Man Camp (15 page)

Cooper shakes his head dismissively and says, “That’s just Mom.” As he waits for a second batch of semen to warm to room temperature, his mind drifts back once again to the foreclosure notice and he starts to frown.

Just ask him what’s going on,
Martha thinks, trying to read meaning into his furrowed brow. She hears herself say, “She keeps mentioning a friend of yours named Jolene.”

But Cooper is a million miles away, negotiating with bankers, pleading for more time, signing over deeds to the auctioneer. When he looks back at Martha a moment later, he realizes he hasn’t heard a word she’s said. He stares at her, feeling idiotic. She’s beautiful with the morning light streaming onto her hair and he can’t imagine how he’s been able to think of anything else. In the time it takes him to decide to tell her that, she’s turned to leave the barn.

CHAPTER 10

“I’m not denyin’ the women are foolish: God almighty made ’em to match the men.”

George Eliot

IT’S AFTER DINNER and the campers are watching An Officer
and a Gentleman,
one of dozens of videos that Martha brought with her to the farm, the objective being to expose the men to as wide an array of positive masculine styles as possible. The films feature stars like Sam Shepard, Humphrey Bogart, and Sean Connery in roles where their masculinity is somehow put to the test. In some the hero gets the girl, in others he doesn’t, but always he is courageous and gallant under fire, at his core a gentleman.

The campers are strewn about the living room like rag dolls: splayed out on the floor, flopped over chairs, stretched across sofas. Exhausted from another day of hard work and full of Beatrice’s fried-chicken supper, the men are content to absorb lessons on manliness by osmosis, half asleep as they watch the movie.

At a pivotal moment in the film—right after Zack Mayo’s best friend commits suicide and transforms Zack from a self-absorbed hotshot into a team player and leader—Martha taps Lucy’s shoulder and points to the door. She needs to talk.

Lucy hopes that whatever is bothering Martha can wait until after Richard Gere carries Debra Winger out of the factory, but her friend looks insistent. Lucy disentangles herself from Adam. “I have to go,” she whispers into his ear. “Could you lead the postfilm discussion on Zack Mayo’s transformation?”

Adam responds in a look:
Not a chance.

Lucy and Martha leave the living room mostly unnoticed and slip out the back door, where they make their way to the far end of the yard and sit, leaning against the broad trunk of a majestic silver maple tree. The night sky is clear and jam-packed with stars, and a nearly full moon hovers low above the hills.

“God, isn’t spring amazing? May is such a sexy month,” Lucy says over a commotion of peepers in a nearby pond. “Just listen to all that courtship.” She wishes Adam were outside, too.

“Yes,” Martha says sourly, “romance is in the air.”

“Did you know that peepers can repeat their calls over four thousand times a night?” It’s courtship facts like these, which Lucy knows by the hundreds, that can make her dismayed by Adam’s lack of romantic effort. When was the last time he sang to her?

Martha groans. “Exactly what is it about their clamor that attracts females? I can barely sleep through all the racket.”

Lucy smiles at her friend’s bah-humbug attitude. “Well, at the very least, you have to admit that it’s kind of amazing how our brains deal with unfamiliar sounds. Just think about it: You can sleep through ambulances screaming down Ninth Avenue at four A.M., but a little frog singing a love song keeps you up.”

Martha rolls her eyes. “Forgive me if I’m not in the mood to marvel at the wonders of nature tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucy says. “What’s going on?”

Martha doesn’t quite know where to begin. “I’m just not cut out for farm living. The hours are nuts and I’m sick of cooking and cleaning and being on the sidelines. Look at me, I’ve been here, what, four days? And I’m a total wreck. I’m not sleeping well. I’ve got enough cuts and bruises to land a part as a battered woman. And I’m this close,” she says, pinching her thumb and forefinger together, “to setting up an emergency phoner with my shrink to discuss that bitch Beatrice. Exactly what have I done to deserve her treatment?”

“Nothing.” Lucy puts an arm around her friend. “She’s just being possessive of her only son. Now that her husband’s gone, Cooper’s all she has left. Who can blame her?”

I can,
thinks Martha, who has always found Lucy’s ability to empathize with the wrong party annoying. She pulls blades of grass out of the ground one at a time. “Things aren’t going well with Cooper,” she says softly. “They just aren’t going, period.”

“Have you tried talking to him?”

“I tried to when we were inseminating cows, but everything came out wrong. Instead of asking what was up between us, I criticized his mother and grilled him about Jolene.”

“I’m sure it didn’t go as badly as you think,” Lucy says, shifting to lie on her back and look up at the sky, where she finds the Big Dipper tipped at a precarious angle, looking as if it might slosh its contents all over the galaxy. “Give him the benefit of the doubt. I think Cooper has something on his mind and you just need to be patient.” Lucy knows patience has never been Martha’s strong suit.

A moment passes and they hear the screen door creak open and snap shut. Cooper and Adam are standing on the back porch, gazing out over the lawn.

“We’re down here,” Lucy calls, waving.

Adam seems tall standing next to Cooper, which pleases Lucy, who’s noticed that her boyfriend has been looking especially handsome, and attributes it to all the outdoor work. His normally stooped shoulders are square and high, and his pasty winter complexion has taken on a light bronze sheen. “You have to admit, it’s kind of ironic that we’re the ones having a hard time adjusting to life at Man Camp.” She laughs. “The men seem to be thriving while we’re locked in the kitchen.”

“Yeah. It’s fucking hilarious,” Martha says.

“Come on. A little poetic justice is only fair.”

“I guess I don’t care about fair.”

Cooper and Adam amble across the lawn, stopping in front of them.

“Would you look at all those stars,” Adam says, letting out a low whistle.

“Not a sight you get to see much of in the big city, huh, Martha?” says Cooper, looking up at the sky.

Martha thinks about the sights she hasn’t gotten to see much of in the country: watercress, newspapers with international coverage, naked men.

“To me,” he goes on dreamily, “stars are just about proof positive of God’s existence.”

“How’s that?” Lucy asks.

“You know, they’re simply totally unnecessary miracles spattered across the sky to remind us that He’s here to help if we get lost,” Cooper answers, studying the three-starred dagger that hangs from Orion’s belt.

A crescendo of croaking fills the silence that follows.

“Back in the big city, we call that a ‘conversation stopper,’ ” Adam says.

Cooper laughs, and then Lucy does, too, relieved that Adam’s joke has gone over well, pleased that the two of them are getting along.

“Well, I just came out to say good night,” Cooper says. “I’m dog tired from the day’s work.” He taps the toe of his boot against Martha’s shoe. “Thanks for the help with the cows this morning.”

“No problem. Good night,” Martha says, guessing it must be all of nine-thirty. She watches Cooper’s back get small as he walks toward the house. “Sweet dreams,” she adds quietly as the screen door springs closed behind him. She waits a few minutes before getting up and brushing the twigs and grass off the back of her pants. “I need to go check on my charges,” she says, taking a step toward the house. Then she hesitates. “Adam, do you think the men are having a good time?”

“Amazingly enough, I really do. They’re working their asses off, but they’re loving it, and I actually think they’re learning things, too,” he says, speaking from the perspective of the teacher he thinks he is. “Well, perhaps not Bryce. That guy’s too far gone, but three out of four isn’t bad.”

Or five out of six,
thinks Martha, including Jesse and Adam in her private tally.

“There’s something about this place that gets you out of your head,” Adam continues. “Could just be the hard work and fresh air, but even
I’m
experiencing it. For the first time in forever, I haven’t been obsessing about my dissertation and yet somehow, subconsciously, I guess, I’m working through things.” He looks down at Lucy. “I’ve figured out the ending.”

“Are you serious?” Lucy says, propping herself up on her elbows.

Adam drops to his knees, explaining that he’s decided to use farming as the third business model for his dissertation, which perfectly illustrates his theory on procrastination.

Upon hearing phrases like behavioral predictiveness, procedural rationality, and economic anomalies, Martha says a sarcastic, “Fascinating,” and bids them a final good night.

Lucy takes Adam’s hand and pulls him the rest of the way to the ground. “I can’t believe you’re unstuck.”

“Well, believe it. The end’s in sight.” He rolls onto his back and pulls her on top of him. “And you know who I have to thank for that? You, for being so patient with me this last year. You, for dragging me along as an adjunct professor on this crazy vacation. You, for just being you.” He kisses her. “You know what the only problem with this place is? We don’t get enough time together.”

“I’m happy you like it here,” Lucy says, relishing the effects Adam’s words have on her guilty conscience. “I had my doubts, you know.” She props herself up on his chest and looks into his dark eyes. “And don’t you just adore Cooper now that you’ve gotten to know him better?”

“He’s a good guy.”

Lucy hears a
but
in Adam’s voice and asks him what it is.

He hesitates. “
But . . .
doesn’t any part of the scientist in you get wigged out by all his God stuff?”

The truth is Cooper’s outspoken religiousness has always wigged Lucy out, even as a college student, and yet now she feels the need to defend her old friend. “Jesus, Adam, it’s religion, not witchcraft.”

Adam’s look says,
What’s the difference?

“Don’t be so narrow-minded. Historically, lots of great scientists were religious. Like Darwin,” Lucy says, wishing she could come up with someone more contemporary.

“Okay, let’s drop it,” Adam says, feeling Lucy’s mood shift away from romance. “Let’s take a walk,” he proposes, pulling her to her feet. Taking her hand in his, he guides her out the gate and along the fence, past pasture after pasture, some full of cows, the moon rising and brightening their way.

When they come to a bend where the road dips, Lucy sees a small cluster of crocuses and snatches one. “There’s something about being around natural beauty that changes my outlook on life,” she says, handing him the flower.

“A biologist I know once told me that a flower is a plant’s way of making love.”

“I can’t believe you remember that.” Lucy circles her arms around his neck.

“I remember everything you tell me,” Adam says, gently backing her up against a nearby birch tree where he starts to kiss her.

Lucy returns the kiss and closes her eyes. She places her palms on the tree’s papery bark and reads hope into a row of raised bumps that feel like braille letters.

Adam’s fingers start to work the buttons of her blouse and Lucy’s knees soften. He pulls her shirt open and runs his hands along the intersection of her belly and belt, feeling the muscles contract beneath his touch. Then he steps back to take off his own shirt when an eerie
who-ah-whoo
causes Lucy’s eyes to snap open.

“What was that?”

Adam pulls her close to him. “Don’t worry, Luce,” he says, resting his chin on her head. “It’s just a great horned owl.” The men had heard the same call a few mornings ago and Cooper told them that these owls are all over the Manasseh Valley.

Lucy relaxes into Adam’s arms and he spreads his shirt on the ground, lowering her on top of it and lying beside her on the grass.

INSIDE THE HOUSE, Martha checks on the campers. Jesse, Simon, and Walter have already gone to bed, leaving only Kurt and Bryce to discuss the movie.

“So, what did you think?” she asks.

Kurt gives her a thumbs-down. “Too schmaltzy,” he says. “Though Louis Gossett Junior kicked ass as the gunnery sergeant.”

Bryce looks at his hands, apparently unhappy with the effect of manual labor on them. “The uniforms were awesome.”

It’s then Martha realizes Adam is right: Man Camp will have no effect on Bryce. Bryce is who he is, and who he is, is a man who likes to make sweaters for his dog, watch chick flicks, and talk about celebrity hook-ups. He will always be more comfortable shopping than fence-building. Though he was a sport to come to Tuckington Farm, Martha realizes that in his heart, he’s not interested in becoming more masculine, only in getting more women. And why should the two be mutually exclusive? After all, you don’t need to know how to chop wood or hunt in New York City and, if you can afford a car, you can afford to have someone else change the oil. She remembers her father’s preppy friends in the suburbs, men who wore pink sweaters and seersucker pants and still managed to find wives and happiness.
Perhaps metrosexuals are just our generation’s more fashionable version of
them,
she thinks.

Though she’s not particularly tired, Martha wants to be alone and excuses herself to go to bed. She walks up the stairs, surprised to find Cooper waiting on the love seat at the top of the landing. He motions for her to sit beside him and takes her hand. “I want to apologize for being so distracted the last few days.”

The words trigger flutters in Martha’s stomach. She looks at Cooper and sees a man who is sorry,
very
sorry. She sits quietly, waiting for him to elaborate, but instead he kisses her in such a way that she forgets an explanation is in order. Before she knows it, Cooper is tossing pillows onto the floor and they’re reclining on the tiny sofa, their bodies moving against each other.