did.”

“Does he ever talk specifics?”

“No,” she said, snuggling her head under my arm and onto my chest. “Sometimes I get the feeling he wants to, but then he gets this glazed look and shuts up.” She paused. “I don’t push it. He’ll be all right. It’s just going to take time. He certainly doesn’t need you or anybody else pressuring him.”

“That’s the last thing I’m doing,” I said defensively. “I’m just trying to help.”

“He’ll ask for your help if he needs it. Until then, just let him be,” she said curtly, rolling over, away from me. “Go to sleep. You’ve got another early day tomorrow.”

Five A.M. came as it did every day. The faint buzzing from the alarm somehow found its way into my gray matter, activating a series of involuntary electrodes to start the transition from dreamland to reality. By the time I hit the snooze control, my brain was kicking in. It was time to get up. I left Karyn alone in bed, like I had to do every day since our honeymoon. The fish market never closed, so neither did our cannery. The mornings of Karyn rolling over, barely conscious, reaching out with her eyes still closed, begging me to stay and make love, were long gone. She no longer even groaned at the sound of the alarm.

Once the steaming hot shower started to work its wonders, I was able to shake the cobwebs out. The morning would then start to grow on me, especially summer mornings. I loved the tranquility of a new dawn, the quiet stillness on the water and the peace of mind that settles in while going through familiar routines: the mirror steaming up from the hot water; the fresh aromas that fill the room after stepping out of the shower; the clean scent of shampoo lingering in the heavy air. I liked the comforting feeling knowing that things are as they should be: knowing my love was just past the door, tucked securely under the thick warm down comforter, sleeping like a baby. But not today.

Leaving Karyn was never easy, but when it was raining it was twice as hard. We’d had such a wonderful summer, especially now that Shane was home. During the past few days, while we’d been prepping the boat for winter, we’d started to dread winter’s arrival. The only interesting part was watching old man Wilson salute Shane whenever he saw him. Shane would stop whatever he was working on, stand up straight and salute back. The night before, we’d watched the storm track on radar together during the late news. Even though I knew it was coming, I just wasn’t ready for the start of another winter. Especially not this morning.

The whole time I was getting ready for work—listening to the wind and rain pounding against the windows, knowing how damn cold it was going to be once I stepped outside—all I wanted to do was climb back into bed and wrap my arms around my wife. But I had to settle for giving her a soft kiss on the cheek. She barely moved as I whispered, “I love you” before I headed out. That first storm of the season sent a cold chill down my back as I lowered my head to make my way up the dock to work.

Karyn thought there was nothing wrong with the fact that her talks with Shane now included some holding and comforting. Shane was a friend, and nurturing him was a normal response for her, giving to a friend what he so desperately needed. In her heart, she felt Shane not only needed her love, but also deserved it. She couldn’t deny him what he needed to become whole again, knowing none of his old high school flames he’d been seeing could give him what he really needed. And even though she was infuriated when he’d come home some nights reeking of their perfume, she held her tongue. How could anyone blame her for giving him the one thing she knew would make him whole again?

But as tears continued to pour from his scarred soul, simply holding him was no longer enough. Karyn became possessed by a primal instinct she had no control over—an instinct so powerful, so strong, it was driving her beyond reason, beyond rational thought. Men go to war; women pick up the pieces. Men kill; women nurture. The tattered anti-war poster hanging next to the back door had taken on a whole new meaning since Shane’s return. Make love, not war.

So, without thinking of the repercussions, Karyn allowed her body to give in a way only a woman’s can. The boundaries of right and wrong blurred and melted away. What began as a selfless act of giving, driven only by compassion and friendship, became a fire burning with such strength that denial was no longer an option. She gave herself completely, over and over again. She withheld nothing. Their needs engulfed them in a fire so powerful nothing in the world could have kept them apart. Moments of tenderness would be swept away, leaving them gasping for breath. With their lovemaking lasting all day, everything in her life—except Shane—became meaningless. One veteran’s healing had begun.

As their days of making love turned into weeks, then months, somewhere within the deepest reaches of their collective consciousness, they had to know their actions would have far-reaching consequences. A price would eventually have to be paid, because within the balance of nature, for every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction. Karyn knew she was saving the life of a man she had known all her life. Little did she realize that in saving one man’s life, she was destroying another’s.

She knew what had started out as controlled compassion was now an obsession raging out of control. She couldn’t help herself. She wanted Shane’s touch more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. Her body ached for him. She’d lie awake in those predawn mornings, pretending to be asleep, waiting for me to leave for work, knowing Shane would be inside her the instant I left. Her body longed for his touch, almost hurting with anticipation. With each passing day, their love erupted with more passion. As they clung to each other, covered with sweat, the steamy scent of their love hanging over the bed, they knew it was only a matter of time. They were beyond caring if they got caught; they threw pretense to the wind. Getting busted would be a relief.

Even when the signs are all there, the one whose heart is about to get ripped apart always seems to be the last to know. When I first began sensing something was going on between them, I remember resisting those subtle alarms firing off primal warnings deep within my soul. There’s no way. The two of them together? Those thoughts went against every fiber of my being. It felt so surreal, as to not even seem possible. They’re my best friends, for Christ’s sake, I muttered to myself, driving to work. I kept visualizing Karyn lying in bed, curled up in her favorite fetal position, all warm and toasty under our thick comforter, her golden hair tousled with a few stray strands gently lying across her forehead, her slow, deep breathing as she slept, her soft skin, her slender long legs and beautiful breasts, so inviting, so alone.

A horn blasted behind me, jarring me back into reality. Dazed, I eased away from the traffic signal. I hated myself for even imagining them together, for even thinking something might be going on. You’re an idiot. If you don’t start paying attention here and concentrate on driving, they‘re going to be scraping you off the pavement.

I was about half way to work when I realized I’d forgotten the sales summary I’d been working on the night before. Hanging a U-turn at the intersection, I headed back to the boat to pick it up. If you’d pulled your head out of your ass, you wouldn’t be getting soaked for the second time this morning, I scolded myself, as I ran back down the dock in the rain. I leaped on board, threw open the door to the salon and ran right in on Karyn and Shane making love.

I stood frozen, unable to move. They didn’t even hear me come in. I couldn’t breathe as I watched my wife, straddled on top of my best friend, their orgasmic screams of ecstasy ringing in my ears.